Falling for His Duchess

by Donna Cummings

"Have you now?"

  She tilted her head to look up at him, certain she had imagined the indulgent tone in his voice. "Doesn't everyone wish to go to London?"

  "Only those who have never been, I suspect," he answered in a dry tone.

  "That is where I was bound. Today." Perhaps if she divulged her secret, he would not gaze upon her so charitably, making it easier to finally rid him from her thoughts. She set her fork down, then reached for her wine glass, taking a large sip. "I was going to London after I eloped, with Mr. Moulton."

  She waited for Mr. Selby's lips to tighten with disapproval, but her revelation did not shock him in the slightest. He merely asked, "And the cur never showed?"

  She shook her head.

  "It is possible he was waylaid by the storm."

  "I cannot see how, since the storm commenced mere hours ago." She tried but could not halt a smile. "But perhaps it did catch him unawares."

  He grinned. "You are this instant imagining him buried in a mudslide."

  "Yes," she admitted. "And quite enjoying it."

  His gaze became thoughtful, and a bit compassionate. "I truly regret your day was filled with such turmoil—"

  "Don't you dare utter, 'Perhaps it is much better this way'." She laughed. "I will be compelled to tear a strip from your hide if you do."

  His lips twitched, and Rosalinde guessed he had been quite close to uttering the horrid truism.

  "Surely I am permitted 'Every cloud has its silver lining'?"

  "You have earned at least one utterance." After all, she would always count herself fortunate that such a dreadful day had ended in this wonderful fashion.

  "It does not appear this was a love match."

  "No, it was not." She could not stop the blush from heating her face. "As you can see, I am at my last prayers, and I did not wish to pass up this final opportunity of marriage, or to see something beyond this small village. But it appears Mr. Moulton had a change of heart once he returned to London."

  Mr. Selby muttered something that almost sounded like, "thankfully".

  "What brought you from London?" she asked.

  "I am meeting some friends for a hunting party near here."

  "What do you do when you are not going to hunting parties?"

  His eyes danced with mischief. "I spend a prodigious amount of time getting myself invited to hunting parties, of course."

  Rosalinde joined in with his laughter, but her curiosity could not be contained. "What of your upcoming nuptials, Mr. Selby? Is it a love match?"

  The question obviously startled him, but then that glorious smile lit up his face once more. "I hope it shall be."

  She frowned. She had not expected he would be in something so old fashioned as an arranged marriage. "What is your betrothed like?"

  "I do not really know," he answered with too much cheerfulness. "But I believe she is possessed of a sharp wit and sense of humor, as well as a tender heart and endless compassion."

  Rosalinde liked to view herself in that manner, which made it difficult to continue disliking the future Mrs. Selby. How could she, when they shared such similar traits?

  "Let me be the first to wish you well." She lifted her glass in a toast. "I hope you shall have more success with marriage than I was able to procure."

  "Thank you, Miss Hewitt." He grinned, returning the salute. "And I pray you will not give up on wedded bliss. It may find you sooner than you believe. I am certain of it."

  She bit back the retort that wedded bliss had deserted her, not the other way round. But her pride would not let her divulge how much her views on marriage had changed that day, and not from being jilted. No, her new expectations of desirable husband material could be attributed to Mr. Selby. And since he belonged to another…

  She sighed. At least she would have the memory of this delightful dinner to commemorate the date she finally embraced spinsterhood.

  Rosalinde stood, reluctantly, fashioning what she hoped was a convincing yawn. "I apologize. I really must retire."

  "Fear not." Julian jumped up from his seat. "You are not the first to call me a prosy bore."

  "I did not call you a prosy bore," she protested with a laugh. An instant later a genuine yawn ripped through her. Rosalinde placed her fingers to her lips. "Thank you again, for a most wonderful evening."

  "The pleasure has been mine, Miss Hewitt."

  She curtsied and then headed for the door, her unsteady legs slowing her progress.

  "Rosalinde."

