My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1)

by Julie Johnstone

  While sitting beside Constance on a picnic blanket, Amelia watched Lady Georgiana and Charles stroll arm in arm around the perimeter of the lake. They curved around the far corner near the woods and headed back toward the group of forgotten picnickers, which Amelia was unfortunately among. Amelia sighed and turned away from the noisy conversations of the ladies on the blanket to her left and glanced at Constance. Her friend was staring at her husband, with the besotted look of a new bride, as he stood some five feet away with the other gentlemen.

  Amelia nudged Constance’s side. “I vow I never thought I would say this, but I have to do something to get Charles’s attention. At this rate, he will ask Lady Georgiana to marry him before he even thinks to consider me.”

  Constance frowned. “Perhaps Lord Worthington is not your true love.”

  Of course Charles was her true love. But he certainly was taking his time realizing it. Shouldn’t he instinctually feel it?, an inner voice whispered. She’d been hopelessly in love with Charles for years; now was not the time to give up.

  “You are not being helpful. I have loved Charles since the day he rescued me from certain death. You remember. My brother’s stallion took off with me on it and Charles―”

  “I remember,” Constance interrupted. “Lord Worthington helped you.”

  “Helped me?” Amelia frowned. That was not at all how she would phrase it. Because Constance is right Amelia’s annoying inner voice said. She gritted her teeth. She was only doubting Charles because she was doubting herself. “That is not the way I see it.” Amelia stared at Constance, waiting for her agreement. Her friend opened her mouth, gave a little shake of her head, and snapped her mouth shut once again.

  “What is it?” Amelia asked. Having known Constance her entire life, she knew her friend was usually not one to voice her opinions.

  “Truthfully?”

  The question reminded Amelia of earlier when she had asked the duke to be truthful. A picture of the sinfully handsome man filled her head. Why ever was she thinking of him now? She shoved the thought away. “Truthfully, of course.”

  “And you won’t be upset?”

  “Egads! Since you’ve said that I’m now naturally worried.” Amelia pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the butterflies. “Tell me anyway though. Remember we swore to always be truthful with each other.”

  “No matter the pain,” Constance said with a nod. She sighed. “Very well. I think…” she said, dropping her voice low even though the nearest blanket was a foot away and the talk loud and lively. “That is…What I want to say is perhaps your memories of that day Lord Worthington helped you on the stallion have been exaggerated by your mind and the way you feel about him.”

  Amelia did not like where this conversation was going, especially because she had wondered this same thing before, but that had been more of her not believing in herself. Hadn’t it?

  She swallowed. “Exaggerated in what way?” she said quietly.

  Constance picked nervously at her dress, until Amelia reached over and stilled her friend’s hand. “Go on.”

  “As I remember it, the stallion ran off and raced beside Lord Worthington, spooking his horse, which in turn ran after yours in more of a panic than pursuit.”

  “Nonsense,” Amelia grumbled, even as she quickly searched her memory. She was quite sure she was correct. “Charles came after me to save me. If it weren’t for him I would have fallen and broken my neck.”

  Constance compressed her lips for a moment before taking a deep breath. “You saved him. His horse galloped after you in a fright and when he passed you and nearly collided with a tree limb, you yelled for him to duck. Both of you did so, and he flailed his arms out, nearly knocking you off your horse! You are nimble, always have been. You landed on your feet, and he landed beside you.”

  “That’s not the way it happened at all,” Amelia retorted, her heart pounding. Could she have twisted the memory so much? How pathetic and lonely, if so. “I do not love him based solely on one day. He has always had a ready smile for me, treated me with kindness, sought me out to talk to at various social occasions.”

  “Because you are intelligent and interesting, Amelia.”

  Amelia smiled. “You have just proved my point. If he cared to simply be with a lady because she was pretty, he would never bother to talk to me. And he is my champion.” She had gotten that notion right out of her favorite novel. “If it was not for him everyone would still be calling me Tree Trunk.”

  Constance groaned. “Amelia, I swear you are either blind or you simply do not see what anyone else does when they look at you.”

