Chapter Six

“The duke had me followed. And I am convinced his minions were armed.” The drive he’d taken with Miss Lancaster the day before remained uncomfortably fresh in his mind. “Those are not the actions of a gentleman who invited another to call on his sister-in-law, let alone court her.”

Father sipped at his favorite sherry, not appearing terribly concerned. “One must bear in mind His Grace’s reputation.”

“He threatened to eat my liver.”

“No one would actually eat another person’s organs,” Father said.

James couldn’t be so certain. He sank back in his chair. He hadn’t been enamored of this plan when Father had first presented it, and his discomfort had only grown. “You are certain His Grace wished for me to befriend Miss Lancaster?”

Father nodded, setting aside his half-emptied glass. “He was quite specific.”

That pulled the foundation out from under one of James’s theories regarding the duke’s behavior. Why, then, had he been made to feel so unwelcome? He was not so foolish as to need further proof he ought not return.

“I’ve called on Miss Lancaster and taken her for a ride in the park. I made introductions to every person we passed of whom I thought the duchess wouldn’t disapprove. Miss Lancaster will know a great many people when she next ventures out in Society. Surely that satisfies my obligation.” Simply saying as much out loud proved calming, reassuring.

“I trust you are not so thickheaded as that,” Father said. Their previous conversation had been blessedly thinner on insults than usual. Today’s interaction seemed likely to run closer to normal. “A gentleman would do what you have even for a lady he had little interest in,” Father said. “You are supposed to be giving the impression she is an enjoyable companion, someone of whom Society ought to take notice.” He shook his head, brow creased in thought. “Deserting the field now would only add weight to the arguments against her social desirability.”

James rubbed at the ache pounding in his temples. “I didn’t realize I was volunteering to single-handedly make her debut a success.”

“Single-handedly?” Father raised his glass to his lips once more, shooting James a quizzical look.

“Both times I called at Falstone House, no one else was there. Not a single soul beyond the family and staff.” James hadn’t yet made sense of that. “Honestly, I had expected a crowd of people all enlisted in the cause.”

“His Grace was quite specific regarding when you were to call that first time,” Father said after a long moment’s silence. “I am certain he did the same with the other young people so as to keep a constant flow of visitors coming into the house.”

“But if the point is to show the ton that Miss Lancaster is enjoying immediate success, what would be the point of visitors no one else sees? I doubt anyone beyond the staff knew of my arrival there on either occasion.”

Father huffed. “Sometimes I despair of you ever becoming a gentleman of sense.”

Yes. Here was the Father to whom James was accustomed. The coconspirator role had been rather ill-fitting from the beginning.

“How do you think word of anything gets around Town, Tilburn? Servants spread news more reliably than the Times.”

James didn’t know if it was his father’s criticism pricking at his pride or his own unease over their current endeavor that propelled him to argue with Father’s logic. “I can’t picture the Falstone staff gossiping. The duke would likely cut their tongues out if he caught them at it.”

“It is not the servants you should be concerned with,” Father said. “The duke will not take kindly to you breaking your agreement with him.”

“Your agreement.” James was not the one who had started this ordeal.

“To which you are now party.”

I am, indeed. His participation in the charade was as good as agreement to Father and His Grace’s scheme. He had rather committed himself to continue.

Father tipped back the last drop of sherry in his glass. “What do you plan to do next?”

James wasn’t at all sure. “Calling on her again in her home might be easily misinterpreted as a sign of serious intentions.”

Father didn’t look overly worried, nor did he seem eager to offer advice.

James searched his mind for some idea of his next step. “I have heard that the family is planning to attend the theater tomorrow evening. I thought I would look in at their box during the first intermission.”

Father nodded his approval. “Public enough to help the girl out but commonplace enough to not commit yourself.”

And early enough I can do my duty and be off before it grows too late. He meant to spend the evening with a few political chums and a handful of gentlemen he’d known at school. A night spent at his club with friends certainly sounded more pleasant than an evening watching the duke formulate new and creative ways to kill him.

* * *

James approached the Kielder theater box the next night to find something of a crowd.

At last. The handful of the others His Grace had cajoled into acting as a friend to Miss Lancaster were finally making an appearance. They had not, however, actually entered the box. Odd, that.

Mr. Hartford, a gentleman near James’s age, with whom he had a passing acquaintance, both having been at Oxford at the same time, stood at the back of the pack.

“Is there a reason we are all gathered out here?” James asked.

