My Fair Duchess

by Megan Frampton

  So it was more of a trot than a gallop, but still racing nonetheless.

  “You will be fine,” Clarkson said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Thank you, Clarkson.” Genevieve smiled at her maid. “What is the worst that happens?” Thoughts of tripping down the stairs as she was announced, spilling red wine all over her olive gown, and squeaking when she should absolutely not squeak rushed through her mind, and she flapped her hands to try to dismiss all those images. “Never mind,” she continued hastily. She did not want Clarkson supplying her with even more horrible things that might happen tonight.

  “I’ll find your cloak as you go downstairs,” Clarkson said in an understanding voice.

  “Thank you.” Genevieve glanced around her bedroom, which was as lavish and pretty as a duchess’s bedroom should be. She wished she could just stay here all evening, perhaps seeing if Gran and Byron wanted to visit for tea.

  But she had to face everyone. She did. She wouldn’t be able to do what she had to do if she wasn’t willing to mingle with people of her class. How could she persuade anyone she was a good, thoughtful person if she was a stranger to them all? If she was just the reclusive woman in a position only men held?

  She couldn’t.

  Thus armed—with a gown instead of weaponry, although she supposed a lovely gown was weaponry for some—she left the safety of her bedroom and walked down to where her houseguests and relatives waited for her.

  Archie didn’t mean to be waiting as she walked downstairs. It just . . . happened. Because he knew she and the Garrys were going out for the evening, and he would be busy reviewing the accounting that Wickes had sent for approval. So he was headed to the small room they’d designated as the office in her London town house. It was mere coincidence he had stopped to speak with Chandler, then waited as Chandler introduced him to one of the new footmen, then had to stop and take a bite of a biscuit the new cook had just sent up for tasting. Mere coincidence.

  The crumbs of the biscuit caught in his throat as he spotted her at the top of the stairs. She seemed to hesitate, not yet looking down, her foot poised to the next step. And then she nodded to herself and did look down, leaving Archie breathless and wishing he was standing beside her. Could tell her how lovely and elegant and beautiful she looked. Not just because she was the duchess, the air of which she’d started to capture through her Duchess Practice, but because she was just herself. Beautiful, and strong, and intelligent, and caring, and—damn.

  He started to cough as it hit him, and he put his hand up to his mouth to smother the noise as well as to keep himself from telling her.

  Damn it. He had gone and fallen in love with her, hadn’t he?

  And damned if he knew what he was going to do about it.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she said in a low voice that very nearly trembled. “Goodness, Miss Evelyn, you look very pretty.”

  The younger woman ducked her head and smiled, a blush staining her cheeks. He was so proud of Genevieve for seeing that Miss Evelyn was just as shy and in need of attention and kind words as Genevieve had been—likely still was. And she knew just what to say and how to say it, to put people at ease.

  That wasn’t something she had learned since assuming her title. That was something that was intrinsic to her, whether learned or acquired.

  “Mr. Salisbury.” He braced himself to meet her gaze. Why did she have to be a duchess, of all things? Why couldn’t she have been one of Lady Sophia’s neighbors, or perhaps the local schoolteacher in the village? “I wish you were able to join us; you would make a fourth for the party.” Genevieve’s grandmother had refused to attend, saying she couldn’t very well see if she needed to chaperone anyway, so it would be ludicrous for her to leave the comforts of home—and Byron—when Genevieve’s relatives could lend her countenance.

  “Inviting a steward to a party would be quite . . . egalitarian of the Estabrooks,” Sir William said.

  Archie wished Sir William were anyone else also. Preferably an anyone else who was also anywhere else.

  “Sir William, I believe Mr. Salisbury to be otherwise engaged this evening. Or I would ask him to join us,” the duchess said in a fierce, surprising tone.

