His Unlikely Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  His own parents’ marriage had been like that. And now his mother was going to marry her long-time lover. But Aidan had never wanted a life like that himself, one of expectations, conformity, convention, loneliness. It was one of the things that had driven him off on his travels. In the jungle, he was only a man, only himself and what he could make of his day. Yet he had never counted on being the Duke, to be in charge of handing Roderick Castle over to the next generation, intact, part of that unbroken chain. In charge of the welfare of hundreds of people.

  He didn’t want to be the one who lost it, the one who sold the land bit by bit, scattered the artistic treasures, let the leaky roof fall in. It would be dishonourable to abandon all that his forebears had worked for, all that the tenants and servants worked for now.

  But how to save it all?

  He thought of Lily Wilkins, her soft white hands flying over the piano keyboard, her shimmering dark eyes as she looked up, startled, as the music faded. Lily Wilkins of the absurd pearls and elaborate gowns, the shyness and uncertainty of her smile.

  Miss Wilkins of all that coal gold.

  Aidan took one last drag of his cheroot. As he put it out under a marble planter he heard a burst of giggles. Not wanting to be surrounded by a gaggle of debs, he dashed behind the planter and hoped he could become invisible.

  ‘That gown!’ he heard someone say smugly—one of the Misses Banks? ‘My dears, have you ever seen anything of the sort on someone younger than forty?’

  ‘I heard it was from Monsieur Worth,’ another lady said, in a rather wistful tone. ‘It must have cost a thousand pounds!’

  ‘And those pearls...’ The first lady sniffed. ‘So ostentatious. But what can one expect from an American? They probably even dress that way for breakfast.’

  Aidan realised they had to be speaking of Lily. A rush of fierce protectiveness washed over him, the need to defend someone vulnerable. And he knew, beneath the priceless pearls, she was vulnerable.

  ‘She didn’t give anyone else a chance at the piano, either,’ another young lady said. ‘I’ve been practising my Mozart for ever so long.’

  Aidan again pictured Lily’s hands flying over the piano keys, her eyes closed as if she was one with the notes, floating up and up into the night sky. No one would even think of leaving an instrument when they were so caught by its spell. And he could have listened to her all night.

  ‘I thought she was very nice,’ someone else said. The other Miss Banks? ‘So easy to talk to! Indeed, her manners were all they should be.’ Someone made a loud, startled huff, and she went on, louder. ‘Better than some, I must say.’

  ‘Well, I never! Who would think my own sister would defend such a ruffian? Perhaps she will invite you to her grass hut when next you are in New York.’

  ‘I’m sure she could buy all of Mayfair with those pearls,’ another lady said. ‘No grass huts needed.’

  ‘And I doubt she would go back to New York, anyway,’ the first Miss Banks said. ‘My mother says that Mrs Wilkins is the new Clara Jerome, hunting English husbands for her daughters. I doubt Miss Wilkins would settle for some mere younger son like James Grantley, either, do you?’

  Aidan froze. Grantley? Was he a serious suitor for Lily’s hand? And did she like him in return?

  ‘She’ll have to dress better, then,’ one of them snorted. ‘Surely our English gentlemen have more refinement than to want wives like that?’

  Aidan had heard quite enough. Title-hunting Mrs Wilkins might be, and mercenary his own mother might be trying to be, but Lily did not deserve to be gossiped about. Her shy smile, the way she looked up at him with her dark eyes, the way her soft fingers conjured up magic on a piano, the way it felt when he touched her hand—when they were together he did not feel as if either of them were hunting for anything except another moment to be alone. To be just Lily and Aidan.

  He stepped out from behind the planter into the light that flowed from the open French doors to the drawing room. He could hear music, a fumbling little waltz—so it seemed Lily had given someone else a turn at the instrument. The low rumble of the Prince’s laugh, Lady Heath’s silvery giggle, Stella Wilkins’s flat vowels... Four young women stood clustered by the door, a fluttering, cooing flock of pigeons in white and pale yellow, fans fluttering as they whispered behind them.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said with a careless smile and a low bow. They all looked startled and all but the younger Miss Milbank guilty and flushed. ‘Lovely evening for a stroll, is it not?’