  Even knowing she should ignore the gentle plea, Rosalinde turned around, slowly. She managed to resist the lure of Julian's outstretched hand. If she succumbed now…

  He stepped closer, and Rosalinde could not halt the thoughts of what his kiss would be like. It was bound to be tender, and gentle, yet somehow she knew it would make her crave him for the rest of her days. She already did, fool that she was.

  Before she could turn away, Julian lifted her hand to his lips. His fingers were gentle against hers, but self-assured. He kept his gaze on her, and nothing could have made her look elsewhere. His eyes shone with determination, and passion, and promise. She wished this was but the beginning, not the ending she knew it to be. How could it be anything else?

  His mouth touched her bare hand and she gasped—from the heat, the sensuous feel of his skin against hers, and the sensation that he could divine her most secret desires.

  It was madness to linger. She was growing weak with longing for him. In another moment she would throw caution to the wind, taking anything he might offer—until he decided to leave her as Mr. Moulton had done.

  Rosalinde tugged her hand away. "Good night, Mr. Selby," she said, her voice shaky.

  He bowed his head and then strode to the door, opening it. He peeked outside, glancing to one side and then the other, before turning to her with a wink. "I trust your cough will be much better by morning. There is a bottle of brandy here, if you like, to soothe your throat."

  She laughed, and then turned it into a bout of coughing. She had been so bewitched by the man, she had forgotten the need to preserve her reputation. Fortunately he had retained some presence of mind.

  "It is much better already." She coughed into her hand, delicately. "But I am certain it shall be cured after a night's rest."

  He grinned and she swept through the open doorway, before she could convince herself to stay just a little while longer.

  ***

  Julian ran a trembling hand through his hair, grinning at how rattled the encounter had left him.

  "Sleep well, Rosalinde," he whispered, confidently envisioning the nights to come when he would send her off to sleep with those same words, cradling her in his arms.

  Yet with the next heartbeat came the unshakeable fear that such a notion was merely the result of his overheated longings. Rosalinde had given him no sign she considered this day anything more than an aberration, like her elopement, and being jilted. She was only here because the storm prevented her from returning to wherever she was bound.

  Julian sat down and unsteadily poured some brandy into a glass. He had thought it a stroke of luck finding his one true love, after so many years of hoping, and in seeming fulfillment of the family curse.

  But how did he persuade this understandably skittish woman of his heartfelt desire to make her his bride?

  A sharp rap on the door startled him out of his musings. He glanced up to see his coachman standing there.

  "Frederick. Come in."

  The man hesitated, twisting his cap in his aged hands, fighting off a round of shivers. "I just wanted Your Grace to know the horses are put up for the night, and should be fine to travel in the morning."

  "Have you eaten? It looks like you could also do with some brandy, to ward off the chill."

  "Thank you, Your Grace, but—" He tugged self-consciously at his ear. "It wouldn't be proper."

  Julian laughed and poured a large glass of brandy. "Frederick, since my great-aunt has been in love with you for decades, I see n
o need to stand on ceremony now. Please, sit." He added a grin. "Besides, I need to learn more about this family curse, and you are the only source available to me at the moment."

  Frederick appeared to roll his eyes, but he lowered himself into a chair, keeping his back ramrod straight. He brought the glass to his lips and then sighed with genuine pleasure. "I am not sure what I can tell you about this so-called curse, since I am not completely convinced it is real."

  "I was not entirely sure until this morning," Julian admitted. "How could I be when the two most vocal proponents are known as Flighty Felicia and Great-Aunt Uproar?"

  "What happened to change your mind then?" Frederick fought off a grin. "Was there something magical in that mud puddle you fell into?"

  Julian laughed. "No, it occurred long before then. Though I suppose it aided my cause, keeping Miss Hewitt nearby a while longer, so I can persuade her of my love for her." He frowned. "But therein lies the difficulty. I cannot pursue her too ardently. I have experienced it enough the past few years, and do not want the love of my life to endure it."

