A Most Unlikely Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  The question propelled Lady Warwick and Lady Gabriella forward, both claiming a seat upon the sofa opposite where Raphe and his sisters were sitting. Absently, he watched while Lady Everly served the tea. “Ye live next door. Right?” Raphe found himself saying.

  “Yes,” Lady Everly replied. She wore a secretive smile that Raphe didn’t care for.

  “My husband is the Earl of Warwick,” Lady Warwick said with pride, as though the title meant that she had made some great accomplishment in life, when all she’d done was agree to marry a man who’d inherited his wealth from his father. Who’d inherited it from his father, and so on.

  “I see,” Raphe said. “How fortunate for ye.”

  Gabriella coughed, the sound interrupting Lady Warwick’s assurance that it was most fortunate indeed. Raphe allowed a bare hint of a smile at the sight of tea spilling from Lady Gabriella’s plush lips. There was something so satisfying in unsettling these women who believed themselves to be above mere mortals in every conceivable way. One thing was for certain, however. Lady Gabriella was not an idiot. She’d recognized his insult, as veiled as it had been, with immediate precision. And it had shocked her.

  Enjoying himself far too much for his own good, he therefore couldn’t help but say, “I suppose it’s equally fortunate for ye, Lady Gabriella, that ye’ve caught the eye of an earl.”

  “I err . . . ahem . . .” Lady Gabriella set her cup down.

  “How do you know that?” Lady Warwick asked as she leaned forward in her seat. She shot a look at her daughter. “How does he know that?”

  Apparently, Lady Gabriella had made no mention of her encounter with him on the pavement the previous day. Allowing his head to fall back against the chair, Raphe stretched out his legs and briefly wondered about her reasoning. Had she thought their verbal exchange so insignificant that there had been no reason to speak of it? Or did he detect something else? Studying her closely, he realized that she appeared more rigid than her mother and aunt, and that her hands were tightly clasped in her lap, as though by keeping them so, she would stop herself from succumbing to some dreaded fate.

  But then her eyes met his, strong as steel, and full of courage and determination. “Fielding and I were returning from our drive in the park when we happened upon His Grace,” she said, her sweet voice carrying not a hint of the turbulence that Raphe had just seen.

  “They were so welcoming,” he murmured. Narrowing his eyes, he watched as a splash of pink flooded Lady Gabriella’s pale skin.

  Denting her lower lip with her teeth, she averted her gaze. “We did not know who you were.”

  “Oh dear,” Lady Everly said, clearly discerning what must have transpired.

  “Well, if you looked like that,” Lady Warwick said, her hand fluttering in Raphe’s general direction, “one really can’t blame her.”

  “Mama!” The note of indignation in Lady Gabriella’s voice was startling.

  Raphe stilled, his glass of brandy hovering an inch away from his mouth. “Yer mother is right,” he said. Lowering the glass, he set it aside rather than take another sip. “I’m aware I don’t look the part.”

  Smiling tightly, Lady Warwick sipped her tea. “Might I ask where you have come from? Your—manner of speech has me at a loss.”

  The prim innocence with which she spoke did little to hide the malevolent intent of her words. For a second, Raphe was tempted to tell her the truth, just to watch her expire from shock. Instead, he thought of his sisters. If word of their previous residency got out, of Raphe’s work as a laborer, not to mention the sport in which he’d frequently engaged and his connection to Guthrie, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

  So he did what he knew had to be done and said, “After our parents died . . .” Sensing that Amelia was about to comment, he gave her a slight pinch.

  She squeaked.

  All eyes shifted to her. “Are you all right?” Gabriella asked.

  “Oh . . . err . . .” Amelia moved in her seat.

  “She’s fine.” Raphe paused for a second before continuing his explanation. “So, we went to live with a distant relation close to the Scottish border. That’s why it took so long fer news of the duke’s death to arrive.”

  “I see,” Lady Warwick said. She’d tilted her head back so that she was now staring down her nose at him.

  Awful woman.

  “Did they not feed you very well?” Gabriella asked.

