Never A Duke (Dukes' Club Book 11) Page 9

  She was tempted to go over and play it herself, for they had a piano on the ship. It was one of the few things she and her sister insisted upon when they sailed.

  They needed entertainment in some way, and sometimes, she no longer cared to hear the fiddle or the button accordion.

  Calliope turned to the ladies seated around a beautiful, inlaid table and blinked.

  There were several of them, and she held a moment’s pause.

  Generally, she was a confident woman.

  After all, one had to be when surrounded by men of the sort that she was accustomed to being with. But generally, she found that, once she proved herself to her crew, they did not give her any trouble.

  With ladies, on the other hand, it could be quite another matter.

  Sometimes, one had to prove themselves to them daily, and quite frankly, she was concerned for a moment.

  Either they would embrace her, they would loathe her, or they would view her as a monkey clanging cymbals for entertainment.

  She wasn’t entirely sure what she was hoping for or which would occur, but suddenly, Lady Beatrix beamed at her, putting her beautifully painted lilac teacup down. “You came!”

  “Yes, I did,” confirmed Calliope.

  “We were wondering if you would come or not, but I insisted that you would. You seem far too game for any sort of sport to not come, unlike Lock,” Lady Beatrix pointed out.

  Lady Gemma blinked. “Lock?”

  “Yes, your mother invited Lock, but it seems that he’s decided not to come.”

  A mischievous smile curled Gemma’s lips. “My goodness. Were you hoping that Lock might come?” she asked as Calliope tried to hide her reaction.

  Duchess Imogen, married to one of the myriad of dukes that seemed to have been invited, with her curling blonde hair and mischievous eyes, beamed. “My goodness, do you fancy Lock?”

  “I shall keep that to myself,” said Calliope, faced with a sea of female interest.

  “How terribly sad,” pouted Lady Imogen. “We do love a good gossip. Nothing malicious, mind you. We’re not that sort, but we do love to root for a good affair, or a good amour, or love, you know? Love is a splendid thing.”

  Calliope tensed. “I’m not falling in love with Captain Eversleigh.”

  The entire group of ladies sat up straighter. All of them looked knowing.

  “I’m not,” she said firmly. “I have no idea why any of you would think such a thing was possible.”

  “Would you really like to know why we think such a thing is possible?” asked Lady Gemma sotto voce, as if it were a great secret.

  Calliope waited, knowing there was no point in resisting.

  “My mother thinks he’s falling in love with you.”

  “And does your mother have a crystal ball?” Calliope teased good-naturedly. “Is she some sort of seer into the future?”

  There was a general titter about the room.

  “Lady Hyacinth knows everything, my dear,” said Imogen.

  “Does she, indeed?” Calliope asked, a bit nervous now.

  “Oh, she does,” Gemma confirmed. “My mother is possibly one of the most fortuitous women in guessing matches.”

  “As am I,” said Imogen. “I’m quite good at it.”

  Duchess Rosamond nodded her red head and said in her lilting Scot’s burr, “Just like my husband.”

  “My goodness,” said Calliope. “I’m not sure if I should run for the hills or set sail or—”

  “Don’t do any of those things. Sit down instead,” said Lady Beatrix. “We are all friends here.”

  Calliope eyed the empty chair. “I feel as if I’m facing an army determined to see me wed.”

  “Would it be so very terrible?” Lady Gemma asked.

  “Yes, it would,” said Calliope. “I am not interested in a husband who might try to tell me what to do. Englishmen always think they can tell their wives what to do. After all, you are property, are you not?”

  There was silence.

  “We are,” agreed Lady Gemma. “It’s true. By all technicalities, the English law says we are the property of our husbands, that we have virtually no rights.”

  Imogen nodded. “It’s a travesty, of course.”

  “But luckily, we’ve married the right men,” said Lady Beatrix.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Calliope. “It would be a great misfortune for women such as yourselves to be trapped in awful marriages in which one had no say over anything.”

  The Duchess of Hunt smiled. “I think we’ve just been paid a compliment.”

  “Oh dear,” Calliope groaned. “Have I been rude?”

