At the Duke's Wedding (A romance anthology)

by Caroline Linden

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s the name the gents have given to Wessex’s sisters and the other young women who have banded together to stalk the men at this house party.”

  Henrietta’s lips quirked into a smile. She supposed the duke’s sisters and other young female guests had been rather forthcoming with their interest in all the young, handsome male guests in attendance. The ladies were too occupied with wedding matters to reign in the flighty girls.

  “Oh, they can’t be so bad. They are just excited for the wedding.”

  “They are uncivilized harpies with an unquenchable taste for male flesh. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since they set eyes upon me.”

  “Vanity, thy name is Jack...” She murmured. But it was true. They divided their attentions between Jack and Lord Bruton, an aloof aristocrat whose wicked scar inspired all manner of outlandish speculation.

  “I truly fear for my life,” he said, gazing down at her.

  “Your bachelor life, you mean,” she replied flippantly.

  “Of course. Exactly.”

  “Have not the wedding activities and all the romance softened your heart? Do you not wish to wed?”

  “Thus far I have been chased to and fro by a terrifying pack of marriage-minded young women, all the while searching for the blasted wedding ring for the bride. I’ve noticed that Wessex seems awfully morose about the whole affair. My conclusion is that marriage and women are a tremendous amount of bother. It should go without saying that I’d rather not endure a tremendous amount of bother.”

  “None of that sounds very romantic,” Henrietta murmured.

  “Not very romantic at all,” he murmured.

  For a moment she wondered if he might kiss her.

  “It’s not very sunny under the shade of this tree,” he remarked, and she tried not to cry. Was he truly initiating a conversation about the weather when they were in a secluded place, having a moment? “Since we are shaded, perhaps you want to remove your bonnet.”

  “It’s dreadfully inconvenient to arrange just so and—”

  “It’s just easier to do this when you don’t have a massive bonnet in the way.”

  This was his mouth claiming hers. A kiss. He hadn’t been talking about the weather at all. Who was the foolish one now? Certainly her. Especially since he was right. This bonnet got in the way of things.

  Henrietta fumbled with the strings. The hat tumbled unceremoniously to the ground, where it was promptly forgotten.

  o0o

  Henrietta peered up at him, a little bit dazed after a long moment of a deep kiss. Tugged at his heart, that.

  “What was that for?” she asked breathlessly.

  Jack couldn’t explain—to her, or himself—that he just had to kiss her. Once the idea had occurred to him, he didn’t pause to consider an alternative course of action. He just needed to kiss her. That was all.

  “Just because,” he said.

  “Just because,” she repeated.

  “I wanted to,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed adorably. She tilted her head and peered up at him curiously. Her lips parted, then closed, then curses she decided not to say whatever words were on her tongue.

  “What else is on your list? Where shall we look next?” he asked.

  “We didn’t finish searching the pathway,” she answered.

  “We have walked to the stables and back at least four times, Hen. It’s probably not there.”

  “We never did properly search your carriage. Next we ought to look in the stables.”

  Jack winced. Not the stables. He could not take a woman into that haven of masculinity without serious questions he was not prepared to answer. As more guests arrived—and as more men sought a refuge—the stables had increased in the comforts offered. On the first day they had lounged on hay bales; today footmen had brought in upholstered furniture from the house.

  “Why not the stables?” Hen asked, which was a question he could not answer. He didn’t know which Wessex would be more angry about—losing the ring or revealing the secret club they had established.

  “I have a better idea,” Jack said. “Why don’t I search Hippolyta and the stables while you search something else on your list. What else is on your list?”

  “The entire road between Kingstag and London,” she answered, and he groaned.

  “What else?”

  Henrietta smiled and it did things to his insides.

  “Your bedroom,” she replied. “Again.”

  “Perhaps you could look around the house instead,” he said, because if she was going to be in his bedchambers, he would be there too. “I’ll take care of the stables.”

  “What are you hiding in there? I demand to know!”

