A Damsel for the Daring Duke

by Bridget Barton

  “And how very surprised I am to see you here,” Charlotte said with a certain dry suspicion that she hoped he had picked up upon.

  “You think I am following you?” he said with a slow and pleasantly antagonistic smile.

  It was as if he was goading her, and the look in his eye reminded her very much of the first time she had seen him when they had stared at each other with such determination outside Hanover Hall. It was almost a challenge, and Charlotte could not help being interested by it.

  “I should not like to accuse you of such a thing, really. What woman would accuse the son of the Duke?”

  “Only one I can think of,” he said and laughed, his green eyes staring into hers.

  Charlotte had found herself relieved that she had paid the proper attention to her appearance before coming out that evening.

  Initially, she had not been destined to put in a great deal of effort, but in the end had decided to wear a fine ivory gown which had a simple green lace overlay. She felt very modern indeed in it, and Ruth had worked wonders with her thick chestnut hair, curling it into broad waves before twisting it up into a full and lustrous pleat on the back of her head.

  What was even better was that she could see him noticing her effort, and she felt complimented without him even saying a word.

  “Ah, Lord Harrington, please allow me to introduce you to my two friends,” Charlotte had said with the faintest hint of exasperation when Octavia Orpington and Ariadne Beckwith had made their way over to her and genteelly forced her hand.

  She had no doubt that they had just heard from Lady Darnley that the handsome young man they were entertaining that evening was no less than the son of the Duke of Sandford.

  The two young women were suddenly all guile and smiles and obviously had left their manners somewhere on the small journey across the room in their fervent bid to be introduced to him.

  Charlotte knew the young women well enough but had thought them to be capitalizing on their acquaintance with her so that they might have some time in Lord Harrington’s company.

  At this point in the tale, Ruth also became exasperated. She tutted loudly at the idea that her mistress had been upended so early on by two young ladies she herself did not particularly like very much.

  “Of all the things,” Ruth said in an annoyed tone. “You would think they could have waited to be introduced. After all, if you were having a private conversation with Lord Harrington, did they not think that this sudden appearance would make things awkward?”

  “I do not think they cared very much about any of that, Ruth. You are forgetting that these are highly bred young women and, as such, manners are very much an optional thing.” Charlotte laughed, having amused herself greatly with her clever comment.

  “You have been raised very well, Miss, and in such a fine home, and yet you would never behave that way; I know you would not,” Ruth said fiercely.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Charlotte squeezed her maid’s hand, grateful as ever for her deep and abiding loyalty.

  “I suppose they were trying to impress him?” Ruth went on, her countenance full of disappointment.

  “Yes, they were perfectly coquettish in every movement and twisted this way and that to extract the offer of a dance each from the poor man.”

  “Really!” Ruth hissed.

  “My dear Ruth, Lord Harrington may dance with whomever he wishes.”

  “Except it sounds very much to me as if he did not wish to dance with either one of them. It very much sounds to me as if his own good manners had him cornered.”

  “Yes, I think you are right. You put it very well, Ruth.”

  “And did you dance with him? Surely he has not come all this way across the county to have nothing better than a dance with two such forceful young ladies.”

  “It was all rather a matter of timing, my dear, and it did not work in our favour, I am afraid. Whenever Lord Harrington was free, I was not. It seemed that fate conspired to keep us very much apart.” She laughed lightly. “And it is true to say that once word had got around of the identity of the handsome young man, he was led around the room on so many little introductions that I did not get to speak to him again.

  “Oh, how very annoying,” Ruth said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it would have been better if you were at a larger event. When there are more people bustling about, there is less excitement surrounding young men of note. They are better hidden, I think.”

  “Yes, you are probably right. Still, it is over now, and I hardly think he will care to repeat the experience.” Charlotte laughed.

  “I would have to disagree with you there, Miss,” Ruth said and rose to her feet, clearly getting ready to help her mistress into her night attire. “I do not think you can underestimate a man who has gone to such efforts just to see you.”

  “If that is truly why he was there,” Charlotte said and, deep down, she rather thought she hoped that was the case. “But I suppose we will not know for sure unless we see him here again.”

  “You will see him here again; I am certain of it,” Ruth said and held out both of her hands to pull her mistress to her feet and get her ready for sleep.

  Chapter 6

  From the moment Lady Felicia Trent and her father, the Earl of Whittingham, arrived, James knew that he was in for a very dull evening indeed.

  His father, obviously not taking on board any of the less than subtle hints from James that he was far from impressed with his current favourite as a choice of prospective bride for him, was determined to plough on regardless and do what so many other aristocratic fathers did; he would force together two people of opposing personality and expect them to be pleased with it.

