Duke Looks Like a Groomsman (EBOOK)

London, July 1814

Rhys Sheffield, the Duke of Worthington, was having a fine evening. True, that all his evenings were fine, as they usually included drinks with friends and then a jaunt to Hollister’s gaming hell where he often lost a small fortune in the span of a few hours. Tonight, he was enjoying the drinks-with-friends portion of the evening at the Curious Goat Inn. A decent little place outside of Mayfair where he and Kendall, Bell, and Clayton could drink and talk freely without being scrutinized by the other members of the ton. The Curious Goat was much preferred to any of those stodgy gentlemen’s clubs on St. James’s Street.

Just before they’d entered the establishment, his friends had all exclaimed how glad they were to have him back to his old self. Until somewhat recently, he’d been someone different entirely. The headaches were a regular reminder. But that was something he didn’t relish thinking about, something he pushed to the back of his mind every chance he got.

Rhys was ordering his third ale of the evening from a comely barmaid when Kendall, of all unexpected people, blurted, “I think it’s time I find a wife.”

The heads of all three of them, himself, Bell, and Clayton, immediately snapped to face Kendall. They stared at the chap as if he’d lost his bloody mind.

Never at a loss for words, Rhys found his voice first. He winced, sucked in his breath, shook his head vigorously, and said, “A wife? Good God, man! There’s no need to rush into anything so…permanent.”

Kendall was a good man. After they’d all left Oxford together, Kendall had gone on to become a Commodore in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. But he hadn’t been gifted a commission by his father, the former earl. No. Kendall had worked his arse off. There was no one more diligent or more loyal. But the poor sop actually wanted a wife. Kendall should know better after his last attempt at marriage with the disloyal Lady Emily Foswell. Had he forgotten about her defection?

“We’re not getting any younger,” Kendall shot back to Rhys.

“On the contrary,” Rhys replied, “at nine and twenty, we’re pups. My father was over fifty when I was born.”

His father had famously remained a bachelor for decades before settling down with his (much younger) mother, and dutifully producing Rhys. Of course, having begotten his heir, his father decided to continue his bachelor lifestyle, leaving Rhys’s resigned mother to her own amusements, of which she’d found plenty. As a result, Rhys had mainly been raised by servants, governesses, and tutors.

His father would return to the ducal estate upon occasion to see how Rhys was growing, to ensure his son understood the enormity of his title, and to give him advice about women that Rhys seriously doubted was sound.

It certainly hadn’t helped the one time that Rhys had come close to offering for a lady. A fate he’d narrowly escaped, having discovered the lady in question was interested in him only for his title. That was something else he pushed to the back of his mind every chance he got.

Bell, or more correctly, Beaumont Bellham, the Marquess of Bellingham, was the next to speak to Kendall. Bell might have been a bachelor, but the man was essentially married to his position as a spy in the Home Office. The fool had even tried to renounce his title for a spot as a soldier in the wars against France. Thank God, he’d been turned down in his request.

Instead, he’d been offered a position with the Home Office, where he was kept safe enough most of the time. Though Bell had been on some dangerous missions before and Rhys knew it.

Bell was clever, direct, and driven. If the man had any fault, it was that he worked too much, for Christ’s sake. The marquess needed to relax more than anyone Rhys had ever known, and Rhys told him that often enough. Instead of taking such sound advice, however, Bell attempted to tell Rhys that he might try an honest day’s work instead of spending his time gaming and chasing women. Who needed that sort of advice?

Bell narrowed his eyes on Kendall and said, “Are you certain you’re ready? It’s only been two years since….” Bell let his voice trail off, but they all knew he was talking about Lady Emily. The look on Kendall’s face told him to leave it alone.

Finally, Clayton exclaimed, “Thank heavens. I cannot wait until I’m no longer the only one of us with the parson’s noose around his neck.”

Rhys laughed at that. Clayton had recently got himself leg-shackled. On purpose. The viscount loved science and creating things. He was extremely wealthy, had yet to meet a stranger, and was an active member of Parliament. He was the last one they’d all thought would be first to marry. But even Rhys had to admit that marriage seemed to agree with the chap. Clayton had just returned from his honeymoon and he still appeared to be deeply in love with his wife, Theodora. Who knew? Perhaps love was a thing after all. At least for some gentlemen.

Rhys took a draught from his mug and glanced around at his three friends. The four of them had met at Eton as lads and stuck together come what may. Each of them played a unique role in their group.

These days Kendall was distracted by the bill he was trying to get passed in Parliament. The Employment Bill was a piece of legislation that his older brother had sponsored before dying of consumption and leaving the earldom to Kendall.

