The Wild Duchess / The Willful Duchess
Renee Bernard
Contents
Copyright
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Also by Renee Bernard
Copyright © 2016 by R. Renee Ferguson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love.
RUMI
* * *
So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet a union in partition, two lovely berries moulded in one stem…
William Shakespeare
Prologue
London 1874
* * *
“You are sitting on my wings, Your Majesty.”
Ivy Hastings’ eyes widened in horror and she shifted her petticoats to free her friend’s makeshift organza feathers. Their elegant costumed tea party was an artistic adolescent blend of everything they loved and a bid for grown-up ritual to mark the occasion of Miss Alicia Hawke’s thirteenth birthday though their decorative gatherings generally needed no excuses. Alicia’s father was an earl and the rest of the girls were firmly in awe of her status but their friendship gave all of them a delightful equality and confidence.
Ivy nervously touched the handmade circlet of wire and tissue paper the twins had crowned her with and smiled. “I beg your pardon and will make amends with an extra serving of sugared apricots, Lady Alicia.”
Scarlett Blackwell clapped her hands and in an exaggerated voice that was a spot-on imitation of a crusty dowager announced, “Let us not overindulge, ladies! Fashion frowns on a woman with sticky syrup on her face, especially when her fan sticks to her cheeks.”
All of the girls began to giggle as Scarlett finished her speech by pretending to accidentally attach one of the apricots to her nose without realizing it. Her identical twin, Starr, dissolved into a blushing heap, laughing louder than anyone else at the nonsense.
“Scarlett! Stop!” Starr waved her linen napkin helplessly in surrender. “It’s too much.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Scarlett demanded archly, the apricot bobbing at the center of her face. “Decorum, Miss Blackwell! Do sit up!”
All of the girls were at a loss to stop laughing until the apricot finally fell off and the merriment of the moment exhausted itself to leave them clutching at their teacups and praying that their mothers didn’t come in.
“We are getting too old for this, you know,” Alicia sighed.
Their company grew more somber. The twins were the eldest at nearly fifteen, with Ivy behind them by a few months and Alicia, the youngest of all—but all of them had an understanding of the bridges ahead and the expectations of a young woman in London society. Already their lives were constrained, the hours of their days partitioned by the requirements of education and social duties. Even the most independent mothers and indulgent fathers couldn’t shield them from the realities of the world. The goal for every woman was unspoken but ever present to make the best of her opportunities, to pursue her dreams but ultimately to make a good marriage and find her happiness as a wife and mother. To sprinkle a little more pressure into the potion, the girls’ parents also expected them to settle for nothing less than a fairy tale love story.
After all, they were daughters of the Jaded.
Scarlett set down her cup, a new determined mischief glittering in her eyes. “Perhaps we’ll abandon the wings and crowns soon enough but I don’t see why we should ever give up our club.”
“Our club?” Starr perked up quickly.
“A secret society all our own,” Scarlett said firmly. “Where we can do as we please.”
Alicia shook her head. “I don’t think anarchy is a very good goal.”
“Then let’s set a very lofty goal,” Starr countered. “If no one is paying attention, we could be an alliance to shake the very foundations of the world!”
Scarlett rolled her eyes but smiled. “My sister, the idealist.”
Starr’s enthusiasm was undimmed. “Better to have ideals then waste our time painting teacups and simpering about lace trim and which feathers we prefer on our bonnets.”
Ivy cleared her throat very purposefully. “I do not think painting, in any form, is a waste of time.”
Starr’s expression was one of sincere apology. Ivy Hastings was the daughter of the famous painter, Josiah Hastings, and it was known that she hared her father’s love for art as well as her mother’s propensity to adhere to the rules of polite society. “Ivy, are you painting?”
“I…dabble but women are not…I mean…it isn’t proper for girls to…” Ivy retrieved a cake from the tray. “If I were a member of a secret society, I’m sure I’d feel free to pursue any interests I wished.”
“See? We have to be a secret society now—if only to give dear Ivy the support she needs!” Scarlett’s excitement was contagious. “Why not give each of us the chance to follow our dreams? I hereby propose to shake the foundations of our own world with our club.”
“It sounds like the best kind of trouble…” Alicia sighed wistfully.
“A clandestine club does seem a very grown up endeavor,” Starr added. “A lovely way to celebrate a birthday if you ask me.”
“Yes, but we have a problem.” Scarlett held up her hands with the authority that nearly fifteen years of life had bestowed on her.
The group instantly quieted except for Starr who was far too familiar with her twin to give in to simple imperial gestures. “What problem? Our parents are all dear friends and allow us to meet fairly often so we won’t need to—”
“Shaking the foundations of the world must be our secret purpose, so we’ll have to come up with an overt and silly club mission so that no one will suspect us.” Scarlett folded her hands. “We have to be clever.”
