My Fair Duchess

by Megan Frampton

  “Oh, excellent,” she replied, giving him a smile that warmed his heart, even though he would have to warn her against showing that kind of exuberance when next they had Duchess Practice. Norris returned, holding Archie’s coat. “Shall we go?” She looked at her guests and then at Archie, then nodded at Norris, who leaped to the door to open it.

  “Miss Evelyn, you must let me know if the hat I’ve chosen looks hideous on me. I have so little experience choosing garments.” Genevieve took Miss Evelyn’s arm as they walked outside, Archie and Sir William trailing behind.

  “Oh, I am certain you have excellent taste, Your Grace,” Miss Evelyn replied. She sounded pleased to have been asked, and Archie silently applauded the duchess.

  The ride into the village was a short one, no longer than fifteen minutes, but to Archie it felt like a lifetime. Mostly because Sir William was doing his best to be charming, which he was succeeding at, drawing Genevieve out in conversation without badgering her. Including his sister and Archie in the discussion as well so he wouldn’t seem to be monopolizing her.

  Archie had to admit he was jealous. Of something he could never have himself. That made no sense at all, and yet it was the truth. He wished he could be the one having the right to ask her questions, to embark on what was clearly a courtship. But he couldn’t. He could kiss her—or more accurately in their recent encounter, she could kiss him—but he couldn’t be open in his admiration of her, as Sir William could be.

  “Oh, it looks busy.” Genevieve was looking out the window, a flush staining her cheeks. Was it excitement? Nerves? Both? She glanced over at him and bit her lip.

  Nerves, then.

  Damn it, why couldn’t he just hold her when she needed it?

  Because it would be entirely inappropriate.

  Because it would likely lead to even more inappropriate action.

  Because he wasn’t sure who needed it more—him or her.

  Sir William looked out the window as well. He was sitting facing Genevieve, beside Archie. “It is. But you will be able to get whatever you require, Your Grace, due to your position.”

  Panic flashed across her expression. “That is—well, yes. That is a good point.” She had been about to say something else, likely something that would reveal how she truly felt, but she didn’t. Was it wrong that Archie was pleased she didn’t feel comfortable enough with her relatives to share how she felt with them?

  Perhaps. Wrong but true.

  “Mr. Salisbury, what business do you have to conduct?” Her voice was strained. Did anyone else hear it?

  “I wanted to review what types of farming supplies might be available before I send off to get what I believe the estate needs. Mr. Wickes will need someone to help him with the tenants’ property, but until that person arrives, he has me.”

  “You’re a steward for Lady Sophia Waterstone, I believe?” Sir William asked. Archie heard the implied dismissal in the other man’s voice. As though reminding him he was essentially a servant would tarnish him in the duchess’s eyes. And yet from what he knew about the duchess, he thought that she likely found more in common with servants than with people of Sir William’s rank.

  Something the other man obviously did not recognize.

  “Yes, Aunt Sophia—I call her aunt, even though she is not of our family—was kind enough to send him when I had some questions.”

  “How kind of her,” Miss Evelyn said, her tone revealing none of her brother’s implication.

  “Yes, and he has been so helpful.”

  “Mm,” Sir William murmured. Archie shot a quick glance at him, meeting his gaze, resisting the urge to punch him.

  That was odd. He’d never had that urge before, not since he’d begun to tower over people so thoroughly that he had to restrain any of his baser impulses. Until they had become second nature.

  And yet here he was, pondering violence. In a way that was so unlike him he had to wonder what was happening to him.

  Thankfully, the carriage slowed before Archie had to think too hard about who he was becoming.

  Letter

  Dear Archie Mr. Salisbury,

  Clarkson worries that I am too fragile to do what I have to do. I don’t think I am (do you?), but I do know I am too ignorant still of my duties and responsibilities. It’s terrifying to think that in just a few days I will be announced to the world as the Duchess of Blakesley. My life is changing. My life has changed.

