A Spinster’s Guide to Danger and Dukes (Ladies Most Scandalous Book 3)

I’m so pleased my family travails amuse you, Your Grace,” Poppy said tartly, though she was relieved he’d responded to her story with bemusement. If he’d offered sympathy, she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to maintain her composure. “But then, for someone like you, such pedestrian matters as these must seem silly.”

“Leave it to you, Miss Deav— ah, Miss Delamere,” he said, correcting himself, “to refer to your sister’s predicament as pedestrian. I hope no one is so used to hardship that they consider facing the hangman’s noose beneath their notice.”

Before she could retort, he continued, “And I was referring not to your sister’s misfortune, but your own flight and change of identity. It was badly done of me, however, and I offer my apologies. No young woman should feel so unsafe in her family home that she feels the need to flee and go into hiding.”

A frown twisted his generous mouth, and Poppy could see sincerity in his blue eyes. Looking away before he could see how his words had affected her, she said softly, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

It had been a long time since she’d trusted anyone aside from Kate and Caro—and she’d not even trusted them with this particular secret. That it was the Duke of Langham who’d been the one to whom she’d finally revealed all was a shock. But even more surprising was that he’d received the news with equanimity—even compassion.

“I am also sorry for the predicament in which your sister finds herself,” the duke continued, looking serious for once. “I know the magistrate in the area quite well. Sir Geoffrey Stannings and I have been friends since childhood. I know he’s a reasonable man. Perhaps I can say a word on your sister’s behalf. If your sister was justified, or if there is any question of her innocence of the crime, I feel sure he will be persuaded.”

At his words, Poppy blinked. “Your Grace, I wish I had the luxury of saying you needn’t trouble yourself—and if it were just for me, I no doubt would—but this is for my sister, whom I know would not be in her present situation if it weren’t for me, and I have no such luxury.”

“You could certainly try, Miss Delamere,” Langham said pointedly, “but you would not succeed in dissuading me. Little Kidding is my home village, and you will find once we arrive that I hold a great deal of sway there. I will have to learn more about the circumstances that led to her being accused of her husband’s death, but if I find she has been wrongly accused, I will do what I may to correct the situation. Do you know if Scotland Yard has been called in? They usually are in cases as serious as this.”

“I know little more than what was in the London papers this morning,” Poppy said, retrieving the folded copy of The London Gazette from her valise and handing it to him.

The article itself was brief, and by now Poppy had it repeating through her mind like a refrain.

A terrible murder happened in the village of Little Kidding, Bucks. yesterday when Mr. Alistair Lovell of Rothwell Grange was pushed to his death from the bell tower of the long abandoned St. Lucy’s chapel. His body was discovered by Mr. Edward Jarvis, who happened upon the horrible sight while searching for a missing sheep. Suspicion rests upon the dead man’s wife, Violet, who has been taken up by the local constable and awaits her fate with the magistrate.

“Do you know this Mr. Jarvis?” Poppy asked when the duke had folded the newspaper and handed it back to her. “Could he have something to do with Lovell’s murder? I know from working on Kate and Caro’s column that very often the person who discovers the body is responsible for the murder.”

“In this case, I very much doubt it, Miss Delamere,” Langham said, though his frown suggested something about the article troubled him—aside from the fact of the murder, that was.

“But why?” she pressed him. “Is Jarvis elderly or infirm in some way? Has he such an even temper that you cannot fathom him ever behaving violently?”

Langham’s blue eyes were not without sympathy, but he shook his head. “I know Jarvis cannot have had anything to do with your brother-in-law’s death because I know the man as well as I know myself. He is my closest boyhood friend, a cousin in fact, who currently acts as steward on my estate. If he said he was in search of a lost sheep, then you may count on it that he was doing just that.”

If Langham was mistaken about Mr. Jarvis, the fact that the man was the cousin of a duke would make Violet a far more palatable suspect for the authorities. Her face must have shown her dismay, because he leaned forward in his seat and took her hand.

“My dear Miss Delamere,” he told her in a surprisingly gentle voice, “though I know you must be beside yourself with worry over your sister’s predicament, it will do you no good to let every twist and turn play upon your emotions as if each development were a bow and you a violin. You will soon find yourself in no fit state for helping her.”

