The Reluctant Duke

by Blaise Kilgallen

  He growled silently, noticing Andrew Brawley hovering over Caroline. Hmm… perhaps he ought to stop by the table and stake his claim. Then he realized Maribelle still clung to his arm like a limpet. Besides, he had no claim on Caroline’s affections, or any reason to cause a fuss with Brawley.

  Caroline's back was turned to the buffet table, but she sensed a prickling sensation mounting her spine. She dare not turn to look, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chatham returning with Antonio and his blond companion. Inhaling, Caroline pretended to concentrate on her plate of food.

  Andrew Brawley jumped to his feet, as did the other men as Antonio and Maribelle approached.

  “Your Grace, good to see you again. And you, Lady Maribelle,” Brawley said, bowing over her hand as she curtsied and smiled sweetly up at him.

  “Lady Caroline,” Brawley began as Caroline swiveled in her chair. “Do you know Lady Maribelle Staunton?”

  Caroline hoped her smile didn’t look too pinched or it might splinter her face into fragments when she acknowledged the introduction. “No, I'm afraid I haven’t been fortunate enough to meet Lady Staunton until this very moment.”

  Caroline was certain Maribelle's smile looked a trifle forced and wondered if she, too, had heard the gossip earlier today. It had burned its way through the ton faster than a forest fire in a gale wind. She also wondered if Maribelle was aware of the whispering that had been going on behind fluttering fans when she and Antonio had stepped into the crowded ballroom. Just now every pair of eyes in the supper room was trained on the little group around Chatham’s table.

  Caroline knew that behind her lashes, Maribelle’s blue eyes were examining her, her gown, and her other attributes.

  Does she believe me to be her competition?

  Caroline watched Maribelle quickly slide her gloved fingers possessively through Antonio's elbow a second time as if to claim her territory.

  “Lady Lockler, how nice to make your acquaintance.” Throwing down the gauntlet, Maribelle said, sweetly, “I understand you rode in the Park with His Grace this morning. I, of course, prefer the carriage to a horse's back. They’re such…smelly beasts.” Her disdain was obvious to everyone at the table.

  Caroline blanched at Maribelle's blatant ridicule of her outing with Antonio. Anger gripped her at the woman’s cutting remark, but Caroline struggled to maintain her dignity. “His Grace was kind enough to permit me to ride his sister's wonderful mare. I was most grateful for the opportunity.”

  Oh, if only I could punish Maribelle’s blond countenance with a stinging slap across her face.

  Instead, Caroline aimed a fleeting glance at Antonio. The cad clung to Maribelle. Hiding behind those thick lashes, his eyes caressed Caroline with that heart stopping half-smile she’d seen too often. Angry at herself for what she felt, Caroline experienced her insides doing somersaults.

  “I'm pleased you enjoyed Elegancia, Lady Caroline,” Antonio replied politely.

  The rogue.

  Then, with an apologetic look that encompassed those around the table, Antonio announced, “I'm sorry we can’t join you. We have a previous engagement. I trust you’ll enjoy the remainder of your evening.” Bowing to all in general, he took a firm grip on Maribelle's elbow and led her away.

  Caroline didn’t realize she was grinding her teeth until she allowed her breath to hiss between them. Hoping no one heard, she fastened her eyes on her uneaten food. The thought of eating brought upsetting twinges to her stomach.

  “The duke certainly has the ladies eating out of his hand, eh, what, Brawley?” Robert Chase commented with an elegant, raised eyebrow.

  “Sporting fellow, with it all, though, ain’t he?” Andrew chimed in. “Won some blunt on him with that bay Thoroughbred in St. James’s Park a few weeks back. A bruising rider if I do say so myself.”

  Lady Samantha Jarvis, Robert's supper companion, put that conversation to an end with a juicy piece of gossip about another of their set. “Did you hear the latest scandal about Lucy Shipley and her cousin, Lord Brister?”

  The chatter continued while Caroline pushed the esteemed French chef's culinary temptations around the edge of her plate. Her appetite had evaporated, and she was unable to swallow another bite.

