is a man of genius,” he explained indignantly, “and genius is as delicate as the wing of a butterfly. There is a process, a method, to his success. It’s very intricate—there’s mathematics involved. I’d tell you all about it, but you wouldn’t understand. But we interfere with the man’s process at our own peril.”
“I see,” Viola sniffed. “Well, if your delicate genius is too important to come to us, you’ll just have to go to him, won’t you? You can leave tomorrow.”
“Go to London!” he exclaimed. “At the height of the Season? Viola, if I went to London now, I’d be hunted down like an animal. I’m not just your elder brother, you know. I’m the only unmarried duke left in Great Britain! I’d be in constant danger. There would be invitations!”
Viola’s dark eyes could be damp and imploring when it suited her purposes, as she now demonstrated. “This is my marriage settlement, Dickon. If it isn’t done properly, I shall be little more than my husband’s chattel. Do you want your only sister to be treated like chattel?”
Dickon thought about it. “I suppose not,” he said reluctantly. “But why can’t you go?”
“I shall be in York ordering my wedding clothes,” she explained.
“Buy your wedding clothes in London,” he urged. “Don’t make me go to London on my own, I implore you! The women there are so fierce. I get such headaches.”
Viola held firm. “York would be hurt and insulted if I bought my wedding clothes in London. Besides, if I go to London now, Lord Bamph will think I’m obeying his ridiculous summons. He must learn that Lady Viola Gambol is not at his beck and call.”
“But I am, I suppose!” the duke said resentfully.
Viola started for the door. “I’m depending on you, Dickon,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “Don’t bungle it.”
“When did I ever bungle anything?” he said indignantly.
In the wake of her departure, the duke looked down at his plate. “This is dreadful, Jem,” he exclaimed unhappily. “Something must be done!”
“Her ladyship does seem a wee bit upset, Your Grace,” the footman agreed.
“What?” The duke blinked in momentary confusion. “I’m talking about the ham, Jem. Remember the ham? I think it’s turned. You’d better take it away.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. Shall I bring out another?”
The duke looked at him incredulously. “Of course, dear fellow,” he said. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”
Chapter Two
Situated on the highest ground in Green Park, Lord Bamph’s London mansion seemed more like a gentleman’s country estate than a town house. The drive from the gate to the gleaming white facade of the house was long, giving Lady Belinda Belphrey ample time to observe that the Duke of Fanshawe’s carriage was not very clever.
“Oh, Mama! It looks like a fat, brown goose waddling up a country lane.”
Swathed in black lace, the dowager Marchioness of Bamph was seated at the escritoire in her boudoir, her handsome face completely innocent of rouge. Lady Bamph loathed black almost as much as she had loathed her dead husband, but she had made herself as plain as possible for the occasion, not wanting to spoil her daughter’s chance to become a duchess by accidentally attracting the duke herself.
“When I am Duchess of Fanshawe, I shall put all my footmen in pink,” sighed Belinda, smoothing down her pink skirts and patting the pink silk roses woven into her red-gold curls.
“Yes, my love,” Lady Bamph murmured absently.
The duke’s carriage, meanwhile, had arrived at the house. “Mama, he’s getting out,” Belinda reported, pressing her pert nose against the window. “Mama! He’s wearing trousers!”
The dowager’s hand jerked, causing an ink blot on the page. “Trousers!” she exclaimed. “You must be mistaken, child. Only shopkeepers and bank clerks wear trousers.”
“Hurry, Mama!” cried Belinda, jumping up. “He’s coming inside!”
Lady Bamph signed her letter with a flourish, and mother and daughter went down to the drawing room to greet their visitor.
They discovered the duke consulting his pocket watch. Upon seeing the ladies, however, he instantly pocketed his watch. Unlike the many dukes of Belinda’s acquaintance, this one was a very good-looking man, with patrician features, a strong, square chin, and the most breathtaking blue eyes she had ever seen. According to Belinda’s information, the duke was hideously old—six and forty!—but, in the flesh, he did not look a day over twenty-five. Incredibly, he was not fat. Even more incredibly, he was tall, the perfect height and build for a dance partner, she decided. His spiky chestnut hair had been cut too short, and he was much too plainly dressed for Belinda’s taste, but these were minor defects, easily corrected, and quite overruled by his beautiful eyes. Overall, Belinda was delighted with her prize.
“Oh, you’re handsome!” she cried, almost before the requisite bows and curtseys had been exchanged. “I’m so relieved! That is to say, so glad!”
Although not immune to the young man’s eyes, Lady Bamph had a cooler head. “I must apologize for my daughter’s exuberance,” she said, smiling. “She is young and impetuous. What a pity we cannot follow her example and say exactly what pops into our heads at any given moment,” she boldly added, fingering the pearls at her throat and staring directly into his eyes.
Unaware that he had been mistaken for his employer, Julian Devize smiled faintly at Lady Belinda’s exuberance, but her mother’s subtlety seemed to leave him cold. “Is Lord Bamph not at home?” he asked, addressing the mother with an air of courtesy rather than preference. “As your ladyship may know, I have come on behalf of Lady Viola Gambol to negotiate her marriage settlement.”
Lady Bamph felt the sting of rejection, but Julian was so handsome, she could not resist trying again. “Perhaps, when you have concluded your business with my son, you will allow me to show you the grounds,” she suggested archly. “There are many beauty spots in my garden.”
Julian smiled thinly. “When I am done, I don’t doubt you will all wish me in Hades.”
“No, indeed!” said Belinda, taking him quite seriously.
Lady Bamph laughed lightly. “A man like you must be welcome wherever he goes,” she said, looking at him hungrily. “Now do stop teasing me and sit down.”
Her fingers released the pearls at her neck and trailed down to rearrange the black lace draped across her bosom. How vexing that her maternal instincts had led her, on today of all days, to disguise herself as a grieving old widow!
“Your ladyship is very kind,” Julian said firmly. “But I am come to deal with Lord Bamph. If his lordship is not here, it would be better if I went away again.”
“Oh, no!” cried Belinda, seizing him by the arm. “Please don’t go. We have so much to talk about before the wedding.”
“Her brother’s wedding,