  Lady Warwick gave her an indiscreet nudge but Lady Gabriella pressed on, her tone slightly lower as though she hoped Juliette and Amelia wouldn’t hear her. “Your sisters look very pale and thin.” She eyed them each in turn before pushing a plate of biscuits in their direction. Leaning back, she folded her hands neatly in her lap, a satisfied smile spreading across her lips as his sisters reached for the biscuits with eager fingers.

  Raphe stared at Lady Gabriella. “I believe most women would take that as a compliment.”

  Lady Everly almost spat out her tea in response to that comment, her ensuing cough a thankful distraction from Raphe and his sisters. “Right,” he said while Lady Everly gathered her wits. “Well, if that will be all—” He’d had enough of his guests’ inquisitiveness and of putting himself on display. The sooner he got rid of them, the better. “I’ve things to do.”

  Lady Warwick gave him the affronted look of a cat who’d just been given a bath. “Well, it was certainly interesting, making your acquaintance, Your Grace,” she told him tightly as she got to her feet. Lady Gabriella and Lady Everly rose as well, while Juliette and Amelia tried to control the crumbs that were falling into their laps.

  “Likewise,” Raphe said. If only he’d had enough sense to let Pierson send them away. Judging from Lady Gabriella’s narrowed gaze and the gentle puckering of her brow, she was having some trouble making sense of his story.

  She looked at Amelia and then Juliette. “Perhaps we can have tea together again soon? Would you like that?”

  Both girls nodded with enthusiasm. “Oh yes,” Juliette answered softly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’d be splendid, that would.”

  “Very well then,” Gabriella said, her smile broadening into something so dazzling that Raphe found himself wishing that it were directed at him rather than at his sisters. Halting next to the sofa on which he sat, she addressed him directly and with a far more serious expression. “I’m sorry for whatever hardship you had to endure before coming here, but now that you are here, I hope that you will see to getting your sisters some proper nourishment.”

  Touched by her genuine concern, Raphe felt his initial opinion of her as a snob begin to crumble. “Ye needn’t worry, me lady. Cook ‘as been advised to show us ’er talents.”

  “Come along, dear,” Lady Warwick called from the doorway. “We must not keep His Grace from his busy schedule.”

  “Of course not,” Lady Gabriella said. Bidding them each a hasty farewell she thanked them for the tea and then followed her mother from the room.

  “Well done,” Lady Everly said with a wink as she went in pursuit of her sister-in-law and niece. “I look forward to watching you take the ton by storm, as you no doubt will.”

  And then the three of them were finally gone, leaving the library alarmingly quiet.

  Expelling a deep breath, Raphe leaned back, belatedly realizing that he probably should have stood when they’d departed.

  “Lady Gabriella seems nice,” Juliette said, breaking the silence.

  “It’s ‘ard to believe she’s got such an awful mother,” Amelia remarked. Scooting down in her seat, she stretched out her legs and placed her feet on the table.

  “Unfortunately, I think the ton will prove to be more like Lady Warwick than ’er daughter,” Raphe muttered. “Very aloof an’ fastidious. I didn’t care for ’er at all.”

  “What about Lady Everly then?” Amelia asked.

  Raphe shrugged. “I’m not sure. I couldn’t quite tell if she was ‘avin’ a laugh at our expense or if she genuinely en
joyed our company.” He expelled a deep breath, more aware than ever before of the challenges lying ahead. A knock sounded and Raphe looked up to find his secretary, Mr. Richardson, standing in the doorway together with Humphreys. “May we come in?” Humphreys asked.

  “Yes, yes.” Raphe waved them forward. “If ye’d like a drink, please ‘elp yerselves.”

  “No. Thank you,” Richardson said. He pointed to one of the recently vacated seats. “May I?”

  “Of course,” Raphe told him, a little surprised that he’d ask for permission.

  Both men sat. A moment of silence passed, and then, “How did it go?” Humphreys asked, his gaze shifting from Amelia and Juliette before returning to Raphe.

  “Terribly, I suspect,” Raphe told them honestly.

  “Lady Warwick really didn’t like us,” Amelia added.

