Falling for His Duchess

by Donna Cummings

  Frederick drove slowly, as if he too hoped Rosalinde would reconsider.

  She did not appear.

  Frederick slapped the reins to the horses, and they sped along. Julian closed his eyes and sank back against the unyielding wall of the carriage, mentally revising the speech he would deliver to his family about finding his one true love. Instead of presenting Rosalinde as his bride, he would announce he had found his love, but there was nothing but a bleak future ahead, for both of them.

  ***

  Aphrodite wanted to throw something.

  "I cannot bear this! How can they not be wed? They are perfect for each other. I ensured they would be."

  Ares wrapped his arms around her, cooing softly. "That is the difficulty with mortals, remember? They tend to do things as they wish, not as we see fit."

  "But I am doing my best to guide them. To assist them on their way to true love."

  "Of course you are." It seemed he bit back a smile, but she could not be certain. "No one can fault you. They are entirely to blame."

  She was slightly mollified. "What am I to do now? I was so in the mood for another wedding. I have selected a most stunning dress."

  "Perhaps a few days apart and they will see how they have misjudged the situation." His eyes lit up. "In the meantime, you can show me this stunning dress…"

  Aphrodite smiled, running a finger slowly down his jaw. "It is very easily removed, too. Which of course is part of what makes it so stunning."

  Ares' breath quickened. "I would be happy to assist you, if you like."

  His heated gaze made her forget about the unlucky lovers, and the way they had thwarted her romantic endeavors. Ares always made her forget everything but him.

  She laced her fingers through his. "Come, we shall find that secluded spot once more."

  He followed her without hesitation. "It has become a new favorite of mine."

  Chapter 12

  Julian halted, his hand on the door to his library. He had spent the entire drive to London trying to resign himself to the fact that he was not what Rosalinde wanted. He had also spent the entire drive trying to determine how to persuade her otherwise.

  He could relinquish his title, he supposed, although he was not keen on the idea of some distant relation taking over as head of this family. Especially as they would likely run off screaming after one day of trying to handle his headstrong relatives.

  He could deliver a barrage of letters, declaring his love, insisting Rosalinde come to London. But she had already turned down that notion.

  What else could he possibly do?

  He opened the library door, striding briskly into his favorite room. He loved the warm wood paneling, the massive mahogany desk, and the—

  "What the devil?"

  Julian frowned at the footstool that had nearly tripped him, practically wrenching his knee for real this time. At first blush, it appeared to be constructed of a softly draping material, but on contact, he realized it was cunningly crafted of marble.

  Rather than admiring its remarkable appearance, however, he bestowed a glare on the object blocking his path. Soon he would turn into a veritable curmudgeon, barking out random complaints to strangers, hitting their shins with his cane. All because he had been thwarted in love.

  He sighed.

  "Julian! You have returned just in time."

  He turned to look at his boisterous younger sister, standing in the open doorway. "Felicia, what is this monstrosity in my library? Does it actually serve a purpose? Other than maiming the innocently unaware?"

  "Julian, you know perfectly well it is a footstool. Don't you lift that eyebrow imperiously at me," she warned. "Besides, it is all the rage in London."

  "My eyebrow?" he asked in shocked tones.

  Felicia giggled and threw herself into his arms for a hearty kiss and hug.

  "I can see I have returned home just in time. I quake to think what other portion of my august personage would have become de rigueur had I tarried."

  Felicia smiled, giving him a pat on his cheek, as if in sympathy for his lack of wit, before removing herself from his arms.

  They seated themselves—he behind his desk, she in a leather chair facing him—while Felicia began to chatter about the endless details of something. He was not entirely sure what it was, or even why she was in his home instead of her own, with her husband.

  He wondered when he might call himself by that title. Husband. He liked the sound of it. If only he could convince Rosalinde—

  He dropped his chin in his hand, gazing across the room, transported to the dance they had shared, and that all-too-brief moment when she had agreed to be his bride.

  "Julian!"

