He's a Duke, But I Love Him: A Historical Regency Romance (Happily Ever After Book 4)

by Ellie St. Clair

  Olivia’s mind raced back to her previous thoughts on the adventure that could await her if she stepped out of her world and into another. She could be found out — but did she care?

  What was the worst that could happen — her reputation would be further ruined and she would remain a spinster forever? She knew that at some point, when her father passed, the title and the house would go into the hands of a relation, but her father would always ensure she was well cared for. If she was going to live a life alone … why not live that life well?

  She told Rosalind of her idea that afternoon. Not surprisingly, Rosalind was shocked, though her green eyes shone with unspoken excitement.

  “I hardly know what to say, Olivia,” she said as they sat in the parlor of her parents’ home, “I know what I should say. I should tell you this is a foolish idea and you should never, ever consider it.”

  “And yet?”

  “And yet it seems like quite an adventure, though a very scandalous one at that,” said Rosalind with a sly grin and a bit of pink in her cheeks. “Nevertheless, it is dangerous, Olivia. I’m sure you shall run into men who will know who you are.”

  Olivia gave a curt nod of her head.

  “Understood. That’s why I’ll be wearing a disguise. Oh, and I’ve sent a note to Billy to ask him to accompany me.”

  “Oh Olivia, do not do that to poor Mr. Tell,” said Rosalind, strain showing in her pretty features. “He’s always had a weakness for you. You know he sees you as the sister he never had, and therefore will doing anything for you, even when he knows it’s a fool-brained idea.”

  “He will not do anything for me!” Olivia argued. “We’ve simply always had a similar sense of adventure.”

  Rosalind sighed. “You shall ruin the poor man.”

  Olivia thought on it for a moment and then responded, “You are absolutely right, Rosalind.” Her friend smiled back at her, happy she had come to her senses so quickly. But her heart soon dropped as Olivia followed up with, “I shall just have to go without him then.”

  “Olivia…” Rosalind warned.

  “I’ll be going only for a couple of hours one evening. Simply to see how I would fare at the tables.”

  “I still do not understand how you plan to escape discovery.”

  “Through my disguise.”

  “Will you dress as a man?” asked Rosalind.

  “No, although that is quite a good idea,” she said, and Rosalind emitted a rather unladylike groan. “However, the venue I have in mind is equally welcoming to women as to men, though not to unmarried society ladies. I believe it will be much easier to look like one of the women who frequent such parties.”

  “A prostitute?” Rosalind looked at her in horror.

  “No, Ros, not at a private party. Perhaps if I were going to another type of establishment, but that may be a bit much, even for me,” responded Olivia with smile at her. “Many women gamble at these parties, Rosalind, just not the women that you keep company with. I’ll go as a gambling woman. I will slightly alter my appearance so no one will realize who I am.”

  Rosalind looked like she might be sick.

  “I would go with you, simply to keep you out of trouble. But … ”

  “But you are betrothed to Lord Brecken, and I could never ask you to do something that might jeopardize your future,” finished Olivia, though she wished Rosalind would let go of the man who seemed an incredible bore and far too self-assured. “No, Rosalind, I will do this myself. It will be quite fine, you shall see.”

  “Ah Billy!” Olivia welcomed the man who entered the parlor with a friendly embrace and a kiss on each cheek. She had sent word to him that he should call on her to discuss plans for the evening, and he had come rather quickly, much sooner than she had anticipated. It was lovely to see him, as they had always got on well. Despite the closeness of their families, her parents had never attempted to arrange a match between them, as her mother had set her sights higher than a second son for Olivia. That was very well, however, as they had never any feeling toward one another except a close friendship, and both had always wanted more than that in marriage. Though, she supposed, were there to come a time when neither had found the love they were looking for and they each required a spouse, well … perhaps.

  “What trouble are you looking to find today, Olivia?” he asked, sitting on the sofa and crossing one leg over the other, his deep blue eyes looking at her from under his mop of tawny brown hair.

