Who Wants to Marry a Duke

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “If it will catch you a good husband? Absolutely. You’re not getting any younger, you know.” Her mother pinched Vanessa’s cheeks.

  “I fail to see how pinching rolls back the years.”

  “You must trust your mother in this,” Mama said. “I swear, someday I hope you have a child as recalcitrant as you. ’Twould serve you right.” When Uncle Theo cleared his throat, Mama scowled at him and opened the door. “Very well, now we can go in.”

  “Are you expecting someone in particular tonight?” Vanessa asked as they entered the box. Her mother usually primped her, but this went beyond the pale.

  Mama lowered her voice. “I heard that most of Lydia’s family will be here. And if His Grace, the Duke of Armitage, happens to come . . .”

  “He will magically decide to marry me because my cheeks are rosy and my bosom is half-bare?”

  “Men do that, you know. Anything that will make him notice you is good.”

  Someone nearby shushed them, and they took their seats.

  Vanessa sighed. Saint Sheridan was unlikely to notice her. He clearly had relegated her to the position of little sister, even though she was twenty-five years old to his twenty-nine. She didn’t want to be his little sister. She wanted to be his wife. Unfortunately, she’d tried a number of the time-honored tactics of young ladies, and none seemed to have changed his image of her.

  Including her attempts to make him jealous. She’d stared after Mr. Juncker with seeming longing, and she’d gushed about the man’s talent to Sheridan. She’d even hinted to her cousin Grey of her adoration and had gone so far as to say she would never marry a duke, hoping that her remarks would get back to Sheridan. Having grown up with a consummate liar for a mother, that was going about as far as Vanessa was comfortable in dissembling to her cousin.

  But as far as she could tell, all her efforts had merely annoyed her mother and irritated Grey, not to mention made her feel ridiculous. The three times Sheridan had danced with her—only because he couldn’t avoid it—he’d been as distant and aloof as usual. Granted, he was a duke and they were supposed to be like that, but she was related to his half brother. Surely that should have coaxed a smile or two out of Sheridan.

  If anything, he’d pulled away from her even more, curse his hide. And that made no sense, if his financial situation was as bad as the gossips said. Despite her family’s own strained finances, Vanessa had a sizable dowry, which he ought to know, since Grey was the one who’d funded it. Still, she didn’t really want him interested in her for her fortune. She wanted him to see the real her, to desire the real her.

  She feared that would never happen.

  Was he even here? Her mother would surely have told her if he was. If, that is, she’d spotted him. But leaning forward enough to see if he sat in the Armitage family’s box would give Vanessa away.

  Then a thought occurred to her. “Mama,” she whispered, “do you have your polemoscope with you?”

  With a nod, her mother drew it from her reticule. But before Vanessa could seize it, her mother asked, “Who are you using it to observe?”

  “The duke, of course.” Vanessa would have lied—the only time she ever stooped to do so was when she was dealing with her mother—but in this case there was no need.

  “Don’t toy with me, girl.” Funny how Mama always assumed other people lied as much as she did. “I know you have your heart set on that playwright, and he is far beneath you.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  She took the polemoscope from her mother and put it to her eye as she leaned forward. Her mother had bought it after Papa’s death, but Vanessa had never used it.

  Until now. Other people would assume she was trying to view the actors and actresses more closely, because the polemoscope looked exactly like an opera glass or spyglass, which was ironic since it literally allowed one to spy on the people in the boxes to one’s right.

  It took her a moment to adjust to seeing things to the side of her rather than on the stage. Once she did, however, she could observe everyone in the Armitage box. Sheridan sat between his half sister, Lady Gwyn, and his mother. The two ladies were clearly chatting, but he wore his usual stoic manner. Like a saint. Or a sphinx.

  A sphinx fit him better, given how hard he was to understand. Suddenly, he looked over at her, and she started, unnerved by his attention, even though she knew he couldn’t tell she was watching him.

  She dropped the polemoscope into her lap.

  “Is he there?” Mama asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your Mr. Juncker.”

  Good Lord, she hadn’t even checked. “Yes,” she said, praying he was. She lifted the polemoscope and scanned the boxes she could see. And there he was, Mr. Konrad Juncker, the supposed object of her affections. He was flirting with some lady whom Vanessa didn’t even know. That was why she would never actually be enamored of him. He was a rakehell, and she wanted nothing to do with such a man. He was too much like her late father.

  Still, she wished she’d never started her foolish plan to seemingly pine after Mr. Juncker to make Sheridan jealous. The playwright didn’t interest her in the least. And now she was stuck. If she switched her affections to Sheridan at this late juncture, he would think her fickle. Curse it all to blazes.

  She handed the polemoscope to her mother, but Mama seemed fully engrossed in the play. Vanessa was not. She and her mother had seen this one when it was first performed, but Mama had either forgotten or was enjoying the repeat performance. Her mother had only attended tonight in hopes of having Vanessa be able to speak to Sheridan. She despaired of that ever happening. Especially as the play reached the end of the first act, and a quick glance at the Armitage box showed he’d disappeared. No doubt he was flirting with some other—

  “Good evening,” said a smooth-as-brandy voice. “I trust that you’re all enjoying the performance?”

  Vanessa’s pulse jumped. Sheridan had come to her. He felt the same pull as she did. At last.

  “We’re liking it as much as one can, given that it’s not new,” Uncle Theo said from his seat next to Mama. “Still, I’ll take an old play by Juncker to a new one by just about any other author. He knows how to entertain, I’ll give you that.”