  The orchestra was tuning up again. Caroline excused herself and left for the ladies' retiring room. It was empty for the moment, and she sat down to collect her wits. That hadn't been so bad after all, she applauded herself silently. By now, her heart had ceased beating too rapidly. Her palms were no longer damp inside her gloves, nor did her hands tremble. She drew in a stoic breath, gleaning satisfaction from her reflection in the mirror.

  “To blast and the devil to you, Antonio Thorndyke.” Her curses whispered softly, sounding hurt and angry to her ears as she faced her image. She rose abruptly, smoothed down her gown, patted a few errant locks of hair back into place, picked up her black lace fan, and swung around with a swish of plum watered silk. Blinking away her tears and pasting a smile on her lips, Caroline exited into the glowing lights of the ballroom and the lilting waltz music of the orchestra.

  Chapter 15

  The most prestigious ball of the Season was scheduled two days away. When Caroline's gown was delivered, Daisy ohhed and ahhed over it. Only recently out of deep mourning, Caroline couldn’t wear the brilliant colors that were the choice of many who were beyond the age of presentation, but she wanted to look especially grand for the last affair she would attend this Season. Between them, Madame Seurat and Caroline had chosen a misty gray, gossamer sheer that floated on the air like wispy, silvery fog. The daringly low neckline was trimmed with intricately fashioned silver roses, adding tiny glistening highlights to the area framing Caroline’s bare shoulders. She planned to wear her grandmother's diamonds at her neck and ears. Seeing her mistress’s creamy skin, dark brows and lashes, and the fiery red highlights in her mahogany hair, Daisy declared the effect would be exceptionally stunning.

  Today, however, was another hectic round of visits and appointments before the ball. Caroline’s schedule was full from late morning to late evening. She received a special invitation to Weston House—to visit Briella, her grandmother, and her Aunt Mari. Andrew Brawley invited her to drive out with him in his new racing curricle later that afternoon. Tonight it was a box party at Covent Garden. She had no escort but was to attend with the Wiltshires and Lady and Lord Major Rossiter, who had taken a fancy to Caroline.

  Accompanied by Daisy, her abigail, Caroline arrived at Weston House shortly before the noon hour. She had been introduced to Briella's relatives at various festivities but had had little time to chat with them. She considered the Dowager Duchess a most handsome woman. At six and seventy, though she used a cane, Lady Elizabeth stood straight and tall, her bearing regal as befitted her title and position. Briella's Aunt Mari, in her mid-forties, carried the exotic coloring of her Spanish heritage, and was still extremely beautiful. Her oval face and complexion showed little sign of age, and her figure was as slim and graceful as her niece's.

  Daisy was led to the kitchen for a cup of tea, so the four women gathered in the family drawing room for a cozy chat. It was natural that the first order of conversation would be Caroline’s Hyde Park outing with Antonio.

  “Heard that grandson of mine had the tongues wagging last evening at the Sheltons’ before we arrived.” Lady Elizabeth minced no words but got right to the heart of it. “Missed him this morning, or I would have told him a thing or two. Don't know what's wrong with that rascal. He can't seem to find the right gel. Needs someone who'll stand up to him. That’s what he needs, you know,” the Dowager Duchess rambled on. “Gets his way too often just like Briella, here,” she said, fondly patting her granddaughter's hand.

  “Oh, Grandmama,” Briella responded. “You know I’ve behaved very well since you took me in hand. Even Antonio says so, and he's my worst critic.” Briella turned to Caroline for support. “Have I not been a model of good behavior, Caroline?”

  Caroline smil
ed at her. “Briella, how would I know? I have only been in Town for two weeks. Admirers surround and dance attendance on you wherever I see you, so you must be doing fine.” Turning to Lady Elizabeth, Caroline said, “Briella has taken the ton by storm, Your Grace. Your granddaughter’s come out is very successful, isn’t it’?”

  “Except she’s not yet chosen anyone to marry,” groused the duchess.

  “Grandmama, you know I don’t wish to marry an Ingles, an Englishman, or anyone else right now. You know I wish to continue my equestrian training until I am one of the greatest classical riders in Europe,” she stated firmly. “Therefore, I’d have no time to coddle a husband.”

  Well, Caroline thought, that was one worry disposed of. It answered her concern that Briella and Hal might marry, and by doing so, make Antonio her brother-in-law.

