with her son did much to restore Ellen’s spirits and she remained in the nursery until it was time to change into her ball gown. She had no qualms about leaving Jamie: Matlock had been Ellen’s own nursemaid and later, her dresser. Matty loved the little boy as much as she did.
After a solitary dinner Ellen went back up to the nursery. Little James was tucked up in his bed by then and fast asleep, so she dropped a gentle kiss on his golden head.
‘He looks like an angel,’ she murmured, gazing lovingly at her son. ‘I could stay here looking at him for ever.’
‘And what good would that do either of you, ma’am?’ asked Matlock, bustling around the room. ‘You go off and enjoy yourself. Master James will be perfectly safe with Hannah and me.’
Ellen sighed. ‘Ah, Matty, do you really think I enjoy these parties?’
‘Well, you says not, ma’am, but there’s no doubting you need to mix with people and to have some sensible conversation, which you won’t get with a three-year-old, and that’s a fact.’
Ellen laughed. ‘Sensible conversation! There is little enough of that to be had in society, Matty, I assure you. But you are right, it will serve no one if I become a recluse.’
With a smile and a wave of her hand she went downstairs and out to the waiting carriage.
* * *
‘Your Grace? Duke?’
Max started and turned to his hostess, quickly begging her pardon. He had been Duke of Rossenhall for over a year, but he had still not grown accustomed to the title. His hostess brushed aside his apology, not at all offended by his inattention. It was as if polite manners were unnecessary for a duke.
‘I was merely saying that it is time we were leaving for the Granby, Your Grace.’
‘Must we, Georgiana?’ Max grimaced, but followed it quickly with a smile, to show he meant no offence. ‘I would as lief enjoy a quiet evening here with you and Fred.’
‘Well, that ain’t possible,’ Frederick Arncliffe told him bluntly. ‘Georgie promised that she’d bring you to the ball tonight.’
Max threw him a look of pained reproach. ‘And I thought you were my friends. I am beginning to regret my decision to visit you.’
‘You know Georgie and I would do anything for you, old boy, but your presence here ain’t a secret. Dash it all, Max, you are even staying at the Granby!’
‘I had little choice, at such short notice,’ Max retorted. ‘If my business in York had not been concluded so swiftly I should not have come at all.’ Which they all knew was not the truth. Georgiana had written to him, explaining that Fred’s health was deteriorating rapidly, and Max had always intended to cut short his visit to York and call on his friend. Not that he would ever admit as much to Fred, of course, so now he scowled and added, ‘I should not have come near Harrogate if I had known you would want to show me off in this absurd fashion.’
Fred grinned. ‘What is the point of being acquainted with a duke if we can’t make use of him?’
‘And everyone knows you are here to visit Frederick, so they would naturally expect you to attend the ball with us,’ added Georgie. ‘Think what an honour you will be conferring on the hotel.’
‘I am thinking of it,’ said Max bitterly.
Frederick laughed. ‘I know you are not one for dancing and gaiety, my friend, but it will look very odd if you shut yourself in your rooms while Georgie and I are in the building.’ He sobered a little when he saw the look on Max’s face. ‘Do you think that because I am dying I should spend my remaining months hidden away?’
‘No, of course I don’t think that,’ said Max at once. ‘I beg your pardon, Fred. I am being odiously selfish, but having read Georgie’s letter I expected to find you at death’s door.’
‘And so I am,’ said his friend with brutal frankness. ‘I can no longer exert myself on the dance floor, but I love to sit and watch, and to see Georgie enjoying herself.’
Max regarded him in silence. Frederick Arncliffe was a former shadow of the strong soldier Max had known, but although the doctors had only given him months to live his zest for life was undimmed, and Max knew that any attempt at sympathy would offend him, so he offered none.
‘So I am to be paraded through the rooms,’ he said as they made their way out to the carriage. ‘Like some strange creature in a menagerie!’
‘That’s right.’ Fred chuckled, taking his arm. ‘You’ll be courted and toadied as if you were Prinny himself.’
Max shot him a look. ‘I am growing accustomed to that.’
Was he really? As a younger son he had never expected to succeed to the title. His father had bought him a commission in the army and convinced Max that his presence at Rossenhall was unnecessary. Even when the old Duke died Max was informed by his brother that he was not needed at home. That had caught Max on the raw, but Hugo had only recently taken a bride and Max understood that they would want time alone together. Everyone had expected an heir to follow the marriage, it was just a matter of time. Five years later there were still no children and Hugo’s untimely death just over a year ago had been a shock. For six months Max had refused to accept that he was now Duke of Rossenhall and continued with his military duties, convinced that the estates could go on very well without him. In his decision he was supported by Atherwell, his chief steward, and he had left the administration of his affairs to him and the Duchess, his widowed sister-in-law. The new Duke of Rossenhall was content to let the world pass him by.
Unfortunately for Max, the world had other ideas. He had thought remaining in the army would protect him from scheming parents with daughters to marry off, but he soon realised his mistake. Everywhere he was courted, fêted and pursued as England’s most eligible bachelor and he hated it. Even his best friend was not above matchmaking. Fred had written to Max, hinting that his little sister would make a fine duchess. Since Clare Arncliffe was barely sixteen, more than ten years Max’s junior, he had ignored the suggestion, but the subsequent letters suggested that Fred had taken his silence for acquiescence.
Max had always planned to tell Fred at some point that such a match was out of the question, but had never got around to it, deciding it was something that should be done face to face. Now Georgie’s most recent letter, informing him that the doctors had given Fred only months to live, had put paid to that. He had come to High Harrogate, determined to spend what little time was left with his friend, and if that involved accompanying him to the odd ball, then so be it.
Having resigned himself to the inevitable, Max climbed into the carriage with his friends for the short journey from their rented house in Low Harrogate up the hill to the Granby. The approach to the hotel was already choked with carriages when they arrived and Fred muttered darkly, ‘Confound it, Georgie, you must have told the world and his wife His Grace the Duke of Rossenhall would be present tonight.’
‘Nonsense,’ she replied comfortably. ‘I told only Lady Bilbrough.’
‘Which means it was all over Harrogate within the hour,’ retorted her fond spouse. ‘Oh, well, I suppose we had best go in. Never mind, Max, you can tell them you do not dance tonight and sit at the side with me.’
‘Oh,
