London Ladies (The Complete Series)

by Eaton, Jillian

  She was still bemused herself.

  “I will have to ask Doyle if that day is suitable,” Harper said, toying absently with the long, elegant stem of her spoon. “And I do not yet know if there is going to be a reception.”

  “No reception?” Olivia said, looking aghast. “Not even a breakfast?” At Harper’s negative shake of her head the countess drew her shoulders back. “We shall see about that. It is not everyday one marries a duke, after all.” Her gaze flitted down to the opposite end of the table where Aunt Abigail sat, her hand resting familiarly on her husband’s arm. “Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Over a year married and I still do not think of myself as a duchess,” Abigail confessed with an adoring glance at the Duke of Ashburn that made Harper smile despite the knots of tension tangling up inside her belly.

  Abigail and the Duke of Ashburn - or Rocky, as Abigail affectionately called him - had been engaged in their youth but had not married until just last year when they were both well into their fifties. Harper did not know the whole story, nor did she care to pry. The only question she had was if Doyle would ever one day look at her as Ashburn looked at Abigail: with pure, unconditional love.

  “We want a small service,” she told her mother evasively, “and we have not yet discussed the details.”

  “Surely a small church service can still include your own family,” Olivia said. “And heaven knows Longmeadow Park is large enough to accommodate a hundred or so close friends for the reception. Leave the details to me, dear. I would be more than happy to plan everything.”

  “Gavin and I were married at Gretna Green without any friends or family and it was positively lovely,” Charlotte put in, earning a glare from Olivia and a grateful smile from Harper.

  “My daughter is marrying a duke,” the dowager countess said stiffly. “She will not be saying her vows over an anvil.”

  Always the peacekeeper, Dianna rushed to intervene before the disagreement could escalate into an argument. “I am sure however Harper and the Duke of Greenwood decide to celebrate their nuptials will be perfect for them and if they need any help they shall let us know.”

  “Yes,” Harper said. “Precisely.”

  “And when will your betrothed be arriving?” Abigail asked, blue eyes - the same shade as her niece’s - bright with interest.

  Trying - and failing - to keep her countenance impassive, Harper disguised her frown with a feigned cough. She’d known from the beginning of their engagement that she wouldn’t be able to keep Doyle away from her family forever - except for Miles, who had insisted on speaking with Doyle before granting his blessing - but she’d been hoping to prolong their meeting longer than two weeks. Unfortunately her mother was putting up such a fuss she’d been more or less forced to write to Doyle and invite him to Winfield. She’d included his sister in the invitation as well, and was hoping Lady Aurelia would be able to come. Over the past fourteen days the two women had struck up an odd little friendship of sorts, one that had begun when Aurelia invited her to go riding.

  “Tomorrow,” Harper said after taking a sip of water. “He will be here tomorrow.”

  “You are going to wear that?” Staring at Doyle with a critical eye, Aurelia rose up on her toes to adjust the gold pin on his white cravat.

  “What is wrong with what I am wearing?” he asked, glancing down at his gray trousers, starched shirt, and double-breasted waistcoat. If it were up to him he would have arrived at Winfield in breeches and a lawn shirt, but given that he was about to meet his future in-laws for the first time - with the exception of Miles - propriety called for full dress. Although it was so bloody hot he would be damned before he put on a tailcoat. Squinting a bit, he examined his reflection in the oval mirror hanging in the foyer. “I look the same as I always do.”

  “But you do not have anything yellow on.”

  “And why does that matter?”

  “Because,” Aurelia said before taking a step back to admire her handiwork, “yellow is Lady Harper’s favorite color.”

  “Is it now?” he said, trying to keep his tone light and casual despite the sudden dryness at the back of his throat. Despite their recent engagement, he and Harper had barely spoken a dozen words to one another over the past two weeks. This afternoon would be the first occasion they’d be spending any length of time together since the day they had become betrothed. “And how do know that?” he asked, deliberately looking away from his reflection to study his sister. She looked well, he thought. The gauntness wasn’t completely gone from her face, but she’d put on enough weight to fill out her cheeks and she no longer flinched when she heard a loud noise. Dressed in a pretty blue muslin frock with her pale hair done up in a fancy twist beneath a widebrimmed hat trimmed with white lace and flowers she almost looked like the Aurelia he remembered from days gone by.

  Almost.

  “Because unlike you, I have actually spoken to her,” Aurelia said with a welcome hint of impudence he’d no doubt she had picked up from Harper. “And I have asked her questions, including her favorite color. You might try it some time, you know.”

  “Try what?” he said absently, his mind on other matters, principle among them what he was going to say to Harper when he saw her. A cordial ‘hello’ seemed far too formal, although sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her senseless - his preferred greeting - would certainly be deemed highly inappropriate. The last time they’d been together she had all but ignored him completely. He didn’t know what he would do if he received the same cold shoulder today as he had then. More importantly, he didn’t know what her family would do. Her brother was already suspicious of him. Or so he had seemed when he’d given Doyle his blessing to marry his sister.

