A Duke in Need of a Wife

by Annie Burrows

  They hadn’t drawn up in front of that imposing façade, however. Instead the driver had taken a spur of the drive which took them the entire length of one of the massive wings, before curving into a stone-flagged area on which a sizeable town could have held its weekly market. They’d crossed that, heading for the rear of the main block and finally driven into a glassed-in porch. It had doors at each end, as big as barn doors, so that the entire area could be closed off, with a carriage inside. It meant that when they alighted it felt as if they were already indoors.

  The housekeeper, who was standing at the head of a set of three marble steps in front of what Sofia supposed was a back door, gave them all a rather frosty look.

  ‘I am Mrs Manderville,’ she’d said with a brief nod of her head. ‘You will have to make haste if you wish to have any hope of attending upon His Grace—’ and, yes, she had said it with capital letters ‘—in the yellow drawing room during the hour he has allotted for greeting his guests.’ She had then glanced down at Snowball, who was running around making friends with the various staff who were lifting down their luggage, and generally stretching her legs after the long journey. ‘Animals are not permitted in the guest rooms,’ she’d said sternly. Then beckoned to a liveried footman. ‘Take this dog to the kennels.’

  The man had picked up Snowball and was carrying her off before Sofia had a chance to explain that her dog was very well trained and would not be any trouble. And Mrs Manderville was marching off into the house with a curt, ‘Follow me’, anyway.

  She led them through a labyrinth of corridors and up several flights of stairs to three sets of adjoining rooms.

  ‘I have had hot water brought up already,’ said Mrs Manderville upon opening the first of the doors, into which she indicated Uncle Ned should go. ‘To speed things up.’

  Sofia spent the whole time she was ripping off her coat and washing off the after-effects of a difficult and dusty journey remembering Snowball’s frantic yelping and her ineffectual struggles against the arms of the burly young footman who’d borne her away, then imagining her poor little pet being ripped to shreds by a pack of ferocious animals trained to hunt down smaller creatures. And when she flung open the lid of her trunk, she discovered she had only one gown that she could wear without needing to iron it. Which was, of course, the one she liked least. A pale blue confection that had been Celia’s and then altered to fit Sofia when her cousin had purchased all new bride clothes.

  She had just scrambled into it and run a comb through her hair, when a knock on the door heralded the return of the housekeeper. Since she hadn’t even had time to pour herself a cup of tea she was feeling harassed and upset, as well as out of breath even before the trek through about half a mile of bewildering corridors to a room that was full of people who all seemed to know each other and who all turned to stare when she and her aunt and uncle were announced.

  Well, at least she now knew why the housekeeper had called it the yellow drawing room. Just about everything in it was done up in shades of yellow. Curtains, wall hangings, pottery and even the tunics of the nymphs frolicking round the frieze up near the ceiling. She was just wondering which of the Duke’s ancestors could have had such appalling taste, when he had looked her up and down with a sort of sneer and informed her she needed to change for dinner.

  So many explanations and complaints had begun jostling for expression that they got tangled in her throat, rendering her completely speechless.

  Which was probably just as well, or she’d have given Lady Sarah Whatever-her-name-was a piece of her mind.

  Which all went to show that Aunt Agnes was right. The Duke was never going to choose her. She didn’t have the style, the poise, or the manners befitting the rank. She’d already been feeling a bit like a cow who’d been fattened up for market, then failed to attract a buyer, after her outing with Jack, because both Uncle Ned and Aunt Agnes had assumed, when she’d returned still not the slightest bit betrothed to him, that it was all her fault. Which it had been, but only because she’d been deliberately trying to stave him off. They’d at first been baffled and then annoyed, then started talking the way they always did, about her, as though she wasn’t there, in such terms that she’d almost burst into tears. Ironically, that had made them instantly more sympathetic, since they took it as a sign that she was as disappointed about his reluctance to name a date as they were.

  They’d stopped badgering her and, she suspected, started badgering Jack instead. Fortunately, before they’d badgered him into coming back and attempting to make a proposal, they’d set off for Theakstone Court, to which property Jack thankfully had no access.

  She let out a sigh of relief. Though the place was too big and even the staff too pompous for her tastes, the grounds in which it stood looked delightful. She’d glimpsed a lake on the way up the drive and woods rising up to the crest of the hill. So at least she’d be able to relax for the coming week with no danger of receiving any sort of proposal whatever.

  And, since she was never going to measure up, no matter how hard she tried, there was no point in trying to impress the Duke.

  While Sofia was contemplating a week of freedom from pressure, Aunt Agnes was attempting to converse with the Marchioness of Sale.

  ‘I had no idea,’ she was saying, ‘that our husbands knew each other so well.’

  ‘My husband,’ said the Marchioness frostily, ‘has perforce to mingle with all sorts of persons in the course of his duties.’

  Though Aunt Agnes barely reacted, Sofia could tell the snub had found its mark. Far from backing off, however, Aunt Agnes gave the Marchioness a syrupy smile.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ she said, running her eyes over the taller, bony woman from head to toe, ‘there is no accounting for the behaviour, nor the tastes, of men in general.’

  Before the battle could really get going, the Duke intervened.

