Regency Surrender: Powerful Dukes: An Unsuitable Duchess / An Uncommon Duke

Chapter Ten

The next morning Katrina was still not fully awake as she sat in the dining room, having breakfast with her father. She took a bite of her toast, and her eyes alighted upon a few sentences in the Morning Chronicle.

The crunchy bread got stuck in her throat and she began to cough.

There was an account of an ‘eligible Duke’ dancing with a ‘foreign lady’ at Almack’s. Speculation was that the ‘eligible Duke’ was looking for a bride, and the ‘foreign lady’ was attempting to gain a title.

Her father handed her his napkin. ‘I was wondering when you would see it. All the newspapers have something to say about your dance. Apparently London has been eagerly awaiting any indication that Lyonsdale is interested in marriage, and if an eligible man attends Almack’s it’s assumed he is in search of a bride. One newspaper speculates that there might be a romance forming between you.’

‘But he was there to escort his mother and his grandmother.’

‘I doubt he would tell you if he was looking for a bride.’

Katrina pushed the paper away, feeling unsettled by the attention. ‘Then why dance with me? Obviously I cannot be under consideration.’

‘That didn’t stop the rumours that you are searching for a title.’

‘I’ve danced with a number of titled gentlemen while we’ve been here. He is not the first one.’

‘Yes, but you have not danced with an unattached man of his rank. A duke who never dances the waltz and suddenly does so with you will cause people to speculate.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Why do you think he asked you?’

That very question had kept her up most of the night, and she still had no answer. She would eventually return to New York, and he would remain in England—probably married to some dull daughter of another duke. Glancing at her toast, Katrina dropped it onto her plate. Her appetite was gone.

* * *

The moment Julian entered his breakfast room he knew something was amiss. Apart from the servants his mother was there alone, and there was already a glass of what he assumed was sherry in her hand. Just as he was about to take his first sip of coffee she slid the newspapers closer to him.

‘Have you read them yet?’ she asked.

‘No. Why?’

‘Because you are in all of them. You and that American.’

The servants didn’t need to witness this discussion. He signalled for them to leave and searched for the gossip column in the paper closest to him.

‘What do they say?’

‘That you danced with her.’

It was too early to deal with his mother’s irrational ranting. He pushed the paper aside and took a sip of his coffee. ‘It was only a dance.’

‘They are saying you are looking for a bride.’

‘That should make you happy.’

‘Having every Mayfair mother attempt to shove their daughter your way—hardly. They say she is looking for a title.’

‘Miss Vandenberg? They obviously have never spoken to the lady.’

‘Careful, Lyonsdale. She may seek to trap you.’

‘Miss Vandenberg is the last woman in all of London who would trap me.’

‘Then you have no designs on her?’

‘Of course not. As I said, it was just a dance.’

And it was. Wasn’t it?

* * *

Later that morning Katrina was composing a letter to her cousin John when she heard a carriage roll to a stop outside her home. Peering through the linen curtains of the drawing room, she tried to see who it was.

As she shifted her body and tilted her head further Wilkins knocked on the open door to inform her that she had a caller. He seemed to be standing a little taller. When she picked up the card from the silver salver she blinked twice at the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale’s name.

It could not be a coincidence that she was calling on Katrina the very day the papers had printed gossip about Katrina and the woman’s grandson. If only she had time for a glass of Madeira.

When the slight old woman slowly entered the room, Katrina dropped into a curtsy and felt the weight of the Dowager’s studied gaze.

Drawing on her diplomatic experience, Katrina smiled politely. ‘Your Grace, I am honoured by your call.’

The Dowager’s eyes were sharp and assessing. With a slight lift of her chin, she held herself with a commanding air. ‘Good day, Miss Vandenberg. I wanted to call on you to thank you for your generous gift.’

At least she hadn’t demanded Katrina leave the country.

‘Would you care for some tea?’ Katrina offered, gesturing towards the settee and chairs near the fireplace.

‘Tea would be lovely.’ The Dowager perched her small, erect frame on the settee. ‘Shall we wait for your mother?’

