The Shy Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  A special licence. Now he and Emily could be married wherever and whenever they chose. And if word of their betrothal had spread even to the Saloon and its environs, the wedding would have to be soon.

  “I fetched this as well, as you asked,” Stephen said. He held out a small jewellery box. “I’m not sure it’s a very good idea to use it, though. Seems very bad luck indeed.”

  Nicholas opened the box and stared down at the ring it held, a twist of gold studded with small diamonds like raindrops on a branch. His mother’s ring. It had been his grandmother’s before that, and his great-grandmother’s, Manning brides for generations.

  It had seemed a fine gesture of continuity, but now that he saw it he was sure Stephen’s superstitions were quite right for once. He could only picture it on his mother’s finger. She had worn it long after her marriage disintegrated, a symbol of a spectacularly failed match.

  He didn’t want to see it on Emily’s hand. They had enough against them already with the cursed title of Duchess.

  He snapped the box shut. “You’re right, Stephen. A new ring would suit her better. Maybe an emerald.”

  “You know, Nick,” Stephen said slowly, as if he was reluctant to say it but felt he should, “you do not have to do this.”

  “Of course I have to. You were there, you saw what happened. I will not be another in the long line of Manning cads.”

  “You are not like that!” Stephen protested. “But remember how it was with our parents, how unhappy they were. And how that unhappiness infected their children, too.”

  Children. Nicholas shook his head hard, trying to dislodge the sudden, hideous image of Emily white and still, a dead infant in her arms. No. That would not happen again. He would not hurt another woman like that again, he would find a way to stop it.

  “It won’t be that way for Lady Emily and me,” he said. “We can live contentedly together after a time, I’m sure. Besides, I’m the duke. You and our sisters have been telling me I need to marry, to find a duchess. Why not her? She is quite suitable.”

  “Suitable!” Stephen burst out. “Nick, she is pretty, of course, and of good family. But she is so—so cold. How can you find contentment with someone they call the Ice Princess?”

  Nicholas laughed. Emily was certainly not cold. Sometimes she burned like the hottest summer day, until she remembered herself and drew away again. “Things are not always as they appear, Brother. I will marry Lady Emily, because I must, and I will find a way to make the best of it for us both. You and the others have to welcome her into our family.”

  Stephen scowled, but at last he nodded. “I will do my best, for you. And Justine always cares for everyone. I’m not sure about Annalise or Charlotte, though.”

  Nicholas’s youngest sisters did have minds, and iron wills, of their own. But they always did what was best for the family in the end. “Once they come to know Emily, all will be well.”

  “I hope you are right,” Stephen said doubtfully.

  “Of course I am. Dukes are always right,” Nicholas said with confidence. Inside, though, he was simply not so sure. Emily was a strange lady, impossible to read or decipher. One minute he was sure he understood her at last, and then she went and did something utterly unpredictable.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “It seems I must shop for a new ring.”

  “I think you should go home and bathe first, Nick,” Stephen said. “You smell like a dockside tavern after all the sweat you’ve shed today.”

  Ah, yes—that was what families were really for. Keeping things honest in a painfully polite world.

  “Fine,” he said. “Home first, then the shops. Then I must call on my bride.”

  They soon left the Saloon, Nicholas moderately tidied up, and set off for Manning House. The carriage had been left at home that day, so they were on foot. After the fifth person stopped them to wish him happy, though, he thought better of that decision.

  “Shall we hire a hackney, Stephen?” he asked. Then his gaze was caught by a figure moving purposefully down the street, dodging around the other pedestrians as if she did not see them at all. But the light glowed on the golden curls peeking from beneath the plain straw bonnet.

  It was Emily striding along so quickly, as if she was on some urgent errand. She was simply and soberly dressed in a dark blue pelisse, as she had been when he gave her a ride home in his carriage, no fine gowns or jewels or feathers to call attention to herself. Her maid scurried behind her, and Emily didn’t look in the shop windows or at anything at all. She just looked ahead.

