His Unlikely Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  ‘Certainly, Lady Heath,’ she murmured. The Duke offered his arm and she slid her gloved fingertips through the crook of his elbow. She tried not to breathe too deeply of his warm scent, not to look into his eyes. She just hoped she could keep from shaking too much.

  They followed the others through the open doors into the dining room. It was as charming as the rest of the house, with sunny yellow walls glowing in candlelight, the scent of white flowers in the air. Lily wished she could admire more of it, but she was all too achingly aware of the Duke at her side. Of how very perfect he looked, how at ease and confident, and how uneasy she felt. Wrong in her silly, expensive gown, her elaborate pearls, wrong in herself.

  They sat down at their appointed places next to Lady Heath and across from the Prince himself. A footman shook out the starched damask napkins for their laps just as a watercress soup was brought in and spooned into the gold-edged bowls. Lily glanced down the table to find her mother beaming like a thousand suns and Lord James at the very end of the table. She dared not look at the Prince!

  ‘There are no palms to hide behind, I fear,’ Aidan whispered, gesturing to the room around them. ‘But there is that Japanese screen in the corner...’

  Lily laughed, though she tried to hide it behind her napkin. She didn’t want her mother, or anyone, to think she was flirting. But it was hard not to smile at him despite everything, not to lean into his warmth, his delicious scent of lemony cologne and starched linen and leather.

  For one moment, he was just the man she had met in her hidey-hole at the Crewe ball, not the Duke. She could almost forget everyone’s stares at them as they tried to eat their soup, though they all tried to pretend they weren’t looking, thinking, whispering. Was she going to buy a title with her American dollars? Only Lady Heath herself seemed to pay them no mind, all her attention on the Prince as they chattered about racehorses.

  She could not, though, forget about Aidan. How handsome he was, how his quiet, deep voice echoed inside her as he talked of inconsequential matters like London museums and restaurants. How his sleeve felt when it brushed her bare arm, the wool soft and warm. She thought of the lady she glimpsed as she was leaving the ball, with her golden hair, her confident smile, the way she looked at him. Could Lily ever, even after years in England, feel such confidence?

  ‘Was it this difficult?’ she asked, gesturing to the elaborately laid table, the watchful eyes. ‘On your travels?’

  ‘Oh, no, much easier.’ He smiled down at her as the soup was taken away and replaced with the fish course. ‘I was merely shot at with poisoned arrows and caught fever in the desert once when there was only whiskey and feverfew to see me through. It was quite wonderful, compared with being dropped back into London society.’

  Lily laughed aloud; she couldn’t hold it back. ‘But surely, Duke, you were brought up to all this. Princes and gossip. It’s all as new to me as—as a poison arrow.’ She resisted the urge to tug at those blasted pearls, the ones that felt as if they were strangling her. Even if she did marry the Duke, what a terrible duchess she would make! But to look into his eyes every evening... ‘In fact, I might enjoy the poison arrows rather more.’

  His smile quirked at the corner of his lips in a rather adorable way. ‘I’m wounded that we English have nothing to tempt you at all, Miss Wilkins.’

  She was tempted by him. By that smile, the sound of his voice. Like an infatuated, silly little girl. And she feared her mother was only tempted by the ducal title. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. England does have its beauties, things I’ve only read about before. The Tower, castles, gardens, art. I liked the avenues in Paris, but I never quite felt as if I was walking in true history as I have here. Tracing the footsteps of people long gone. I simply haven’t had the chance yet to see all I would like.’ She suddenly realised that many of those historical footsteps would have been his own ancestors. He was part of this place, part of history itself.

  It was a sobering thought.

  ‘You have only just arrived, then?’

  ‘Oh, no. We’ve been here most of the Season.’ And in that time, aside from a few moments to escape and explore museums and Hyde Park, she had mostly seen ballrooms and couturiers. ‘But I would like to see the countryside, too. The gardens and hedgerows, the old castles and battlefields. I’ve always loved reading history.’ She felt silly even saying it, as those places must be familiar and dull to him. ‘But such things must be commonplace to you. Lady Heath tells me parts of Roderick Castle date back to Henry VIII’s time.’

