by Joanna Shupe
They decided on ends of the court and selected rackets. Harrison followed Maddie, watching her lightweight skirts swirl about her ankles, a jaunty spring in her step. She truly loved the game, a passion that always made him smile to witness.
He felt a bit jaunty himself, actually. Lockwood had spent the night out on the town instead of wooing his potential fiancée. Perhaps the duke was reconsidering his matrimonial prospects, being surrounded by all these eligible young ladies.
Not that it mattered to Harrison. His only concern was Maddie. Perhaps he should dig a little, see what he could find out. “Did you sleep well?”
She frowned at him over her shoulder. “I suppose, why?”
“I was surprised Lockwood went out with Kit instead of having a late-night rendezvous with you. Stealing kisses out in the gazebo or something.”
“Do not be crass, Harrison. Lockwood is a duke, for God’s sake.”
“Dukes don’t steal kisses?” He knew from observing years of debauchery in Paris that they dashed well did. “Have you checked that he’s actually a duke?”
She grabbed his elbow and positioned them so their backs were to Lockwood and Kit. “Why don’t you like him?”
He feigned ignorance. “What are you talking about?”
“You have been purposely rude to him since the moment he arrived. Do you have a problem with him?”
Yes. He wants you.
“Of course not. Why would I have a problem?”
“I haven’t a clue.” She poked him with the edge of her racket. “Be nice to him. I would like for the two of you to get along for the remainder of the house party.”
God, no. He didn’t want to like Lockwood—or even pretend to like Lockwood. “Why?”
Her mouth fell open, as if the question took her aback. “Because it looks odd for you to be fighting with him when you should be finding a wife. What will the other guests think? There is no reason for you to be rude to such an important man.”
An important man?
Harrison almost threw his racket down at that comment. Just because Lockwood had been born a duke did not make him top-drawer. Plenty of dukes were reprobates and spendthrifts, riddled with disease, with bastard children tucked away with mistresses. What was so illustrious about an aristocrat? “You’re worried I’ll appear jealous.”
“Jealousy implies there is something romantic between you and me, and we both know that has never been the case.”
His throat dried up, rending speech impossible, so he dropped a tennis ball into her hand and strode away. Maddie was wrong about the lack of romance between them. There had been heat in her gaze on the terrace, a new awareness that hadn’t been there three years ago. She felt something for him . . . he just didn’t know how deep it ran.
One thing for certain, he’d been playing it safe, moving slowly, but there was no more time for that. Not with Lockwood here, and not with the party ending in two days’ time.
He had to make his intentions known.
The four of them began to warm up with gentle forehands and backhands. Lockwood obviously hadn’t played much, evident when most of his shots landed in the net. For his part, Harrison was not as rusty as he’d feared. Years of wine and absinthe hadn’t stolen his athletic ability, apparently.
The game started with Maddie serving first. Kit returned the serve to her and she smashed the ball just inside the sideline for a point. “Good shot, Miss Webster!” Lockwood called, and Harrison gripped his racket so tightly he thought the wood might snap.
The next return came his way, so he lined up and sent a blistering backhand straight toward the duke’s crotch. Lockwood jumped out of the way, unable to get a racket on the ball.
“Ho!” Kit pointed his racket at Harrison. “Ease up, man. No one is looking to get hurt.”
“Apologies.” Harrison had to smother a grin. Perhaps this morning wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.
And on it went. Harrison refused to go easy on Lockwood. There was a perverse pleasure in making the duke run all over the court, if only to watch the haughty aristocrat sweat.
Maddie encouraged Lockwood and cast dark looks at Harrison every time he won a point. Kit wasn’t fooled, shaking his head at Harrison’s antics, but said nothing.
“That’s enough,” Maddie announced when Lockwood’s ball went wide to cost his team the game. “We should break for a bit.”
“Not yet.” Harrison retrieved the ball. “It’s my serve.”
Without waiting for anyone else to agree, Maddie walked off the court and went to the beverages. The duke followed, which left Harrison standing at the net. Kit ambled over. “Rather obvious, ain’t you?”
Harrison bounced the ball and wouldn’t meet Kit’s knowing gaze. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Bear in mind that making the duke look foolish won’t endear you to her.” Resting the racket over his shoulder, Kit strolled off toward the others, and Harrison had no choice but to follow.
Maddie avoided his eye over the rim of her lemonade glass. Finally, she put her glass down with a snap. “Come, Kit. Let’s play one quick set before I break my racket over someone’s head.”
No need to ask whose head she contemplated bashing.
Harrison poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. The duke did the same before dropping into the chair beside Harrison. Neither of them spoke as they watched Maddie and Kit play.
Though he should probably apologize for his behavior, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Liking Lockwood was out of the question. Harrison and Maddie had been close for almost a decade . . . and now Lockwood thought he would saunter over to Newport and snap her up? Absolutely fucking not.
In the end, Maddie would marry him, not the duke. Harrison alone knew how to make her happy. They’d always brought out the best in each other, and their marriage would be no different.
“She’s quite good,” Lockwood said, his eyes never leaving Maddie as she ran around the court.