  “Si, si,” Briella's Aunt Mari chimed in. “Don Alphonso is trying to arrange Briella’s admission to The Spanish Riding School in Vienna as both their uncles and Tonio did. But we’ve had no word of his success. So far, no woman has been permitted to train in the school.”

  “Briella,” Caroline exclaimed, directing her good wishes to her young friend. “How wonderful. Please tell me more about classical riding. Is that what your beautiful Elegancia is trained for?”

  “Si, Caroline, but she is young yet. There are more advanced horses at Westhaven and at my grandfather’s estancia in Spain. Uncle Carlos and our Spanish grooms continue the Andalusians’ education here as does Tonio when he’s not flirting in London,” Briella explained with a charming grin that copied her brother’s.

  Masculine footsteps stopped outside in the hall, and a dark head poked across the threshold. “Did I hear my name mentioned?”

  All eyes focused on the doorway. Caroline hadn’t expected to see Antonio here. He was dressed as if he’d come in from riding, fondling a crop in one hand. His dark green jacket fit to perfection and biscuit-colored breeches sleeked over his hips and thighs like a second skin.

  “Tonio!” Briella jumped up to greet him. “We didn’t expect to see you. Come in. Caroline is here with us.”

  Antonio entered the cozy family parlor. Caroline was about to rise in respect for his rank. “Please stay seated, Caroline,” he said. “We’re family here. There’s no need for formality.”

  Laying the silver-headed crop on a side table, Antonio sauntered toward her, holding out a hand and smiling. It would have been absolutely the rudest of social etiquette if she didn’t accept it. She had removed her gloves when she arrived, and so did Antonio. Now his skin felt warm to her touch. He bowed and brushed his mouth lightly across her fingers. His lips left a trail of fire across her bare skin.

  “Welcome to our home, Caroline. I’m delighted to see you again.”

  She promised herself she wouldn’t show a flicker of emotion in front of him or his relatives if it killed her.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Politely, she formed her mouth into a small smile and scrambled around in her brain for some sort of innocuous chitchat that would give her an opportunity to compose herself. His sudden, unexpected appearances always seemed to jangle her nerves. For a moment Caroline was lost in the intensity of his gaze, but she caught herself before she was fully ensnared.

  “I…er…I heard that you often race that stallion of yours, Your Grace. He was James’s bay, Challenger, is he not? Lord Brawley told me he’s won more than one wager with you on him.”

  “Has he now?” Antonio arched one quizzical brow and found he was displeased to hear Andrew Brawley's name on her lips. “I merely gave the horse a morning’s exercise, nothing more.”

  “Why, that’s strange,” Caroline continued, getting some of her control back. “I was told you’re quite a reckless rider, competing against those who race mornings in St. James’s Park.” She’d fence words with him if that was what he wanted.

  “Ah, si. Is that what you heard?” Antonio replied, his gaze not releasing hers. “The bay is a strong competitor. But I wonder how well he’ll do against that black demon I came across racing over the meadow at Westhaven. I must admit that was a rare animal, indeed.”

  Caroline dare not take the bait.

  “But…” Antonio paused, looking at her with mischief glinting in his eyes. “I suppose I shall never have my answer, for no one seems to know the horse—or the identity of the rider.”

  Caroline tore her gaze from his and lowered her lashes, noticing her hands were clasped in her lap. She opened her clenched fingers and forced herself to look up at the duke again. “Yes, what a pity, Your Grace, to never know which is the better horse…or rider.”

  Was the little minx challenging his horse or his horsemanship? Antonio wondered. He vowed to show her his expertise in one way or another.

  There was a brief pause until Briella interrupted with a change of topic.

  “Tonio, when we’re back in Kent, will you permit me to show Caroline our classical equitation?” she asked. “I would like to ride Maestro so she can see what I mean.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “Caroline knows I have been trained to ride astride and on a stallion. Please, por favor, Tatu?”

  Briella's use of his pet name startled Antonio. His sister usually didn’t make a slip like that. Looking around, he saw this was so much like a family group, that Briella used it quite naturally. Caroline seemed comfortable with his relatives and appeared to have settled in as if she belonged there.

  To his shock, he realized she did fit in—perfectly.

