“Now, isn’t that a helpful attitude?” his sister said with heavy sarcasm. “Really, Charles, most men are idiots when it comes to this sort of thing, but I had higher hopes for you. After all, your manners are so distinguished.” Her tone made it abundantly clear what she truly thought of his manners.
He eyed her with obvious disapproval, which made her burst into laughter.
“Dearest, may I give you a little advice?” she asked.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. I seem to need all the help I can get.”
“Be gentle with her, Charles,” Elizabeth said. “Gillian is feeling very skittish about the whole thing.”
“I can see that. I just can’t understand why.” After all, Gillian obviously liked him rather a lot, if that torrid encounter in the sand dunes had been any indication. Not that he could share that information with his sister.
“Because she’s frightened, and unsure of your motivations.”
He scoffed. “What nonsense. Gillian isn’t frightened of anything.”
As if to prove his point, Gillian’s laugh rang out as she talked with her new friends. She had a lovely, confident laugh that never failed to lift his spirits. No silly titters or foolish giggles for his Gillian. When something amused or pleased her, she let everyone know it.
He studied her for a few moments. She was obviously telling Miss Farrow and Mr. Hurdly some outrageous story, since they were both in stitches. She acted it out with expansive gestures, clearly enjoying herself and not caring one whit if she was, by society’s standards, making a spectacle of herself. Charles found that he didn’t care, either. It was a rather shocking discovery, since it was up to him to teach her to avoid that sort of brash display.
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “She’s a confident, intelligent girl who truly doesn’t care what others think of her.”
“On that we can agree,” he said in a wry tone.
“But she cares what you think, dear brother. Very much so. And she certainly knows how high in the instep you are.”
“I have it on good opinion that I am, in fact, the soul of tolerance and Christian charity.”
His sister let out an unladylike snort. “Has Miss Meadows been making up to you again? I hope you didn’t believe her errant nonsense.”
Charles couldn’t help laughing. “Thank God I have you to pull me down a peg, Lizzie. Or ten.”
“You can thank me by realizing that Gillian is more than halfway in love with you.”
He practically choked mid-laugh.
“As such,” his sister continued, “she’s very nervous—and wary of you.”
Charles felt like he’d been knocked in the head. “And why is that?”
“Because she cannot believe that a man of your standing, manners, and wealth would have any wish to marry her, especially since your aversion to scandal is so well-known.”
“But I assured her that I do genuinely wish to marry her,” he protested.
Elizabeth breathed out a dramatic sigh. “You’re a proud man, Charles, and a duke. Gillian expects you to marry an equally proud woman of impeccable breeding—someone the opposite of her. Despite your reassurance, she seems to think you’re only marrying her out of some exaggerated sense of duty.”
He did have an obligation to Gillian, particularly in light of recent events—which he had no intention of discussing with his sister.
As if she’d read his mind, Elizabeth’s mouth quirked up in a knowing smile. “I wonder what could prompt her to think that way. Any ideas, dear brother?”
“I haven’t a clue,” he said in a blighting tone. “And now that you’ve ripped my character to shreds, how do you suggest I proceed?”
She laughed. “You are the best of brothers, Charles. Do you know that?”
“Of course I do. After all, I’ve refrained all these years from murdering you.”
“How kind. As I said, you need to be gentle with her. More important, you need to show her that you are, in fact, proud to stand with her before the world.”
“I would like nothing better, but she’s all but forbidden me to do that.”
“That is fear holding her back, and it’s best ignored at this stage of the game,” his sister advised. “In fact, why don’t you start by walking her back to the manor. Her mother and I will take the carriage home.”
“That is an excellent idea.” Not only would that give him the chance to get Gillian all to himself, it would send a very clear signal to the locals, who could be counted on to diligently spread the appropriate sort of gossip.
“I’m full of excellent ideas, if you would only listen now and again. Now, have at it,” she said, shooing him away.
When Charles crossed the lawn to join Gillian, she greeted him with a courteous but cautious manner. He did his best to put her at ease by focusing his attention on the happy couple, congratulating them and making inquiries about their plans for the future.
“Well, we must be off,” Miss Farrow finally said with a glance out to the lane. “My parents are waiting for us.”
“I do hope you will come to our wedding breakfast, Miss Dryden,” Hurdly said. He gave Charles a boyishly eager smile. “And you too, Your Grace. It would be great guns if you could. Our relatives would all be thrilled, I assure you.”
“Yes. That would be lovely,” Miss Farrow enthused.
“Thank you, I would like that very much,” Gillian said with shy pleasure. “That is . . .” She cast Charles an uncertain glance.
“If we are still in residence at Fenfield, we would be honored to attend,” he said.
With another smile and a quick exchange of good-byes, Miss Farrow dragged her fiancé off to join her family.
“Are you ready to return home?” Charles asked, offering Gillian his arm.
She moved to take it, then froze. “Where is the landau?” “Elizabeth and your mother took it back to the manor. I thought you might like to walk instead, seeing that we actually have a sunny day, for once.”
She eyed him with a skeptical expression. “Walk all the way back to Fenfield, just the two of us?”
