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

Langham hadn’t been apprehensive to enter a room since he’d been a schoolboy facing punishment at Eton.

So, it was a novel feeling to watch for signs of animus in the faces of his sister Charlotte—Genia must have been getting her children settled—and the other assembled guests in the drawing room. He didn’t give a hang what they might think of him, but Poppy wasn’t accustomed to this kind of scrutiny. And he was damned if he’d allow her to be insulted in his own house.

She might be just as adept as he was at hiding her true feelings, but he’d seen the way she’d reacted to Short’s harsh words earlier. She was not, as she’d have him believe, impervious to insult. And if he could protect her from the harsher reactions of the assembled guests to the news of their betrothal, then he’d do so.

And it was clear from the way his grandmother surveyed the crowd that however much she might have objected to Poppy in private, she was now taking her under her wing.

“I know some of you have already been privy to the news,” the dowager said after she had introduced Poppy to the assembled gathering, “but I am simply delighted to learn that my dear Langham has chosen a bride for himself at last. I should have known he would choose an original. He has always had a way of surprising us all, hasn’t he?”

Langham watched in amusement as one of their neighbors, Mrs. Simkins, all but leapt bodily from her chair to offer it to the dowager, who inclined her head and indicated that Poppy should take the chair beside it, despite the fact that it was already occupied by Lady Adele Chambers.

The younger woman, who might have expected to retain her chair, given that she was the daughter of an earl, frowned, but relinquished her seat and moved to stand on the other side of the room.

“It certainly shocked me,” Charlotte said with a raised brow and a glare in Langham’s direction. Clearly, she was not over her annoyance from their encounter at the train station. He had hoped that realizing just how rude she’d been to Poppy would have given his sister some degree of shame over her actions, but stubbornness was a family trait.

“Especially,” Charlotte continued, “given the fact that my brother and his betrothed cast proprieties to the wind and traveled together without benefit of even a maid to offer chaperonage.”

A small gasp went up from the ladies in the room, and the duke fought the urge to roll his eyes. His grandmother was right. This insistence upon propriety above all else was foolish. Would it have been better for Poppy to ride in a crowded train compartment with a contingent of strangers?

He was about to say as much when Poppy spoke. “How kind of you to worry about my reputation, Lady Felton,” she said, settling her teacup back onto its saucer. “But I’m afraid it could not be helped. My own maid became indisposed just as we were about to depart, and there was no time to find another. But His Grace’s valet was there with us in the train carriage. It was all perfectly respectable, I assure you. Besides, we are betrothed, after all.”

“Your maid must have been indisposed to let you out of the house in a gown like that,” murmured Miss Louisa Beaconfield in a voice low enough not to be heard by the dowager. A few of the young ladies gathered around her tittered.

But Poppy responded to the barb as if it had been said in a voice that carried to all of them. “Oh, you musn’t blame my maid for the fact that my gown is outdated. I’m afraid I’ve been unable to replenish my wardrobe during my time in London. I was away from my family, you see. And not everyone can be a wealthy heiress like you, Miss Beaconfield.”

Miss Beaconfield looked as if she’d swallowed a spider.

“How did your father make his fortune again? I believe I read something in the papers about mining interests in Wales? What was it? Oh yes,” Poppy said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “boys not even eleven years old were found to be working in those mines, weren’t they? But I suppose a child’s life is nothing when measured against the cost of a pretty gown, is it?”

“What is this vulgarity?” sniffed Lady Throckmorton, one of the dowager’s cronies, whose eyes were gleeful rather than scandalized. “In my day we did not speak of such things in a genteel drawing room.”

“But if no one ever speaks of such things, my lady,” Poppy asked, unrattled, “then how are we to change such practices?”

Lady Alice Gerson gave a nervous giggle. “Next you’ll be prosing on about the vote and how women should be allowed to go to university, Miss Delamere.” But it was clear from the lady’s tone that she thought both subjects to be beneath her notice.

A ripple of laughter traveled through the room. But Langham was impressed to note that Poppy didn’t seem bothered by it.

