All You Need is a Duke (The Duke Hunters Club, #1)

by Blythe, Bianca

  The world bobbed curiously. In vain, he attempted to loosen himself from his bodyguard’s grasp.

  Lily continued to bark, and Miss Carberry reassured her.

  Jasper groaned.

  Hiring bodyguards had seemed like an excellent idea.

  Perhaps he’d acted too hastily, just as everyone said he did, and he’d only succeeded in being ridiculous.

  “Jasper?” Ainsworth’s startled voice drifted toward him.

  Evidently, not everyone had returned to the house yet.

  He pointed in the direction of Miss Carberry, but when Ainsworth turned, Jasper wondered why he didn’t feel as relieved as he should.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MARGARET STARED AS the two men hauled Jasper away.

  Lily whimpered, no doubt wondering at the speed at which their new friend had abandoned them.

  Men normally weren’t carried off in that manner. Perhaps dukes were every bit as eccentric as they were rumored to be.

  The sound of footsteps padding hastily away diminished, and Margaret suddenly felt very alone.

  The roses still wafted a pleasant scent, mingling with that of the chestnut trees. The moon still shone above, still accompanied by shimmering stars, larger and more magnificent than the most expensive diamond necklace. Even the castle’s silhouette in the distance remained present, imbuing everything with enchantment.

  But the Duke of Jevington was no longer with her. She knelt down and petted Lily, murmuring words of comfort.

  No doubt he hadn’t intended to leave in such a dramatic fashion. Surprise had sounded in his voice.

  At least, she thought she remembered surprise in his voice. Now, she was uncertain just what had occurred. Even if he had been surprised, it was clear his two employees had thought they were acting in his interests. Saving him had been mentioned.

  Her heart tightened.

  She didn’t want to be the sort of woman a man needed saving from.

  She resisted the urge to linger in the garden. Even the thought of marching back to where they’d found Lily had a definite appeal. She didn’t want to reenter the castle. Not now. Not, in truth, ever.

  “Miss Carberry?” A voice interrupted Margaret’s musing, and she drew back.

  She soon recognized the Duke of Ainsworth.

  “Good evening,” she said.

  Her voice wobbled slightly, unaccustomed to making conversation with men. The fact he was a duke and no doubt known to all society did not improve matters.

  “I see Jevington left in a hurry.”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  “And you found your dog. Your father will be happy.”

  “Good,” Margaret said briskly. She contemplated the man, wondering why people termed conversation so pleasant. After all, the man had not told her anything she’d not already known. Yes, the duke had left hastily, and yes, her father would be happy to be reunited with Lily.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said. “I only meant to congratulate you.”

  “Oh.” She stiffened. “I see. Well—thank you.”

  “I’m afraid I must apologize on Jevington’s behalf,” the Duke of Ainsworth said.

  “Oh.” She tilted her head. “Do you do that often?”

  “Nonsense.” He chuckled, and her mood lightened.

  “That would take far too long,” the Duke of Ainsworth said, and her newfound exuberance halted abruptly.

  Oh.

  “But he’s not a horrible fellow,” the Duke of Ainsworth added.

  “I suppose there are worse ways to describe someone,” she admitted.

  “I mean, he’s a decent chap.”

  “How do you know him?” Margaret asked.

  “Besides our status? At every dinner party, we’re placed near one another. People enter a room ranked from highest ranked to less highly ranked, and our titles tend to put us together.”

  Margaret was silent. She lacked any title. She didn’t even have a relation, however distant, who had a title. Her father had simply been one of the many Carberrys in his region, and then he’d rapidly become more. Much more.

  “We also attended the same school,” the Duke of Ainsworth said. “Eton.”

  “Then you must know him well.”

  “Yes.”

  Margaret wanted to ask him more questions. Learning more about the Duke of Jevington seemed a valuable occupation of her mind.

  But it wouldn’t be proper to do that, so she remained silent.

  They strode toward the castle entrance.

  “How are you familiar with him?” the Duke of Ainsworth asked suddenly.

