The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2)

by Meara Platt

  Graelem folded his arms across his chest. She turned frantically to Laurel. “Knock sense into your stubborn husband. This gossip will pass. You know I never... that he never...” She closed her eyes and groaned. “Not you, too. Laurel, don’t look at me that way. Farthingales marry for love. I will not marry a man who doesn’t love me.”

  “But Dillie, this is really bad. This isn’t about you and just any man. This is about you and the notoriously wicked Duke of Edgeware.”

  “He isn’t wicked. He’s...” She was going to say that he was kind and decent, but he really wasn’t that way with everyone. Many people were afraid of him, perhaps with good reason. Yet, Gabriel and Graelem liked and respected him. Well, perhaps not at this moment.

  Julia stepped forward, took her hand and gently patted it. “You could do a lot worse. He is a duke, after all.”

  “But he doesn’t love me.” She swallowed hard. Her hands were trembling and her legs felt as though they were about to buckle. She glowered at all of them. “If you confront him, then everyone will believe the rumor is true and I’ll certainly be ruined. But if you go on about your business as you always have, if you accept him and continue to treat him as the friend he’s always been to us, this will pass. People will follow your guidance. See? Easily solved. This problem will go away in time.”

  “No, it won’t.” Her father sighed. “Let’s go home.”

  George nodded, signaling his agreement.

  A horrid sensation swept over Dillie, that same, curdling discomfort she got whenever she ate sardines. Her tongue began to swell and her throat grew tight. “You can’t do this to me. If we run, everyone will believe the worst of me.”

  She wanted to stomp her foot, rant and rage, behave like a petulant child. Her heart and happiness were at stake. Why couldn’t anyone understand that? She tried to control herself. She spoke with calm and dignity, perhaps a touch of indignation. Perhaps more than a touch. “I will not go home. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Just when she thought the situation couldn’t get worse, Ian made the mistake of walking in. Graelem and Julian grabbed him.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Dillie cried out, and then let out a shriek when George and Gabriel grabbed her. They crisscrossed their arms and scooped her into the makeshift chair. “Stop! Put me down!” Though she struggled, they effortlessly carried her back to the family carriage.

  The entire Farthingale clan followed after them. So did Lord and Lady Cummerfield. So did most of their guests, though the Cummerfields and their guests made it only as far as the street corner before more Farthingales cut them off. She heard mutters of “family business” and “give us privacy,” as though she and Ian had been caught doing something horrible and they were all now mourning her fate.

  The outrage hadn’t been nearly this awful when Charles Ealing and Mary Abbott were caught naked at the Wakeford ball. Naked. Ian hadn’t even seen her without her clothes, yet everyone was treating him as though he had. So unfair!

  She craned her neck to search for him amid the wall of Farthingale busybodies. “Where’s Ian? What have you done with him?”

  “Ian, is it?” her father growled.

  “Well—ack!” Dillie was shoved into the first Farthingale carriage with George, Gabriel, and her parents. She found herself squeezed between George and Gabriel, pinned between their annoyingly broad shoulders. “Have you all gone mad?”

  “Be quiet, Dillie,” her father said in a voice that drew her up at once with its barely leashed anger. Her father had never used that tone with any of his daughters, not even with Daisy when she’d fallen in love with Gabriel, and his reputation had been as bad as Ian’s at the time. Perhaps worse.

  She closed her eyes as a shudder ran through her. This wasn’t happening. It was only a bad dream. She’d wake up and all would be well. The sun would be out and birds would be chirping outside her window.

  Please.

  The carriage in which she rode—or more aptly, into which she had been pushed—was the first to turn onto Chipping Way and make its way through the gate at Number 3. The tree in front of the house was still standing, though short a couple of branches that had been blown to pieces by the elephant shot last November. The tree had not been cut down and there was no trellis outside her window.

  All these were discrepancies that ought to have cast doubt on the ugly rumor. Only no one was paying attention. No one wished to be confused by the facts. They’d rather believe the unsubstantiated rumors.