  “I can’t say, Hen,” he said forlornly. “Truly, I cannot.”

  Chapter Six

  Why the Devil would someone be following him? He had nothing of value—save for Hippolyta. And the duke’s wedding ring.

  The stables

  After kissing Henrietta under the tree, Jack went to the stables as promised. Alone. In truth, her kiss had left him a little bit dazed. This wasn’t something that usually happened after he kissed a woman. At least not that he could recall. But this warm, pleasant daze was the kind of feeling a man never wanted to let go of.

  Which was terrifying.

  Which required a drink and a distraction.

  Thus, the stables.

  And in a predictable fashion, he immediately forgot his purpose and instead found himself occupied by a game of dice with Frank Newnham, Trent Ascot, and a few others. Jack didn’t manage to find a moment alone with Henrietta for the rest of the day, which was for the best since he had nothing to report. Or was it tragic, because all he really wanted to do was kiss her again?

  Immediately following breakfast the next morning, Jack set off once again for the stables, intent on a thorough search of Hippolyta. He’d assumed everyone would be off hunting, or playing bowls, or something. But no, they’d all found their way to the stables.

  Hippolyta, shiny and new, stood proudly in the center of the carriage house. In an adjoining tack room whose open door afforded a good view of the phaeton, Gentlemen lounged on chairs—upholstered chairs in the bloody stables!—and against bales of hay. In one corner, Watson stood attendance over the ale and whiskey. In another corner, a table had been set up and a few gents were in the midst of a card game. In another corner, a game of dice was in progress. Aside from the supple leather saddles and shiny bits and bridles hung along the walls, it was as if White’s had been transported from London’s St. James’s Street to the Duke of Wessex’s stables.

  “There he is!” Newnham called out. Heads turned.

  “We were afraid the women had wrangled you into opining on seating arrangements for the wedding breakfast,” Wessex remarked.

  “How much longer until the wedding, anyway?” Jack asked.

  “Seven days.” Wessex and his secretary, Mr. Blair, both said flatly. Jack looked from one bloke to the other, not able to tell who was less enthused about the wedding. Shouldn’t a man be more enthusiastic about his upcoming nuptials? Not that the duke could match his mother’s excitement for the event, but still... Why did the secretary have to be so morose about it?

  “Until then, we have the perfect haven here. Ale, spirits, card games, food, the company of the lovely Hippolyta. Most importantly, there is no wedding talk whatsoever,” Jack said.

  No plaguing women, either.

  Jack imagined Henrietta surveying this scene of idle debauchery and he started to grin at the image of her pursed lips. She’d cross her arms over her chest, like a vexed governess, but that would push her breasts together and up. She’d narrow her eyes in disapproval. But perhaps, deep down, she would wish to join in.

  His wicked brain then set about imagining the things he would do to soften her. To tempt her. He got hard just thinking about it.

  Even though it was Henrietta.

  Whom he h
ad kissed. Twice.

  He had kissed Henrietta.

  He recollected a solemn child, watching the world with large brown eyes. She had become a solemn young lady. Never missing a “Yes, Your Grace,” or “Thank you, Your Grace,” or “Of course, Your Grace.” While he, Wessex, and the others had run wild, she’d taken care to keep her voice at a reasonable level and her dresses clean and unwrinkled.

  In short, she was a very well-behaved young woman who frowned upon the reckless exploits of others. Had it not been for this lost ring, their paths would not have crossed. He’d have spent every waking moment in the stables and she would have languished in the drawing room, endeavoring to keep Lady Sophronia from offending the other women present.

  Thank goodness he’d lost the ring.

  The thought—the mad, crazy, odd thought—came unbidden.

  She’d never see it this way. He could never explain it. But he was glad that she was having an adventure and humbled to be a part of it. If only he could find the damned thing so their quest would end happily.

  Such were his thoughts until someone handed him a mug of ale and Crash Ascot invited him to a game of dice. Time passed pleasantly in the company of gents happy to while away the hours playing cards, throwing darts, drinking, and conversations of little of importance.

