The Duke Who Loved Me

by Jane Ashford

  “I will.” Cecelia wondered, not for the first time, what her mother had seen in him, particularly now that she knew Mama had chosen him for a husband. “Papa, where did…”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “If this is something to do with the estate, I have no time today.”

  He never had time for matters of business. A roast of pork, on the other hand, riveted him.

  “You manage it,” he added. And then even he seemed to realize that more was called for. “As you always do so well.”

  “It’s not about that,” Cecelia replied. “I was wondering how you and Mama met.” How could they have, when he never went out?

  Papa stared at her as if the words made no sense. Aunt Valeria looked equally startled.

  “Where did you meet?” Cecelia repeated. “For the first time.”

  “What in the world makes you ask such a question?” he replied.

  “I want to know.” She used a tone she employed when telling her father that she would not be fobbed off, no matter how hard he tried.

  “Ah, er.” He frowned. “Met.”

  “First,” Cecelia repeated. Should this be so difficult to recall?

  “Oh yes, the park,” he replied. “They’d sent me out to walk. Two hours till I was allowed back. Not so much as a pamphlet to read.”

  Cecelia had noticed that her father and her aunt usually referred to their parents as “they.”

  “I went looking for a bench in the park. Someplace out of the way. But when I found one hidden in a shrubbery, Eloisa was already there. A young lady all alone. Sobbing her heart out.”

  Cecelia caught her breath. Even Aunt Valeria looked concerned.

  Her father shook his head. “I said, ‘Have they thrown you out as well?’ Silly remark, but there it is. Startled her, of course.”

  Cecelia tried to picture the scene. It was next to impossible. She’d never seen her cheerful mother sob.

  “When she nodded, I sat down beside her.” He sounded surprised by this even now. “She asked me where I’d been thrown out of. And I said, ‘Hades.’” He glanced at Aunt Valeria, and then they both looked away. “Bit of a joke, you know.”

  Or not, Cecelia thought.

  “We talked,” her father continued, sounding nearly as bemused by that as Cecelia was. “Until someone came calling her name, and she ran away. It was rather like a fairy tale.”

  Both his companions stared at him.

  “We kept meeting there,” he said. “They were pleased with my new regimen.” He looked sourly amused. “And one day after they were gone, Eloisa called here and…” He broke off, but Cecelia knew the ending of that story. “So, that is the answer to your question,” her father finished.

  “Thank you, Papa,” Cecelia said.

  He seemed surprised.

  In the awkward silence that followed, a footman entered and announced, “Lady Wilton.”

  Cecelia’s father seized the opportunity and fled. Aunt Valeria looked as if she wanted to follow him, though she did not. As Cecelia stood to receive the visitor, she wondered if all families were a confusing mixture of irritating and heartrending.

  The old lady stumped in, acknowledged Cecelia’s greeting with a nod, and sat on the sofa. “I have no time to waste on trivialities this morning,” she said. “Prince Karl has asked me to chaperone a visit to Vauxhall to which you are invited. I have agreed.”

  Cecelia blinked in surprise.

  “The prince tells me that he wrote to your aunt about this expedition. But she seems to have ignored the communication.” Lady Wilton glared at Aunt Valeria.

  “I never accept invitations,” said the latter. “I rarely even open them.”

  “Indeed. The prince was not aware of your…obdurate eccentricity. But your presence is not required.” Lady Wilton turned back to Cecelia. “You can use the opportunity to make matters clear.”

  “What matters?” asked Aunt Valeria.

  “Whichever ones require it, Miss Vainsmede,” replied James’s grandmother. “You cannot flout your responsibilities and then expect to be informed about developments.” She looked to Cecelia again. “I’ve asked those girls you appear to dote on. They seem agog to see Vauxhall. It is to be tomorrow evening.”

  “You seem to be ordering me to go,” Cecelia said.

  “Because that is what I am doing.”