  They had known one another since they were young, as their families were neighbors in the country and their London townhomes not far from one another. They had found much mischief together as children, and neither had lost that spirit.

  “I should like to go gambling,” she said with a smile.

  “Gambling? At a party?”

  “I should like to play cards for more than simply fun and pastime, Billy,” she said, standing impatiently. “You know how good I am. I would like to actually play, against true gamblers, for legitimate coin.”

  He looked at her uneasily, sitting up now from his nonchalant slouch and leaning towards her, elbows on knees. “Olivia, you know, I am not certain this is a good idea…” he started, but she interrupted him.

  “Billy. It will be fine. I shan’t go to a gambling hell. That was my original idea, you know. Is there anywhere else that might be suitable? I had thought perhaps one of the noble homes that has been opened to gamblers. I shall go in disguise so no one will know me. And before you say no, if you do not wish to provide me with any information as to where to go, I shall have to find such a place myself.”

  He looked heavenward as if asking for help before looking at her with a sigh.

  “Fine,” he said. “There is a permanent establishment in the home of Lady Atwood. There is supposed to be quite the crowd tonight.”

  “Lady Atwood?”

  “Yes, her husband passed and she had always been somewhat of a gambler, so she decided to make further profits off it by becoming the bank herself.”

  “Interesting,” said Olivia, her eyes gleaming. “Perhaps I have a future after all, should I never find a husband to suit me. Do you have directions to her house?”

  “I shall take you there tonight,” he said with resignation.

  “No, Billy, I will go myself. I cannot ask you to do such a thing.”

  “Olivia, I refuse to allow you to go alone. I will accompany you or you will not go at all.” He gave her a look that told her he would not be taking no for an answer on this particular subject.

  “Fine,” she said. “I shall fake a headache to allow myself time to prepare. I will meet you at the servant’s entrance at ten. Oh, this will be such fun!”

  Billy smiled at her excitement as he surrendered to her wishes, though he didn’t seem quite as thrilled as he shook his head, opened the door, and took his leave.

  “Ack!”

  Billy jumped in the air, letting out a shout, as Olivia poked him in the back.

  “Shhhh,” she whispered. “You’ll wake everyone with shouts like that!”

  “Well, you gave me a fright, appearing as you did so suddenly behind me,” he responded, his hand at his chest as if to slow his racing heart. “What in the blazes are you wearing?”

  She had tucked her recognizable golden blonde hair up underneath a black wig, which she topped with a satin Mameluke turban, unlike anything she would ever truly wear. She felt nearly as silly as her mother with the wide ostrich feather hanging beside her face. She had gone down to the shops earlier that day to find a few pieces to wear tonight and had been quite pleased with what she had found. She had kept most of it hidden from the maid and the footman who accompanied her, as she did not trust them not to say anything to her mother.

  Instead of the usual white or pastel gown she typically donned for an evening out, tonight she wore a dress of fine silk in a deep red. It was much lower cut than any dress worn by most respectable unmarried young ladies, revealing an ample amount of her bosom. She would often w
ear a tucker with such a dress for modesty, but not tonight.

  Billy’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, as he looked her up and down, from her satiny slippers to the feather bobbing on top of her head.

  “You look … that is to say, you are…” Olivia smiled slyly as he couldn’t seem to find the words.

  “Perfect,” she said. “It seems I have the desired effect. Now, no carriage for us tonight, as it will be recognizable. We shall have to hail a hackney.”

  He nodded, agreeing with her, and set out down the road to find one. It came quickly, and he gave the driver the address, which was not particularly far. Her heart raced with excitement as they seated themselves inside. It had been some time since she had done something so carefree and reckless, and she was exhilarated. She loved adventure, something that was in short supply in her life. And she really wasn’t traveling far. She was still within the neighborhoods of London she typically frequented, though she did realize they were coming to the outskirts of what could be considered safe for a woman of her station.