  “I believe you have lately been over at Hanover Hall, James,” Lord Whittingham said before they had even begun the first course.

  Following a previous evening of several lengthy silences, it was clear that Lord Whittingham, a most determined father, was going to see to it personally that the conversation never faltered once.

  For his part, James could not have cared less. The quieter the dinner was, the more opportunity he would have to relieve the monotony with a little daydreaming of his own.

  And of course, as was his custom these days, the subject of his daydreaming was none other than Miss Charlotte Cunningham.

  Despite his best efforts to concentrate upon the pleasingly pretty appearance of Lady Felicia, his mind was always irresistibly drawn back to the gleaming red chestnut hair and bright blue eyes of Charlotte.

  “Yes, I have made two recent visits to Hanover Hall. To my friend Hector, to be precise,” James said in a bid to be sociable without being at all encouraging to the matrimony-seeking father.

  “It is three visits, is it not?” Felicia said, and James almost laughed; the woman really could not help but correct people.

  “Yes, I suppose it is, Felicity.”

  “Felicia,” she said smartly, and James smiled. “It is three, if you count your first visit, the sporting event,” she said primly.

  James was trying to control his mirth, imagining standing at the altar with the young woman as she perpetually corrected the vicar performing the wedding ceremony. Well, at least there would be plenty of time for him to find an escape route and perhaps climb out of the vestry window.

  “James,” his father said briskly with an air of annoyance.

  “Yes, yes, it is three times, Felicia, you are quite right, as always.” He smiled broadly if only to cover for the fact that he had been very close to the point of laughing.

  James had never thought of himself as a rude or mannerless man, but he understood that he had traits that could easily be considered to be so by others.

  But really, it struck him that people were at their most amusing when they intended to be anything but. In his mind, everyday idiosyncrasies that were easily digested or overlooked by others seemed always pronounced and of great amusement to him.

  It was not that he meant to judge people, rather that he always n
oticed a good deal about them and often found himself irresistibly fixing upon their little foibles.

  That being said, Lady Felicia Trent’s perpetual correcting was far too pronounced to be considered a simple foible. In truth, it was a personality trait that he could hardly manage throughout a simple dinner, never mind a lifetime of alleged married bliss.

  “Yes, I believe I am a little acquainted with your friend, Hector Hanover,” the Earl went on. “I have seen him at some function or other, but I cannot quite remember where. I have a notion that it was at a ball somewhere more local to us than to Hanover Hall. Still, I daresay the location is of little consequence.”

  “I had no idea you were acquainted, Sir,” James said and wondered if that was a lie.

  He remembered that Hector had claimed to have set eyes on Lady Felicia, for he had pronounced her to be very pretty. Well, he was right there; Felicity Trent was certainly a very handsome young woman.

  At just one and twenty, she was fresh-faced with the most wonderfully creamy rose skin he had ever seen. Her features were perfect, given that they were all of exactly the size one might expect with everything just where it ought to be. And in that, James had to admit that he found her rather uninteresting.

  It seemed to be very much in keeping with the spirit of the woman that everything about her be in its correct place. Her nose was small but not too small; her eyes were large, but not too large, her lips were rosy, but not too rosy. All in all, her seeming perfection irritated him.

  James knew that he would never have been drawn to Felicia Trent in the first place, but his meetings, as brief as they were, with Charlotte Cunningham, had made his feelings of aversion even more pronounced.

  Charlotte was a beauty in a very different vein. She was a natural beauty, one who was not perfect in every way and, because of it, all the more perfect in his eyes.

  Her shining chestnut hair was, perhaps, a little redder than some young ladies might be pleased with possessing, and her blue eyes were so bright that they were almost startling against it.

  Her smile was not truly symmetrical either, raising up a little in one corner in a slightly sardonic fashion that had James snared in a trap from which he could do nothing to free himself.

  That smile of hers had a certain significance; it was the sort of smile that knew very much more than it was giving away, that was for certain.

  The truth of it was he had never seen a woman he thought more beautiful than Charlotte Cunningham. And as for character, he knew he could live ten lives and never find another woman with such a sharp wit and such a clever way about her.

  “No, no, I am not truly acquainted with Hector Hanover. I believe my daughter spoke with him for a few minutes at the ball.”

  “I did not speak with him, Father,” Felicia corrected gently. “And it was an afternoon buffet and dance rather than a ball, held by Lord and Lady Egerton last summer.”

  James bit his tongue as he wondered if the woman’s memory and determination to verbalize it at every opportunity knew no bounds.

