It's Hard Out Here for a Duke

by Maya Rodale

  Reasons. She had them. She would explain.

  “I can’t really be the most interesting thing you’ve experienced in London—”

  “Southampton,” he corrected.

  Her lips pursed at that. Or maybe they puckered, like they were ready for a kiss. And they were, just thinking about that night.

  She recalled the soft sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the rustle of her dress. His mouth claiming hers. The sound of her sigh, the touch of his hands. She remembered like it was only last night.

  But she’d been sent here on an errand and it wasn’t to reminisce.

  “You really ought to get out more. See more interesting things. Meet more women. Eligible women. Marriageable women. The type of women who have noble bloodlines and adjacent estates.”

  She blinked. He blinked.

  “Well then. I suppose I should stop thinking about kissing you, and I should certainly stop getting close enough to do so.”

  He was close enough to do so. Meredith hadn’t even been aware of the distance closing between them; it seemed like space just evaporated.

  “And I probably shouldn’t be in the stables,” he murmured. “We probably shouldn’t be alone.”

  “That’s right,” she whispered.

  “You probably shouldn’t be here, either. This is no place for a refined and elegant woman like you.”

  And didn’t that make her heart beat faster, too.

  People didn’t take much notice of her. And if they did, most saw her as a pitiable relation, not quite a servant and not quite a lady. Then they stopped looking.

  They never saw that she was a living, breathing woman with a head full of thoughts and a beating heart. It escaped their notice that she was as refined and elegant—as much as any lady at a great house—because she’d been taught and cultivated by the best of them all.

  The duchess. Meredith owed her everything; the least she could do to repay her was not forget everything she’d been taught and, instead, to press her body against the duke’s—sweat and scent of the stables at all—and kiss him senseless, right here with a big white horse looking on.

  “I should go,” she said softly. Her lips, still inches from his.

  “Before I get us both into trouble,” he replied.

  “I should hate to keep you from important estate business,” she replied with a slight smile. Reluctantly, she stepped away from him. There was nothing more to stay for.

  Meredith found herself liking him more now—he was handsome, humble, conflicted, and real. Pity then, that she had to help turn him into a Proper Duke.

  Chapter 4

  Just because most women will swoon at merely being introduced to a duke does not mean that he is excused from flirtation. Any man worth his salt knows how to flirt.

  —The Rules for Dukes

  If Meredith needed a reminder that she and James could never be together in any lawful, meaningful, socially acceptable way, the duchess provided it the next morning in another one of those duke lessons.

  Once again, Meredith joined James and the duchess in the south drawing room, a small and informal chamber. Relatively speaking, of course.

  “As the duke, you have many essential tasks,” Her Grace began, “but the most important one will be siring an heir.”

  “My pleasure,” James murmured in a rakish way.

  Meredith half smiled.

  The duchess was not amused.

  “And by heir, I mean a legitimate son. To do that, you must wed.”

  “I am aware of how it all works,” he drawled and, Lud, if that didn’t make the color rise in her cheeks. “When a man and a woman love each other very much . . .”

  “Love has little to do with it,” the duchess said bluntly. “This is the haute ton now. You cannot wed just anyone. A duke’s bride must possess prestigious bloodlines and impeccable behavior. She must carry herself in a manner that is at once refined and assured. Good breeding is essential.”

  “Tell me, Duchess, are you talking about a horse or a woman?”

  “Given your previous profession, I shouldn’t need to convince you of this.”

  “Given my previous profession, I never imagined that I would be the stud horse,” he muttered.

  The duchess pursed her lips in her expression of I-disapprove-of-what-you-are-saying-but-will-not-dignify-it-with-a-response.

  “You must also consider the lady’s connections, particularly her ties to other prominent families who might prove to be useful allies in society.”

  “What happened to the duke being the most powerful man in the room? Besides the king, that is.”

  He said the words the king as if they tasted bitter in his mouth.

  Meredith watched this back-and-forth with no small amount of fascination. When she’d had lessons with the duchess, she hadn’t even thought to question anything she was told; she’d just been so grateful for the chance to rise up in the world, let alone to escape what her home life had become. Then again, she’d been a twelve-year-old girl.

  In all those years since, she’d never seen anyone challenge the duchess, or challenge the very way of things. She had never thought to question the ways of the haute ton.

  But here was James, Just James, just asking questions that managed to puncture the aura of perfection and elegance of the haute ton. It was so rebellious, so uncivilized, so American of him.

  A woman or a horse, indeed.

  “Your title will take you far, Duke, and it will certainly open doors for you. But everyone needs connections in society, especially should you, or members of this family, need to weather any storms or scandals. Given your . . . American manners . . . I do confess that I don’t expect an entirely smooth entry into society.”

  What an ominous, foreboding thing to say.

  The duchess sipped her tea.

  James glanced at the clock.

  Meredith wondered why she was present for this. She might be more useful with the sisters at their dancing lesson. Today they were learning the quadrille, one of the more complicated dances.