  She glowered at her parents, still furiously angry with them.

  Her father ordered her into the parlor. “Wait there until I call you into the library.”

  “I will not! Where’s Ian?”

  He repeated the command.

  She refused again, so he threw his hands into the air and muttered something about his “five plagues” that probably referred to her and her sisters, none of whom had managed a traditional courtship.

  The entire Farthingale clan piled into the library. Honestly, they’d all suffocate if one more person attempted to enter the room. Perhaps an exaggeration, but the library was crowded. There was a small commotion as Julian and Graelem strode in, their giant, brutish paws on Ian as they hauled him in. Yes, she was definitely suffocating. Perhaps the cause was dread and not the throng of Farthingales gathered around her.

  She was trying not to be theatrical, but this was a dramatic moment. Perhaps the most dramatic of her life. Her future happiness depended upon the outcome of this evening. She turned and wound up face to face with Ian, who was still in the determined clutches of his captors. Did they think he’d run away? Dillie knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t in his nature. He was a rakehell, not a coward.

  She noticed that Ian’s jacket was missing. One of his brutish captors (also known as her ape-like brothers-in-law) must have ripped it off him at some point between the Cummerfield residence and here. Perhaps he’d taken it off himself, preparing for a fight.

  She’d seen him wearing it earlier. He’d looked quite splendid in his formal black attire and white tie. Now, he looked as though he’d been kicked, punched, and thoroughly pummeled during the short ride.

  His shirt and tie were in disarray. His right eye was swollen and so was his lip, which appeared to be cut and lightly bleeding at the corner. Julian and Graelem looked worse. She didn’t care. They deserved the pounding obviously received courtesy of Ian.

  She reached out to touch Ian, and then thought better of it and instead began to wring her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

  He stood proud and unbending. “Don’t be. Not your fault, Dillie.”

  He had every reason to be furious with her, but he’d merely responded with patience and understanding. Not your fault. He spoke the words softly, each word falling upon her like a protective caress. She inhaled lightly. He wasn’t going to do something stupid, such as agree to marry her, was he?

  She stepped closer to study his eyes. Oh, crumpets! “Don’t do it, Ian. You don’t have to marry me. I don’t want you to.”

  He let out a mirthless laugh and shook his head. “I don’t think the choice is ours to make.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “It is. Farthingales marry for love. I refuse to be the exception. You can’t give in to this rabble.”

  His smile faded. It wasn’t a joyful one in the first place. More like a gallows smile, the sort that quickly fades when the noose is put around one’s neck. “Do you think you can ever love me, Dillie?”

  Her tongue once again began to thicken and her cheeks grew hot. Flaming hot. Choking-on-a-sardine hot. “How is that relevant? You don’t love me. You’ll never love me.” She turned to face her sisters, hoping they would understand and come to her rescue. “How can you stand there and let this happen to me? Were any of you saints before your wedding day? I hardly think so. Why, your husbands couldn’t keep their hands off you before—”

  “This isn’t about us,” Laurel said in a sudden rush, her eyes widening and a blush now staining her che
eks. Rose and Daisy coughed as though to clear their suddenly parched throats. So did several of her aunts. Interesting. Her mother’s face was the deepest shade of crimson. So deep, it was almost purple. Now, that was even more interesting.

  Her father, whose face was also red, though most likely from anger, frowned at her. “Enough of this nonsense. I want to hear the truth.”

  “I’ve been telling you the truth, practically shouting it at you till I’m hoarse. Ian... His Grace... has always been a gentleman. He came to my rescue when Lord Ealing tried to lure me into a compromising position. He threw the clunch into the Wakefords’ fountain. That’s how Lord Ealing got his clothes wet.”

  She glanced at Rose. “And I suppose Rose was right when she said Ian... His Grace, wasn’t interested in Lady Mary Abbott, because she immediately set her sights on Lord Ealing and got him into a compromising position. They deserve each other.”

  One of her Oxfordshire aunts came forward, shaking her head. “I thought you liked Lord Ealing?”