  I always wanted it to be different, but not this way.

  Duchess

  Chapter 21

  “Welcome, Your Grace, please do come in.” The shopkeeper curtseyed so low Genevieve was immediately concerned about the woman’s knees.

  “Thank you.” She stepped inside the small shop, pleased to see how tidy and clean it was. Not that she wouldn’t patronize the only millinery shop in the village if it had been less than tidy and clean, but it certainly made it easier to imagine wearing one of the shop’s products.

  “This is lovely,” Miss Evelyn enthused behind her. Genevieve turned and smiled at the girl. She was, if possible, even more naïve than Genevieve thought she had ever been. Somehow it was reassuring to know that there were Society ladies who had that in common with her.

  Even if the Society lady in question had yet to enter Society, like Genevieve herself.

  “What may I help you with?” the shopkeeper said, a tension around her mouth indicating just how anxious she was.

  That makes two of us, Genevieve thought.

  “The duchess is in search of a new hat or two,” Sir William answered.

  “Yes, I would like to purchase a hat. Perhaps also some ribbons,” she added, just to show she knew her own mind.

  Although buying more ribbons would mean Clarkson had more ribbons to smooth, and she wasn’t sure her maid would be able to deal with the pressure.

  “Allow me to show you some right over here,” the woman began, gesturing to a table with, indeed, a large variety of hats.

  Genevieve was engrossed in her appraisal of the hats when the bell at the door rang, and she heard someone walking in. It was only when he spoke that she realized who it was.

  “The duchess come here to roam among the common people,” Mr. Leonards said with a sneer in his voice. She turned and looked at him, her eyes widening as she took in his disheveled appearance, so much worse than just a week or so earlier when he’d been dismissed.

  She saw both Sir William and Archie step toward him, just as he lunged forward. “Who are you to tell me I don’t have a position?”

  Sir William moved to stand beside her, but she gestured him to the side. She would not rely on anyone, no matter how male, to solve all her problems. This very moment was the purpose of all her Duchess Practice, after all.

  “Allow me to address your concerns, Mr. Leonards.” She was pleased, but not surprised, to find her voice was calm. “You stole consistently from the estate.” She held her hand up when he opened his mouth to speak. “I could almost forgive that if you did good work. But you didn’t. You harassed my tenants, you kept urgent repairs from happening, and because of you”—and my father—“the Blakesley name is derided.”

  He did speak then, bellowing into her face, making her want to step back. Only she didn’t. This was but the first test of her new position, of how she needed to be seen as being in authority. Even though this first test was accompanied with the strong scent of alcohol and too-long-unwashed man.

  “I saw how you and he were talking,” Mr. Leonards said, pointing at Archie. “You think no one’s going to notice? That you can’t do anything without a beast at your back?”

  It said too much about what she had done that she was relieved he hadn’t mentioned how close they seemed to be in an entirely different way.

  “I am no beast,” Archie said, in a low voice that made Genevieve shiver. Whether it was because of the implied threat, how protective he sounded, or both, she didn’t know.

  No, scratch that. She knew. It was both. She just didn�
��t want to admit it to herself.

  And he did seem quite beastlike at the moment, she had to admit.

  “The duchess is more than capable of taking care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to waste her time on someone like you,” he continued, his tone one of seething disdain.

  “You should leave,” Sir William said, striding forward and pushing Mr. Leonards in the chest. She saw how Archie winced, and then how his hand clamped on to Mr. Leonards’s arm as the former overseer was about to throw a punch.

  And how Sir William turned pale.

  Archie kept hold of Mr. Leonards and drew him backward through the shop, his clear strength making it appear that the other man was going willingly. Only Genevieve saw how Mr. Leonards was pushing back, trying to wrest himself from Archie’s hold. But he wasn’t strong enough.