Mr. Hartford fussed with his gloves. “Because going in the box no longer seems like a wise thing to do.”

“Why is that?”

“Mr. Bartram went in first, and His Grace instructed the usher to throw him out.”

James didn’t envy Mr. Bartram that experience. “That was likely a bit embarrassing.”

“You misunderstand. Mr. Bartram was not to be asked to leave; he was to be thrown out. Literally thrown. Off the balcony.”

Miss Artemis Lancaster’s earlier warning rang in his ears. The duke is not being dramatic when he makes these threats. And yet James doubted even the Duke of Kielder would throw a man to his death.

“I will assume Mr. Bartram left on his own.”

Hartford nodded, even as he tugged at his cravat. “Now nobody knows quite what to do. If anyone dares step inside, we might find ourselves in broken heaps on the floor below.”

“Then why not leave?”

“Mrs. Bower pointed out that coming this far and not making an appearance might be seen by His Grace as a slight to Miss Lancaster, and that could be disastrous as well.”

Perhaps the necessity of enlisting James’s aid in Miss Lancaster’s Season had, in reality, been less about the young lady’s social struggles as it was about His Grace’s tendency to send any potential friends or suitors fleeing in fear for their lives.

James was not, however, in a position to make a very welcome run for the hills. He’d committed himself, and His Grace knew it.

He wove his way through the gathering of quaking individuals all the way to the door of the box and, to the obvious astonishment of those onlookers, stepped inside.

“Good evening, Your Grace, Your Grace.” He made the appropriate bows and received the expected responses. “I saw your family was in attendance tonight and thought I would drop in.”

“We are so pleased you did, Lord Tilburn,” the duchess said with her usual grace.

“No, we’re not,” the duke said with his usual testiness.

James allowed his gaze to drift to Miss Lancaster. He knew the moment she realized he was watching her. Color stole over her cheeks—not the practiced blushing so many young ladies in Society had perfected but the fiery, spotty color of one truly embarrassed by something. Despite his continued discomfort at being cajoled into pretending a friendship with her, James couldn’t help feeling bad for putting her to the blush.

He offered a smile and an inclination of his head. She only blushed more deeply. To her credit, she didn’t turn and hide nor melt into a heap of embarrassment. She kept her place and offered a “Good evening.”

“And a good evening to you.”

The duke shot them all a look of unfettered annoyance. “I believe we have thoroughly established that the evening is a good one. Let us move past the polite posturing and on to the meaningless conversation.”

Miss Lancaster’s color heightened significantly. It seemed the poor young lady needed rescuing from her brother-in-law as well as Society. James could certainly do that much. Father regularly intimidated Mother into fitful fretting. And Bennett was forever being tormented by their father as well. James had often been thrown into the role of rescuing knight. He was convinced he spent more time fixing his family’s various problems than he spent eating or sleeping. He stepped past the duke and duchess and made his way to Miss Lancaster’s side.

“How have you enjoyed the opera?” She spoke quietly without looking up at him.

James opted to act as though she were entirely at ease with him, the ideal person with whom to have an unexceptional chat. That was his part, after all. “I confess the performers themselves seem a bit bored with the show, which makes it that much harder for the audience to not be, especially those of us who have no idea what any of them are saying.”

“Do you mean to tell me you aren’t proficient in Italian?” Her tone was light, with no hint of criticism.

“I don’t even know enough to be considered dismal at the language,” James said.

The tiniest hint of a smile touched her face. James didn’t think he’d ever seen her truly smile. The realization made him worry. Was she mistreated, punished for her social disappointments? He hoped not. He sat in the vacant chair next to hers.

“I am afraid, Lord Tilburn, I cannot say much more for my own abilities with Italian.” Her words carried that ever-present nervous quiver at the back of her voice. In a flash of clarity, James understood something about her. Miss Lancaster was shy, painfully so, if he didn’t miss his mark. Little wonder, then, they’d felt the need to coerce someone into calling on her. Still, she pressed on. “My lack of proficiency has led me to spend my evenings at the opera imagining my own translation of what is said between the performers.”

“Invent it as the evening plods along?” It was a very entertaining solution to the situation. “And what has this evening’s selection been about, according to your translation?”

“Well.” Her brow furrowed as she recounted in mock-serious tones. “The larger man with the dark hair, he is on a quest to ascertain the whereabouts of a misplaced Cornish pasty.”

