His Unlikely Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘And you, Duke,’ Lady Heath continued. As Lily watched, shocked, she gave Aidan a low curtsy. ‘You have always claimed to be such a poor dancer. I fear no one will believe you now.’

  Aidan’s smile turned rueful and he ran his hand through his hair, tousling the waves all over again. ‘Lady Heath, you have found me out. But I am only a passable dancer made better because I found such a lovely partner.’

  ‘I’m glad to see you have made the acquaintance of my young friend Miss Wilkins,’ Lady Heath said, a hint of censure in her voice, though her smile never faltered. ‘If I had known the Duke of Lennox was here...’

  The Duke of Lennox? Shocked, Lily instinctively backed away from him. He looked nothing like any duke she could ever imagine. Too young, too handsome, too...free. And she had been dancing with him! Now surely the whispers would really flow. The American hunting for a duke...

  No wonder everyone was staring. This was what they were all sure she was after from the moment her family arrived in England. A title—a ducal title—bought and paid for.

  And for a moment she had been silly enough to think this was a fairy tale. That he could touch her hand and everything else—her mother and all her expectations; the English nobility, who looked at her as if she was some exotic creature in a zoo; her sisters, who relied on her so much, waiting for her back at their rented house—could all vanish. That she was just Lily and he was just Aidan, the man with the beautiful green eyes, who made her laugh and danced so wonderfully.

  But he was a duke. That most sought-after, most elusive gem that her mother would seek at any price. Did he think that of her, too?

  She dared a quick peek at him. His expression, which had been so open, so laughing in their hidden bower, was closed behind a polite smile. He didn’t look at her.

  ‘Lily, darling, there you are!’ her mother trilled, coming up to slide her arm around Lily’s waist. ‘Lady Heath and I have been looking for you everywhere, but I see we needn’t have worried.’

  ‘Duke, may I present my friends, Mrs Coleman Wilkins of New York City and her daughter, Miss Lily Wilkins?’ Lady Heath said smoothly. ‘Of course, you have already met. Your mother would scold me terribly if she could see how I have been neglecting you, not making sure you have all the important introductions, Duke.’ Lady Heath smiled at Mrs Wilkins. ‘The Duchess was my friend at school. I have known her son since he was in leading strings.’

  ‘Mama would be enchanted by your new friends, Lady Heath, as I am. How do you do, Mrs Wilkins? Miss Wilkins?’ Aidan said as he bowed over her radiant mother’s hand before turning to Lily.

  Lily still couldn’t quite think of him as a Duke. His hand still felt so warm on hers, so strong. But his smile was so horribly polite now.

  Her mother gave one of her trilling Southern laughs and waved her painted silk fan. ‘We have heard of you, of course, Your Grace, even all the way across the Atlantic. I’ve read that your home, Roderick Castle, has parts dating back to the thirteenth century and that King Charles II once hid in the stables as he fled that dreadful Cromwell. And that you have your own Wren chapel! It must all be terribly thrilling.’

  Lily was astonished, but she knew she shouldn’t be. Of course her mother would have read up on her quarry before coming to England. The Duke laughed and Lady Heath’s smile became the tiniest bit strained.

  ‘It seems you know more about my home than I do, Mrs Wilkins,’ he said. ‘There are parts that are very old indeed, though. My brother and I used to play hide and seek behind crumbling old stone walls. Perhaps one day you will come to Kent and see it for yourself. I would love to hear your opinion.’

  Lily’s mother laughed again, and her fan waved even more furiously. ‘Oh, Lily and I would adore that! We’ve seen nothing yet outside London and Lily loves history.’

  The Duke looked down at Lily. His eyes were darker, but she looked deeply into them, seeking any hint of the man she had just danced with. ‘Is that so, Miss Wilkins?’

  It was so. Lily thought of the stacks of books in her room, of all the places she longed to see, to ask about. But she was too burningly aware of the polite way he looked at her now, of the whispers that rose and fell like ocean waves behind her back.

  ‘Yes,’ was all she could say. She immediately wanted to slap herself for being a ninny, but her tongue wouldn’t come untied.