“I do believe women should be able to vote and go to university,” she said with a shrug. “The law affects women just as it affects men, after all. Why should not women be afforded the opportunity to choose who will make those laws? As for university, why shouldn’t women who wish to be allowed to study there? Intellect is not a gift bestowed solely upon men.”

“Your fiancée is a radical, Langham,” said his cousin Viscount Carlyle from where he stood beside him. “I’m surprised you allow her to run on like this. If she were betrothed to anyone other than you, she would have ruined her chances with the ton with that little speech. As it is, she will likely find herself with few friends here.”

But even as the words were spoken, one of the other young ladies whom Grandmama had invited—Miss Ingraham, whose father, Lord Hurst, had met and married her mother while a naval officer in the West Indies—said in a voice that gained strength as she went, “I agree with Miss Delamere on both counts. I have long wished to go to university to study mathematics. And I plan to do so just as soon as I convince Papa to agree to it.”

A few of the other ladies nodded in agreement and began to say which field they would pursue at Oxford or Cambridge if given the chance. To Langham’s amusement, the expression on Poppy’s face was one of surprise. She most likely hadn’t expected to receive this sort of response from this crowd.

Once the chatter had died down, Miss Beaconfield—of the father with the mines—spoke up again. “I now understand why you continue to wear such an outmoded gown, Miss Delamere.” Her smirk was one of smug self-righteousness. “You are simply a bluestocking. I should be very surprised if you even have a maid at all.” Dismissal rang in the lady’s voice.

A muted gasp went up from the gathering. But Poppy wasn’t cowed by the rudeness. “I daresay it is no longer in the first stare of fashion,” she said, looking down at the light blue silk, which Langham thought looked rather fine with her eyes whether it was in the current style or not. “Though I beg you will not malign it too much. It is one of my favorites, and it has lasted me nearly a year and a half. Which outside the ton is counted a blessing rather than something of which to be ashamed.”

Even if Poppy was as unbothered by the lack of respect the other lady continued to show her, Langham was not. He had invited her into this veritable den of vipers, and he would be the one to rescue her from it.

Stepping a foot in her direction, he asked thoughtfully, “Indeed, were you not wearing this particular confection on the day we met, my dear? I must admit, I will always have a fondness for it for that reason alone.” She had been wearing no such thing, of course.

Never missing a beat, Poppy fixed a look of fond exasperation on him, and Langham almost believed it to be genuine. “My dear duke,” she said with a laugh, “I was wearing an entirely different gown altogether that day. But I daresay you were distracted.” The laugh that rose from the others this time was one of amused good humor. This was the sort of gentle teasing that they were all more comfortable with.

Her next words, however, had him stifling a groan. “He told me that day that I had the finest eyes he’d ever seen. Indeed, he’s written several quite moving verses to them. Let me see if I can remember how the first one goes—”

“Now, now, my dear,” he interrupted her before she could begin reciting what would no doubt be the sort of terrible poetry that would make him the laughingstock of London for decades to come. “There’s no need to share my private writings with everyone here.”

She was purposely mocking him, the minx.

Not everyone, thank tits, believed her faradiddle.

From her seat at the tea table, his sister Caroline stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns and a tail. “I’ve never known you to be the least bit poetic, Langham. In fact, did you not once say that poetry is the lowest form of art?”

“I believe I remember him saying that as well,” Felton agreed with a frown. Then the man shook his head as if genuinely disappointed. “Never thought I’d see you fall to Cupid’s arrow, old fellow. It’s a deuced shame.”

Langham reminded himself to refuse the man the next time he asked for a small loan.

“Do not be too hard on him,” Poppy said, looking at him with the kind of expression usually bestowed by mothers upon their newly ambulatory offspring. “He can be quite eloquent when the mood strikes him.”

The look he turned her way, he hoped, was telling her with great eloquence how much he wished to toss her—clothes and all—into the lake just beyond the abbey gardens.

Correctly reading his expression, no doubt, Poppy directed an unrepentant pout his way. “I’m so sorry, dearest. I hadn’t realized you weren’t as proud of your poetry as I am. Do not be cross with me.”