“Not exactly a problem there,” Starr countered. “Uncle Rowan said we are already too clever for our own good.”
“It must be something to make our parents all smile and leave us to our own devices,” Scarlett asserted. “Something diverting and ridiculous.”
“Very well, let’s agree to meet regularly and pretend to paint teacups, then do as we please and change the world,” Ivy said sweetly.
Alicia laughed. “Unless you are doing all the painting, I don’t think we can pull it of
f. My teacups would all look like a cat did the brushwork!”
“And I don’t think our father would believe for a moment that we could sit still that long. Not to mention the explanations when we fail to come up with more than a single cup between us all, right, Starr?”
Starr nodded. “I’m afraid so. What about a book club? Reading is very proper and—”
Scarlett cut her off. “You are always reading! You have a book in your skirt pocket at this very moment. It’s too obvious a choice and while Mother will applaud, there is not a chance I can keep a straight face while Father gives me the look and asks what I’m up to!”
“I think he sees too much of himself in you. That’s what I heard Mrs. Clark say right before she said that she’ll be decorating your dungeon and keeping it all nice when you come of age if his anxiety doesn’t ease!”
Scarlett resettled in her chair with a troublemaker’s smile. “You mean when we come of age, Starr, because I imagine you’ll have a cell right next to mine, dearest. But I think you’ve stumbled onto the answer.”
“She did?” Ivy asked. “I missed it.”
“Our club’s declared mission must be diverting and ridiculous, but just at the edge of plausible nonsense to keep our parents in check. The one inevitable truth facing all of us is coming of age, so why not have our own particular version of a ladies charm academy? It’s ridiculous but we could say it’s to supposedly prepare ourselves for being out in society and securing husbands?”
Alicia gasped. “What’s so ridiculous in that? Other than risking having our brother’s tease us endlessly if they find out what we’re up to?”
Scarlett held up her hands, a minister about to make a divine call. “Because we are going to set our sights on becoming duchesses!”
“Impossible!” Starr said.
“Insane!” Ivy added.
“No,” Alicia said. “Absolutely not.”
“Yes,” Scarlett countered with a look of triumph. “Except our fathers think so highly of us that if we told them we wished to be empresses, they would nod but I think a bit of restraint is in order and should win our mothers over as well.”
Her twin was nearly breathless with horror. “Restraint? You think aiming for a duke is demonstrating restraint?”
“It is silly enough to earn us all the wiggle room we wish.” Scarlett picked up the teapot and added a bit of tea to each of their cups, as graceful as possible despite the remnants of apricot on her nose. “Our parents know it’s a pipe dream but a harmless pipe dream that will allow them to believe us and one that is sufficient to keep us safely occupied.”
Alicia shook her head. “There is nothing harmless in overreaching. We are not all connected by blood to such lofty circles and even if we were, it’s a disaster to—”
“It’s a pretext, Alicia.” Starr tried to soothe her. “Right, Scarlett? Please tell me it’s only a pretext.”
“Of course, it is,” Scarlett sighed. “No one beyond our circle will know what club really is and we’ll lead them to believe it’s about our wish to marry dukes and to live happily ever after like in one of Aunt Grace’s fabulous stories. But in reality…”
“In reality, we are protecting each other’s dreams and pursuing them without interference,” Ivy supplied and at her words, all of them acquired an inspired light in their eyes. “So when someone laughs at us, it won’t matter because we’ll know our true calling.”
“I like the sound of that much better,” Alicia said, sitting up brightly. “Since I am most certainly not going to marry a duke.”
“Nor I,” Ivy added. “What a notion!”
“I don’t see the need to get married at all really,” Starr confessed. “What a bunch of fuss!”
Scarlett sighed dramatically then gave in to her playful nature. “Well, I will carry the banner forward alone then and sacrifice myself on the altar. Though in truth, my dream is nothing short of true love. But if after all, if one must marry, why not a duke?”
“Can we make a rule for our club to never talk about boys?” Alicia asked shyly.
The girls laughed but Scarlett took the matter in hand. “Why talk about boys when we can talk about men?”
Giddy giggles made their cheeks turn pink.
“What is this?” Forrest Thorne asked from the doorway. He was the only son of Darius and Isabel Thorne, inheriting his mother’s fair coloring and his father’s keen intellect, but possessing a sense of humor all his own and at thirteen, confident that teasing the girls was a sport fit for kings. “Did I hear you say something about a club?”