She knew he was right, and the unexpected softness of his tone made her wish—even if only for a moment—that she could cling to him for comfort.

But then, her backbone reasserted itself and she pulled her hand away. Who was this man, with his title and wealth, who had very likely never endured a single hardship in his life, to tell her how she should react? Had a mere handful of kindnesses from him turned her into a quivering blancmange of gratitude? She had managed well enough on her own for the last two years, and she would manage well enough from now on without him.

Straightening her spine, she schooled her features into an expression she hoped conveyed hauteur. “I thank you for your advice, Your Grace, but I am quite capable of controlling my emotions well enough to give my sister the assistance she needs. There is no need for you to trouble yourself over me.”

He blinked, at her sudden shift in mood, no doubt, but she made no apologies. She needed to remember not to fall prey to his overbearing ways. When he spoke, however, it was only to offer mildly, “But I thought we had agreed that I would speak with the authorities once we arrived. Or did I misunderstand our conversation just now?”

“No, you didn’t,” she replied, vowing to maintain her calm. “However, that was only as pertains to the authorities. When it comes to my person and my emotions, you may rest assured that I need no help.”

A flicker of amusement in his gaze almost threatened to send her into a temper again. Really, what was it about this man that had her melting in appreciation one minute and boiling with rage the next?

“I sense, Miss Delamere,” he drawled, “that when it comes to accepting assistance you have difficulty conceding gracefully. Especially when it comes to your…ah…person and emotions.”

Something in his tone made her suspicious, but she nodded despite herself. She’d always had an independent streak—even as a child, when she’d resented even her nursemaid’s attempts to help her perform daily tasks. “Perhaps,” she said, and left it at that.

As if he hadn’t noticed her reticence to discuss the matter further, he went on. “Then may I suggest that we enter into a barter of sorts? I will do my damnedest to help your sister out of her current situation, if you will be so good as to help me with a problem that has recently befallen me. I have need of a lady at the moment, you see, and—”

Poppy frowned. What possible problem might trouble the duke? Could it be that the rarified life of the Duke of Langham was not so perfect as it at first appeared?

Then, like a sting from a bee she hadn’t even known was near, she felt a prick of understanding. Hadn’t she read in the gossip pages that the duke and his mistress, one of the most celebrated actresses of the London stage, had recently parted ways? Was he suggesting that she take Nell Burgoyne’s place in his bed in exchange for his help?

A bubble of outrage rose up in her and she hissed, “How dare you, sirrah?”

Rather than guilt, however, his expression betrayed…puzzlement? “I hardly think it’s such an unreasonable suggestion. I have a problem that you can assist me with, and you have a problem I can assist you with. It’s an elegant solution to both our problems.”

If anything, she was even more livid. “An elegant solution? My sister is facing the gallows, you odious man, and you propose that I should trade my body for your assistance in the matter? I had no notion you were such a villain or I would never—”

Poppy was so overset that she lurched to her feet, though where she intended to go, she had no idea. It wasn’t as if she could step out of a moving train carriage. But the car itself was large enough that she could at the very least attempt to put as much distance between herself and the duke as possible.

But as soon as she made to move away from him, the train took a turn and she found herself for the second time that day pressed against his hard chest. When the choice was between falling to the floor and remaining upright, her body chose the latter.

“For such a clever woman, Miss Delamere,” Langham said as he gripped her upper arms, “you can be quite the hair wit.”

Then, with a gentlemanly consideration she very much resented, he assisted her back into her seat. She stared at him as he resettled himself and looked back at her with what she guessed was a glare that matched her own.

“Explain yourself,” she said curtly, though she was beginning to think she’d made an embarrassing mistake.

“I will generously agree to overlook your shocking assumption that I was angling to have you repay my help by pressing you into becoming my mistress,” the duke said frostily. “But only because I suspect you are fatigued from worrying about your sister’s plight. If you were a man I would, in all likelihood, have shown my displeasure at your assumption with my fists. I do not believe I have ever shown myself as to be the sort of man who would take advantage of a lady’s vulnerability in such a manner.”

