Wish Upon a Duke

by Erica Ridley

  And then Gloria was alone.

  So, no. She would not be traveling. Or entrusting her heart to anyone who did. All it could lead to was grief and loss.

  With a sigh, she closed the lid on her trunk and locked her dreams inside.

  Chapter 5

  Gloria shoved a hunk of hair out of her eyes and replaced the final fastening on her orrery. This time, when she activated the mechanism, the tiny solar system rotated the planets without a strange grinding sound every time Venus passed Mars.

  Flushed with satisfaction, she pushed to her feet and brushed the wrinkles from her skirts. Or tried to. As usual, her wrinkle situation was hopeless. Not that it mattered. She was in a comfortable old housedress in her comfortable old house tinkering with her comfortable old orrery. Things were exactly as they should be.

  Her next sky-walk wasn’t for another month. Mr. Pringle was off signing a bilingual wedding contract. Gloria did not have to take a single step out of her cottage if she didn’t wish to.

  Complete freedom.

  She could play with her orrery all afternoon, reread her adventure books all evening, peer up at the stars all night… Anything she wished.

  Gloria switched off her orrery and sighed. None of her favorite things sounded fun today. They sounded lonely.

  What she needed was something to take her mind off how long it was taking for Prince Wonderful to find her. It would happen when the time was right. In the meantime…

  She headed straight to the kitchen.

  Madge was already waiting. “Plum pudding?”

  “Plum pudding,” Gloria agreed.

  Madge hauled the framed recipe from the wall, ran an unnecessary dust rag across its pristine glass surface, and propped it in a place of honor in the center of the prepping table.

  Neither of them would be giving it another look. This was tradition. Gloria had memorized her mother’s careful hand the very first day she’d been allowed to help with the process.

  The wonderful thing about Christmas pudding, Mother had explained, was that one was not obliged to wait for Christmas. The high quantity of liquor it contained meant a good pudding could be prepared up to a year or more before it was consumed. Wasn’t that indeed a cause for high spirits?

  Gloria smiled at the memory. She washed all traces of the orrery from her hands and dried them on a clean cloth. “Ready?”

  “Ready.” Madge began pulling dried fruits from the cupboard and placing them onto the prepping table.

  Gloria sorted them into piles.

  Plum pudding was a tradition the entire family had enjoyed. When Father sailed off, Mother and Gloria would immediately begin a new batch. When he returned, they would all enjoy it together.

  Mother considered it a good luck charm. Every day, she would pass by the hook where the dried pudding hung and touch her fingertips to the cloth to wish her husband Godspeed.

  Gloria had learned to do the same.

  Although her parents were gone, making the pudding let her feel connected to her family again. As if her mother’s gay laughter still rang through the kitchen as she tossed any spices on hand into the mix with merry abandon.

  As if Father were still a mere Godspeed away. As if family could walk through the door at any moment.

  The knocker banged against its brass base.

  Gloria jumped and sent a startled glance toward her maid.

  Madge hurried to the door and flung it open wide.

  Christopher Pringle swept in, a slight frown of confusion upon his handsome face. “Why does your cottage smell like nutmeg and brandy?”

  Gloria’s chest gave an erratic flutter.

  “Miss Godwin is making pudding,” replied Madge, the traitor. “The kitchen is that way.”

  It didn’t matter. He’d already witnessed her tearing about the corner like a child awaiting a visit from the Three Kings. Gloria’s cheeks heated in mortification.

  She straightened her spine. It was the only choice. There was no hope of straightening her wild hair or her wrinkled gown.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Am I too early?” He flinched in chagrin. “We did not set a time, but yesterday you preferred two o’clock in the afternoon, so I assumed…”

  Gloria tried to understand what he was saying. “You still want me to matchmake you?”

  His frown grew deeper. “Isn’t that what we agreed to?”

  “I thought we finished,” she stammered.

  He tilted his head. “You expect all your clients to fall in love at first sight?”

  When introduced to Désirée? Why, yes. Gloria did. They had seemed perfect together.

  She tried to understand. “You didn’t like Mademoiselle le Duc?”

  “She’s sweet and beautiful and charming,” he said. “And not what I’m looking for.”

  “You want rude and unkempt and prickly?” Gloria asked doubtfully. “Perhaps you should have mentioned those requirements from the start.”

  “Charm and beauty are perfectly acceptable traits,” he assured her. “But when I said willingness to travel, I had something else in mind.”

  “The pudding,” Madge whispered. “If we leave it unattended, it’ll…”

  Gloria sent her a flat look. Absolutely nothing would happen to the pudding. But Madge knew Gloria hated the idea of leaving it unfinished.

  “Come with me,” she said to Mr. Pringle. “You may explain your revised demands as I finish in the kitchen.”

  Mr. Pringle placed his hat on the rack and strode forward.

  Madge immediately busied herself straightening the cushions on the far side of the parlor.

  “You too, Madge,” Gloria said in warning. “Propriety.”

  They traipsed into the kitchen as one.

  Gloria reached for an apron. It was a strange feeling to have three people in the kitchen again. Familiar and unsettling.

  He took in the disarray of ingredients spread over the prepping table. “You’re making a pudding?”

