The Duke's Daughters_Lady Be Reckless

by Megan Frampton

  And then muss it all up again? a voice that was most definitely not Pearl’s said in her head.

  “Thank you for the dance.” Even his voice made her shiver—all rich and dark and deep, as though what he was saying wasn’t truly what he was saying.

  Not that that made any sense.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wolcott. You are not that bad a dancer after all. I am sure I can find some eligible young ladies who might be willing to risk their toes for the pleasure.”

  Although the last thing she wanted—even if she could barely admit it to herself—was for some other young lady to be the recipient of that devastating smile, being held in his powerful arms as he adorably and endearingly counted the beats of the music.

  But that was the challenge. And she wanted the money he’d promised for the poor women and children, the thought of whom acted on her emotions like a bucket of cold water.

  What was she doing, mooning over him? He wasn’t her destiny. Bennett was. With Bennett, she would single-handedly rescue her family’s reputation so that Pearl and Ida, at least, could marry well. Perhaps eventually Della could return to London, impossible though that seemed now.

  None of that would be possible if she didn’t marry Bennett. Never mind getting married to Edward, whose birth would cause yet another scandal.

  It was up to her. It was all up to her.

  “Can you escort me back to my mother?” she asked, not waiting for his reply as she took his arm.

  “Of course.”

  She took a deep breath as they walked, scanning the room, looking at each single young lady in turn. Too dull, too aware of her own consequence, too irritating, too—curse it. She was never going to win this challenge if she shot down every single possible candidate. It was up to Mr. Wolcott and the lady in question if they suited, wasn’t it? She should endeavor to introduce him to every possible female and allow his wealth and undeniable charm do the work.

  That settled, she lifted her chin, planning out just who she’d introduce him to and when.

  Overcoming her ridiculous fascination with him would be just another test of her perseverance and determination.

  “Come in, my boy, and tell me about your evening.”

  Edward turned at the sound of his father’s voice, smiling at the now-familiar sequence—he went out, his father waited up for him, and then questioned him intently about who he saw and what he did.

  Mr. Beechcroft stood at the entrance to the library, a cozy fire flickering behind him.

  Edward handed his coat and hat to the butler and strode after his father, feeling a frown cross his features as he saw how his father labored to sit comfortably.

  The tightness in his chest had eased while he had been at the party, but it returned so quickly and forcefully it felt as though he had been punched. What was he doing, attending parties and dancing with sparkling ladies when his father was ill?

  Instead of sitting himself, he knelt down in front of his father, looking up at his worn, beloved face. “Why are you up so late? You’re supposed to be resting while I am doing all the hard work of finding a woman to marry me.” He grinned as he spoke, not wanting to let his father know Edward’s reaction when he saw his father’s obvious illness.

  Mr. Beechcroft smiled in reply, his brown eyes twinkling in delight. At least one of them was happy at the prospect of Edward’s marriage. “And how is it going? Did you see your Lady Olivia?”

  Edward shook his head and rose, going to sit in the chair opposite. “She is not my Lady Olivia,” he said, knowing his father wouldn’t care what Edward said if he had gotten something into his head.

  It was what made him a brilliant businessman, and a very irritating father—once his brain had seized on an idea, he wouldn’t rest until he saw it come to fruition. Hence the various factories that carried the Beechcroft name that had been built despite everyone telling his father his ideas were too grand, that the expenditure wouldn’t be worth the eventual minimal profits.

  Those people had been wrong. It was one thing, however, when one of his father’s ideas made the Beechcroft fortune swell; it was another thing entirely when his father wanted his illegitimate son to marry a lady who would never say yes to his suit, and even if she did, her family would never say yes as well.

  But to point out that there were some ladies who were far beyond Edward’s reach—regardless of how much wealth and prospects he had—would hurt his father too much. Mr. Beechcroft already felt the sting of Edward’s birth far more than Edward himself did.