  Archie bowed, trying not to let his chest swell as he felt her championship. “Thank you, but as Sir William indicates, it would not be appropriate.” Or it would be too appropriate, since it was very likely his family would be in attendance, and he had no wish to reunite with them. Or more likely be snubbed by them. “And I do have work,” he added, seeing Genevieve’s expression become set and determined, as though she were going to demand that he join them just because Sir William was a snob.

  “The carriage, Your Grace,” Chandler said, going to the door before there could be further class conflict. Genevieve looked at Archie one last time, a look that might have said she truly wished he were joining them, for her sake, or a look that said she knew just what he was thinking and she wished they could be kissing at this moment also.

  Or none of those, just a look that indicated her gratitude for his work. Nothing more.

  “The Duchess of Blakesley,” the butler intoned. Genevieve took a deep breath, then stepped forward, feeling as well as hearing the hush of the crowd. As though time had frozen just because she had put one evening slipper onto the stairs.

  Miss Evelyn and Sir William were behind her, as was correct. Appropriate. Even though she wished she could have Miss Evelyn beside her, at least. A companion to run the gauntlet of aristocratic eyeballs currently regarding her with as much interest as a pack of wolves eyeing a chicken. A duchess chicken, but still a chicken.

  She started to laugh, then realized she should not at such a moment. She needed regality. Duchessity. Whatever it was that would make these people accept her as one of their own, despite the unusual circumstances of her inheriting.

  “Your Grace, what a pleasure it is for you to join us. I am the Countess of Estabrook, your hostess for this evening.” The woman accompanied her words with a deep curtsey. She was perhaps fifteen or so years older than Genevieve, with auburn hair just beginning to turn gray, and an honest, warm smile as she spoke. “This is my husband, the earl,” she said, gesturing to a gentleman who had stepped up beside her.

  “Your Grace,” the earl said, bowing. He looked nearly as friendly as his wife, and Genevieve began to hope that things wouldn’t be as terrifying as she’d imagined back in her bedroom.

  “Thank you so much for the invitation,” she said. “These are my relatives, the Garrys. Miss Evelyn and Sir William.”

  The two murmured their thanks at being included and then the countess returned her gaze to Genevieve. “We will be having the Italian soprano Isabella Fortunato singing later on this evening. She is divine, I do hope you enjoy her.”

  What I’ll enjoy is the chance to sit and be silent as I listen, Genevieve thought. “Thank you, that sounds lovely,” she replied.

  “Your Grace, could we offer you some refreshment?” The countess didn’t wait for a reply but turned to her husband. “Dear, can you go fetch the duchess and Miss Evelyn some wine?” She looked at Sir William. “Perhaps you can accompany my husband, Sir William, so he can carry back all the glasses. Not that we don’t have perfectly capable footmen, of course, but I would like a chance to speak with these ladies alone.”

  The earl’s mouth curled up into a smirk, and he bowed to his wife. “I know when I am being dismissed, my dear. Come along, sir, the ladies have some very important items to discuss.”

  The two men walked away from the group, leaving the three ladies by themselves.

  “Is this your first time out since assuming your title?” The countess’s gaze was sharp.

  “Yes, it is. Is it that obvious?” Genevieve asked, glancing around the room. Several of the guests were looking at her, and she felt like a bug under a microscope. Bugs, at least, were small and could scamper away out of sight. She had no such recourse.

  “It is not,” the countess said in a rea
ssuring tone. “I had just not heard of you being seen yet, and the earl and I attend many events. It is truly a pleasure to meet you; your situation is so unusual. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “The duchess is a wonderful person,” Miss Evelyn said in a fervent tone. “She has been so good to me and my brother.”

  Genevieve felt herself start to blush, both at the countess’s insight and at Miss Evelyn’s staunch support. “Thank you, Miss Evelyn,” she said, nodding. “It has been a pleasure finding relatives . . .” and then she paused, because she really wished she could say, that don’t want my money or my power.

  “Well, of course. Family is all that matters, isn’t that right?” the countess replied, glancing between the two women.

