How to Capture a Duke (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 1)

by Bianca Blythe

  I’ve outwitted her. The realization brought no sense of triumph with it. He’d actually miss this place. I’ll miss her.

  He quickened his pace. He would be able to catch a hack in Harrogate and make his way to a mail or stage coach from there. Soon he would be in London. He wouldn’t have the jewels with him, but those had always been an excuse. Lady Cordelia didn’t need them when he proposed, and he would have a servant send for them, just as he should have done in the beginning. He doubted Fiona would refuse to give them at that point.

  Footsteps padded behind him, and he grinned. Fiona was there. He braced his cane onto the floor and turned his head, but the only person in the hallway was a chamber maid. She gave him a tentative smile, and he nodded at her. His throat dried.

  He was really leaving. He hadn’t needed to wait for his relatives to rescue him discretely after all. Somehow, he’d imagined that Fiona would make some attempt to keep him here. He’d grown accustomed to her spirited motions.

  He grasped hold of the banister and made his way down the stairs, grateful at least that no one was there to see his clumsy motions. He’d never much had a use for banisters before, and now they seemed like the finest invention in the world.

  The entryway was empty, and he heaved open the door to the outside, to freedom.

  “Let me help you with that.” A man who exuded Corinthian charm grasped hold of the handle and grinned more than most people were capable of at any time, much less early in the morning. “You must be my new brother.”

  Percival blinked.

  “Lord Somerville,” the man said, smiling.

  Rosamund’s husband.

  Percival blinked. The earl was clothed in a great coat and beaver-skin top hat. Behind him was a black sleigh pulled by white horses. The horses wore red plumes in their headgear, stomping occasionally on the fresh snow, though appearing on the whole quite relaxed at the prospect of journeying atop it.

  “We’re still going to Harrogate?” Percival asked. “Miss Amberly expressed reluctance, but I was hoping I might still join—”

  “Naturally! We’re relatives now. Well, practically.” The earl beamed. “My brothers live near here. It will be grand to have another man join us for cards.”

  “Marvelous,” Percival said, though the word exaggerated his emotional state. For some reason, the thought of leaving failed to fill him with joy. He wouldn’t be lighting any Roman candles.

  “But don’t worry about Miss Amberly,” the earl said. “The women are on their way.”

  Percival blinked. “Your wife?”

  “And Miss Amberly. She insisted on joining. Said you would be sure to want to go. Mrs. Amberly said you would be sleeping, but it seems Miss Amberly was right after all. True love has its power, doesn’t it?” Somerville chuckled.

  Percival rubbed his hand through his hair. “I seem to recall that Miss Amberly despised Harrogate.”

  “Yes, yes. She professes a dislike for shopping. I suppose she couldn’t be parted from you after all. It’s nice to see her so in love. The way she talks about you.” Somerville beamed.

  “Er… Yes.” Percival peered at the entrance to the manor house.

  “Makes me feel like I’m not the only romantic in the world,” Somerville mused. “They’ll be out any moment now. No need to worry.”

  Percival shifted, sinking into the fresh snow.

  The sound of jingles came from the distance. A set of horses pulled another sleigh. This one was painted a cheerful red. The horses’ heads were proudly raised. The sleigh was large with two rows, and a driver occupied one of them.

  “I took the liberty of getting the groom to prepare the sleigh here.” Somerville laughed. “One day you’ll be arranging all of this.”

  “Right.”

  He’d only just met Somerville, but the weight of the lie pressed on him. Somerville believed he was meeting his new brother-in-law, and in reality he was simply meeting a stranger whom he might one day encounter in London. Somerville didn’t even know Percival’s name.

  The earl eyed him. “Let’s get you into the sleigh, Captain. I’m awfully sorry about what happened to you at Waterloo. It must be a dreadful shame. Such a bother. So near the end too.”

  “I’m making do.”

  Somerville’s words came from a good place, but Percival was tired of making conversation about his injury, and listening to people alternatively bemoan his poor fortune or laud the fact that he’d made it out alive at all, depending on their propensity toward optimism or pessimism.