Garrett Hawke came up behind his friend quickly to chime in and as Alicia’s younger brother to ensure he didn’t miss the fun. “Oh, come on, Forrest. It’s all paper dolls and nonsense!”
Forrest shook his head. “I don’t know. They look quite guilty from where I’m standing. Come on, Scarlett. Rules for what kind of club did you say?”
Alicia’s expression was one of pure horror but Scarlett and the others took the intrusion in stride. Scarlett rewarded him with a smile. “One that does not allow the admittance of impudent males—or polite males either, come to think of it.”
“Really?” Thorne sighed. “Well, that should be easy enough to enforce because I can’t see any bloke with sense applying for membership to… What’s the name of your secret society?”
Scarlett stood from her chair, and the other followed suit in an instinctive show of solidarity. She smiled at her friends and gave Forrest and Garrett a defiant look before she answered him as proudly as a queen.
“We are the Duchess Club.”
“Yes,” Starr echoed and then they all said it together.
“All hail the Duchess Club!”
And let no man dare trespass uninvited.
Chapter 1
London, 1879
* * *
Tears.
Stupid tears.
Scarlett Blackwell’s shock at the trails of salty tears on her own cheeks was as paralyzing as the notion that she would do a jig on a countess’s head. Neither was possible to her way of thinking and yet…
Tears!
Of all the rules of decorum surrounding a young girl entering society, Scarlett didn’t need to be told that crying at your first ball was completely unthinkable. It was an edict that didn’t need to be spoken it was so obvious. And Scarlett was far too practical a woman to ever be reduced to such nonsense. Her mother was American, after all, and the twins had been raised to keep a level head in any situation.
Yet, here she was—hiding in the ferns in the Marquess of Aldridge’s conservatory imitating an overdressed jungle explorer with the strains of a waltz in the distance and crying on what was supposed to be one of the most triumphant and lovely nights of her young life.
Scarlett pressed her cold palms against her cheeks and tried to rein in her emotions and accept how the evening had decayed quickly into a parody of a lady’s article of social do’s and don’ts.
Don’t make a face when the esteemed Marquess of Aldridge steps on your toes no matter how much it hurts. Limping is completely forbidden.
Don’t turn down a glass of punch even if you aren’t genuinely thirsty and wary of ending up holding the cup forever as a result, when an eligible Lord Bellford asks because he will pout.
Don’t laugh too loudly in public, even if Mr. Murphy accidentally performs a cartwheel after stepping on the Dowager Lady Shackleton’s Pekinese’s tail and lands in the previously mentioned punch bowl. This is no laughing matter.
And never under any circumstances comment or reply to people who endlessly keep mistaking you for your identical twin sister or have just noticed that you are a twin and cannot get over the uncanny resemblance.
A quick wit had not served her well. Not tonight. When Lady Beales had asked if she’d noticed that there was another girl across the room who looked exactly like her, she’d popped up with a lightning fast quip about first noticing Starr about five minutes after they’d been born and that she�
��d have to have been daft or blind not to have noticed her since then.
Not the wisest choice of words.
She thought she’d been well prepared. Dance lessons, which fork to use, drills on precedence and place settings, titles and teacups but apparently there were some social nuances not covered by etiquette lessons. Admittedly, she may not have been paying as close attention to the details as her more studious sister Starr but Scarlett was not ready to admit blame.
Not entirely.
Her confidence was fractured after bouncing from one mishap to another and by the time Lady Beales had publicly snapped her nose off for her impudence, Scarlett’s nerves were shattered. She’d retreated as best she could into the greenery away from judgmental stares and the snickering laughter of a few of her cattier rivals.
“I’m a Blackwell. I do not cry,” she said softly.
“We are both Blackwells,” Starr amended behind her. “And I’ve seen you cry every time Daisy pricks herself with a sewing needle. You are not exactly a woman of stone.”
“Well, I need to cultivate a thicker skin in any case,” Scarlett sighed.
“I’m so sorry, Scarlett. I know you had such high hopes of a fairy tale, all sparkle and laughter. It was going to be a lark, wasn’t it? London’s high society at your feet…”
“The only thing at my feet tonight was a bit of cherry punch and—I don’t know what I expected. My dance card was filled before my eyes had adjusted to the candlelight and…none of them were…very kind. It’s as if they’re all hoping we’re horrible or…secretly enjoying my failure. Once Lord Aldridge nearly broke my toes during that first polka, I don’t think I had any chance.”
“You’re not a failure.” Starr smiled. “I confess I’m only happier with the evening’s events because I surreptitiously lost my dance card by dropping it and then kicking it under that lovely Persian rug in the hallway.”
“Starr! You didn’t!”
The Wild Duchess/The Willful Duchess (The Duchess Club Book 1) Page 1