by Jade Lee
“Your grace,” she said, as she dropped into a curtsy. She couldn’t have hurt him worse if she’d slapped him.
“Wind,” he whispered, “you don’t ever have to curtsy to me.”
She flushed as she looked away, turning instead to greet the damn Scot. “Lord Hartfell, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Caroline has told me about your scientific work. It sounds quite fascinating.” She started to bend her knees, but he stopped her with a laugh.
“Wist lass,” he said, obviously exaggerating his accent. “If ye curtsy ta me, I’ll have ta kidnap ye with me claymore and carry ye off to me highland lair.”
“Oh stop.” Caroline laughed. “He thinks he’s charming when he does that. He doesn’t realize that no one can understand a word he says.”
Wendy didn’t have the chance to respond as Radley’s mother returned to the previous topic. “Wendy was a student of mine many years ago,” she explained to Eleanor. “It’s sweet that she and Caroline have remained friends.” She made it sound as if the two girls had simply passed each other in the street a few times, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Wendy and Caroline had been good friends despite Radley’s mother’s attempts to keep all the neighborhood children at a distance.
“How lovely,” said Lady Eleanor, her tone as dismissive as his mother’s.
Then Radley stepped forward, his voice stern. “Actually mother, Wendy—Miss Drew—was never your student. She has been our friend for as long as I can remember.”
“That’s not true,” said Wendy, her voice soft, but firm.
Radley jolted. “What? Of course—”
“I was your mother’s student.” She turned to look at him directly, meeting his eyes for the first time since she’d walked into the room. “In return for helping your sister find her first position.”
Radley frowned, unable to understand a word. And, in the face of his awkward silence, his mother explained.
“You don’t remember, Radley, because you’d already shipped off—”
“I didn’t ship off until after Caroline…” He swallowed down the bile that always rose in his throat when he thought of that time.
His mother sighed. “Yes, until after Caroline found employment.” Her disgust over the word was more than evident.
Fortunately, his sister was able to speak. “I didn’t find employment, mother. Wendy did it for me, and I have thanked God for that every morning since.”
“As have I,” said the Scotsman as he lifted Caroline’s hand to kiss it. “Otherwise, we might never have met.”
The two shared a look so intimate that it came close to being indecent. Meanwhile, Wendy took up the last of the tale.
“And in return for my help, your mother tutored me in the ways of being a lady.”
Lady Eleanor stifled a soft laugh. “Truly? She is the one who taught you? As a kind of barter arrangement?” There was nothing overtly cold in the statement, but Radley felt the flush of anger heat his face.
“Not everyone is gifted with everything they have, Cousin. Bartering is a way of life for most people. I just…” His gaze shifted to Wendy. “I just hadn’t realized that was the price for your assistance.” He nearly choked on the word “price.” He’d thought she’d helped his sister out of kindness. And perhaps, out of feeling for him.
“It wasn’t like that, Radley,” his sister inserted. “She helped—”
“It was,” interrupted Wendy. “I wanted to better myself. Your mother was the only teacher available to me. I helped Caroline in her goal to escape. Your mother helped me in my goal. An even exchange.”
He understood it then, though the words were never said out loud. He knew his mother had a thorough dislike of the common classes. Certainly, she taught polish to young girls as a way of bringing in money. But she only taught girls with pretense to money and family–clergymen’s daughters, girls from younger sons of titled lords. The same people who hired his father to tutor their sons would give their daughters to his mother.
But she never would have condescended to teach Wendy, whose family had neither money nor status. The only way she would have done it was if Wendy bartered by finding Caroline her first position.
His gaze shifted to his sister, the shame of a horrible night long ago washing over him. If only he hadn’t been such an idiot. If only he’d protected his sister, rather than drinking himself insensate while that bastard Damon Porter got hold of her. If only—“My face is up here, brother.”