  “No, my dear,” said the Duchess of Hunt. “You’ve just been frank, and we appreciate frankness greatly.”

  Calliope bit the inside of her cheek, not wishing to give offense to the first women she’d felt an affinity to besides her sister. “Do you?”

  “Oh, yes,” said the Duchess of Hunt, her perfectly coiled blonde hair glinting in the late afternoon light. “You see, I’ve traveled the world myself, much like you.”

  “Truly?” Calliope asked warily.

  Usually, when English women declared they had traveled, they meant as the wives of husbands who were positioned throughout the world, stationed, ensuring that the locals didn’t act up.

  “Oh dear, I see what you’re thinking,” said the Duchess of Hunt with a rueful smile. “No, no, my dear. My parents were quite wild. They traveled all over Arabia and into Asia, and they absolutely loved to go where very few had been before. Their true love was history, you see. They’d do whatever they could to find a building that no one had seen in a thousand years, and they’d dust it and write all about it. My brothers still do, most of them.”

  “My goodness,” said Calliope, genuinely surprised as she crossed to the empty chair and sat. “You’re correct. That wasn’t what I was imagining at all.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said the Duchess of Hunt. “I was born an adventurer. I shall die an adventurer, and my husband supports me.”

  “As a matter of fact, all of our husbands support us,” said Lady Beatrix. “It’s a remarkable thing.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me that Adam and Alexander support you two,” Calliope said proudly. “I don’t like a great many men, but I do like them.”

  Imogen’s lips twitched. “Well said, my dear. Well said.”

  “It is rather difficult liking men sometimes.” Rosamond tittered. “Not all men are as good as ours, are they?”

  “Most men are not as good,” said Calliope. “I haven’t met all of your husbands, but I’ve met a few, and I quite like the ones I have met.”

  “Oh, just wait until you meet Charles,” said a woman from the doorway.

  She turned. “Charles?”

  “Ah!” said Patience. “They haven’t told you about the brothers?”

  Calliope shook her head, wondering what the devil this was about.

  Cordelia, Duchess of Hunt, laughed richly. “She means my husband, Jack, the duke, and her husband.”

  “Permit me to introduce myself formerly. Lady Patience, wife of Lord Charles Eversleigh.”

  “A pleasure,” Calliope said, bowing her head.

  “My goodness. What marvelous clothes,” said Lady Patience, giving her a quick and approving appraisal, her dark hair coiled softly about her intelligent face. “I shall have to put you into one of my books.”

  Calliope blinked, not following.

  “Patience is a famous novelist, my dear,” said Lady Beatrix kindly. “And most of the women in this room have read all of her books.”

  A dash of excitement raced through Calliope. She’d never met an author on such intimate terms before. She’d certainly never imagined being related to one. “You have? You are? May I ask who you are?”

  Lady Patience gave a wicked grin. “I write under the name Auden.”

  “Auden?” Calliope positively squealed. “You’re Auden!?”

  Her sounds
of enthusiasm were the most girlish she’d ever made, and she had no desire to censor herself.

  Calliope shook her head, amazed. “I have read all of your books!”

  “Why, thank you,” said Patience calmly but with pleasure as she traipsed into the room.

  “No, no, you do not understand,” Calliope explained, full to bursting with joy. “I have read them and read them again. They are a source of greatest pleasure. My sister and I absolutely adore them.”

  Patience now blushed at the rush of praise. “Thank you. I do appreciate it. I don’t usually go about telling people that I’m a novelist, but you seem to be very close to our family, and why would I deny such a thing? Charles is very supportive of it, after all. So is the entire family.”

  Taking a seat and gazing eagerly at the tea, Patience added, “It is my great passion. And perchance, is there champagne? I’ve just finished a book.”

  As though she was quite accustomed to hearing such a thing, Duchess Cordelia nodded, rose, and gave a tug to the woven bellpull by the fire.

  “I would be passionate about it too if I had your talent,” Calliope enthused.

  “You’re very kind,” said Lady Patience. “But in all events, I cannot wait until you meet Charles and Jack. You’ll be most impressed by them.”