  “Do join us, Your Grace,” Mama said and gestured to Vanessa to move over so Sheridan could sit between them. “Vanessa was just saying she would love your opinion on it.”

  When Sheridan focused his gorgeous green eyes on her, Vanessa pasted a flirtatious smile to her face. “Nonsense, Mama. I already know his opinion.”

  His expression didn’t change one whit. It exhibited a perfect blend of boredom and nonchalance as he took the seat between her and her mother. “Oh? And what might that be?”

  “That the shenanigans of Felix and his friends are ridiculous. That you don’t find such frivolity entertaining in the least.”

  “If you say so.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I have no opinion whatsoever.”

  “That’s absurd,” Vanessa persisted. “You always have an opinion. And generally, it’s contrary to everyone else’s. Why, I once heard you tell the Secretary of War that Napoleon was a masterful strategist who would win against us if we didn’t recognize it and act accordingly.”

  “That wasn’t an opinion; it was the truth.” Turning to stare her down, he said, “Just because the man is our enemy doesn’t mean we should assume he’s stupid. Greater men than our Secretary of War have made that mistake, to their detriment.”

  “And what would you know about military strategy?”

  “More than you, I would imagine. You may not realize it, but Father trained me from an early age to follow in his footsteps in Britain’s diplomatic service.”

  Mama snorted. “I’m sure he was relieved when you became his heir to the dukedom instead. What a fortuitous event that was.”

  Sheridan shifted his attention to Vanessa’s mother. “I’m not sure he would call the death of his brother fortuitous.” As if realizing that Mama might take offense at
that, he softened his words. “Personally, I’d have preferred a post abroad over inheriting the dukedom, but that wasn’t meant to be.”

  Mama lifted an eyebrow. “You would have been happy to live outside of England all of your life as some low envoy?”

  “I wasn’t born in England, Lady Eustace. So if I’d had the chance to live the remainder of my days in Prussia, for example, I would have been perfectly content.”

  “But surely you would have missed entertainments like this or hunting house parties or our glittering balls,” Mama said.

  Uncle Theo snorted. “I’m sure they have those in Prussia, too, eh, Duke?”

  “But not peopled by Englishmen,” her mother persisted. “And those Prussians are not to be trusted.”

  Vanessa stifled a groan. “Do forgive my mother, Sheridan. She finds all foreigners suspect.”

  Sheridan ignored her. “I will say, Lady Eustace, that the house parties in Berlin paled beside those my mother always describes. Prussian house parties were orderly events, with every activity scheduled. Whereas my mother says that her first husband’s affairs were madcap and not the least scheduled. Everyone had differing plans for activities, and no one consulted with anyone else concerning those plans.”

  “Exactly,” Mama said, brightening. “That’s how they were indeed. We did as we pleased in those days. None of this ‘Oh, the young gentlemen must be appeased’ nonsense. We enjoyed ourselves however we could.”

  “I suppose that left plenty of time for guests to roam the estate and explore a bit,” Sheridan said.

  “And have assignations,” her uncle added, slyly.

  Mama swatted her brother with her reticule. “No one was having assignations, Theo. I was newly married and not about to jeopardize my marriage for any fellow. And my husband wasn’t there.” She glanced at Vanessa and colored. “Not that he would have done such a thing either.”

  It was all Vanessa could do not to roll her eyes. How could Mama think that Vanessa hadn’t noticed Papa’s many payments to ladies through the years? Vanessa had done the books for him from the time she was old enough to know what an account book was. Papa had been woefully bad at managing money. “Wasn’t that the house party where—”

  “Grey’s father died at that house party,” Sheridan drawled, without even glancing at her. “How did the guests feel about that, Lady Eustace? It must have lowered their spirits dramatically.”

  “Well, it did indeed. Although Lydia kept his illness quiet until she couldn’t anymore. Besides—”

  A boy came out onto the stage and began a comic introduction to the second act. It should have ended all conversation but her mother continued whispering to Sheridan and Sheridan to her, at least until the action of the play began.

  Then Sheridan leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs, unwittingly drawing Vanessa’s attention to his fine physique. The man had the best-crafted calves she’d ever seen, not to mention a chest as broad as a pugilist’s and clearly capable of any test of strength. As if that weren’t enough to tempt a young lady, his hair . . . oh, she must not even think of those glorious ash-brown curls. It made her want to run her fingers through it, a possibility that clearly escaped him, since he continued to whisper only to her mother and ignore Vanessa completely.

  Like a balloon deflating, she felt the air go out of her joy. He was here to see—to talk with—Mama. Vanessa couldn’t understand why, but the point was he wasn’t here to be with her. She must get him to converse with her, do anything that might prove he noticed her.

  Using Mama’s polemoscope, Vanessa surveyed the boxes nearby, racking her brain for something to say to Sheridan that might get his attention. Then she spotted Mr. Juncker, who was clearly getting up to leave his box.

  And that gave her an idea.

  photo credit : Jessica Blakely for Tamara Lackey Photography

  Sabrina Jeffries is the New York Times bestselling author of over 50 romance novels and works of short fiction (some written under the pseudonyms Deborah Martin and Deborah Nicholas). Whatever time not spent writing in a coffee-fueled haze is spent traveling with her husband and adult autistic son or indulging in one of her passions—jigsaw puzzles, chocolate, and music. With over 9 million books in print in 21 different languages, the North Carolina author never regrets tossing aside a budding career in academics for the sheer joy of writing fun fiction, and hopes that one day a book of hers will end up saving the world.

  She always dreams big.