  It was only when the under butler came down to announce that nuncheon would soon be served in the gardens that Jack realized he had not found the ring. Worse: he had not even looked. Again! In his defense, it was impossible to do so without arousing the suspicion of others, particularly the groom himself.

  Henrietta would be horribly disappointed in him, the knowledge of which made his gut ache. He wanted her to think better of him. But he could easily imagine her wary frown as she struggled between satisfaction that her low expectations had been met and the wish that he would, just once, focus, succeed, and be her hero and find the damned ring.

  He suddenly was stricken with the intense and absurd desire to be her hero.

  Flowers. He should bring her flowers.

  It wasn’t until the following day that he was able to sneak off to the garden—where he spied Miss Lacy and Lord Bruton walking together, which was odd, because he thought Frank Newnham was courting her. For once, Jack refused to be distracted. Not by the romantic assignations of other guests. Not by bees, or birds, or worry that he was picking weeds or poisonous plants instead of flowers. He needed a bouquet of flowers for Henrietta. By God, he was going to get them.

  Later, with flowers

  The corridor

  When Jack presented her with a bouquet of freshly picked flowers outside of the dining room after luncheon, Henrietta fought the urge to turn around in search of the woman he really meant to give them to. Perhaps one of the Misses Lacey? Or even Miss Cowdrey, a young woman who had arrived mysteriously the other day. But there was no one else.

  Just her. And Jack. And flowers. From Jack. For her.

  The flowers were extraordinary. And extraordinarily large—proving to be quite the armful as he handed them to her. The bouquet was a massive riot of plump red roses, soft pink peonies, and some deep purple irises. There were also some branches, possibly a bit of shrubbery, and an assortment of unidentifiable greenery. A fat little bumblebee floated out from being stuck inside a blossom and lazily buzzed off down the corridor.

  “Did you pick these yourself, Jack?” She couldn’t imagine that Johnson, the head gardener, would have presented something quite like this.

  “Yes, and I almost died in the effort,” he said grimly.

  “Whatever you suffered, it was worth it. These are beautiful, Jack. Thank you.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. It wasn’t every day a handsome man brought her flowers. In fact, the lovely gesture had never occurred before. Oh, she suspected it had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with a failure to find the ring, but for one glorious moment, Henrietta allowed herself to pretend that Jack brought her flowers because he fancied her, wished to woo her, and would (she hoped) kiss her for a third time, if not more.

  It was a glorious moment, in which her heart was aflutter and her nerves tingled in anticipation of more. She buried her face in the blossoms, inhaling the sweet fragrance deeply and thinking if only.

  But she suspected the flowers were presented because the ring was still at large. He’d not found it in the stables. Or on the ground. Or in his bedchamber. Or anywhere.

  Worried as she was about that, she really just wanted to enjoy the flowers. Was that wrong?

  “You’re right,” Jack said softly

  “Am I? About what?”

  “I can read your thoughts. You’re right. No, I don’t have the ring and yes, you should just enjoy the flowers.”

  “How did you do that?” Henrietta asked with wonderment and a dash of nervous apprehension. Had he read her other thoughts about his legs and his fitted breeches? Or how she’d nearly fainted from the pleasure of his kisses? Or how she wished to kiss him this very moment?

  “Is it because you are so expressive? Or am I so observant?” Jack mused. Then he gave her That Grin of his.

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Henrietta murmured. And she couldn’t stay either. Not when she was on the verge of throwing herself at him or falling for him. “I ought to go put these in water.”

  “Wait.” Jack reached out and clasped her wrist, spinning her around to face him.

  “Where shall we search next?” Jack asked. Their eyes locked. More. He was asking about more.

  “We should try the stables again,” Henrietta replied. Not because it was the most likely place or because it hadn’t been thoroughly searched. She suggested it because it was dim and secluded. He’d kissed her once there before and Lord, she hoped he’d do it again.