Katrina sat in one of the bergère chairs and nodded to Wilkins for tea. ‘My mother passed away many years ago.’

The Dowager’s eyes narrowed. ‘My mother died when I was an infant. I have no memory of her.’

‘Nor I. Mine died two days after I was born.’

A look of understanding passed between them.

The Dowager cleared her throat. ‘I assume your father has hired a companion for you, while you are in London?’

Katrina shook her head. Her Great-Aunt Augusta, who had been more a mother to her than anyone, had passed away ten months before. She would have accompanied them to London. Having someone else living with them in her place would have been too painful a reminder of her loss.

‘He offered, but I declined.’

‘That sounds rather lonely. Surely you have someone to chaperon you when you are attending your social engagements?’

‘I do not mind solitude. And the wife of the American Minister has been kind enough to chaperon me on most occasions. Other times I have my maid, who has been with me for many years.’

‘I assume having other Americans around you has eased your adjustment somewhat?’

‘It has.’ Katrina could tell she was being measured by the Duke of Lyonsdale’s grandmother. She just wasn’t sure why.

‘I find it surprising that your father will be involved in negotiating a treaty between our two countries. I doubt anyone here would ask Byron or Scott to do such a thing.’

‘My father is a barrister as well as an author. He has presented cases to our Supreme Court and performed services for President Monroe.’

‘I see.’ The Dowager was silent as she openly took in her surroundings. ‘Will your father remain with the American delegation in London after the negotiations are complete?’

‘As yet he has not been asked to do so.’

How long did it take to make tea?

The Dowager nodded thoughtfully and clasped her hands on her lap. ‘You must convey my appreciation to your father for the book he sent me.’

‘I will let him know when he returns home today. Are you a great reader?’

The Dowager inclined her head. ‘In my youth I read often. I fear that with age my eyes are not what they once were. Most days I have my maid read to me. It is easier on my eyes.’

Finally Wilkins entered with the tea tray. ‘Will there be anything else, miss?’

Katrina had taken note of the Dowager’s slight frame. ‘Yes, Wilkins, I believe a nice log on the fire will do, on such a dreary day.’

The Dowager’s body appeared to relax slightly as the cosy fire warmed the room.

‘How would you care to have your tea?’

‘With some milk and four lumps of sugar, please.’

Before she caught herself, Katrina’s brows rose in surprise. Her Great-Aunt Augusta had enjoyed her tea very sweet, as well. Preparing the cup brought back fond memories of the times when she’d used to sit with the woman who had raised her. She had been her mother’s aunt, and of a similar age to the Dowager. There was something in the Dowager’s eyes that reminded her of her aunt.

‘An extra sweet or two never hurt anyone,’ the Dowager explained, with the faintest hint of a smile.

Katrina grinned and inclined her head. ‘My Great-Aunt Augusta would certainly have agreed.’

‘Then your great-aunt had exceptional taste,’ she said with a sparkle in her eye. She accepted the Wedgwood cup from Katrina. ‘I understand you are acquainted with my grandson?’

Knowing this was the true intention behind the unexpected visit, Katrina focused her attention on pouring herself tea. ‘I am.’

‘I assume you have seen the papers today?’

Katrina placed her cup on the table in case the Dowager’s words left her with shaking hands. ‘Yes, I have.’

‘What are your feelings on the speculation, Miss Vandenberg?’

‘His Grace showed a polite courtesy in asking me to dance. There is nothing more to it. The papers seek to sensationalise the mundane to sell copies. In truth, my only concern is how my actions reflect on my father and his work here.’

The Dowager’s features softened and she took a sip of her tea. ‘You’ll have to acquire a thick skin to live among us. The papers have something to say about everyone. Do not let what they print concern you.’

‘Thank you, but I believe my actions will not warrant comment in the future. I am not an outrageous creature to garner their attention.’ And for that Katrina was grateful.

Her comment seemed to appease the Dowager, and the remainder of her visit was spent discussing their shared love of reading and Katrina’s tour of the Waterloo Battlefield.