  ‘I’ve been away from England a long time myself, Miss Wilkins,’ he said. ‘I find I have much to rediscover.’

  ‘Perhaps your mother will soon give a party at Roderick, Duke, so we can all rediscover it,’ Lady Heath said. ‘I know she has missed you a great deal.’

  Lily saw an unreadable glance pass between them and Aidan seemed to retreat from them even further. But before they could say anything else, they were interrupted by their hostess, who stepped to the front of the room.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would care to find your partners for the quadrille,’ Lady Crewe said. The dance before supper, when everyone would pair off for the meal.

  ‘Oh! Lily does so enjoy a quadrille,’ Mrs Wilkins said, with a pointed look at the Duke.

  Lily felt a rush of panic. She didn’t want him to be forced to dance with her now, not after that lovely first dance! That one memory she had before he found out who she really was.

  ‘I fear my head aches terribly, Mother,’ she whispered.

  ‘And I fear I have kept my new friends out for too many late nights,’ Lady Heath said with a laugh. ‘Let me call my carriage for you at once, Mrs Wilkins. It will take you both home. We must be sure Miss Wilkins feels entirely the thing for the opera tomorrow night. It is Signora Malomar’s last appearance in London, you know, and they do say the Prince of Wales will be there. Excuse us, please, Duke.’

  Lady Heath firmly took Mrs Wilkins by the arm and led her away through the crowd. Lily turned to follow when she felt a gentle touch on her hand. Though it was fleeting, it was as warm and alluring as summer sun.

  She looked up at Aidan, at the Duke, and at last he smiled at her again. Really smiled at her. ‘I hope we shall meet again soon, Miss Wilkins,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Old King Coal,’ Lily heard someone say nearby and she shivered. Were the whispers, or his eyes, stronger? ‘I do hope so,’ she whispered and slid her hand away. She rushed after her mother, trying not to run like some wild American, not to seem as if she was fleeing from them. At the door she glimpsed a lady, golden-haired, beautiful, a small half-smile on her face surveying the ballroom as if she owned it. Lily quite envied her that feeling of belonging.

  Then the lady’s smile faded a bit and Lily followed her gaze. The beautiful woman watched the Duke.

  ‘Lily, do hurry! If you must insist on leaving...’ her mother called impatiently.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m coming,’ Lily answered, and turned away from the gorgeous woman who watched the Duke with narrow-eyed, intense interest. As if she knew him well, as if he was hers.

  But even as the crowd closed in behind Lily, a thick jungle of satins and diamonds, she thought she could still feel him watching her. And part of her, the unruly part that always had to be so tightly locked down, wanted nothing more than to run right back to him.

  Chapter Two

  ‘So, you have met my new little protégée?’

  Aidan, Duke of Lennox, didn’t turn around at the sound of Lady Heath’s amused voice. He stood on the Crewes’ terrace, looking out over the darkened gardens at the expanse of Green Park beyond. It was quiet there, apart from a few whispering couples stealing a moment alone, and no one stared at him with speculation in their eyes. Been away so long...his poor mother...when the brother died...

  He liked the quiet better. It reminded him of the mountains, of the vast, silent, majestic places where he was just a man before nature and not a duke. But he found this hiding place wasn’t nearly as interesting as the one he had found behind the potted palms in t
he ballroom.

  ‘Your protégée, is she, Lady Heath?’ he said, as noncommittally as possible. He knew any words of his, especially ones concerning marriageable young ladies, would find their way directly to his mother at Roderick Castle.

  Lady Heath laughed and came to lean beside him on the cold marble balustrade. She gestured towards the thin, exotic cheroot between his fingers, sending its sweet-scented, silvery smoke out into the night. ‘Your mother would be appalled at such a habit, you know.’

  He smiled down at her. Even though she was his mother’s bosom bow, the Duchess’s partner in helping keep the Prince of Wales and his set happy and spending money neither of them possessed, he had always been very fond of her. She was like his honorary aunt, kind and funny, and he was glad to see her again.

  Even if she did have that hard, matchmaking gleam in her eyes he had come to recognise all too well since his brother had died and he became the Duke.

  ‘Are you going to write to Mama to tell on me, Aunt Eleanor?’ he said.