  She pointed at the framed directions propped beside the bottle of brandy. “My mother’s family recipe.”

  He stepped closer to investigate.

  Gloria dumped dried fruits into a large bowl of suet. “What was wrong with Mademoiselle le Duc?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “She was as well-traveled as you described. But she has been too long without her homeland. The moment war is over, she wishes to return and never leave.”

  “I see,” Gloria said and reached for an egg. “Let me think of someone with more current desire to travel.”

  He stepped closer. “I am not certain adventure is my top priority after all. I was thinking… What are you doing with that egg?”

  She cracked it against the bowl and dumped the contents inside. “Adding it to the mix.”

  “You didn’t measure the fruit. The recipe clearly explains the ratio of egg to dried fruits, and I watched you dump them in willy-nilly.” He pointed across the prepping table. “Have you read the recipe you’re using?”

  Gloria grinned and reached for another egg.

  Ignoring the recipe was part of the tradition. Each time Father sailed off, they started a pudding with whatever they found in the pantry.

  Imagination was more important than memorization, Mother always said. They would place their foreheads together and imagine how happy they would all be when it was time to taste the pudding. No matter how it turned out.

  “I’ll fetch another apron,” Madge said, and slipped out of the kitchen.

  Gloria doubted Mr. Pringle had that much interest in her family pudding.

  “If not a travel partner,” she said as she dumped another egg into the bowl, “what is your new priority?”

  “Helping you with this pudding,” he said without hesitation. “I think we should start over. How much suet do you have? According to the recipe—”

  “I cannot find your match if you don’t tell me what you want,” she reminded him.

  “Nutmeg isn’t
next,” he said as he watched her grate its essence over the bowl. “This is your family recipe. First comes treacle or molasses, and then ginger, cinnamon, and—”

  He reached for the bowl.

  She spun it off the counter and out of his grasp.

  He stepped forward, trapping her with her back to the table and only a wobbly bowl of pudding between them.

  He reached out his hands, as if to rescue the bowl. Or to cover her trembling hands with his for support. His dark eyes were so close to hers.

  “The spices…” he said hoarsely.

  “I’m wild,” she whispered without moving a muscle. “You can’t stop me.”

  His gaze lowered to her mouth.

  Breathing was suddenly difficult. She tried not to lick her lips. The smell of the brandy must be going to her head.

  His gaze lowered even more, from her parted lips down to the bowl of sloppy pudding resting dangerously close to his starched white cravat.

  He jumped away as if its proximity had scalded him.

  “My apologies,” he said quickly. “Recipes exist for a reason. I tend to lose my head when rules aren’t attended to. It is a personality flaw.”

  Part of her wished he’d lost his head just a few moments longer.

  “Is that what you want?” she asked when she found her voice. “Someone who prefers facts to adventure?”

  He turned to face her in surprise. “Travels are about facts. One can read as many secondhand journals as one wishes, but nothing compares to a first-hand fact-finding mission.”

  She stared at him. “You think of exotic holidays in far-flung places as research opportunities?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why do explorers explore?” he asked. “Because they’re searching for something.”

  “Searching for facts,” she said doubtfully.

  “Of course. What are travel journals, if not a record of information gathered during a reconnaissance mission?” His eyes lit up. “Geography, weather patterns, the rules and customs of local traditions…”

  Rules again.

  “I suppose that explains your ability with French. To you, it’s nothing more than a set of rules to follow?”

  “Everything has a right way,” he said. “That’s what I strive for. In life, and in marriage. My ideal bride will also have the ability to analyze the world around her and behave accordingly.”

  “Someone who doesn’t change,” she said. “Someone obsessed with random facts, who over-analyzes how everything works. I know just the woman.”

  He brightened. “You do?”

  Gloria handed the pudding bowl to Madge and took off the apron. “Just a short walk away.”

  “I brought my carriage.”

  “You needn’t try to impress her with material things.” Gloria wrapped her longest pelisse about her wrinkled dress and tied a bonnet over her tangled hair. “Toss out some obscure facts, and she shall swoon at your feet.”

  Gloria certainly would not be.

  Mr. Pringle had no imagination. If there was one trait she prized above all others, it was the ability to let the world go and just be silly once in a while. If only from inside the safety of one’s own mind.

  When they arrived at the castle, he shot her a look of surprise. “Here? Where are we going?”

  “We’ll try the aviary first.”

  He wanted someone knowledgeable—nay, passionate—about obscure facts? No one fit that bill better than Miss Virginia Underwood.

  When they entered the aviary, she was standing next to a pear tree tossing grain to a partridge.

  At the sound of the door, Virginia glanced up from her task. “A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but a well-fed partridge prefers to dine upon dandelions.”

  The moment of truth. Gloria sent a nervous glance toward Mr. Pringle.

  An answering grin already spread across his handsome face. “How are Dasher and Dancer?”

  “Dasher’s wing is mending nicely,” Virginia replied with satisfaction. “She’ll be flying again in no time.”

  Gloria faltered. “You already know each other?”

  Virginia’s eyes turned dreamy. “He showed me the stars once.”