  Where could she be going?

  “Nick, are we going to find a hackney or not?” Stephen said.

  Nicholas held his hand up for silence. Something in him urged him to follow her now. “Come with me, Stephen,” he said, and took off after her.

  He pulled his hat low over his brow and drew the collar of his coat high, hoping for a modicum of disguise. He stayed close enough to see where she was headed, but far enough behind that he could blend into the crowd. She never glanced back, though, and didn’t seem to sense he was there.

  She left the most fashionable shopping area and moved into a quieter neighbourhood of narrower streets. Nicholas kept up with her until she turned down a walkway between two tall brick buildings. Her move was unexpected, and he had to rush to catch up to her.

  By the time he slid around the corner, she was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t in the small square at the end of the alleyway, either. There was just a maidservant sweeping the front steps of one of the quiet establishments. It was as if Emily had just vanished.

  But why had she even come to this part of the city, practically alone? What was she playing at?

  Nicholas remembered the black-haired woman at Vauxhall, the girl in white at the Arnold ball. And now the purpose-driven lady who disappeared on some mysterious errand. It appeared his new fiancée was a woman of many parts—and even some secrets.

  “Well,” said Stephen, as he skidded to a halt next to Nicholas, “I don’t know what your bride is about, but this is the first time I have ever seen her do anything in the least bit Manning-like. Do you suppose she is up to some mischief?”

  “That, Brother,” Nicholas muttered, “is just what I would like to know.” Yet it seemed he would not find out today, unless he wanted to go door to door and seek her out. That would never do; he didn’t want to scare her off. Not yet.

  “Come along,” he said, turning away. “Let’s visit the jeweller. It seems I need to buy a ring today.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Emily, there you are! Where were you for so long? We have a great deal to do today,” Emily’s mother called through the drawing room door before Emily even had a chance to take off her bonnet.

  Emily peeked in to find not only her mother and Amy, but three other people. They appeared to be merchants, with open cases and unfurled bolts of silks and laces. The wedding madness had already begun.

  She sighed, and gave her hat and gloves to the butler. She fussed with her hair for a time as an excuse to keep from going to her mother just yet and drowning in those fabrics.

  Ever since the ball last night—had it really only been last night?—she had moved about in a deep state of numbness. It didn’t feel real, the fact that she and Nicholas were to marry.

  She wasn’t sure how she got through the rest of the ball at all. She vaguely recalled Amy snatching her away to the ladies’ withdrawing room to tidy her hair and dress, and then people pressing in on all sides to offer good wishes and glasses of celebratory wine. Her parents’ smiling faces, Nicholas’s hand on her arm holding her steady—it was all a fizzy blur.

  She had no memory of coming home, only her family’s happy chatter in the carriage. The chatter continued at breakfast, until she knew she had to escape, and ran away to Mrs Goddard’s. No one there knew yet about her engagement, so she didn’t have to smile and seem happy. But she couldn’t stay at Mrs Goddard’s for ever.

  “Emily!” her mother called agai
n. “Whatever are you doing out there?”

  “You must choose the fabric for your gown,” Amy added. “These silks are all quite delicious.”

  At least someone took pleasure in the events, Emily thought. She was quite sure Nicholas did not, despite his great gallantry last night. He had done her such an enormous kindness. How could she repay him by shackling him to a wife he did not love, who he could not be content with?

  And yet how could she not? They were both trapped.

  “Here I am,” she said, hurrying into the drawing room. “It looks like you two have been busy today.”

  “Somebody had to be, once the bride herself disappeared,” said Amy. One of the merchants unfurled a bolt of yellow muslin for her inspection.

  “I had some errands,” Emily said. “Has the duke called?”

  “No, but he sent a message,” said her mother, comparing two shades of blue feathers. “He will call on your father this afternoon, but he will take the liberty of procuring a special licence as soon as may be.”

  “So you can marry before the end of the Season!” Amy cried. “Isn’t that delightful?”