  “Your Grace, are you all right?” Sir William spoke as the two men stepped through the door, his hand reaching up to touch her, then falling away as he realized the impropriety of what he was about to do.

  “Yes, thank you,” Genevieve replied. She watched through the shop window as Archie spoke to Mr. Leonards, very close to him, an intense look on his face.

  “Would you like to return home?” Sir William continued, not seeming to notice all her attention was focused outside. But then that meant his attention was focused on her. Wasn’t that a welcome thing?

  She did wish she could go home, that was what she wanted to do most of all, even before she’d been accosted at the milliner’s. But that wouldn’t be doing her job, and that was why she was here in the first place. To do her job, to live up to whatever low expectations anyone had of a female duchess.

  “I wish to stay.” She looked over to the shopkeeper and offered up a semblance of a smile. “I apologize for the interruption. Perhaps you can show me what you would recommend?”

  The woman froze for a moment, then nodded vigorously. “Yes, Your Grace, if you would just step over here.”

  She nodded, walking to where the woman had gestured, Sir William following closely behind.

  Archie fumed with the need to stay calm, not to do what he wanted, which was to first punch Mr. Leonards in the face, then haul Genevieve away from anyone but him.

  Efficient, but not practical.

  Instead, he watched as she chose a hat, one with some sort of fruit hanging askew on the top, as Miss Evelyn stayed close by, rather like a duckling following its mother around.

  And Sir William was the rooster, strutting about as though he had been the one to deal with Mr. Leonards. And not exacerbated the situation.

  It was irksome. And he knew he was mixing up his bird species, but he was a soldier, not a farmer.

  “Mr. Salisbury, do you need to go do . . . whatever it is you were planning to do?”

  And now he had to add Sir William to the list of men he wanted to punch in the face.

  “Yes, I do.” He glanced at Genevieve, who was already looking at him. “Your Grace, I will return within fifteen minutes.” Don’t get accosted during that time, his look said. I won’t, you foolish man, her expression seemed to say.

  His errands took even less time than fifteen minutes, likely because he was rushing through what he had to say and showing clear impatience when the people he was talking to took too long to say anything.

  Still, he arrived just in time to watch as Sir William assisted her into the carriage. The other man turned and offered up a satisfied smile, as though knowing precisely what was going through Archie’s head at the moment.

  Which he didn’t, because if he did, he wouldn’t be smiling.

  The ride back home was no less torturous, but this time it was because everyone was silent. Although that allowed Archie to imagine various ways he could hurt Mr. Leonards, which wasn’t very helpful, but did make him feel better.

  Archie broke the silence. “Your Grace, if I might speak to you for a moment?” They had disembarked from the carriage, Sir William lingering behind to shepherd the duchess into the house.

  Her expression eased, and he felt an answering ease in his chest. “Yes, of course, Mr. Salisbury. I will join you in the office in five minutes.”

  Archie couldn’t resist shooting a look of triumph at the other man, who appeared disgruntled.

  “That was awful,” she said as she walked in. He stood near to the door, putting one hand on her shoulder to draw her close while shutting the door firmly behind them with the other.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, peering into her face.

  She looked up at him, only the faint trace of strain showing on her face. “I am fine. A bit shaky at first, but fine.”

  He wished she were less than fine, if only for his own selfish reasons. Then he could pull her completely into his arms, hold her, protect her from anyone who would harm her.

  But he couldn’t. That wasn’t his place, it wasn’t even within his scope of duties for his actual employer, Lady Sophia.

  “Thank you,” she said, breaking the contact with him to go sit down on the chair. The one he’d thrown his coat on that first night, when he’d kissed her.

  And now he was becoming the type of person who looked at things, things like chairs, and carriages, and buttons, and remembered the moments that happened with them. He had never been so sentimental, so romantic in his entire life. And yet here he was, getting reminded of something because of a chair.

  He would be disgusted with himself if it also didn’t feel so right.

