The Duke's Daughters_Lady Be Reckless

by Megan Frampton

  “Here,” she said in an imperious voice to the merchant, “this should pay you sufficiently for what you think you’ve suffered.” She allowed the coins to slip from her hand into the merchant’s raised hand, punctuating her words with a dismissive sniff.

  The merchant glowered but took the money and stepped back inside his shop, while the lady knelt down in front of the child.

  Edward couldn’t hear what she said now—she was speaking too quietly—but he saw the child’s face break into a smile and saw her tuck a few more coins into the child’s pocket, then frown and unwrap her scarf from her neck, placing it around the child’s instead.

  He had never seen an aristocrat do something so directly to help—yes, many of the people with whom his father did business gave money to various causes, making certain to mention it in polite company—but he hadn’t seen anyone do something so small, and yet so important, as this. It made him more hopeful about the Society event that evening. Perhaps, if there were people like her in attendance, he wouldn’t be made to feel out of place.

  The child ran off, a grin on his face, and the lady rose, looking weary for a moment before straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, returning to looking every inch a proud, uncaring lady.

  She glanced over in his direction, a cool, haughty expression on her face, and he felt himself start to smile. He knew her secret; she wasn’t what she appeared to be; she was someone who cared, and cared deeply.

  She was young, he could see, and quite lovely, at least as far as he could tell from across the street.

  He felt an urge to meet her, to discover what it was that made her different from others of her kind, but before he could, she’d swept off, her maid trailing behind, valiantly trying to shield her mistress from the rain.

  Edward shrugged, knowing it was likely just as well he couldn’t meet her. What if she wasn’t truly as good as she appeared to be from this one instance?

  But still. It made him wonder who she was, and why she was so caring.

  Perhaps he would meet her, and then if he were lucky, he would ask her to dance. And then he would step on her feet, and she would discover who he was, and his warm feeling toward her would be gone.

  But for now it was enough to feel the warmth surrounding his heart.

  Chapter 2

  If you have to choose between being polite and doing good, always choose the latter.

  Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Decorum

  “Oh, how delightful!”

  Olivia spoke to herself since Pearl had disappeared in search of some refreshment, as usual, leaving Olivia to the side of the ballroom.

  Their mother was fanning herself in the chaperones’ corner, talking non-stop as was her habit. Olivia and her sisters had gotten to the point where they were able to communicate with one another through hand gestures so they knew what topic their mother was discussing without having to listen.

  Olivia’s dance partner, a slight gentleman who had stepped on her feet at least six times, had made his bows and departed as soon as the music had stopped.

  Was it, she wondered, because she had taken the opportunity to remind Lord Frederick of the essential steps of the dance they were engaged in? But surely he would welcome a gentle reminder of how he was supposed to move?

  That settled, she glanced around the room, her gaze searching for Bennett.

  The party was at the Estabrooks’ house, and she knew—because of course she followed his career avidly—that Bennett was hoping that Lord Estabrook would lend his support to one of Bennett’s ongoing projects. She’d heard that Queen Victoria had deigned to read one of his papers, which boded well for its success.

  She hadn’t followed closely enough to know just what he was hoping to accomplish, never mind what the queen actually thought of what he’d written. When she was his wife, she would of course be conversant with the issues that occupied his time. But until then, she had to admit that reading all the arguments for and against a concern made her eyes wander.

  Besides which, she always knew that it was better to be doing than to be reading. It was something she would point out to him, when she was properly ensconced as his wife. Her sister Ida had not received Olivia’s guidance well, but her true love would agree.

  She wrinkled her nose as she spotted Bennett at the edge of the dance floor speaking with Lady Cecilia, another debutante having her first Season this year.

  Bennett looked bored, although her conscience forced her to acknowledge that it was difficult to see his expression from this far away. But he had to be bored speaking with Lady Cecilia—Lady Cecilia was fresh from the schoolroom, and Bennett was a man, accustomed to matters of great importance, not where a gown was coming from or how many invitations one had received.

  That type of flighty girl had been Olivia not so long ago, even though it felt like a lifetime ago. It had taken a starving child begging outside her father’s house to finally make her realize that not everyone was like her. Very few people were, actually. And not in character, but in opportunities.

  That anger had started to burn inside until she was forced to do things about it, but few people in her world knew of her works.

  It was no wonder Bennett had always regarded her as though he were mildly amused by her. It was time for him to see her as she truly was.

  Tonight.

  Thus decided, she began the slow walk to where Bennett stood, skirting the edge of the room and smiling politely at the guests who nodded at her.

  It wasn’t entirely proper for her to approach him, but she knew that once he heard what she had to say, he would forgive her. More than that, he would agree to what she asked him, and neither one of them would have to spend any more conversation with people who bored them. Who didn’t share the same passionate interests in justice and change and righting wrongs that they did.

  “Lord Carson?” she said as she joined Bennett and Lady Cecilia, the latter of whom raised her tiny, perfect nose at Olivia’s intrusion. “Might I beg a private word with you?”