  But perhaps the problem was with himself, for he seemed equally critical of people who mentioned his leg and of people who avoided mention out of politeness.

  The Napoleonic Wars had brought many soldiers back in various states of wholeness, and Percival was far more fortunate than most of those returning.

  He made his way to the sleigh, tottering over the snow-covered cobblestones. His hand tightened around his cane, and he allowed the earl to help him inside. A thick woolen blanket lay on the seat, representing everything cozy. The driver nodded to him, and he blinked under the bright, blue sky and the bright rays of sun.

  Before long the door to the castle opened. The countess appeared first, and then Fiona. Fiona’s face was tight, but when she spotted him, her shoulders relaxed and she smiled.

  The countess laughed. “Is that your fiancé?”

  Fiona nodded.

  The woman’s eyes sparkled, and she glided toward him.

  “My sister, please let me present my fiancé, Captain Knightley.” Fiona’s face pinkened a charming color, and she thrust her eyelashes downward. “Darling, this is Lady Somerville.”

  “I must admit part of me questioned your existence,” the countess said. “And yet you are here in the flesh.”

  “Mostly,” he replied.

  The countess’s eyebrows flew up, and he pointed to his wooden leg.

  She laughed and turned to Fiona. “I like him.”

  Fiona gave her a wobbly smile.

  “And really, you mustn’t worry about your lack of a leg. I’m sure it’s more common than one might think.” The countess smiled brightly. “We are departing for London tomorrow. Somerville needs to meet with his brothers—they’re such rakes, and I know it does them good to see him.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Quite,” the countess chattered. “They’ll meet at the Duchess of Belmonte’s ball. The Duke of Alfriston will even be there.”

  Percival stiffened and he avoided the countess’s gaze.

  “Why, he’s even missing a leg just like you!” The countess clapped her hands.

  “But you haven’t met?” Percival asked finally.

  “No, no. All a bit mysterious really. He wasn’t supposed to be a duke at all. But then his cousin died—that beastly Bonaparte, and now he’s rich.”

  “Imagine,” Percival said faintly.

  “Life is most mysterious.” The countess smiled. “My poor sister was most worried this morning when she did not see you. It was most charming to see. I thought nothing fazed her.”

  Fiona frowned. “Perhaps we should go.”

  “Let’s leave the lovebirds, darling,” the earl said, and Rosamund joined him.

  Percival exhaled, as the countess glided over the snow, oblivious that she’d just spoken of him.

  Fiona climbed into the sleigh and settled into the seat beside him.

  “But what of your hatred for shopping?”

  She tilted her head. “You didn’t really imagine I would abandon you?”

  He snorted, and warmth spread through his chest. “It would be unlike you.”

  “I aim for not surprising you,” Fiona said, and he laughed.

  “You’re the most surprising woman I ever met,” Percival said.

  Fiona’s eyes widened, and she fiddled with the blanket. Pink tinged her cheekbones.

  The sleigh moved swiftly, the horses not impeded with the heavy weight of a carriage. He shifted in his seat.

  “
Your leg?” Fiona asked at once.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Good.”

  They were silent for a few more minutes. The bells on the horses jingled, and the blanket was a seasonal mixture of red and green, but Fiona did not protest.

  “I brought the jewels and money,” she said.

  “What?” Percival swung his head over to her.

  She nodded. “I thought you might want to make your escape in Harrogate. You should be able to catch a hack easily enough that will take you to a mail or stage coach.”

  “Oh?” Percival tried to compose his features into an innocent expression, but from Fiona’s resigned smile, he hadn’t achieved much success.

  “You needn’t pretend otherwise. You were terribly eager to go shopping in Harrogate.”

  “Perhaps I have a fondness for visiting new tailors.”

  Fiona’s shoulders slumped, and a dull weight pressed against Percival’s chest. “You’re correct. I did plan to take advantage of Harrogate’s connection to London.”

