When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  “He thought it best, and it’s not something a man boasts about, is it?”

  “You have the right of it there. Men can be far too prideful.”

  She knew her brother Mick fell into that category. Actually, on second thought, all her brothers did. “As a result of all that happened, I’ve been spending a bit of time in his company.” She cleared her throat. She wasn’t going to go into the specifics of that time. “He’s invited me to a ball his mother is hosting.”

  Aslyn smiled. “Indeed. How lovely. Mick and I received an invitation to the Duchess of Thornley’s ball not more than an hour ago.”

  She couldn’t help but be impressed. Thorne worked rather quickly when he wanted something. “Needless to say, I’ve never attended a ball, most certainly not one involving nobility. I thought perhaps if you could walk me through my paces, tell me what all is expected, what all happens, then I could ensure I know everything before arriving. I’m a firm believer in being prepared.”

  Aslyn’s smile grew. “Well, you’ll want a ball gown, of course.”

  “I was going to visit with my seamstress this afternoon.”

  “Two weeks is not much time to stitch one up. Perhaps you should consider using my dressmaker. She has ample experience in ball gowns.”

  “I’ll not take coins from Beth’s pockets.”

  “Perhaps we could have them work on it together. A few more hands should make short work of it.”

  “Yes, all right. I do want it to be a little less plain than what I normally wear.”

  “We shall ensure it is beautiful.”

  She couldn’t imagine it, but then that was the reason she’d come here. “What else do I need to know?”

  “I assume Thorne will want to waltz with you.”

  “He mentioned doing so, yes. I thought to ask Mick to teach me the proper way to do it, so I don’t embarrass myself.” Her brother had learned long ago from his widowed lover.

  “You’re not going to embarrass yourself. Do you know how to curtsy?”

  “I’ve never had a need to.”

  “You’ll need to curtsy to his mother.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she is a duchess, it is her ball, and she is his mother. And it is what one does.”

  Gillie suspected a good part of the next two weeks was going to be spent learning to do things simply because they were what one did.

  “I think we should invite Fancy to join us in educating you,” Aslyn said. “As her time at the finishing school is only recently passed, she should have much to contribute, probably things I wouldn’t even think about teaching you, since everything is rather second nature to me now.”

  “I have only a few hours available each afternoon. I still have my tavern to see to.”

  “We shall make it work.”

  Chapter 22

  The days passed far too quickly, and Gillie soon found herself staring at the gorgeous ball gown spread out across her bed, the deep purple silk and satin, glistening in the lamplight, the delicate embroidery in the bodice that must have taken hours to stitch. Over the past two weeks, she’d had numerous fittings, had seen it coming together as several seamstresses worked on it, yet still she was in awe by all the details of it and the knowledge that very soon it would grace her body. It had been delivered only that afternoon, and she’d hardly been able to take her eyes from it, imagining how it would catch the lighting as Thorne waltzed her around the ballroom.

  She did want to waltz with him—badly. He came to her every night, but it never seemed to be enough. She always wanted one more night, one more memory. Tonight’s would be one unlike any they had ever shared.

  She stood a few feet away from the bed where an assortment of silk and lacy undergarments also waited for her. Aslyn had provided her with a list of the order in which the items went on, but as she perused it, it seemed impossible to complete the task in the time remaining before Mick arrived with his coach to escort her to the affair. She’d already bathed, was wearing nothing but her night wrap, but dear Lord, she should have begun dressing at dawn. Why did women have to wear so much? It was like putting on armor, which she supposed proper ladies did to ensure they didn’t engage in improper behavior. A gentleman couldn’t get through all of that very quickly in order to reach the heavenly parts. Although if he did manage to reach them, she supposed his determination was to be applauded.

  She rather liked that Thorne didn’t have to work so very hard to get her out of her clothes. They’d certainly not be engaged in any naughtiness this evening. She shouldn’t have been disappointed, and yet she was. On the other hand, perhaps he’d embrace the challenge of proving her misconceptions wrong. She could always hope.

  The loud knock on her door caused her to jump. She had no time for visitors. It came again with a more urgent pounding of fists. With a sigh, she headed for it. No doubt trouble was brewing belowstairs. She’d have to change into her work clothes, go handle the matter—and once down there, something else would need her attention and before she knew it, the ball would be over and she’d have missed it. Perhaps it was for the best.

  While she felt prepared for the evening, the real test would come when she arrived. She knew all the proper forms of address, to whom she should curtsy, to whom she should not. She knew the acceptable topics of conversation—boring though they were. She understood her opinions might be too radical for some. Over the years, she had learned to blend in even within her own tavern. She could blend in tonight.

  Opening the door, she gaped at her smiling sister-by-marriage. “Bloody hell, is it already time?” How long had she been staring at the clothing on her bed?

  “Not yet. We thought you could use some assistance,” Aslyn said, as she edged her way past Gillie, followed by Fancy and two other ladies—servants based on their dress—carrying an assortment of boxes.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked her sister.

  Fancy smiled. “I wanted to help.”