  “You are my best friend,” Amelia said. “You are naturally biased. I am gangly and far too tall for a woman, and if Charles had not demanded they quit calling me Tree Trunk, the name would still haunt me.”

  “I refuse to argue,” Constance said, though her stern tone suggested differently. “Charles only demanded it because I called him a weak follower.”

  Constance’s words were like a slap across the face. “You did?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry I did not tell you sooner. Honestly, I thought you would grow out of this childhood obsession with him. He is not a hero from one of your books, Amelia.”

  “Well, of course he isn’t,” Amelia said, a trifle irritated. He was too good to be a hero. The heroes in her books always had wicked streaks that had to be tamed or demons that had to be destroyed, and only the perfect woman, the heroine, could help the hero do it. The Duke of Aversley could definitely be a hero. All he needed was the right heroine to come along. Appalled with her straying thoughts, she cringed.

  “Are you terribly upset with me?” Constance whispered. “You’re flushed.”

  She was upset with herself. Reaching out, she patted her friend’s hand. “No. Just thinking.” Her pulse dipped right along with her stomach. If she had misconstrued that Charles had tried to save her and then come to her rescue out of love, then her love for him was based on a lie. Maybe he would never love her. Impossible. Charles was the only man who had ever done anything chivalrous for her in her entire life. “He kissed me that day he saved me. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “No. Where was the kiss?” Constance asked.

  “My right cheek.”

  “Amelia de Vere, I cannot believe you withheld such important information all these years.”

  The kiss had been so special to her she had wanted to keep it her secret. “You didn’t tell me of your first kiss with your husband.”

  “You’ve got a point,” Constance said. “And I hate to say this, because in my heart I honestly don’t feel Lord Worthington is for you, but he does seem to watch you in a special way. And the kiss changes everything! Still, there is something else you should know.”

  The grave tone of Constance’s voice made Amelia’s stomach clench. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Lord Worthington is going to London for the Season. He told Steven so.”

  Amelia felt as if her heart were suddenly beating entirely too fast. It had to be true if Charles had told Constance’s husband, as they were good friends. Amelia bit down on her lip and found the object of her desire strolling directly toward them with Lady Georgiana still on his arm. Charles looked especially handsome today in his navy-blue jacket and dark buckskins. His brown hair was a bit short for her taste, but it did serve to display his nice strong jaw to advantage. From where she sat, she could not see his coffee-colored eyes, but that cocoa color was forever committed to her memory.

  She should be in London for the Season, but they could not afford it, not that she had minded missing the Season one bit―until this very moment. He’d probably meet a nice, short lady there, a Marianne. “This is awful news. At least Georgiana is not going to London.”

  “But she is,” Constance said.

  Amelia whipped her gaze to her friend. “Whatever do you mean? She told us specifically she was not allowed to have her Season until her eldest sister was betrothed.”

 
; “Elspeth was betrothed yesterday.”

  “But there isn’t enough time for Georgiana to have gowns made for the Season.” Amelia knew her voice was too loud, her tone too high, but she was upset.

  Constance shrugged. “You know as well as I that Georgiana’s family can spare every expense. Likely they will pay to rush the gowns. She leaves next week. Rumor has it that her father wishes her to find a husband by the end of the Season.”

  Amelia trailed her gaze to Charles. He threw his head back and laughed at something Georgiana said. Her stomach turned and twisted, making her feel sick. “When did Charles decide he was going to London?”

  Constance’s hand closed over Amelia’s and squeezed. “Yesterday. Steven said he made up his mind to go yesterday, after he learned Georgiana was going.” Constance pressed her lips near Amelia’s ear. “Steven says Charles must marry for money.”

  “That’s his mother’s doing, I’m sure of it,” Amelia grumbled. “Look at Georgiana.”

