The Dream of a Duchess

by Sande, Linda Rae

  He had his lips lowered to hers even before he quite realized what he was doing. Even after they touched, ever so lightly, he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if he was truly going to kiss Isabella. And then she lifted her free hand to his shoulder, as if for support, and their lips locked in the gentlest of kisses.

  Barely there, soft and sweet, her lips molded to his as he deepened the kiss. He was aware of how she seemed to press harder against the front of his body, as if she needed more than just his shoulder for support. The hand that held hers let go to move to the side of her waist. Free of his hold, the gloved hand moved to the back of his neck, smoothing through the ends of his silken hair until a frisson seemed to pass through his entire body.

  The sensation had him breaking the kiss with a gasp of surprise, but his hands still clung to her waist, as if he needed her for support. Unsure of what to say—he knew he should apologize for his unseemly behavior—he was spared having to say anything right away.

  “Is that why vouchers are required to dance the waltz? Because they end in kissing?” Isabella asked in a breathless whisper.

  Frowning at the odd question, Octavius finally realized to what she was referring. “Not... not exactly,” he managed, hoping his hardened manhood hadn’t made itself too apparent as it strained against the placket of his breeches and against her soft middle. “Vouchers are only required at Almack’s. The subscription dances are Wednesday nights, you see, and a young lady is not allowed to dance a waltz unless she is in possession of a voucher.”

  Isabella continued to regard him with wide eyes. “So I don’t require one if I’m waltzing somewhere else, such as at a... a rout or a ball?”

  The duke nodded. “Exactly.” He pondered what to say next when he realized she was regarding him—or rather his lips—with a rather hungry expression.

  “Then the kissing isn’t part of the waltz?” she wondered, one elegant eyebrow arching up.

  Octavius swallowed. “It is in private, of course, but not... not in public.” Despite wincing while he put voice to the white lie, he was sure she believed him.

  Isabella regarded him through her dark lashes, her face flushed from both the dance and the kiss. “I think I should like to dance another waltz,” she murmured, her brown eyes once again seeking his.

  “Perhaps it would be best if we... we got some air. Walk with me?” he asked as he finally gave up his hold on her waist to offer an arm.

  “Of course,” Isabella replied, hoping the disappointment she felt wasn’t too evident in her voice.

  Neither of them said a word as Octavius led them down the hall to the back of the house. Remembering it would be dark, he helped himself to the lantern near the back door and held it in front of them as they made their way. “I do hope you’re not in the habit of going outside after dark. At least, not without an escort.”

  Once they were through the door, the still summer night enveloped Isabella in warmth. Despite the cut of her gown, she was sure she never felt warmer in her life. “I’ve only been out to the stables at night if a mare was foaling,” she assured him. “I always try to move a pregnant mare to the foaling stall when it’s evident she is about to drop her foal.”

  Octavius considered her words as they walked the path that led into the parterre garden. “Still, you should have an escort,” he said, his voice tinged with a scold.

  Isabella ignored his comment in favor of inhaling the scents of newly-turned earth and flowers. “Is this garden anything like Lord Weatherstone’s garden?”

  Rather surprised by her question—how would she know to ask about Lord Weatherstone’s garden?—Octavius pretended to glance about the dimly lit parterre. “Not a bit,” he replied with a shake of his had. At Isabella’s gasp, he added, “Although I have not been in those gardens for some time, they are far larger, and I remember they had rather tall hedgerows—”

  “To hide behind?” Isabella interrupted. “Whilst kissing?”

  Octavius furrowed a brow. “I think they are intended to act as walls between the various collections of flowers,” he countered, not about to admit that most couples used them as she was imagining. “There is a fountain of Cupid in the middle where you can toss a coin and make a wish.”

  Isabella wondered what she might wish for should she ever find herself in the famous gardens. Horses, surely. A large stables in which to house them. Pastureland. “What did you wish for?” she asked as she took a seat on the stone bench.

  Blinking at the memory that suddenly filled his mind’s eye, and not just because it might bring tears, Octavius gave a short laugh. “That my betrothed would be pleased with my choice of a townhouse in Westminster,” he murmured as he took a seat next to her. “I bought it about a month before Lady Jane and I were to be married.”

  “Was she? Pleased, I mean?” Despite having lived at Huntinghurst for a year-and-a-half, Isabella knew little of the late duchess. The servants rarely spoke of her—none of them had met her since she was never in residence at the country estate, but they seemed to hold her in high regard.

  Octavius dipped his head. “She was not.” At Isabella’s soft gasp, he added, “It didn’t have a ballroom, and she thought the parlor entirely too small.” He grimaced, not having remembered Jane’s initial reaction to the townhouse he had occupied since her death. He had been so intent on pleasing her, he didn’t give it a second thought when she claimed to have a different property in mind. One that cost nearly twice what he had paid for the first townhouse. One that featured an excellent address in Grosvenor Square and neighbors of high rank and flush bank accounts.

  He moved into the first townhouse when he couldn’t bear to go back to the mansion. Not after Jane had died there. Not after their son had joined her in death.

  Now that he had given up on ever returning, an agent was seeing to its sale.