Bell was obsessed with chasing after a traitor who had betrayed the English army at Bidassoa in Spain, and Clayton was busy as usual, hosting parties and playing politics, the two things he did best.

Rhys was well aware that he was the devil-may-care ne’er-do-well of the lot. He kept up his steady stream of drinking, gambling, and chasing women. That was what the ton expected of the Duke of Worthington, after all, and that’s what they got from him. He was one in a long line of dukes who spent more time seeing to their own pleasures than the details of their estates. That was what solicitors were for, after all, and Rhys had a fine solicitor. He even met with the man nearly daily to hear the boring details as to how his properties were running. What more could he be asked to do? Life was for living, after all, not keeping one’s head inside a tedious book of figures. Or any book for that matter. No matter how much Bell teased him for not reading, Rhys remained convinced just about anything was more fun.

Rhys had a head for figures, but instead of using it to run his estates, he used it at the gambling table. Only far too often he was too deep in his cups at the gambling table and he lost. But no matter. What was lost today might easily be won again tomorrow. That was the beauty of gaming. There was always a second chance. Quite unlike marriage.

If one made a bad marriage, one was stuck for life. And, as he’d learned, some women were nothing more than scheming liars looking to spear the biggest fish. And in their world, the glittering beau monde, the biggest fish meant the man with the best title. Outside of royalty, there was no better title than duke, of course. That had been drilled into Rhys’s head by his father from the time he was barely able to walk. Rhys had to be especially careful when it came to the fairer sex.

And he had been. Or so he thought.

Unlike Kendall, at least Rhys hadn’t actually offered for the woman he’d nearly fallen for. Rhys had always been suspicious of Lady Emily Foswell for Kendall’s sake, however. The woman had never seemed particularly pleased to see Kendall. And when she tossed him over on the eve of their wedding for a baron, Rhys had been incensed. Angrier, even, than Kendall himself.

Kendall, who, at the time, had been a second son in the Navy, had taken the news with a sort of resigned unhappiness, but Rhys, Rhys had been prepared to go find the woman and give her a speech on the importance of loyalty and the treachery of greed. Not that he should be lecturing anyone on anything, but Kendall had every right.

The one thing that consoled Rhys was the fact that now Lady Emily had to live the rest of her life knowing she’d inadvertently tossed over a future earl for a baron. Ha.

“I’m entirely serious,” Kendall continued. “I must look to secure the earldom. I fear I’ve been too preoccupied with the Employment Bill. I’ve been remiss waiting this long to find a bride.”

“I certainly won’t disagree with you that you’ve been too preoccupied with the Employment Bill,” Rhys replied with a snort. “‘Obsessed’ is more like it.”

Kendall shrugged. “Well, now that the Lords have tabled the vote until the autumn session, I have more time to rally the support I need. I might as well get about the business of looking for a wife in earnest.”

“I never bother to vote in Parliament,” Rhys replied. “Don’t happen to care for the hours. And all the arguing is downright exhausting.”

Bell gave him a beleaguered look and shook his head. “God forbid you take an interest in your seat or any of the issues the country is dealing with.”

Rhys gave them his most charming grin. “I’m entirely confident you chaps can handle it,” he replied, clapping Bell on the back.

“When the time comes for the vote for my brother’s bill,” Kendall continued, addressing his remarks to Rhys, “I’ll drive to your town house and drag you out of bed myself.”

Bell’s and Clayton’s laughter filled the alcove in which they were sitting. His friends knew Rhys disliked anything that involved his waking early in the morning.

I’d like to see you try. But Rhys decided to keep that particular thought to himself.

“Let’s not talk of such unpleasantness,” Rhys replied with a sigh. “You mentioned finding a bride, Kendall. That’s much more interesting. Now, how old are you again?” He shoved back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at the earl.

Rhys knew as well as the rest of them that they were the same age save for a matter of months. He loved to pretend he’d forgotten how old they were. Age is a number without meaning. A line his father had often used.

Kendall arched his brow. “The same age you are, old man.”

“Well, then,” Rhys declared. “You’ve plenty of time to find a wife as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s easy to say, coming from a man who’s never given a toss about securing his own title,” Kendall shot back, with a good-natured grin.

Rhys returned the smile with a devilish one of his own. “I cannot argue with you there.” He turned and gave the barmaid his even more charming smile, the one he saved exclusively for women, as he ordered another round of ale for the table.