  He sauntered back into the drawing room and saw to his relief that many of the guests had departed, including the Prince and the Wilkinses. As much as he wanted to see Lily again, to take her hand and shield her from the knives of any whispers, he was glad she wasn’t there to see him discomposed in any way. To laugh at his protectiveness.

  He suddenly couldn’t bear the polite party any longer. Couldn’t bear London, the people, the noise, the expectations. He longed for the vast silence of the open spaces he once roamed so freely, just himself, Aidan, a man. No titles at all, nothing that anyone there could care about.

  The only moment he had felt that freedom in society was when he sat at the piano with Lily, their movements as one, the notes wrapping around them like magical ribbons, binding them together.

  He made his way to the hall to call for his carriage. Then he decided to send it back to Lennox House empty, as he wanted to, had to, walk. He would go mad without some real exercise.

  ‘My dear Duke,’ Lady Heath called. ‘Leaving already?’

  ‘It does grow late, Lady Heath—Eleanor,’ he said, trying to smile, to pretend that this life, this ducal life, was perfectly normal to him. ‘I’ve imposed on your lovely hospitality long enough.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She gave him an understanding smile, a gentle touch on his sleeve, and he remembered their conversation at the Crewe ball. ‘It was most kind of you to entertain us at the piano. I fear my poor instrument is too neglected, and I do forget how talented you are.’

  Aidan laughed. ‘My father never forgot. He always declared a piano was no fit pastime for a gentleman. I’ve enjoyed being able to play again. And I had a great deal of help tonight with the duet.’

  ‘Miss Wilkins. Yes. She is a surprising young lady.’ She fluttered her painted silk fan. ‘I confess I find myself feeling quite protective of her sometimes.’

  Just as Aidan had, when he heard that gossip about her. Why did he want to race to her, catch her up in his arms, wrap her in silk and crystal apart from the rest of the world? ‘She’s very charming. In fact, you might be glad to hear we are going riding in the park tomorrow.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Lady Heath’s brow arched above her fan. ‘I certainly am glad to hear that. You two could very well suit.’

  ‘Because of her money and my falling-in roof?’

  She laughed. ‘Because you are both unique, independent, romantic souls. And lonely, I think. Perhaps you can do each other some good.’

  ‘I don’t know about romantic,’ he muttered. ‘But I thought you just might approve. I’m sure my mother will be happy, too.’

  Lady Heath’s fan fluttered in front of her suddenly uncertain expression. ‘Duke—Aidan.’ She took a step closer. ‘I know you may not take much heed of my words now, but I have known you and your family for a long time, and I—’ She broke off and shrugged as if she couldn’t quite find the answers.

  ‘Yes?’ he said gently.

  ‘I worry about you. About how different your life must be now, all the responsibilities Roderick Castle must bring. But Lily Wilkins is a sweet girl. A sensitive one. I wouldn’t want either of you—well, hurt, in any way.’

  He kissed her hand and gave her a smile. If this marriage came off, it would be to her credit—and helpful to her income. But she sounded so truly concerned, for both of them. ‘You are a good friend, Lady Heath, and that is a rarity here in London
. Trust me, I do not want to see Miss Wilkins hurt, either. It’s just a ride in the park for an afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, my dear. Believe me...’ She shook her head sadly. ‘In our world, it is never just that.’

  Chapter Seven

  Lily twisted in front of the looking glass, trying to study herself from every angle. Her new dark green riding habit, trimmed in black braid, was from Busvine tailors, where they said that famous horsewoman Jennie Churchill bought all her habits, and it was quite à la mode. Yet Lily wasn’t entirely sure about it.

  It was certainly beautiful. The luxurious cashmere wool fabric, the perfect cut of it, the deceptive simplicity. Yet it was also quite daring. It fit against her like a glove, perfectly smooth against the specially made chamois leather underpinnings. It showed no skin at all, not like the deep décolleté of a Worth evening gown, but she felt much more exposed than ever.

  What would the Duke think?

