My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2)

by Bianca Blythe

  Fiddle-faddle.

  She couldn’t marry him.

  She might be in a white dress, one with sufficient ruffles to rival Princess Charlotte’s, but it didn’t matter.

  She still couldn’t marry him.

  And yet, the wedding music was playing, whether or not she wanted it to do so. People were speaking outside in the courtyard, no doubt wondering at her absence or the suddenness of the wedding. She peeked outside and saw her father and stepmother seated..

  “It’s time for you to go,” a chambermaid said. She had a pale face, and Juliet suspected it was enhanced by actual fear.

  Perhaps that was what Juliet would look like after living with the Duke of Sherwood. Heavens. They would be married. She would be expected to visit his bedroom. As much as she’d enjoyed those activities with Lucas, the thought of Sherwood touching her most intimate parts filled her with revulsion, and a sour taste invaded her mouth.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” a familiar voice boomed.

  The deep voice might not belong to Lucas, but Juliet’s heart still quickened. “Father!”

  “That’s me.” Her father strolled into the room. “The countess and I decided to find you. Sherwood wanted us to wait in our seats, but that sounded tiresome.”

  “Your father is fidgety,” Juliet’s stepmother said, but there was no animosity in her statement.

  “If Sherwood wanted us to stay, he should have laid out some food,” her father declared.

  “There will be a wedding breakfast after the wedding,” her stepmother said.

  “Clearly, a place where tradition has got it wrong,” Papa said.

  “You don’t want to spoil your appetite.”

  “I never spoil my appetite,” Juliet’s father said proudly.

  “Your daughter is getting married. Perhaps you should speak about more than stomach capacities.”

  “I wasn’t speaking about general stomach capacities. Just mine, in particular. Which is impressive.”

  “Naturally, dear,” her stepmother said.

  Papa smiled fondly and kissed her.

  “Not in front of your daughter.”

  “Nonsense, Agnes. Juliet’s going to be a married woman soon. She and Sherwood will be kissing before us.”

  “No, we won’t,” Juliet said.

  “Well, you always were more proper, sweetheart,” her father said. “But you needn’t feel compelled to quell your true love passion for us. ’Agnes and I are adults too.”

  “That’s not it,” Juliet said. “But can you please get me out of here?”

  “Ah, you want to explore the kitchen too?” Papa’s eyes sparkled. “You’re my daughter.”

  “I want to leave the castle.”

  Her stepmother frowned. “The wedding will take place in the castle.”

  “She just wants to see a bit of nature,” Papa said. “All quite sensible.”

  “Then open the window,” her stepmother said.

  “We were surprised when we were informed by one of the duke’s servants that you were to marry suddenly,” Papa said.

  “It was quite inconvenient,” her stepmother said. “My modiste has not finished making my dress. The duke will think I generally go about in last season’s clothes.”

  “The duke is a man. He doesn’t know about seasons.”

  “He might know. Besides, he is fashionable.”

  “Perhaps he can teach me some tricks,” her father said.

  “No,” Juliet said, and her father lifted his eyebrows.

  “See, even your own daughter thinks you’re hopeless,” her stepmother said.

  “Yes, I’d hoped for rather more daughterly duty.” Her father scrutinized her, but his eyes twinkled, and Juliet knew he was happy.

  Her stomach twisted. “I can’t marry him. I must leave.”

  Her stepmother widened her eyes. “You mean you don’t want to marry him?”

  Juliet gave a miserable nod. “Precisely.”

  “Impossible,” her father blustered. “She’s jesting. These modern women and their sense of humor.” He gave a forced laugh.

  “I’m not jesting,” Juliet said quietly.

  “Of course you are,” he said. “Why, you’re sitting in your finest dress.”

  “I believe I’ve seen Genevieve wear that before,” her stepmother said.

  “Hmph. That is odd. Well, you’re sitting in a pretty dress all the same in the castle of the man to whom you’re betrothed. It’s obvious that you are getting married.”

