The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,16

Blankenship ball did not unify all of Shropshire society—not that Imogen contradicted her dear Papa on that point.

Delightful occasion or not, the late Duke of Penning had never graced any of the Blankenship balls. He might have invited the Blankenships up to the grand manor house for an occasional fete, but that was different. The late duke could invite whomever he wanted into his space. He had the right to pick and choose. He was a duke. He could do anything he wanted—but what he clearly never wanted to do was mingle with the many varied denizens of Shropshire in the Blankenship ballroom.

And this certainly was not the kind of event the once most precious and valued Penning heir would ever attend. He certainly had not in the days before he inherited the dukedom and definitely not after, in his glory days as the Duke of Penning. Before the truth came out. Only now, apparently, did he deem it a good enough venue from him.

Now he attended. Now he was here.

She lifted her nose a notch as though his presence carried with it an unfortunate odor.

People watched him as he moved about the room. Yes, Imogen watched, too, but she was not gawking at him for the reasons they were.

Everyone in this village held him in awe. As though he were still the duke. Still a nobleman in their midst. It was most vexing.

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