  “Thank you for everything. You were so kind last night. And I’ve—I’ve been horrible to you. Dragging you so far away. I’m so sorry.” Fiona passed him the package.

  He grasped hold of the thin satin material, and pressed against the stones, feeling the familiar shapes. He’d traveled so far to fetch them, had lost them, and now had regained them.

  They weren’t his. They should have belonged to his cousin, and soon would belong to Lady Cordelia, the woman whom the dowager never failed to praise.

  He frowned. “What’s going to happen after I leave?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But your sister, your brother-in-law, your grandmother…”

  “I’ll let them believe in the engagement, and then at some point—” her voice wobbled, and he wondered if she meant after her grandmother’s death, “I will invent a lie, and they’ll think it’s broken off.”

  “But—why are you doing this? You must know it will be more difficult for you to find a husband after you’ve been betrothed before.”

  Engaged women were chaperoned more lightly, and women who were formerly engaged were regarded as spoiled.

  “I won’t ever marry,” Fiona said.

  “But society demands it.”

  “Society demands many things. One needn’t follow it slavishly.”

  “Right.” Percival scrunched his fingers together and thought of Lady Cordelia, his destiny, despite the fact he’d never met her, despite the fact that until a few months before, she’d been his cousin’s destiny.

  “I would love to travel,” Fiona said. “I would love to learn more about the people who lived here before.”

  “And a family? Children?”

  Fiona pressed her lips together. “It’s not to be. Not everything is.”

  He tilted his head to her. “Just why did you leave your season early?”

  Fiona sighed, and her fingers tapped a nervous pattern over the blanket. She glanced up at him, and her eyelashes flickered over her emerald eyes.

  Something in his gaze must have seemed reassuring, for she sighed and gave a short laugh. “I looked forward to it. Before it happened. Before I knew better. I looked forward to wearing pretty dresses and to having men dance with me. Everyone said debuting would be the nicest part of my whole life.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged and wrapped her arms together. “The pretty dresses I wore weren’t considered pretty by the other girls. I suppose I went to the wrong dressmaker. I suppose Grandmother didn’t know any better and I thought they were pretty.”

  “I’m sure you were beautiful,” Percival said.

  Fiona’s eyes widened, and she averted her eyes. He had a sudden urge to pull her toward him.

  “I felt foolish amidst the gossip. I didn’t know the dances well, and the men soon knew better than to ask me to dance. I suppose I was the typical wallflower, except I never bonded with anyone else either. I had considered Madeline a friend, but she was only too happy to gossip about me.”

  “So you left.”

  Fiona nodded. “Grandmother was uncomfortable in London as well. She was older than all the marriage-minded mamas and hadn’t been in London in ages. It was easy to convince her to leave. And though everyone told me that I was ruining my chances, I never really believed them.”

  “I suppose you haven’t had any suitors here?”

  Fiona faltered and then shook her head.

  This time the urge to pull her toward him overwhelmed him. He moved his hand underneath the blanket, and away from any cursory glances from the others.

  Fiona stiffened, but her fingers opened to his. He pressed his hands against hers and entwined their fingers.

  The snow sparkled against the bright blue sky and the still brighter sun. In the distance children played, their gleeful shouts echoing through the valley.

  Soon the sleigh would arrive in Harrogate, and they would never see each other again.

  Percival pressed his fingers more tightly around hers, telling himself that it didn’t matter how well suited Fiona and himself might be.

  She bit her lip. “I had all these ideals, and I’d decided that I had no time for the ton and all the vapid, gossipy women. But I sometimes wonder if I was just as vapid, just as prejudiced, because I certainly didn’t take the time to actually know any of them. And when I see how happy Rosamund is, I feel so foolish for not having tried harder.”

  The sleigh vaulted toward Harrogate. Percival pressed his top hat on his head. The crisp wind swirled beside them, toppling the cloak from Fiona’s head. Her hair lay exposed, and for a moment, Percival simply stared at her auburn curls. The rich color contrasted with the snowy-white landscape behind her, and her locks twisted and turned in the air.

