Page 1 of A Diamond for a Duke

April 1809

London, England

A pox on duty.

A plague on the pesky dukedom too.

Not the tiniest speck of remorse troubled Jules, Duke of Dandridge as he bolted from the crush of his godmother, Theodora, Viscountess Lockhart’s fiftieth birthday ball—without bidding the dear lady a proper farewell, at that.

She’d forgive his discourtesy; his early departure too.

Unlike his mother, his uncles, and the majority of le beau monde, Theo understood him.

To honor her, he’d put in a rare social appearance and even stood up for the obligatory dances expected of someone of his station. Through sheer doggedness, he’d also forced his mouth to curve upward—good God, his face ached from the effort—and suffered the toady posturing of husband-stalking mamas and their bevy of pretty, wide-eyed offspring eager to snare an unattached duke.

Noteworthy, considering not so very long ago, Jules scarcely merited a passing glance from the same tonnish females now so keen to garner his favor. His perpetual scowl might be attributed to their disinterest.

Tonight’s worst offender?

Theo’s irksome sister-in-law, Mrs. Dament.

The tenacious woman had neatly maneuvered her admittedly stunning elder daughter, Adelinda, to his side multiple times, and only the Daments’ intimate connection to Theo had kept him from turning on his heel at the fourth instance instead of graciously fetching mother and daughter the ratafia they’d requested.

A rather uncouth mental dialogue accompanied his march to the refreshment table, nonetheless.

Where was the other daughter—the sweet-tempered one, Miss Jemmah Dament?

Twiddling her thumbs at home again? Poor, kind, neglected sparrow of a thing.

As children and adolescents, he and Jemmah had been comfortable friends, made so by their similar distressing circumstances. But as must be, they’d grown up, and destiny or fate had placed multiple obstacles between them. He trotted off to university—shortly afterward becoming betrothed to Annabel—and for a time, the Daments simply faded from his and society’s notice.

Oh, on occasion, Jules had spied Jemmah in passing. But she’d ducked her shiny honey-colored head and averted her acute sky-blue gaze. Almost as if she was discomfited or he’d somehow offended her.

Yet, after wracking his brain, he couldn’t deduce what his transgression might’ve been.

At those times, recalling their prior relaxed companionship, his ability to talk to her about anything—or simply remain in compatible silence, an odd twinge pinged behind his ribs. Not regret exactly, though he hardly knew what to label the disquieting sensation.

Quite simply, he missed her friendship and company.

Since Theo’s brother, Jasper, died two years ago, Jules had seen little of the Daments.

According to tattle, their circumstances had been drastically reduced. But even so, Jemmah’s absence at routs, soirees, and other ton gatherings, which her mother and sister often attended, raised questions and eyebrows.

At least arced Jules’s brow and stirred his curiosity.

If Jemmah were present at more assemblies, perhaps he’d make more of an effort to put in an appearance.

Or perhaps not.

He held no illusions about his lack of social acumen. A deficiency he had no desire to remedy.

Ever.

A trio of ladies rounded the corner, and he dove into a niche beside a vase-topped table.

The Chinese urn tottered, and he clamped the blue and white china between both hands, lest it crash to the floor and expose him.

He needn’t have worried.