  “And if I don’t wish to?” Prince Karl seemed like a distant memory now. James had superseded him.

  “Your friends will be quite disappointed,” Lady Wilton said.

  “I could arrange a visit for another evening.”

  “And I shall be most unpleasant if you do not come.”

  “Why, Lady Wilton?” There seemed no reason for the old woman to be so exigent.

  “I hope that the news you are being seen with the prince will root Tereford out of wherever he has gone to ground.”

  Cecelia hadn’t thought of that. Of course, James was unlikely to hear any gossip in his current location.

  “You’ve still had no word from him?” the old lady asked.

  Making a noncommittal gesture, Cecelia avoided answering.

  “I’ve sent servants around to Percival’s old town house, but they found no sign of him there.”

  They hadn’t tried very hard. Lady Wilton’s staff was not very enterprising.

  “He has to return. I require him to take up his duties and find Ferrington.”

  It took Cecelia a moment to remember that this was Lady Wilton’s errant great-grandson, the lost earl.

  “I must give him a push. And I can think of no other way.” She gave Cecelia one of her signature glares. “I don’t think it is so much to ask, to go to Vauxhall with your friends and a prince. He’s asked Henry Deeping and some other young man. I’ve forgotten his name. Really, I insist.”

  Although she didn’t like being pushed, Cecelia thought, why not? Her new friends would enjoy the outing. And she could find an opportunity to tell Prince Karl that she wasn’t interested. His marked attentions had become burdensome now that her heart was full of James. “Very well,” she said.

  Aunt Valeria muttered something. Cecelia didn’t catch it. Lady Wilton didn’t appear to try.

  In the end, the Vauxhall party numbered ten—five young ladies; four young gentlemen, including Ada’s promised husband; and Lady Wilton. They took two boats across the water to the gardens. “It looks like fairyland,” said Sarah as they embarked among lantern-lit trees.

  The prince had engaged a large box. He informed them that he had ordered all the delicacies for which the place was famed—the thinly sliced ham, the cheesecakes, and of course champagne. Lady Wilton established herself in the box like a minor monarch. “You may walk about,” she said, flicking her fingers at the younger people. “Hear the orchestra. See the pavilion and so on. Together, of course.”

  “There are fireworks later,” said the prince.

  Ada clapped her hands in delight, and her fiancé teased her about adoring explosions.

  The group set off to explore, and Cecelia soon noticed that Prince Karl was maneuvering them like a sheepdog chivying his herd. He pointed out the best routes and most admired exhibitions, gathered from others’ recommendations, it seemed. He interposed himself between Cecelia and the other young men. Gradually, he drew her toward the back of the group.

  And then, between one moment and the next, he’d steered her away from them and into a side path. “Watch your step, Miss Vainsmede. It is darker here.”

  “I see that it is.” Cecelia was mostly amused. His tactics to get her alone were transparent. This path was still peopled, though she noticed no one she knew.

  “Do mind that rock.” Prince Karl took her arm as if to help, though the stone in question was several feet away. “Have you been to Vauxhall often?” he asked.

  “A fair n
umber of times.”

  “It is a pleasant place.”

  “Indeed.”

  Her arm firmly in his grip, he veered left and onto another narrower path. The entrance to this one was scarcely visible among the bushes. Cecelia began to suspect that Prince Karl had explored this route in advance. The area was deserted. “We must go back to the others,” she said, pulling away.

  He pivoted, grabbed, and then she was in his arms. Cecelia looked up, startled, and he captured her lips with his own. It all seemed like a much-practiced move.

  His kiss was hard, insistent. His hands on her waist and back pressed her against him. He was very strong.

  For a surprised instant, Cecelia didn’t move. Prince Karl’s kiss probed and demanded. His grip seemed designed to crush and subdue. It was the opposite of James’s embrace in every way. Most particularly, he did not arouse her. She felt merely mauled.