  “I don’t love him,” Juliet blurted.

  Her breath halted, and she turned her head slowly to her father and stepmother, wondering why they were silent.

  Both of them had slightly bemused expressions on their faces.

  Fiddle-faddle.

  No doubt she’d shocked them.

  “Sweetheart,” her father said finally. “We don’t expect you to love him.”

  “Naturally not,” her stepmother said briskly.

  “B-But—” Juliet stammered.

  “Do you think I loved your mother when I married her?” Papa asked with a laugh.

  Though Juliet generally liked hearing her father laugh, the sound grated on her ears now. The prompt addition of her stepmother’s laughter did not improve matters, nor did it help when her father kissed her stepmother’s cheek.

  “Though she loved you,” her stepmother squealed, and Papa proceeded to chuckle heartily.

  “That she did,” her father said.

  “I do not like it when you refer to my mother in such a manner,” Juliet said stiffly.

  “Why, we’re just having a good time,” Papa said.

  “Would you deny your father a good time?” Her stepmother shot a haughty look in Juliet’s direction.

  Normally, the look might make Juliet cringe. It was that look that had made Juliet avoid spending time with her stepmother, that look that had made her eager to go to finishing school, eager to find a husband at once so she could move from her family, and eager to have a season in London, even after she’d already secured a betrothal.

  But Juliet wasn’t going to cower now.

  Her stepmother frowned. “Sherwood said you might be experiencing pre-wedding jitters.”

  “I’m not,” Juliet said.

  “Then you do want to marry him,” her father said with a relieved laugh. “Excellent, sweetheart.”

  “No, I don’t,” Juliet said firmly.

  “But why ever not?” her stepmother asked, a perplexed expression on her face.

  “Apparently, she’s been impressed by how romantic we are, and can’t settle for anything else!” Papa told her stepmother.

  Her stepmother giggled. “Is that true, Juliet?”

  “No,” Juliet said flatly. “I love someone else.”

  “Oh, dear,” her stepmother said. “I suppose she is your daughter.”

  They chuckled.

  “And I refuse to marry Sherwood.”

  Her father’s face turned puce. “Sherwood is the most important aristocrat in this region. Couldn’t you have decided to insult a man of less local social stature?”

  “But, Papa,” Juliet pleaded.

  “Whom do you love?” her stepmother asked.

  “The Duke of Ainsworth.”

  Her stepmother blinked. “How odd. I wouldn’t have thought he would appeal to you.”

  “He’s incredibly wonderful,” Juliet said.

  Her father shrugged. “So, you have nice discussions about botany.”

  “Actually—”

  Her father waved his hand impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that you’re not going to marry him.”

  “Precisely,” her stepmother said.

  “We saw how excited you were when you became engaged to Sherwood,” her father said. “We don’t want to take that away from you.”

  “You’re quite welcome to,” Juliet said.

  “Nonsense,” her father said.

  “You’re simply
saying that because you don’t want me to harm your position in the local community.”

  “Perhaps.” Papa shrugged casually. “Besides, once you give him an heir, he might permit you to have an affair.”

  Juliet swallowed hard. She hadn’t expected her father and stepmother would happily whisk her away, but she’d still felt a sliver of hope when they’d appeared.

  Her mouth dried. Music drifted through the now open window. The violinists were entertaining the guests.

  “Besides, he might be a criminal,” Juliet said. “You must care about that!”

  Her father narrowed his eyes. “What sort of crimes?”

  “Counterfeit money.”

  Her father shrugged. “Oh, that’s not murder, sweetheart.”

  “Murder is the only crime you take seriously?”

  “The man is a duke, sweetheart. It’s hardly easy to convict him.”

  “The best men are working on it.”

  Her father sent her a quizzical glance, and Juliet decided to be silent.

  Juliet crossed her arms. “You don’t have a say.”

  “E-Excuse me?” Juliet’s father wrinkled his brow.

  “I decide what I’m going to do.”