  “Will I?” Calliope asked.

  “Oh, I think so,” agreed Lady Gemma as she drank the last of her tea. “Lock looks almost exactly like them.”

  “Does he?” Calliope queried, wishing she could somehow ban Lock from the conversation, but they all did seem determined to believe they were meant to collide again.

  “Oh, yes.” Lady Patience nodded as she loosened the coils of her hair, allowing them to tumble down her shoulders, apparently not caring for propriety. Which only made Calliope instantly adore her.

  “The members of the Eversleigh family, the Hunt line, are all cut from the same cloth,” said Duchess Cordelia with a laugh.

  “My goodness,” said Calliope. “Then, I hope to meet them soon.”

  Lady Gemma all but jumped up from the table when a footman arrived with a silver tray laden with champagne and crystal flutes. “Well, I’m sure you shall meet them for dinner.”

  “Not Charles,” said Patience, brightening at the sight of the celebratory beverage. “He’s still in London. I think he’s meeting Lockhart this evening.”

  “Did you know that Mama intends her for Lockhart?” Gemma asked bluntly as she helped pour the frothing liquid.

  “My goodness, no,” replied Patience as she took one of the glasses in her slender fingers, “but that makes absolutely perfect sense.”

  “Why does it make perfect sense? I have no wish to marry at all,” pointed out Calliope, feeling a bit barraged by so many confident women. She loved it, but she was still most amazed by a collection of so many of them in one space.

  “Oh, that is possibly why,” said Gemma. “Mama knows the sort of lady that someone like Lock needs.”

  “And what sort of lady is that?” Calliope dared to ask, genuinely curious, much to her own annoyance.

  Gemma shrugged then passed her a full, bubbling glass. “Someone who will turn his world upside down and refuse to let him live like he’s living now.”

  “How is he living now?” she asked, as she took a deep drink of the fabulously cheerful liquid.

  “In a straitjacket,” drawled Lady Patience. “It must be said. He’s an absolute dear, but he won’t let himself live.”

  “That’s very unfortunate,” sighed Calliope. He’d certainly seemed to prove this theory the night of their kiss. “I confess I do a great deal of living.”

  “So it seems from the cut of your clothes. You’ll make a marvelous character. Do you mind?” Lady Patience asked, leaning forward conspiratorially.

  “Oh, no,” Calliope said. “I think that’s the greatest honor possible, but I don’t think that I should be given the job of reforming Lockhart. That’s really not for me to do. It’s for himself.”

  Lady Patience peered at her, then just nodded. “If you say so, my dear, if you say so.”

  And with that, Lady Patience took a long sip of her champagne and raised her glass. “Come now, my dears, let us all drink to life and a new story.”

  “And we must eat our glorious tea things,” Imogen pointed out, gesturing to the stunning array of scones, buttered toast, and cold meats. “We have quite the night ahead of us, and one must make sure one has eaten sufficiently so that one can dance and play all night long.”

  “All night long?” Calliope repeated.

  “Och, yes. We Eversleighs and Astons,” pointed out Rosamond, “are great fun to be around, but we don’t know how to say good night. We shall be up until the touch of dawn.”

  Calliope laughed, enjoying herself more than she had in some time. “I’m used to that sort of thing, that I’ll tell you. I don’t know that you shall get the better of me. After all, I’ve spent my life amongst sailors.”

  Lady Beatrix lifted her flute and winked. “We shall see. We shall see.”

  With that, her flute was filled anew, and much to Calliope’s shock, she felt entirely at home, as if she’d been welcomed into the bosom of a warm family and completely accepted for exactly who she was.

  It was a foreign feeling, and one she liked all too well.

  For one moment, she felt a touch of melancholy, for surely it couldn’t last.

  It wouldn’t.

  She wouldn’t be able to keep this forever. Nothing lasted forever, but she could keep this moment, and she would enjoy it as best she could.

  Chapter 11

  “I thought you’d be down in the country already,” said Lock over his cup of deathly strong gin.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Tony scoffed over the loud din. “I can’t leave my wife just now.”