  ‘Miss Underwood,’ he said, causing both matrons to snap their mouths shut and content themselves with glaring at each other, ‘do your rooms meet with your approval?’

  ‘My rooms?’

  He drew her to one side.

  ‘Or is it something else about Theakstone Court that you dislike?’

  His voice was cold, with an edge to it that made her wonder if somehow she’d offended him.

  ‘My rooms are lovely,’ she said. ‘As far as I can recall. I was hardly in them for five minutes before we had to come down here.’

  ‘Oh?’

  There went that eyebrow again, adding so much more expression to the one syllable he’d uttered.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said soothingly, since he was clearly very proud of his ancestral home, ‘there can be nothing about Theakstone Court to dislike.’ As long as you didn’t dislike yellow.

  ‘And yet you cannot bring yourself to smile,’ he said reprovingly.

  Smile? Why should she smile? Oh, because he’d deigned to include her among guests that were so far above her that she ought to be down on her knees kissing his hand in gratitude, no doubt. First of all he’d made disparaging remarks about her attire and now he didn’t like it because she wasn’t grinning like a...like a...well, all the other young ladies in the room, now she came to think of it.

  ‘Is there something, perchance, troubling you?’

  His voice had changed. Now, instead of sounding annoyed, he sounded concerned.

  Her aunt darted her a warning glance—as if it was necessary. There was no way she was about to refer to all that was going on with Jack. Though there was one worry she could confess.

  ‘I am a bit concerned about Snowball,’ she admitted. ‘The housekeeper said she had to stay in the kennels, rather than with me.’

  ‘You think she might pine away,’ he said scathingly, ‘if she cannot be with you every moment?’

  ‘Well, Snowball is an indoor pet,’ she retorted. ‘She isn’t used to being put in a kennel with a l
ot of other dogs. Especially not dogs that are bred to hunt smaller creatures and...and tear them to pieces.’ She couldn’t quite keep her lower lip from trembling at the thought, though she hastily caught it between her teeth. Completely out of her control was a hand which, unbidden, flew to rest lightly against his arm.

  The Duke’s brows drew down into a heavy scowl. He waved an imperious hand to summon a footman. But before the fellow had even reached them, the Duke appeared to change his mind, for he waved him away.

  ‘I shall set your mind at rest,’ he said. ‘Personally.’ And then, without a word of explanation to anyone, he simply started walking towards the door. When she tried to remove her hand from his sleeve, he prevented her from doing so by clamping his hand over it.

  She darted a helpless look at her aunt, who was watching their departure wide-eyed. The Marchioness had a flinty look and her daughter a furious one.

  It wasn’t my doing, she wanted to tell them. I didn’t steal him from you all on purpose. I wouldn’t! You are welcome to the arrogant so-and-so!

  But before she could even draw breath to begin a much-modified version of that apology, they were out in the corridor and the footman was closing the door behind them.

  Chapter Ten

  He couldn’t believe she’d done it again—made him act contrary to all his training, all his beliefs. Simply because she was worried about her dog.

  All she’d had to do was look up at him, wide-eyed and troubled, to make him feel that he, and he alone, should relieve her of those troubles. So that he, and he alone, would receive her gratitude. With the result that he’d dismissed the footman and abandoned all his other guests.

  ‘I cannot believe you are doing this,’ she said rather breathlessly, so uncannily echoing his own thoughts that he stopped dead and whirled round to look at her.

  She was several paces behind him, descending one of the stone staircases normally reserved for the use of staff. And she was out of breath.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said curtly, for she’d made him so annoyed with himself that he’d been striding along rather fast and had been in danger of leaving her behind. ‘I shall slow down.’

  He waited until she was on the step above him, putting their faces on a level.

  ‘It isn’t that,’ she said crossly, fluttering a hand to her mid-section. She was breathing hard. And she smelled of heated woman.

  She’d surely slap him if he leaned forward and kissed those invitingly parted lips.

  He took a step down, to put a more decorous distance between them.

  It put him on a level with her heaving bosom.

  ‘What is it, then?’ he snapped, irritated beyond measure by the knowledge that this staircase was deserted and likely to remain so at this time of day. It meant that nobody was likely to catch him if he did yield to the temptation to kiss her. And yielding to temptation was something he would not do. It was the first step on a slippery slope that led...

  ‘How like you not to notice,’ she snapped back, cutting across the direction of his thoughts, ‘that you have just made me the subject of gossip by hauling me out of the room in front of all those...’ She pulled a face. ‘Well, I am sure they are all perfectly respectable people, but they will now all be talking about me. About us.’

  He winced as she scored a direct hit.

  But it was her own fault. He’d laid careful plans about how he was going to conduct himself with each and every one of the young ladies who’d be staying at Theakstone Court this week. With rigid propriety. She was the one who’d blown his plans sky-high by...by...

  By just being herself.

  Which made him even more annoyed than ever.

  ‘Whichever woman becomes my Duchess will have to grow accustomed to being the subject of gossip,’ he said unfairly, rather than explaining his weakness where she was concerned.

  ‘But I’m not going to be her,’ she said with resentment.