Deciding that her trial by dowager had probably warranted raking him over the coals a bit, Langham gave her the kind of fatuously indulgent smile he’d seen Wrackham give Caro often enough. Moving to stand beside her, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I could never stay cross with you, my darling. You are far too precious to me.”

Poppy, he noted, was having some difficulty maintaining a straight face. Served her right, the mischief maker.

Grandmama, who had been watching their interplay sharply, narrowed her eyes. Poppy must have noticed, because she squeezed Langham’s hand and then let it go. “We are just teasing one another, Your Grace,” she said to the dowager. “You know well enough that your grandson is not one for such effusiveness. Especially not in public. I was twitting him because I’d asked him not to come to my rescue if there were any trouble, but he couldn’t help himself and did so anyway.”

Realizing she’d hit on the perfect way to deflect Grandmama’s suspicions, Langham marveled at how skillfully Poppy had averted potential disaster. He, of course, had taken the show of affection too far, and had almost sunk their scheme when it was barely afloat. But he should have known that two years of living as someone else would have given her an ability to feint as deftly as any prizefighter.

“I couldn’t tell you what she was wearing at our first meeting if you threatened to lock me in the tower,” Langham admitted, deciding it would be better if he confessed to his small lie to add credibility to Poppy’s story.

“I don’t understand,” Charlotte said, looking from him to Poppy and back again. “Do you mean you haven’t written reams of poetry to her? I was hoping to hold this over your head for decades to come, Langham.”

“Not a one,” he said with a laugh. “Though I stand by the compliment to Miss Delamere’s fine eyes.”

He did not dare look toward Grandmama until she gave a bark of laughter.

“It serves you right, Langham,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the lace edge of her handkerchief. “This gel of yours is more than up to the task of withstanding a little drawing room conversation. The next time you’ll think twice before intruding on ladies’ business.”

No one except his grandmother would dare speak to him that way, Langham reflected ruefully. His grandmother and Poppy, he amended.

“I certainly will,” he said, exchanging a look with his fiancée. “Now, I will wander back over there to converse with the gentlemen and leave you to your ladies’ business. My betrothed, it would seem, is more than capable of defending herself.”

He’d just settled his shoulder against one of the decorative columns in the expansive drawing room when he heard an amused voice from just behind him.

“She’s held her own among these cats.”

Langham turned to see Sir Geoffrey Stannings, the very man he’d wanted to speak to regarding Poppy’s sister. They had known one another since they were in short coats, and though there was a liberal amount of silver threaded through his old friend’s dark hair, life as a country squire appeared to agree with him.

“Stannings,” Langham greeted his friend. He decided to wait to broach the topic of Violet until they had more privacy. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

It was the sort of gathering both men would have avoided like the pox in their salad days.

“I’m not so secure in my standing in the neighborhood that I can blithely ignore an invitation from the dowager, my good fellow,” the magistrate said with a raised brow. “Besides, my wife would have had my guts for garters if I didn’t attend.”

Since Mrs. Stannings was as mild-mannered a lady as Langham had ever met, he took this last assertion with a grain of salt.

“Speaking of wives,” Stannings said, “or rather betrotheds, why on earth would you spring yours on this crowd without at least buying her a new gown for the occasion? It doesn’t reflect favorably on you or the title for your prospective bride to be forced to compete with them.”

“I know you’re an upstanding man in the county now, but when did you become such a snob about fashion?” Langham said in a voice only the two of them could hear.

But Stannings didn’t take insult at the question. “It doesn’t make me a snob to see that her shabby appearance gave the other young ladies here—most of whom expected to compete for your favors—the idea that she is beneath them.”

Since the observation wasn’t entirely wrong, Langham let the criticism pass. “If you must know, my intended happens to be one of the most stubborn creatures I’ve ever encountered. I daresay the queen herself wouldn’t have persuaded her to accept a new dress from me for the occasion. And besides that, we left London in something of a hurry, considering the circumstances.”

Stannings frowned. “I don’t follow. What circumstances?” Then, as if considering a possible explanation, he said in a low whisper, “If you’ve got the chit with child—”

Before the other man could finish, Langham shot him a quelling look. “Keep your damned voice down. It would be a pity to have to kill you, given that you’re the local magistrate, but do not doubt that I will if you create more trouble for Poppy. She’s dealing with enough just now.”