His gaze jumped to Caroline’s eyes. He hadn’t realized he was looking at the high-necked bodice that covered her scars. It was where his gaze always went when he thought of what she must have suffered. Damn that bastard Damon—“Stop it!” his sister snapped. “I am well content with my life.” She glanced at the Scot. “Ecstatic even, because I am in love.”
“And loved in return,” the man said.
She smiled. “And loved in return. Do not bring back something long gone.” She spoke to Radley, but her eyes traveled to her mother as well, then eventually, landed on Wendy. “You are a dear friend, Wendy Drew. I wish I’d found more time to spend with you these last years.”
“We both have been busy—”
“Perhaps now I should say what has lived in my heart for the last decade. Thank you, Wendy. Thank you for everything. You saved my life and my sanity. And because of you, I eventually found love.”
Wendy smiled, her cheeks pink, and her eyes shining with moisture. “I did nothing but push you on your way. You did all the rest.” Then the two women embraced, their arms tight around each other. Radley watched, his heart surging with pride.
Then Eleanor spoke, her voice holding the tiniest hint of censure. “Well, I can certainly tell that I have missed a tale.”
“It is a long-dead tale,” he said firmly, his gaze on his sister. Hopefully, she could read the apology in his eyes. “And we shall leave it behind us.”
Caroline nodded as she and Wendy separated. “And now that Wendy is here, we have a party indeed. You will never guess what Cook has made for us tonight. Duck with a special spice! I hear she is famous for it.”
Eleanor smiled. “My father tasted the sauce in India on a peacock. He was so enamored of it that he forced the chef to part with the recipe—and a satchel of the spice—and brought it back home. We have been enjoying the secret ever since.”
Wendy turned, a frown on her face. “Your father forced a chef to give up his secret?” Her tone was clipped.
Eleanor blinked, obviously surprised to come under censure, no matter how mild. “Well, he didn’t threaten the man with a pistol. At least, I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “I suppose he simply paid an exorbitant amount for the secret.”
“Of course, that must be it.” Wendy’s tone was tart, and again, Radley felt the air turn prickly. He sighed. He wasn’t surprised that Eleanor held some prejudice against Wendy. After all, his mother couldn’t wait to rid herself of any connection to their untitled, impoverished life.
But that Wendy would poke at Eleanor was a disappointment. After all, she was used to dealing with obnoxious aristocracy, and Eleanor was being relatively polite. And really, who cared about how the cook learned what sauce? So long as they all ate soon, he would be content.
Then, as if in answer to his prayer, Seelye stepped into the parlor and rang a silver bell. The man could have said the words aloud. Dinner is ready. But apparently, this was how dukes were told to dine—with a silver bell and an imperious look.
Lord Hartfell clapped his hands in delight then offered his arm to his fiancé. Eleanor stepped in front of Seelye and turned to Radley, an expectant look on her face. His mother moved into a position behind his sister with Wendy taking up the spot last.
What the devil were they doing?
“Radley!” his mother finally said, exasperation hissing through her every word. “We form a line to go into dinner.”
They did? Oh right! His mother had insisted on such nonsense when they were children.
Mum and Dad went in first, and Radley had always partnered with his sister.
He took a step toward Wendy, but his mother cleared her throat in irritation. At his confused look, Wendy explained in a quiet voice.
“The line forms by rank. As a duke, you partner with the highest ranking lady.” In case he didn’t understand, she pointed at Lady Eleanor. Then would come Lord Hartfell partnered with his fiancée, the future Lady Hartfell. Next would come the mother of a duke, and last of all—of course—was Wendy, who had no pretenses of a title.
He bit back his complaint. Even aboard ship, there was dining protocol, so he should have remembered this. Naturally, there was something ten times more elaborate among the aristocracy. With a silent curse, he offered Eleanor his arm. She took it with good grace, then Seelye bowed before leading them into the dining room.
And in such a way began the most miserable meal of Radley’s entire life.
