At The Duke's Pleasure

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “Too excited, eh?” Her father gave her a wide grin. “And so you should be, now that the engagement is official. Just think, by this time next year, you’ll be the Duchess of Clybourne and one of the most esteemed ladies in the land.”

  “Hmm, yes. That’s what I…um…wanted to discuss. You see—”

  “No need to be nervous, the duke will attend to all the particulars. Only look at how extraordinarily generous he has been already. When he mentioned giving you a Season in London, I assured him such an extravagance was entirely unnecessary.”

  Well used to Papa’s parsimony, she gave no outward reaction to that bit of news.

  “But Clybourne insisted,” the earl continued as he ran a palm over his thinning blond hair, now liberally laced with white. “He insisted as well on bearing the cost of the whole venture! Said he wouldn’t hear otherwise and that he must be given the pleasure of indulging you in this way.”

  In other words, Claire instantly surmised, Papa had balked at paying and the duke had found himself compelled to accept the expense in order to make good on his promise to her—a magnanimous offer on his part, she had to agree. But she wasn’t here to think kind thoughts about the duke, but rather to see to her own well-being.

  “That is generous indeed—” she said.

  “More than generous,” her father interrupted. “He’s invited your mother as well, did I tell you that? Said you’re both to live at Clybourne House in Grosvenor Square for the duration of the fashionable season. Told me he wanted to give you every opportunity to get to know him and his family better before the wedding.”

  He sent her an approving nod. “I understand the dowager duchess has her own suite of rooms there, and if I heard right, one of the duke’s sisters will be in residence along with a pair of his brothers. Don’t worry, though, that you’ll be crowded for room, since the duke’s town house is as big as a palace.”

  Papa chortled at the notion.

  Claire didn’t smile. She hadn’t imagined the duke would expect her to live with him in his house, even with her mother and his own there to serve as chaperones. But why was she worrying over such matters when there were far more important issues at hand?

  “Yes, I am sure the town house is lovely,” she murmured, threading her fingers together in her lap as she rallied the nerve to state her case.

  But to her frustration, her father interrupted again. “If you think Clybourne House in London is impressive, just wait until you see Braebourne, the duke’s principal estate. Now there’s a house and grounds that will turn your eyes round with awe. Majestic, it is, and no mistake. Most beautiful home in England to my way of thinking, and as luxurious as any kept by the royals themselves.”

  He waggled a finger. “Of course such extravagance isn’t strictly necessary in order to maintain a well-run establishment, but as its mistress, you’ll be able to exercise a measure of prudence here and there. Only consider that Braebourne shall soon be your home. You, my girl, are an immensely lucky young woman.”

  I don’t feel lucky, she thought, as a lump of panic swelled inside her chest. I feel trapped.

  “I can’t do it, Papa,” she said in a rush. “I cannot marry the duke.”

  Her father stared, his blue eyes boring into her for a long moment. Then he tossed back his head and laughed. “Very funny, child. For a second I thought you were serious.”

  She leaned forward in her chair. “But I am serious. Completely serious. Please know that I am fully sensible of the great honour of His Grace’s proposal and what it would mean to be his duchess, but after much consideration, I realize that I cannot marry him. I fear that…we will not suit and I do not wish to be his wife.”

  The earl stared again, only this time his pale brows scrunched together—hard. “What!”

  She flinched, cringing at the anger in his voice. “I—I know you want this marriage to proceed and that the union is one of long standing—”

  “It certainly is of long standing, its duration nearly the same number of years as you have been drawing breath on this planet. What maggoty nonsense are you on about? Not marry Clybourne! Of course you’ll marry him. You agreed to do so only a few hours ago.”

  “Yes, but I have since had time to change my mind. Please, Papa, I do not want to wed him. I just want to stay here with you and Mama and go on as we have been. I promise I won’t be a burden and shall ask for nothing. You won’t have to buy a single new dress for me all of this year or next if you wish. I won’t ask for books or bonnets or extravagances of any kind. Just say I may write and refuse him. Please tell me I don’t have to be his bride, after all.”

