Page 12 of Always the Chaperone
No one had seen their sister in three years.
“—don’t you think?”
William blinked at John. “What?”
His brother laughed. “Christ alive, Mercia, I do not know what has got into you lately! I said I was sorry for keeping Miss Darby to myself at the opera. To tell the truth, I would not have pursued her if I did not believe she returned my affections. I should have discussed the matter with you first.”
William shrugged. Truth be told, he had not given a single thought to Miss Darby since he had reached out and helped Lady Charlotte descend from her carriage. At that moment, all thought of the young chit still waiting in the carriage had been utterly driven from his mind.
Lady Charlotte. A puzzle. There was something about her, mysterious and whimsical, with a maturity and grace that drew him unlike any of the things fluttering fans or eyelashes.
Miss Darby?John could have her. It was Lady Charlotte he wanted to know better. She kept him awake at night. He wanted to touch her, kiss her…
William swallowed. It would not do to get carried away. Lady Charlotte was the daughter and sister of a duke, and unlike him, she had been raised with the knowledge of her place in society.
“Have Miss Darby,” he said nonchalantly with a grin. “I have been introduced to more pretty young chits than I can count. You are more than welcome to my leftovers!”
John punched him good-naturedly on the arm. “Now then, William, I have no need of your leftovers! You may be the greatest womanizer of the Forty Sixths, but you have lost your touch since you left the regiment.”
A lazy smile crept over William’s face. “That was years ago, John, and I do not believegreatestis a term I appreciate, norwomanizer!”
“There was not a single woman in Nice who had not received some sort of affection from the dashing major,” John laughed. “And most of them were hanging off your every word by the time you left. The tears, my God, I have heard tales of the weeping caused by the news you would be leaving them!”
It had certainly been surprising just how many women had been affected by his regiment’s orders to return to England. William had been more than a little sorry to say goodbye to Marie, a woman he had spent time with.
“All that is past me,” he said. “I am a duke now, and that requires a little more sense when deciding where to rest my head.”
A grin from John was enough to make William realize how his words could be interpreted.
“You know what I mean! Besides, ladies talk here in England. You can hardly look at one without someone assuming you have professed your undying love to her, and I have no wish for the Mrs. Bryants of the world to write missives to me about my behavior.”
“I have never seen so many eager beauties in one place,” John said heartily. “I shall have to start being more careful and discrete. We can’t have the heir to the dukedom acting in such a wild manner. No more seducing women or visiting houses of ill-repute for me!”
He chuckled, draining the bottle of port into his glass and throwing the contents into his mouth.
William grinned wryly. “That behavior is now expected of me. Dukes are meant to have mistresses, aren’t they, one in each city, and one stowed away at home! As long as I marry and have plenty of sons to carry on the family name, it does not matter.”
“Well, there is no need to hurry,” John said in a mock-serious tone, placing his empty glass on the table. “I am sure, given time, Miss Darby can give me plenty!”
The two brothers guffawed and received several frowns from gentlemen around the room, but that did nothing to quell their merriment.
William called out to the waiter standing quietly by the door. “Another bottle here, my man!”
There was an appraising glance and then a nod from the servant, who within a minute, had brought them a second bottle of the most expensive port the York Club could offer. John attempted to open it before the waiter took pity on him and opened it for him, pouring two generous helpings of the blood-red liquid into their glasses.
“Have one yourself, why don’t you,” William said generously.
The servant pinked around the ears.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said in a squeaky voice, “but I am not permitted to drink while serving the gentlemen of the club.”
John chuckled. “Poor sod, off you go then.”
The servant hurried back to his post, eyes averted from the brothers.
William raised his glass in a toast, but his joyful expression had disappeared, and he stared intently.
“Honestly,” John said quietly. “You do not mind?”
