“These fish shan’t nibble on you.” The Duke laughed. “You are creating scenarios in your mind that will not happen.”
“What will not happen?” she asked, and the moment stretched between them, his eyes searching hers.
“Nibbling,” he said his voice deep and enticing.
She turned away blushing again, but she put a bite in her voice. “When you get nibbled, do not come to me for sympathy.”
“I do not think I should come to you for sympathy no matter what trouble might befall me Miss Dunn,” The Duke said sharply, instantly regretting it as soon as he did, hoping the remark was not as biting as it sounded to his own ear. If Philippa was offended, she played it off well, smiling as she spoke.
“That is for the best I would imagine. I am not a sympathetic woman.”
“No. But you are an adventurous one, I think,” the Duke said with a wry smile.
Philippa did not answer right away. She thought about all he had said on the ride out. She thought on all that she knew of this man. He was not a cruel man. He was caring and honest. In fact he came the closest she had ever known to the heroes of her novels. Had she not wished to be adventurous like the heroines in her mind?
With determination she sat on a rock.
She took her boots off, but she made him turn away so that she could peel down her stockings. Philippa held her skirts up in her hand as she waded into the cool water following the Duke of Chesney, and he gained a glimpse of her pretty bare feet.
She gasped as the cold water shocked her. “Oh, the rocks are slippery,” she said as he steadied her.
“They do nibble at you!” Philippa shrieked as she felt the tiny silver fish brush at her ankles. The Duke of Chesney laughed and held her hand.
“I am undoubtedly more delectable than you are, so perhaps if I stand close to you they will feast upon me instead,” the man said moving closer.
Philippa felt her heart pound in her chest. Her head felt light, dizzy. The Duke was standing near to her she could reach out and wrap her arms around him if she wanted to. She could smell the spiced scent of him. Cherry pipe tobacco and something else, musky and sweet that distinctive male scent that was just him. The warmth of his hand in hers was intoxicating.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and thought about what it would be like to wrap her arms fully around him, to pull him close. She could close her eyes, he would close his. He would kiss her. She would allow him. If he attempted to do further…what would she do? A shaft of heat rushed through her at the thought and she realized once again that she should not have gone riding with him, but the time was oh so sweet.
She opened her eyes and looked to him. He smiled, showing even white teeth. His eyes were dark with desire. He was so close. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers and she kissed him back, her eyes fluttering closed again. His body pressed against hers, his one hand still on her hip, the other pressing near her shoulder, tantalizingly close to the top of her breasts. She gripped her skirts tightly to keep them from the water or perhaps it was because she was at a loss of what to do with her hands. She wanted to touch him.
The Duke broke the kiss.
The taste of him was still in her mouth. She wanted more. She wanted to have what she imagined. She stared at him open-mouthed and dewy eyed.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I forgot myself.”
“No,” Philippa said simply. She looked to him, and could see the conflict within his eyes. She thought she knew what he was thinking. Her breath came in little gasps and she was very aware of the heat of his hands contrasted with the cold water at her feet.
“We should go back,” he said.
She nodded.
The Duke opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he shut it. He turned from Philippa and made his way back to the shore, leaving her to make her way along the slippery rocks in a most ungentlemanly like way. He busied himself with straightening his clothing and pulling his boots on, keeping his back turned as she followed and did the same. They rode back in silence, and when they reached the stable, he was entirely proper as he handed her into her carriage.
* * *
7
“I think I love her,” The Duke said to James over the breakfast table.
The young Lord Taftwater made a rude sound as he choked upon the steaming coffee he had been sipping “No, please…” he began.
“Stop it,” The Duke commanded. His voice was so stern that James knew it was not the time for jesting.
“You love Miss Philippa Dunn, the shrew extraordinaire?” He asked in disbelief.
“She takes up the majority of my thoughts, and has since I spoke with her in her garden. Then last week and we went riding …” The Duke’s voice trailed off as he remembered.
“I thought that was over?” James asked. “After the trip to your farm, you have not seen her since, have you?”
“I kissed her there. Standing bare-footed in the stream.”
“You kissed her?”
Gregory sighed and set his own coffee cup down upon the saucer. “Please do not merely repeat what I tell you; the conversation will be more taxing than I can deal with if you do not deign to hold up your end of it.”
“I’m just surprised,” James countered. “So you kissed her?”
“I wanted to make love to her, there on the bank of that stream,” Gregory confessed.
“No one is beating down the door to marry her,” James replied. “And her father is only a minor noble who does not care two figs for her. You could set her up in Town…”
The Duke shook his head. “No. I will not take her as my mistress.”
“Why not?”
“I kissed her, and… it felt like…a betrayal.”
“To your late wife?”
“No. To Philippa herself, because I keep comparing her to Janet.”
“The Duchess is…” James said, unsure of how to finish the verbal thought.
“Dead,” Gregory said simply. “I know it.”
“Miss Dunn is… alive,” James said.
Gregory laughed. “Is that the only kind word you can think to say about the woman? She is alive.”