So unexpected was the remark that James laughed right out loud with enough volume to draw the attention of the nearby boxes as well as that of the duke and duchess. He bit his lips closed and held back the remainder of his laugh. “A Cornish pasty?” he repeated once his voice was under control again.

“Not just any Cornish pasty. The most delicious Cornish pasty ever created, hence all of the weeping at the end of act 1.”

He didn’t fight his grin. “Those Italians do take their pasties very seriously.”

“Indeed,” she said with that same small suggestion of a smile he’d seen earlier.

This was a side of her he’d not expected. If only Society were shown even a glimpse of it, she wouldn’t want for attention. But the timidity he sensed in her likely prevented that. Thus the need for securing ready-made friends to keep her company.

“How have you been since last we met?” He wished her to feel enough at ease to continue in lighthearted conversation.

“I have been well, thank you.” Her voice grew slightly steadier. “We received word that my brother is to arrive in London next week. I find myself suddenly less miserable at the prospect of remaining here.”

“I believe you said your brother was a navy man.” He had to think a moment to recall the man’s name. “Linus.”

Again the smallest suggestion of a smile, accompanied by an unmistakable glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. “You remembered.”

“You sound surprised.”

Her color heightened again. “Not many people pay much heed to what I say.”

James knew enough arrogant poppinjays to fully believe she didn’t exaggerate. Too many in Society were too full of their own importance. “It seems to me, Miss Lancaster, not many of those you regularly converse with are terribly bright.”

“One of those people is only fifteen,” she confessed in a tone of exaggerated seriousness. “And she is my sister, which I am certain doesn’t help in the least.”

“Younger siblings are positively unbearable,” he said with a grin.

“I don’t know whether to wholeheartedly agree with you or be offended. I am both an older and a younger sibling, you realize.”

When Miss Lancaster rallied her courage enough to speak, her conversation was quite enjoyable. Perhaps the duke’s plan wasn’t so preposterous after all. If a few more people were given the chance to know her, she would likely have a relatively successful Season. James began to feel a bit more enthusiastic about this latest rescue. He didn’t mean to set himself up as a suitor nor as the young lady’s very dearest friend, but he could at least help ease her way a bit.

“Did you know, Miss Lancaster, there is quite a crowd gathered just outside this box?”

Some of her color dropped off as her gaze darted to the back of the box. “Why is that, do you suppose?”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I asked that very question and was told they came to call on you and your family but, having heard that one of their ranks was nearly tossed to his untimely death, are now huddled in paralyzing fear in the corridor.”

She leaned a bit closer as well. “They wished to see me? Truly?” Hope warred with doubt in her expression.

“Truly. I spied Mr. Hartford and the Bowers, whom you met during our drive. I saw any number of other young ladies and gentlemen of the ton.”

“That is unexpected,” she said.

“Perhaps in time the ton will rediscover its collective courage.”

She smiled once more. “Adam is convinced they don’t have any.”

“You—”

“Lean in any closer, Tilburn, and I will personally hang you from this balcony by your feet.” The duke sounded utterly serious.

“That will not be necessary.” James stood once more. “I do need to be on my way.” He sketched the briefest of bows. “A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace. Your Grace. Miss Lancaster.”

Miss Lancaster smiled quite prettily, the color still high on her cheeks. He hoped he’d brought her a moment of reprieve from the pressures of Society. He could not quite imagine how difficult the social whirl must be for one who was truly bashful.

He offered her a smile in return. She blushed ever deeper.

As he stepped out of the box and into the corridor, the crowd of nervous theatergoers eyed him with a mixture of awe and incredulity. He could hear more than a few of their whispers.

“The duke didn’t toss Lord Tilburn to his death. That is a good sign.”

“If Lord Tilburn is welcome in the Kielder box, surely someone of my station will be.”

Father would have pointed out that comments such as that one supported his argument that their family severely lacked standing. James had never overly cared for such things. The Tilburns were far from social pariahs. That was good enough for him.

“I am certainly not going to be left standing out here like a goose,” someone else declared as she pushed her way into the box.

Poor Miss Lancaster. James doubted she would appreciate the sudden incursion. He reached the outer portico of the Theatre Royal and buttoned his coat against the downpour. The evening had gone well, he thought. He’d kept his word to his father and His Grace. He’d enjoyed a friendly conversation with Miss Lancaster. And he’d managed it all without raising any expectations.

He might just navigate his way through these shark-infested waters after all.