  “Delightful,” Emily whispered.

  “The duke has offered Manning House for the wedding, which would be grand,” said her mother, with a touch of regret. “But it is not at all the thing to have the ceremony at the bridegroom’s home. We must have it here, even if there is much less space.”

  “That will make the guest list smaller, which is surely very desirable,” said Amy. “More exclusive.”

  “And not so much food for the wedding breakfast,” said her mother. “Now, Emily, which do you like for your gown? The pink or the blue? Or maybe this lovely sea-green? You do look nice in green.”

  Emily had barely begun to examine all the many fabrics and trims when the butler announced another caller.

  “Mr George Rayburn to see Lady Emily, my lady,” he announced, holding out the card on his silver tray.

  “What, now?” her mother cried, frowning fiercely. “We are much too occupied at present for callers.”

  Emily lowered the pair of slippers Amy was showing her to her lap, her stomach twisting. Mr Rayburn had looked so shocked and angry when she glimpsed him at the ball. She would not have expected that; she had never given him encouragement or at least she did not think she had. But perhaps he had expected something from her anyway?

  Whatever the case might be, she didn’t want to hurt anyone. Yet it seemed she caused harm every time she turned around, to Mr Rayburn, to herself—and to the duke.

  “It is quite all right,” she said. “I will speak to Mr Rayburn.”

  George Rayburn came into the room and bowed to her mother and Amy, commenting politely on the wares spread before them, as correct and charming as ever. But his smile definitely looked strained.

  Emily knew how he felt. She felt stretched and strained herself, so brittle she feared she might snap. She led him to a quiet corner near the windows, away from her family’s avid ears. She stared down at the street below, at the passers-by so blithely going about their business in the pretty sunlit day.

  “Have you come to offer your good wishes, too, Mr Rayburn?” she said. “That is very kind of you.”

  “I can do that if it’s what you want, Lady Emily,” he said. “But is it, really?”

  There was a tone to his voice Emily had never heard before, intense and dark-edged. Surprised, she spun around to stare at him.

  He leaned closer, so close she could feel the heat of his body. He seemed to press her in against him even as he did not really touch her. It filled her with a primitive urge to run.

  She braced her hands on the window sill behind her, feeling faint. Her mother was nearby, she told herself; she was not alone, not really in danger. Yet she couldn’t shake that feeling away.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

  “I mean—do you really want to marry him? Or is it something they are forcing you into?”

  “You really should not speak to me like this, Mr Rayburn. It is not proper.”

  “I am through being proper!” he said, and leaned even closer, pressing her against the window. “You did not look happy last night when your betrothal was announced.”

  Emily struggled to maintain her dignity. If she was to be a duchess, as it seemed she must, she would have to learn to be perfectly dignified even under duress. She might as well start now.

  “I was merely surprised by the manner of the announcement,” she said.

  “So you want to marry him?” His voice softened. “Lady Emily. I have long intended to offer for you myself. My admiration for you is so great I hardly know how to express it. I could not say anything until now, because of—certain matters, but now I see I must. You cannot marry him.”

  “Mr Rayburn, please!” Emily said desperately. “Please, do not say any more, I beg you. I have said I will marry the duke, and I can’t go back on my word.”

  Not now, anyway. Any vague hope she had of wriggling out of this ridiculous engagement was gone when she saw the overly bright light in Mr Rayburn’s eyes as she stared at her now. No man had ever looked at her like that, with raw possession, and it was frightening. Not exciting-frightening, as when Nicholas looked at her, but just…

  Just plain frightening, as when Mr Lofton had grabbed her in that dark garden so long ago. For an instant, sheer fury flashed across his face, twisting its handsome lines into something unrecognisable. He grabbed her hand hard and pulled her towards him.

  “Mr Rayburn…” she squeaked, her throat closing.