  Even Hector had not remembered where it was he had seen the young woman he thought so pretty. James amused himself for a moment by wondering just how Hector and Felicia would get on. He almost laughed again when he pictured Hector’s face and imagined his expression after she had corrected him seven or eight times. Yes, he would have to find some way to introduce them if only in the interests of science.

  “Do you have many other acquaintances over in the east of the county, James?” Lord Whittingham said, and James could not help thinking there was more to the inquiry than simple dinner conversation.

  Perhaps the man had some suspicions about James’ motives for spending so much time with his friend. But, of course, James knew he was hardly spending a great deal of time there; it was just that he had, perhaps, been once too often of late.

  And yet, to him, it seemed all too little. He had only met Charlotte on three occasions now if he included the sporting event, as Felicia obviously did.

  When he had seen her at Lady Darnley’s little dance, he had been almost startled by the depth of his pleasure. He had thought of her so much in between the first and second meeting that he wondered if he had exaggerated her charms and his attraction to them.

  But seeing her in that wonderful gown in Lady Darnley’s small hall had certainly shown him otherwise. She was as beautiful as he had remembered her, and her hair was gleaming under the light of so many candles in the chandelier.

  The fact that he had not been able to spend much time with her on that occasion ought really to have been obvious to him beforehand. It was such a small gathering, and he was something of an anomaly in it, being the only true stranger among them and the son of the Duke at that.

  In the end, he felt he had spent far more time trying to extricate himself from the tedious company of Octavia Orpington and Ariadne Beckwith than he had spent with Charlotte. He had not danced with her once, despite moving her way several times with every intention of asking her.

  Hector, of course, had been greatly amused by it all, declaring his friend to be the most inept romantic on all of God’s green earth.

  But Hector being Hector, he had quickly sought to improve things for his dear friend and, within a matter of just two weeks, had arranged another little invite for him.

  This time, it was to the home of a mutual friend where Hector’s father ordinarily played bridge twice a week.

  Hector had not been there for years, a point the hostess made more than once during the afternoon and, worse still, within earshot of Charlotte.

  Still, James did not think it such a bad thing that the object of his desire might realize the effort he was going to just to be in the same room as her.

  Her father had attended that particular afternoon, and James had even found himself partnering the man for bridge for a while. Lord Lucas Cunningham’s skill at the bridge table was very much on a par with his skill on horseback, and the two of them were roundly beaten in short order.

  However, he liked Lord Cunningham and found him very easy, somewhat amusing, company. He could certainly see how it was that a young woman would be free to develop such an interesting character as Charlotte’s with such a father. And for that alone, James found himself rather admiring the old Baron.

  “So, you are in the east again, Lord Harrington.” On that particular afternoon, Charlotte had been one to approach him.

  She was wearing a simple pale blue gown which suited her very well indeed, and her hair had been put up in a much easier style than he had seen it at Lady Darnley’s dance.

  It was all in keeping with the afternoon, and he could not help thinking her a picture of ease and grace all at once. And, once again, he found himself quite transfixed by her.

  “Yes, I am once again visiting your distant relatives.” He smiled a little mischievously.

  “You seem to be visiting them with some regularity.”

  “I do, and I am pleased to say that you do not seem quite so disappointed by it as our very first meeting might have suggested.”

  “You mean to say that I was not particularly friendly when we first met, Sir?”

  “Yes, I mean exactly that,” he said and laughed, relishing the feeling of being able to banter with her almost as he might with Hector.

  He liked the idea that she was not at all offended by such pronouncements, and even though it was meant in jest, he thought that almost every other woman he had ever met would not take it so. But Charlotte Cunningham was not like any other woman he had ever met, and it was taking him a little time to get used to it.

  “Whereas you were all ease and friendliness with your hard, green-eyed stare.” She laughed.

  “Will you never let me forget that?”

  “No, since it is among the incidents of most shocking behaviour I have ever witnessed, I think not.”

  “I would be prostrate with apology if I thought that you were in the least bit shocked by me, Miss Cunningham.”

  “W
ell, perhaps not shocked.” She laughed. “Amused? No,” she said and shook her head gently. “Interested? Not exactly.” She was counting them off on her fingers as he shook his head. “Perplexed? Yes! That is it! I was utterly perplexed, nay bemused by you.”

  “In lieu of an actual compliment, my dear woman, I shall just have to accept it.”

  “Oh, I think it was a compliment of sorts,” she said and smiled at him rather sweetly.

  “Perplexed is a compliment?”

  “Insofar as it is never dull,” she said and looked a little pleased with herself. “You see, if you behaved as a normal gentleman, I should very likely have forgotten you by now. But the fact that I was so perplexed, I think, warrants further study.”