“What would you have me say?” James shook his head. “Have you forgotten how cruel the Ton can be?’
“I only think, she has become dear to me,” Gregory said.
“She is hysterical. She is a known shrew. She is strange; she reads mathematics books…”
“That is not all she reads,” the Duke interrupted.
But James continued undaunted. “She is a bluestocking. She is crass, and rude, and forsakes society.”
“All true,” the Duke agreed.
“Well then, you do know what all the Ton thinks and says,” James joked, and both men took the opportunity to laugh.
“I have never given much thought to what others think.” He smiled at his friend. “She makes me happy, James.”
“Then be with her, my friend.”
“It’s not that simple,” Gregory said.
“It seems as though it could be,” James replied.
The Duke fell silent, and they finished breakfast like that. He wondered if that was true. He wondered if it could all be so simple.
“None of that matters,” James said finally, after lowering his gaze and finding the words in his coffee cup.
“What?” The Duke asked.
“What is said of Miss Dunn. What she is and what she not. Life is fleeting. Do not waste your happiness. If she makes you feel… better. Then have her. Marry her.”
“Are we talking about me or you,” Gregory asked. “What of Miss Charlotte?”
James shrugged. “She is surrounded by other men, like moths around her sweet light.”
“Do you want her?”
“I do, Chesney, but it is so soon after my father’s death. She will be snapped up and betrothed before I am ready.”
“Tell her so. You are an Earl. You are rich. You are worth waiting for. Ask her to wait.”
“Shelby Egglandton is also rich.”
“Egglandton is a pig,” The Duke said. “And he has no title. She will have you before him.”
“Thank you for your vote of confidence,” James said. “That I am better than Egglandton.”
“You are. Far better.”
“I do not know if she is right. Yes, Charlotte makes me happy, but she is so young.”
“You are young,” Gregory protested with a raised eyebrow.
“That is not what I mean. She sees all the world with such joy. I fear that I am just looking for a diversion to distract me from my father’s death. And Charlotte is no diversion. She is a true lady.”
“And what about your mother? What does she say?”
“She has not met Charlotte.”
“Perhaps she should,” the Duke offered. “You mother is a sensible woman.”
James snorted into his cup.
* * *
After breakfast The Duke had a carriage prepared and rode to the Montclair Manor. When he arrived he asked after Lord Montclair, his courage was waning and his mind racing for an alternative reason for being there. He shook off the feeling.
He was a Duke asking for leave to call upon the man’s daughter. Montclair should be ecstatic. He had no cause for nerves. He was not some green lad as he was the last time he had made such a request. A manservant alerted the Duke to the fact that Lord Montclair had gone to London, and was not due back for some days.
“I see,” Gregory said. “Another time then.”
“Very well, Your Grace” the servant said. Gregory had turned to leave when he heard her voice.
“Your Grace,” Philippa said simply, and he turned back as she curtseyed. She was standing in the doorway, looking like a fragile flower in a gown of light yellow. Her hair was done, piled upon her head and her dress floated about her, like petals in the sun.
“You look magnificent,” The Duke of Chesney said. All he could think of was her standing in the stream, her lips parted under his.
“My thanks,” she said. “I thought perhaps you too had returned to Town,” she added.
“Not as of yet,” The Duke said. “I would not leave without saying goodbye.”
“I thought you had,” the woman said, her voice cool.
“You are going out?”
“I am chaperoning my sweet cousin as she attends a soiree today.”
“And who is chaperoning you?” Gregory asked quick on his feet.
“Are you offering?”
“I am.”
“Then the job is yours. Otherwise I would sit silently, as those of the Ton who come into contact with me think me more a leper than a person.”
Gregory smiled at her directness. “Whose soiree?” he asked thinking back to the stack of cards and announcements that invited him to various to dos, even during lent.
“Wickham’s,” Philippa said. “I am sure they would be honored with your presence, Your Grace. They are but merchants in the town and would not presume upon your time.”
* * *
The Duke was reacquainted with Charlotte. He was momentarily cowed by the young woman’s beauty. He could see why his friend James was taken with her. She was a golden haired beauty with a somewhat fairy quality in her crème dress. He bowed and kissed her hand, feeling that he was holding a bit of a moonbeam. She was the complete opposite of her earthy cousin. He helped both women into the carriage. They rode and exchanged pleasantries.
Philippa made him feel at ease, the Duke reflected on the fact that he had married the last woman to make him feel so comfortable. Spending time with Janet had done the same to him. He was a strong man, well born, and important. He went into almost every situation proud and sure of himself, but Philippa made him feel so much more… both stronger and weaker at the same time. He was not just attracted to her; he really was in love with her.
There were a number of tables set up in the Wickham’s beautiful garden. The soiree was well-populated and the Duke stood with the two women, and another young man who was paying court to Miss Charlotte, a son of a prominent business man in town. A Mr. William Durky; he did not have a minor title, but he was a businessman of some account, or at least his father was.