  “No, but I wanted to. I tried to. I simply couldn’t. In truth, I was relieved when he and Lady Mary were caught.” She sighed. “But my problem isn’t with them or with the duke.” She shot Ian another glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to marry you. As many times as they beat you into saying yes, I’ll say no.”

  Ian cast her an appealingly lopsided grin, which was all he could manage with his lower lip swollen. “I’d rather avoid those beatings.” Then he laughed and shook his head. And laughed harder.

  Obviously, the Farthingales had driven him to madness. She scowled at her family. “I’m ashamed of you all. Your behavior has been reprehensible.”

  “Our behavior?” her mother, her father, and at least six Farthingale relatives said in unison.

  Dillie nodded. “You acted as though the rumors were true. Had we all stayed and ignored the whispers, the matter would have blown over in a few days. But you panicked and ran, as though ashamed of me.”

  Her mother stepped forward. “We’re only trying to protect you.”

  “But you aren’t protecting me.” Where was Lily to explain it to them? Oh, how she wished her brilliant twin were here. “You’ve made things worse. You see, by running away—”

  “Strangers can be cruel,” Julia said. “We didn’t want them to make you cry.”

  She shook her head in dismay. “I see. Only my family has the right to make me cry. Well,” she said, as the tears began to spill from the corners of her eyes, “you’ve succeeded.”

  Ian shook off his captors and stepped toward her. “Dillie, it’s all right—”

  “No. It isn’t,” she said between sniffles, searching for a handkerchief and not finding one. Her father reached out to offer his. She tilted her chin into the air and refused it.

  Ian sighed. “Here, take mine.”

  “Thank you.” But he didn’t step back. He stood close and watched as she dabbed the tears now streaming down her cheeks.

  “Can you ever love me?” he asked again, his voice deliciously soft against her ear. She wasn’t going to respond to the question. She refused to consider the possibility. No, she wasn’t going to think about it. Ever. Her feelings for him—assuming she had any—wouldn’t solve anything.

  “What of you? Do you even like me? Enough to be saddled with me as your wife? Forever,” she shot back.

  He frowned.

  She had her answer. He wished to remain a confirmed bachelor. He didn’t want a wife, and didn’t want her as his wife. He didn’t love her. Didn’t need her. She was in a terrible scrape. She was tarnished. Ruined. And the worst part of it was that she had missed out on all the fun, for she hadn’t actually done anything wicked with Ian.

  But she would next time.

  Oh, yes. Indeed. She would indeed.

  Next time Ian landed in her bed, she’d take full advantage of his big, gorgeous body.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be ill-tempered with you.” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m angry and... scared, if you wish to know the truth. Oh, not for me. I know you’d never purposely hurt me. I’m worried about you. I don’t wish to ruin your chances of finding happiness. Not that you’re a happy person. In truth, you’re about the unhappiest person I know. And I’ve just made things worse for you.”

  Ian’s expression was unreadable. Unlike hers. She was disgustingly easy to read, every thought and feeling revealed at a glance. He kept himself closed off, didn’t share his heart with anyone. He kept all his secrets to himself, especially the horrid ones that had scarred his soul.

  She didn’t know any of his secrets, other than the one about Felicity’s existence, which wasn’t really a secret. Anyway, it wasn’t his secret. He’d merely acted as any loving brother would, stepping in and doing the honorable thing to save a child.

  Yet his family hated him. What had he done to make them despise him? And why did he despise himself as deeply as they did?

  And why did she secretly wish to marry him?

  No! No, no, no!

  But the butterflies in her stomach were doing their Ian-frenzied happy dance.

  She let out a sob and ran from the library.

  ***

  Ian shoved his way through the crowd of Farthingales and warned them to stay back while he chased after Dillie. He caught up to her as she hurried up the staircase in the entry hall. “Dillie, stop.”

  But she wouldn’t.

