Page 4 of Her Duke By Accident
“Why, did you think I truly believed all your visits to tutor Lucy only lied in fashioning a lady?”
Lady Tollock laughed, fanning herself as more and more of the ton filled her estate, Benedict House. “Don’t say I didn’t fool you,” she said, waving at a group of ladies listening to the music. “You even wore the colors we picked out for you.”
Matthew grimaced, the ease he felt from before draining into irritation. “We?”
“Well, Lucy and me, of course,” she said. “Your sister wants to see you wed and happy more than anyone else.” Reaching to straighten his coat, Lady Tollock swiped dust off his shoulder. “You even match my curtains.”
He lifted his head, over a head taller than the aging woman. Within the growing crowd, Matthew eyed the ladies dressed in their Season’s best, most likely secured months before in hurried anticipation. Mothers hooked arms around bachelors, subtly steering them towards their eligible daughters.
“I really don’t understand why you hold such disdain for the things we do every year,” she muttered.
“This is not the life for me, my lady, and you know that.”
“But it’s the life for Lucy?”
Matthew looked down at her, a reproach growing in his chest. “It is the life I will give her, Lady Tollock.”
“You know,” she began, stepping away from him, “the only way the ton will accept her is with your involvement.”
Holding his head up high, Matthew bowed to end the conversation. “We shall always agree to disagree, my lady.”
Lady Tollock smirked, offering a curtsey before disappearing into the growing crowd.
Twisting around a column in one of the dining rooms, candles lit on every corner, Matthew noticed a mother. Her hair was twisted into a bundle atop her head, and thin silks were wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyebrows lifted, and she was about to raise a fan to stop him from going the other way.
“Why,” a sturdy male voice rang through the room, towering over the banter and lively music, “if it isn’t the marquess!” Storming up to Matthew, the man snatched up his hand, shaking it vigorously. “I haven’t seen you since school, my friend!”
Matthew bristled at the interaction, but watched the eager mother turn towards another victim. He held back his relief as he tried to remember who the gentleman appeared to be. He returned the shake, a name coming back to him. “Danvers, right? From Solomon.”
“That’s the one,” Danvers said. “Good to see you in London, Baxton. Last I heard, you were traveling across the countryside.”
“It was due time for a trip,” Matthew replied. “My sister and I enjoyed it.”
Danvers inched backward slightly. His engaging smile slipped into a grimace, and the atmosphere became more polite than excited. “Right,” he said, “and… how is she?”
Anger grew in the pits of his chest. “Lady Lucy is well,” he snapped. “Well and bright.” Matthew forced his clenched fists behind his back, the rage he inherited from his father boiling his blood from the inside out. “It is not Baxton anymore, it is Garvey. Duke of Garvey.”
The gentleman took another step back, fear of propriety lost weighing heavily in his sunken eyes. He bowed slightly, a quiver in his lip. “My apologies, Your Grace, it was never my intention to offend.” Danvers cleared his throat, avoiding holding any prolonged eye contact. “It saddens me to hear of the duke’s passing. I have… been away from London for some time. Forgive me, Your Grace.”
Matthew sighed heavily. The sniveling and begging for forgiveness brought something worse than anger to his heart. What did any of them know of his father? What could they possibly know of the house he kept in Garvey Manor, or the way Lucy was brought up? They would never know. And Lucy, the most precious sunflower, sat in that same house, where herexistence was ridiculed from the moment she showed up on their doorstep.
Bastard, his mother would spit as the little girl merely walked by.Bastard of his blood.
Matthew shook his head, burying the thoughts as Danvers anxiously waited for some sort of response. “Find yourself a docile wife, Danvers, and be rid of me on this night,” he said coldly. “Mamas would beg for a husband like you.”
And with that, he slipped back into the crowd, watching as mothers clawed their way towards the unknowingly foolish Danvers.
Entering another dining room, Matthew slowed his pace and let his eyes drag over the series of paintings adorning the walls. Before he could get too invested, a tall and slender woman sauntered by him. Emerald silk flowed down her legs and matched the gloves reaching her elbows. Her midnight hair was tied into a bun at the top of her head, and she had dark narrowed eyes to match.
“Your Grace,” she cooed, giving him a soft curtsey. Her gaze hit him through lowered eyelids. “I am Lorelai Clare. You remember me, don’t you? From last Season?”
Matthew tried to give her a half smile that didn’t come off as too engaging. “Of course, Lady Lorelai. How is the lord?”
Her smile grew. “How kind of you to ask, Your Grace,” she said. “My father is well.”
“Good,” he curtly said, not remembering anything else from their previous meeting to talk about. “Lord Clare was involved in that mining business, was he not? The one that collapsed?”
She faltered, letting her smile twitch into a frown.