  She jiggled the small reticule holding her few coins in her lap as she leaned back against the squabs and looked out the window. She hadn’t much to gamble with, but it would be a start. She had spent the afternoon studying the game of whist. She had, of course, played many times in the past, but never in a serious fashion, rather more to while away the hours at a party or such other gathering. This was with true players, for real money, and she couldn’t wait.

  4

  The hackney drew to a stop in front of the modest, yet elegant and brightly lit townhouse. Olivia wasn’t the only guest arriving, as she saw other carriages and hackneys depositing their passengers at the front door. She stepped out of the carriage, with Billy close behind her.

  “I’ll keep you in my sights, Olivia,” he said. “Should you need anything, I shan’t be far.”

  “Thank you, Billy,” she said with a warm smile. “I don’t know whatever I would do without you. Now don’t forget, tonight I am not Lady Olivia Jackson, but Mrs. Penelope Harris, widow of the late Bartholomew Harris, a well-to-do merchant. We lived in Bath and I am just new to London.”

  He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Penelope and Bartholomew?”

  “Yes,” she said, tilting her chin. “You don’t approve?”

  “They sound rather stuffy.”

  “Well that’s the point. They cannot be nobility or people would ask questions about who they are. I had to come up with an identity that was believable but still respectable.”

  He shook his head with mirth, and she didn’t miss the way his lips slightly curled at the corners as he looked down at her and gestured for her to make her way inside. She took a deep breath. Here we go, she thought.

  She entered the front door, and was greeted by a woman who had taken a heavy hand to her face paint, perhaps in an attempt to capture some of the lost beauty of her youth.

  “Good evening,” the woman said with a wide grin, showing her slightly yellowed teeth. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Madam, for I cannot place your face.”

  “Mrs. Harris,” Olivia responded with a smile at the woman, as she provided her assumed name. “And you must be Lady Atwood.”

  “I am,” she said with a nod. “Do come inside. What is your game of choice?”

  “Whist,” she said affirmatively. It was the game most suited to her, a game of skill, not solely chance, for one who was more of a strategist than a risk taker. It was a game in which counting cards would also come in handy.

  A footman appeared to lead her into the appropriate room, what looked to be a former study that had been converted into a gaming room. Its dark green walls with pillar-framed fireplace and mahogany bookshelves lent the room a comforting, masculine feel. Former Lord Atwoods stared down at her, and Olivia assumed Lady Atwood must have been allowed to maintain this residence when her husband passed. Olivia was served a glass of brandy, as requested. She had decided a strong drink would help to calm her nerves and excitement, but that would be it — she couldn’t let herself get soused, as then where would her game be?

  Olivia sat in one of the leather chairs as she waited for the betting to begin. The game of whist required four players, and she could only hope she was paired with someone skilled, or all could be lost.

  She saw a few gentlemen of her acquaintance within the room, and was careful to keep her eyes down and avoid eye contact with them. Her disguise was fairly clever — she had even added a beauty mark above her lip and had slightly painted her face, but if someone took a close look at her, chances were still high she would be recognized.

  Truth be told, though, she was more interested in the ladies of the room. She had heard of women who gambled, but had never truly seen the serious players, only women at the odd social engagement. The women here were certainly more carefree, most of them easy flirts with the men in the room. Olivia suspected that most of it was a play in order to put their opponents at ease.

  The gathered men and women — certainly more men than women — began to take their places at the tables, and Olivia greeted two other gentlemen she fortunately did not recognize with an easy smile. The men — a baron and a merchant — introduced themselves, seemingly thrilled to have joined her. Good. She hoped they would think she was an easy mark.

  “Now we await our fourth,” said the dealer, as Olivia looked down at the coin in her reticule, hoping that at the very least she had enough to cover the buy-in.