  She closed her eyes and remembered their duet at the piano, as their hands moved as one, shoulder to shoulder as they created the magic of the tune. How wonderful it had been to feel so close to him, to feel they were only themselves! Only two people. The gossip forgotten, the past gone.

  Until the song ended.

  ‘It’s absolutely beautiful, Miss Lily,’ Doris said, twitching at the long train that would drape over Lily’s left leg once she was in the saddle.

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Lily asked, twisting again. It did feel much freer than her corsets!

  ‘Like a proper English countrywoman, I would say.’

  Lily laughed. ‘At least we won’t be riding to hounds today. I doubt my rusty skill would ever be up to it. One challenge at a time.’

  As Doris handed her the new matching hat, tall-crowned, glossy black silk with a wisp of lacy veiling, Lily’s mother rushed in. Unlike Lily, Stella still wore her morning peignoir of blue velvet and chiffon.

  ‘Aren’t you nearly ready, Lily?’ she demanded. ‘He’ll be here at any moment!’

  ‘Yes, Mother, almost.’ Lily smoothed the already impeccable skirt and twirled around. ‘How do I look?’

  Stella slowly circled her, eyes sharp as a hawk with a rabbit. ‘Quite correct. Lady Heath was right to send us to Busvine. I do wish a young lady could wear a bit of lip rouge—they do say Lady Randolph Churchill does and it looks most fetching below the edge of the veil. But we must do what is proper. What a duchess would do.’

  Lily was quite sure a duchess could do as she liked. She remembered her fancy gown at Lady Heath’s dinner, the other girls’ pink and white tulles, their cameo pendants and single strands of pearls. Surely those English girls had been taught from birth how to be proper duchesses. But it was never any use to argue with her mother.

  But for the first time, she actually considered those words—what would, what could, a duchess do? She would have duties, of course, many of them. But it seemed there was freedom, too. The choice to do what she liked, wear what she liked, make friends where she liked, make sure her sisters could marry as they chose. There was freedom in it, as well as restraint.

  And if the Duke who gave that freedom happened to look like Aidan...

  Lily bit her lip as that secret smile threatened to form, the smile she always had when he came into her mind, curse him. She had always considered dukes to be old and fusty, but he was young and vibrant and wild and alive, shimmering with light from his very fingertips. Nothing stuffy or mouldy about him in the least, nothing snobbish. Surely that old gossip was only that—gossip? The past was past.

  He was going riding with her.

  Lily put her hat carefully on to the smooth, coiled plaits of her hair and pinned it into place. She lowered the veil and smiled. Maybe, just maybe, she could soon have more choice in her life than she had ever realised.

  She picked up her gloves and riding crop, and hurried out the door, feeling strangely lighter than she had in an age.

  Rose and Violet hovered near the banisters on the landing, positioned to stare down into the entrance hall. Though they had done that for as long as Lily could remember, first huddling near her as they watched their mother sail out for an evening in satins and furs, now to wave Lily off, they suddenly looked...different to her. Older. They would be in her position soon enough, going to parties and meeting gentlemen. Before then, she had to get herself into a position to help and protect them. They were not children now and neither was she. She had to be equal to whatever fate tossed at her.

  ‘What are you two doing there?’ Stella said sternly. ‘You should be at your art lessons!’

  ‘We want to see the famous Duke!’ Violet said, equally stubborn as their mother. ‘Is he as handsome as the newspapers say, Lily? Perhaps I could take his photograph!’

  ‘Yes,’ Lily answered firmly. ‘He most certainly is handsome.’

  ‘And a handsome duke must have good-looking friends,’ Violet said, a speculative gleam in her hazel eyes. ‘If you’re nice to him, Lil, he might bring those friends around one day.’

  ‘Lily is always nice to everyone, Violet,’ Rose protested. ‘And I would rather hear about his travels than gawk at his manly shoulders. He was in the Sahara, you know, and in a canoe down the Amazon.’

  ‘You must learn to be more delicate in your conversation, Violet,’ Stella admonished. ‘But I suppose you are not really wrong.’

