The Shy Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  Nicholas stepped down and held out his hand to help her alight. She stared at it for a second, unsure if she should take it. She had proved over and over she was not in her right mind when he touched her.

  A bitter little smile touched the corner of his mouth. “It won’t turn into a snake and bite you, Lady Emily, I promise.”

  Feeling even more foolish, she took his hand and let him lead her to the pavement. Even through their gloves she could feel the hard strength, the heat of his touch, and she remembered what his bare hand felt like on her skin.

  He held on to her for a moment after she stepped to the pavement. “You see,” he whispered in her ear. “Quite safe.”

  That she did not agree with at all. She swallowed hard past the sudden dry lump in her throat. “Thank you for the ride in your carriage, your Grace,” she said quickly, before she lost her breath. “I look forward to seeing you at our—our dinner party.” Whenever that impromptu event might be.

  “I look forward to it as well.”

  She peered up at him, trying to detect any signs of sarcasm that might be lurking there. Any hint that he might know it was she at Vauxhall and was merely toying with her. He smiled back at her, all smooth politeness—just as he always was with her.

  She knew she should feel quite reassured, safe with her guilty secret, but she did not. She only felt more nervous, more uncertain, than she ever had before. That little, nagging hint of disquiet simply would not leave her alone.

  The front door swung open, and for a second Emily feared it was her mother, coming to urge the duke to stay for tea. But it was the butler, with no trace of any of her pesky relatives lurking behind him. They were there somewhere, though, watching. She just knew it.

  “Thank you again, your Grace,” she said quickly. “Good day.”

  “Good day, Lady Emily,” he answered. He looked as if he would say something more, but Emily hurried up the steps and into the doubtful safety of the house. Only once the door was shut behind her and she heard the carriage rolling away did she relax, slumping against the nearest pier table.

  “I should be happy,” she whispered. She had discovered her own strength—she could be around him without leaping on him in lust, or bursting into flames from blushing. She could keep secrets when she had to. It had all gone rather well, considering, and now she had her first meeting with the duke after their little encounter out of the way.

  Why, then, did she feel like such a wretched ninny?

  “Emily, dearest, there you are!” her mother sang out. Emily glanced up to find her hurrying down the stairs, all wreathed in smiles and fluttering cap ribbons. “I see I don’t have to ask if you had a good outing.”

  Emily turned away from her mother to the looking glass hung over the table. Avoiding her own eyes, she untied her bonnet and stripped off her gloves. The thin kid still seemed to smell like him. “It was quite all right, I suppose, though I found nothing at the shops.”

  “But you did not have to walk home, you sly girl,” her mother said, just a hair short of crowing. “I never thought I would see my daughter arrive home in a ducal carriage! I do hope Lady Verney across the street saw. She has been so boastful of her daughter’s betrothal to a mere viscount.”

  “Mama, it was a ride that lasted all of ten minutes, in an open carriage covered with servants, including Mary,” Emily said. “Not a betrothal or an affair of any kind.” She spun around and hurried into the drawing room, where the maids were laying out the tea things by the fire.

  Her mother followed at her heels. “Well, it is a very good sign. You should have invited him in for refreshments. Your papa is in his library, as usual, but I am sure he would have enjoyed saying hello to the duke.”

  “I would have thought a dinner party would be quite enough for him,” Emily said, plumping down in her chair. “Mama, why did you not tell me we are having a dinner?”

  Her mother sat down across from her, still with that maddening expression of satisfaction on her face, even as she tried to hide it by fussing with the teapot. “It was rather last minute, my dear. An impromptu way to say goodbye to our friends before we are buried in the country.”

  “Impromptu when you met the duke and waylaid him outside the shops?”

  “Not at all! Really, Emily, you are becoming quite cynical and suspicious. It is not becoming; it will cause wrinkles.” She reached into her sewing box and drew out a sheaf of papers. “Amy and I have been working on the menu. Do you think the duke likes lamb with mint and rosemary sauce? He did seem to enjoy something similar at Welbourne Manor last summer, but I am not sure it is quite the thing now. And we will have to bring in desserts from Gunter’s, of course. Cook is all very well with plain dishes, but not with the puddings. I’m not certain what to do about flowers. Pink roses? You do look lovely with pink, Emily, but lilies are fashionable.”