  ‘Not if you give me a tiny little puff, darling.’ Lady Heath laughed as he handed her the cheroot. She inhaled delicately and coughed. ‘Perfectly vile. From one of your mountains?’

  ‘Of course. A dreadful habit, I know, and I intend to give it up very soon. They’re American—like your new friend.’

  Lady Heath smiled through the smoke. ‘She’s rather sweet, isn’t she? Not at all like the last one I took on. It was all I could do to keep that one from dancing on the table tops, or calling the Prince “Tum-Tum”—surely only you could ever do that with impunity. Though she did marry a baronet in the end. I have higher hopes for Miss Wilkins.’

  Hopes like a ducal coronet? Aidan stared out into the night, but he didn’t really see the pinpoints of carriage lights beyond the park, the rustle of the wind in the thick green trees. He only saw Lily Wilkins, her wide, soft brown eyes, her shy smile. Lady Heath was right—Miss Wilkins was sweet. Very sweet. That was why he should stay away from her and why he was so drawn to her.

  ‘What did you think of her, Aidan dear?’ Lady Heath asked quietly.

  What had he thought about her? He had thought he wanted the dance to go on longer, so he could keep touching her, feeling her sway towards him. But then he had heard who she really was—an American coal heiress.

  American money was becoming the saviour of many an old house. Aidan had seen all the despairing estate reports on Roderick Castle—roofs leaking, floors buckling, artwork sent off to auction. Roderick was his responsibility now, centuries of Lennox history on his shoulders, and he had come back to save it any way he could.

  Maybe even marriage to an heiress.

  But he hadn’t expected Lily Wilkins, the sweetness of her. Or the biting bitterness at what he had to do.

  ‘She was rather nice,’ he said. ‘A very fine dancer.’

  Lady Heath gave a satisfied little smile. ‘I think she would rather stay at home with her books, but all in all she’s not bad, rather biddable. She has two younger sisters to think of and her mother is certainly most insistent that Miss Lily fit in here in London.’

  He wasn’t sure someone as pretty and fresh as Lily Wilkins could ever ‘fit in’ in the old, grey ballrooms of London, nor in the dashing new set of the Prince of Wales, but that was a good thing. He had never fit in, either. ‘And has she?’

  Her smile widened. ‘You tell me, darling. You were the one dancing with her. Everyone will be chattering about that tomorrow.’

  Aidan groaned. He had almost forgotten in his months of wandering free in the mountains how fast a choice bit of gossip spread through society.

  Lady Heath laughed. ‘The burden of a duke. Come visit me soon, Aidan dear. I am dying to hear all about your grand adventures. Perhaps I shall have a party and invite Miss Wilkins. You can gauge her manners better then.’

  Aidan knew he shouldn’t. It would only fan the gossip even higher, yet he found himself saying, ‘I will, thank you, Aunt Eleanor.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. It will be quite the feather in my cap to have the Duke of Lennox in my humble little drawing room.’ She handed back the half-smoked cheroot. ‘We should return to the ball, I think. Miss Wilkins is gone, but the other pretty debs will want a dance.’

  ‘That’s quite what I’m afraid of.’ Aidan took one more inhale on the cheroot, but the sharp bite of the smoke didn’t quite distract him from what waited in the ballroom. When he was younger, before he left England, the ladies had sought him out—but now it was different. Now their intentions were much more honourable, but he wasn’t sure his were.

  If only the pretty Miss Wilkins was there to dance with him again, with her intriguing eyes staring up into his.

  He laughed at his own folly. Adorable Miss Wilkins might be, and charming in her soft innocence, she had a part to play here, too. As much as they both might like it, there was no escaping what they were.

  He ground out the cheroot and offered Lady Heath his arm to lead her back to the ballroom. He wondered exactly how long he had to stay before he could politely make his escape. All his time away from England had made his social skills rusty.

  Supper was not quite over, but a few people had drifted back into the ballroom, milling around whispering and laughing in a haze of champagne punch. Some of them came to greet Aidan, to welcome him back to London, invite him to tea or dinner or a shooting Friday to Monday once the Season was over. The orchestra played a low, buzzing symphony above their heads.

