What the Duke Wants

by Amy Quinton

  * * * *

  Grace entered the brightly colored ball room floating on a cloud of air. She was blissfully happy. The day had gone perfectly—better than she had expected, in fact. Dansbury was pleased with the box she found; he said it was significant. Plus, she learnt from her solicitors that she had her shop back, returned to her—and one hundred percent completely hers—by some anonymous benefactor who she suspected was Dansbury, though she had no proof. She had more money available than she had anticipated, set aside in a secret account the solicitors had managed to keep hidden from her uncle, and they had reinvested the funds wisely. The money produced enough of a return that she could open her shop sooner than she had thought possible.

  Then, there was Ambrose, the prominent reason for her happiness.

  Oh, her future looked bright. In fact, she was so excited, she managed to stop by a ready-made clothing shop and find a suitable and stunning gown to wear to tonight’s ball. It had required minimal alterations to fit her to perfection. It was serendipitous.

  Ding…Ding…Ding…Ding…Ding…

  Someone chimed a glass in the distance; it was an attempt by the host to get everyone’s attention.

  “Ladies and gentleman, may I have your attention, please?”

  Grace looked to the balcony above the ballroom to see Lord Lyndhurst speaking to the crowd, but her eye was drawn to and held captive by Ambrose, standing to his right.

  Goodness. He was a sight to behold. So handsome. So fine. He was all she could see. All she wanted to see.

  Lord Lyndhurst continued, “My dear friend the Duke of Stonebridge has an announcement to make, and my wife has probably fainted with excitement that he chose her ball with which to do it.”

  The crowd laughed at Lord Lyndhurst’s witticism. He stepped back so Ambrose could take his place.

  A prickle of unease crept up her spine. Butterflies fluttered about in her stomach, making her feel queasy and ill. Her heart began to race and her senses became acute. The noise in the room hurt her ears. She tried to tune it out so she could hear what he had to say.

  He stepped to the edge of the balcony, and that was when she noticed Beatryce, her arm through his, standing and smiling by his side.

  Oh, God, no!

  Her heart beat louder, almost drowning out the sound of his voice. Her hands became clammy, and she rubbed them on her gown to dry them.

  “Friends and acquaintances, it pleases me for you to be the first to know Lady Beatryce Beckett has graciously agreed to become my wife. Behold. The future Duchess of Stonebridge.”

  He raised both hands toward Beatryce to direct every eye toward his betrothed and then clapped along with the crowd, a false smile on his face. A liar’s smile. His actions seemed peculiarly demonstrative for his aloof nature. But then who really knew what was in his black heart?

  The sounds of cheers and riotous clapping commenced amongst the multitude of people. She shut it all out. All she could do was stare at the man she loved as the room and everything about her faded to gray. She imagined this was what it would feel like to be shot, for her heart, which had been racing furiously before, seemed to have stopped beating altogether. She didn’t even notice the tears streaming down her face; she was overcome with shock.

  Abruptly, he faced forward again and looked directly at her, and the previous suspension of reality ceased, and with a quick flip of a switch, life returned to normal. Though not. Everything became loud and confusing. Here was an alternate reality she did not want to live in. His gaze pierced the gloom around her and jolted her heart. For a brief moment, pain seemed to flash across his eyes. He was a liar and a cold-hearted bastard. And she was a lovesick fool. The noise from the crowd reached a crescendo, and she was compelled to flee its torturous cacophony.

  *

  Oh God, Grace is here…

  If he could have leapt over the balcony and survived to chase after her, he would have done so, though he didn’t know what he could possibly say. Despite the rudeness of the action, he pushed through the crowd of well-wishers to chase after her anyway. Many patted his back as he ran, and he was indeed running, but he ignored them all; he was determined to catch her.

  He gambled she had headed toward the rear garden; it was the closest escape route available to her based on where she was standing when he first noticed her there. He wasn’t sure what he would say; it seemed ridiculous to even try; perhaps, even better that way. It didn’t matter; he was compelled to seek her out.