  Cecelia shrank back and pushed firmly against the prince’s chest. He resisted. She shoved harder, several times, until he released her, and she could step away. “I’m sorry, Prince Karl. I hope I have not roused false expectations. I can’t marry you.”

  “Marry?” He sounded puzzled.

  This pathway was dim. The nearest lamp didn’t illuminate his expression. Cecelia frowned.

  “You presume, Miss Vainsmede,” he continued.

  “I…what?”

  “There can be no question of marriage between us. I shall wed a lady chosen by my father to make a useful alliance. Naturally. That is the duty of a prince.”

  His patronizing tone was offensive. “You have been courting me,” Cecelia pointed out.

  “I have signaled my interest in a connection,” he said, as if correcting an erring student.

  “Connection?” Society had certainly considered him a candidate for her hand. They had been a target for matrimonial gossip. She hadn’t imagined it.

  “An intimate connection. A pleasant dalliance while I am here in England.” He reached out and moved closer. She stepped away.

  “I cannot conceive why you would suggest such a thing.” She started back along the path and caught her skirts on a protruding bush. The light really was dim here. The sooner she escaped the better.

  “Come, come, Miss Vainsmede. Cecelia.”

  His use of her name was meant to be caressing. She found it presumptuous.

  “You are no schoolroom miss,” the prince went on. “You are past the age of silly romantics. You are a free thinker. We met at Lady Tate’s house, after all. You attend balls alone.”

  Once, Cecelia nearly replied. One very much regretted time. But she merely jerked her gown free and moved on, fairly certain she’d torn the lace at the hem.

  “You live with a lax chaperone, by your own contriving I have no doubt, so that your movements are free.”

  Cecelia stopped and turned to face him. “Have you been asking questions about me?”

  “It is a sign of my interest,” Prince Karl answered, as if he thought this was a compliment. “You are ideal for my purposes. As well as lovely, of course.”

  “Your purposes!”

  “And your own,” he said in a smug voice that was worse than patronizing.

  “My…”

  “You enjoyed the kiss,” he said. Moving with unexpected speed, he slipped an arm around her again. “We are alone here. There is no need to be coy. I can fulfill all the desires you have been forced to deny. And show you passion you have never imagined.”

  She peeled his arm off and moved on. “I am never coy. You have made an error.”

  “After the way you melted in my arms in the waltz? And urged me on to fight for you? I think not.”

  “Urged?” She put all her incredulity into the word.

  “Females enjoy a bit of violence,” answered the prince. “They like to be won. Look at how the does watch the stags battle. I understood. Of course.”

  “You…you appear to understand nothing!” She couldn’t throttle him. She couldn’t shake him until his bones rattled. He was too large. She had to be content with escape.

  “On the contrary.” His voice was right behind her, practically in her ear.

  She moved faster.

  “I know what you would truly like better than you do,” Prince Karl said with an odious air of certainty. “You need only let me show you.”

  Cecelia so longed to slap him. But that would prolong, and intensify, this encounter, and more than all else she wanted it over. She hurried toward the more traveled path.

  A hand closed on her from behind. Outraged, Cecelia shook it off. His clutching fingers pulled the sleeve of her gown off her shoulder. She yanked it back in place and erupted onto the more traveled path, drawing looks of surprise from several strollers. She rushed along, too incensed to care.

  The prince caught up with her. “There is no need to be ashamed, Cecelia. You succumbed, like every woman does when a man wakens her ardor. You need only give in.”

  “You…you arrogant lout.”

  “Is this how you English describe a masterful man?” He laughed.

  He laughed! Cecelia wondered if anyone had ever actually burst with anger. It certainly felt possible in this moment. She experienced a state of perfect clarity. Of course James had not been able to resist hitting this man.

  She couldn’t keep him from accompanying her back to the box, not without creating a scene that would entertain the gossips for days to come. From the startled looks of people they passed, her expression was already causing speculation. She tried to smooth the scowl that tightened her features, with limited success, she concluded.