  “You’re not putting flowers in my hair. I’ve told you before I’m not a bloody garden.” Fancy had promised to adorn her hair with flowers for Mick’s wedding. One of the reasons she hadn’t gone was her fear of looking ridiculous.

  “We have something better.” She went to the table where the servants had set the boxes, opened one, reached inside, and pulled out what looked to be a ball of hair—a red mahogany. She smiled brightly. “It’s a hairpiece. Aslyn assured me women wear them all the time. We had a devil of a challenge finding the right shade, but I think we managed. And we brought some lovely pearl combs with which to secure it.”

  “I like my hair as it is.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  It was fine for a tavern but not for an aristocrat’s ball. And she did so want not to embarrass Thorne. “I suppose the gown would look nicer if my hair were longer.”

  “Nan can work magic with hair,” Aslyn said, her own blond tresses gathered up into a soft sweep with curls dangling provocatively here and there.

  Gillie assumed Nan was the maid who was busily bobbing her head. “Yes, all right. Let’s see how it goes.”

  It went horribly. Her strands were tugged and pulled until she was surprised they remained attached to her scalp. But she couldn’t deny when the additional hair and combs were in place that it was difficult to tell she was a woman who wore her hair in a style more suited to men. Her face was framed in delicate curls that invited a gent to toy with them.

  “Oh, don’t you look lovely?” Fancy asked on a sigh.

  “The weight feels odd. I’m not used to my head being so heavy.”

  “You’ll grow accustomed to it,” Aslyn assured her. “Once the gown is in place, you’ll be all balanced out.”

  Another series of tugs and pulls occurred as layer upon layer of undergarments, including a corset—a torturous device that had to have been invented by a man who despised women—was slipped down, up, over and around her. She could barely breathe and her bosom was in danger of escaping its confines
. But when the gown was finally in place and she stood before the mirror, she reluctantly admitted that perhaps it had all been worth it. Although she’d never before had so much skin exposed.

  “Oh, Gillie,” Fancy whispered. “He’s not going to be able to take his eyes off you.”

  “I doubt he’ll even recognize me, will probably think I didn’t come.” She was finding it more difficult to breathe and it didn’t have anything to do with the blasted corset. “I’m going to make a fool of myself—and him in the process.”

  “No, you’re not,” Aslyn stated emphatically. “Besides, Mick and I will be right there with you, and if you find you’re uncomfortable, we’ll leave. But you should at least make an entrance.”

  An entrance. “Yes, I’ll thank his mother for the invitation, have a dance with him, and then leave. That should be sufficient for the night.”

  “It won’t be too terribly well-attended, because most families are already in the country, so it should be a fairly relaxed atmosphere for you to make your debut,” Aslyn said.

  “My debut? I won’t be attending any other balls after this one.”

  Aslyn and Fancy exchanged glances.

  “I won’t,” Gillie insisted. She was going tonight because he’d asked and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  Although she very nearly tripped going down the stairs, even though she’d hiked up her skirt. She was wondering if there was any fabric left in England. It seemed the seamstress had used every bolt she could get her hands on for this skirt. She wanted to hate it, every inch of it, but the truth was that it made her feel like a princess, made all those long-ago dreams and yearnings rise to the surface. She was happy where she was, content with her life, and didn’t want to wish for anything else.

  But when Mick, standing beside one of two waiting coaches—the second she assumed designated to return the maids and Fancy to their respective residences—grinned with appreciation, she couldn’t help but be glad she would have this night. Perhaps every woman should have one evening of fantasy.

  “You look beautiful, Gillie,” he said. “I do hope you’ll save a dance for me.”

  She scoffed. “As though anyone else is going to ask me to dance.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to be very surprised.”

  She very much doubted it. She turned to Fancy. “I wish you were coming.”

  Her sister smiled. “I’m planning to make quite the splash next Season. I’ll be all of ten and eight and Mick has promised me a proper coming out. Meanwhile, take note of everything you see and tell me all about it on the morrow.”

  Careful not to mess her hair—it was truly irritating to have to think about things like that—she gave Fancy a gentle hug before turning back to Mick, giving him her hand, and welcoming the support as he helped her into the coach. He assisted his wife, who took her place beside Gillie, then climbed in and sat opposite them.

  “Are you nervous, Mick?” she asked as the coach took off. “Will it be difficult for you tonight?”

  “I’ve not yet been completely embraced by the nobility, but I have a wife with a good deal of standing among the nobs, so I don’t think I’ll receive too many cuts.”

  “People know you’ve been accepted by the Duke of Hedley,” Aslyn said. “They won’t want to offend him.”

  “He won’t be there tonight,” Mick reminded her.

  Gillie knew the duke and his duchess never made the social rounds.

  “No, but his ward will be, and I shall report anyone who is unkind.” Aslyn squeezed Gillie’s hand. “To either of you.”

  While she was reassured by the words, she was also quite anxious. There would be far too many people in attendance she didn’t know. She would have to pay close attention during introductions to ensure she addressed them properly. But all that mattered was the one person she did know. She hoped he’d be pleased with all the effort to which she’d gone to make herself appear acceptable to those who mattered to him.