She swallowed, feeling a surge of color rise in her cheeks. He was right on all counts. She was tired. She’d been up since the wee hours of the morning when she’d read the news of Lovell’s murder, and it felt as if she hadn’t stopped moving since. But what’s more, he was right about his own character as he’d displayed it to her thus far.

Even in the descriptions of his exploits, which she’d read with shameful fascination in the gossip columns over the past few years, there’d never been even so much as a hint that he’d ever behaved in less than a gentlemanly manner.

“I…I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said haltingly. “Truly, I cannot understand why I came to such a foolish conclusion. I suppose you are correct that I am exhausted from worrying over Violet, and my mind conjured a ridiculous notion. I hope you can forgive me.”

She forced herself to look at him, though every muscle screamed against it. And to her surprise, she saw not the wrathful mien she expected, but one of dry amusement.

“Oh, do not don a hair shirt and flog yourself in remorse, I beg you,” he said blithely. “Though I must say ladies do not usually have such a strong negative reaction to the prospect of bedding me.”

To her shame, for the barest fraction of a second, she allowed herself to consider what it might be like to be the focus of all that aristocratic intensity and felt a shiver dance down her spine. If the gossip sheets were to be believed, he was quite popular with the demimonde. Little doubt then that he was quite proficient at such things. Still, that was no excuse for assuming he had offered his assistance with the intention of taking liberties with her.

“I do apologize,” she pressed. “Although our acquaintance is a new one, you have always behaved with propriety, and I should have known better than to think—”

He held up a staying hand. “If you insist upon it, then pray accept my forgiveness so that we may move past this awkwardness. There is not much longer until we arrive in Little Kidding, and I wish to make my plan known to you before our arrival.”

Curious now as to what it was that he would require of her, she nodded for him to continue.

“When I arrive at Langham Abbey,” the duke said with a frown, “my grandmother will have a number of eligible young ladies there waiting to pounce on the chance to become duchess. I have no intention of marrying any of them—my own tastes and my grandmother’s diverging in all but the most superficial ways. It would save all concerned a great deal of difficulty if I were to arrive with a betrothed already on my arm.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean me, surely? Why, you didn’t even know my true identity before a short while ago. And though I am flattered, Your Grace—”

Perhaps realizing he should clarify, Langham interrupted. “Do not compose your rejection just yet, Miss Delamere. What I am proposing is a betrothal for the duration of this week’s house party only. I will do what I may to assist your sister, and you will dance attendance on me during the week. Once we have managed to extricate ourselves from our contretemps, you will cry off and we will go back our separate ways, neither of us the worse for wear. Indeed, you will have your sister back, it is to be hoped, and I will be free to live another year without a wife.”

“Until your grandmother decides to try again next year, I would think,” Poppy said with a tilt of her head.

“That will be for me to worry about. Now, what do you say, dear lady?” Langham’s blue eyes were lit with a mix of amusement and sincerity. And Poppy had to admit that however difficult he might be at times, he was an appealing man. “Will you save me from Grandmama’s ravening horde of prospective duchesses?”

If she were entirely honest with herself, her flight from London that morning, with no more than a brief note’s notice to Kate and Caro, had been rash. She’d seen Violet’s name in the paper and was compelled to go to her. She’d formulated no plan for where she would stay, or how she would go about attempting to clear her name. She didn’t even have the most basic knowledge of Little Kidding and its environs.

The duke’s offer was, in truth, a godsend.

What was one more week of playing another role, after all? She had done so for the past two years in London with no one the wiser. If it meant Langham would use his considerable influence to help Violet, Poppy would pretend to be his fiancée while wearing yellow cross-gartered stockings and dancing a jig.

Still, she could not help but warn him about the possible ramifications of their charade once it was over. “If the dowager is anything like the matchmaking ladies I’ve heard about, she will not simply give up once our supposed betrothal is at an end.”

“Of course she won’t,” he said with a scowl, “but she’s put me in a dashed difficult position. The very fact she’s invited these ladies will have raised expectations in them. Not only will I have to act the host, but I will also have to try my damnedest to dampen their attentions without offending them. By agreeing to my proposal, you will save me a great deal of trouble. When we announce our betrothal, all will be disappointed at once, and I need not concern myself overmuch with their feelings.”

