Someday My Duke Will Come

by Christina Britton

  She held up one slender hand, though her eyes did not leave Peter’s. “Do you think it’s been easy these past months, having Aunt Olivia throw me at man after man as if I were some pitiful worm on a hook? She refuses to accept that I don’t wish to marry, nor shall I ever.”

  When Peter, looking decidedly abashed, opened his mouth to speak, she continued, louder this time. “Quincy’s suggestion that we remain engaged gives me a certain amount of freedom. If I’m single, do you think Aunt Olivia will stop her attempts at matchmaking once we’re back on Synne for the wedding? No, she’ll only grow more desperate to sacrifice the last of the fatted nobles on the altar of my spinsterhood. And I’m tired of it, Peter.”

  Her voice broke at the very end, proof of a vulnerability barely held in check, wrenching at Quincy’s heart.

  Then she paused, closing her eyes, breathing slow and deep. When she opened them again the vulnerability was gone, replaced by determination.

  “So you see,” she continued, her voice quieter now that the storm in her had been leashed, “this false engagement is a godsend. It will give me a month of peace, so I might enjoy my sister’s fortune, before settling back down to life as I like it, on Synne with my family.”

  Peter, looking decidedly chastised, nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry, Clara.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for, dear cousin,” she said, smiling in that calm way of hers. “We only need your word that you shall both keep our secret safe.”

  Quincy studied her with a troubled heart. He felt he was watching a master actress. She had turned off her emotions so quickly, so easily. He wondered if she always lived thus, keeping her more volatile self under lock and key.

  Peter nodded. “Of course we will,” he said in a gruff voice.

  “Certainly,” Lenora said with a smile.

  Clara leveled her cousin with a firm look. “And you shall not blame Quincy for this. It was entirely my doing.”

  Although a low growl issued from Peter, he gave a reluctant nod. “Very well.”

  Lenora rose, her green eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. “Perhaps it’s best to end this on a positive note.”

  Quincy was of the same opinion. Not due to his friend’s possibly reawakening anger—though he was certain that, had they been alone, Peter would have gladly punched him in the eye.

  No, it had everything to do with how Clara was beginning to change in his mind. There was a depth to her he hadn’t expected. And to his consternation, it intrigued him.

  A dangerous thing, indeed. Physical attraction he could handle. But this was something more.

  Peter speared Quincy with a glare as he rose to stand beside his wife. “Don’t think this gives you leave to be alone with her. With women, I still don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” He extended an arm toward his cousin. “Clara?”

  A rather brilliant opinion, Quincy thought. Clara rose and gave him a small smile that made his heart lurch.

  As Clara linked arms with Lenora and the trio made their way out into the hallway, Peter, not finished punishing Quincy, threw out over his shoulder, “And you’re the one telling Lady Tesh.”

  * * *

  Clara had never been so tired in her life.

  Once the rest of the family had been told, she realized that she had not properly prepared herself for their abundant enthusiasm. Between squeals of glee and tears of happiness and loud—and constant—declarations of joy, Clara had been hard-pressed to keep the mask of the blushing bride in place.

  Finally, however, it was time to retire. As Aunt Olivia approached her, a beatific smile on her face, Clara inwardly winced, maintaining her own smile by sheer will alone. Truly, her cheeks couldn’t take much more of this.

  “Oh, my dear,” her great-aunt said, reaching up with a gnarled hand to pat her face, “I cannot begin to tell you how happy you’ve made me.”

  Which was not remotely true, as it was the only thing the woman had talked about all the night long. As Clara watched Aunt Olivia join Lenora and Margery, she reached deep down for the sweet relief she should be feeling at finally being free of her great-aunt’s matchmaking. There at the center, though, was a surprising bitterness. Like biting into a decadent dessert, only to find it rotted within.

  She could not regret what she and Quincy had planned. It was the only way she could retain her sanity. But she had not realized how much it would hurt knowing that this was how life should have been. How many times had she dreamed of just this when she was a girl, finding a man she could love, starting a life with him?