  “Of course she is not.” Mr. Beechcroft’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe his own words. “It was mere coincidence that you happened to rush out of the dining room the other night just after she did. And of course it didn’t mean anything that she spent most of the evening before that looking at you. Did you have something on your face, I wonder?”

  Edward didn’t respond in words, but he did glare at his father. Who chuckled at seeing his son’s expression.

  “I stayed up, since you asked, because I was sorting through some papers. I need to get certain business transactions done before—before . . .” And then he paused, letting his words hang there in the silence so that Edward could fill in the blanks.

  Before I die.

  That sharp pain expanded from Edward’s chest through his entire body, and he leaned forward in his chair, staring intently at his father’s face. “We shouldn’t stay here any longer. Your marital aspirations for me be damned. You should be in the country resting, where we can see your usual doctor. Where you are most comfortable.”

  His father looked as though he was going to argue, and Edward held his hand up. “Wait. Before you say no, let’s talk about it.” He held his hand out and ticked each item off on his fingers. “One. You have trusted your own doctor for years. I know you have seen Dr. Bell—that’s his name, correct?” he said, waiting for his father’s nod, “and that Dr. Bell told you that—” he couldn’t say it, even though his father had said it already.

  “That I have not long to live.”

  Edward’s breath hitched. “Yes. That. The thing is, you are always saying that any business venture could benefit from having more than one opinion weighing in on it. It seems to me that your health is the most important business venture you’ve ever dealt with, and I want you to get your own doctor’s opinion before you resign yourself to—to . . .”

  “Death?” his father supplied in a quiet tone.

  Edward nodded, his throat tight.

  Mr. Beechcroft leaned back in his chair, wincing as he did so. Because the chair was uncomfortable? Or because he was in so much pain? Edward didn’t dare to ask. But Mr. Beechcroft’s regular doctor would, and that was entirely the point.

  “But if we leave London, you won’t have the opportunity to court someone named Lady Olivia,” his father said with a grin.

  Sometimes Edward wished his father were less jocular.

  “If we return to the country and I can see for myself that your health is being taken care of as well as I would wish, I can concentrate on finding a suitable bride,” he retorted. “You’ve often told me it’s important to focus on the business at hand. How can I focus on the business of marriage if I am thinking about you and your health? When I know for certain, I will fulfill your wish.” He didn’t say “your final wish,” but it was clear from his tone what he meant.

  His father twisted his lips in thought. “Hmm. And there are some other families still in residence in the country—there are sure to be some eligible young ladies there, so you won’t waste time.” As though each young lady was interchangeable with another, as long as she came from respectable stock.

  His father was certainly single-minded when it came to what he wanted. “Although I do have a preference for that Lady Olivia,” he added, confirming just how single-minded he was.

  He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head in thought. “I have been thinking about your mother.” He looked over at Edward. “I know I haven’t told you
much about her. It’s so hard, even now.” His eyes grew distant. “She was so kind and listened to all of my dreams. I knew we would get married, only her father—” And his lips tightened, and he shook his head.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “And I’m sorry for yours. I wish you could have met her, I wish she could see you now. You resemble her more than me. You’ve got her father’s height and she had dark curls like you do.” Mr. Beechcroft shook his head. “If only we could have married, you wouldn’t have to—”

  Be a bastard, Edward thought to himself.

  “Your Lady Olivia reminds me of your mother,” his father continued, as though Edward wasn’t conflicted enough about everything. “She is generous and intelligent, and she’d be a good wife.”

  This was one time Edward wished he didn’t agree with his father. Because at the moment he couldn’t imagine spending a life with any young lady who wasn’t opinionated, fierce, passionate, and sparkling.

  Unfortunately, he knew how that would end—with her trying to foist some unsuspecting young lady on him in some misguided quest for equality in Society, when they both knew there was nothing of the sort.

  Or worse, she’d succeed in marrying him off, and then would resume her chase of Bennett.

  How could he allow that to happen to his best friend?

  He could not.