  “I know you have seen my regard for you—what woman could not see it, even one who pretends to innocence as you do?” he said in a low, harsh voice. “You seemed to return it. Were you just playing with me, using me to hook a bigger fish?”

  Emily had no idea what he was talking about. She looked frantically across the room to where her mother prattled with the merchants. Amy caught her eye, half-rising from her chair.

  The butler suddenly opened the door again and an nounced, “His Grace the Duke of Manning, my lady.”

  As Nicholas stepped into the room, Mr Rayburn’s hand suddenly tightened on Emily’s, a punishing grip she could not escape. He raised it to his lips and whispered, “This is not over—my lady.”

  Under cover of her skirts, Emily kicked him on the shin and drove him back away from her. She hurried as far from him as she could, her cheeks hot. She had the great urge to scrub the hand he kissed on her skirt.

  “Oh, your Grace!” her mother cried. “We have been expecting you. Would you care for some tea?”

  Nicholas’s solemn, dark blue gaze swept over Emily and her blush, and the clutter of wedding fabrics, and Emily had the sinking sense he was thinking she had been in a lover-like embrace in the shadows even as she shopped for the nuptials. He did not smile as he bowed over her hand.

  “Thank you, Lady Moreby, but I fear I am interrupting your day,” he said. “Please do not go to any trouble. I see you already have a caller.”

  Amy shot a hard look at Mr Rayburn, who still lurked by the window. Emily could feel him watching her. “Mr Rayburn merely stopped by to give his good wishes. He was just leaving,” Amy said.

  “Indeed I was,” Mr Rayburn said. His tone held none of the fierceness of just a moment ago—it was all smooth politeness again. “I did merely come to give Lady Emily my very best wishes, and you as well, your Grace. You deserve each other, I am sure.”

  With that, he at last took his leave, and Emily fancied the room filled up with fresh air again. She could finally breathe.

  But Nicholas still watched her closely, unsmiling.

  “There, now, we have plenty of space again,” her mother said. “My husband is waiting for you in the library, your Grace. Perhaps after you speak with him you will take tea? We would so like to hear your opinion of our preparations.”

  “Of course, Lady Moreby,” Nicholas said. “I am happy to help in any way I can, though I fear I am compl
etely useless when it comes to ribbons and feathers. Perhaps Lady Emily would show me the way to the library?”

  “She would be happy to,” her mother said with a delighted smile.

  “It’s this way, if you’ll follow me, your Grace.” Emily spun around and hurried out of the drawing room. Her hands still trembled, so she tucked them into the folds of her skirt as she led him up the stairs. “It’s in a rather odd place, so far from the drawing room. Papa does need his quiet.”

  She heard the fall of his booted footsteps on the stairs behind her, the soft sound of his breath. What he must think of her, seeing Mr Rayburn holding her hand like that! She felt she should say something, explain, but what could she possibly say? She did not understand it herself. She had no words.

  And theirs was not a real engagement, anyway. Not a meeting of two minds and hearts, united in one purpose in life. It was a mere mistake. Surely he did not even care if she held hands with another man! Surely he did, and would do, far more than that with other women. She knew all too well from her work at Mrs Goddard’s and from her own experience that that was the way of men.

  Her stomach suddenly hurt at the thought of Nicholas with some other woman, someone like Sally or like the red-haired Lady Anders-Holt. There had been rumours of something between her and Nicholas last year, though Emily had seen nothing of it.

  To cover her confusion, and what felt so oddly like anger, she said quickly, “The library is just up there, your Grace, the door at the end of the corridor. You may have to knock quite loudly, my father is rather hard of hearing. Or perhaps he just pretends to be, so he doesn’t have to talk so often to my mother.…”

  “Emily.” Nicholas suddenly reached for her hand and turned her to face him. His touch was cool and gentle, not like Mr Rayburn’s, but it made her flinch with surprise. He immediately drew away. “Emily, do you think we could forgo the ‘your Grace’? I think we are definitely past that now.”

  “Of course, if you like,” she said. “What should I call you?”