  “But we didn’t like ’er much either, did we, Raphe?” Juliette said. She got to her feet and crossed to the door. “Come on, Amelia, let’s explore the rest of the ‘ouse while the men talk.” They left with haste, almost skidding in their excitement.

  Heavy sighs escaped both servants. “You ought to have waited,” Humphreys said.

  “Taking on Lady Warwick is a difficult task for the most accomplished gentleman,” Richardson explained. “She views everyone as her inferior, and every man as a threat to her daughter’s virtue.” He shook his head. “Humphreys is right. You ought to have waited.”

  “Precisely what I advised him.” Came Pierson’s incriminating voice from the doorway. “But there is only so much we can do. At the end of the day, His Grace’s word is law in this house. If he wishes to speak with someone, there is little we can do to stop him.”

  “I’m still ‘ere, Pierson,” Raphe shot back. “In case ye didn’t realize.”

  The butler gave him a condescending glare that made Raphe’s insides churn. “You have two sisters of marriageable age who are yet to make an introduction to Society. To admit the likes of Lady Warwick—the greatest gossip and most critical judge of character that London has ever seen—to this house, was exceedingly poor judgment.”

  “Good God,” Raphe spoke. “Are ye allowed to speak to me like that?” He turned to Richardson. “Is ‘e allowed to speak to me like that?”

  “When it’s in your best interest,” Pierson said, “I would rather speak plainly than mince words, Your Grace. I find it to be far more efficient.”

  “An’ admirable,” Raphe added.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Pierson spoke without the slightest hint of pleasure. Apparently a good night’s rest had restored the butler’s composure from the shaken state it had been in yesterday when he’d first made Raphe’s acquaintance.

  “At any rate, this cannot happen again,” Humphreys said. “Naturally, as Pierson has already mentioned, you have your sisters’ reputations to protect. Without that, they will stand no chance of securing good matches for themselves, regardless of what your title may be. But, aside from your sisters, it is also imperative that you consider your own position.”

  “My position?” Raphe shook his head. “If ye think I plan on paradin’ about on account of me new title, then ye must’ve mistaken me for another sor’ of man.”

  “What Humphreys means,” Richardson cut in, “is that aside from you, there are no other heirs to the title, which means that you now have quite the responsibility toward the continuation of it.”

  Raphe blinked. “Are ye speakin’ of procreation?”

  “I err—ahem. That is to say . . .”

  “Yes,” Pierson said. “That is precisely what he’s talking about. And to that end, you shall require a wife. And in case you’re wondering, no lady of noble birth will agree to marry you unless you can come up to scratch.”

  Richardson nodded. “Which is why we would like to—”

  “I’m not marryin’ some nob. Not now, not ever,” Raphe ground out with a deadly edge to his words. “Got that?”

  “But—” Humphreys looked to Pierson, as though praying he’d work a miracle.

  “It’s your duty to do so,” Pierson calmly responded.

  “No!” Raphe fairly spat the word. “I refuse to consider it. The only reason I’m ‘ere . . . is to offer me sisters a better opportunity.”

  “Very well then,” Pierson said, to which Humphreys and Richardson both sputtered as though they were being strangled. Pierson served them each a quelling look. “If His Grace is not the marrying sort, then he is not the marrying sort. We can hardly force him—simply advise. However,” he added, “since your sisters will be requiring your assistance, I would suggest that you make every effort to improve upon your appearance as well as theirs. Which brings us to what Richardson was going to propose earlier.”

  “We should like to help you,” Richardson said, with the eagerness of a schoolboy thinking up his first prank.

  “How?” Raphe asked. As much as he hated the thought of subjecting himself to their ministrations, he saw their point. Juliette and Amelia would have to look and sound the part of sophisticated young ladies if they were going to marry as well as he hoped. Which meant that he would have to improve upon himself, as well.

  “For starters, I have taken the liberty of sending for a tailor,” Richardson said, “which means that you ought to have some new clothes within a few days. Similarly, a seamstress has been summoned to tend to your sisters’ needs.”

  “And then of course there’s your speech,” Humphreys muttered with downcast eyes. “We think you can do with some proper pronunciation lessons.”