  He started, and saw Felicia staring at him incredulously. At once her face broke out into a delighted grin. "You've found her!" She stood and plopped her hands flat on the leather-topped desk, leaning towards him. "You have fallen in love!"

  Julian grinned sheepishly.

  "Who is she? Where is she?" The rapid barrage of questions continued without providing opportunity for answers. "Is she pretty? Have you made her an offer yet? Will I like her? Oh, Julian, when do I meet her?"

  "Meet who?"

  Both siblings turned their heads to see the entry of their handsome cousin, Lord Travender. The mahogany-haired gentleman, "Tony" to his family, gazed balefully at the marble footstool before pointedly lifting a questioning eyebrow.

  Julian merely chuckled and nodded his head in the direction of his exuberant sister. Tony gave the odd furniture a wide berth before sitting negligently in a leather chair facing Julian's desk.

  Felicia impatiently sat back down in an adjoining chair. "Oh, Tony, it is too wonderful. Julian is in love!"

  "Julian is in love! Glory be. I've waited too long to hear those words," said a fey voice from the entryway. Everyone's attention turned towards the last member of the family entering the room.

  Tony spoke up first. "Yes, Great-Aunt Aurore, I would say all our prayers have been answered."

  Great-Aunt Aurore turned her countenance to gaze reverently at the new footstool. "Oh, it is so beautiful. A true objet d'art."

  Felicia smiled triumphantly at her brother and cousin. The gentlemen merely shook their heads in puzzlement, unable to account for their female relatives' tastes.

  Julian, hoping the footstool had served to distract his family from further discussion of his affairs of the heart, opened his mouth to suggest an outing that evening at the theatre. He could use the distraction, although it was likely he would spend the entire time imagining how much Rosalinde would have enjoyed the playacting.

  But the irrepressible Tony would have none of the diversionary maneuver. "So the Duke of Enfield has finally met a worthy candidate for duchess, eh?" He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his arms across his muscular chest.

  Great-Aunt Aurore thumped Tony on the back of his head. "Tony, bring that delectable footstool here. I wish to examine it more closely whilst we discuss this new duchess."

  Tony good-naturedly left his chair, rubbing his head where Great-Aunt's fingers had made solid contact. He picked up the footstool, chuckling as he turned around and made to place it for his aunt's perusal. She was enthroned in his recently vacated chair and motioning him to be seated on the ungodly piece of furniture he carried in his arms.

  Julian did his best to hide his smile at Tony's stupefied expression. Felicia and Great-Aunt Aurore gave Tony the most impatient of gazes, as if he were impeding the story of Julian's discovery of his one true love.

  Smothering a curse, Tony set the footstool in front of the desk and placed himself on the marble seat, as eager as the rest of them to hear the tale.

  "Julian," his sister breathed. "I cannot believe after all these years you have finally found the woman of your dreams."

  "Well, it was to be expected," Great-Aunt Aurore added, nodding sagely. "After the curse helped you find your true love."

  Felicia and Great-Aunt Aurore both sigh
ed, smiling happily.

  Tony shifted about in a vain attempt to become comfortable on the unyielding marble. "You and that silly curse! I tell you, there is no such thing." He turned towards Julian. "I thought you were at a hunting party these past weeks. Don't tell me the woman's an avid huntress."

  Julian's lips twitched at the unlikely notion. "The furthest from the truth, Tony."

  "Then she's a London gel," Great-Aunt Aurore guessed, "visiting with some friends at the hunting party?"

  Before Julian could respond, his family began peppering him with endless questions as to the identity of the mystery woman. At one point, they even began arguing amongst themselves as to appropriate questions to ask, as if they were engaged in the drollest of parlour games.

  Julian laughed aloud, placing his palms in the air in an act of surrender. "I would be happy to acquaint you with the pertinent facts if you permitted me a moment to speak."

  All three turned eager faces his direction.

  Julian bit back a smile before beginning his recital. "She is the daughter of a vicar. We chanced to meet in an inn after her attempted elopement failed when her fiancé did not appear."