  “Me?” Margaret’s voice squeaked.

  She hardly wanted to tell him the truth. “I went to a recent ball of his.”

  She refrained from telling him she’d been in the duke’s chambers, and that she was intimately aware with the duke’s bed. Such things would be entirely improper to linger on. He could simply imagine they’d met downstairs, perhaps on the dancefloor, or perhaps near the punch table.

  “And we were at a mutual house party,” she added. “Not that we spoke then.”

  She sensed the Duke of Ainsworth was scrutinizing her, and she regretted she’d termed things thus. It wasn’t very natural that they’d been at the same house party and barely talked. Most people were far better at talking.

  “He must think very highly of you to invite you here,” the Duke of Ainsworth said. “He enjoys his privacy.”

  “But he’s always throwing balls. And dinner parties.”

  Clearly, the Duke of Jevington’s friend had got it wrong.

  “He likes doing things for other people,” the Duke of Ainsworth said. “There’s a difference.”

  “Oh.” She blinked.

  The Duke of Jevington was very helpful. Even at Lord Metcalfe’s house party, he’d been helpful to his friend.

  “You know he had some younger sibling?”

  She jerked her head toward him. “No.”

  “He did.”

  Margaret didn’t fail to note the man’s use of the past tense. People didn’t just happen to refer to a person’s siblings in the past tense.

  “So, they’re dead?” her voice wobbled.

  “They died in a carriage accident with his parents. They were fetching him at Eton. And then they hit a rock, and their carriage fell into a river, and they were no more.”

  “That’s horrible,” she breathed.

  “Yes. He was the first one of us to lose his father. But he lost both his parents. He lost his whole family. That’s why I think he likes being helpful. He knows what it is to suffer, and he doesn’t want anyone to do that. Even if he fills his home with festivities, it’s all for other people. Most families never picked up their sons from Eton. Jasper’s family was particularly close, and he’s conscious he wouldn’t have any of this, if they hadn’t perished thus.”

  “How dreadful,” she murmured.

  “Quite. He’s still very wary of water.”

  “He swam in the lake to fetch Lily.”

  The Duke of Ainsworth turned his head to her sharply. “Most interesting.”

  Her heart ached at the tragedy she’d been unaware of. When she’d first met the Duke of Jevington, she’d dismissed him as a reveler, even if he did decidedly belong to the attractive type. She’d been wary of his generosity, but now everything made sense.

  They came to the door of the castle, and the Duke of Ainsworth offered her his arm. “Let’s find the others.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AFTER HIS VALET HELPED him make a hasty switch to evening attire of the non-dripping, non-soggy variety, Jasper retired to the drawing room inside his castle.

  The other dukes and Mr. and Mrs. Carberry were there. Evidently, his servants had taken the initiative to round them up.

  He didn’t see anyone who met the description of Mr. Owens. He knew these people. He remembered that Miss Carberry had met Mr. Owens in the library.

  He rose rapidly. “I—er—should leav
e.”

  Brightling scrunched his forehead together. “You just arrived.”

  “One of my buttons feels loose,” he squeaked and hurried away.

  It was unnerving to look for guests he didn’t know in his own home. Jasper strode hastily over the corridor, lest he miss the arrival of Ainsworth and Miss Carberry. Obviously, it simply wouldn’t be gentlemanly to not be present when Miss Carberry arrived. Certainly, there was no other reason he was eager to not tarry.

  Fortunately, in the library he soon found a dark-haired man with a pale face. No doubt this was the lauded Mr. Octavius Owens.

  Jasper scrutinized Mr. Octavius Owens, this apparent paragon among men. Jasper had expected the man to resemble an Adonis, and for a moment he thought he might have confused this man with the correct Mr. Owens. The man’s hair didn’t curl in an angelic manner, and he didn’t look like he’d been snatched from a painting, as if even the Lord, upon looking at it, had to make certain this person existed. His height could only have been described as normal, and his shoulders did not lend themselves to comparisons with world-carrying beings made famous in Greek myths.