“Yes, well, if you’re seriously looking for a wife, Kendall, the Season has just ended,” Clayton interjected. “It seems you’ve missed your chance. The entire ton is about to retire to the country as soon as Parliament closes next week.”

“I’m well aware,” Kendall replied with a curt nod. “The Season makes my skin crawl. Full of simpering maids and purse-eyeing mamas eager to show off their best behavior in the hopes of snaring a rich husband. I don’t want to find a wife that way.”

“How else do you intend to find one?” Bell’s eyes were narrowed. The marquess was up to something, Rhys could tell.

“I don’t know how exactly.” Kendall took another drink. “But this time I intend to find a lady who loves me for myself.”

There it was. Kendall’s only allowance to the Lady Emily debacle. Well, at least he’d learned his lesson. Rhys, of course, had no idea how one would go about finding a woman who ‘loves me for myself.’ It sounded quite impossible to him, but at least it was the correct attitude. Thank Christ his friend was finally seeing reason.

“Yes!” Rhys pounded his fist against the table, his voice filling with anger. “I think we can all agree that Lady Emily is the lowest of the low. There’s no excuse for what she did, tossing over one man for another with a better title. As far as I’m concerned, she no longer exists.”

“Can we not discuss Lady Emily, please?” Kendall groaned and covered his face with one hand.

The barmaid reappeared with the drinks and Rhys’s smile reappeared too. “Keep ‘em coming, Love,” he said to her, before turning back to Kendall and adding, “I’m merely pointing out that if you want a lady who loves you for yourself, the Season and its ridiculousness are the last place you should go.”

“Yes,” Kendall replied with a sigh, lifting his mug into the air to salute Rhys. “Didn’t I already say that? The Season and its fetes are the last place I should go, which is why I’ve avoided it like the pox for the last two Seasons.”

“Oh, is that why you haven’t attended the boring balls at Almack’s?” Rhys replied with a smirk. “I thought it was the tepid tea and small talk. That’s why I steer clear of them.”

“You avoid them because they don’t serve brandy and we all know it,” Bell pointed out, staring fixedly at Rhys, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Rhys winked at his friend. He wasn’t about to deny it. “That and they won’t give me the bank that Hollister’s will.”

Kendall scratched his chin and stared blindly at his mug. “If only the ladies of the ton didn’t know I am an earl, I’d have a much better chance of finding a match,” he grumbled.

Rhys’s laughter cracked off the wooden beams on the tavern’s ceiling. “I’d pay to see that. An earl dressed up like a common man to find true love. Has a certain poetic ring to it, don’t it?”

Clayton laughed too and shook his head, while Bell’s shrewd, narrowed-eyed stare intensified. “It’s not a completely outlandish idea.” He tilted his head to the side.

“What’s not?” Kendall asked.

“The idea of pretending you’re a commoner to find a wife,” Bell replied.

Rhys slapped Bell on the back. “Are you mad, man? You’re not even drinking.”

Of course Bell wasn’t drinking. The man never drank. Most annoying thing about him. The marquess preferred to remain in control of his faculties, and they all knew it. He’d always been the one to remain out of any fracas the other three got into, usually due to his sobriety.

Bell leaned forward and stared at Kendall. “Given the right circumstances, it could work, you know?”

“Pretending I’m common?” Kendall replied, blinking. “I don’t see how.”

“Everyone in the ton knows him,” Clayton pointed out. “How would he ever manage it?”

Hmm. Was Bell actually serious? Rhys stared intently at his friend. He was serious, wasn’t he? Why, this could be interesting. Quite interesting, indeed.

“Are you suggesting he wear a mask or alter his appearance?” Rhys asked, narrowing his eyes just like Bell. Could this actually work?

Kendall glanced back and forth between Rhys and Bell. “You cannot be serious, either of you. Clayton’s right. How would it ever work?”

“No, not a costume.” Bell addressed his remarks to Rhys. “I was thinking something more like the right…situation.”

“Such as?” Rhys replied, drawing out both words. He also leaned forward.

“You two are frightening me, you know?” Kendall replied. “You seem as if you’re actually trying to plot out a way this ludicrous idea might work.”

“Like a…house party,” Bell replied to Rhys, stroking his own chin and completely ignoring Kendall’s concern.

Rhys inclined his head, his eyes still narrowed. “A house party, yes. I see what you mean.”

“But it couldn’t be just any house party, of course,” Bell continued. “It would have to be one given by someone who was in on the experiment.”

“‘Experiment’?” Clayton perked up. “There are few things I enjoy more than an experiment, and I just so happen to be about to send the invitations to my annual country house party.”