  “We will attend our first ball soon. I will introduce you to an assortment of suitable women. I hope you will consider making one of them your duchess.”

  “I assume you wouldn’t introduce me to any that didn’t strike your fancy?” James replied with a lift of his brow.

  “Your current heir, one Mr. Collins, leaves much to be desired when it comes to his abilities to manage something as complex as the estate, relationships in society, or holding multiple thoughts in his head concurrently. The sooner you are wed and delivered of a son, the better. Thus any young woman I introduce you to will indeed be suitable. We don’t have time for unsuitable women.”

  There was a beat of silence. His gaze landed on her.

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

  Then he said it.

  “You have introduced me to Miss Green.”

  “I have also introduced you to the housekeeper,” the duchess replied, so quickly and easily that it stung, even though Meredith knew she meant well enough. “Miss Green is like a daughter to me, and I wish for her happiness. I know she has many fine qualities and will make some man very happy one day.”

  But . . .

  It didn’t need to be said to be understood that she wasn’t considered duchess material—the circumstances of her birth, her common parents and ancestry, and her lower-class background all took care of that. These were all things that could not be changed, not even by an act of God.

  “And what about love?” James asked.

  Love. He had to go and mention love in that low drawl of his.

  The duchess laughed.

  “How romantic of you. Young people these days, with their notions of romance and sentiments trumping all practical considerations. I encourage you to have the good sense to fall in love with a suitable woman.”

  “And what if I don’t care to wed?”

  “That is what all the rakes say,” the duchess said wi
th a laugh. “But they all find themselves leg shackled in the end, mark my words.”

  This went over as well as to be expected, which is to say, not very well at all. The duke’s expression darkened.

  Meredith nurtured her own feelings of disappointment in her heart. Just because she knew and accepted the ways of the world didn’t mean that she didn’t harbor little sparks of hope deep down. But the duchess spoke the truth.

  “Now, in anticipation of this upcoming debut ball, we must practice the conversation between a gentleman and lady in such circumstances,” the duchess said, getting to the heart of the day’s lesson.

  Flirting. Elegant, proper flirting. The first step to wooing an elegant, proper wife. Nothing said flirting and romance like a lecture from one’s aunt.

  “I’m not sure it’s necessary to practice this,” James replied, grinning. “Haven’t had much trouble talking to women before.”

  He gave Meredith a glance as if to say, isn’t that right?

  “I’m certain that you were quite the charmer, and that you had all the local village girls swooning,” the duchess replied. “But this is London and the haute ton. Charm and seduction require more finesse than leaning against a wall with a lazy smile and a mug of ale in your hand.”

  How did she guess? How did she know?

  And how had Meredith been such a ninny as to fall for exactly that?

  In her defense, one really had to see him lean against a wall with a lazy smile.

  “Well, for the sake of seducing ladies . . .” James stood. “Let’s practice some high-class wooing.”

  “Miss Green, please, stand in. Let us pretend that you are an earl’s daughter. Let’s say, the daughter of Lord Wyndham. Duke, how would you address her?”

  James and Meredith stood, as if at a ball.

  “What is a beautiful woman like you doing alone in a place like this?” James asked. Just like he had that night. Just like that night Meredith’s heart had skipped a beat.

  “No proper lady would be alone,” the duchess huffed, and Meredith felt her cheeks grow hot. “Try again. And with a less ridiculous line, please.”

  “I’ll have you know that line works,” James replied. Meredith felt her blush deepen. What was worse: that she’d ruined herself or that she fell for such clunky attempts at flirtation? Honestly, it was a question that didn’t need answering.

  “I do not wish to know,” the duchess said. “Carry on.”

  “My lady, you are a queen among women.” Then he bent over and kissed her hand dramatically. Meredith couldn’t help but laugh and roll her eyes.

  “Now, for the introductions. Duke, may I present Lady Wyndham. Lady Wyndham, this is His Grace, the Duke of Durham, newly arrived to town and eager to make your acquaintance.”

  James bowed, elegantly enough.

  Meredith curtsied with all the elegance of a woman with twelve years of training from the Duchess of Durham.

  James reached for her hand, and she slipped her palm in his.

  Suddenly the air changed between them. His devil-may-care attitude vanished and he became serious. Meredith was able to pretend—too well—that she was Lady Wyndham, daughter of an earl and a suitable match for a duke. She decided to throw herself into the role.

  “Good evening, Lady Wyndham,” he murmured, a mischievous sparkle in his eye at the ridiculous game they were playing. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Your Grace, I am honored.”

  “Now you must ask a question, Duke, especially if you find yourself with a wallflower type,” the duchess cut in. “Though a gently bred woman with an ounce of pluck will be skilled in the art of conversation.”

  “Shall we find some place private to converse? You can tell me your story,” he murmured. Then, with a knowing grin, just like that night, he added, “I bet you have a story.”

  “An inappropriate question,” the duchess cut in.

  And one delivered in a most inappropriate and altogether too sensual voice.

  “Your Grace, you forget yourself,” Meredith, as Lady Wyndham, reprimanded him. Because a lady would never, ever steal off with a man to whom she’d only just been introduced.