  Everyone else was back when they arrived at the box, and their expectant looks suggested they awaited an important announcement. Cecelia made her way to a seat in the back and struggled to contain her emotions.

  “We lost our way on the paths,” said the prince jovially. “Vauxhall is quite a maze, is it not?”

  “Often used to some advantage,” said Lady Wilton. She gazed at him with raised brows.

  “It offers a great variety of pleasures,” he answered, glancing at Cecelia as if they shared a delicious secret. She ground her teeth. “Is that the ham for which Vauxhall is known?” he went on. “I shall take some. And champagne, of course.”

  “You have something to celebrate?” asked Lady Wilton, refusing to be diverted.

  “Pleasant company,” replied Prince Karl with a malicious twinkle in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the awkwardness. He took the glass Henry Deeping had poured and drank. “Ah, good.”

  “What’s wrong, Cecelia?” murmured Harriet.

  “Nothing!” She spoke too loudly. She couldn’t help it. And her tone made all the young ladies in the box stiffen. Lady Wilton frowned.

  Cecelia turned to watch the passing crowds. How she wished this evening over!

  It went on. Cecelia fell back on established habits to play her part in the festivities. As her temper cooled, she began to feel less offended and more—not amused certainly, never that—but…analytical.

  She’d met other people like Prince Karl, who inhabited worlds created inside their heads. They didn’t listen. They could not be moved from their settled opinions. It was as if they wore a pair of blinders that shut out anything they didn’t wish to recognize.

  Cecelia didn’t understand how anyone could remain oblivious in the face of other’s needs and pains. Yet Prince Karl was only the most recent, and flagrant, example she’d seen. Looking up, she caught him gazing at her. He smiled with—smug anticipation? He really had no idea how intensely he’d infuriated her. He would refuse to believe her if she told him. Well, Cecelia didn’t intend to bother. She would avoid him from now on. She wondered if he meant to stay for the entire London season.

  As a first step, she made certain she rode in Lady Wilton’s carriage on the way home, rather than the
one the prince had hired to accommodate their large group. “I take it the prince did not make you an offer?” the old lady asked her as soon as they set off.

  On the facing seat, Harriet and Sarah perked up like hounds who’d scented a fox.

  Cecelia affected an air of mild surprise. “He is a prince,” she said. “He will make a political marriage.”

  “Ah. He told you so?” Lady Wilton’s eyes were piercing.

  “It is only what one would expect for a prince,” Cecelia replied, aware that the old woman saw right through her evasions.

  “But he has been acting as if he meant to marry you,” Sarah said. “Everyone thought so. They gossip about it.”

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” replied Lady Wilton sharply. “One never knows what a man will do until he has actually proposed marriage. And sometimes not even then.”

  “What do you mean not even then?” asked Sarah.

  “Precisely what I said,” said Lady Wilton.

  “But it wasn’t precise,” replied Sarah. “If a gentleman offers…”

  “He might be hoping you will refuse,” said Harriet.

  Everyone in the carriage turned to look at her.

  “That would be nonsensical,” said Sarah.

  “If someone was forcing him into the match, he might speak in a way that made it impossible to accept. In such terms that no female could agree.”

  “Did someone—” began Sarah.

  “As a purely hypothetical case,” Harriet interrupted. “In the spirit of rational analysis.”

  “We will talk about this later,” declared Sarah, pinning Harriet with a stern gaze.

  Lady Wilton gave a crack of laughter. “You girls are better than a play,” she said.

  Cecelia shifted in her seat. Had James hoped she would refuse his first proposal? She didn’t think so. He was clumsy, not devious. She’d thought his regrets would come later. Now she dared hope she’d been wrong. When he’d kissed her…

  She had scant experience of kisses. But James’s had been as different from Prince Karl’s acquisitive grab as anything could possibly be. Prince Karl was condescending and entitled. James was…not as she’d thought him?