  Lock fought a scowl, feeling far too irritated for having already drunk several cups of gin. “I assumed she’d be going with you. My mother has invited everyone, has she not?”

  Charles, his older brother, smirked as he gazed out over the smoky room. “Indeed, she has. My wife is already down there.”

  “Of course Patience is down there,” Lockhart drawled. “She’d be anywhere she possibly could be scribbling new ideas. And Calliope Duke is definitely fodder for a new idea.”

  Charles tsked, bracing his arm on the back of the long, rough bench. “Now, now. That sounds like you’re describing Pepys, not my wife.”

  “Well, I think your wife is likely as prolific as the marvelous Mr. Pepys was,” Lock replied easily. “And I think your wife is a good deal more clever and certainly more entertaining.”

  Charles laughed. “That’s true. She does make a good turn of phrase, and she is one of the most observant people about. Now, what has you soured, young man?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Lock said lightly.

  Tony laughed so hard, Charles clapped him on the back. Tony patted his chest. “Not true. I declare that to be absolutely false.”

  “Quiet,” Lock said from the side of his mouth.

  “You know that is an impossibility for me,” Tony returned as he lifted his glass, looking towards one of the barmaids sashaying about the room.

  The young woman caught his gaze, gave a voluptuous grin, and nodded. Tony placed his empty glass back on the rough-hewn table, knowing that, in a few moments, they’d be taken care of.

  Charles leaned back, nonchalant in his perfect, black evening clothes. “You do seem in a particularly foul mood, Lock. Rather uptight, are we? Need another run in the Rapier Club?”

  “It had no effect the other day,” Tony reminded. “He’s still in knots.”

  “She has no respect for duty.”

  Charles and Tony both rose respective brows at his blunt words.

  Lock sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “Look here, I don’t mean to be an impossible fellow. I must seem absolutely intolerant.”

  Charles just gave him a hard stare. Then he said, “My boy, I find I m
ust say it. You do seem to dislike almost everyone.”

  “Well, then I’m not intolerant,” Lock said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “I am just equally annoyed with everyone.”

  Generally, he did not let the disapproval of others bother. But tonight, Tony’s and Charles’ matching looks of concern were a shade too much, and then there had been the pity on her face. . .

  “Oh dear,” said Charles. “She’s really got you in a twist, hasn’t she?”

  “She has not!” denied Lock before he tossed back another cup of gin.

  “Why bother to deny it?” Tony asked, shrugging. “You didn’t go down to the country at your mother’s bequest, strictly because she would be there.”

  “My mother asked everyone down to the country for her,” Lock grumbled.

  “Then, it is true,” Charles drawled, raking him with an assessing gaze. “Why, I’ve never seen you like this over a woman.”

  “She’s not just a woman,” Lock protested, feeling himself well up with all the things she’d made him feel. Desire. Amazement. Hope.

  “What is she?” Charles asked. “A Leviathan, a Medusa?”

  “No, she’s a goddess divine, damn it,” Lock said, pouring out more gin.

  “A goddess divine,” Charles repeated, then leaned forward and gave him a challenging stare. “Are you sure you’re my brother? That doesn’t sound like something he’d utter.”

  Tony’s lips twitched. “Indeed, it does not, especially given the way he talked about her the other day, as if she could do absolutely nothing right and as if she were a pirate. My God, he truly thought she was a pirate.”

  Charles laughed, a droll, dark rumble.

  “I did,” Lock begrudged. “It was the first thing I thought when I saw her, but apparently, I’m not particularly well-informed about such things. And she did point out all my faults as well.”

  “Oh, I like her more and more,” Charles said with a sardonic tilt of his brow. “Surely, you shouldn’t let this one go?”

  “I’m quite capable of making such decisions without assistance,” Lock replied, desperate to turn the conversation away from her.

  “Besides, she likely thinks I’m an arrogant sod.”

  “Aren’t you?” Tony queried. “I thought you were a rather arrogant bastard when I first met you, but I’ve learned to like you.”