By the time the Dowager left, Katrina knew her to be not only elegant in manner, but kind-hearted as well. She had extended an invitation to Katrina to call on her at Lyonsdale House, and even informed her that on Monday afternoons at two she was always at home to receive calls. She had also informed Katrina there was no need to bring a chaperon.

It would be rude not to return the call, and if Katrina was honest with herself she was curious to see Lyonsdale’s home...

Chapter Eleven

Katrina stood at the front door of Lyonsdale House and studied the wavy grain of the polished wood. While this door was similar in size to the door of her own London home, this building was much larger. All she needed to do was lift the brass knocker. And yet she couldn’t manage to raise her hand above her waist.

The Dowager had invited Katrina to call on her. She’d even specified a time that would be most convenient for her. And, while it wasn’t exactly a normal calling hour, it did show she had been sincere in her invitation. Didn’t it?

If Katrina didn’t knock soon, the posy of violets in her hand would be reduced to a wilted mess. She glanced down and wondered if she should have brought them. Her Great-Aunt Augusta had always enjoyed it when Katrina had brought her flowers from the garden. It had seemed to brighten her spirits. But this woman was a dowager duchess. Maybe it simply wasn’t done. She was about to toss the bouquet into a row of nearby boxwoods when the door suddenly opened.

Standing before her was a slim, grey-haired man that Katrina assumed was Lyonsdale’s butler. He eyed her with a speculative gaze, before his focus dropped to the flowers in her hand. ‘May I help you, miss?’

Katrina straightened her shoulders and gave him a polite smile. ‘Yes, thank you. I was wondering if the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale is receiving.’

His gaze dropped once again to the flowers. ‘Do you have a card?’

There was little question that she should have tossed the flowers. It was too late now. The man had made it a point to let her know he had seen them.

There was almost a look of recognition when he read her card. ‘This way, miss,’ he said, allowing her to step foot inside the hallowed hall of Lyonsdale’s grand home. ‘I will inform Her Grace that you are here.’

Katrina’s footsteps echoed down the hall as she was shown into an ornately decorated drawing room. Gold cherubs flew along the gilded mouldings that ran along the high ceiling, and life-size portraits of past generations stared down at her from their lofty positions on the crimson silk walls. The room smelled of almond oil, no doubt from the freshly polished doors and furniture.

Not certain where to sit, Katrina decided on a bergère chair in the grouping of seats closest to the door. She stared at the portrait of an austere gentleman across from her, who wore a ruffled collar. From his perch on the wall, he didn’t seem to like her flowers either.

She was beginning to believe the butler had forgotten about her when she was greeted by the warm smile of the Dowager.

‘Miss Vandenberg, this is an unexpected surprise.’ The Dowager took a seat opposite Katrina and her gaze dropped to the flowers. ‘What do you have there?’

Katrina handed her the posy that had reminded her of home. ‘These were growing in our garden. They were so lovely I thought I’d share them with you.’

The Dowager’s eyes grew misty. ‘My son would pick violets for me when he was a small child. They bring to mind such cherished memories. Thank you.’

At least she hadn’t committed another faux pas. ‘You are most welcome. I’m glad they give you pleasure.’

Their conversation was interrupted when the butler entered the room, carrying a tea tray.

‘I have grown accustomed to enjoying a cup of tea around this time,’ the Dowager said. She handed the flowers to her butler. ‘Reynolds, do see to these and bring them back here.’

The Dowager poured tea into two of three Sèvres porcelain cups, remembering that Katrina liked it with milk and only one lump of sugar.

Reynolds returned with the flowers in a small gilded vase, and the Dowager signalled to him to place it on the table closest to her.

‘Have you had the opportunity to see more of London since we last spoke?’ she asked, stirring her four lumps of sugar into her tea.

‘I went with the Forresters to see the new exhibition at the Royal Academy yesterday. The paintings were lovely. I especially enjoyed one of fairies by a Mr Henry Howard.’

‘Are you fond of art?’