Eleven
Wendy felt like a horrible person, but she really enjoyed watching Radley have the worst dinner of his life. The food was excellent, of course, but what made it so terribly funny was watching the poor man constantly corrected by his mother. Having lived through the same experience years ago, she was sympathetic to how frustrating it was to be chided on everything. How he sat, how he held his fork, how he spoke.
Everything began with: “Radley, you’re a duke now. You can’t…” The list of things he couldn’t do was endless. And even though she spoke in a low tone, with only six at the table, they could hear his mother’s words and witness Radley’s increasingly angry growls.
“You can’t slouch in your chair.”
“You can’t start eating. You have to wait for the ladies to begin.”
“You can’t slop your food in your mouth. A proper gentleman takes small bites.”
“You can’t tug at your cravat.”
“And don’t mess with your hair! Do you want people to think you’re distressed? A duke is never distressed!”
“Really, you must know you can’t talk down the table as if you were shouting on deck. You converse with the people on your left and right and no one else.”
That was apparently the last straw. He slammed his fist on the table and glared at his mother. “Damn it, I will bloody well speak to whomever I want at my own bloody table!”
The room went silent at the explosion. Every eye turned to him as he glared daggers at his mother. In the end, the woman sniffed.
“Very well, Radley. You have everyone’s attention. What is it you’d like to say?”
He swallowed and looked up and down the table, but his desperate gaze latched onto Wendy. “Uh, er. Apologies for my language, ladies. Um… Miss Drew? How do you like the, um, the…” He waved at the dish in front of them. She thought it was some type of fish, but really didn’t have a clue. Neither, apparently, did he. “The… this dish?”
Wendy’s lips twitched. Really, she was horribly mean for finding his discomfort funny. “I find the food most excellent, your grace. You are fortunate in your cook.”
“Er, yes. Quite good.”
Then again, there was silence as everyone stared. No one dared speak. They couldn’t resume their proper conversations with the people on their left and right. Not with Radley being so adamant. So everyone looked to him while his face flushed so red that she imagined she could feel the heat all the way down the table.
“So, um, would you… uh… care for more?”
His mother gasped. “Really, Radley, you’re a duke now! You can’t offer a person more food. That’s the servant’s—”
“Mother! If you mention my title one more time, I’m going to… to… I’m going to belch when I meet the Prince Regent. I’m going to do it big, loud, and stinky, and I’m going to tell him that you said it was how one greeted a prince.”
His mother gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“I will! I swear it!”
The two glared at each other for the ten seconds it took Wendy to lose control of her laughter. She fought it, of course, but it bubbled uncontrollably. It burned her nose and came out more of a snort than a laugh. But it was enough.
Lord Hartfell was next, as he tried to shift his chuckle into a cough. He failed miserably. Everyone knew he was laughing. Caroline punched him in the arm, but her eyes were dancing.
She was the one who broke into open laughter first. And once she fell, everyone else did too. Radley laughed loudest, and even his mother chuckled, though her laugh was more a reserved smile.
Then Wendy chanced to look to her right at Lady Eleanor. The woman had taken the hostess’s seat at the base of the table. She was smiling, her laughter sweetly musical, but it was her eyes that were arresting. When she laughed, her eyes sparkled, her face warmed, and everything in her moved from coolly elegant to vibrantly alive. Good God, she wasn’t just beautiful. She was mesmerizing. And she was looking at Radley. All that warmth and vitality was focused exclusively on him.
Wendy’s gaze shifted to Radley only to see her worst fears confirmed. He had noticed. He was staring in shock at his cousin while his laughter faded, and his jaw grew slack in astonishment.
It didn’t take long for others to notice. After all, most everyone had been looking at Radley, so when his eyes became riveted to his cousin, they all turned. And as time ticked on, Wendy watched Lady Eleanor grow softer. Her chuckles faded to a beatific smile that remained sparkling with humor. And Radley—damn his eyes—simply blinked a few more times in obvious confusion.