  Lud, but she’d been rebellious that night. That one time. And now her one indiscretion was here haunting her. Flirting with her.

  “You also set yourself up for some cutting remark on savage American manners,” the duchess added. “Instead, you might ask how she is enjoying the social event or remark upon the weather.”

  “How are you enjoying this party, Lady Wyndham? Does the music please you? Have you had enough champagne?”

  “Very well, Your Grace. It is far more amusing than I had anticipated, now that I have made your acquaintance.”

  “Excellent. Some light flirting.” The duchess nodded approvingly, which hardly fanned the flames of romance. But then again, she and James didn’t need help with that. This something sizzled between them, even in this game of pretend, and even with the duchess looking on.

  “I am sorry to hear that you have low expectations, but I’m glad to have given you pleasure,” he murmured to Meredith.

  “Well, it’s not every day that one meets an American-born duke. One can’t help but wish to know you.”

  “And it’s not every day a man meets a beauty such as yourself.”

  “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

  “You enchant me, my lady.”

  For a moment, she faltered, suspended between her pretend fantasy that she was Lady Wyndham, earl’s daughter, at a ball, being romanced by the dashing young Duke of Durham, and the truth, which is that she was just a stand-in for another, better woman for him.

  She was his practice.

  But he didn’t look at her like she was practice.

  He looked at her like he meant Every. Damn. Word.

  “Light flirting within the bounds of propriety is appropriate and will be appreciated,” the duchess said. “Indeed, it is an art one should cultivate.”

  Light flirting?

  Did the duchess not see? Could she not feel the magnetism between her and James? This was no mere light flirting. This was passion restrained, seeping out in whatever little cracks it could, even if it was playacting in the drawing room with the most fearsome chaperone in the land.

  “It might now be suitable to invite the lady to dance, or promise to call upon her if you are so taken. But I should also note that at this point, it is imperative that you don’t show excessive favor to any one lady; you must meet all your options, Duke. And there will be many.”

  “But only the ones that are suitable,” Meredith added softly.

  Because of, not in spite of, his lofty position in the world, it is a duke’s responsibility to consider those who depend upon him.

  —The Rules for Dukes

  A few days later

  Breakfast

  Meredith’s lips were just so kissable. Deep red, plump. James liked to think of her as Meredith, now that he knew her name. None of this formal Miss Green nonsense—at least, not in his thoughts. Now if he could only kiss those kissable lips once more, twice more. Such were James’s deep thoughts at the breakfast table.

  She sat at the opposite end of the table, at the duchess’s right hand. That was her place, literally and figuratively, on nearly every occasion. Whether at mealtimes, or during duke lessons, or teatime, she shadowed the duchess. How, he wondered, had Meredith come to occupy such a position? There had to be a story there. He thought about knowing her enough to know.

  One would think they’d have every opportunity, living under the same roof, in a vast house where one might steal away and not be discovered for hours or days. But life here was so regimented, roles so strictly prescribed, that it was nearly impossible to deviate from the routine.

  For example: every morning the family took breakfast together in the breakfast room, which was not to be confused with the dining room, and the formal dining room, or the morning room. The duchess always had a stack of freshl
y ironed newspapers by her plate.

  Each morning James watched from the far end of the table as she skimmed past everything—parliamentary reports, news from abroad and such—until she reached the gossip columns.

  “The papers are already speculating about all of you,” she said, pursing her lips. This was a feat, as she had kept the Cavendish siblings hidden quite away, or as much as one could in London. They weren’t “ready” yet, whatever that meant.

  “Of course you knew that they would, Your Grace,” Meredith chided softly, as only she could do.

  “This pack of Grub Street hacks has nothing better to do than speculate about people and matters of which they have no firsthand knowledge.”

  “The haute ton is also clamoring to know all about our Cavendish siblings,” Meredith pointed out. “The arrival of an American duke has to be one of the most exciting things to happen during the past few seasons.”

  The American Duke. They spoke of him the way he spoke of a fine racehorse or prized heifer at an auction. In other words, as if he were nothing more than a show pony or a stud horse. A novelty.

  “I suppose they’re also hacks with nothing better to do,” James remarked, followed by a sip of his coffee.

  “The life of a peer is not merely one of leisure,” the duchess replied crisply. “At least, not if one takes the responsibility and duty to the title seriously. The peer must manage the estates, see to the welfare of the tenants, attend to matters in parliament, and secure relationships with other families, as well as serve as the head of his own household.”

  Here, she gave James a pointed look. The hint was taken.

  “And the ladies have the sole task of getting themselves married,” Claire added, not without some disapproval. Somehow his sister had a brilliant mind for mathematics; she studied extensively and was excited to be in London where she might meet other minds at her level. Marriage would be a waste of her brain. But tell that to the duchess, who spoke of little else.

  “The peeress must also manage the households, engage in charity work, assist her husband in seeing to the tenants’ welfare, to say nothing of birthing and raising children to be worthy of their station,” the duchess continued.