  Bennett glanced from one lady to another, his brow furrowed, but after a moment he nodded. “Of course, my lady,” he said. He bowed to Lady Cecilia. “You’ll forgive me? Lady Olivia is my sister-in-law’s younger sister—nearly family.”

  Lady Cecilia shot a glare at Olivia, but her mouth curved into a sweet smile as she looked at Bennett. “Of course, my lord.” A pause, then Lady Cecilia spoke again. “When you are finished with familial concerns, I would like to ask your opinion on a few things.”

  Olivia nearly emitted a noise that would have indicated what she thought, but that wouldn’t be fitting for the adult young lady she was now.

  So she just returned Lady Cecilia’s smile and took Bennett’s arm, allowing him to lead her into one of the rooms adjacent to the ballroom.

  “Mr . . . Wolcott?” the older lady said, her pause between the Mr. and the Wolcott an indication she knew precisely who he was. Especially since one of Bennett’s friends, a Lord Something-or-Other, had just introduced them.

  He seldom bothered to remember people’s names, since he usually only met them once, since after they discovered who he was—or more precisely what he was—they took pains to never encounter him again.

  Bennett had left unexpectedly, pulled away by one of the fluttering debutantes in attendance. It wouldn’t normally matter to Edward, but Bennett was the only one who could ensure Edward wasn’t treated as rudely as he might otherwise be. The most recent example being the lady’s pause between words.

  Bennett’s friend glanced from Edward to the Pausing Lady, his look one of confusion. Edward appreciated that Bennett didn’t gossip about him, but giving this friend of his some word about why not everyone would want to meet Edward would not go amiss.

  But that was Bennett. Seeing the good in everybody, and not recognizing that some people reveled in ignorance. Only one of the reasons Edward was grateful he was the one born a bastard, and not Eternally Optimistic Bennett.

  �
�Yes.” Edward accompanied his reply with a bow. “I have just arrived in London, and my friend Lord Carson invited me to this function.” He might as well get the explanation over with, given that she was likely about to question him about just how he happened to be here with the likes of her.

  “Ah,” she replied, visibly softening. Bennett had that effect on people.

  Edward did not.

  “And how do you happen to be here?” Edward asked, making Bennett’s friend’s face turn white and the lady gasp in outrage.

  Damn. And he’d been doing so well. For at least fifteen seconds or so.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he continued without waiting for her to speak, bowing again and turning on his heel in search of one of those vaunted private rooms Bennett had promised. Anything but being open and exposed out here, like a frightened fox being stampeded by vicious dogs.

  He had to admit to having far more sympathy for the animals he hunted right now. And also understood why they turned around and snarled rather than succumbing to the attack.

  But he couldn’t snarl. He had to escape.

  He walked quickly to a door at one corner of the room, slipping inside without having to make eye contact with anyone.

  The room was empty, thank goodness, and he took a deep breath—his first of the evening—glancing around at what seemed to be a small visiting room.

  A few chairs were scattered about, as were a few tables, their tops cluttered with the type of bric-a-brac that seemed to accompany these people’s homes.

  He exhaled, stepping forward to the sofa that sat directly in front of a still-burning fire.

  Leaping over the back, he plopped down on the soft cushions, twisting his long body so he was lying down staring into the fire. The flames were mesmerizing, and he let his mind drift.

  Away from the party outside, the people who despised him, the constant bitter tang of his birth fell away.

  “Is Lady Eleanor all right? I know that Alexander was worried she was doing so much, what with the—” And then Bennett hesitated.

  “Baby coming?” Olivia allowed herself the luxury of rolling her eyes at him. “Honestly, it is not as though we all don’t know what is happening.”

  Bennett uttered a sort of strangled noise in his throat, and then took a deep breath. “Yes, the baby.”

  “Everything is fine.” She swept ahead of him and pushed a door open, one that was in one of the far corners of the ballroom. She glanced back to see that Lady Cecilia had already found some other gentleman to converse with. So much for perseverance, she thought, wanting to toss her head in triumph, then she gestured for him to precede her. “Go in, I want to speak to you.”

  Now that it was the moment she’d been dreaming about for so long, she had to admit to feeling nervous. Not that he wouldn’t agree, because of course he would, it was the right thing to do, plus she knew how he felt about her, even if he didn’t. Hadn’t he paid particular attention to her during her come-out? He’d danced with her twice—twice!—at a party the prior year, and she’d caught him looking at her when he didn’t know that she was looking.

  But she was always looking.

  The nervousness was merely because her whole life was about to change; she would be Lady Carson, she would finally be able to do all the things she wanted, no needed, to do.

  And she would spend the rest of her life with him.

  Just thinking about it made her calmer.

  She closed the door behind them, leaning against it with her arms behind her back.

  He raised an eyebrow at her action, but didn’t say anything. Wise man. Already knowing she had all the answers.

  “What is it, Olivia?” he spoke brusquely. “It is not proper for us to be privately together, even if we are considered family.” Perhaps he was so swept away with his feelings, feelings he hadn’t acknowledged before, that he couldn’t speak properly?