“‘Experiment’?” Kendall repeated, blinking.

Bell snapped his fingers. “Your house party would be perfect, Clayton.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.” Kendall, who sat between Bell and Rhys, pushed against their shoulders with both hands. He was clearly becoming concerned that they were serious. And they were quite serious. “A house party isn’t going to change my identity. Ladies of the ton will still know who I am at a house party.”

“He makes a good point,” Clayton replied, sloshing more ale down his throat. Leave it to Clayton to try to be reasonable. The man simply didn’t have the imagination Bell and Rhys did. Poor chap.

“Not if you invite only the debutantes from this Season,” Bell replied, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “And not if you create the right circumstances.”

Kendall sucked in a deep breath and pushed his mug out of reach. “The ladies may not know me, but some of their mothers do. More than one of them has already been to court with an older daughter making her debut.”

“That’s where the right circumstances come in,” Bell replied, crossing his arms over his chest, the half-smile still riding his lips.

Rhys scratched at the day-old stubble on his chin and smiled an even wider smile than Bell’s. “By God, I think you’re onto something.”

“I refuse to wear a mask if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s positively medieval,” Kendall declared, shaking his head.

“Not a mask,” Bell replied. He settled back in his chair and plucked at his lower lip, a gesture he often made when he was plotting something.

“Or a costume, either,” Kendall continued. He pushed his mug farther away. Probably for good measure. No doubt the poor chap was trying to sober up. Ha.

“Not a costume…precisely.” Bell exchanged a positively roguish grin with Rhys.

“By God, I’m going to have the best time watching this,” Rhys said, nodding.

“Watching what?” Clayton’s nose was scrunched in confusion. “I don’t know what in the devil either of you is talking about any longer.”

“I’m talking about Kendall here pretending to be a servant,” Bell replied, still grinning.

Kendall blinked. “A servant?”

“Yes. It’s perfect,” Rhys added, nodding.

Kendall turned to him and stared as if he’d lost his mind. “Perfect? Me? Being a servant? How is that perfect?”

“That still doesn’t fix the problem of the ladies’ mothers recognizing him. Even if he’s dressed as a servant,” Clayton pointed out.

“Ah, but it does,” Bell replied. “That’s the beauty of it. Most people don’t look at servants. They don’t pay attention to the majority of things beyond what they need and want. My training as a spy has taught me much about the human failure to notice details. I’d be willing to bet that not one of those ladies of the ton will look twice at Kendall if he’s dressed as a servant and performing servants’ duties. He’ll be wearing livery, knee breeches, and a powdered wig, after all.”

“And it has the added advantage that a servant will be in a particularly excellent position to discover how a lady truly behaves,” Rhys added, sweeping his long dark hair off his forehead with his fingers. “I’d wager she’s at her best when addressing a potential bridegroom and at her worst when addressing a servant. God knows I’ve seen it time and again from my mother.”

“You’re both truly mad, you know that?” Kendall replied, looking positively alarmed.

“I dunno,” Clayton replied, tugging at his cravat. “But it sounds like quite a lark to me. I’m perfectly willing to offer my upcoming house party as a venue for such an experiment.”

“You’ve gone mad too, then,” Kendall declared.

“Think about it,” Bell said, turning his attention to Kendall. “It has the potential to give you precisely what you want. An unencumbered look at the latest crop of debutantes behaving precisely how they would when they don’t know you are watching.”

Kendall narrowed his eyes on the marquess. “It’s positively alarming that you don’t see the problem with this plan.”

Bell shrugged. “What problem? The risk is not too great. If anyone recognizes you, we’ll simply ask that person to play along. No doubt they’ll enjoy the game too.”

“What if I find a lady I fancy?” Kendall replied. “Am I supposed to simply rip off my livery and declare myself an earl and expect she’ll fall madly in love with me?”

“Not at all,” Bell said. “I’m merely suggesting that you get to know these young ladies on the basis of how they treat servants. I’ve no doubt the best-natured ones will be kind and pleasant. Once you have a few candidates, you will know who to court next Season.”

Kendall shook his head slowly. He pulled his mug back toward his chest at last. Perhaps he was beginning to like the idea. “You’re suggesting that I choose a future bride on the basis of how she treats a footman?”

Bell arched a brow. “How did Lady Emily treat servants?” His next words were slow and deliberate.

Kendall clenched his jaw.

Rhys pursed his lips. Now that had been a good point. Bell always knew precisely what to say. Lady Emily had snapped at a servant a time or two. They’d all witnessed it.