  Yet this was all an act. Some cruel pantomime of the future she should have had, when instead she had been so impatient to start a life of her own that she had latched onto the first man to show her a promise of that dream. And in the process of soaring for the stars, her wings had been clipped forever.

  Phoebe sidled up to her, wrapping a slender arm about her waist.

  “My goodness, Clara,” she said in her ear, the delight in her voice apparent. “The way that man looks at you.”

  Without meaning to, Clara looked to Quincy. He was talking quietly with Peter in the corner—or rather, Peter was talking and Quincy listening. But his eyes were on Clara. When their gazes met he smiled, that sensual curve of lips turning her insides molten.

  That expression shouldn’t affect her so. She knew it was an act. They had to pretend to an affection neither of them felt to make this engagement at all believable.

  Her body, however, had yet to get that particular message.

  Face flaming, she busied herself with smoothing her shawl.

  Phoebe chuckled low. “Truly, I had no idea you had formed a tendre for one another last year; you never let on. I might be angry at you for keeping it from me if I wasn’t so very happy for you.” Phoebe gave a happy sigh, her arm tightening about Clara’s waist, her eyes glowing with emotion. “I worried how my engagement would affect you. You’ve given so much of yourself to all of us, and to me especially.” She frowned, shaking her head almost mournfully. “No, that isn’t true. You have given your whole self. Your entire life has been in service to us. I didn’t want you to feel you had been left behind.”

  She smiled again, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. “Now I can rest easy knowing you’ll be taken care of. And by a man you love so very much.”

  Phoebe embraced her, which was a blessing. Clara didn’t think she could hide her dismay just then.

  She was not upset at her sister’s concern, however, though Clara was certain that would come when she had the peace and quiet to think of it again. No, it was Phoebe’s certainty that Clara was in love that weighed on her.

  Wasn’t this what they had hoped to convince everyone of? But even though it had worked in their favor, she couldn’t help but wonder why there had been no doubt of her affection for Quincy. Had she revealed her attraction to the man before this, making the quick jump to love so believable? Or had she spent so long concealing her true self that her family didn’t even know who she was? How could they believe she would so quickly fall in love with Quincy?

  She might have been able to, long ago—young Clara, who had been so full of hope and life and passion. But she was no longer capable of opening herself up to something that would make her vulnerable.

  As if to give lie to that, her heart lurched as Quincy approached. She ruthlessly ignored it, smiling widely instead. They had parts to perform.

  “Phoebe,” he said, though his eyes didn’t leave Clara, “would you mind terribly if I escort my fiancée to her room?”

  Giggling, Phoebe kissed both their cheeks. “Oh, this is just wonderful,” she said before joining Peter and Lenora.

  Clara, placing her hand on Quincy’s arm and following behind the rest of the party, slid him a sidelong glance. “You’re very good at this,” she murmured. Too good, perhaps. If she wasn’t careful, he would have even her convinced.

  He grinned down at her. “Who would have thought? I knew I had a multitude of talents, b
ut I never guessed that faux-fiancé would be one of them.”

  Despite herself, she laughed. But her humor was short-lived, the strain of the day quickly overshadowing it. She remained quiet as they made their way upstairs and to her bedroom door—with Peter keeping careful watch, of course—every bit of her remaining strength centered on keeping up the act. Just a few seconds more. Finally, bidding them good night, she closed the door and was alone.

  And almost immediately realized that this solitary quiet was the very last thing she needed. With nothing to distract her she began to replay the whole disaster of a day in her head. And what ifs began to take shape in her mind. What if she had refused to stay for Quincy’s meeting with his mother? What if she had kept her mouth shut when the duchess had pushed Lady Mary on her son? What if…?

  Well, then, she thought, heading determinedly out the door and hurrying through the house on silent feet, she’d be damned if she was going to sit around and fall prey to her thoughts. In short order she reached the ground floor, found the door that led to the back gardens, and let herself out into the cool night.