  Juliet’s father glanced at her stepmother. “I think you’re right. I think I’m losing my hearing.”

  “I’ll get a horn when we return,” her stepmother said between gritted teeth.

  “Good, good,” her father said absent-mindedly. He squeezed her stepmother’s hand. “You’re so good to me.”

  Juliet rolled her eyes. “You’re not losing your hearing, father. You heard me quite well. I don’t want you to interfere in my affairs.”

  “That’s no manner in which to speak to your father,” her stepmother scolded her.

  “I do not require to be disciplined,” Juliet said.

  Her stepmother widened her eyes.

  “You’re not my mother,” Juliet said.

  “I thought that was obvious,” her father said. “Darling Agnes is a great deal more of a looker.”

  “I do not like it when you insult my mother,” Juliet said. “She passed away.”

  “She can’t hear you, dear,” her stepmother said.

  Juliet glared. “You needn’t always speak about her with such sarcasm.”

  “We’re having a good time,” her father said.

  “There’s nothing amusing about the fact that you didn’t love her.”

  “I couldn’t help—”

  Juliet shook her head. “You proposed. You wanted to marry her. She loved you.”

  Her father’s face became whiter than before.

  “You’re upsetting him,” her stepmother chided.

  “He needs to know this.” Juliet’s voice didn’t wobble, but her heart quaked inside her chest. Juliet never spoke to her father in this manner. Juliet continued on, even though every word was unfamiliar. “You wanted to marry her for her dowry.”

  “You can’t blame me,” her father said. “It was a bloody good dowry.”

  “And then you treated her appallingly. You were already in love with someone else.”

  “You say it like I was the first person in the world not to love my wife.”

  “No,” Juliet admitted. “That’s true.”

  Her father flashed a contented smile and squeezed her stepmother’s hand.

  “But when you proposed, you knew you could never love her. She had a fortune. She could have married anyone, but you convinced her to marry you. You dazzled her. But you knew you were already in love with someone else.”

  “Well...” Papa crossed his legs, even though etiquette frowned on the action, then he shifted and crossed his legs in the other direction. He retained a pained look on his face: evidently, no position sufficed in removing discomfort from his body. “There was perhaps the potential of love.”

  Her stepmother glared at him, sending him one of the furious glances she was prone to displaying to Juliet.

  “Sally is your child, isn’t she?” Juliet asked her father.

  He stiffened. “You shouldn’t ask that question.”

  “You think she’s your half-sister? She doesn’t look anything like you,” her stepmother laughed.

  “No,” Juliet admitted, “she doesn’t have my red hair.”

  “Precisely,” her stepmother said smugly and rose. She glanced at Juliet’s father. “Come. We should go now. It seems that your daughter has decided not only not to listen to reason, but to speak ridiculousness.”

  “But Sally has my chin,” Juliet said hurriedly. “And she has father’s chin.”

  Her father shifted his legs, and a pained expression came on his face. Juliet ignored her instinct to apologize. She didn’t want to see her father unhappy. Despite everything, she was fond of him. He hadn’t been a terrible father. He was jolly and playful, and she could see why her mother had loved him.

  “Some questions can’t be unasked,” her father said.

  “But they can be answered.”

  Her stepmother crossed her arms. “This is all very inappropriate, Juliet. I must say, I did expect more from you. You’ve always had a good grasp of etiquette. I didn’t think you would do your best to not follow it.”

  “Juliet’s right,” her father said gently, putting a hand on his wife’s arm. “What we did was wrong.”

  “There’s nothing wrong about love,” her stepmother said.

  “No,” her father agreed. “But Juliet’s mother didn’t know we were in love, and she didn’t know about Sally. That must have been difficult for her.”

  “We were secretive,” her stepmother huffed. “We didn’t marry until after she died.”

  “Well, it would have been rather impossible to do it the other way,” her father said.

  Her stepmother was silent, but her jaw was clenched.

  “I’m sorry, Juliet,” her father said.