“I see by the look on your face that you recognize my point,” Bell drawled.

Kendall appeared to consider it for a moment. Rhys could tell by the dawning look on his face that he was beginning to see the merits in the plan. He had to be. The man needed a wife. How better to find one you could trust?

“I’m willing to do it with you,” Bell tossed out casually with another shrug.

“What?” Rhys snapped his eyebrows together. “Why would you do it?”

Bell straightened his shoulders and settled back into his chair. “Because I’ve narrowed down my hunt for the Bidassoa traitor to one of three possibilities.”

“The man you’ve been hunting for the Home Office?” Rhys clarified, lowering his voice.

“Precisely the one,” Bell replied. “And if Clayton here will invite those three men to the house party, I will also pretend to be a servant to watch them.”

Rhys tossed back his head and laughed. “I should have known you had another motive all along, Bell. His Majesty’s work is never far from your mind. Even when we’re drinking.”

Bell’s grin widened. “Why shouldn’t we use the opportunity for two useful pursuits instead of one? I’ll admit, I was already thinking about this plan before Kendall informed us of his search for a wife, but if it helps both of us, all the better, I say. We will truly have to behave as servants, however. We’ll have to wait on the guests and do all the tasks servants must do.”

“Hmm. I do quite like the idea of spying going on under my roof.” Clayton took another long draught of ale. “Gives the whole affair a bit of intrigue. And since I haven’t been a soldier or served His Majesty otherwise, I feel it’s my duty to say yes to this ruse. Not to mention my love of an experiment. Will you do it, Kendall?”

Kendall hefted his mug to his lips and drained it. Then he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Now that Bell’s doing it with me, how can I refuse?”

Rhys accepted yet another new mug of ale from the barmaid and flipped a coin into the air for her tip. He gave her a flirtatious grin before turning his attention back to the conversation. “I, for one, am so interested in seeing such a situation play out, not only will I attend to watch the spectacle, I will also settle a large sum on the outcome as to whether you two can pull this off. Care to bet me?” He gave them both his most competitive stare.

Bell rolled his eyes. “Everything’s a bet with you, Worth.”

“Perhaps, but you must admit, this is a particularly tempting bet.” Rhys lifted his chin toward the marquess. “Five hundred pounds say you are both outed by a keen-eyed mama within a sennight.”

“I’ll take that bet!” Clayton declared, pointing a finger in the air. “You’ll be attending as a guest, I presume, Worthington.”

Kendall’s snort of laughter interrupted Rhys’s reply. “Of course, he’s attending as a guest. Our mate Worth here could never pass for a footman.” He shook his head sympathetically toward the duke. “You couldn’t last one night serving others, I’m afraid.”

Rhys gathered himself up and straightened his shoulders. “I take offense to that. If you two sops can do it, surely I can.”

Clayton blew air into his cheeks and shook his head, not quite meeting Rhys’s gaze. “Hmm. I’m not exactly certain I agree with that, old chap.”

Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his friend. “You truly don’t think I could do it?”

“No,” Clayton admitted, looking slightly sheepish. “Not if you actually have to fill the role of a servant and do real chores. No.”

Rhys’s gaze swung to Bell. “You don’t think I can do it either?” Was this truly what his friends thought of him? He knew he had a reputation to live down, but they didn’t think him capable of working as a servant for so much as a fortnight?

Bell shook his head. “Not a chance. Apologies, Your Grace, but you’re far too used to being waited upon to wait on anyone else.”

“But that’s how I know how to do it properly,” Rhys shot back, entirely disgruntled.

Kendall snorted. “I’m afraid seeing one serve and actually serving are two entirely different things.”

Rhys’s eyes widened. That hypocrite. “You’re a bloody earl for Christ’s sake. Why do you think you can serve?”

“I may be an earl but I’m no stranger to hard work. I spent years in the Navy doing chores like picking oakum and deworming hardtack. And those two tasks were pleasant compared to some of my other tasks,” Kendall replied.

Rhys slapped a palm on the tabletop. The mugs bounced. “Fine. One thousand pounds says I can make it through the entire fortnight as a servant too. Or at least I can last longer than either of you.”

“Now who is being mad?” Clayton asked, waggling his eyebrows at Rhys.

“I’m quite serious.” Rhys’s jaw was locked. If he was anything, he was competitive, and he was never more competitive than when someone believed he couldn’t do something. The thought incensed him. He’d win this bet if it was the last thing he did. “One thousand pounds, gentlemen. Who will take the bet?”

“I will,” all three called in unison.