  Emily sighed and poured herself a very strong cup of tea. She certainly needed every fortification she could find, as there was no stopping her mother now. Not when she started to speak about lilies. She smiled and listened to her mother’s plans, knowing that her family needed her help.

  Chapter Eight

  There was no doubt about it. Lady Arnold’s ball was the event of the Season.

  Traditionally the final grand event before society fled London and the gathering heat of summer for country estates and the pleasures of Continental travel, everyone always went for one last chance to wear their fine clothes before they were out of fashion and hear the latest on dit before it became old news. Lady Arnold had one of the largest ballrooms in London, after Manning House, and she always filled it with the best orchestra, the most flowers and the finest guest list. Anyone who had the merest pretence of being anyone at all was there.

  Even Emily, though she could find no potted palm to hide behind at all. It seemed palms were now passé. Lady Arnold instead decorated with loops of ivy intertwined with white roses and white-and-gold ribbons, draped in lacy patterns around the room. Very pretty, but useless for hiding places.

  Emily sat on one of the small white brocade chairs lined up along the walls, among the chaperons and wallflowers. Perhaps, she thought, her white muslin gown would help her blend into the upholstery.

  That, however, did not seem to be the case. Very few people spoke to her, especially since Jane and Amy were dancing, Mr Rayburn had not yet arrived, her father and brother were off in the card room and her mother had flitted off somewhere with her friends, but many stared and whispered. It appeared the tale of her carriage ride with the duke had spread, and along with the Park incident it all made for delicious gossip. She should have known, of course, that this would happen.

  The duke would not care. He and his family had been causing far worse scandals for decades. Emily, though, was achingly uncomfortable.

  She shifted on her chair, opening and closing her lace fan. She tried to watch the dancers, the swirling kaleidoscope of their bright gowns and brilliant jewels, tried to distract herself and think of other things. She glanced surreptitiously at the ornate clock against the far wall, and saw she had actually been there less than an hour. And her mother and Amy would never want to leave until one or two at the earliest.

  Emily snapped open her fan again and wafted it vigorously in front of her face. Why had she not brought a book with her? She needed to get on with her lesson plans for Mrs Goddard’s, there was not much time left before she departed London and they would have to do without her for a few months.

  The dance ended, and Amy’s partner left her at the empty seat next to Emily’s. “Lud, what a great crush it is tonight! I can scarcely breathe,” Amy cried. “My slippers will be in shreds by the end of the evening.”

  “Where is Rob? Does he not care to dance tonight?” Emily said.

  Amy snapped open her own fan. “You know how he is at these affairs, always off talking about politics somewhere, never any fun. I think he is in the card room with your father. Besides, it is not the thing for husbands to dance with
their wives, at least not more than once.”

  Emily plied her fan harder as more people strolled past them, still staring. Amy took her hand to hold her still.

  “Emily, darling, you will quite disarrange your hair, after I took such trouble with it,” Amy said. Indeed she had spent an hour before they left the house pushing Mary out of the way and fussing with curls and ribbons herself, saying Emily should try to be more fashionable. She straightened the pink rosebuds and loops of pearls caught in Emily’s fine, blonde hair.

  “It hardly matters, Amy. The one you hope to impress with my fashionableness is not even here.”

  Amy scowled, not even bothering to deny it. “Where could he be? Everyone comes to Lady Arnold’s ball. It is vital to one’s social life.”

  “Perhaps it is not so vital for a duke?”

  “Of course it is! Why, is that not Wellington himself over there? That is why the Duke of Manning needs a duchess to help him organise his engagements properly.”

  “And you think I would be the one to do that? I have no idea how one even goes about being a duchess.”