  A ludicrous stab of envy streaked inside of Gloria’s chest. They didn’t just know each other. They had shared a romantic evening. Two fact-obsessed souls joined beneath the stars.

  Her stomach soured. “When was this?”

  “A week or so ago?” Mr. Pringle guessed, then turned to Virginia. “Do you recall the date?”

  She nodded. “A doodlebug’s hole gets ever larger during a waxing moon.”

  Gloria steadied her breath. There was no reason to be vexed. She had specifically brought Mr. Pringle here to matchmake him with Virginia. If they’d already had a head start, it only made her job easier.

  To give them privacy, Gloria drifted away and tried not to pay attention.

  For a matchmaker, her recent history with men was appallingly blank. She didn’t need the conversation to be in French to feel excluded. She watched in silence as they laughed over some shared remembrance she had not been a part of.

  Someday, the right man would sweep into her life, fall in love, and spend the rest of their days—

  “—much like trout chasing each other to the waterfall.” Virginia turned to Gloria. “You should try it.”

  Try what? Gloria blinked. Perhaps she ought to have been paying attention.

  “I don’t chase waterfalls,” she stammered. “I’m not a trout.”

  “How about rivers and lakes?” Virginia insisted. “We have those. You used to love ice-skating.”

  Mr. Pringle’s eyes lit up. “Christmas has a skating pond?”

  Virginia nodded. “Frozen over almost year-round. Gloria knows it.”

  Gloria did know it. Her father had taught her to swim in those frigid waters, during one of the few months without ice.

  Virginia was right. Gloria used to love the water. Before it had caused her to lose everyone she had ever loved. Her throat grew thick at the memory.

  Mr. Pringle grinned. “We should all go.”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  His brows furrowed. “But Virginia said—”

  “You should go with her,” Gloria said firmly. “I’ll keep my feet on dry land, if you please.”

  “And your head tilted toward the stars,” Virginia added. “Take care not to focus so much on the sky that you fail to live your life on earth.”

  Mr. Pringle cocked his head. “Is that an Icarus reference?”

  “It’s a Gloria reference,” Virginia said. “She forgets that water is life.”

  Gloria crossed her arms. Water was not life. Water was death.

  “I love the water,” Mr. Pringle agreed. “Have you been to the canals of Venice?”

  Gloria made a mental note to unpack her trunk the moment she returned home. She had to stop picking places that reminded her of him.

  Virginia raised her brows with interest. “Is there anywhere you haven’t been?”

  His gaze sparkled. “I dream of visiting India.”

  Gloria’s stomach roiled at the thought.

  “How coincidental.” Virginia’s eyes widened. “Gloria—”

  “—has nothing to do with India,” Gloria finished firmly.

  The men she was interested in… Now, that was another story. She’d come so close to happy ever after before it had slipped away. All because of India.

  “The beautiful colors, the gorgeous weather, the scent of the spice bazaars…” Mr. Pringle was saying. “It must be paradise.”

  Indeed. Gloria’s one and only suitor had set off for the subcontinent as an officer in the East India Company. He was to make his fortune, then come back for Gloria, and they would live happily ever after.

  By his third letter home, it was obvious he liked there better than here. Before long, the letters stopped coming altogether.

  A shared fu
ture with her had paled next to the promise of adventure.

  “Have you any ties to the East India Company?” Virginia asked Mr. Pringle.

  Gloria sent her a bloodcurdling scowl.

  “No, thank heavens.” He laughed. “I needn’t worry about only going where the Company sends me. I can stay as long as I please.”

  Exactly the problem. Gloria swallowed. She hoped his dream of India remained just that—a dream. Once he sailed off, he would never be back. Either because he chose not to return…

  Or because the ocean wouldn’t allow it.

  Chapter 6

  The following day, Christopher regretted taking his nuncheon with his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. Their only interest was in the matchmaking process. Penelope’s insights were relentlessly scientific. And Nick’s comments were relentlessly… Nick.

  “Maybe you should marry Virginia,” he said without bothering to hide his amusement. “You’re an odd duck, she likes birds… Match made in heaven.”

  “It’s too bad he can’t marry all the women,” Penelope mused.

  Christopher and his brother sent her twin stares of disbelief.

  “What did you just say?” Nick asked.

  “Trial and error,” Penelope explained. “A perfectly reasonable method of scientific deduction. Spend an appropriate amount of time with each until you find the one that fits.”

  “Exactly how long is the appropriate amount of time to stay married?” Nick growled as he pulled his future bride into his arms for a kiss.

  “Forever,” she giggled. “But we found the right match. Your brother is still looking.”

  Christopher considered her proposition. “I think providing an appropriate amount of time with each potential candidate is exactly what the matchmaker is trying to do. Letting me see what works.”

  Penelope’s sharp gaze focused on his. “How are things going with Gloria?”

  Where to begin?

  She was maddening. Beautiful. Frustrating. Thoughtful. Overly cautious. Overly whimsical. Completely incomprehensible.

  At his silence, Nick’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t fallen for the matchmaker, have you?”

  “She has the wrong name for every single constellation,” Christopher said. “And she refuses to follow a simple recipe when she cooks.”