  Indeed, normal was the chief word Jasper would have ascribed to him. Lesser men may have termed him mediocre. Though the man’s figure was not overly rotund or thin, his appearance was unremarkable.

  Yet Jasper should have known Miss Carberry was too sensible to choose a potential mate merely by his ability to increase one’s heartbeats each minute. Miss Carberry wouldn’t select a man by his ability to copy whatever musical rhythm might be emanating around him, and she would be too sensible to choose a man simply for his ability to tell romantic stories of him slashing enemies while attired in the Crown’s uniform.

  Jasper approached him.

  Somehow Mr. Owens appearance still unsettled him. Because this wasn’t the appearance of a man selected more for his fulfillment of childhood fantasies and ideals. If Margaret wanted to be with this man, it must be because she loved him. Except Margaret had only met him once... An odd, unpleasant feeling surged through Jasper.

  “Your Grace.” Mr. Owens flung himself into a deep bow, removing his top hat before it bounced onto the floor. He clutched onto it with the triumph of a man unaccustomed to feats of athleticism, then rose. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Very good to meet you,” Jasper said.

  After all, Miss Carberry would be happy, and Miss Carberry’s happiness was important.

  “Ah! I must say the same to you.” The man darted into another obsequious bow, extended an arm up in perfect perpendicularity to the floor. When Mr. Owens raised his torso, his cheeks remained a distinct rosier color than previously.

  Well. Politeness was an excellent quality in a husband. Jasper tapped his fingers together. Perhaps most debutantes did not muse about the importance of finding polite men, but that was surely an oversight. Trust Miss Carberry to know this.

  “It is a great honor to be here with you,” Mr. Owens continued eagerly. “I have been most looking forward to this occasion.”

  “How nice.”

  Jasper had been foolish to doubt that Mr. Owens was suitable for Miss Carberry. No doubt her presence was responsible for the buoyancy of Mr. Owens’ personality.

  “There will be some other people you know,” Jasper said.

  Mr. Owens raised an eyebrow.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Carberry,” Jasper said.

  “Ah. Of Scotland.” For a moment a flicker of irritation seemed to desire to reside on his face, but the moment soon passed.

  “Their daughter is also attending,” Jasper said gently, waiting for the man’s reaction.

  This was a house party. Mr. Owens would know that he would have a closer proximity to Miss Carberry than he could ever hope to have in London. Not for him would be the strictly two dance policy of the capital. Not for him would be visits that would not be extended longer than one might take to finish a pot of tea.

  Mr. Owens would be able to pop into Miss Carberry when they both admired a particularly pretty rosebush, and they would be able to discuss whatever it was intelligent people discussed for hours over the breakfast table as footmen made certain their coffee cups were full.

  Jasper would have Mr. Owens proposing in no time, and he would never worry again that Mrs. Carberry might persist with her marriage efforts. Happiness was soon advancing, even if he couldn’t actually feel the emotion yet. No doubt Jasper simply needed to make certain that the door was open for it to enter.

  “I know Mr. Carberry and his family only slightly,” Mr. Owens said.

  Jasper acknowledged the statement with an inclination of his head. “Even a short time can be sufficient in knowing them.”

  “Er—yes.” Mr. Owens frowned, then stared at Jasper, as if hoping he might give some indication on his thoughts of the Carberry family so Mr. Owens might know how to best proceed.

  Evidently the man was not going to venture into a soliloquy on the marvels of Miss Carberry. Jasper supposed he might be intimidating. Perhaps Mr. Owens reserved his romantic outbursts for visits to public houses with his friends, where he might later blame any effusiveness and sentimentality on the strength of his ale.

  Miss Carberry was quiet, and she’d chosen a man who equaled her in that regard. Jasper only hoped Mr. Owens also equaled Miss Carberry in intelligence and kindness.

  Jasper was happy.

  Obviously.

  Naturally he wasn’t vexed he’d been hauled from his conversation with Miss Carberry. The point of having her come here wasn’t for them to converse together. That would be absurd.