  “Very good. Let’s meet after dinner,” Jack said. “Until then, Hen...”

  Hen just smiled and inhaled the lovely fragrance of the flowers again as she skipped up the stairs. She’d need a housemaid’s help with the vase and water, then she’d place them in her own bedchamber—not Sophronia’s.

  Sophronia!

  Hen had been so distracted by that rogue she’d forgotten her one purpose in life. To keep that crotchety old lady happy and entertained.

  o0o

  Henrietta quickly made her way to Sophronia’s chambers. It was wrong of her to spend so much time away. After all, Henrietta’s sole purpose in the world was to be the old lady’s companion, and she’d hardly done that while off with Jack, searching for the ring. Or daydreaming about Jack.

  And kissing Jack.

  Henrietta couldn’t completely regret that she’d been remiss in her duties. His kiss had made her feel young, lovely, and alive for the first time in her life. His kiss made her feel tingly and magical. She just couldn’t be too negligent and risk losing her employment. But then she had to find that ring or else, and it certainly wasn’t lost in Sophronia’s chambers.

  “Well, look who has deigned to remember a poor, neglected, old woman,” Sophronia remarked from her favorite upholstered chair as Henrietta slipped into the room.

  “You are hardly poor,” Henrietta pointed out, “or neglected. You have dozens of housemaids and footmen at your disposal.”

  “I’m not old either,” Sophronia said witheringly.

  Henrietta murmured “hmm,” while fluffing pillows and arranging the blanket on Sophronia’s lap just so.

  “I suppose I can guess where you have been all this time,” Sophronia said.

  “Wedding plans,” Henrietta replied.

  “Hmmph. You’ve been cavorting with that rogue, Jack.”

  “You mean Lord Willoughby,” Henrietta replied. She was oddly delighted to have been thought cavorting with a rogue.

  “He’s a handsome one,” Sophronia said with a very wicked gleam in her eye.

  “I suppose,” Henrietta replied lightly. She turned away to hide the blush on her cheeks that revealed just how handsome she really found him.

  “You o
ught to see a doctor about that,” Sophronia said. “Must be something wrong with your vision or ... well, never mind that. Suffice it to say, he’s a handsome rogue, no doubt about it.”

  Of that, Henrietta was well aware. Achingly aware. Constantly aware.

  But to confess to that was to confess to not being completely committed to being Sophronia’s companion. What if she were let go? She didn’t think Jack was the marrying kind.

  A subject change was in order.

  “How have you been, Sophronia? I’m sorry I haven’t been so attentive as I have been helping the duchess with plans for the big day.”

  “Oh, I’ve been just fine. Enjoying all the hysteria around the wedding,” Sophronia said. “I’ve also made the acquaintance of a charming young woman. The American girl, Miss Cowdrey. Have you met her?”

  “I’m not sure that I have,” Henrietta replied. Not when she had spent half her time with Jack.

  “Well, she’s a delight. Much less fussy than English girls.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She’s got spirit, that Miss Cowdrey,” Sophronia said, smiling fondly, and Henrietta felt her insides tie up in knots. Was she too proper, organized, and bossy for Lady Sophronia? Would she lose her position to a girl with much more spirit? Dear Lord above, was Henrietta boring? And why was she more afraid that Jack would find her so? Sophronia carried on, “I have decided to invite Miss Cowdrey to stay with us here.”

  “How generous of you,” Henrietta murmured, finding her insides even more knotted up.

  “We shall rename these rooms Lady Sophronia’s Refuge for Young Ladies Pining for Rogues.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Henrietta replied. “I have been busy with wedding things.”

  Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

  “Do those wedding plans include flowers from a handsome rogue?”

  “How did you know about that?” Henrietta asked, shocked. “I only just received them!”

  “One of the maids told me. Someone has to keep me apprised of all the gossip. Tell me, is he a good kisser?”

  “Sophronia!”

  “That’s a yes. Or perhaps ‘I don’t know but desperately wish to.’ Which is it?”