  Felicia mouthed "An elopement!" in absolute wonderment. Great-Aunt Aurore gasped once, clutching her heart. Tony stood and, after assuring everyone that the noble dame was still breathing, slapped his cousin heartily on the back. "You sly old dog! Give over with the real tale."

  Julian smiled sadly. "That is the truth, cousin. And this tale does not have a happy ending. She will not have me."

  Great-Aunt Uproar gasped again.

  Felicia dug in her reticule for the smelling salts she always carried for emergencies such as this. "You have to return for her," she said matter-of-factly while waving the restorative under Great-Aunt's nose. "And insist that she marry you."

  "I cannot make someone love me," Julian replied. "Nor can I force her to accept my proposal. I wish it were possible. But even a duke does not have that power at his disposal."

  "Why did she refuse you?" Great-Aunt had recovered enough to ask the question, but it seemed as though she might need a long rest once the conversation was done.

  "Because I am a duke."

  "She refused you because you are a duke?" Tony seemed puzzled by that one.

  "Well, only after I let her believe I was simple Mr. Selby." He thought of all the other deceptions that had occurred. "And let her mistakenly believe I was betrothed to another. And injured my knee when I hadn't, to give me more time to woo her."

  Great-Aunt huffed and then crossed her arms, her earlier swoon completely forgotten. "It is no wonder she refused you! Love is built on trust, young man, and you abused it from the very beginning."

  "I did not intend to. I had the most honorable motives when I omitted that information."

  "As well as improper ones," Felicia chided, "testing her to see if she might desire you if you were someone else."

  "But I was still me!"

  "It was still a test, though, was it not?"

  Julian did not want to admit it, but it was true. He had not realized it was what he was doing, but now that he did see it, he wanted to cringe. He had unconsciously asked Rosalinde to perform the labors of Hercules, to earn his love, and then deigned to let her know she had passed with flying colors.

  He dropped his head in his hands. "I have ruined my chance to win her heart. All because I was so intent on protecting mine."

  Felicia came around the desk and patted the top of his head. "You have not ruined your chances. A woman loves nothing more than seeing the man she loves grovel." She paused. "Although Hugh was not very good when he attempted it. I had to help him with his grovel. Which means I can help you with yours."

  Tony snorted. "I bet you have that man groveling on a daily basis."

  Felicia's laugh was a delighted one. "He no longer needs to."

  His sister's happy expression, along with her obvious devotion for the man she had fallen instantly in love with, gave Julian a glimmer of hope. "Will this plan work?"

  "There is no way of knowing for certain," she answered. "The only certainty is you will live with regrets the rest of your days if you do not try once more to win her heart."

  ***

  Although Rosalinde had been raised on the stories of how God had created the earth in seven days, she had always been more than a little bit skeptical of such an achievement. Until now. Never in her life had a sennight gone by so slowly. As far as she was concerned, it was possible to create the earth anew during that time.

  And recreating her world was likely the only way to mend her broken heart, for her previous existence was quite shattered. Even her daily chores reminded her of Julian, if only because he had become so much a part of her schedule.

  Now, without the need to see to his recovery, she found herself at a loss as to how to fill her waking hours. Her sleeping hours were another situation entirely, for she hadn't the least notion of how to banish Julian from her dreams every single night.

  There were moments when she could not refrain from reflecting on what she would be doing now if she had impulsively married Julian. In the next heartbeat she would chide herself for even considering something so unwise.

  Then her heart would insist on remembering everything wonderful about Julian, everything she loved about him. He was kind, mischievous, playful, gentle. He made her laugh, he rescued her, he knew her secret hopes and dreams.

  But he was a duke.

  Dr. Bentley did his best to help her through the trying times, but there was no medication in his voluminous bag that would heal her ailment.

  Her father had little in the way of assistance, either, but Rosalinde could see his distress for his downcast daughter. He reassured her of his increased prayers on her behalf, and his fervent belief that she would soon receive the blessings to which she was entitled.