  The London air was sour with refuse and coal, and so different from the fresh ocean breezes she was used to back on the Isle. But she welcomed it all the same. For there beneath the faint stink was what she needed: the rich earth, the vibrant plant life, the heady perfume of flowers. They were scents that had been there for her through every happiness and heartache, through every joy and tragedy. They reminded her of her mother surrounded by roses, of the soaring glass walls of a greenhouse, of being surrounded by vibrant life even as she mourned a life gone.

  The moon was out, bathing the garden in a silvery light, and she used it to find her way to the small fountain at its center. This place had been a refuge during her first tumultuous weeks in London. And though she had been too busy to make use of it these past days, it welcomed her back just the same, the soft sigh of rustling leaves and the faint splash of water like old friends.

  She sank down on the stone bench with a sigh and rubbed at the ache that had taken root in the base of her skull. This false engagement was merely playacting, something she was quite used to. And wouldn’t the reward be worth it? Once the ruse was complete and her “engagement” at an end, she would be free to stay with her family for the rest of her life.

  Which was what she wanted. Truly.

  And if she could not find joy in it just now, it would come soon enough. She was sure of it.

  “Clara.”

  Her skin pimpled at the familiar deep baritone. She looked up to see Quincy smiling down at her.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked as she pulled her shawl more firmly about her shoulders, trying and failing to ignore just how alive her body suddenly felt.

  “I saw you from my window and was concerned. May I?” He motioned to the empty seat beside her. Face heating, she nodded.

  “I assure you,” she said as he sat, “I’m absolutely fine. There was no need for you to come all the way out here.”

  “My dear Clara,” he drawled, raising an inky brow, “I have sailed the width of the Atlantic numerous times. I assure you, taking a short walk in a garden is hardly my idea of lengthy travel.”

  “Nevertheless, it was unnecessary. I only needed some fresh air”—she smiled wryly and waved one hand to the night sky—“such as it is. The evening was not easy. But it’s over now, and it will only get better from here. If we can keep Aunt Olivia from posting the banns and procuring a special license, that is.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her pathetic attempt at humor, his dark eyes instead boring into hers with a disturbing understanding. “I never thanked you for what you did for me,” he murmured.

  She flapped her hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. We’re both benefiting from this.”

  “Perhaps for now. But what of after? The scandal—”

  She gave a small, strained laugh. “What scandal? I’m a nobody.”

  “You are not a nobody.”

  The fierce certainty in his voice startled her, but more so for the warmth that bloomed in her chest. It was almost as if he cared for her as more than Peter’s cousin. She swallowed hard. A dangerous thought indeed.

  She laughed lightly, needing to bring normalcy back to the situation. “Ah, yes, there is me being a duke’s daughter.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Her breath stalled. There was something infinitely tender in his eyes. For a single, shining moment she could almost believe this engagement was real.

  Then she blinked and his expression shifted to the easy friendliness she was used to. “Do you think Lady Tesh will be able to keep from shouting it to the rooftops until we’re on Synne?”

  It took Clara’s brain a second to latch onto the question. She had made the request in a moment of desperation, at Aunt Olivia’s suggestion that the engagement ball be a combined affair. Though they needed this to appear, for all intents and purposes, an engagement in truth, Clara refused to take a moment of attention from her sister.

  That, and she knew that if it were made public she would have a harder time convincing herself it wasn’t real.

  Aunt Olivia had not been happy at the delay, nor that she was thwarted in her wish for a double wedding, a glorious coup to end all coups in the history of the London season.

  It had taken the combined efforts of Quincy, Clara, Peter, and Lenora to make Aunt Olivia see reason. Or, if not to actually agree with them, to at least decamp, though with a decided lack of grace.