  “Actually learning a thing or two about the woman who is going to be your wife.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I know plenty about Lady Harper.” And despite the frigid treatment she’d given him, he still wanted her. Bloody hell, the mere thought of her was enough to harden his cock. But the question of whether she wanted him still remained largely unanswered. She desired him, of that he was certain, and she was going to be his wife. But beyond that…beyond that nothing was certain, and it was that sense of not knowing, of walking into something feeling wholly unprepared, that was driving him to distraction.

  “Do you?” Aurelia asked with a lifted brow. “I wonder.”

  “I asked her to marry me, didn’t I?” he grumbled as they walked outside and he assisted her into the gleaming black curricle he’d asked his footman to prepare. Climbing up and settling in beside Aurelia, mindful not to sit on her skirts, he took the leather reins in hand and gave them a sharp snap. Eager to stretch their legs, the matching pair of bays broke in a high stepping trot and they set off down the drive at a brisk pace.

  “How did you do it?” his sister asked, raising her voice ever-so-slightly in order to be heard above the jingle of the harness and the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves. It was a fine day to be out on the road and the light breeze that tousled Doyle’s hair was a welcome respite from the hot, stuffy air inside the manor.

  “How did I do what?”

  “Ask her to marry you. Honestly,” she huffed, “getting a bit of information - from either of you - about your engagement is like pulling teeth.”

  He looked sharply at his sister. “Has Harper discussed our engagement with you?”

  “About as much as you have, which is to say not at all.”

  The corners of his mouth tightened into a scowl. Had he truly been expecting a different answer? Had he thought Harper was celebrating their pending nuptials in secret? No. Of course not. Twice she’d refused his offer of marriage, and were it not for Aurelia walking in on them when she did he knew Harper never would have accepted his proposal. Was it irony that the woman who was to be his wife didn’t want to marry him, or a cruel twist of fate?

  Nearly all of his life he’d pursued - and been pursued by - women who wanted him. Women who would have done anything to have
him. Women who had offered him far more than coy glances across a crowded ballroom. So he had returned their attentions in kind, and even taken a few to his bed. But he’d never felt one tenth of the attraction for them as he did for Harper. The bloody chit had entranced him. Had he believed in such things, he might have even thought himself bewitched for surely what other explanation could be had for desiring someone who so clearly despised him? After all, he’d bedded prettier women. More seductive women. Women who knew how to please a man in all the right ways. And yet his foolish heart had stumbled for an innocent fairy princess with tangled black hair, flashing green eyes, and a tongue sharper than any sword he’d ever encountered.

  “Do you want to marry her?” Aurelia asked with a glance that was far too perceptive for his liking.

  “We are engaged, are we not?” Slowing the curricle as another carriage passed, he lifted one hand in greeting before urging the bays back into a trot. They kicked up small pebbles beneath the underbelly of the curricle as the road grew more pitted and he slowed their stride with a half halt, giving a gentle tug and release on the reins that had the gelding on the left tossing his head in irritation.

  “That is not an answer,” Aurelia pointed out. Flopping back in her seat with a sigh, she stretched her arm out and tipped her face to the clear blue sky. The sun kissed her fair countenance as she lifted the brim of her hat, revealing a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks. “Which is, I suppose, an answer in and of itself. You know, I rather like Lady Harper. She is not like the other ladies you have courted in the past.”

  “How so?” he asked, genuinely curious to know Aurelia’s opinion of his intended even though she could hardly boast a record of good judgement where people were concerned. His sister was naturally kind-hearted and sweet, which was no doubt why her estranged husband had been able to take advantage of her so easily.

  At the mere thought of Chesterfield his grip tightened on the reins and this time both horses tossed their heads in annoyance. He released the tension in his hands at once, although the tension in his chest lingered, a hard knot of anger he’d been holding onto ever since he rescued Aurelia and her sons from the hell they’d been enduring at the hands of the man who should have been protecting them.

  To make matters worse, Doyle had recently received word that Chesterfield had been making the rounds through London, telling anyone and everyone who would listen that his wife had run off with another man.

  It was a rumor Doyle was going to take great pleasure in correcting.

  Blissfully oblivious to her brother’s dark intentions regarding her estranged husband, Aurelia shaded her eyes with a forearm and said, “For one thing, Lady Harper has a brain in her head. I am not sure if you are aware of this or not, but most of the women you take it upon yourself to woo and charm do not. For another, she is not impressed by you.”

  “And that is a good thing?” he said dryly.

  “That is a very good thing. You do not need a wife who will agree with everything you say simply because you are a man of means and social standing.”

  “I do not?”

  “No,” she said, dropping her chin to frown at him. “You need a wife who will tell you the truth, no matter if it insults your ego. A wife who will make you laugh. A wife who will make you happy.”

  “I am,” he said automatically, for that was the reply expected of one when one was asked if they were happy or not.

  Except he wasn’t.

  Or at least, not as happy as he could have been. But he feared the one thing that would make him happy - the one thing that would bring him true joy - was just out of reach.

  “Are you?” Aurelia asked softly, her searching eyes seeing past the smile he wore to disguise the turmoiled emotions he kept so carefully hidden beneath the surface. “Can anyone be truly happy without the love of their life standing beside them?”