  “I think I would be very pleased with a townhouse in Westminster,” Isabella said with a sigh. “Although I have only ever been inside my father’s, and just the one time.”

  “So you have been in London. Before...” He allowed the sentence to trail off, not intending to bring up that day when she had appeared at The Elegant Courtesan with the tale of her mother’s death.

  Isabella nodded. “A long time ago. I was ten, I think. Mum was excited to see her friends and her family. She had invitations that kept her out and about for the entire fortnight we were there.” She allowed a sigh. “I watched the parade of aristocrats in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, not realizing they did it nearly every night. We went to Sadler’s Wells Theatre.”

  “To see a naval reenactment, no doubt,” Octavius commented.

  “Indeed. I was entranced, although the crowd was particularly raucous.”

  “Did you go to the pleasure gardens?”

  Isabella shook her head. “No, but we went to Kew Gardens. The roses were in bloom. I had no idea roses could be so many colors.” She waved a hand to indicate the roses that were featured in the parterre garden. Although most were red, there were yellow, pink and peach roses, as well.

  The mention of roses in Kew Gardens had Octavius swallowing. Hard. “The red ones were Jane’s favorite,” he managed to get out.

  Not sure how to respond, Isabella waited a moment before saying, “I have heard she was a very lovely woman.”

  Octavius swallowed again, finally clearing his throat. “She was very... pretty,” he said, the word chosen a bit too carefully. “Gorgeous, really.”

  Isabella caught the way he said the word ‘pretty’ and wondered if he really meant his late duchess was clever or cunning. “I am sorry for your loss. She sounds as if she was the perfect duchess.”

  Stiffening on the bench, Octavius didn’t respond. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to think of something else—anything else—other than Jane. He didn’t know how much time had passed before he felt lips kiss his cheek and heard her whispered, “Good night, Your Grace.”

  Inhaling sharply, he opened his eyes to find I
sabella taking her leave of the bench. He reached out and captured her hand before she stepped away. Coming to his feet, he pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping about her waist and shoulders.

  Isabella bit back the gasp that would have given away her surprise—fear, even—at being gathered into his arms when she heard his whispered plea.

  “Allow me this impropriety. For just this moment.”

  Relaxing into his hold, she was about to ask if he was well when he suddenly removed his arms and straightened.

  “Forgive me. I... there are times...” He gave his head a shake.

  “There are times when one needs to be held.” Times one needs to hold onto someone, she nearly added. “You are forgiven, of course,” Isabella murmured. She regarded him another moment before she lifted herself on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I should not mind if it happens again.” Dipping a curtsy, she once again stepped away from the duke and made her way back to the house.

  Octavius watched her as she disappeared, half-tempted to chase her, capture her in his arms, and repeat what had just happened. Instead, he remained in the garden and stared at the fountain, his thoughts of Jane replaced with thoughts of Isabella.

  Chapter 28

  The Truth Revealed

  Late April 1815

  Constance Fitzwilliam was in the stables when a glossy black coach pulled up in front of Fair Downs, its four matched black shires giving the equipage a regal bearing despite the lack of markings on the coach door. Having just returned from a ride with Isabella, their spirited conversation about the pros and cons of line breeding, she was ready for a hot bath and a cup of tea.

  The bath would have to wait, it seemed.

  “Oh, my lady, the earl’s come a calling,” Simmons said as she hurried into the stables, her eyes wide and her manner suggesting she considered him as important as the king of England.

  There were times when David Fitzwilliam was indeed more important than the king—he owned Fair Downs, after all—but on this day, Constance merely thought of him as her cousin. “Tell His Highness I’ll be right there,” Constance replied as she moved to hang up some tack and put away the brush she had just used on her mount. She was about to head for the house when she realized she wasn’t alone in the stables. Whirling around, she gasped at the sight of her taller cousin.

  “Or His Highness can simply join you in the stables,” David said, his manner rather droll.

  “Norwick,” Constance said with a sigh. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said such a thing to my lady’s maid.”

  David allowed a grin. “You’re forgiven,” he said just before he pulled her into a hug. “Besides, I rather like the idea of being a king,” he teased.

  Constance resisted the move at first, but soon relaxed against the front of his body. “Are you here on business?” she wondered as she stepped away, giving him an assessing glance from top to bottom. As usual, her cousin was impeccably dressed, although he wasn’t wearing a top hat just then. His hair was always cropped rather short, but he had allowed his mutton chops to grow a bit longer, which should have made his face appear more haggard, and yet he looked younger than the last time she had seen him.

  “No. This is just a social call. And just how is it you knew it was me and not my brother?” he wondered. For some reason, Constance never seemed to have trouble telling the two of them apart.

  “Danny’s hair is a bit darker, and he has that little scar next to his eye,” she replied as she waved a finger next to her own eye.

  “That’s it?” he countered, rather disappointed in her response.

  Constance furrowed her brows. “What did you expect? You two still dress alike, don’t you? Still wear your hair short and your tails long?”

  Well, she had him there. “What will it take to get a cup of tea and a biscuit, my lady?”