  Frederick nodded. "It can be a mite difficult, being on the receiving end of such persistence."

  "Precisely. Yet you have managed to put off Great-Aunt Aurore for decades."

  "'T'were no other choice. I cannot have anyone speaking ill of her because of her feelings for me." His eyes glistened for a moment. "It would fair break my heart if they did."

  The man's obvious devotion, and his even more apparent protective feelings for the love of his life, caused a lump to appear in Julian's throat.

  "Do you remember when you first fell in love with Great-Aunt Aurore?"

  Frederick's ears reddened, and he hid his embarrassment in a long drink from his brandy. "I do, Your Grace. It were at a masquerade, many, many years ago. I had seen her before that, of course, being the family coachman, driving her all over town. She was such a pretty thing too…"

  Julian hid a smile, watching Frederick beam as he remembered the days long gone, when he was a young suitor.

  "The masquerade?" Julian prompted.

  "Yes," Frederick said, clearing his throat, bringing himself to the present once more. "She had somehow convinced me to take her, even though her parents had forbade it."

  "Nothing ensures an event must be attended as when it is completely forbidden."

  Frederick grinned. "I finally decided it would be best to go with her, to make sure she was properly seen to. So no harm could befall her."

  Julian chuckled at the obvious indulgence in the man's voice. "It sounds like you were already under her spell."

  "Probably," Frederick laughed. "She was so delighted, pointing out all of the costumes, wondering who might be underneath the elaborate masks. I think her favorite was someone she said reminded her of a Greek goddess."

  Julian leaned forward, eager to hear more. "And you fell instantly in love? That very evening?"

  "She says it were instant." He shrugged. "All I know is I have loved her ever since, and I will love her until my dying day." A frown replaced the earlier bliss on his face. "But as I was recently reminded, I am no longer a young man, so that day is not so far in the future as I thought."

  If Julian had doubted his plan to proceed with haste, Frederick's words immediately changed his mind. There were bound to be obstacles to love, no matter whether a man was a duke or a coachman, and Julian was prepared to overcome any and all of those impediments. His only other choice was to love in silence, alone, until the end of his born days.

  No, that was not the future he envisioned. Perhaps his success with Rosalinde would persuade Frederick to alter his future as well.

  Julian lifted his glass. "Here's to the triumph of true love."

  Frederick returned the salute. "Hear, hear."

  "There is one other difficulty."

  "Telling Miss Hewitt about the curse?"

  "No, that will be quite easy in comparison."

  He had let Miss Hewitt believe he was soon to be married, intending it to ease her misgivings about the propriety of the current situation. Then he found himself unable to resist extolling the praises of his bride-to-be, with Rosalinde unaware he actually spoke of her. It had been a fun little ruse, but now…

  Julian heaved a sigh. "I merely need my non-existent betrothed to cry off from our imaginary nuptials so I can woo Miss Hewitt without her viewing me as a cad she could never agree to marry."

  Frederick filled both glasses with brandy, handing one to Julian while fighting off a smile. "It seems I might be wed before you, Your Grace."

  Chapter 4

  The next morning the sun shone with unabashed brilliance, as if it were in league with the Fates. How could Rosalinde skulk home unseen when the weather ensured the entire village would be out and about that day?

  She attempted to bend her sorely ruined bonnet into some semblance of its original shape and then placed the sorry thing on her head. It had little hope of concealing her face as she made her escape. In fact, its oddity was certain to call even more attention to her.

  She grabbed her portmanteau, opened the door, and peeked around it. If only she had the concealment of her scarlet cloak, the apparel no country miss could do without. Not only would the voluminous hood do more than the wretched bonnet to obscure her face, it would be difficult to discern just which similarly clad female was scurrying to get home.

  She sighed, turning for one last wistful look at the room, and then stepped through the open doorway.

  Once again she was engulfed in masculine arms—the very ones she had spent sleepless hours imagining wrapped around her, in just this fashion.

  "Miss Hewitt." He coughed. "Mrs. Selby. I trust you slept well."