  ‘Who shall you dance with next, Aidan?’ Lady Heath whispered. ‘Miss Whiting-Hayes? Or Lady Arabella Martindale?’

  ‘None of them are as pretty as your American protégée,’ Aidan teased. ‘Or as you, Aunt Eleanor. Maybe you would dance with me?’

  She laughed. ‘My dancing days are past, I fear. But I am glad you think Miss Wilkins is pretty. I do say that—’

  Suddenly, the door at the top of the dining room opened and a party of people appeared after their supper. Aidan froze at the sight of them, for in their very midst, like a rose in red and black velvet, was Lady Rannock.

  Melisande. He’d known he would have to see her again, of course, for her name was always prominent in all the society news. Lady Rannock at Marlborough House, at the Goodwood races, at Chatsworth, dancing, hunting, riding new-fangled bicycles. But he hadn’t foreseen it would be so sudden, so unexpected.

  That she would still be so beautiful, this woman who had once laughingly thrown him over because he was not the ducal heir, then tried to run back to his arms. The woman who had broken his poor brother’s heart so terribly.

  Melisande’s pale, silvery hair glistened in the candlelight, piled high and held with a ruby tiara. She was laughing at something one of her companions said, her head tilted back so her rosy skin caught the light. Two men leaned close to her, clinging to her every word, and neither of them were the elderly Lord Rannock.

  Aidan watched her as if caught in a dream—or a nightmare. For an instant he could only remember how she had once made him feel, so young and foolish. So free. And then the way she betrayed him, and worse, betrayed poor Edward. Now—now he only felt strangely numb. As if he stood in the middle of a freezing mountain ice storm.

  He was no longer that stupid young man.

  Melisande looked up and saw him. Her famously brilliant smile flickered, turned downwards at the edges, before it flamed even brighter. She waved a gloved hand at him and Aidan turned away.

  ‘You remember Lady Rannock, I’m sure,’ Lady Heath said drily. ‘She has been asking your mother about you lately.’

  ‘Has she?’ Aidan murmured. ‘I can’t imagine why.’

  ‘Was she not a great friend of yours once? And of Edward?’

  Edward—his brother, who was meant to be the Duke. Yes, she had certainly been a friend of his. Aidan glanced down at Lady Heath sharply, but she just gave him an innocent smile.

&
nbsp; ‘Lady Rannock can surely wait,’ she said. ‘You promised me a dance, I think.’

  Aidan laughed. Yes, seeing Melisande was a surprise, surely just the first of many, but he was older now. Harder. ‘And you said your dancing days were behind you.’

  ‘I think there’s life in these old feet yet.’

  He led her on to the dance floor as a mazurka formed and Lady Rannock was lost in the crowd.

  But it wasn’t Melisande’s sky-blue eyes he thought of when he finally escaped a few hours later to his bachelor rooms. It was Miss Wilkins and the soft, shy light of her dark eyes as she looked up at him as they spun in the dance.

  Chapter Three

  Lily felt the pierce of light through the haze of her dreams, unwelcome and cold, and heard the swoosh of curtains being pushed back, the clink of china on a silver tray. Morning—how awful. In the bliss of sleep, she’d still been dancing, gliding over a parquet floor as if her slippers had wings, carried higher and higher on a cloud of song by a pair of strong arms. Nothing could touch her there, hurt her, she was so wonderfully free. No longer alone.

  And when she peeked up in that dream world, there was a pair of gloriously beautiful green eyes smiling down at her, only her. Only her, Lily, not the coal heiress. There was nothing in the world but the two of them, dancing and dancing...

  ‘Your tea, Miss Lily? Mrs Wilkins wants to see you in the morning room as soon as you’re ready,’ her maid, Doris, said, tearing apart the last shreds of that lovely dream as if it was a piece of old tulle. ‘Lady Heath is calling later.’

  Lady Heath. Lily knew why she was coming. To gloat over Lily’s dance with a duke in front of all London society. In her dream, he was just Aidan, of the beautiful smile, the gentle touch on her hand, the strong shoulders she held as they waltzed. But really he was a duke. Her mother’s highest quarry.