Miss Charlotte played her role well, laughing at any middling joke the man told, and listening to the stories of his father’s numbingly dull business with interest and rapt attention as the guests and the musicians entered. The Duke thought his friend James would have been much better company for the young woman and used every opportunity to tell her so. Besides, if James was courting Miss Charlotte it would be so much easier for him to visit with Philippa. He rather liked the idea.
The Duke watched as others filtered into the musicale, realizing that some were to be left standing in the entrance hall, so great was the crush. He had no idea there were so many upstarts in the area. The Cavish family had arrived to Wickham House, and Duke found himself in the company of Lady Cavish, an elderly Baronness who was interested in telling the Duke about her daughter Penelope. Presently, Miss Penelope Caro was introduced, along with Miss Barrott, Miss Tolfish, and Miss Lovejoy, all equally young and unremarkable.
Miss Caro edged in, pushed by her chaperone and was rather insistent upon telling him how she loved pianoforte pieces and how the current head musician was simply superb. She had heard him play in London. She explained as she leaned in close to the Duke.
“Then perhaps we should listen to them play,” Philippa said rather tartly.
The Duke smiled at her and his eyes were dancing with mirth. She wondered if she was the only one who could recognize his mood.
As Miss Caro continued her ceaseless stream of conversation about the musicians, Philippa sighed and thought. It was perhaps not the best idea to arrive at the soiree with a member of the Peerage. The man seemed to have outshone the musicians and the repast. To find herself in such a place of prominence made Philippa feel ill at ease. She much preferred to blend into the background, but that was not possible beside the Duke. Even as Charlotte’s chaperone, with the Duke at her side, she was clearly the center of attention.
Glancing right, she recognized their hostess, Mrs. Wickham who was staring at her, or perhaps she was staring at the Duke. At any rate, Philippa’s heart rate inexplicably picked up. She hoped she would manage to speak to the woman without causing some new gaffe. At that moment, Miss Caro seemed to come to the end of her treatise on the musicians, and the Duke caught Philippa’s hand, expertly excusing them with the comment that they must greet their hostess.
He gave Miss Caro a quick smile and began to lead Philippa towards Mrs. Wickham and another group of acquaintances.
“Good evening, Mrs. Wickham,” Philippa said with a smile and a curtsey. “What a lovely gathering.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” Charlotte added, while Mrs. Wickham tittered over the Duke.
After much too long a time for pleasant conversation, the musicians stuck up their piece and the crowd settled to listen. Philippa was never an accomplished pianist, but even she could appreciate the beauty of the music, and of course, the Duke’s hand on her own.
* * *
After the Duke saw the two women back to their home he found himself still not ready to part company with Philippa.
“We could go for a walk,” he said, motioning to the gardens around them. Evening was coming on, and the horizon was streaked with purple and pink clouds, darkening the sky.
“We could,” Philippa nodded, and turned to Charlotte, but her cousin tactfully thanked the Duke for accompanying them while he bowed to her and kissed her hand. She then politely managed to say her goodnight and slip inside, leaving Philippa alone with the Duke.
The Duke offered Philippa his arm, which she took. They went around the side of the manse and through the grounds.
“When will you be going back to London?” Philippa asked.
“I do not know when I shall leave, but I promise you, I shall not do so without saying goodbye,” the Duke s
aid.
“I’m glad.” They walked for a moment or two longer.
“Did you enjoy the soiree?” he asked.
“I did. I would like to visit the stream again,” Philippa said abruptly. “It was beautiful.” She felt a hot blush color her face.
“You are beautiful.”
“I am not,” she insisted.
“Who has convinced you that you are not beautiful?” The Duke asked. “He should surely be whipped.”
“My father says I am not what gentlemen would wish in a woman.”
“He is wrong,” the Duke insisted. He turned her to face him, and she stilled with the brush of his fingers upon her cheek. “Do you believe me?”
“Perhaps, he meant I am not what gentlemen want in a wife.”
“Again, he is wrong.”
They walked along in silence for several moments. “It is not always about what the man wants,” the Duke said at last. “You should consider what it is you want, Miss Dunn. You are a bright woman. I can see that. What do you desire?”
She stopped and looked at him for a moment, and then grinned. He did ask…“I would like it very much if you would kiss me again,” she said, rather forwardly.
“I would like it as well, but I am not sure it is the best course of action,” the Duke said truthfully.
“And why would it not be?”
“Because…you are not Emma,” the Duke said softly, and Philippa blushed with the thought of Emma’s escapades.
“This makes me think very highly of you,” she retorted.
“I think highly of you as well,” The Duke said with all seriousness.
“Do you?” She asked.
“I do.” The Duke confirmed, his eyes soft upon her as if he were searching her soul. They had stopped walking and stood suspended. With the pause in the conversation, Gregory thought he ought to kiss her again, but her face was creased with a frown and he was sure he had vexed the woman. When she spoke her voice was even and unemotional.
“I am fond of you,” she said.
Love Springs Anew: A Regency Romance Novella Page 5