The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

The Duke of Penning was not in this room. Indeed not. Only Mr. Butler was in attendance.

Penniless and rankless, albeit handsome, Mr. Butler.

Imogen nodded once and told herself to stop searching him out. She’d done enough of that. It felt rather desperate. It made her feel like one of the ladies who couldn’t keep their eyes off him. Usually it was because of his dashing good looks. He cut an impeccable figure in his smart and still fashionable attire.

But there was more to it tonight. There was a difference. There were more to the stares he was eliciting.

For a start, the long looks he garnered had nothing to do with his appearance. Not anymore. Not this night. The whispers behind fans and gloved hands were all about the latest on dit.

The rumors circulating about him.

She need not hear everyone’s words to know what they were saying—more or less. They were speaking the words she herself had breathed to life. The on dit she had created.

“You’ve been busy,” Mercy’s sudden voice remarked.

Imogen jerked at the arrival of her friend beside her. Her hand flew to press over her startled heart. “Oh,” she exhaled. “Mercy, dearest. How lovely you look this evening. Is that a new gown?” Imogen leaned forward to press a kiss to the young woman’s cheek.

Mercy gestured to her gown—a garment Imogen had seen her friend wear many times before. “This tired thing?” In fact, Mercy had worn the same gown to the Blankenships’ last two country balls, and Imogen well remembered it.

Mercy’s farm was quite prosperous, but one would never know it from the humble manner in which she lived. Plump pockets did not prompt her to spend money on herself and buy new frocks. She saw to it that her sister was always outfitted accordingly, but not Mercy. She never indulged in fripperies for herself.

She also had her brother with whom to contend. She often bemoaned the fact that Bede was a bit of a spendthrift. Since finishing school, he spent very little of his time at his family home. He rarely visited—even on holidays. Imogen could not recall the last time she had seen him. He left the management of the farm to Mercy, devoting most of his time to his leisure pursuits in Town. Mercy was, in effect, the head of her family, shouldering all the responsibilities whilst her siblings led carefree existences. It was likely why Imogen was so drawn to her. Mercy understood all about obligation and duty to one’s family.

“Yes,” Imogen insisted. “Your dress is lovely.”

“Tsk! Rubbish.” Mercy swatted her with her fan. “Now you’re just trying to distract me with your lovely lies.” Mercy’s dark eyes danced. “And speaking of lies.”

Imogen ignored the pointed mention of lies, asking instead, “Why would I be attempting to distract you?”

“To keep from talking about all the natter floating about town. Would you know anything about that, Imogen? Hm?”

Imogen sighed and decided not to pretend ignorance of her friend’s meaning. They were well beyond that. Mercy had been there, after all. She had stood witness to the first lie Imogen had uttered regarding Mr. Butler—when Imogen informed the Blankenship sisters that he was stark bald and wore a wig.

“Just a few more carefully placed words here and there.” Imogen sniffed and took a sip from her glass of punch. “No more than that.”

Mercy lifted an eyebrow and sipped from her own punch. “Apparently a few more carefully placed words served its purpose. It took not five minutes upon arrival before I heard the latest tattle about Mr. Butler. You’re quite the yarn spinner. I never realized you possessed such an imagination.”

“I can be creative when called upon.”

“And you’re called upon to be creative now?” One of Mercy’s dark eyebrows arched sharply.

Imogen gave a mild shrug, and lifted her glass for another sip, returning her attention to the dance floor. Mercy followed her gaze. They watched the colorful dancers for several moments. Standing by and watching was a familiar habit.

Like Imogen, Mercy was not interested in attracting a dance partner. Imogen might once have had dreams of dancing the night away in the arms of a dashing gentleman, but it had been a long time since she harbored those kinds of aspirations. As two firmly on the shelf spinsters, it had been several years since either Imogen or Mercy were even asked to dance at one of these things. They were content to chat and watch and keep a vigilant eye on Mercy’s sister who did have those aspirations.

Although tonight Imogen found herself distracted from their usual easy flow of conversation. Mercy’s words of caution from the other day echoed in her mind. When this reaches his ears, which you know it will, and he finds out you are the source . . . what then?

Indeed. What then?

Imogen tried to envision that moment and what she would say. What would she do? Was there some way she might avoid the man? Could she feign ignorance? Deny all accusations? Or should she simply confess her actions and tell him why she had felt compelled to ruin his matrimonial prospects? She cringed at the notion of having such a conversation with him. Such a candid exchange would not be an easy thing.

Pushing the unwelcome prospect from her mind, she did her best to follow Mercy’s conversation and contribute her own remarks. It was difficult. Maintaining a discussion while tracking Mr. Butler was a challenge.

She watched him edge the ballroom, heading toward Emily Blankenship with long strides and a steely-eyed purpose. Blast the man for still looking so very handsome. His change in circumstances had done nothing to alter his physical appeal. Unfortunately.