  “I only want what is best for you,” his father said, interrupting his thoughts. “I want you to have what I never did.” His eyes got a distant expression. “I did think about marrying, but any other woman just didn’t compare. And there was you to take care of.” He smiled at Edward, a smile that revealed all of the love he had for his son. “All right,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “I know you won’t stop pestering me until I agree—you’re like me in that way, you know,” he said with a smile, “so we will return to our country home at the end of the week.”

  “Long enough for you to see your regular doctor and take his advice?” Edward knew how slippery his father could be when it came to his words. The man was renowned in business circles, at least, for saying things that seemed to indicate one course, only to mean something entirely different when it came to a closer examination.

  “Yes. I will stay in the country until things are resolved.”

  Edward narrowed his gaze at his father, wondering what he was missing in the somewhat vague words. But he didn’t want to spend time when his father should be resting arguing about it, so he merely nodded.

  “I’ll make all the preparations,” he said.

  Taking his father back home was the right thing to do. Even though it meant he wouldn’t be able to watch Lady Olivia fail in her attempt to make him into a respectable member of Society. Even though he wouldn’t watch as she introduced him to various young ladies who would probably rather swallow their dance cards then waltz with him.

  Even though he wouldn’t be able to kiss her again, watch as she argued vociferously in defense of one of her causes.

  But it wasn’t about him. He owed everything to his father, and he was going to sacrifice everything. A week or so ago, that sacrifice had been to try to gain acceptance into Society. Now it was to spend the rest of his life with a lady who could tolerate him.

  “But you must meet him, Miss Hunter. I insist.” Olivia smiled at the young lady opposite her, trying to look reassuring. Judging by the expression on the other lady’s face, it was more likely she had on what Pearl liked to call her “You Must Do What I Say” Face. “Mr. Wolcott has just come to town and doesn’t know that many people. I told our mutual acquaintance Lord Carson that I would endeavor to expand his circle of friends.” She glanced over to where Mr. Wolcott stood, slightly outside the various groups of people sipping beverages while eviscerating one another’s reputations. He stuck out from among all of them, a tall, dark, arrogantly curled gentleman whose expression bore its usual distant expression.

  Was it her imagination, or did he look slightly wistful?

  “But Mr. Wolcott is Mr. Beechcroft’s—” And then Miss Hunter paused, holding her hand up to her mouth as though she couldn’t possibly utter the word that was in both of their minds.

  Bastard.

  “Well, he is,” Olivia said in a terse voice. “That is true. Mr. Beechcroft has taken Mr. Wolcott in and recognized him as his own. Would you have preferred he left him in an orphanage? Because I promise you, those places are not ones where any child should be left.”

  The instinctual sorrow she felt when she considered those places, and those children, threatened to overwhelm her for a moment. Miss Hunter had likely never visited an orphanage, and likely had no idea what children who weren’t in their own privileged position faced.

  But Olivia did. And she was glad that Mr. Wolcott had managed to avoid that future, even though it meant he would have to meet ladies such as Miss Hunter, who looked terrified at the thought of meeting someone of Mr. Wolcott’s birth. Miss Hunter’s own family included a spendthrift brother, which was why the family was in straitened circumstances and why Olivia had chosen her. But he was legitimately born, so that meant he was more important and accepted than Mr. Wolcott.

  But it was not the time to get angry at someone’s naiveté. “Please, Miss Hunter.” Olivia glanced over again, sighing in relief. “And look, Lord Carson has joined him. I can introduce you to both of them.”

  “Well, in that case,” Miss Hunter said, nodding her head in agreement.

  The two ladies walked to where Mr. Wolcott and Lord Carson stood, Mr. Wolcott’s eyes traveling over her body in a lazy assessment that made her skin prickle.

  Which made her angry, because why was he daring to look at her that way, when he knew perfectly well that they should not have kissed and it was only an unfortunate emotional moment that they should both regret?

  That Olivia did not regret it was her own problem, and something with which she berated herself at various hours of the day. It was like a clock chiming, it was so regular.