  Amelia continued to stare at the lady and didn’t bother to see if Constance had obliged her request to glance that way. Georgiana had on a gown of fine mint silk. On her head was a beautiful hat, perched perfectly to display her lovely hair, which was atop her head in a perfect chignon with the exact right amount of tendrils hanging around her peaches-and-cream heart-shaped face. Amelia raised her trembling hand to her own disheveled hair then self-consciously ran a smoothing hand over her ugly brown riding habit. She may not be able to compete with tiny Georgiana on appearances, but she doubted Georgiana had ever read an entire book in her life. The thought made Amelia feel good for a moment until she felt snide, blasted scruples. Georgiana was a beautiful flower with the perfect petals of adornment. Amelia’s throat tightened. She wasn’t even a flower. More like a long weed.

  The need to leave rose up so strongly she felt as if she would choke, but she refused to scamper away defeated. “I have to make Charles remember he wants me, an Elinor.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind,” Amelia hurriedly replied, knowing Constance would chide her for being silly. “He thinks he must settle for fluff and feathers in a woman’s head to please his mother, but he would hate that sort of wife. I know him. He needs a wife whose head is filled with interesting information because he is so intelligent. I need to make him remember this. Or realize it, though honestly I think deep down he knows.”

  “You are babbling, but I think I’m following. What is your plan?”

  Amelia scanned the picnic area. There were flowering bushes, large beautiful trees with low-hanging branches and winding pebbled paths. Nothing she could use to her advantage. “I cannot think of a thing. Can you?”

  Before Constance could answer, Georgiana clapped her hands together. “Time for the games! Everyone get a partner!”

  A swirl of activity commenced at once, and within seconds, Amelia found herself standing without a partner while everyone else had paired up. She caught herself glancing uneasily around the group, hoping she had missed someone. Her gaze locked with Georgiana’s and the lady offered a venom-tinged smile.

  “Poor Lady Amelia. It seems you are without a companion. I must have counted wrong when making my guest list. I could have sworn I had an even number.” Georgiana twined her arm through Charles’s and beamed up at him before focusing back on Amelia.

  Since it wasn’t likely the ground would crack open and mercifully swallow her inside, Amelia straightened her spine, a thing she rarely did since she was tall enough without doing so, and met Georgiana’s smirk. “That’s quite all right, Lady Georgiana. Counting can be so very tedious for some people. I can play the games by myself.”

  “Amelia, no!” Constance blurted and moved toward Amelia and away from her husband.

  “I have to concur,” Charles said, stepping toward her and bringing the clinging Lady Georgiana with him. It won’t do at all for you to have no partner.” He gazed at Georgiana. “You don’t mind if Lady Amelia joins us, do you?”

  “If she must,” Georgiana said with a brittle smile and cool tone.

  Amelia clamped her teeth down on the hot words scorching her tongue. Georgiana had obviously planned to humiliate her. Smiling so wide her cheeks quivered, she inclined her head to Charles. “Thank you for being so generous, Lord Worthington.”

  “Not at all,” he replied while extending his free elbow to her.

  Elation welled within her as she linked her hand around his arm. The group moved toward the lake where the games were set up under a large cluster of trees. As they walked, chattering commenced around Amelia, and Georgiana prattled some nonsense about the weather to Charles. Amelia could have been strolling in the clouds for as light as her feet felt. Charles had come to her rescue once again, or was it for the first time? Blast Constance for making her unsure. Whichever it was, Charles was noble, kind, and he clearly cared for her. Fat little Constance knew.

  “Lord Worthington,” Amelia said, interrupting Georgiana’s complaining about the heat and the effect it had on her hair.

  “Yes, Lady Amelia?”

  “I want to thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “Think nothing of it,” he replied. His arm suddenly pulled inward having the effect of pressing her hand firmly to his side. A little thrill coursed through her. He wanted to be closer to her, but secretly. That was perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. From under her lashes, she gazed sideways at him, half expecting to find him looking slyly at her, or with a glint in his eye like the duke had, but Charles’s gaze was focused on Georgiana.