  He had his friends to converse with. He didn’t need to occupy Miss Carberry’s time as she sought to find a suitable husband.

  Naturally, that was good news.

  Jasper strode back toward the drawing room. He peeked out a window, wondering if Margaret was outside. He hoped she hadn’t become lost.

  Margaret was outside, accompanied by Ainsworth.

  Jasper frowned, and his fists tightened. No doubt they would both make excellent conversation, since they were both bright and clever. Most likely the moonlight continued to cast alluring beams over Margaret, casting her in a golden glow that should make any man in possession of eyes to have his heart squeeze.

  This is what I wanted.

  They were well matched.

  Better than the odious Mr. Owens, no matter what Margaret might think about suitability.

  Jasper entered the drawing room.

  “You’re looking sullen there,” Brightling said casually.

  “Nonsense.” Jasper cast a glance at Mr. and Mrs. Carberry.

  After all, Jasper made a point of not being sullen. Life was too short to be sullen. He’d decided that long ago. He gestured to the violinists. For some reason, he hadn’t truly wanted them to play. The castle seemed sufficiently romantic. But he reminded himself that this was a time for romance.

  After speaking with Miss Carberry at length, he was more convinced that she deserved everything in the world, and most people in the world agreed that Ainsworth was the epitome of the very best sort of man.

  The musicians began to play their melodic tone, and his heart jerked.

  He’d worked hard to select romantic pieces for the musicians to play. Obviously, he’d succeeded magnificently. After all, his heart normally didn’t jolt and lurch in odd manners. It was clearly influenced by music.

  There was one more step in preparing the castle, and he sighed. If he was going to ensure Miss Carberry’s and Ainsworth’s everlasting happiness, he couldn’t do anything half-way. He glanced at a vase of roses on the mantle. There was everything lovely about the vase, but it was hardly completely necessary. The room was filled with vases brimming with roses.

  He removed the roses from the vase, ignoring the manner in which the thorns pierced his skin. Then he pulled petals off.

  “What are you doing?” Brightling asked.

  “I just think these petals will look nice on the floor,” Jasper said.
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  Brightling’s eyes bulged.

  “Not over the whole floor,” Jasper assured her.

  “That would be odd,” Brightling said, still eying him strangely.

  Jasper nodded absentmindedly and focused on pulling off the petals from the stems. He then went to the entrance, striding past the butler, then proceeded to scatter the petals from the main door toward the reception rooms.

  “Your Grace?” Powell’s eyes bulged in the same curious manner as Brightling’s eyes had.

  “Just decorating,” Jasper said breezily.

  “Are these to be an—er—permanent decoration, Your Grace?” Powell asked.

  “Just for the duration of the house party,” Jasper said. “You better have the housekeeper tell the maids to put fresh petals there each morning.”

  The butler inhaled, seeming to draw more air than was his normal habit. “Very well, Your Grace.”

  MARGARET ENTERED THE castle with the Duke of Ainsworth.

  “Welcome,” the butler said. “May I congratulate you on your success on finding your dog?”

  “It was all the duke,” Margaret said.

  “The Duke of Jevington,” the Duke of Ainsworth said, and the butler nodded his comprehension.

  Lily wagged her tail as she entered. The butler closed the door hastily, and Margaret removed Lily’s makeshift lead.

  Petals were strewn over the floor, and the Duke of Ainsworth raised his brows. “I would have noticed these before.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace.” The butler nodded. “I have no doubt you would have been able to do so.”

  Lily investigated the petals, sniffing some with her snout, and crushing others as she padded over them toward the reception hall.

  The butler helped Margaret with her pelisse, and the Duke of Ainsworth handed some outdoor items to the butler as well.

  Violin music drifted into the room, and despite herself, Margaret let out a sigh. She took the Duke of Ainsworth’s proffered arm, and they proceeded into the reception room. The others stood rapidly as they entered. Surprise shown on Mama’s face, but then she shot Margaret a pleased smile.