  He raced across the crowded ballroom floor and out the back doors. He randomly chose a garden footpath and headed down it, his boots crunching on the gravel beneath his feet. He hoped he had chosen the right path.

  He caught up with her just as she was about to exit a rear garden gate.

  “Grace. Stop!”

  She froze at the sound of his voice. For some unknown reason, she stayed. She turned to face him, her chin held high, and he was proud of her fortitude.

  He could see she was crying; she didn’t try to hide it. She had every right to be angry and upset, but his fury at the unfairness of life seized control of his thoughts and shredded what remained of sound reasoning. He was cruel when he finally spoke. He spoke from pain, not sense. Logic had long since flown the coop.

  “How did you think this was going to end, Grace? With a ring on your finger and a wedding at St. George’s?”

  She squared her shoulders and stood up to his cruel words. God, she was beautiful. A goddess. A light in his world of darkness.

  “Contrary to what you might think, Your Grace, I had no expectations of how this would end, at all. However, I was under the mistaken impression that you were not a coward. You, with all your power and privilege, could have anything you want. At the very least, you could have found a way to speak to me today. After last night, yes, I admit, I had thought there might be a possibility…” She stopped and shook her head. She laughed to herself, a self-deprecating laugh he hated to hear at the moment. She said something else instead. “I had thought you were a real man.” She looked him up and down. “I see I was mistaken.”

  Then she turned to leave.

  Cliff stood behind her, and it was clear that he was beyond furious. He gave her a brief, reassuring smile, though, before confronting him.

  “Name your seconds.”

  “Cliff, no,” interrupted Grace, “I know he deserves it, but I won’t allow this.”

  “He’s not worth your concern.”

  “Then, relax with the knowledge that it’s not him I’m concerned about. I don’t want to be embroiled in the scandal. I don’t want my name linked with his in any way. At all. Don’t you see? I have a future planned. I am on my own. And my future would be threatened by this humiliation.”

  She had become a good little liar. They could all see the truth on her face. She was miserable.

  “All right, but wait for me, will you? I shall see you safely home.”

  “Yes. I’ll wait.”

  He winked at her. To him, Cliff continued, “I am going to abide by the lady’s wishes, for now, but I don’t want to see you approach her—ever—again.”

  Cliff turned to leave but stopped and looked back once more. “And we are no longer friends. You disgust me.”

  He had lost. Despair had embedded her talons deep into his very soul.

  Chapter 24

  Grace cried herself to sleep last night. She cried until exhaustion claimed her. Then she bawled all over again in the morning the minute reality intruded on her mind. Like a thief it stole her happiness. She was hopeless. Lost.

  Bessie brought a full pot of chocolate to her bed, knowing she was too upset to face Lady Harriett in the breakfast room. But even chocolate could not soothe her wounded soul.

  Once she was all cried out again, she dressed and headed out to the gardens. She hoped the fresh air would help. She had no more tears to give.

  She sat alone on a bench out back, hiding amidst the roses. Her thoughts were too troubled to be calmed by the beau
ty surrounding her, for in addition to overwhelming grief, she was ashamed. Her aunt and uncle, Beatryce even, had not been terribly pleasant over the past year, but they had given her a place to live, even though they didn’t have to. And what had she done in return? She’d had amorous congress with Beatryce’s fiancé.

  What kind of person did that make her? Shameless? Untrustworthy? Yes and yes. Certainly she had behaved no better than her spiteful relatives. She had no excuse. Even though she was in love with him.

  God, I love him! And it hurts. Oh, God, it hurts.

  The pain squeezed her heart. It pierced her with every beat. She cried all over again, deep, gasping sobs. Her muscles ached from the involuntary contractions involved in sobbing so hard.

  She was quieter now, though her breath was still shaky. And the back of her throat ached from her silent screams. She was starting to get a hold of herself and was finally coming to terms with the fact that life moved on regardless of how she felt. She thought on the unfairness of that universal truth.