Then slowly—as if by force of will—he shifted his gaze to look at Wendy. His expression turned apologetic, almost guilty, and her heart froze in her chest. What was he trying to say to her? That he was shifting his attentions to his cousin? She’d only just accepted that he was courting her, and now, had she already missed her chance?
For the first time, she wondered if she shouldn’t have been angry with him last night. But he’d been late and drunk and…
No! Of course she shouldn’t have allowed that disaster to continue, but was it all over now? Before they’d even begun?
She swallowed, trying to fight tears that she had no business shedding. She looked at her plate while the laughter died. To her right, Lady Eleanor called for the dinner plates to be removed and dessert served. Then Caroline picked up the conversation, asking Lady Eleanor about the Season to come. Radley’s mother wasted no time in declaring that he would throw a ball after he was officially recognized as the new duke. His groan of disgust was drowned as the women began planning.
Well, all the women except Wendy. After all, she wouldn’t be able to attend, would she? Not if Radley’s attention had shifted away from her. If she was lucky, she’d be asked to sew some of the gowns, and that would make the shop more prosperous, so that was good. She tried to find contentment in that.
She couldn’t manage to do anything but stir her flan around with her spoon and sit in silent misery. She was never more grateful than when Lady Eleanor declared that it was time for the ladies to withdraw. The gentlemen stood, of course, but when Radley went to escort the women, his mother stopped him.
“The ladies withdraw while the men drink port and smoke cigars. After a proper time, they join us.”
Radley huffed a breath, obviously annoyed at the difficulty. Wendy didn’t see more because Caroline came to her side and touched her arm.
“I haven’t told you how lovely you look,” she said.
Wendy frowned. “Yes, you did. You said it the moment I arrived.”
“Oh,” she blinked. “Did I? Well, you do and…”
“And you wanted to talk to me, didn’t you? Is it about your wedding? You know, Helaine will design you a beautiful gown.”
Her friend flushed a pretty pink. “Of course, I know it, and of course, I plan on having you do my entire trousseau.”
Wendy smiled. “I’m glad—”
“But that’s not what I wanted to say.”
They were walking to the parlor, Radley blocked from view behin
d his mother. Wendy shouldn’t have tried to see him, but somehow, she couldn’t stop herself. And at that moment, her friend huffed out a breath.
“That’s what I want to talk about.”
Wendy blinked. “What?”
“The way you keep looking at my brother.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
Wendy bit her lip. They were speaking in an undertone, both wanting to keep the conversation private. In the end, Wendy said the words that were now like stones in her belly. “He’s meant for Lady Eleanor. He told me so.”
Caroline grimaced. “Well, I don’t know about that. What I want to say is that…” She sighed. “Well, that I don’t mind. I’d love to have you as a sister-in-law, but…” Her voice trailed away as her expression became apologetic.
It didn’t take a genius to know where the statement was going. But I don’t think Radley and you would suit. But I don’t think it’s going to work. But it wouldn’t be proper or right.
Wendy’s heart plummeted to her shoes. She hadn’t thought it could drop further, but obviously, it could. And Caroline’s defection hurt worse than she could have guessed. So she did what she always did when something hurt. She straightened her spine and focused on the one thing that had never deserted her. Sewing. So she put on a false smile.
“Helaine will design a lovely gown for whomever he picks.” She would have said more, but that was all she could force from her tight throat.
Caroline took a moment to understand her words, and then she tsked with such irritation that it startled Wendy. “That’s not at all what I meant! I want you to give it time. He’s just returned to England and suddenly has a title. He was always scatterbrained on land as it was, and now, there are responsibilities—”
“Of course, there are. Your brother is a duke, and I wouldn’t dream of—”
A man’s voice cut through their whispered words. “I did not hear the word ‘duke’ again, did I?” Radley stood in the doorway, near enough—obviously—to have overheard something of what they said. And, if there was any doubt, he had planted his hands on his hips and glared at his sister. “I am done with being a duke today, thank you.” Then, as added emphasis, he ripped off his cravat.