  She nodded, silent. It wasn’t her place to forgive him. Perhaps her mother had already forgiven him. Perhaps that’s why her mother had never raised her voice to him, had never criticized him, had always brightened when her father had deigned to dine with her.

  “But you must know that the past is the past.”

  “I don’t want you to insult her any more. I don’t want you to tease her. She gave you everything.”

  “She gave me you,” her father said softly.

  Juliet nodded. Tears prickled her eyes, and her father’s gaze softened.

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” her father said. “I didn’t realize. I-I should have.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Juliet said.

  “Now, you’ve spoken a great deal of sense this morning,” her father said, “but that is where you are wrong. It absolutely does matter. Now come and give me a hug.”

  Her stepmother rolled her eyes, but she remained silent.

  Juliet sank into her father’s embrace.

  “There, there,” he said, patting her head. “Now, tell me. What’s this about you not wanting to marry the duke?”

  “I’m in love with another man,” she said miserably.

  “Does he love you?”

  “I think so.”

  “Now what do you want?” her father asked.

  “I want you to sneak me away from here, then take the carriage to the Duke of Ainsworth’s cottage.”

  “Very well,” her father said.

  Her stepmother shot Papa an appalled look, but her father’s face was grim.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Lucas and Sebastian rushed inside.

  Heads turned, and a piano halted the strains to the wedding march. The door slammed shut behind him, and the bishop patted his forehead with a handkerchief and cast his eyes to the heavens as if determined to call in every favor.

  “What are you doing here?” the Duke of Sherwood growled.

  Lucas didn’t hesitate. He inhaled and spread his feet. If he carried a sword, he might have drawn it, but instead, he only said, “I’m here to stop the wedding.”


  The words sufficed in drawing attention, even without the assistance of a weapon.

  The bishop dropped his bible, and guests in the front scrambled to pick it up for him.

  “You are interrupting my wedding.” The Duke of Sherwood scowled in Lucas’s direction. “I demand you leave.”

  “And I demand I speak with Lady Juliet,” Lucas said.

  The Duke of Sherwood’s face changed for a second, but then he pouted. “Leave.”

  Lucas swept his gaze about the courtyard. Women in pastel-trimmed glared at him from the below the brim of their bonnets, and the men, unimpeded by such cumbersome accessories glared as well. Amusement danced on some people’s faces.

  Lucas firmed his expression. He refused to cower and return to his cottage.

  He surveyed the courtyard. Men and women clothed in immaculate attire stared at him. Many of them he recognized, though he was unaccustomed to seeing them when their eyebrows were perched at such a high level or when their mouths were opened so wide, that one would imagine them to be about to consume some steak.

  No steak was before them, though he suspected many of them found the promises of future gossip appealing. Most weddings were dull occasions, especially when they were tastefully done, and one could not even wonder at the inappropriateness of the clothes and the ambiance of the flowers.

  The guests leaned forward eagerly, but Lucas was not concerned with guests. He was only concerned about Juliet.

  Unfortunately, she was not present. Lucas was certain he would have noticed if the most beautiful woman in the world were standing at the altar. No auburn hair graced the area, and no tall, delightfully curved figure.

  He turned to Sherwood. “What have you done with her?”

  Sherwood smiled.

  Lucas turned. “Juliet! Juliet! Where are you?”

  Some of the guests stirred.

  “I’m eager for the wedding to begin soon too,” Sherwood said, his voice unctuous.

  Sherwood marched away, and a flicker of joy moved through him. Sherwood was leaving. He knew he could not marry Juliet, that Juliet did not want to marry him.

  Lucas had won.

  But the moment after, Sherwood appeared, brandishing a sword. “You are being disruptive.”

  Lucas’s mouth dropped.

  Sherwood’s eyes flashed. “I demand you leave at once.”

  Lucas inhaled. He resisted the temptation to slink away. Perhaps this was Sherwood’s castle, and perhaps this was Sherwood’s wedding, but Juliet was his.