Raising his hands in a defensive gesture, Stannings said hastily, “No disrespect intended. My apologies, of course.”

Somewhat mollified, Langham tried to shake off the surge of protective fury. He’d offered this false betrothal as a way for Poppy to salvage her pride, but if any of the assembled guests had overheard his friend’s whisper, honor would dictate he offer for her in truth.

Knowing Poppy, she would turn him down flat and go on with her business. If he had to wed, however—and one day he would—he was convinced that at least with Poppy he wouldn’t have to worry about false flattery or simpering. He could trust her to tell him the truth.

“Perhaps you aren’t aware of it,” Langham continued in a hushed tone, “but Miss Delamere is the half sister of Violet Lovell.”

“No!” Stannings said, in a voice that immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room.

The duke glared at the man before turning to the others with a laugh. “You must excuse Sir Geoffrey’s outburst. I just informed him that I bested Gentleman Jim Hyde in the ring earlier this week. But I can assure you it’s the truth. Hyde gave me quite a bout, but I managed to overcome him in the end.”

“A barbaric sport,” Charlotte said with disgust. “I have never approved of your lowering yourself to dabble in it, Langham. I cannot imagine what Papa or even Grandpapa would say about such a stain on the title.”

“Since your grandpapa frequented Jackson’s Boxing Salon and was quite the pugilist in his day, my gel,” said the dowager, “then I think he, for one, would have only praise for your brother. As for your father, though, I cannot say whether he practiced the sport. If he were here, then your brother would not be the duke and your point would be moot.”

The guests, wisely noting that the dowager had put an end to the conversing across the room, turned back to their respective huddles, and Langham nodded at the magistrate to continue.

“I didn’t realize there was another daughter in the Short household,” Stannings explained. “Not that it surprises me that Short, at least, would leave out information. His wife seems to be a rather timid sort, but Short himself is…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “Wily, I suppose. He’s friendly enough, and never has an ill word to say. But I always get the impression he’s talking out of both sides of his mouth.”

“I had the displeasure of meeting him earlier today, and that was also my impression,” Langham agreed. “Poppy fled from her stepfather’s household two years ago—before they moved to Little Kidding. He’d tried to force her into a marriage with Lovell, who was Short’s personal secretary at the time. And when neither man would take no for an answer, she ran away to London.”

The magistrate frowned. “I would think a baronet would try to get someone higher for his daughters than a mere secretary, though it’s an honorable enough position. I’d say he might have arranged the match for Poppy because she wasn’t his child by blood, but the fact that he then gave his own daughter to the man belies that notion. Perhaps he simply wished to keep the young ladies close to home. A less than advantageous match is perhaps unwise, but it’s hardly illegal.”

“Not illegal, no.” Langham replied. “But the fact that Poppy was forced to flee, coupled with the way Short then immediately changed course and arranged Violet’s marriage to Lovell, seems questionable at best. Then there’s the fact that Lovell is, indeed, dead. I’d like to know more about the circumstances of the death, Stannings. And why you think Violet might be responsible for it.”

Stannings scanned the room. “Let us talk about this in a more discreet location. As you have already pointed out, it would be easy to be overheard here. And seeing as how you’re betrothed is the accused’s sister, it would not look particularly proper for me to be seen discussing the finer details of the matter with you.”

Langham opened his mouth to object, but the other man raised a staying hand. “I didn’t say I would not discuss it with you, Langham,” he said in a low voice. “Only that we should do so more discreetly.”

Satisfied with the other man’s answer, Langham nodded. “Once this tea is finished, we can retire to my study. I cannot go before Poppy has been introduced to everyone, and besides that, I wish for her to come with us so that she has a chance to speak with you as well. She has questions about her sister’s situation, and I did promise her that I would do what I could to smooth the way for her to ask them.”