  Amy tsked as she gave Emily’s hair one last tweak. “Of course you do. You give yourself far too little credit, Sister. You are an earl’s daughter, and very pretty, if rather quiet. You know how to run a fine household and move about in society, even if thus far you have chosen not to. Anything you do not know already would be easy enough to learn.”

  “Is there a ‘how to be a duchess’ book on the shelves at Hatchards, perchance?”

  Amy laughed. “If there was, I would have read it long ago! But really, Em, this is a fine chance for you and for all of us. Rob would be such a good influence in politics, if he had a proper patron to help him, and your parents deserve a comfortable retirement. You should have your own house, before it is too late.” And before she was Amy and Rob’s responsibility and burden, though she did not say that aloud. Emily knew very well it was true, all of it.

  “Em, I do think you should—” Amy began, only to be fortuitously interrupted.

  “Good evening, ladies,” a deep, masculine voice said smoothly. “May I say how very charming you both look tonight? Quite the loveliest in the ballroom.”

  Emily turned away from Amy to find Mr Rayburn standing before her. She hadn’t seen him since that dramatic day in Hyde Park, though he had sent flowers. She had supposed the gossip about the duke and herself had put him off, yet here he was, bowing and smiling at her most charmingly, as if nothing had ever interrupted his sporadic courtship.

  How much easier life would be if she could like Mr Rayburn in that way, Emily thought sadly. If he made her pulse race and her cheeks grow hot as the duke did. But life was not often easy. And there was something about him that made her feel so unsure.

  Amy frowned at the interruption, but quickly covered it in a polite smile. “Mr Rayburn! We have not seen you in a few days.”

  “I was sadly called away from town for a short time, Lady Granton, but I did have to return in time for Lady Arnold’s ball. It is my last chance this Season to beg for a dance with Lady Emily, if she would so favour me.” He never took his gaze from Emily’s face, which was rather disconcerting. Could he read her thoughts there?

  “That is very kind of you, Mr Rayburn,” Emily said. “But I don’t mean to dance this evening.”

  “Emily, I am sure the exercise would do you good,” said Amy. “And Mr Rayburn is right, this is the last ball of the Season…”

  “His Grace, the Duke of Manning,” Lady Arnold’s butler suddenly announced. The ballroom doors opened, and the duke appeared at last. He wore a simple, perfectly cut evening coat of deep blue velvet that nearly matched his eyes and a gold-shot ivory waistcoat that sparkled in the candlelight. All the light in the room seemed to gather directly on him, leaving all else in shadow.

  His gaze slid over the company—and landed right on Emily. She was so startled she had no time to look away or even disguise what she was feeling. That sudden excitement at seeing him, the fear, the giddiness—surely it was all written right there on her face.

  Then Lady Arnold hurried over to him and he was surrounded by the crowd. Emily’s fist tightened on her fan.

  “Perhaps you are wise not to dance after all, Emily,” Amy said quickly. “I seem to have torn my hem in that last quadrille. Will you come with me to the ladies’ withdrawing room and help me mend it? If you will excuse us, Mr Rayburn.”

  His face darkened, and Emily noticed his gloved hand flex. But he merely bowed and said, “Of course. Perhaps we can take a turn about the room later, Lady Emily.”

  Emily hastily nodded as Amy took her arm and hustled her away. Her sister-in-law dragged her through the heavy press of the crowd, frantically looking side to side as she no doubt searched for the duke.

  “Amy!” Emily whispered. “That was terribly rude to Mr Rayburn.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Amy whispered back. “Mr Rayburn has no title and not enough fortune. It was one thing when he was your only suitor, but now…”

  Emily glanced back over her shoulder to see Mr Rayburn still watching them, nearly obscured by the throng. Jane stood with him now, saying something into his ear.

  “Ah, your Grace!” Amy cried. Emily whipped her head back around to find they were right in front of Nicholas. Lady Arnold watched them with a smirk, but Emily hardly even noticed. She could only see him.

  Amy tugged sharply at her hand, pulling them both into low curtsies.

  “Lady Granton, Lady Emily,” he said. “How very good to see you again.”