  ‘Yes, it was rebuilt during the sixteenth century, with some additions in my great-grandfather’s time. But we have a tower that is even older, perhaps thirteenth century. And our garden was designed by Repton, with a chapel by Wren himself.’

  ‘It must be beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, in its way,’ he said shortly and Lily wondered if she had said something wrong. Did he not like his home? Perhaps it held sad memories of his lost brother. The brother who had loved a lady who loved Aidan. The reminder of the gossip made her swallow hard and look down at her plate.

  The fish was cleared for a sorbet and Lily suddenly realised that Lady Heath had not done the usual thing and signalled for everyone to turn to conversation with their other dinner partner. It was most odd, but Lily was too enthralled with the Duke to think more of it.

  ‘I would imagine your own homes are much finer than poor old Roderick,’ he said. ‘One does hear that every bedroom in a Newport mansion has its own bathroom! Not to mention central heating.’

  ‘Oh, yes, but they are all new,’ Lily exclaimed. ‘The homes here have such stories behind them. When you walk along a gallery or sit in a chair, how easy it must be to imagine all who were there before you.’ She didn’t mention the fact that so much of the decor in her mother’s house was old, taken from English and French homes that were suffering from lack of dollars. The spirits didn’t seem to travel with them then.

  Aidan smiled at her, that wonderfully crooked smile. ‘You are a poet, Miss Wilkins? A historian?’

  Lily blushed and stared down at her plate. ‘Oh, no. I just like to read about history. I’m no scholar like Lord James over there.’

  He glanced down the table at Lord James, his smile fading. ‘Nor am I, Miss Wilkins. More a doer than a thinker. Are you and Lord James friends?’

  ‘I—not really, I just enjoy hearing of his studies. I never had the chance to learn such things. My governess was more in the French and watercolours line.’ Though her mother had always made sure there were also lessons in etiquette and precedence, curtsies and posture, all for the chance to move forward in her world. ‘I wish I had the chance to be a...a doer.’

  ‘And what would you like to do, Miss Wilkins, if you had the chance?’

  Lily glanced at him in surprise. No one had asked her that before. Yet he looked genuinely curious. She’d been told what to do for as long as she could remember; her dreams had so far only been that—secret dreams. ‘I would like to ride, I think. I had to leave my horse behind in America and I’ve not had the chance of a good gallop since.’

  His smile returned, like sunshine bursting from behind grey clouds. ‘Well, I’m not sure I could provide a really good gallop anywhere in London, but a ride in the park could be possible. If it’s not the fashionable hour at Rotten Row, there might be a quick canter. Perhaps you would care to join me tomorrow? If your mother approves, of course.’

  Lily wasn’t at all sure she’d heard him correctly. Had he really asked her to ride with him in the park? Truly? She felt her stomach lurch in excitement, nervousness, fear.

  She glanced down the table at her mother. Stella was smiling as she talked to the archbishop beside her, looking her usual supremely confident self. Of course her mother would give her permission for such an outing. Was that not why they were in London? What the dances and the Worth gown and the pearls were for?

  She
suddenly remembered the conversation she had overheard between her mother and Lady Heath. Aidan was the most eligible man in England, with an ancient title. An ancient title and no money for his castle roof. Lily sighed, deflating a bit.

  Yet her longing to escape her mother’s stuffy house, her watchful gaze, was so very great. She thought she would scream and go mad if she couldn’t get out into the fresh air. And to be there with Aidan, just the two of them...

  She nodded. ‘I would enjoy that. Thank you, Duke. I’m sure my mother would not mind.’

  ‘Excellent, Miss Wilkins. I look forward to it.’

  ‘Well, ladies, shall we?’ Lady Heath rose to her feet to lead the women to the drawing room while the men had their port and cigars. Lily gave Aidan a quick smile and hurried to follow, wishing she could stay with him.

