An Apple Pie for a Duke

by Ruby Royce

  In her youth, Gigi's mother had been quite an important member of the ton, but these days Mary Cartwright, formerly the Countess Rivendon, hardly ever travelled to London and preferred to stay with Eugenia's father, who was over sixty-five years of age and hated polite society with a vengeance. “Puffed up old tarts!” he'd call the ladies at Almack's.

  The debutantes were all decidedly boring and Gigi felt that she simply did not fit in.

  The young men she had met were very charming but somehow refrained from real conversation. They almost recoiled when she tried to converse with them about their dogs or their horses or, God forbid, literature, philosophy or politics!

  Her aunt, Lady Tarly, had warned her not to sound like a bluestocking – a word of which Eugenia had never heard before. Lady Tarly had advised her to speak only of thinks suitable for an unmarried girl, such as balls, drawing, music and what?

  Well, nothing.

  Yes, Eugenia could sing, draw and dance, but she did not enjoy talking about it. She wished to know more about the world, about science and history, about far away places, about life!

  Once she had overheard her aunt complaining to Lady Cartwright that she had let Eugenia get away with strange ideas. Nobody would marry a girl like her. She was very pretty, certainly, but so were many other debutantes who were less... well, less like Eugenia.

  London life was not for her, Gigi had decided.

  Above all she missed the company of her truest friend. Mr. Wimple. Nobody could listen to her as patiently as he could. Nobody was as wonderful a companion for picnics in the beautiful Yorkshire countryside.

  Oh, my Mr. Wimple. I miss you.

  There was not even anything remotely interesting in her aunt’s library either.

  She did enjoy the classics but most of all she loved adventure novels.

  Her mother owned hundreds of them---but pretended not to.

  Whenever Gigi could, she nicked one of them and dwelled within the magical world of suspense and love.

  “Why, let's have a look at that little bookshop!” her mother cried out as if she had heard her daughter's thoughts.

  Lady Tarly turned her eyes to the heavens but followed her sister-in-law without complaining.

  Gigi felt her spirits rise. She quickly stepped into the shop and there they were! Shelves full of books, shining and new! What new adventures would they uncover?

  Gigi's mother began to converse with the shopkeeper who updated her on recent philosophical publications and political works. In that particular moment, Gigi did not care for intellectual books. She had spotted just what she had been looking for in a shelf by a window.

  The Sultan one novel was titled. Captured another. Abbey of Shadows a third.

  “Well,” she heard her mother say. “Having been to France myself at the actual time, I cannot deny that the aristocracy over there did have certain---”

  The door flew open.

  A tall figure in a dark blue overcoat and high hat of the exact same colour, both of the finest cut, entered the shop, followed by another tall gentleman of similar attire, though not quite as formidable as the first.

  “Ah, yerrs... dear little shop,” the figure drawled lazily. “Need gift f’ m’ little sister, seventeen she'll be. What d’girls stick ‘noses into these days, huh?”

  Gigi felt her bowels constrict. She had heard that voice before. Something about it made her feel very strange inside. But where had she heard it?

  It came to her just as the tall figure turned around to face her.

  His black eyes were gleaming like those of the devil. They had an almost exotic slant to them.

  He watched Gigi as if she were his prey.

  Gigi felt soaring heat rush into her head. She stared at him like a rabbit stares at a snake.

  It was he! HIM!

  For fives years it had been his face she put to the heroes in her novels! For five years it had been him she was seeing in her most secret dreams! HIM! Dominic!

  His face was a little darker than was the fashion but who cared about fashion when that face was so perfectly... well, what is it?

  Perfectly perfect!

  Dominic St. Yves, The Duke of Surrey, stood before her in all his glory, most likely come to shoot her in the head.

  “Look, Darl, here's y’ng lady,” he hissed through his perfect teeth. “Why d’nt ask her?”

  With a few steps he was directly in front of Gigi. She could even smell him. Her heart was racing uncontrollably.

  “Well, Miss, ‘t’d you ‘commend f’ grl ‘f y’r age? In’cent, like y’self, ‘presume? ‘thing very comme il faut?”