  “And then what? You’re nearly two-and-twenty years of age, a circumstance I haven’t found troubling given that you were promised to Clybourne. But if you don’t marry him, you’ll soon be a spinster and there’ll be no one who’ll have you.”

  Her eyelashes swept downward. “I am willing to accept that risk.”

  “Well, I am not,” he told her in an implacable voice. “Neither is there the need to do so, since you have a perfectly good offer of marriage. An excellent offer of marriage from an honorable nobleman of unassailable character, who will always provide for your well-being and happiness.”

  My well-being, yes, she thought. But my happiness…Why can Papa not see that is exactly what I am trying to protect?

  He drew an audible breath in a clear effort to regain control of his temper. “Cold feet, that’s all this is. A few days from now, you’ll be thanking me for refusing to let you withdraw. Go to bed and get some sleep. You’ll soon enough change your mind.”

  She met his gaze, her jaw set with determination. “But I will not. Nothing shall sway me from my decision.”

  Her father fixed her with an assessing look. “And nothing shall sway me from mine. Hear me and heed my words, Claire. You will marry Edward Byron. This union is what I want, what your mother wants and what the duke wants. So unless Clybourne decides to act like a bounder and jilt you, the engagement between the two of you stands. Do I make myself clear?”

  Claire glanced away again, fearing she might shame herself otherwise. “Yes, Papa. Perfectly clear,” she said, swallowing back tears.

  The earl huffed out a breath. “Well then, let us say good night so you may seek your rest. If you see your mother, please inform her I shall be up directly, as soon as I finish reading my paper.”

  She nodded, no longer trusting herself to speak. After a perfunctory curtsey, she let herself from the room.

  To her profound relief, she managed to reach her bedchamber without encountering anyone. Trembling, she flung herself across the bed, sure that sleep would be the last thing she found there. She waited for the tears to start as well. Instead her eyes remained dry, thoughts spinning in circles through her mind.

  You will marry Edward Byron.

  I will not. Nothing shall sway me from my decision.

  Unless Clybourne decides to act like a bounder and jilt you, the engagement between the two of you stands.

  Unless he jilts you…jilts you…jilts you.

  She sat up in bed, struck by a sudden thought. What if the duke did jilt me!

  But no, he never would…unless she gave him reason?

  A slow smile curved her mouth as the notion took hold.

  Could she do it?

  Did she dare try?

  Oh mercy, they shall all be so angry with me. But what will it matter in the end if it allows me to gain my freedom?

  Stretching onto her back, she began to plot.

  Chapter 3

  As he had only a week earlier, Edward drove his curricle up to the front entrance of Marsden Manor. Alighting from the vehicle, he strode through the door held open by the butler, pausing to exchange a few words with the servant as he divested himself of his greatcoat and top hat.

  He was escorted to the same formal drawing room to which he’d been shown before, then the servant withdrew to inform Lady Claire and her mother of his arrival. The earl, it seemed,
was away for the afternoon on business, a circumstance about which Edward had no complaint, since it was his fiancée he’d come to see.

  Fiancée. How odd that word sounded in his mind. But he supposed he would soon enough grow used to the notion of finally and officially being engaged and, when the time arrived, being married as well.

  A scowl settled over his brows as he turned to gaze out the window.

  Five minutes passed.

  Then ten.

  The Marsden ladies did not join him.

  Withdrawing his engraved gold timepiece from the pocket of his tobacco brown silk waistcoat, he consulted the hour. A quarter past three. Unless he’d mistaken the hour agreed upon for his visit, he’d arrived precisely as scheduled. Tucking the watch back into his pocket, he took a moment to ponder the novelty of being forced to fritter away his time. As a duke, it wasn’t often that he found himself required to wait—for anything or anyone. Generally everyone waited for him.