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Of course it is so.’

  ‘Why, then, did I invite you here?’

  ‘Well, I... I supposed it was a fleeting whim on your part which you regretted almost at once.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ He’d done nothing to give himself away. Had he?

  ‘Well, that last drive... I could see I’d annoyed you by not being...and actually,’ she said, descending a step so that they were face to face again, ‘I am rather glad to have this opportunity of apologising to you for my mood that day. It was just—’ She broke off, chewing on her lower lip, which only made him wonder how soft it was.

  His heart beat doubled. His own lips tingled. He forced himself to recall what she’d just said. ‘Yes? It was just...?’

  ‘It was my aunt and uncle. Their reaction to the invitation you sent. They...’

  ‘They pushed you into coming here? You really do not wish to marry me?’ He got a swooping sensation in his stomach, as though the floor had dropped out from under him and he was plunging into some sort of chasm.

  ‘Oh, no, nothing like that. I mean, I hadn’t really thought about it. As I told you that day, I don’t really know you well enough to...oh, dear. I’m not explaining this very well. I’m not used to it, you see.’

  ‘Used to what?’ Having dukes express an interest in marrying her?

  ‘Explaining myself. I haven’t been in the habit of telling anyone what I truly think about anything for so long that I—’

  ‘Is your aunt so harsh with you?’

  ‘Oh, no! Only...it is just that by the time I met her... Perhaps I should explain that my father was a soldier who, perhaps unwisely, kept me with him after my mother died. Because when he died, too, I quickly learned that small children are a great nuisance to an army on the move. And although nobody was deliberately cruel, nevertheless, by the time I reached Nettleton Manor I’d become so wary of grown-ups that, well, it took me a long, long time to start trusting my own uncle and aunt. And by then...’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It is different with Snowball. Somehow I can really open my heart to her. I suppose,’ she said, flinging up her chin, ‘you think that is silly.’

  ‘No, not at all.’ His own childhood had been a similar sort of desert. He, too, had lost everything, overnight, and discovered that a child could not necessarily trust adults to care for them well. And more to the point, so had Livvy.

  ‘At least you have the dog,’ he said, wondering at the feelings of...something, swirling around and through them. Through them both, though how he knew that he could not explain.

  Nor did he want to. Feelings were not for examining and explaining. They were for suppressing and controlling.

  ‘Come,’ he said, holding out his arm. ‘Let me take you down to the kennels, so that you can stop worrying about the welfare of your furry confidante. And on the way, perhaps you would not mind finishing the explanation you were going to give me about your behaviour when last we met.’

  She placed her hand on his sleeve and they continued the descent of the servants’ staircase side by side. But only after she’d shot him a rather resentful look.

  ‘In what way,’ he enquired politely, ‘have I erred this time?’

  ‘In insisting on a full apology, when I would have thought that a decent man would have let me off the hook.’

  ‘But you piqued my curiosity,’ he said, pushing open the door at the foot of the stairs, ‘by hinting that your aunt and uncle had done something to make you unhappy with me.’ They set out along the corridor that went past the kitchens, scattering startled serving maids right and left. ‘And I do think you owe me an explanation, if you are taking advantage of my hospitality under false pretences.’

  ‘What? Ooh, you are the most...’ She flushed. ‘You know full well,’ she hissed between clenched teeth as they passed an open door, ‘that either accepting or refusing the invitation was not up to me. At all!’


  ‘Are you saying that your aunt has ambitions of seeing you become a duchess?’ She wouldn’t be the first matchmaking woman attempting to thrust a protégée under his nose. During this past Season, even his own stepmother had attempted something of the sort so that he’d marry a woman loyal to her, rather than him.

  Sofia gave a bitter-sounding laugh. ‘That is so wide of the mark it would be funny, if it wasn’t so...’ she sighed. ‘The fact is, they are so sure I could never measure up to your high standards that they considered it perfectly safe to come here.’

  ‘Safe? In what way?’ The conversation was taking such unexpected twists and turns that he was beginning to feel as bewildered as the kitchen staff looked to see him strolling through their domain with a young lady on his arm.

  ‘Oh, dear. I really ought not to say.’

  They’d walked the entire length of the corridor that flanked the kitchens by now. He opened the door, tugged her outside and shut it firmly behind them. The courtyard was bustling with activity, but here, in the porch, nobody would be able to hear anything they said.

  ‘Miss Underwood, you can confide in me, if it would help.’

  She looked up at him with longing. He felt as if he was balancing on a knife-edge.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said, now looking a touch confused, ‘I have already decided you are trustworthy, or I wouldn’t have told you about my childhood.’

  ‘I can assure you it will go no further.’

  ‘It had better not,’ she muttered. And then took a deep breath, as though preparing to take the plunge. ‘The thing is, my aunt and uncle...that is, for a long time now, they have been steering me towards a match with...a person they have chosen.’

  ‘An arranged match? Is that not rather unusual, these days?’

  She looked across the courtyard to the wall of the kitchen garden and at once he saw that it was a far better spot for her to unburden herself. He hustled her across the courtyard, opened the door to the kitchen garden and urged her inside.

  ‘Miss Underwood?’