‘Yes, very much so.’

‘Then I must introduce you to the Duchess of Winterbourne. Olivia is a lovely woman, and I believe the two of you might share some interests.’

There was something unidentifiable about the Dowager that continued to remind Katrina of her great-aunt. Both women had the ability to fill her with a sense of comfort.

She was about to respond when the sound of heavy footfalls drifted in from the entrance hall. Both she and the Dowager turned towards the doorway and found Lyonsdale standing on the threshold. He was dressed in a bottle-green tail coat, brown waistcoat, and buckskin breeches. And he appeared to be just as startled as Katrina to find themselves staring at one another.

‘Do come in, my boy,’ the Dowager said with a bright smile. ‘I believe you’re acquainted with Miss Vandenberg?’

There was a slight hesitation in his stride, and he narrowed his gaze at his grandmother. ‘Of course. Good day, Miss Vandenberg,’ he said, executing a perfect bow.

The sound of his voice left her with flutters low in her abdomen. ‘Good day, Your Grace.’

The Dowager motioned to the chair next to Katrina. ‘Would you care to join us? A nice cup of tea might be just the thing after your long committee meeting.’

Katrina found it difficult to determine if she wanted him to stay or if it would be better for him to leave them.

‘I would not wish to interrupt your discussion.’

Horrid, fickle man!

‘Nonsense. Miss Vandenberg and I were just beginning our visit. There is nothing to interrupt.’

He inclined his head and took the seat next to Katrina. Her heart turned over unexpectedly.

‘You are back early today,’ the Dowager continued.

‘No, I return home at exactly this time each Monday when the committee is in session.’

So this was one of the ways a duke occupied himself during the day. ‘Is this a Parliamentary committee?’ Katrina asked.

He accepted the tea and shifted his gaze to her. ‘It is.’

‘What does your committee meet about?’

‘We are investigating the effects of working conditions on child labourers.’

‘You are?’

He lifted his chin, as if he was anticipating derision. ‘I assure you it is a valid issue, and one that needs to be addressed.’

It wasn’t necessary to point that out to her. She was simply surprised that a man of his substantial wealth had any interest in the children of the poor.

‘I agree. It’s commendable that your committee has taken up the cause for those who are frequently neglected.’

‘We have just begun our interviews. Our aim is to ensure these children are neither exploited nor harmed.’ His gaze drifted to the flowers. ‘I see the violets are multiplying,’ he commented to his grandmother. ‘This is the first time you have seen fit to display them outside your rooms.’

The Dowager gave Katrina a warm smile. ‘These are from Miss Vandenberg. She was kind enough to bring them to me.’

He did nothing to hide his surprise. ‘You have brought my grandmother flowers?’

‘I have. I found them beautiful and wished to share them with her,’ she stated, annoyed with herself for feeling the need to explain her actions to him.

‘I would have assumed you would favour orchids or some other rare, exotic bloom.’

‘I am partial to simpler things. I do not need the world to confirm a pedigree for me to appreciate beauty.’

He studied her over his teacup, and she found the room was growing rather warm.

‘They match your eyes.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The violets—they are the same colour as your eyes.’

It was impossible to pull her gaze from his—that was until the Dowager gave a discreet cough.

‘Miss Vandenberg, would you care to see our library?’ she asked. ‘With your fondness for books, I am certain you will find something of interest to borrow.’ She turned to Lyonsdale. ‘With your permission, of course.’

‘That is a fine idea. Please, by all means, Miss Vandenberg. My library is at your disposal.’ He sat back in his chair and took a sip of his tea.

Katrina now had an excuse to remove herself from his presence. Maybe it would relieve her of the restless feeling that hadn’t gone away since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘Capital,’ the Dowager replied with a broad smile. ‘I shall wait here while you escort her.’

‘Me?’ he spluttered, and appeared to be thinking up an excuse as to why he wasn’t available.

‘It is your library,’ his grandmother explained. ‘You know it far better than anyone else in this house. Besides, I’ve had a dull ache in my legs all day. I do not expect you will take long.’