  In fact, she was too caught up in her distressed thoughts to note the light tread on the path behind her.

  Lady Beatryce had come to call.

  “Well, I’m glad he scratched his itch before we married. It wouldn’t have done to have him pining over you and wondering how good it might have been after we married.”

  Grace could hardly credit the malicious tone and hurtful words spewing from Beatryce’s mouth. She couldn’t imagine speaking so to a perfect stranger, much less her own family. Despite what they might have done. Did she deserve it? Perhaps. She had betrayed Beatryce, after all. Tears silently fell as she acknowledged her guilt in all this, but she did not turn to look at her cousin.

  Then, another more disconcerting thought entered her mind. How could she possibly know?

  “I am sure you’re wondering how I could possibly know.” Beatrice let out an exasperated sigh, as if she were speaking to an ignorant child. “Dear, dear, Grace. How easily you forget. Ambrose is going to be my husband. We’ve known each other for many years, Ambrose and I, and we wouldn’t be getting married if we weren’t close. If we didn’t share confidences. He tells me everything, you know.”

  Grace was mortified. How could she have been blind to the true character of the man to whom she gave her innocence? How could she have been so completely fooled by his devilish smile? She felt gullible and used.

  “I should hate you for what you’ve done. Have you no shame? He is my betrothed.”

  She couldn’t fault Beatryce for the sentiment. It had bothered her before, and somehow, God, she didn’t know how, but somehow, she had managed to block that out of her mind in the end.

  She was completely humiliated, yet Beatryce continued.

  “But Grace, dear, I love you despite all that, and for that reason, I am prepared to forgive you your betrayal. However, I expect as a gesture of apology on your part that you seek immediately to dispel any further thoughts of opening your shop in Oxford, lest I make it known your disgrace.”

  Now that was something she could not do. In her shame, she had yet to face Beatryce; she had her back to Beatryce, in fact. But she squared her shoulders in defense. She would still do what she must despite her cousin’s threats. She had to; she had no other choice.

  Beatryce must have noticed the hardening of her shoulders and spine for she laughed, an insincere, patronizing laugh, before continuing. “You think I didn’t know? You think I actually believed the falsehoods you handed me in the dress shop? You’ve been scheming to embarrass us again, and I have to ask what we’ve done that you would seek to destroy our family’s standing in society so completely?”

  Grace bristled in indignation. She stood and turned, having gathered the shattered pieces of her self-esteem enough to face Beatryce. “You must be incredibly self-centered to think my plans have anything to do with you. This is my life I’m planning. My only hope for a future, and despite what you think you know about my actions and despite your ridiculous threats, I intend to follow through with my plans.”

  Clap…Clap…Clap…Clap…

  Grace whirled around to the welcome sight of Dansbury walking up the garden path.

  “Bravo, my dear Grace, bravo. It’s so good to hear you stand up to that bitch at long last.”

  He reached her side and bussed her gently on the cheek before redirecting his attention to Beatryce.

  “Run along now, Beatryce, you’ve spewed enough hate for today.” And with a dismissive wave directed at Beatryce, returned his interest to Grace.

  Beatryce was speechless. That much was clear, but she didn’t gainsay the marquess. Instead, she turned on her heel without so much as a word and marched back to the house, her head held high.

  “Grace, darling, let’s sit, shall we?”

  Cliff was all kindness and smiles now that they were alone. He guided her to her vacated seat on the garden bench. She was relieved to have him by her side. He was strength, while her swinging emotions left her weary.

  “Are you all right?” he inquired, obvious concern writ plainly across his face.

  “I’ll be fine, thank you, Dansbury.”

  And she would be fine. Eventually. It would be a lie to say she was fine now, though she was better with his timely arrival.

  “Well, at least we haven’t reverted back to the formalities.”

  She laughed in spite of it all, happy he was trying to cheer her up with his humor.