  She looked charming and quite young today in the clothes she’d worn for her visit. Her wavy hair framed her face, surrounded by the narrow brim of a stylish bonnet. The simple style complemented her delicate features. Her gown of pale lavender was trimmed with ecru lace at neck, wrists and ruffled hem. He’d caught the subtle rose fragrance when he kissed her hand. He recalled the same heady scent in the study at Crestwood, and when he held her in his arms during their waltz at the Nashes’ ball.

  “Antonio, will you join us for luncheon?” his grandmother asked, precluding his reply to Briella.

  “I must decline, Grandmama, as much as I would like to spend more time with…” His glance slid to Caroline. “…you ladies. I have an engagement and must change clothes and be on my way. Con su permiso, please excuse me.”

  Turning to Caroline, Antonio said, “If you plan to attend the Benningtons’ gala tonight, Caroline, please save me a waltz.”

  “I’ll be at Covent Garden this evening, Your Grace,” she replied, “with the Wiltshires and the Rossiters. I have no plans to attend the Benningtons’ ball.”

  “Until we meet again, then,” he said with a curt nod and left.

  * * * *

  Hyde Park was crowded with carriages and riders on horseback. Andrew Brawley came by for Caroline in his sporty, dark green curricle trimmed with gold striping, pulled by a pair of high stepping, elegant bays. He was very proud of the rig, Caroline could tell, and made sure to compliment him on the showiness of his cattle and the grandeur of his equipage.

  It was a pleasant outing. Viscount Brawley was an engaging Corinthian scouting the marriage mart but not really committed to finding a bride. Like other well-muscled, well-bred, wealthy nobles, the fair-haired peer spent his mornings watching, training, or racing prized cattle in one or another of the parks. Other days, he attended sales at Tattersall's or the Jockey Club, or the races at Newmarket, idling away afternoons at the gentlemen's clubs on St. James Street before making the rounds of the late night festivities.

  Tooling along Rotten Row, Lord Brawley kept the horses up to their bits. The curricle weaved through the crush of carriages while he and Caroline greeted acquaintances, doing in the Park what others, too, were doing. This was a daily routine in good weather when the Beau Monde stepped out in their finery, be it in fashionable attire or fancy carriage, to see and be seen. Gentlemen escorted their current ladies. All eyes were eager to note changes in partners or new faces in town.

  Lord Brawley and
Caroline made their final tour of Rotten Row and were already on their way back to Berkeley Square. For that reason, they missed the late appearance of Lord Chatham in his phaeton with a new lady seated beside him—Lady Maribelle Staunton.

  Chapter 16

  A fine, clear, summer night, bright stars winked in the skies over London. The box party at Covent Garden proved to be a great success. To everyone’s enjoyment, a shortened version of Shakespeare's King Lear was followed by a lighter farce. To round out the party, Lord Major Rossiter invited a young Lieutenant of the Horse Guards, William Foxley, to join them. The baronet was of good family and of handsome countenance. He was immediately taken with Caroline.

  The theater had been a favorite of Caroline's when she came out. Crowded as usual, the many tiered seats acted as background for the posturing of the attending aristocracy. Gossip ran through the glittering audience like water through a sieve and acted as entertainment.

  A night spent at Covent Garden was as social as a ball. Refreshments, in the form of champagne ices for the ladies or wine for the gentlemen, were available if one cared to partake. During the many intermissions, a popular custom was to stroll and stretch one’s legs.

  “Would you care to walk with me, Lady Caroline?”

  Caroline accepted Foxley’s arm as they left the other participants in their seats. “Perhaps, you’d like an ice?” Sir William offered.

  During their leisurely stroll, Caroline caught sight of Antonio with a striking, older, raven-haired charmer. An unwanted, sharp tinge of jealousy pierced her. Where, she wondered, is Lady Maribelle? And who is his newest ladybird?

  Days ago it seemed they’d reached a level of compatibility—if not quite friendship. Now, she shook to her toes. She tried to stifle her raw emotions, which, in turn, gave rise to an aching emptiness. She cared for him, but she believed he felt nothing nearly so deep for her. He might desire her, as he constantly reminded her with hot looks, warm smiles, and innuendoes, but he obviously didn’t entertain a commitment to her, at least not of the proper kind.