  She should not have been surprised to discover his residence was multiple times the size of her little tavern—and that was just what she could see as the coach slowly traveled up the drive, a queue of other carriages making their way around the circle, people alighting and heading inside. Inhaling a deep breath, she reminded herself they were no better than she. “He certainly seems to have a fine house.”

  “It’s only brick and wood,” Aslyn said.

  “A lot of brick and a lot of wood. Whatever will I talk to these people about?”

  “Mostly the weather,” Aslyn told her.

  Gillie laughed. “How business is good when the day is warm but even better when the cold winds blow because those without are looking for shelter?”

  “Something like that. Just rely on our mock conversations if you find yourself floundering. You handled those quite nicely.”

  Aslyn had tutored her on a gamut of topics, forcing her to discuss matters over which she had no interest as though she was enthralled by the subjects, practicing hour after hour.

  The coach finally came to a stop in front of the wide steps—a huge reclining lion on each end—that led up to two open doors, a footman standing at attention on either side. Another footman stepped forward and opened the carriage door. Aslyn slipped her hand into his gloved one and allowed him to hand her down. Gillie followed her example, expected she’d be doing so for a good bit of the night. Mick alighted.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  Now that she was actually here, she was rather anxious to catch a glimpse of Thorne’s world. She followed her brother and his wife up the steps and into the entranceway. Once over the threshold, she came to an abrupt stop at the cavernous room and the black marble staircases that swept up and around on either side. Portraits, so many portraits, lined the walls that he had to be able to trace his ancestry back to Adam and Eve. She couldn’t fathom it—to know what the person who came before you looked like and the one before him and the one before him. To know the features of the person they’d married, the shade of their hair. To see your deep brown eyes, the shape of your nose, your strong jaw in so many others. She’d never had that, had never missed it, and yet now she couldn’t help but believe what a wonderful bit of history it would be to possess all that knowledge.

  “Gillie?” Mick asked gently, snapping her from her reverie.

  “Sorry. It’s just so much to take in.” Besides all the portraits, there were statues and vases, some empty, some overflowing with flowers. There were tables and chairs and—good Lord, was that a knight?

  They wandered into a parlor where there were so many sofas, chairs, and small tables it was a wonder anyone could move through it. A maid took her wrap, along with Aslyn’s and her brother’s hat, before directing them toward a door at the far end of the enormous room. There were fewer portraits here but a good many paintings of the countryside. Quaint and harmonious. She could imagine finding some peace in this room.

  Leaving through the doorway, they entered a wide corridor and followed the length of it until another servant pointed them toward some stairs. “You’d need a map to live here,” she muttered as they began the ascent.

  “You learn your way around very quickly,” Aslyn said.

  “Did you grow up in a house like this?” Gillie asked.

  “Very similar.”

  “It’s grand but also seems a bit of a waste.” She couldn’t imagine all the years and all the coins it had taken to fill these rooms with things. Much better to fill them with people, which she supposed was why they put on balls and dinners and other fancy affairs.

  As they neared the top of the stairs, she heard music, lovely music, gentle and slow, coming through the open doorway where people took turns to move through it. She would dance at least once to music like that. Perhaps she could find a music box to play the tune for her whenever she wanted to remember this night.

  Then they crossed over the threshold. A tall fellow dressed in red livery asked their names and when he turned away from th
em, his voice boomed out, “Lady Aslyn and Mr. Mick Trewlove. Miss Gillian Trewlove.”

  She began the descent into an enormous room of mirrors, flowers, chandeliers, balconies—

  And him.

  Thorne was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his forearm resting on the newel post, his smile for her and her alone. She knew it as clearly as she knew she needed breath in order to live—even though at the moment it was a bit difficult to come by. He was gorgeous, simply gorgeous, in a black swallow-tailed coat, white brocade waistcoat, white shirt, and black cravat. And there was a golden chain dangling from a button to a small pocket where she had no doubt his watch was nestled, back with him, exactly where it belonged. All the hours of preparation with dress fittings and waltzing lessons were suddenly worth it, just for a few minutes of gazing on him in all his glory.

  Then he was reaching out for her, his white-gloved hand extended toward her. Without thought or purpose, she placed her gloved hand in his, hating that any cloth at all separated them. His fingers closed around hers with such surety that every doubt she possessed about being here melted away.

  “Miss Trewlove,” he said quietly, lifting her hand to his mouth, pressing a hot lingering kiss there. “I’m so pleased you could join us.”

  “I’m pleased as well.”

  He grinned. “Liar.”

  “No, really.” She glanced around. “It’s all so magnificent.” Her gaze came back to him. “You’re magnificent.”

  His eyes glowed with pleasure, but she didn’t think it had anything to do with her compliment but had more to do with her presence. How was it that he could make her tingle all over with little more than his nearness?

  Releasing her hand, he shifted his gaze to the couple. “Lady Aslyn.”

  “Thorne. I believe you’ve met Mick.”

  “Indeed. It seems marriage agrees with you both.”

  “I find it much to my liking,” Aslyn said, clearly comfortable with the duke. “I’m sorry your own nuptials didn’t go as planned.”