  She didn’t reply at first, just walked toward him and put her finger to his lips. “Shh,” she said, when he appeared to be about to open his mouth. “The thing is, I have something to say, and I want to say it without interruption.”

  He looked as though he wanted to argue but instead he gave a brief nod. She withdrew her finger from his mouth and took a deep breath.

  “You and I met when I was just—what?—fifteen years old.” She walked past him and put her hand on the back of one of the chairs in the room. She took a moment to look around at where they were—some sort of sitting room, it appeared, since there were small tables and chairs scattered about, with one sofa facing a fireplace, though the fire had died down. A good thing, since she already felt quite warm. Likely due to Bennett’s presence and what was about to happen.

  “And I know at the time you saw me as someone still in the schoolroom,” she continued, continuing to pace around the room, forcing herself not to look at him because she was concerned she would forget everything she wanted to say because of all the love she had oozing through every pore. Which sounded far messier than she wanted.

  “But I am, if you have not noticed, a woman now.” And she returned to stand in front of him, forcing herself to breathe naturally, looking him in the eyes.

  His gaze appeared startled, and she wanted to reassure him that it would all be fine, they would sort things out and they could have their respective futures settled. Together.

  But first she had to tell him how she felt. So he would be able to admit how he felt.

  “When I was younger, I said and did many things I am embarrassed about now,” she began. “I didn’t realize there was more to life than wondering what party you’d be able to attend next. When I first met you, I couldn’t even attend any parties because Eleanor wasn’t married yet.” She cringed to recall how selfish she had been. But she wouldn’t say all that to him—she wanted him to maintain his good opinion of her, after all. “And now that I have had the opportunity to be out in the world, I know that there are things I wish to change.”

  And not just things like allowing ladies to waltz all the time, if they wanted to, although that would be lovely. She meant things like making sure all people had enough to eat and that children be given an education and that there should never be the possibility of an animal suffering because of human neglect or irresponsibility or particularly willful action.

  “Those are excellent sentiments,” Bennett said.

  She beamed at him, glad they were in accord. “I know you feel the same way I do—I have followed your efforts in Parliament.” Albeit not that closely, and then she paused, taking a deep breath before adding, “. . . Bennett.”

  His eyes widened at her use of his first name, and he blinked a few times. Overcome by his emotions, perhaps? She smiled reassuringly. “We feel the same way about so many things.” She put her hand on his sleeve. His gaze went to where her hand lay, and she wished she was daring enough to run the fingers of her other hand through his hair. She wasn’t, not yet. Perhaps later, after everything was settled.

  “And since we are of much the same mind, I know that it only makes sense for us to get married. So we can finally be together.” She exhaled. “There. I’ve finally said it.” And she tilted her face up so he could kiss her.

  And edged forward, since it seemed that he wasn’t going to. Perhaps he was unsure if a kiss would be welcome? She should let him know it would be perfectly welcome.

  “You may kiss me, if you like. Since we are now betrothed.”

  He still did not kiss her, and she felt a pang of regret. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back so that even if she wished to initiate a kiss, she couldn’t. He was too tall, and now his mouth was too far away from hers.

  A slow uncomfortable feeling began to unravel inside her, and she felt her breath hitch.

  “I am aware of the great honor you do me, Lady Olivia,” he said, his eyes still closed. Then he opened them, and she wanted to leap back at what she saw in his gaze. Was it possible he did not love her? “But I do not regard you in that way, and
I think it best if we forget this conversation ever happened.”

  Olivia froze for a moment as she absorbed the words. And then felt her face blaze as fiercely as any fire she’d ever encountered. “You do not regard me in that way?” she repeated, hearing the words fall out of her mouth even though she didn’t think she could speak. “You’re saying you are not in love with me?”

  She snatched her hand off his sleeve and dropped it behind her back, her fingers wiggling in the air as though trying to find purchase. Because it felt as though she were falling off a very high cliff. “Not in love with me?” she said again, wishing he would step forward and take her in his arms and say it was all a mistake, he was testing her, but knowing it wouldn’t.

  “Oh,” she said in a soft voice, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ve just thrown myself at you, and now it seems you don’t feel the same way.” Something caught her eye and she walked forward, past him, to snatch it up from the small table. It was a dome encasing a small yellow flower, one of those ornamental things everybody had as part of their everyday clutter.

  This isn’t you, a voice said in her head. This isn’t who you are, or who you want to be.

  But she couldn’t keep herself from curling her fingers around it, feeling the cool glass on her palm. Knowing she could throw it if she wanted to. Which she very much did. This, at least, she could do. She could control her actions now, even if she couldn’t control his. She’d just thrown herself at him? She could throw other things too.

  She raised the dome over her head, all of her pent-up emotion channeling itself through her upraised arm, flinging it toward the opposite wall, not close enough to possibly hit him, but startling nonetheless.

  The object shattered into pieces, the noise of the impact the only sound in the room. It wasn’t loud enough to cause anyone to notice, not with the band continuing to play in the ballroom as though hearts weren’t currently being broken.