  Gigi stared at him in utter disbelief.

  The other man coughed, obviously embarrassed by the duke’s behaviour.

  He addressed Gigi's mother and aunt who had hurried over when they saw their protégée coming under attack by a man. “Lady Tarly, would you be so kind as to introduce us to the other ladies. I believe I haven't made their acquaintance.”

  Gigi's Aunt appeared to have awoken from a terrible nightmare.

  “Of course, of course,” Lady Tarly panted. “This is my sister-in-law, Lady Cartwright, and her daughter, Miss Cartwright. May I present to you the Earl of Darlington, and eh, His Grace the Duke of Surrey.”

  “The long lost Countess Rivendon! Enchanté.” Lord Darlington bowed deeply.

  The sublime creature looming over Gigi slightly backed away and transferred its attention to the rest of the group. This time, he snarled.

  Is he really snarling? Is that snarling? What does a black panther do when conversing in polite society? I have no idea.

  “Yerrs, yerrs... blief 've bin ‘troduced to La’y Tarl’, howd'you do... can't ‘member ‘ving pleasu’f meeting you, La’y Crtwrght, ‘though ‘blief 've bin ‘quainted with late mother, ‘ven't you. Yerrs... I'm Surrey.”

  Somehow the duke still managed to sound lazy even though he was definitely snarling.

  It was fascinating!

  Strange how anybody could even understand what he was saying. But above all, the way he spoke to Gigi's mother and aunt was incredibly discourteous!

  That was not at all the way to address a lady much older than oneself.

  Why don't they expel him from the shop, chase him out with a broom? Why do they keep talking to him, the silly old goats? Why doesn't anybody do anything? They should shun him, cut him, refuse him, right now! That man is dangerous and impossible and most certainly a rake and very, very perfect!

  Instead, the shopkeeper stood behind his desk, gazing admiringly at the duke, her aunt smiled an unnatural smile, only Lady Cartwright did not seem overly impressed by His perfectly perfect but impossibly impossible Grace.

  “Yes. I knew Carlotta well,” Lady Cartwright nodded. “She and I had children of the same age. We had great deal to talk about. She was a remarkable woman and I was very sad about her passing away. You used to look a lot like her, duke, and I can still see the resemblance. Well, a Sforza princess surely leaves her mark on the faces of her children.”

  The duke raised an eyebrow then he gave a little bow. A minuscule bow.

  The marriage of Dominic's father and Carlotta Sforza had, in fact, been quite a sensation back in the day. A love match. Fortunately, Carlotta had been so beautiful, so highly aristocratic and so immensely rich that nobody could find fault in her. In fact, her family still thought she had married below her prospects by taking one of the richest and most powerful men in England for a husband. He had only been a duke, after all.

  “I believe you've been looking for a book, Your Grace?” Gigi's mother proceeded unabashed. “I strongly believe in choosing the literature for my daughter myself. There are some books in this world that can cause quite an unbecoming turmoil in a young head, don't you agree, duke? My Eugenia only reads what I consider appropriate, therefore let me make the recommendation for your sister.” She strode over to a table of display and lifted a novel called The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens.

  Gigi groan
ed inwardly, remembering a lukewarm plot and unbearable moral teachings.

  “A lovely little book. Gigi was quite delighted by it, weren't you?”

  Again, the dark eyes were on Gigi. Seething. Burning!

  “Quite... delighted.” Gigi pressed out the words with the last air remaining to her.

  “Were you...,” the duke purred. Purred? Why would he purr?

  A shiver went through Gigi, she felt dizzy.

  “My dear girl!” Her mother cried out. “You are not at all looking well, we must go home and you'll take to bed at once! You'll not miss the great ball at Lady Winston's. I'll not have you ill, my little dove.”

  Gigi's cheeks burnt with shame.

  “Yes, she does look feverish, doesn't she,” Lord Darlington observed.

  “Eugenia, have you been feeling unwell before?” Lady Tarly, who most certainly felt unwell, probed from a little further away. The fact that the duke had once threatened her and her husband over their afternoon tea was still a vivid memory to her.