  It was a question they both mulled over as they continued the rest of the way to Winfield in silence.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It wasn’t going well.

  Harper knew it.

  Doyle knew it.

  Heavens, even Abigail knew it and she was currently sipping her third glass of wine.

  Standing in the shade of a towering oak tree with her back pressed against the rough bark, Harper closed her eyes and took a deep, trembling breath. On the other side of the tall hedgerow separating her from the ongoing festivities - a formal luncheon followed by a rousing game of lawn bowls - she heard gay laughter and the occasional teasing jest as everyone attempted to get their ball closest to the jack. It was a game Harper would have been currently enjoying herself…were it not for Doyle.

  His mere presence - for they’d exchanged less than a dozen words since he arrived with Aurelia - was enough to unsettle her stomach. She’d only been able to pick at the sliced lamb on her plate (which was usually one of her favorite meats) and had declined wine in favor of plain water, fearing even the slightest bit of alcohol would cause her to lose what little amount of food she’d been able to ingest.

  It is all his fault, she thought sullenly as she opened her eyes and glared at the hedgerow. Were it not for Doyle, her skin wouldn’t be so flushed and her stomach wouldn’t feel like a bird swooping through the air without a single branch to land on. Her palms wouldn’t be damp with sweat. Her heart wouldn’t be threatening to beat right out of her chest. The man did things to her. Unpleasant things. Unwanted things. Things she didn’t want to feel (like a shortness of breath whenever their gazes caught) and things she didn’t want to remember (like the heat of his mouth on her breast).

  How long would it be until she didn’t feel this way? How long until she could look at him and feel indifference instead of longing? A week? A month? A year?

  Forever?

  Would it be so bad if you allowed yourself to love him, just a little? an unwanted voice whispered in her ear.

  Yes, she answered with a furrowed brow. Yes it would.

  In her beloved books the heroine almost always ended up with the hero, but real life wasn’t written on a piece of parchment. In real life the men weren’t dashing and the women didn’t swoon. Well, at least she had never swooned. In real life marriages didn’t end in happily-ever-after. She had only to look at her mother - her bitter, miserable mother - to know that. Yes, she wanted Doyle and he clearly wanted her, but was raw desire enough to build a marriage on? How long did it last? How long until he left her as her brother, father, and mother had done? Wouldn’t it be better to guard her heart while it still belonged to her and her alone? If she gave it to Doyle and he handled it poorly she would feel the same despairing of ache of sadness that had overwhelmed her when, one by one, her family had abandoned her.

  And she never wanted to feel that way ever again.

  “What are you doing here all by yourself? Are you hiding?”

  Harper jumped at the sound of Doyle’s voice, only to jump again when she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. She whirled in a flurry of pale blue skirts, her defenses already in place like a shield of invisible armor. Her gaze darted up to his before skittering away. She hated that he looked so handsome today. It made remaining aloof all the harder. He’d arrived in a waistcoat and cravat, but had abandoned both as the afternoon went on and the temperature continued to steadily rise. Now his shirtsleeves were rolled up past his elbows and a sliver of tanned skin taunted her from the base of his throat where his cravat should have been. His rich blond hair was tousled and a curl, glistening with perspiration, fell over his right eye.

  When her hand itched to brush the errant curl back behind his ear she made a fist and tucked it into the folds of her dress. “Go away,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “Why would I do that? I have finally found you.” Instead of leaving, he stepped closer, angling his body in such a way she was forced to lift her head and meet his gaze or risk staring at the crotch of his trousers. “Have you been here long?” he asked, his husky voice moving across her flesh
like a silky caress.

  “Has no one ever told you that when someone purposefully removes themselves from a large group, it should be assumed they would like to be left alone?”

  “They may have,” he said with a careless shrug, “but I wanted to see you.”

  “Why?” she asked warily.

  “Do I need a reason? We are going to be married, Lady Harper. We are going to share a house.” His eyes darkened. “A bedroom and a bed.”

  “My parents always kept separate rooms,” she interrupted hastily, not liking the insinuating gleam in his tawny gaze. “I should like to do the same.”

  “We are going to share a bedroom and a bed,” he repeated, “and yet I know almost nothing about you. I would like to rectify that.”

  “You - you would?” Of all the things she imagined Doyle might do or say, it hadn’t been that. He wanted to know more about her?

  “Whatever for?” she asked blankly.

  With a low chuckle he ran knuckles across the curve of her cheek. “Because as beautiful as you are and as sharp as your tongue is, I know there is more to you than that and I want to learn everything I can about the woman I am going to call my wife. Do not look so surprised,” he said when she merely stared at him, lips slightly parted and forehead creased. “Surely there is more you would like to know about me.”

  “You are a wealthy duke with the largest estate in all of England, what else is there to know?” she said in a flippant attempt to lighten the mood and return them back to the place where he said something arrogant and she mocked him for it. When he was like this - somber, serious, and stoic - she didn’t know how to act or what to say. When he was like this - thoughtful, considerate, and compassionate - it was all but impossible to keep her heart to herself.

  Instead of easing the mood, however, her reply only served to intensify it.