“I am more than happy to speak with her,” Stannings said with a frown. “But I can hardly get into the ugly business of the actual murder with her. You know as well as I do that ladies are constitutionally unable to listen to such dark realities, whatever your Miss Delamere might say about suffrage or women attending university. I have heard my own physician speak about the ways in which that kind of knowledge can cause hysteria and in some cases sterility. I would hate to be responsible for your inability to get an heir on her.”

Langham had heard such theories regarding the supposed fragility of the female constitution, of course, but he’d long since come to believe that such notions were hogwash. One only had to look to the queen and her nine offspring to realize that serious subjects didn’t damage a woman’s ability to conceive. But he could hardly say that to Stannings’s face when he was asking the fellow for a favor.

Instead, he simply made an ambiguous sound that he hoped the magistrate would take as agreement.

At that moment, the dowager rose from her chair with the aid of her crystal-topped walking stick and spoke to the room at large. “It has been an eventful afternoon. I shall see you all again at dinner.”

Langham watched as Poppy rose as well and offered the dowager her arm, but the older woman batted it away. “I’m not in my dotage yet, gel. Go find that grandson of mine. I feel sure there are more introductions to be made before the evening falls upon us.”

Their hostess having gone, the rest of the guests began to disperse as well. Some followed the dowager upstairs to their rooms to nap, while a few of the men planned to meet in the billiard room for a game.

When Poppy appeared at Langham’s side, he slipped his arm through hers. “Well, my dear, you have survived your first afternoon tea with my family. How do you feel?”

“It wasn’t your family who proved difficult,” Poppy returned with an arched brow. “But even those young ladies who were less than cordial will come round eventually, I imagine. Or I hope, rather.”

“My dear Miss Delamere,” Stannings said before Langham could reply. “You have managed to snare the most eligible bachelor in all of England. Dukes below the age of forty with all their teeth are thin upon the ground. You must expect that there will be a few aristocratic noses put out of joint by your triumph.”

“All the triumph is mine, Stannings,” Langham said before Poppy could respond. To Poppy he said, “My dear, you must allow me to introduce Sir Geoffrey Stannings. He is the local magistrate and has kindly agreed to speak with us about your sister’s situation in my study.”

At the mention of the other man’s name, Langham saw Poppy’s eyes widen, and he didn’t miss the glint of gratitude in them as she looked from Stannings back to him. Something about that left him feeling cold. He didn’t want her to be grateful to him, damn it. He was simply fulfilling his part of the bargain, just as she was fulfilling hers.

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Delamere,” Stannings said, bowing deeply over Poppy’s hand. “Leave it to you, Langham, to snare the loveliest lady in London before the rest of us even had a chance to meet her.”

“Need I remind you that you already have a wife?” the duke drawled, fighting the urge to drape his coat over Poppy to hide her from the other man’s too-intent gaze. Clearly, he needed to get a hold of himself. He was not, as a rule, a jealous sort, but there was something about Poppy that raised his blood. It must be the fact that this betrothal, no matter how false it may be, had placed her under his protection.

Keep telling yourself that, said the impertinent voice in his head.

“I do, indeed,” said Stannings mildly. “But last I checked she does not object to my being introduced to other ladies, Langham. Ton entertainments would be overrun with wallflowers if married men were not allowed to make the acquaintance of ladies other than their wives.”

But Poppy had taken no notice of the interplay between the two men. Her eyes revealed her desperation to speak with the magistrate about her sister. “Sir Geoffrey, I am so pleased to meet you.”

“Let’s retire to the study,” Langham said slipping an arm around her waist and leading her toward the hallway, leaving Stannings to follow.

Once they’d arrived in the book-lined room and all three had been settled into chairs with stronger spirits than the tea they’d imbibed in the drawing room, Poppy turned her expectant gaze on Stannings and waited.

“I’ll be happy to assist you in whatever way I can, Miss Delamere,” Viscount Stannings said with a nod. “Though I must warn you that there are certain things I may not discuss because of the ongoing investigation.”

“Of course,” Poppy said with a nod, her voice strong and unflinching. “And given that you can only answer a limited number of questions, I’ll ask the most pertinent one first. I’d like to know what you intend to do about the fact that my sister is innocent of her husband’s murder.”