  “I want to return to London,” she declared. “Tomorrow.” Her tone allowed for no argument. And there wasn’t an argument he could muster anyway, not a reasonable one.

  He had given her as much instruction as he could, and she was well on her way to being a superb duchess. She didn’t need him anymore, and they could part, him back to his country life, and her to guiding the duchy in the way she was born to, if not trained for.

  “Fine. I will tell the staff. Wickes will hire for the remainder of the vacant positions; he knows what is required now.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He heard the movement as she rose, the soft scrape of the legs of the chair on the plush rug. “Mr. Salisb—Archie—am I . . .” and then she stopped speaking, and he felt her hands on his back, sliding over his ribs to clasp together over his chest. “I wish I weren’t so anxious about it all.”

  She placed her head on his back and they just stood there, him barely daring to breathe. She was here. Holding him, as though he was the one who needed comfort when she—well, damn it, he needed comforting, too.

  Because he had to admit he didn’t want to leave her.

  “You are prepared for this, Your Grace,” he said, deliberately using her title. “You have practiced, and you know what is expected of you.” He shrugged, knowing she would feel the gesture as well. “You are going to be wonderful.”

  She squeezed him in response. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I feel so much more confident because of you.”

  I feel more feelings because of you, he wished he could reply. But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right to burden her with knowing he wanted her when it wasn’t right for him to have her.

  Letter

  Dear Duchess,

  Tonight when you walked down the staircase you were so beautiful it hurt. Although it wasn’t your gown, which was admittedly nicer than the things you used to wear; it was you.

  I think I’ve fallen in love with you.

  Mr. Salisbury

  (not sent)

  Chapter 22

  “This is my favorite, Your Grace.” Clarkson stepped back and viewed Genevieve with an appraising eye. She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire gown. And Genevieve, one presumed.

  “The color makes your eyes get all golden,” she continued. And then, because it seemed she couldn’t help herself, she smoothed one of the ribbons that fluttered at Genevieve’s waist. “I would suggest you wear this color green all the time, only that would be to deny the other colors in your wardrobe,” she said, glancing bac
k at the item in question.

  It was full to bursting with new gowns, all in a riot of color that indicated that Genevieve was most definitely an important personage who did not need to hew to convention and that she was most definitely not in mourning.

  The gown she wore for her first official evening out in London was an olive green, trimmed with gold ribbon and lace. When she had first seen it, she had worried the gown was too much for her; after all, she had never thought of herself as particularly striking. Merely adequate on an attractiveness meter. But now that Clarkson had assisted her into it, and she was gazing at herself in the glass—well, now she could say she was close to stunning, even though the gown had a lot to do with that. But since the gown wouldn’t comprehend compliments, Genevieve would receive them in its stead.

  What would Archie think of her now?

  The thought plagued her, even though she knew she should not be thinking of him. Miss Evelyn and Sir William were likely waiting downstairs for her to go to the party. Mr. Salisbury was not one of the group. He hadn’t been invited, as much because nobody knew who he was and that he was here in the first place, but also because he was technically Genevieve’s servant, and therefore it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to be in attendance.

  She had arrived in London only a few days earlier to find that Chandler had made drastic changes to her staff, letting go the servants he deemed incompetent and staffing up from the same agency that had supplied Mr. Salisbury to Aunt Sophia.

  The house had likewise been dramatically altered, cleaned within an inch of its life; the old furnishings seeming to gleam with a newfound glory that made Genevieve smile when she saw them.

  Gran had welcomed her back heartily, and even Byron had seemed pleased to see her.

  She was here, she was a duchess, and she was on her way to her first party. Ever.

  That the first party she was ever to go to was as an incredibly powerful, wealthy woman whom everyone would be gossiping about did not make her concerns about the evening lessen, of course. It was only the thought that Miss Evelyn—who did indeed seem to be even shyer than Genevieve—and to a lesser extent her brother would be there that made her heart race a little less fast.