  * * *

  As Lily sipped her coffee while the other ladies chatted, she stared out the window at Lady Heath’s darkened little garden. She could see the pale outlines of flowers and the glow of city lights beyond the wall. She knew she wouldn’t be alone there for long; she could hear the chatter of the other ladies behind her along with her mother’s bell-like laugh. Stella did love to chatter with friends, but Lily knew even that wouldn’t keep her occupied for very long. Not when she knew her mother was just aching to interrogate her about the Duke.

  The Duke. Lily closed her eyes and pictured him again as he sat beside her at dinner. His crooked smile, his easy talk, making her feel comfortable again, at ease, forgetting all about the room around them. The Prince right across from her. It did seem silly to keep thinking of him as ‘the Duke’. He looked like no duke she had ever imagined. She’d pictured them all like old paintings of Wellington, stern and old and beak-nosed, lofty above all of them. Aidan wasn’t like that at all.

  Aidan. That was how she found she thought of him. It was a musical, fanciful name, one that suited him. Not that she would ever call him that to his face. Even fine, titled English ladies called him Duke, in those light, flirtatious, English voices of theirs.

  She wondered what that beautiful, golden-haired Lady Rannock called him. Or had once called him, before they were parted.

  ‘Lily, darling, whatever are you doing lurking over here by yourself?’ she heard her mother say, as she knew she soon would. Stella linked her arm in Lily’s, leaning close as if in maternal affection. The rich scent of French perfume surrounded them. Lily thought of how Aidan—she could call him that in her mind—smelled of lemon and starch and fresh air.

  ‘Just having a breath of air, Mother,’ she said and took a sip of her coffee.

  ‘Very wise, before the gentlemen and the Prince join us.’ Stella leaned closer and whispered, ‘The Duke looked quite enchanted with you, darling! Whatever did you talk about with him? Not your poetry, I do hope.’

  Lily thought of what they had talked about, about his invitation to ride in the park. There had been horses, history, houses—nothing too fascinating, she would have thought. She wasn’t a lady who could enthral with feminine wiles. But she had enjoyed it all, very much. Too much. ‘His home at Roderick Castle, I think. History.’

  Stella sighed. ‘Oh, history. How fascinated these English seem to be with their fusty old stories. Yet they are not a patch on my family’s old home in South Carolina, I would think. Still, I’m glad to see you were taking an interest in a party at last. We must keep it up, darling. Lady Heath says his mother, the Duchess, has been looking high and low for an eligible new Duchess of Lennox. I wish she could have been here tonight to meet you. No one else has to offer what we do.’

  Lily widened her eyes in mock ignorance. ‘And what is that, Mother? Grandpa’s old plantation?’

  Her mother frowned, but quickly smoothed her lips. It would never do for a Wilkins lady to make wrinkles.

  ‘Your beauty, of course, Lily. I saw it the minute you were born, when your elegant little fingers wrapped around mine. You could be one of the great beauties of the age if you would just make the most of it. You’re far lovelier than those Professional Beauties the Prince likes so much.’

  Lily glanced at her reflection in the window, her dark hair, her pale, small face. She thought her mother’s words were mere wishful thinking. The Professional Beauties, ladies of the Prince’s Marlborough House Set whose photos were sold in shop windows, like Jennie Churchill and Patsy Cornwallis-West, were gorgeous and elegant, full of grace, famous and admired. She had no answer for them.

  Luckily, Lady Heath rose to her feet at that moment, drawing their attention. ‘Miss Wilkins, would you possibly favour us with a piece at the piano? The gentlemen are taking so long with their port and those vile cigars, we shall grow quite bored!’

  ‘She would love to, Lady Heath,’ Stella answered. Lily nodded with a smile. At least music was something she always enjoyed, could always lose herself in, and behind a keyboard she could forget the wrongness of her clothes, the awkward glances, the whispers.

  She sat down at the piano and sorted through the music there. She found a piece she already knew fairly well, a Chopin nocturne, and launched into the slow, sweet opening chords. Soon, she really could forget all else, losing herself in the bittersweet emotions of the piece, imagining a long, star-twinkling twilight where so much was finished, so much yet to begin.