  Oh! Time to regret one of the best experiences of my life!

  “Lady Olivia,” Lord Carson said as they approached. “It is lovely to see you this evening.”

  “And you, my lord,” Olivia said, dipping into a curtsey. Trying not to assess Mr. Wolcott the same way he’d done to her. Though it was admittedly difficult, what with his being all tall and spectacularly and elegantly dressed, the messy disarray of his curls the only item not presented to perfection, which made him seem even more handsome.

  “And may I present Miss Hunter? She is making her debut this year. Lord Carson, this is Miss Hunter. Mr. Wolcott, Miss Hunter.”

  They made their various “pleased to meet you’s” and other pleasantries until an awkward silence fell over them.

  Did she have to do all the work?

  She did. Suppressing a roll of her eyes, she began to speak.

  Chapter 12

  Don’t think too much about things that are in the past. Look only to the future.

  Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Decorum

  “The party is delightful, don’t you think?”

  She had on her most sparkling expression, and yet Edward could tell it was forced. At least, he hoped it was forced. Because if some of her brain wasn’t currently reviewing the details of that passionate kiss, he would have to lower his mark of his kissing skills. Which he knew was high.

  “And the music.” She nodded encouragingly at them in turn, her expression faltering as she looked at him. Say something, her eyes seemed to express.

  Well, he couldn’t deny any of her wishes. Not when she wished to kiss him, and not now when she was so desperate for him to meet this wispy young lady whose presence he’d barely noticed, his attention having been taken so much with her.

  “The music is indeed glorious,” he agreed. He held his hand to her. “Would you care to more fully experience it and dance with me?”

  Her gaze darted angrily between him and Miss Hunter, and he wished it were acceptable to lean his he
ad back and laugh at her obvious discomfiture.

  It was not, however, so he just clamped his jaw so he wouldn’t laugh and let his hand dangle out there, a physical reminder of what he’d just asked her.

  “Fine,” she said in a terse voice, taking his hand. “Let us dance.”

  “And Miss Hunter, could I persuade you to dance?” Edward heard Bennett say behind them as they walked onto the dance floor.

  He could feel how rigidly angry she was, and wondered just what it was about her ire that made him so—delighted.

  When he was concentrating on her, on her emotions, he felt the warmth and heat of them spread all over him, like a blanket that nonetheless prickled.

  He probably shouldn’t tell her she reminded him of a prickly blanket.

  Nor, honestly, should they dance together, because with her being all stiff and irritated, and him being the dancer he was, he would likely end up stepping thoroughly on her pride as well as her feet.

  Instead—“Come out here for a moment,” he said, guiding her to the windows that opened onto the terrace. She didn’t argue, for once, but let him walk her quickly out into the night.

  It was blissfully quiet out here, a welcome relief from the societal cacophony of inside. Not for the first time, he wished his father wasn’t so set on his joining this world—he didn’t particularly like it, or the people who were in it. He’d much prefer to be useful or entertained, whether that meant working on furthering his father’s business ventures or galloping one of his horses while on the hunt in the country.

  “Why are we out here? Why didn’t you ask Miss Hunter to dance rather than me? That was the point, you know,” she said in an aggrieved tone, folding her arms over her chest and glaring up at him.

  A deliciously prickly sparkling blanket.

  It was unfortunate he was going to be leaving at the end of the week.

  “I do know,” he said, reaching out and pulling one of her arms away from her body and taking her hand in his. She kept the other arm locked around herself, and he wondered if she knew just how tempted he was to remove that and pull her close against him. “I didn’t want to lead Miss Hunter on in any way.” Which was laughable, since the lady would likely be appalled to think that he was even possible as a suitor. “Because I am leaving London at the end of the week. I know I am thus depriving you of your opportunity to win our challenge, make me entirely respectable and find me a bride.” God help him. “So I will, of course, honor the commitment I made to you and donate a thousand pounds to the charity of your choice.”