  “There’s nothin’ wrong with me pronunciation,” Raphe clipped.

  “No,” Pierson agreed. “Not if you wish to sound as though you belong in a cotton mill.”

  “Since when was earnin’ an honest livin’ frowned upon?” Raphe asked.

  “A little too close to home?” Pierson asked. “Tell us, what were you doing before you arrived here?”

  Narrowing his gaze beneath a deep frown, Raphe glanced at each of the men in turn—his employees. “I was a dockyard worker.”

  Humphreys and Richardson stared at him as though he’d just dropped from the sky. “Bloody hell!” they exclaimed in unison.

  Pierson showed no emotion. “And the ton will see that as soon as you open your mouth. Which is why you ought to accept our assistance.”

  Raphe said nothing for a moment. Eventually he tossed back the remainder of his drink, set the glass aside and nodded. “Perhaps ye’re right.” Keeping up appearances would be a necessity if they were going to benefit from his title. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. “As it is, I told the ladies that me sisters an’ me—”

  “My sisters and I,” Humphreys supplied.

  Grumbling a little, Raphe raised both eyebrows, drew a breath and said, “Myyyy sisters and I.”

  “I say,” Humphreys exclaimed as he clapped his hands together. “That was splendidly done. Don’t you agree?” He turned an expectant eye on Richardson and Pierson.

  Raphe groaned. He hated the pomposity with which he was now required to behave. It reminded him too much of a past he’d rather forget.

  “My parents were gentry.” Christ. It was like being forced to speak a foreign language he hadn’t used in years. “They taught us correct diction, but—once they were gone an’ me—” Catching Richardson’s eye he quickly amended, “My sisters and I moved, we adjusted to our new surroundings.” Exasperated with the effort of trying to pronounce each word properly, he allowed himself to slip back into his usual dialect. “Wouldn’t ‘ave done us an ounce of good usin’ hoity-toity speech in St. Giles. Been fifteen years now. Changin’ us won’t be too easy, what with force of ‘abit an’ all.”

  “Agreed,” Pierson muttered, “but that doesn’t mean you’re incapable. If anything, you’ve just demonstrated that you are indeed quite capable of change, if you put your mind to it. The trick will be altering what comes naturally to you.”

  “What were you going to tell us before?” Humphreys as
ked. “Something about the ladies?”

  Leaning forward, Raphe propped his elbows on his knees. “Lady Warwick inquired abou’ our previous place of residence—on account of the way I talk. I told ’er that me sisters an’ I went to live with a distant relative close to the Scottish border after we lost our parents.”

  “Do you think she believed you?” Pierson asked.

  “I do,” Raphe said, though he had his doubts about Lady Gabriella.

  “That’s good,” Richardson muttered. “Knowing her ladyship, she only asked because she’s looking for something salacious.”

  “Why?” Raphe asked.

  “Because gossip is one of Society’s highest commodities. It’s nothing personal, Your Grace. She just wants the attention that she’d undoubtedly acquire if it became known that she has damning information on you.”

  Raphe frowned. “She could resort to blackmail.”

  “Blackmail?” Richardson shook his head. “That’s not her style. Lady Warwick prides herself on three things: her appearance, her wealth and other people’s reactions to those two things.”

  “And her daughter?” Raphe couldn’t help but ask. Even though he knew he shouldn’t.

  “Lady Gabriella?” Humphreys said. “She used to visit quite often when your predecessor and his sons were still alive. With her sister and her parents, of course.”

  “She ‘as a sister?”

  Richardson gave Humphreys an odd look before saying, “Lady Victoria broke her engagement with a marquess in order to marry an American tradesman. The Warwicks are still recovering from the scandal.”

  So, not as perfect as they pretended to be, Raphe mused.

  “Which is why Lady Gabriella has formed an attachment with the Earl of Fielding,” Humphreys added. “Once the two are married the ton will be quick to forgive and forget any wrongdoing on her sister’s part.”

  Raphe frowned. “So let me get this straight. Lady Gabriella is gonna sacrifice ‘erself because of a mistake that wasn’t ’er own, just so ’er family can save face?”