  The melody built and built, like night gathering in, until finally it ended in one last, lingering note. The sound of applause brought her back to earth again and she glanced up, surprised to see she was still in Lady Heath’s candlelit London drawing room, not wandering through a warm summer’s night. Her mother beamed, as she always did when Lily played, and Lady Heath looked quite satisfied. The Misses Banks applauded, but frowned, as if they feared their own performances were somehow overshadowed.

  And the Duke—Aidan—stood near the dining room doorway. He did not applaud, but she couldn’t look away from the expression on his face. He seemed so far away for a moment, caught in a whole different place and time. She wondered if he saw a different night sky in his mind, the vast, empty, glittering night of a desert.

  ‘That was lovely, my dear,’ Lady Heath said.

  ‘Indeed, indeed,’ the Prince agreed. ‘You could grace the Albert Hall itself, Miss Wilkins. How accomplished you American ladies are!’

  ‘She was taught by Monsieur Zywyny himself, the relative of Chopin’s own teacher,’ Stella said. ‘He declared she should be a concert pianist! Her father and I are quite amazed at her talent. We are terribly tone deaf ourselves. But then, Lily is remarkable, if I do say so myself.’

  ‘Mother...’ Lily murmured, feeling her cheeks flame as she shuffled through the pages of music. ‘I am only quite mediocre.’

  ‘The Duke is also most talented at the piano, though he is far too modest to admit it,’ Lady Heath said, tossing a smile at Aidan. ‘Perhaps you and Lily might favour us with a duet?’

  Aidan laughed and Lily wished she could sink into the parquet floor beneath the piano and vanish. ‘I am quite out of practice, Lady Heath, after all my travels, though I admit your piano does look most tempting.’

  ‘Then I insist you must try it,’ Lady Heath said. ‘I am sure it will be most delightful for us!’

  ‘Thank you, then. Shall we, Miss Wilkins?’ he asked with a smile.

  Lily smiled shyly and nodded. They sat down together before the keyboard, pressed together on the narrow bench. She hoped she wouldn’t tremble and fumble the notes, not now, not with everyone watching, not with Aidan beside her.

  ‘The Schumann, Variations on a Theme?’ he said. ‘Do you know it?’

  Lily nodded, and he smiled. ‘Very well! One, two—go.’

  Their fingers flowed into the Schumann. Lily sensed everyone watching them avidly, whispering behind fans, but she paid them no attention now. The music demanded all her focus, trying to follow Aidan’s lead. She felt his arm brush over hers, his hands over hers, around hers, fo
llowing her, as the music wound about her. The music and Aidan seemed as one.

  As they crashed together into the finale, perfectly together, they were laughing with the joy of music.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Aidan said and Lily glanced up, breathless, to find him smiling down at her. He kissed her hand as the guests clapped for their performance.

  ‘Brilliant, Duke, brilliant! And you, Miss Wilkins, so charming,’ the Prince himself said. ‘What a treasure you have found, Lady Heath.’

  ‘I certainly think so,’ Lady Heath said. She beamed at Lily, but all Lily could see, all she knew in that moment, was Aidan.

  * * *

  Aidan took a deep inhale of his cheroot as he enjoyed the quiet of Lady Heath’s small garden. As he had told her at the Crewe ball, it was a terrible habit he had picked up in the wilds of an American gold field and he would give it up very soon. Especially once he had a wife to please. His mother certainly complained about it enough.

  But for now, it gave him an excuse to escape the noise and clamour of parties. He was a duke, Roderick Castle would need a mistress, his family name required a social life and he needed an heir. But how to choose? How to change his life irrevocably again, just as it had been when Edward died?

  Aidan took another deep inhale, enjoying the sharp, metallic bite of it at the back of his throat that tossed him back into happier days. Days when he could wander as he pleased, talk to whomever he pleased, with no thought to the outside world.

  For just a moment, he wondered if he could find a wife who would be content to look after Roderick Castle and Lennox House while he went back to South America. Certainly, enough of the couples he knew spent precious little time together. Once the heir was born and the estate secure, a couple whose marriage was made of convenience and land and family names could go their own ways. No one cared, as long as it was discreet.