  The amusement in his voice was unmistakable. Unfortunately their collision had knocked her bonnet askew, so she could not see his expression. She tilted her head back, but the hat dipped forward, covering her face.

  Mr. Selby chuckled, and then untied the ribbons, removing the bonnet and tucking it under his arm. "I have come to your rescue once more, Miss Hewitt."

  She smiled as she stepped back a pace, but then quickly donned a suitably stern demeanor. She would prefer to leave Mr. Selby with the reminder of what a proper young miss she was—despite all the evidence she continued to provide to the contrary.

  "Yes, you have, and I am grateful. As well as glad that I could wish you well before I depart."

  He frowned, as if puzzling out her words. "I have the carriage ready—"

  "I could not impose on your generosity any further." Nor could she bear for him to discover her home was the vicarage, and she a vicar's daughter. "I quite look forward to a brisk walk this morning."

  "It is not an imposition. In truth, I would be forced to trail behind to ensure you are not swallowed whole by a mud puddle." He smiled winningly. "So you would be doing me a kindness by allaying my concerns about your well-being."

  Rosalinde swallowed her protest. How could she possibly refuse now?

  "Very well." She held out her hand for her bonnet, but Mr. Selby shook his head. "Do you plan to lob it skywards for target practice at your hunting party?"

  He laughed along with her. "I find myself curiously attached to it. The feathers, and fruit. Quite enchanting. So you shall need to make use of your handkerchief disguise once more."

  They made their way outside, and Rosalinde was not recognized entering Mr. Selby's carriage, thanks to the precaution of re-enacting her coughing bout. Unfortunately, the ostler halted Julian's entry, for the burly man insisted on relating the vile ingredients of a cough syrup that had always worked miracles on his own ailments.

  Julian smiled and nodded pensively during the exchange, occasionally tossing Rosalinde an impish wink. Rosalinde struggled to contain her amusement, and finally had to settle for masking her laughter as coughing.

  But the encounter served to remind her just how close her reputation had come to being tarnished. She could not afford to make such a mistake again.

 
Once Mr. Selby was finally free of the ostler, they continued the ride to Rosalinde's home in relative silence. He seemed content to gaze upon her throughout the ride, smiling as if possessed of knowledge only he was privy to.

  "Mr. Selby, why are you are sitting there like the cat that has swallowed a canary?"

  "Swallowed a canary? I should think I would have a look of dismay on my face were that the case." He coughed several times, pounding a fist to his chest as if to dislodge the mystery bird.

  Rosalinde giggled, something which she couldn't remember doing much of except in his company. Heavens, she would be simpering if she were not careful.

  "You know good and well I meant you have a much too satisfied look on your face. And," she faltered, "I wondered if perhaps I were the cause for it."

  "If I am sitting here like a moon-faced lad, it is because I was contemplating what a pleasant jaunt this has turned out to be. Quite different than I had anticipated."

  "How so?"

  "I have met the most delightful woman, who, since she has inexplicably angered the Fates, provides me numerous opportunities to perform chivalrous feats on her behalf. And," he sighed contentedly, "she calls me a prosy bore—"

  "I did no such thing!"

  "Not in so many words," he conceded with a grin. "Best of all, she bestows the most wondrous favors upon me."

  Though her cheeks were aflame, her voice was undeniably frosty. "If you mean to say—"

  "Yes, I do." He whisked the bent bonnet from its place of honor on the seat next to him, gazing at it with awe.

  Rosalinde laughed aloud, shaking her head. "You are quite mad, Mr. Selby. I have never met another like you."

  "Nor shall you, I imagine."

  Her throat constricted. "No, you are correct in that regard."

  She quickly turned away, pretending a heightened interest in the scenery passing by the open window. Instead of giving Frederick directions to the vicarage, she had said she would signal when they drew near. Mr. Selby had given her a curious look, but remained quiet. All too soon, she saw her cottage home appearing through the trees ahead.

  "Here," she managed. "It is just up ahead."