“She’s exceptional,” Harrison corrected. The Devil suddenly lurked on his shoulder, whispering with the impulse to derail any matrimonial plans. “Has she told you she intends on competing for a few more years?”
“No, she didn’t, but I am not surprised.” The duke leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “As long as it makes her happy, why not?”
“You’re not appalled? Women sweating and competing in front of a crowd like that?”
“No, of course not. Are you?”
“Are you positive you’re a real duke?” Harrison snapped.
Lockwood’s expression eased, as if he’d finally solved a challenging puzzle. “Oh, I see. You assumed because of my title that I was some insufferable aristocrat, looking to lock her away in an ivory tower.”
“I’ve met plenty of dukes. They are generally not known for their open-mindedness.”
“True, but it’s hard for me to care about any of that, not when my estates are in shambles. Nobility won’t save me or those depending on my family.”
“And for that you need money.”
“I do, but look at her.” Lockwood tilted his chin toward the court. “She’s the most spectacular woman I’ve ever met. I would pursue her even if the money didn’t matter.”
This insight was hardly reassuring. Stomach churning, Harrison carefully set his porcelain cup down in the saucer. “You know, there are other unmarried ladies from wealthy families here this weekend. You could take your pick. Find one who has no interest in anything other than becoming a duchess.”
Lockwood cocked a brow in Harrison’s direction. “She said the two of you are merely friends, but I am detecting a definite tone in this conversation. Are you trying to warn me away from her?”
It nearly killed him, but Harrison forced a lie. “Of course not, but I don’t think she’ll be happy living on a remote estate somewhere in Boring-shire, England.”
“What about London?” Lockwood’s expression was positively smug. “You’ve heard of it
, I assume. Think she’ll find enough to do whilst living there?”
The conversation was pointless. Lockwood was clearly determined, and no amount of arguing from Harrison would make a difference. And in the end, Maddie had to make up her own mind. Yes, years of friendship gave Harrison an advantage in pursuing her, but the decision on a marriage was ultimately hers.
He stood and straightened his coat. “I believe I’ll go find a proper breakfast. Nice game this morning, Lockwood.”
The duke continued to watch the court. “I’ll get in some practice and then we’ll play again, Archer.”
Not likely. Harrison smiled, though his words were anything but friendly. “I do so look forward to the competition.”
Chapter Nine
Lockwood waited at the bottom of the steps as Maddie descended the stairs. He’d requested a walk after tennis, so she had suggested a visit to the gardens. The flowers were in full bloom and there were benches if they decided to rest and talk. Even better, they would be completely alone there.
“You look lovely.” Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles.
“Thank you. Shall we?” She gestured toward the back of the house.
He offered up his arm, his tone teasing. “No chaperone? You are quite the radical, Miss Webster.”
“More like forgetful. I never think of it here at the beach because we’re so much more relaxed.” Rules were easier to bend in Newport when out from under the watchful eye of New York society—which probably explained why she liked spending time at the chateau.
“I am certainly not complaining, as I now have you all to myself.”
Maddie forced a smile, unsure why she wasn’t giddy with excitement. Lockwood had come to Newport and now asked to see her alone. She should feel something—a sense of anticipation, at least. Or satisfaction that her three-month-long quest might end in success.
Yet she had a strange sense of disquiet sitting on her shoulders, as if she wore an ill-fitting jacket.
The feeling will pass. This is what you’ve been working toward.
Of course, he liked to be outdoors as much as she did. Perhaps Lockwood merely wished to walk together in the morning sunshine.
Best not to examine whether it was relief or disappointment that coursed through her at the idea.
The sun was not quite directly overhead when they descended from the terrace onto the lawn. A warm breeze carried the scent of the ocean and gulls flew through the sky, dipping and swirling on their way to the beach. Turning her face to the sky, she took a deep breath and let the summer heat sink into her bones.
“Thank you for humoring me with a walk,” Lockwood said. “You must be tired after your tennis practice this morning.”
“Not at all. I try to play every day, even if I must hit against the wall in our cellar.”
“Smart. Then you are not dependent on the weather.”
“It keeps me physically fit for matches. Speaking of, did you enjoy the match today?”
“I enjoyed watching you. However, I’ll need to work on my game before playing with you lot again.”
She wouldn’t subject Lockwood to another doubles match, not with Harrison. “It’s not normally so competitive.”
“It seemed Mr. Archer was trying to prove a point.”
That he is an insensitive ass? Yes, point made.
She was still furious with Harrison—and he would have to explain his behavior just as soon as she could get him alone. “He is usually quite agreeable. You’ll like him once you give him a chance.”
“I have no issue with him, but it is clear he feels a bit . . . protective of you. Sort of like an older brother.”
Maddie knew it was more than that. The look Harrison had given her on the terrace, when he’d held her face, had been anything but brotherly. Same for the emotion in his eyes at dinner last evening. Yet where was this coming from? She hadn’t expected such fire and intensity from him, or discussions of kissing and jealousy. This version of Harrison was both reassuringly familiar and disturbingly different.