  Her curled locks shouldn’t fascinate him. She shouldn’t fascinate him. Her voice should not sound like the one of his dreams, and when he closed his eyes, her face should not echo back at him.

  “Everyone said a husband was vital,” Fiona continued, “but I had no desire to be tied to a man like Uncle Seymour. I thought I was doing something noble by not yielding to the pressures of the ton, but really I was just being foolish. Perhaps I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find someone and didn’t want to play a game I was always destined to lose.”

  “Not all men are like your uncle.”

  She turned to him, and her eyes roamed his face. “No.”

  “I suppose it was fortunate that I had my war injury. It made me easier to capture.”

  “Oh, I would have been successful either way. I planned to capture you once I called myself the Scarlet Demon.”

  “Indeed.” Percival’s voice was frosty, a quality he’d practiced at school, surrounded by the other children of aristocrats, all with morals that tended to be low on the ethical spectrum. He crossed his arms and cursed himself for removing her fingers from his own.

  She raised her chin. “If this is about your foot, Percival, you know I don’t care about it.”

  “Excuse me!”

  She sighed. “I mean, of course, I care that you got hurt. Of course that’s dreadful. And of course I wish you did not have to be in so much pain, and that you did not need a cane, and all of that. But no, I did not choose to capture you because you lacked a foot.”

  His mouth tightened.

  “Anyway,” she said. “Once we’re in Harrogate, you can make an excuse and leave. Or not make an excuse, though I’d still rather that the true cause doesn’t reach Grandmother…”

  “I won’t.” His voice softened. “I find it admirable that you are so close to her and I’ve little desire to break that trust.”

  Her smile wobbled. “I’m sure I deserve for that trust to be broken.”

  “You never set out to be a highwaywoman.”

  “I took advantage of the situation.”

  “Perhaps not a completely bad quality.”

  She flickered her eyelashes down, and Percival averted his
eyes. Stone houses dotted the landscape, and in the distance the Ripon Cathedral pierced the horizon.

  The fact was agonizingly clear. With Fiona everything was different—truer. The women with whom he’d shared his bed had seemed interchangeable, saying words that had seemed calculated to please him and not reveal anything about their own personalities.

  They remained the beautiful blonde debutante or the experienced widow, and he remained the army officer, the cousin of a noble family, and now the duke. They expected him to act poorly, to not call on them, and to leap into bed with them, and he was ashamed that he had lived up to their lack of expectations.

  “There are coaches near the Minster,” Fiona murmured as the sleigh stopped. “I’ll tell the others that you were called away.”

  “Even though they’ve seen no messenger?” Percival slid from the sleigh and waited for Fiona to disembark.

  Fiona’s face tightened, but she nodded. “I will make an excuse. We won’t be able to take the sleigh into the town center; the snow will not be thick enough for that. But you should be able to find a hack.” She paused and then pointed. “There’s one.”

  He followed her finger. There indeed was a hack. The driver tilted his head. “Cheap rides.”

  “See—”

  Percival sighed.

  Freedom.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve already done.” Fiona’s voice trembled.

  Percival nodded. “You were the greatest highwaywoman a man could ask for.”

  Her face pinkened, and she laughed softly. Her eyes were still sad when he turned to the hack driver. He trudged through the snow, his steps slow and labored. He clutched his cane tightly as it made deep incisions in the snow. When he reached the hack and all its promises of freedom, his heart should have thudded with relief, but instead his chest tightened. He swung his gaze back to Fiona.

  She was behind the others as they looked at fabric through a shop window. Her face was rigid, her spine was straight, and his heart hurt.

  Blast.

  He turned and headed back toward her, making his way through the slushy snow and struggling to maintain his balance.

  “But sir,” the hack driver called behind him, but he waved his hand.

  He strode toward her, and his tongue thickened as he neared her. She wasn’t expecting him.