  Family. Of which she had very little. But the family she was making for herself—Clarkson, Miss Evelyn, Wickes—were excellent substitutes. And Gran was there, as was Mr. Salisbury. Archie.

  If only she had merely familial feelings for the last-named gentleman. Unfortunately, she thought her interest in him was probably not what one would desire, so to speak, for a family member.

  “Here are the refreshments,” the earl said as he and Sir William returned to the group. “Are you done gossiping?”

  “Just barely, dear,” the countess replied, smiling at the ladies. “I was speaking with the duchess about her entry into Society. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to meet everyone.”

  She firmly quashed the panic rising within her at the words. “Yes, well,” she began.

  “She does not find it difficult at all,” Sir William interrupted. “The duchess is well-equipped to handle her position, she certainly doesn’t need any practice.” And at the last word he looked significantly at Genevieve, whose blush was now an all-out fire on her face. Which sounded just as painful and odd as it felt.

  Was he referring to her time with Archie? Her Duchess Practice? She didn’t think she’d spoken the phrase in his hearing, but she had already noticed Sir William had an uncanny way of knowing about things.

  “Duchess, do let me show you to your seat. Our entertainment will begin in fifteen minutes or so.” The countess nodded to the rest of the group. “I will save seats beside the duchess for the rest of you; just stay here for a moment so my husband can get the chance to know you. Thank you, dear,” she added, speaking to her husband.

  Genevieve allowed the countess to lead her away and into a large room adjoining the one where the majority of the guests were. Servants were setting up chairs, placing things on tables, and a few guests had already seated themselves, but it was a marked difference between the first crowded room and here.

  “I thought you would be more comfortable here for a moment before everyone comes in to sit,” the countess explained as she walked toward the front of the room. Genevieve followed, holding her head up as she’d practiced. As though nothing of import occurred below her nose.

  “Are these seats acceptable?” the countess asked, gesturing toward chairs placed directly in the middle of the front row.

  “Uh,” Genevieve began. How could you tell your hostess you didn’t want to be the object of all the scrutiny?

  “Or perhaps over here,” the countess continued, leading Genevieve smoothly to the far side of the room. “That way if you get tired and need to leave it will not be so noticeable.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Genevieve said as she sank into the chair. The countess sat beside her.

  “I really do appreciate your coming this evening,” the countess said. “It will be quite a coup to have the new Duchess of Blakesley make her official debut at a party at my house.”

  “I am glad to have helped you with your coup,” Genevieve replied, feeling as though she was truly the duchess, and not a complete fraud. “I am also available to foment revolutions, if you have that in mind.”

  “Excellent!” the countess exclaimed, laughing. “And I have no doubt there will be a revolution within certain communities of unmarried titled gentlemen when they discover you are not only a duchess, but also so charming and pretty.”

  Genevieve didn’t know the countess well enough to tell her that the thought of that was enough to make her want to squeak louder than any Italian soprano could. So she settled on a distant smile and a nod.

  “In fact,” the countess continued, glancing behind them, “I see several young men right now, although your Sir William seems to be leading the fray.”

  Genevieve turned around as well, her breath catching as she saw there was, indeed, a phalanx of gentlemen, all relatively young, all wearing clothing they could do nothing but stand around in.

  Not at all like Archie, whose physique seemed suited to hard work and rolled-up shirtsleeves. The thought of which did some interesting things to her insides.

  “Thank you for saving the seats,” Sir William said, stepping past Genevieve and the countess to sit closer to the middle. “My sister will be here in a moment; she has found an acquaintance she knew before.”

  “My lady, might I beg an introduction?” Another young man had burst from the pack to stand at the end of the row of chairs, a hopeful look on his face. He looked familiar, only Genevieve knew she had never met him before.

  “Of course.” The countess and Genevieve stood, which meant that Sir William did as well. “This is the Honorable Mr. Salisbury. He is the heir to the Viscount Salisbury.”