  After a few more pleasantries about the weather and the size of the party, Lady Arnold was distracted by more new arrivals and Amy, just as Emily feared, seized her chance.

  “Your Grace, Emily was just saying the ballroom is so crowded she feels rather faint,” Amy said, all sweet concern. “We were on our way to seek some fresh air, but sadly I must now repair my torn hem.”

  Emily tried to free her hand, to protest, but Amy just tightened her grip.

  “If Lady Emily feels faint, I would be happy to escort her on to the terrace for a moment,” Nicholas said. “I am not especially fond of such crowds myself.”

  “Your Grace, there is no need…” Emily began. Her words were cut off by another of Amy’s pinches. She was frightfully strong for such a small lady.

  “So kind of you, your Grace!” Amy said happily. “I will rejoin you both momentarily.”

  She danced away, and Nicholas held out his arm to Emily, watching her expectantly. Emily glanced around, but there was no escape. Everyone around them seemed to be watching to see what she would do, and there was no place to run. There never was.

  She took his arm and let him escort her to the half-open doors to the terrace. She was quite sure he must feel trapped by her family’s machinations; she knew that feeling all too well herself. Yet he gave no sign of resentment, no indication he wanted to leave her in the nearest corner at the first opportunity. He held on to her arm and talked of light, polite matters, not even minding her minimal, murmured responses.

  Maybe dukes were taught to be excessively polite, even ones from notoriously wild families. Or maybe they just developed finer acting skills than most people, all the better to manage all the demands placed on them. If only there really was a guidebook to such things, as she had wished for! Then she wouldn’t feel so lost and confused around him.

  Then again, it was not the duke who confused her. It was Nicholas himself. She glanced at him sideways, secretly. He seemed so careless, so easily, socially polite, yet she was so sure there was something else underneath that ducal surface. She had seen it too briefly at Vauxhall, a raw, passionate loneliness that touched something she hid down deep in herself.

  Every once in a while, when he thought no one watched, it flashed in his eyes. But only for an instant, then he concealed it again.

  They slipped through the doors on to the terrace. It was a space that only Lady Arnold’s house possessed in London, a wide, enclosed walkway w
ith tall windows opening on to the garden. They could be closed against the chill even as they let in the moonlight, or they could be open to the night breezes as they were now.

  It seemed all the potted palms had been moved out here as well, for they lined the walls and made intimate little pathways. Chairs and tables were hidden in leafy nooks, perfect for quiet conversations. The noise dropped suddenly in that space; the roar of the crowded ballroom muted to soft murmurs and laughter. Couples strolled past slowly, pale flashes between the dark green palms.

  “I’ve thought of building something like this at Manning House,” Nicholas said.

  “It is certainly lovely,” Emily answered. “Are you planning to entertain more at Manning House?”

  He laughed wryly. “I suppose it’s my duty to, or so everybody keeps telling me.”

  “Hmm,” Emily said thoughtfully. Duty—that is what everything always seemed to come to. They could pretend to be free, to choose, but duty always caught them in the end. “Duty is quite important, though I suppose giving a party once in a while would not be a very onerous one.”

  Not like marrying someone you didn’t want because your family demanded it. Not like having to keep teaching work secret because it was not proper.

  “And that old behemoth of a house seems good for nothing else,” he said. “My family hates to visit it, and who can blame them? It’s huge and draughty.”

  “They won’t visit you at Manning House?” Emily asked in surprise. The Mannings and Fitzmannings didn’t seem to care where they were, as long as they could pile in on each other. “That is not very kind of them.”

  “Not at all, Lady Emily. I would much prefer to visit them in their houses, which are much cosier and happier. But I do think a party might lure even them to Manning House.”

  They stopped at the far end of the terrace where two corner windows met, sheltered by a thick bank of palms. It was very quiet there, no voices except the whistle of the wind past the glass. She could almost imagine they were alone there, just the two of them as they had been at Vauxhall. It was disconcerting, making her quite nervous—yet also strangely comforting. In the midst of the vast crowd she felt so terribly lonely. Here, with just him, she did not feel alone at all.