  Olivia sensed a new presence at the table. “I’d better have more luck tonight,” the man said, his voice a rich baritone, though tinged with slightly masked resentment. The silky voice had Olivia freeze in her chair. She knew that voice. She knew it all too well. It had flirted with her for a week-long house party, and remained in her thoughts, despite her efforts to push it away. She swallowed as she looked about her, her thoughts racing frantically as she kept from raising her face to the man, allowing him only the view of her dark wig and the turban she despised.

  “Well, either way, you are in for a treat, Kenley,” said the baron, “as the lovely Mrs. Harris has joined us this evening!”

  “It’s not Kenley anymore,” he said, seemingly not affected at all by the woman sitting at the table. “It’s Breckenridge. The Duke of Breckenridge.”

  Olivia couldn’t help herself at that, her eyes snapping up as they rose to his face. She had nearly forgotten his father had passed. Her friend Isabella had mentioned it in passing some time ago, and she supposed the Duke had been in mourning since. Her crystal blue eyes met his of soft green, which flared in recognition as he took her in. He said nothing, but let his gaze wander from the tip of the turban-topped dark wig, down her body to the slippers on her toes, letting his eyes rest for a moment on the bosom that spilled out of her tight red dress.

  She realized she had been lying to herself over these past months. She couldn’t deny the effect he had on her, from his golden blond curls, well-chiseled cheekbones and the depths of his eyes, to the deep dimple she remembered imprinting his face when he smiled his mischievous grin. The smile was far from his face at the moment, however. His usual look of fun and humor had been replaced by lips set in a grim line, as dark shadows hung under his eyes. Her heart tugged as she longed to ask more about what had transpired since she had last seen him. Now, however, was not the time.

  He cleared his throat, a sense of amusement washing over the face that moments ago had been drawn and closed off. “Mrs. — what did you say your name was?”

  “Mrs. Harris,” she said, her nose in the air, as if tempting him to call her bluff.

  “Mrs. Harris,” he said, taking her hand and raising her fingers to his lips, never once removing his eyes from her. “Charmed, I am sure. I’m not certain, however, that I recognize your face or your name. What is your first name — and your husband’s?”

  She cleared her throat. “Penelope,” she said. “My husband was Bartholomew.” She saw levity cross his face, but he simply raised an eyebrow at her
and nodded. She smiled an icy grin in return and they both resumed their seats. The dealer set the bets, and Olivia breathed a sigh of relief as she realized she had brought more than enough. That had been her one concern — well, her most pressing concern — was what to do if the stakes were set too high.

  “Now then,” said the dealer, an aging gentleman with a heavy mustache and somber countenance. While the game had a much more serious tone than the usual card games she took part in, Olivia was pleased to have the chance to put her skills to use, not wasting them on the usual partners of young ladies of the ton. She would never be able to go back to playing with Hester and her tittering friends. As much as she enjoyed winning against them, it was no challenge at all.

  “Shall we determine partners?” the dealer asked.

  He held out the French deck of cards to the four of them, and they each chose a card. The two with the lowest cards would pair against the two with the highest. “The four of diamonds,” said the first man, a Mr. Ambrose. The Baron, Lord Branson, chose the seven of clubs. “King of diamonds,” said the Duke. Olivia chose last. “The queen of Hearts,” she said with a smile, looking over the card at her new partner, who now exchanged seats with Lord Branson to sit across from her. He winked at her, and she felt warmth flood her from head to toes.

  “Right then,” said the dealer. “We shall begin. The game is rubber of whist. Winners will be determined by the best of three games.”

  He dealt them each 13 cards, face down. Olivia raised hers in a fan in front of her face, arranging them as she preferred, her eyes flicking over the cards to the Duke sitting across from her.

  The dealer placed the last card remaining on the table in front of them, face up to show the trump suit — hearts.

  “Mrs. Harris,” he said a couple of times until Olivia finally jumped, realizing he was speaking to her, and she inwardly cursed — she must pay closer attention to the game and not focus on the Duke. “You play first.”