And the dichotomy in his personality was causing her head to spin.
Returning her attention to the duke, she said, “I will speak to him. He has no right to feel protective of me, considering he’s been gone so long. He missed his chance to play at being an older brother.”
“I don’t mind. I hardly scare easily.”
“No?” That was a relief, wasn’t it?
He chuckled. “I once broke my lucky club during a round at St. Andrew’s against the Duke of Argyll. We had three hundred pounds riding on that game. If that didn’t scare me, nothing else could.”
“Did you win?”
“By three strokes. Argyll was quite unhappy to lose that wager.”
“I’ve always wanted to play there. It’s unfair that men won’t allow women to play the same courses.”
“I agree, but they are convinced women shouldn’t play.” He gave a tiny shrug. “Minds will soon change, however. Look at you and lawn tennis. I daresay you could beat most anyone you challenged. You are quite talented.”
“Thank you.” Talent hadn’t been enough, however. She’d put in hours and hours of hard work to hone her skills. Thankfully, nothing made her happier than spending time outside with a racket in her hand.
They entered the gardens, where the scent of roses was overpowering. They were Mama’s favorites, and the cut flowers decorated nearly every room of the chateau in May and June. The fig and plum trees offered a tiny bit of shade on the perimeter, while a large copper beech sat in the far corner, near the fishpond. “Shall we sit on the bench?”
Nodding, he guided her toward the corner. When they were settled, he draped a long arm along the bench’s back. “This is a peaceful spot. Do you come here to enjoy the fresh air?”
“I feed the fish every now and then. This is more my mother’s spot than mine.”
“Is that so? Well, perhaps now it may be ours.” Slipping his hand into his coat pocket, he revealed a black ring box.
Her brain tripped over itself. Oh. This is happening.
Lockwood went down on one knee in front of her and held out the box. “I have already secured your father’s blessing. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and my duchess, Miss Webster?”
She inhaled sharply. A gorgeous ring with a large emerald dazzled in the sunlight like green fire from inside the box. The stone was surrounded by smaller diamonds and finished with a platinum band. “It’s stunning.”
Lockwood removed the ring from the padding. “This belonged to my grandmother, then my mother. It is my hope that it will now belong to you.”
A duchess. He wishes for you to be his duchess.
This was what she wanted, as well. All the parties she’d attended, the late-night dinners. Small talk over waltzes. Tea and cakes during calls. She had worked incredibly hard for this moment.
So why weren’t the words coming out of her mouth already?
You are being ridiculous. You cannot make a better match than this.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I would be honored, Your Grace.”
His mouth hitched. “Excellent.”
He helped to remove her glove, then slipped the band onto her left ring finger. She held the stones to the light, turning them every which way. The ring was . . . astounding. “You’ve caught me entirely by surprise.”
“Surely not entirely, as I appeared on your doorstep yesterday without warning.”
“Well, perhaps not entirely,” she admitted. “Thank you, Lockwood.”
“You are welcome.” Gracefully rising, he retook his seat on the bench, grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth once again. “I shall endeavor to make you very happy, Madeline.”
It was the first time he’d used her given name.
She blinked, a bit jarred to hear him say it . . . which was silly. She would marry this man. They would be intimate, share every life event together, like having children and growing old. Why should hearing
him use her name surprise her?
Yet, it did. The way he said Madeline, in his clipped British accent, was so different than the way Har—
No. She would not think about Harrison at this moment. He had no right to intrude on her thoughts during this happy occasion. No right whatsoever.
Swallowing, she said, “And I you, Lockwood.” Does he insist on formality in private, as well? Pushing that voice aside, she squeezed the duke’s hand. “Or, is there another name I should use . . . ?”
“Andrew, but friends call me Stoker.”
“Why?”
“One of those silly prep school nicknames, I’m afraid. It just stuck.”
I met a few dukes during my time in Paris. Generally not the most enlightened bunch.
Dash it, why was she letting Harrison’s comments ruin this moment? He didn’t know Lockwood—Stoker—as well as she did. But the doubts were already seeded in her brain.
Would the duke truly try to prevent her from playing?
Best to begin how she meant to go on. “I do wish to continue competing for another few years, as long as my knees allow it.” She braced herself, not knowing what her fiancé’s response would be.
“Of course. Were you worried I’d object?” After studying her relieved expression, he grinned. “I see. Madeline, as a duchess, you may do and say nearly anything without fear of recrimination. Furthermore, you’ll find that I am not planning to live in your pocket, as I assume you’ll not live in mine once we’re married.”
That last bit should have reassured her, but it sounded . . . lonely. As if he were planning to live separate lives, where they would schedule dinners together through secretaries. She longed for a partner in all things, not a passing acquaintance. The sort of marriage her own parents had.
The duke is not American. They do things differently there.
Yes, she supposed that was true. These adjustments would merely take some time for her to get used to.
Not a cloud floated in the sky that afternoon as Maddie and Katherine Delafield walked along the gravel path. Brisk ocean winds blew their skirts, and Maddie was forced to hold on to her hat so the breeze didn’t carry it away.