  A knock sounded at the front door and they all jumped. Lily felt her stomach lurch with nervousness and she straightened her hat and her tight sleeves. It would all be fine, she promised herself. She would surely not fall off her horse and make a cake of herself in front of him!

  The butler opened the door and there he was. Truly there, before her, in the flesh. The Duke. Aidan. He swept his hat off and his gold-streaked hair was tousled, gleaming in the sunlight. He smiled and his green eyes crinkled adorably at the corners.

  ‘The Duke of Lennox calling for Miss Wilkins,’ the butler said.

  ‘Oh, Lily,’ Violet whispered. ‘I didn’t know he would be quite like that.’

  Lily took a deep breath and forced herself to walk, not run, down the stairs. Not that she could run in her new, brightly polished boots from Batten.

  ‘Miss Wilkins,’ he said with a smile, pushing an errant lock of hair back from his brow. Lily found that her gloved fingers itched to do that for him. ‘It looks like a fine day for a ride. Mrs Wilkins, I promise I will take the greatest care of your daughter.’

  Stella smiled serenely. ‘I would not have expected anything else from a gentleman such as yourself, Duke. My dear Mr Wilkins says you can always tell the quality of a man by the boots he wears.’ She gestured to his own Batten creations; unlike Lily’s, they were battered and creased, though carefully polished. ‘It’s clear you use them for work. Will you join us for tea after?’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Wilkins, I would be honoured.’

  Lily followed him out of the house and was immediately glad to be out in the fresh air. To be outside with him. He glanced up at the sky as he replaced his hat and flexed his shoulders under the fine black cloth of his riding jacket. It was a grey day, rather overcast, but she didn’t care. He cast his own light, a human Apollo come down from Olympus—or from the marbles at the museum.

  A groom waited with the horses, a bay gelding and a grey mare with a soft white star on her forehead. ‘Is this one for me?’ Lily said in delight, crooning softly to the horse as she stroked its velvety nose. It nuzzled into her, making her laugh. Horses were her best delight at home, her one escape, and she’d been sad to leave her own behind.

  ‘Her name is Star, appropriately. She does seem to like you, Miss Wilkins,’ Aidan answered with a smile. ‘Though I confess they’re only hired. The Roderick stable was sold soon after my father died, not being entailed. He was most avid about the hunt and the turf.’

  Lily nodded. Yet another sign of the Lennox poverty. ‘I know li
ttle about racing, I fear—Mother thinks it so unladylike.’ Or maybe she just didn’t like the time her husband spent at the track—and the actresses he took there. ‘But I do know a smart horse who wants to gallop when I see one. Don’t I, Star?’

  ‘Shall we go, then? Before the rain sets in.’

  Lily nodded and, to her surprise, rather than waiting for the groom to help her into the saddle, Aidan lifted her himself. His hands were warm, strong and secure around her waist, his fingers sliding against the fine wool and doeskin. He raised her straight through the air, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and settled her perfectly into the side-saddle. He helped her adjust the long train over her legs and made sure she was comfortable before he found his own horse.

  Lily fussed a bit with her train, making sure it draped down gracefully to cover both legs completely. She glanced up and saw her sisters’ faces at the upstairs window. She waved and they waved back merrily.

  * * *

  The park was quiet at that hour, the bridleways empty but for a few other serious riders and some groundskeepers at the flowerbeds. The walkways were lined with black-cloaked nursemaids and their noisy charges rolling hoops or peeking from lacy prams.

  ‘How pretty it all is!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘I’ve never noticed those flowers before, or the sky beyond the treetops, all green and gold and blue. It’s all so much in flower still! We usually only come out in the carriage in the afternoons and you can’t see anything past the other coaches.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the fashionable hour,’ he said. ‘My mother never sets foot on the ground when she’s in town. She must make quite sure her hat is finer than any of her friends.’

  Lily laughed. ‘My mother is just the same. She lives to be bowed at by Princess Alexandra when the royal carriage drives past.’ She imitated the little royal bow, right and left, wave, wave, that the Princess was famous for.

  ‘By Jove, but you have it down just right, Miss Wilkins,’ he teased. ‘You should be royalty.’