  “I’m certain she’ll heed our wishes,” she said now, though with much more conviction than she felt. Aunt Olivia was never one to let others dictate her actions. Not for the first time Clara sent up a prayer of thanks that Peter and Lenora were in on their deception. She would not be able to rein in the viscountess alone.

  “You’re an optimist, I see,” he teased.

  It should have been a comment easily laughed off. But just then, with this debacle of an engagement hanging over her head, the very last thing she would consider herself was an optimist. “Hardly that,” she mumbled.

  Curiosity flared in his eyes. Realizing that she had let too much of herself show and needing a change in subject, she blurted, “But I worry about you.”

  He let loose a surprised laugh. “Me?”

  She nodded, worrying at her lip with her teeth as she studied him. “You’ve mentioned vaguely that the dukedom needs saving. If it’s truly as dire as that, perhaps marriage for money would be the best thing.”

  He cocked one black eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you suggesting I cave into my mother’s demands?”

  She shrugged. “Mayhap?” When he continued to look at her slack-jawed, she hurried to explain. “As duke you’re responsible for a great many families. Marrying Lady Mary might be the only option open to you in such a short time.” She ignored the bad taste that left in her mouth.

  “It’s not unheard of,” she continued. “Men in your position marry for money all the time.”

  “Not I.”

  There was such conviction in his voice she couldn’t help but ask, “Do you believe in marrying only for love then?” An idea that should not interest her as much as it did.

  His lips twisted. “I’ve never really given it much thought. Peter and Lenora perhaps might sway me in this, I suppose, being so in love themselves.” His voice was quiet and intimate in the night air. “But at this point in my life I’m nowhere near ready. I’ve no wish to saddle myself with a wife, or to saddle that wife with a husband who has no intention of acting like an adult for the foreseeable future.” He gave a soft chuckle, then sobered, eyeing her with a strange, tense curiosity. “And you? Do you believe in marrying for love?”

  How she didn’t outright flinch from the pain that soft question gave her she would never know. “That’s something I gave up long ago.”

  The bright curiosity in his eyes made her realize that, once again, she had said far too much. Clearing her throat, she pasted a bright smile on h
er face. “If you won’t marry to save the dukedom, I assume you have other options?”

  His slight pause told her he was fully aware that she was attempting to distract him. She waited with bated breath for him to press her.

  Thankfully, he let it pass. “Not as yet,” he admitted. “My brothers were uncommonly thorough with their destruction, I’m afraid. But I’m hopeful something will turn up.”

  “And if it does not?”

  He smiled faintly. “I’m not without funds myself. I’ll just have to use the money I’ve brought back with me from Boston. No rich wife required.”

  Though he did his best to keep his expression easy, the undercurrent of pain in his voice told a different story. “And you shall have to give up your travels,” she said slowly, understanding dawning. “Your travels are very important to you. Why?”

  He looked away, letting his long fingers trail over the glossy leaf of a nearby bush. “As horrible as my mother is, my father was the opposite. We were incredibly close and shared a dream of seeing the world and all its wonders. We pored over maps and globes and books, planning the trips we would take when I got older.” The air of gentle reminiscence faded from his voice, replaced by a muted kind of grief. “But he died when I was a boy. And then I ran away.”

  “Why?”

  He cast her a wry glance. “I think you can guess after today. My mother was determined to ship me off to the navy. I, however, had other ideas.”

  “And so you wound up on that ship with Peter, headed for America.”

  “Yes. And though I still wound up on a ship, it was at least on my own terms.”

  She shook her head in wonder. “You’re very brave.”

  He gave a startled laugh. “Hardly brave.”

  “Oh, please,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You left behind the comfort of your status, secured a position aboard a ship, and set sail for an unknown and far-off land, all when you were just a boy. You’re quite brave.”

  He was outright laughing now, that maddening dimple flashing in his cheek. “Very well,” he said, waving his arms in surrender, “You win. I shall admit to my exceeding bravery. But,” he continued, “only if you admit to a fair bit of bravery yourself.”