“Ah yes, killing multiple birds with one stone,” Poppy said dryly. It was a relief to know he hadn’t metamorphosed into total selflessness all at once. “What a paragon of efficiency you are, Your Grace.”

“If I were truly efficient, I’d have them ejected from the abbey as soon as we arrive,” the duke retorted. “But I’m not quite that lost to good manners. Besides, I do not wish to embarrass them, or my grandmother. I simply don’t intend to end up leg-shackled to one of them.”

Perhaps reading skepticism in her expression, he continued, “Shocking though it may be, I do not go out of my way to be unkind to those in my orbit. But the truth of it is that I could insult everyone I encounter save the queen and they’d never make their displeasure known to me. What I think of them matters very little. It’s what I can do for them that matters. Such is the double-edged sword of being a duke.”

Something about his tone, the way he took it for granted that these ladies—indeed “most people,” he’d said—cared more for his title than the man who held it, sent a pang of empathy through Poppy.

Was there anyone in Langham’s life who cared about him without expecting something in return? Even his former mistress, Nell Burgoyne, whom she understood he’d cared about in his own way, had, if the rumors were true, profited handsomely from their arrangement.

All at once she knew what she would do. “I’ll agree to your sham betrothal,” she said with a suddenness that startled Langham from his casual pose.

“You will?” The smile he gave her was boyishly charming. “Never say it was that rot about the way I’m treated. I can assure you that while everything I said was true, the dukedom is no hardship. What’s a little fawning when one has multiple estates and can have one’s pick among the season’s loveliest?”

“Do you want my assistance or not?” Poppy demanded, though she suspected he was only trying to amuse her.

Sitting up straighter and pulling at his cuffs, the duke sighed. “Yes, I want you to help me, Miss Delamere.”

Grateful to have something to focus on other than her sister for the rest of the journey, Poppy straightened her spine as well. “Then we’d better get to work. If we’re to convince your grandmother that we’re betrothed, then we need to get our stories straight.”

“How fortunate then, that we have the rest of the train ride to do so,” he said blandly.

She glanced down at her plain gown and frowned. “My wardrobe is hardly the sort to endear me to the dowager Duchess of Langham. I’ll be a pigeon among the fine feathers of the prospective brides she’s invited to your estate.”

But Langham waved off her concern. “It will reassure her that ours is a love match. After all, what if not true love would make a man of refinement like myself look past that abomination of a dress to see the true beauty beyond it? Besides, my sisters will be there and have far too many gowns as it is. I’m sure they’ll have something for you to borrow.”

Poppy only just stopped herself from objecting to his characterization of her traveling ensemble. In part because he was right. It was an ugly dress. But it was also perfect for her role as the hardworking Miss Flora Deaver, secretary to Lady Katherine.

She’d had any number of fine gowns when she’d lived with her family. They’d been purchased in the hopes of helping her catch Alistair Lovell’s eye. At the memory she felt a wave of anxiety wash over her. Violet had been forced to marry him in her absence, and now he was dead. This arrangement with the duke wasn’t a game; it was a necessity for gaining her sister’s freedom, and she would do well to remember it.

“I’m glad you see a way for my meager wardrobe to help our cause,” she said aloud. “And I will remind you that I shall need to find where my sister is being held as soon as we arrive in Little Kidding. I realize you will wish to make for your estate straight away, but she’s only eighteen and must be frightened out of her wits.”

He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “I’m not entirely without feeling, Miss Delamere. Of course we will visit her first thing. It was my intention to do so whether you’d agreed to my proposal or not.”

The casualness with which he made this declaration almost took her breath away, making Poppy feel even more churlish for her earlier misunderstanding of his motives.

She squeezed his arm, and said softly, “Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for your assistance in this matter. I was ready to fight for Violet on my own, but having your help has lifted a weight from my shoulders.”

“Do not thank me yet,” he warned her. “We have still to clear your sister’s name. And there is also the matter of introducing you to my family. I’m not sure in the long run that you will find our arrangement to be an even trade.”

Langham might be high-handed and arrogant, but he was not, it seemed, as unfeeling as she’d at first thought. She’d do well to remember that the next time she had the impulse to strangle him with his own neckcloth.