“It’s only a few miles, Gillian. I wouldn’t have thought you would be taxed by so easy a stroll.”
“Don’t be a nodnock.” She gave him a little jab in the ribs. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Whatever for?”
“People will make assumptions. About us.” As if to underscore the point, she waved a finger between them.
“I hope they do,” he said firmly.
She blinked, then glanced over at the vicar. He was standing on the church steps engrossed in conversation with the local squire and his wife. Charles couldn’t help noticing that the squire’s lady seemed more interested in eavesdropping on Charles’s conversation with Gillian.
“And it truly doesn’t bother you?” Gillian sounded so incredulous that he couldn’t help feeling a tad annoyed. Did she really believe he would renege on his promise to her? The wary expression in her eyes said that she did. His irritation quickly faded, replaced by the urge to pull her into his arms.
Gillian obviously didn’t think she was good enough for a respectable man, much less a duke. And that infuriated him. Like anyone, she had her faults, but she had more character and honor than most of the ton, including those with the most sterling of reputations. Charles now knew that she loved deeply, with a fierce loyalty that made a mockery of social niceties and empty courtesies. She was intelligent, brave, and possessed of a passion that could enthrall a man for a lifetime. When compared to all that, neither her impetuous nature nor her unfortunate family history mattered very much.
He placed a hand on her shoulder, letting a thumb stroke along her collarbone. Her dark eyes went wide with surprise. “No,” he said, “I truly don’t care what anyone thinks about us.”
She stared for a few seconds before scrunching up her nose at him. “It’s your funeral,” she said, affecting a casual tone.
Despite her offhanded response, she looked shyly
pleased. Perhaps Elizabeth was correct after all; perhaps Gillian was falling in love with him. It would certainly make life easier. All he then had to do was convince her that his intentions were true and plan from there. If all went well, by this time next week they could be announcing the first set of banns in this very church. It made sense that they marry quietly, before they returned to London. That would certainly be preferable to the sort of extravagant display his mother and sisters would want at Leverton House in London or at the old family pile in Wiltshire.
Charles wanted to spare Gillian the fuss and gossip that would surely attend a more public celebration. Besides, a small, quiet affair meant the two of them could spend more time together, a prospect that grew more appealing to him with every passing day.
Satisfied that he’d got it all sorted, he tucked Gillian’s hand through his arm and led her from the churchyard. A quick glance confirmed that the squire’s wife was avidly watching them. Soon, the entire village and half the county would realize that the Duke of Leverton was formally courting Miss Gillian Dryden in an exceedingly staid and proper fashion.
Smiling at the few locals who’d lingered to chat in the churchyard, he led Gillian out to the lane. They set out at a brisk pace. Even though the sun was shining, a cool wind blew off the Channel. At this rate, summer would be over before spring had a chance to fully establish itself, which probably meant a poor season for crops. Charles strongly suspected he would have to take steps to alleviate the impact of a bad harvest on his tenants, and he made a mental note to discuss the issue with Scunthorpe.
When Gillian drew her hand away, he realized he’d been letting his mind wander. Elizabeth was right—he was making a sad hash of things, and he needed to do better.
He took her tightly gloved hand and once more placed it on his arm. She glanced up at him, and the look in her eyes suggested she’d been a thousand miles away too. Charles was tempted to laugh at how inept they both were when it came to flirtation and courtship.
“You’re looking most fetching today, Gillian,” he said. “My compliments on your excellent taste.”
In fact, she was positively lovely in her burgundy-red walking gown, with its trim-fitting bodice and gently flared skirts. Her simple straw bonnet framed her face, emphasizing her high cheekbones and amber-colored eyes. He’d come to like her narrow, straight brows very much, because they gave her a serious, almost scholarly aspect, comically at odds with her high-spirited nature. Gillian was a challenge and a mystery wrapped up in a vibrant, beautiful package. Charles found himself looking forward to the day when he could fully begin to solve that mystery, and claim Gillian as his own.
Her brows snapped together in a scowl. “Never mind that nonsense. I’m not Miss Meadows. You don’t have to pay me silly compliments or act like a man-milliner, even if you are supposed to be courting me.”
Man-milliner? The women in his family were certainly doing a bang-up job of deflating any notions of consequence on his part. Still, he thought he detected a jealous note in her voice, which was encouraging.
“I am courting you,” he said. “I would also like to note that I was not flirting with Miss Meadows.”
“Really? That’s certainly how it appeared. If I didn’t know better, sir, I would think you are indeed a confirmed flirt.”
“You do know me better,” he said, pulling her a little closer. Still, he couldn’t resist testing the waters a bit. “Besides, I can’t help it if women find me moderately attractive.”
She let out a hoot. “Attractive? That’s a laugh. Women swarm you like flies on a honeypot, and you know it.”
“Thank you for placing that remarkably unappealing image in my mind.”
“Although I suppose your title and your wealth are probably more of an incentive,” she added. “A handsome face and an athletic form are all very well, but most girls on the marriage mart seem willing to forgo those qualities for a title and money.” She cast him a critical look. “You could be as ugly as Hades, and I’d wager you’d still get legions of girls hanging all over you.”