  Gigi did not speak. She tried to inhale but her lungs refused her. A few more moments and she would faint! Right there in front of everybody, in front of HIM!

  “Come on, Surrey, we are awaited at court.” Darlington patted Surrey on the back.

  “Right,” Dominic St. Yves said, turned abruptly and walked away.

  Out of the door.

  Out of Gigi's life.

  “That dreadful man! He scared our little bird so much she forgot to breathe,” Lady Tarly whimpered as soon as the gentlemen were out. She held a bottle of smelling salts to Gigi's nose and indeed, they brought Gigi back to full conscious awareness.

  Everything was as it had been before. Shelves, shopkeeper, her mother, her aunt.

  Had it been an illusion? A trick of the mind?

  Then she remembered.

  “Oh Mama,” she sighed. “Did you really give him The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens? How awful! I think I'm going to die!”

  4.

  Bond Street, London, 5 seconds later

  Bloody hell, bloody, bloody, bloody hell! Why me, why this, why me, why me? Why ME?

  “Would you be so genial as to explain your behaviour?” Darlington asked as they rushed down Bond Street. “That was unheard of!”

  Dominic said nothing.

  Bloody hell! Why me? How did I deserve this?

  “Surrey? Are you quite alright, man?”

  “Oomph.”

  “I beg you pardon?” Darlington grabbed Dominic by the arm, forcing him to stop. “Have you gone insane? We're walking into the wrong direction! My men are waiting for us with the carriage by the park. Where are you heading?”

  “I love her,” Dominic whispered

  “What did you just say?”

  Dominic wailed. “I love her, gods be damned!”

  “Whom? What? And keep your voice down,” Darlington hissed. “What is the matter with you? What was the business with ‘yerrrs… I’m ‘narr’gnt prick’ all about?”

  “I love her,” Dominic repeated and wondered how Darlington could not have seen it.

  Actually, just as he had entered the bookshop, he had been gripped by a sudden fear: Darlington would fall in love with Gigi too, and she with him, and they would be married and have children and live happily ever after while Dominic would drink and whore himself into an early grave.

  “Yes, you said so. It seems to be the only thing you'll say for the rest of the day. Thank Goodness.”

  Darlington dragged Dominic along, but very carefully. The Duke of Surrey was not the kind of man one would drag along bodily.

  “Why don't we turn around and head back to the carriage. It'll take us to court, where, in case you forget, we do have an appointment with the King. Remember him? Formerly the Prince Regent? Charming fellow. Ruler of this great nation, by the way.”

  “No! We can't go back!” Dominic was terrified. “We can't go back!”

  “We can't go back where?”

  “We can't go back THERE!” He pointed towards the distant bookshop.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because, I love her.”

  “Yes, but whom?”

  “Her!”

  “Countess Rivendon? I grant you, she's a beautiful woman but I believe she must be nearing fifty. We did have our share of belles d'automne, but you shouldn't go that far, now should you? I didn't even know you'd met her before, much less that you had a secret liaison with her. Isn't her husband rather the military type? I heard Lackerby mention General Cartwright from time to time and I remember there was always a certain amount of fear in his voice whenever he---”

  “Oh shut up!” Dominic took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Not her!”

  “Lady Tarly then! Are you a pervert?”

  Dominic glared at his friend. “Do you wish to die, Darlington? Because I'm about to strangle you.”

  “No,” Darlington granted, “but you can't be serious, if what I think is true.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think you shouldn't be hankering after debutantes.” Darlington gave his friend a pitying smile.

  “I'm not hankering, I love her!” Dominic felt an urge to punch his old chum in the stomach.

  “Yes, yes. One minute in a bookshop and you love her.” Darlington kept holding on to Dominic. “You must be getting really old if a pretty face and some golden curls can heat your blood as much as that. She's pretty, yes, if you like the type, which you do, but she's also a shy, boring little deb. She didn't say a word. But, well, considering the impression you made---”

  “Yes she did!” Dominic shouted fiercely. “She said “delighted”! Didn't you hear? And she's not boring. Not boring at all! You're completely ignorant. You don't know her one bit!”