  Not that he sought such a reaction from others. In point of fact, he often wished that he had the luxury of being able to fade into the background and be a bit more ordinary than he was. Far too frequently he was subjected to the fawning behaviour of those who hoped to earn his interest and approbation. Little did they realize their mistake, since he detested nothing quite as much as an obsequious toad eater scurrying around his heels.

  But even among the nobility, he commanded a certain level of deference due to his elevated title. A heightened courtesy that had nothing to do with him as a person, but that was based instead on his position within the peerage. It was only around his family and friends that he could truly relax and be himself. And although the Marsdens would also become his family in a few months’ time, he readily acknowledged that they were still on rather formal footing with one another at present.

  But apparently not today, he thought with a faintly amused roll of his eyes, wondering how long the ladies planned to keep him waiting.

  Another ten minutes passed.

  He was wishing he’d had the foresight to bring a book with him when Lady Edgewater hurried into the room.

  “Oh, Your Grace,” she said in a breathless rush, her puce woollen skirts swinging as she clutched a hand to her heaving bosom. “Pray forgive my tardy arrival. I have been…that is, I was quite unavoidably detained. I hope you have not been waiting a dreadfully long while.”

  “No, not at all,” he dissembled in a reassuring tone. “I trust nothing untoward has occurred?”

  “Of course not!” Lady Edgewater declared with an audible, high-pitched squeak in her voice. “Everything is splendid! Wh-Why do you not be seated and I shall ring for tea.”

  He raised a brow at her unusual reaction, but decided not to remark on the subject. “Tea would be most welcome.”

  Giving an absent nod, Lady Edgewater crossed to the bellpull and gave a sharp tug. As she did, she craned her neck and glanced out into the hall. Her narrow shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment when she didn’t discover whatever—or whomever—it was she’d been hoping to see. Turning back, she sent him a bright smile. “Your journey was pleasant, I hope?”

  “Quite pleasant,” he confirmed, waiting until she had seated herself before he did the same.

  “Good, good,” she said, shooting another glance toward the doorway. “The weather remains cold, but at least it is sunny.”

  “Indeed.” He paused, casting a look toward the doorway himself this time. “So, will Lady Claire be joining us shortly?”

  Judith Marsden flinched, then shot him another smile. “Of course. She’ll be along any moment. She is…she is…” Her words trailed off as she searched for a way to end her sentence.

  “Delayed?” he proffered.

  “Exactly!” Lady Edgewater said, looking relieved as she grabbed on to the word. “Claire is delayed. You know how girls her age can be. Gowns and hair and such. Never sufficient hours in the day to make oneself pretty enough, especially for one’s fiancé.”

  So Claire is above stairs fussing over her appearance?

  His brows furrowed, not at all sure that he cared for the notion of having such an apparently self-absorbed, narcissistic bride. Then again, her mother was obviously making excuses and hiding some essential bit of information, so what precisely was the truth?

  His future mother-in-law was clearly racking her brain for a new conversational gambit to cover the silence when a sound came from the doorway. He and Lady Edgewater both glanced up at the same moment and found Claire standing framed in the entrance.

  But instead of the immaculately groomed young lady he’d been expecting, she looked a fright. Her golden hair encircled her head in a frenzied mass of wisps that had clearly escaped their pins, one slender hank straggling down to her left shoulder. Her fair cheeks glowed with a sheen of perspiration, a long, dark smudge decorating one cheek. She wore a plain linen dress of indeterminate colour, the garment appearing to have been laundered so many times it was now little more than a shapeless, greyish rag. Her feet were shod in a pair of scuffed shoes with what looked to be a leather patch across one toe.

  But the worst eyesore by far was the apron tied over her dress. Old and stiff, it was stained brown with huge smears and patches of some combination of matter whose origin he could only guess. Although based on a more careful inspection, he thought he detected grease, dried blood and bits of animal hair!

  For long moments, all he could do was stare.

  “You wanted to see me, Mama?” she said. “Nan said you’ve been searching all over the house and that I was to come immediately.”

  Lady Edgewater said nothing, her expression one of utter horror.