  Genevieve felt herself freeze as she looked at who could only be Archie’s older brother. Or oldest? She didn’t even know if he had other siblings. How many other Archie brothers were there out there? Or even a sister?

  Meanwhile, the Honorable Mr. Salisbury was speaking to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”

  “Mr. Salisbury. That is interesting,” Sir William said. “A Mr. Salisbury is assisting the duchess as her temporary steward. A remarkable coincidence, don’t you think?”

  Now it was the Honorable Mr.’s turn to freeze. His eyes widened, and he looked at Genevieve as though asking a question.

  “Yes, that is correct,” she replied, as smoothly as she could. Which didn’t sound very smooth. If she were honest, she would have to say she was squeaking again. “Mr. Salisbury is engaged as the steward to Lady Sophia Waterstone, an old family friend. She was kind enough to allow Mr. Salisbury to help me temporarily.”

  Mr. Salisbury opened and closed his mouth a few times, Sir William scrutinizing the newcomer with some definite curiosity.

  “Well,” Mr. Salisbury said at last, “that is quite a coincidence.” He swallowed.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Miss Evelyn said brightly, her brother giving her an exasperated look.

  “Mr. Salisbury, would you like to sit down?” Genevieve gestured to the seat beside her, the one that Sir William had yet to claim. Thank goodness.

  He sat elegantly, crossing one leg over the other. “Your Grace, I hope you—that is, I—”

  “I understand it is a shock.” At least I understand that now. She wished she had pressed Archie for more details about his family so she would better understand just what, besides his joining the army, had caused the rift. Because it seemed as though there was more than just that—or perhaps that was her own feeling about family. Because how could any family turn its back on a person who belonged to them?

  But maybe people who had family didn’t realize how precious it was.

  “I’ve tried to find him since his return.” Now that she knew why he looked familiar, it was easy to see the family resemblance. Like Archie, this Mr. Salisbury was tall, although not as tall. He was handsome, yes, but not as handsome. And he had an easier air to him, not as though he were always on the verge of fighting a battle or righting a wrong.

  Probably the privilege of being the oldest son. Or the older son, she wasn’t sure which.

  “Do you have any other siblings?” she asked abruptly. Even though it felt oddly like spying to ask his brother about his family.

  He nodded. “A brother. Older than Archie. He is a vicar in the nor
th. Very studious and a bit pompous, to be honest.” He grinned as he spoke, and for a moment, Genevieve felt like she was seeing double. Seeing Archie in his brother’s skin; the sly look of mischief, the honest appraisal. These two were definitely related, even though it seemed as though they hadn’t spoken in some time.

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Four years. Maybe as many as five.” He shook his head. “He didn’t have to go, he had plenty to do right here.”

  “Perhaps he felt that wasn’t enough.” Would she have refused to become the duchess if given the choice? If someone had said, You could remain who you are, while another of your relatives assumes the duchy. You wouldn’t need to be responsible, but you also had to watch as another relative—one of your port-swilling money-wasting ones—debilitated the estates. Destroyed the livelihoods of all the people dependent on the Blakesley heritage. Not that she thought that Archie’s situation was as dramatic, but she did know he wanted to help, to make a difference, to defend his country and support and sustain the people who remained at home, those same people who currently worked Genevieve’s lands.

  “It should have been enough,” Mr. Salisbury said in a low, fierce tone. It clearly still rankled. Perhaps exacerbated by discovering that his youngest brother was in London and hadn’t sought him out. Had Archie stayed away because he wasn’t sure how he’d be received? Because he didn’t want to hear the recriminations?

  Or because he wasn’t interested in resuming the life of a gentleman?

  He was a steward, after all. He was more comfortable dealing with the land, and working people, than being in society. It was ironic he had been helping her to become a better duchess when it appeared he had no desire to return to Society.

  Which meant that no matter how much she liked him, no matter how much she liked to kiss him, he could never be a permanent part of her life. Not if she wished to succeed in what she was supposed to be doing.