  On the eighth day after Julian's departure, Rosalinde was visited by the church widows. It was no surprise. They likely missed him and his devilish charms as much as she did.

  "Rosalinde," Mrs. Baird said, seating herself on the parlor sofa. "It is time we were starkly honest with you."

  Rosalinde gulped. She had never known a time when the church widows were anything but starkly honest.

  "If it is about Mr. Selby—I mean, His Grace."

  Mrs. Pettibone smiled in the most beatific fashion, as if she was imagining regaling her grandchildren with the tale of when she had danced with a duke.

  "It is about him," Mrs. Baird answered. "But more importantly, it is about you."

  When Rosalinde frowned, Mrs. Hale reached over and patted Rosalinde's hand. "We know you refused him, and why."

  "And it is utter foolishness!" Mrs. Pettibone said. "To let something like that stand in the way of love, and happiness. Your mother—"

  "If you mean to tell me that my mother married beneath her," Rosalinde said, "that will not work. Both of my parents came from this shire, albeit different villages."

  "You are exactly right," Mrs. Baird agreed. "But have you thought why your mother insisted on talking about London and other faraway places?"

  "She needed a distraction from the pain of her illness, which I was happy to provide her."

  It had been a diversion for Rosalinde as well, to delay the heartbreaking moment when she would have to acknowledge her mother was not improving, and would be leaving Rosalinde for good.

  "She also wanted to instill in you a desire for something more than this village," Mrs. Baird said. "She knew you would never be content here."

  "But I am! I was. I can be again."

  "You don't have to relinquish the village forever," Mrs. Pettibone said. "It shall always be here. We are always here. And we will be waiting to hear all of your grand adventures."

  "You have prevented us from hearing of them, you know." Mrs. Baird gave her a baleful look.

  Now Rosalinde felt horribly guilty and selfish by trying so hard not to be selfish. Yet accepting Julian's offer of marriage would
have been terribly self-serving. Why could they not understand that?

  "I was trying to prevent Julian from coming to the realization, too late, that he had made a mistake by marrying me."

  Mrs. Hale was utterly confused. "How could it be a mistake? He loves you. You clearly love him."

  She would always love Julian, to the end of her days. But once he returned to London, and took up his life again, he would see how the past fortnight had been nothing more than a pleasant holiday from the rigorous responsibilities of being a duke.

  Perhaps he would even be grateful that she had been wise enough to refuse him.

  Her heart pinched in protest, but she managed to add, "I was merely a novelty for him—"

  "Of course you are a novelty! You're the one he loves!" Mrs. Pettibone shook her head, as if unable to believe Rosalinde could be so dimwitted. "If you had been nothing more than a novelty, he would have hied off to London long ago, but he did not. He proposed to you."

  She was tempted by the argument, but it did not matter. She was determined to protect Julian from a dreadful marital mistake, quite like the one she had nearly made with Mr. Moulton.

  It was time to change her strategy. She would have to convince them what a disappointment she would be to Julian if she ever succumbed to their line of reasoning.

  "How can I be a duchess? They are a rather grand species," Rosalinde said. "Elegant and eloquent, and always in the first stare of fashion. I'm certain they must serve as a model of decorum as well."

  Mrs. Baird snorted. "Clearly you have not been reading the scandal sheets, as we do."

  Mrs. Pettibone frowned severely at her compatriot before turning her attention once more to Rosalinde. "Our Mr. Selby, er, His Grace, has many grand qualities, but we never once suspected he was a duke. Why would we? He is not toplofty or imperious. Not one whit. And never condescending."

  "He is kindness itself," Mrs. Hale added, "no matter what station a person possesses in life."

  Rosalinde recalled Julian's encounters with Dr. Bentley, and her father, and even the humble ostler describing his cough remedy while Julian listened patiently. He had rescued Rosalinde, numerous times, when she was nothing but a stranger, exhibiting the utmost in chivalry. He had generously consoled his rival Mr. Moulton, and instantly charmed the unbending church widows.