“Gillian, I do believe you will get along exceedingly well with my mother and my sisters. They, too, like to puncture any sense of self-importance I might be foolish enough to harbor.”
She let out a little snicker. A moment later, however, she went back to looking troubled.
He drew her to a halt in the middle of the quiet country lane, taking both her hands between his. Aside from the birds darting amongst the hedgerows, they were alone. “Sweetheart, I wish you would tell me what worries you,” he said in a quiet voice.
Something vulnerable flashed through her gaze, tugging hard on his heart. She looked down at their joined hands, frowning as if their very existence puzzled her.
“You’re not afraid to tell me, are you?” he asked. “You have no need to be.”
Gillian glanced up. “Don’t be silly. You know I’m not afraid of anything.” Then she paused, grimacing. “That’s not quite true. I’m afraid I’m never going to see home again.”
“Ah, Sicily.”
“I cannot pretend I don’t miss it. I still long to be there again.”
“Then you shall, after we’re married. We can go on a tour of the Continent.”
She let out an exasperated sigh and tried to tug her hands away. He let go of one but held on to the other as he started to walk. She gave another halfhearted tug, but then fell into step beside him, with her hand tucked securely into his. For a minute or so they strolled in silence. Charles let the contentment of the moment settle over him, half amazed at how much he could enjoy so simple a pleasure as walking down a country lane with a pretty girl by his side.
At least when that pretty girl was Gillian.
Still, he could practically feel her seething with questions and worries. “My dear girl, if you are harboring any doubts about my intentions, please share them with me,” he finally said. “All of them.”
“It’s just that I’m afraid I’ll never be what you want me to be,” she burst out. “No matter how many dancing masters you hire or how many etiquette lessons you give me.”
“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything?” he teased.
She shot him an irate glare. “I wish you wouldn’t be so annoying. It quite makes me want to box your ears.”
“Since that is a rather terrifying prospect, I will endeavor to answer your question in a serious fashion.”
“That would be helpful, since the only reason I can think of for your wanting to marry me doesn’t reflect very well on either of us. It’s not necessary for you to salvage my honor, you know.”
“Your honor is well worth protecting, I assure you.” He cut off her protest. “But that’s not the only reason, or even the primary reason.”
“I don’t follow,” she said in a cautious tone. “What other reason could there be?”
“Gillian, do you truly think I would have touched you if I hadn’t already made a decision to marry you? What kind of cad do you take me for?”
Her mouth opened, shut, then opened again. Clearly, that notion hadn’t even occurred to her. She peered up at him, apparently perplexed. “I suppose I want to believe that, but . . .”
“But you don’t?”
Her simple shrug was sufficient response.
Since neither his kindness nor his display of affection was having any impact, it was time to take another tack. “Gillian, you’re aware of the kind of man I’m reputed to be.”
“Of course. You’re a high stickler with an impeccable reputation.”
He couldn’t help wincing. She made him sound priggish, at best. “I didn’t always have such a staid reputation. Not when I was young.”
She smiled at that. “Kicked over the traces, did you? I wish I could have seen that.”
“By your standards, I was probably a dullard. After all, I was the only son of the highest of sticklers and heir to a dukedom. I was made aware from an early age what I owed the title and my family name. Scandal of any kind w
as anathema to my father.”
“He sounds almost as bad as my grandfather,” she said, giving his hand a sympathetic squeeze.
“They were friends and shared a similar world view.”
She scrunched up her nose. “How unfortunate for us then. Did you ever stand up to him?”
“Just once—when I asked Lady Letitia to marry me.”
“She is very dashing, I’ll admit, but she comes from a very respectable family, does she not? You could hardly have known at the time that she would behave so badly toward you.”
He nodded. “Letitia’s family is distinguished, and her mother was close to mine. Her dowry was good, and she was considered a fine catch on the marriage mart. On the surface, it seemed like a good match.”
“So why didn’t your father approve of her?”
“He considered her fast, and much too unreliable to be the Duchess of Leverton. But while her behavior could occasionally veer toward the outrageous, most people saw her as I did—as a vivacious, beautiful, and accomplished young woman with a great deal of charm.”
“Well, she is certainly that.”
“You’re being very kind,” he said.
“Really, I’m just trying to be fair. After all, I do know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of scurrilous gossip.”
“Yes, but in your case, it’s completely unwarranted.”
She flinched. He glanced down, surprised to see her mouth pursed tight, as if in pain. “Is this conversation distressing you? Should I stop?”
Gillian flashed him a bright, rather artificial smile. “Not in the slightest. Please continue, sir. I’m all ears.”
“Very well. Despite my father’s reservations, I was determined to marry Letitia. For once, I did not capitulate to his demands. Since I had always been a very biddable child, he couldn’t understand my defiance. Needless to say, he was furious with me.”
“You must have loved her very much,” Gillian said in a soft voice.
“I thought so at the time, but I realize now that it was simply youthful infatuation. There were dozens of callow youths who were head over heels for Letitia. You could have lined us up and picked us off with buckshot.”
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