  Turning to the stable door, Constance held out a hand and beckoned him to join her. “Your presence in the parlor. But I’m sure I smell like horse, so you’ll have to wait—”

  “There’s no need for you to change clothes, Connie,” he interrupted. “I’ve been riding in the coach for the entire fifty miles from London. I probably have as much dust on me as you do,” he claimed, despite the fact that his clothes appeared recently brushed. “Were you at Huntinghurst, by chance?” He opened and held the back door as she passed over the threshold.

  “I was.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  Constance angled her head as she made her way into the parlor. Simmons had already seen to delivering a tea tray, and Constance couldn’t help but notice it featured the very best china teapot and cups. “Lady Isabella has become quite the lady of the house,” she stated as she took a seat and checked the pot. “She’s got every servant but the butler wrapped around her pinky. She’s got every horse but one trained for riding. She’s got one of the groomsmen acting as a jockey for the two she seems convinced can run in races.”

  “Can they?” David asked as he accepted a cup of tea and helped himself to a shortbread biscuit. Nothing of what Constance had said seemed to surprise him.

  “Probably,” she hedged. “She finally got a saddle on Ares, so he will be the sure bet.”

  Unfamiliar with a horse named Ares, David took his cousin’s word for it. “Any suitors?” he wondered with an expectant look.

  Constance gave her head a shake. “None that I know of, but...” She allowed the sentence to trail off when she thought better of what she was about to say.

  “But?” David prompted.

  “I can’t help but think she’s sweet on the duke. He’s been in residence a couple of times whilst I was there, and she always greets him in a rather familiar manner. Kisses him on the cheek,” she whispered as she leaned forward, one eyebrow arching up.

  David gave his cousin a quelling glance. “Haven’t been to Paris, have you?” he asked rhetorically.

  “Neither has she,” Constance stated, her head held in a manner suggesting she had one-upped him.

  “Touché, cousin,” he said with a sigh. “Is there any reason you think the duke shouldn’t consider her to be his duchess? He needs one, you must know. Along with the heir and spare and a dog or two to complete the ducal portrait.”

  Constance regarded David for a few seconds before she said, “She’s seems awfully young for him, but then, I think it’s good for him to be around someone who is younger. He’s certainly not as old as he appears. It’s almost as if he wants everyone to believe he’s... elderly.”

  “It is a bit of an act,” David agreed, just then realizing that his cousin’s words were true. Odd how he hadn’t noticed it himself.

  “I can’t imagine Huntington marrying his ward, though.”

  “Why ever not?”

  Constance blinked, rather stunned at how offended David seemed just then. She was about to remark on his response but thought better of it. “Those two have a... a sort of push-me, pull-you kind of relationship,” she hedged. “She pushes and pushes, and just when he’s about to explode, she retreats, almost like she knows just how much he’ll endure before he’s ready to pull her over his knee and give her a good spanking.” Constance ignored David’s look of shock at hearing her words and continued. “But then, he doesn’t let her get away. He pulls her in. Gets her to capitulate. To agree with his way.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “He leaves for London.”

  David regarded his cousin for a time as he considered her words. He had a clear memory of how Arabella used to behave. Always testing the limits of whomever she was with, and then, at the last minute, just before she was beyond redemption, she would give in and apologize for her behavior. She was always forgiven, of course. Who wouldn’t forgive such a beautiful woman with eyes that could see into a soul?

  Just like Clarinda’s, he suddenly thought. But Clarinda wasn’t manipulative. Not like Arabella had been.

  Isabella had obviously learned the behavior from her mother. Learned it and was using it t
o confusing effect on Huntington.

  “He’s a duke. She knows it. She just needs reminding at times,” Constance remarked.

  David’s brows suddenly furrowed. “Have you paid witness to this... behavior?” he asked, thinking most of what Constance was saying wouldn’t have happened with an audience present. The duke knew better. So did Isabella.

  “Of course not.” Constance rolled her eyes, realizing that other than having paid witness to Isabella kissing the duke’s cheek, she was passing along what she’d been told by her lady’s maid.

  And a few tidbits Isabella had shared.

  She was never quite sure if Isabella only did so to gauge her reaction or because she truly wished to know if what she was doing was proper or not. The poor girl had never spent time with others her own age, nor had she been to London for a Season. “Simmons rides in the gig with me on the days I go over to Huntinghurst. Then she spends the afternoon in the servants’ dining room listening to the Huntinghurst servants gossip about their master and his ward,” she whispered. “There aren’t that many servants given the size of the household. It’s a wonder they can keep it up as well as they do.”

  David continued to frown as Constance described life at Huntinghurst. He had been to the estate home several times, usually for house parties, or to go hunting with the duke, but he had never noticed the lack of staff.

  “Is your interest in her because you’re married to her cousin?” Constance asked then. “Or... is there more? I cannot help but think she’s hiding something—”

  “She paid witness to a murder,” David stated suddenly. He swallowed, realizing he was bringing her into his confidence. Again. “So Hunt agreed to offer a place for her to live until she either marries or reaches her majority.”

  There.

  He took a breath and let it out, rather shocked he spoke what he had kept secret from everyone but Huntington and Isabella.