  “Grace, I hate to bring up anything unpleasant, but I couldn’t help overhearing Beatryce. She wasn’t exactly subtle or quiet. You must know, despite Stonebridge’s ungentlemanly actions of late, he would never have spoken to Beatryce of you. They aren’t as close as she would have you believe.”

  “But how does she know?”

  “I’m sure she followed you out of the ballroom, as I did. You and Ambrose weren’t exactly inconspicuous in the Lyndhurst Gardens.”

  “You’re probably right, I know, and thanks.”

  She didn’t know, not really, but if he believed it, then perhaps she should consider that he might know better, though it was much easier to believe Beatryce’s hateful words.

  “Grace, you have nothing…nothing…of which to be ashamed. And yes, I realize, fully, what has happened between you and Ambrose. And no, he never spoke to me about it either. He wouldn’t, even if I hadn’t told him I was no longer his friend. He’s much too private a person to reveal himself that way. I know him.”

  “Cliff,” she interrupted with a light grasp to his arm, “I know you mean well, but please don’t patronize me. I did do wrong, and I am ashamed. Regardless of how you or I feel about Beatryce, I knew she was nearly engaged to him, and therefore, it was a betrayal, regardless of the kind of person she is.”

  She looked at her hands, twisting nervously now in her lap as she sought to regain some little bit of composure.

  Cliff reached beneath her chin and tilted her face.

  “I’m not sure what’s left to say then except that I truly don’t believe you have a dishonorable bone in your beautiful body, and I hope you come to terms with what’s happened without being too hard on yourself.”

  He turned to face her more squarely now and reached down to grasp both of her hands before continuing, “Grace. I honestly didn’t come here to speak about Ambrose, and I’m sorry to have been witness, again, to your private conversation. I promise not to speak of it again. I hope you know that I have enjoyed our time together, and over our brief acquaintance, I’ve come to care for you.”

  She was surprised by the sudden turn in their conversation. It almost sounded as if he had wanted to add “as a friend” at the end of that statement, but had intentionally left it off. She was nervous now and somewhat fearful of what he was going to say. Her abused emotions could not handle anything else.

  “Grace, I believe we suit each other well, and I know, God, I know, the timing is not ideal. However, I suspect you’ll be leaving soon and so time is against me at the moment, but I was w
ondering…” He smoothly slid off the bench and knelt beside her. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Goodness. His proposal was completely unexpected. She was not horrified, for she knew Cliff well enough to realize he was asking out of affection and not pity. He was right, though; the timing was poor and they were out of it. Time, that is.

  “Cliff, please do get up, you’ll ruin your trousers,” she admonished, but with a gracious grin.

  As he resumed his seat, a forthcoming smile on his face, she continued, “Oh, Cliff, your timing is atrocious. You are one of my dearest friends, and I have so very few to my name. However, I think of you like a brother, and even if I did not, I am not a fickle woman. Despite the horrible things Ambrose has done, I can’t simply shut off my feelings like a switch. I—oh, God, I love him. And I hate the fact that I do. And I wouldn’t have him even if he changed his mind, but I do love him, and it will be quite a while before I will be able to move past that and consider another suit. I hope you’re not too terribly disappointed. I would rather not hurt you after you have been so good to me.”

  “Love, it's fine, and I understand. I do. I’m saddened, but I shall recover, and I, too, know you more for a friend than for some undying love. I thought perhaps it, love, if you will, could grow in time, and we are well suited. Please promise me this, though: should an unfortunate event occur as a result of your time with Ambrose, you won’t hesitate to contact me, will you? I would be there for you, Grace, and my offer would still stand.”

  A child? She hadn’t even considered the possibility since their falling out. She shoved it aside to worry about later.

  “I know, and I thank you, truly. Oh, how I wish I could be in love with you, Cliff. How much easier it would be.”

  He chuckled at that. She knew he wasn’t devastated by her rejection.

  “Grace, if you need anything, anything at all…”

  “Anything?”

  “At all,” he confirmed.

  “Well, then, might I borrow your traveling carriage?”