  Irritated at herself for the twinge of disappointment, for her once again straying thoughts to the duke, and for Charles’s continued attentions to Georgiana, Amelia concentrated on the positive. She would have the next hour to remind him of his heart and to capture his attention and get him to look past her exterior―as her mother had put it. She eyed the hoops ahead in the distance. She was good at this game.

  “Are we playing hoops, Lady Georgiana?” she asked as they neared the lake.

  “How very astute of you,” Georgiana replied.

  “Lady Georgiana,” Charles said in a chiding tone.

  Amelia tried to stop the smile that spread across her face, but really, it was hopeless. Maybe she would not have to worry about Georgiana, after all. The woman was so mean spirited. Surely, Charles would see it.

  As they turned onto the narrow dirt path that would take them around the lake to the trees they would play under, Charles moved ahead. “I’ll go first to make sure it’s not slippery.”

  Amelia nodded and expected Georgiana to move behind Charles and force Amelia to the rear of the line. The three of them trailed a good distance behind everyone else, and she could not imagine Georgina being willing to be last at anything. Instead, the woman surprised her by indicating, with a wave of her hand, that Amelia should fall into step behind Charles. She glanced at Georgiana, sure she must be up to something, but all Amelia got in response was a false smile.

  The pebbly path was rather slippery, undoubtedly due to the rain of the night before. Amelia slowly picked her way across the stones, each sharp rock digging into her rather worn kid boots. Wincing, she slowed her steps and fell even further behind Charles. Georgiana, on the other hand, was so close to Amelia that she was assaulting her ears with her tsking and sighing. Was she trying to rush her? Make her trip and look a fool?

  Amelia scowled. “Please don’t walk so close.”

  “Do you swim, Lady Amelia?”

  “Of course.” Amelia wrinkled her brow. What an odd question. Unless― Her heartbeat galloped ahead like a racehorse coming out of the gate. She glanced to her left at the dark, murky pond water. “Don’t you dare―”

  With a hard shove into her back, her warning words were lost as she bit down on her tongue and tumbled sideways into the pond. Cold water hit her skin, causing her to gasp and let out an outraged cry just before the heavy weight of her riding habit dragged her under the surface.

  Instantly,
her vision clouded and her lungs screamed for release as she clawed her way back toward the glimmering sunshine above. Suddenly, fingers clamped like a vise around her arms and jerked her upright, bringing her out from underneath the water to the glorious sunlight and fresh air. She gulped in greedy breaths, caught between a haze of panic and relief. The smell of fish and mud clogged her nose and grit filled her mouth. She barely resisted the urge to spit, but her body heaved in protest.

  “Stand up, for pity’s sake,” a hard voice said in her ear.

  “Stand up?” she sputtered, kicking out wildly.

  “Ouch!” Charles barked as she felt herself being hauled even farther up and then plunked downward.

  Her boots sunk into squishy mud. With shaking hands, she wiped the water and muck out of her eyes. When she opened them, she almost wished she hadn’t. Everyone, including Charles, was staring at her with either gaping mouths or embarrassed smiles. Everyone except for Georgiana. She gave Amelia a cold look of contempt.

  “You poor dear,” Georgiana purred, placing her hand on Charles’s shoulder as he knelt at the edge of the pond embankment. “You tripped. I tried to stop your fall, but you’re much bigger than I am.”

  Standing on shaking legs, Amelia looked from Charles’s tight face to Georgiana’s now smiling one. Amelia had the urge to dunk under the water, but that was no escape. She forced her shoulders back and prayed she did not look as undignified as she felt. It was useless to accuse Georgiana of pushing her. It would only serve to draw more attention and make her look foolish, as if she was trying to falsely blame the host.

  Charles thrust a hand out to her. “Grasp my hand, and I’ll pull you out.”

  As some creature―please God, a fish―brushed her leg, she disposed of her mortification and quickly complied. After a moment of grunting and struggling on Charles’s part as he tried to pull her out to no avail, Constance’s husband came over and grasped Amelia’s other hand.

  Constance peered over the edge of the pond, her nose wrinkled with worry. “They’ll get you out Amelia. It’s the weight of your skirts that is making it difficult.”