  Claire’s gaze shifted toward him, her mouth rounding in a silent exclamation, as though she had only just realized he was in the room. “Your Grace! What are you doing here?”

  He blinked, recovering himself enough to answer. “I am paying you a call. I believe I was expected, Lady Claire.”

  Her hands went to her cheeks. “Good heavens! Was that today?” Giggling with obvious nerves, she glanced away. “Mercy, forgive me. I completely mistook the date. I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

  “A while. Your…um…mother has been kind enough to keep me company.”

  “I can only imagine what you must think of all this,” she said, waving a hand over her dishevelled attire. “I was down in the servants’ wing helping with the tallowing, you see.”

  “The what!” her mother exclaimed.

  “The tallowing. And pouring candles as well. You know how the servants’ stores have grown low of late and that they were in need of replenishing.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” Lady Edgewater said, shooting Claire a look that could only be described as appalled. “Wh-What are you talking about? You don’t make candles with the servants!”

  Claire frowned. “Of course I do.” Pausing, she darted a glance at Edward, then back at her mother, her gaze widening slightly as though struck with sudden understanding. “It’s all right, Mama. We don’t have to pretend about these things anymore, not since the duke and I are engaged. Isn’t that right, Your Grace…I mean Edward. You did ask me to use your given name now that we are to be wed.”

  A strange choking noise issued from Judith Marsden’s throat before the countess sank onto the sofa.

  “Oh, look now, here is the tea,” Claire observed, as a pair of maidservants entered the room bearing a pair of large silver trays. “How delightful,” she continued, “since I am positively famished after all that work.”

  The servants arranged the tea service along with an array of biscuits, casting Claire a furtive glance or two out of the corners of their eyes before retreating from the room.

  Edward watched as his fiancée crossed to the repast and reached for a plate.

  “Claire!” her mother admonished in a restrained half whisper. “Surely you are not planning to dine with us until after you have refreshed your attire.”

  “I took care to scrub my hands b
efore I came in. Besides, if I go upstairs now, the tea will be cold by the time I return. Do not worry, Mama. I am sure a big, strong man like Edward won’t turn squeamish over a little stain here and there. Will you, Edward?”

  She pinned him with a look, her eyes alive with innocence. And yet, as he gazed deeper, he thought he detected something more, an underlying glint of stubborn rebellion and, if he wasn’t wrong, mischief. When he looked again, though, the expression had vanished, her gaze pleasant and untroubled.

  He cleared his throat. “Whatever you prefer, my lady. I would not wish to curb your pleasure in any manner.”

  A wide smile curved her lips, lovely despite her untidy appearance.

  “Although, if it wouldn’t be remiss of me to suggest,” he said, “I believe her ladyship would be more comfortable were you to remove your apron. It is rather…striking to say the least.”

  “Of course. Forgive me, Mama. But you know how I lose track of these things, always elbow-deep into one mess or another.”

  “Claire! What on earth has gotten into you?” her mother said, finally recovering her voice. “You make no sense at all.”

  Smiling, Claire put a finger to her lips to pantomime silence. “I know. Mustn’t let Edward in on our secrets. But I told you, Mama. It’s all right. He’ll find out everything soon enough.”

  “But there is nothing to find out!” the countess stated in an exasperated tone. She turned her gaze to meet his. “Your Grace, you must believe me when I say that we have been concealing nothing from you. Nothing at all!”

  Claire gave a little shake of her head, then laid her plate aside long enough to remove her apron. Folding it so as to leave the clean side exposed, she draped it over a silk-covered chair. Her mother groaned and looked as if she might swoon.

  “Now for some food,” Claire stated, as she picked up the plate again.

  He watched, bemused, as Claire prepared a plate piled high with little sandwiches and sweetmeats. For a moment he thought she planned to keep the hearty repast for herself. Instead, as if only then remembering her manners, she passed it to him. Murmuring his thanks, he waited while she served herself and her mother. Moments later, Claire took a seat.