  “Oh, but you do, of course, you saw her entire being in the blink of an eye and now you're deeply committed. Her parents will be, let's say, d’lighted, at the prospect of their daughter becoming a ‘ditchiss’ to apply your new manner of speech. --- I think you ought to have a glass of Madeira. Or something stronger.”

  “I met her before!”

  Now Darlington stopped. “Don't tell me you're having an affaire with her!”

  “No, no, no, of course not,” Dominic moaned. “She doesn't even know I saw her. Ever! I was.... well, in hiding.”

  “Could you be bothered to explain, my dear Surrey?”

  The duke put on a stern face. “No, I can't. And now, stop pestering me, please. --- I'll wait right here and you'll get the carriage. Pick me up at the tailor's across the street.”

  Darlington shook his head but walked back on his own.

  Dominic crossed Bond Street and was almost run over by a curricle.

  Why ME?

  Darlington and Surrey had only come to Bond Street to pick up an elegant neck cloth – a gift for his majesty.

  On their way back to Darlington's carriage something had caught Dominic's eye in the window of a bookshop. There she stood, like an epiphany, the beautiful pirate girl, gazing up at something hidden from his view. Without further ado he had marched into the shop to rid himself of his idiotic infatuation.

  But as soon as he had looked at her he had been on fire.

  All he had been able to think of had been her words... devour me, punish me, oh yes, oh Dominic.

  He wanted to take her right there, against the bookshelf.

  But realisation hit hard. She was, indeed, a young debutante. Beautiful, sparkling, vibrant but innocent.

  In a bookshop with her mother and her aunt, for heaven's sake, and I might've deflowered her on top of Robinson Crusoe! --- Why, wouldn't he have enjoyed that? Poor man, all alone on that desolated island and such a beautiful creature as my Gigi naked on the beach, pleading, her breasts lightly covered with sand, and her... Oh, shut up, Dominic! You're such a decrepit man!

  He, Dominic St. Yves, was simply not in the habit of conversing with innocent girls and their silly withering relatives. The women he usu
ally frequented were of a different kind. Experienced. Educated. Entertaining. Not accepted in polite society, but what did he care?

  He was Surrey. He did what he wanted.

  But I want HER!

  After all, he could simply show up at her house and propose marriage.

  Who would turn him down?

  He was Surrey!

  He was the dream of mothers all over the land!

  He was the dream of their daughters, too!

  And he was hers, as well, wasn't he?

  She had sworn on the life of Mr. Wimple to marry him if he proposed, so what did he fear?

  Who was this Mr. Wimple anyway? Her lover. He must be her lover! But this Mr. Wimple has nothing on me! I'm the greatest catch in the land!

  Or wasn't he?

  Too sinister. Too old. --- I'm only thirty-one, that's not old! She's young, yes, but my sister married a man who's even twenty years her senior and she's in love with that Barnham person! Young girls marry older men all the time, most of them are certainly not content with it, but then again, that irritatingly handsome and clever husband of Betty's looks as fresh as a boy just out of Eton and he's a miracle of virility, that marvellous earl. Whereas I'm haughty, bored, arrogant and unfriendly. My virility is fine, though. Or is it? They call me a rake, don't they? Well, I guess I AM a rake. I bloody well may be, I am Surrey!

  Dominic shook himself to clear his mind.

  The tailor gave him a reproachful look but as soon as he had identified his unruly customer, the reproach instantly changed into a benevolent smile.

  “Your Grace.” The tailor bowed. “What an honour. I shall immediately call for all my assistants and close the shop for Your Grace's exclusive disposal.”

  Outside, Darlington's carriage drew up. Dominic walked out on the tailor without a word.

  “Have you calmed down?” Darlington asked as the duke climbed in.

  “What? Yes. No. I don't know.”

  Darlington pulled out a drawer from underneath the seats. He brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses. “You scared the little bird to death, that's all I can say.”