If Katrina hadn’t been paying such close attention to him she might have missed his hesitation before he turned back to her.

‘Shall we, Miss Vandenberg?’

They entered the hallway in silence, walking side by side. After a few moments she turned to him. ‘You do not need to remain with me while I make my selection. I am certain I will be able to find my way back to the drawing room.’

‘Are you attempting to remove yourself from my company?’

‘Not at all. I simply assume you have pressing matters that require your attention.’

‘I find I can think of nothing at the moment that is more pressing than helping you obtain something for your enjoyment.’

This time when he spoke his voice was warm and friendly.

She had provided him with an excuse. If he chose not to take it, it was no longer her concern.

‘Your grandmother called on me recently,’ she said, as a way to explain her presence in his home.

‘I assumed she must have.’

‘She is a lovely woman.’

‘That’s debatable.’

‘Come, now—she is quite affable.’

He shook his head. ‘That is one word to describe her. I can think of others.’

‘You are very fortunate to have her.’

Their arms inadvertently brushed against one another, and he placed some distance between them. After a few more steps he moved his hands behind his back as they continued down the long hall.

‘If you had a grandmother like mine you might have a different opinion on the matter.’

‘I did not know either of my grandmothers. They passed away before I was born.’

He lowered his head and looked at her with regret. ‘Please forgive me. I should have thought before I spoke.’

He might not appreciate his grandmother, but she did. She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘No apology is necessary.’

They strolled through an ornately carved archway and entered a long wood-panelled extension of the hall. To their right, tall windows with blue damask silk draperies brought muted light into the room. The opposite wall was covered with life-size portraits of men in various poses and attire.

Katrina paused and looked over the portraits of the men who were staring down at them. She advanced further and their superior gazes followed her.

‘Who are they?’

He appeared to stand taller, if that was even possible. ‘May I introduce you to the Dukes of Lyonsdale?’

Her eyes widened as she spun around. ‘All of them?’

He let out a soft laugh at her obvious amazement. ‘We are missing one. However, every man in this room has held my title at one time. My ducal title is one of the oldest in England.’

In Katrina’s dining room at their country home in Tarrytown her mother’s portrait hung on the wall behind the chair where she had sat. Her father said it reminded him that she was still somehow with them. He also carried a miniature of her mother on his person. The only other portraits of her family were one of her father and one of his parents. Lyonsdale had many, many more.

Near the doorway they had walked through hung the portrait of a man with dark curly hair, wearing armour. His sword was raised in the air as he sat upon his steed. From his expression she gathered he would be happy to use that sword on her if she moved the wrong way. He was an intimidating sight.

Lyonsdale approached her. ‘That is Edward Carlisle, the First Duke of Lyonsdale. He was awarded the title by King Henry the Seventh for service to the crown in battle.’

‘Which battle?’

‘The Battle of Bosworth.’

Well, that explained nothing. She continued to study the designs on the man’s armour.

‘The Battle of Bosworth took place during the War of the Roses.’

He might just as well have been speaking Italian.

‘You have heard of the War of the Roses, haven’t you?’

She shook her head while she looked up at the superior expression of the First Duke. ‘Do you know when he was given the title?’

‘Of course—in the year 1485, not long after Henry was crowned King.’ He placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels.

Lyonsdale knew what his ancestor had been doing in 1485. She knew little of her family’s history past her grandparents. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips.

He appeared affronted. ‘What have I said that you find so amusing?’

‘All I know of my family is that my great-grandfather came to America from Holland and was proficient in building ships. That is how my father came to inherit our shipyard in New York.’

There was no telling if his shocked expression was at the lack of information she possessed or her ancestor’s occupation.

‘Surely you know more than that?’

‘No. That is all I know,’ she said with a shrug. ‘My father may know more.’ She knew nothing of her mother’s family. It had never occurred to her to ask.

Lyonsdale appeared to be catatonic. He wasn’t even blinking.

‘Would you like to tell me about the others?’

It took him a minute to answer. ‘What others?’