  He reached her on the third step and took her into his arms, trying to be as gentle as possible while she struggled to break free. Her feelings had been badly bruised by her family’s distrust and he wasn’t about to add physical bruises. “Calm down and listen to me. It’s going to be all right.”

  “How? By your being beaten into a loveless marriage? By my destroying your freedom and happiness?” She continued to struggle, but he wouldn’t let her go. Finally, she gave up and set her hands on his chest. She leaned into him and moaned. “Oh, Ian. Why did you come after me?”

  “As you said, I was never all that happy.” He wrapped his arms around her, wanting to hold her close, determined to protect her from the ugliness she would surely endure for the rest of her life unless he fixed things.

  She gazed at him a long moment, saying nothing.

  His heart tightened and began to pound hard within his chest. He’d been surrounded by a sea of unfriendly faces, been pummeled by Julian and Graelem. He’d stood alone... as always. None of it had frightened him.

  However, the look in Dillie’s eyes right now had him shaking in his boots.

  She looked delicate and beautiful. There was a magical, ethereal quality about her with those pearls shimmering in her luscious dark hair. She was young and incredibly vulnerable, yet at the same time, brave. The way she had chased off his attackers last November was quite something.

  He knew what he had to do. “This is my fault. I’m not going to run from the consequences.” He tipped her chin upward so that her gaze met his. There was only one possible solution to this problem. “I owe you, Dillie. You saved my life.”

  He released her and bent on one knee, a gesture that could not be mistaken by her or the horde of relatives watching them.

  Dillie gasped and let out another sob. “Ian, you idiot! Get up.”

  Not the response he expected. “No. Let me do this.”

  “But you don’t owe me anything. I don’t need you to save me. I’ll save myself.”

  “How?” He was offering to marry her. He was willing to make the sacrifice, a rather noble sacrifice. A monumental sacrifice for him. Perhaps she was too overset to realize what he’d just offered to share. His name. His title. His wealth.

  She tugged on his shoulders to yank him up, but he refused to budge. “There must be a better solution. There has to be,” she insisted.

  He glanced at her family. The women were all silent and holding their breaths. The men had their fists curled, itching to do him bodily damage if the outcome was not to their liking. He turned back to her, hating the l
ook of misery in her eyes. “There isn’t. Death-by-angry-family is a most unpleasant way to die. I’m not keen on ending up that way.”

  She dabbed at the tears still streaming down her cheeks. He noticed that she was still holding tight to his handkerchief and she had her hand on his shoulder, clinging to him for support. She liked him, felt comfortable with him. This could work. She might even love him, if her response to his kisses was any indication. Of course, Dillie, being who she was, would never admit that she loved him. Not to him or to herself.

  She let out a shaky breath and sat on a step in order to meet his gaze as he knelt. He loved the soft way she looked at him, the gentle warmth of her eyes, and the beauty of her hesitant smile. “You’re not going to die at the hands of my family. In any event, you’re a wealthy duke. You can survive anything.” She placed her hand against his cheek, caressed it. “And you’re handsome, too. And brave. And wonderful.”

  “Is that a yes?” Because he was seriously starting to rethink this marriage issue. Avoiding it like the plague wasn’t working out too well for him. Having a wife had its benefits. For one thing, the scheming, marriage-minded mothers and their insipid daughters would stop chasing him.

  Her hand slipped off his cheek. “No.”

  The men in her family started toward him.

  “Stay right there!” Dillie commanded them. “No one sets a hand on the duke.” There was a glint in her eyes that warned she’d take an elephant gun to anyone who dared cause him more harm. Him.

  Him.

  She was fighting to protect him. She stole his breath away.

  “Your Grace, go home,” she said with purposeful formality, obviously hoping to end the discussion. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for offering to marry me. I truly appreciate the gesture. In truth, it’s quite something coming from you.”

  He could barely make out the soft blue of her eyes for all the tears she had spilled. Her voice was shaking and her breaths were ragged. She was trying to remain composed for his sake. She was strong, but despite her protestations, she wasn’t at all fine. She was scared.