“I believe we are past worrying about scandal,” he said, wagging his fingers at her, tempting her. “Come, join your husband for a dance.”
“Oh, very well,” she said, sighing as though it was of extreme trouble, though warmth rushed through her when she placed her hand in his.
“As lovely as this all is,” he said, looking around them. “I am much looking forward to my ballroom being empty again, and our home returning to the family.”
"Though we will soon be departing for Stonehall,” she reminded him, and he nodded, looking at her with speculation. “Our lands are doing well with our new stewards as well as O’Donnell now in place. Perhaps, as early as next year, we can begin some work.”
“Really?” she asked, her heart speeding up at the thought. “Oh, that would be lovely. I have some new ideas — a garden spot in particular…”
He laughed as he moved with her in his arms. When they turned to the other side, Rebecca stole a look out of the corner of her eye to where Mrs. St. Vincent and her father were sitting. Wonder upon wonder, Valentine’s mother had become quite the guardian of her father. She wasn't sure whether it was that the woman refused to allow anyone to come to know there was a touch of madness in the family, or whether she truly cared for his wellbeing, but she was kind to him all the same, and for that, Rebecca was grateful.
Just before the ball had started, her father had drawn her to the side.
“Rebecca,” he had said, wistfulness filling his eyes as he had looked around the grand foyer, where the dome was now ornamented in gold, resembling the sun just as Rebecca had envisioned. “You did a wonderful job on this house.”
She had turned to him with surprise.
“Me?”
“You,” he had said with a nod, a nostalgic smile crossing his face. “You are a visionary.”
Rebecca smiled once more just remembering her father’s words of approval, words she never thought she would hear.
“It’s funny how life turns out,” she commented, and Valentine looked down at her in bemusement.
“What do you mean?”
“Just how our goals and dreams change and become something much greater than ourselves,” she said. “And to make them come true, one cannot do it alone.”
“No,” he agreed, “which makes me very grateful that I have found the greatest partner.”
She smiled up at him, hardly able to believe that he was hers, and hers alone, forever more.
“I love you, my pugilist duke,” she said.
“And I love you, my architect duchess.”
Despite the gasps of those surrounding them at such a display, he bent and placed a brief kiss on her lips.
“Another scandal?” she said with a smile.
“It’s what I do best.”
“Never stop.”
“Not with you.”
They smiled together, a promise that would remain between them forever.
THE END
* * *
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Inventing the Viscount
Preview Freddie’s story, book 2 of The Bluestocking Scandals…
1
London, 1820
Lady Fredericka Ashworth watched the man she had been supposed to marry waltz off with another woman.
His wife. And her new friend.
She wasn’t the least bit jealous.
No, Valentine St. Vincent, Duke of Wyndham, was not the man for her. She had known it the moment she had met him, when she saw his gaze slide past her and stop upon the woman he would eventually marry.
As it turned out, she and the duke wouldn’t have particularly suited — though she would have married him anyway.
“Are you all right?”
Freddie turned her head to the voice of her friend, Miss Jemima St. Vincent, Valentine’s sister. While no relationship had developed between Freddie and the duke, she had, at the very least, developed a great friendship with his sister.
“Perfectly fine,” Freddie answered, her smile true. “I was simply thinking about how well everything worked out. Had your brother and I married, he would have been miserable.”
Jemima quirked an eyebrow.
“What makes you say that?”
“He is obviously a passionate man, and there was no spark between us. We would have been friends, but nothing more.”
“Would you have been fine with that?”
“Yes, I would have,” Freddie said with conviction, laughing at Jemima’s surprised expression. “Friendship is much more than many are lucky enough to have. Besides, he is one of few men who would have likely put up with my… eccentrics.”
“As he does with mine,” Jemima murmured, and Freddie nodded.
“Exactly.”
Jemima looked around them at her family’s ballroom, filled with people who were eager to make the new duchess’ acquaintance. Freddie and Jemima were currently hiding in the corner. Jemima’s friend, Celeste Keswick, had reluctantly agreed to a dance orchestrated by her mother but would be returning shortly.
“But, Freddie, don’t you want more?” Jemima asked. “Don’t you desire love, like Rebecca and Val have found?”
Freddie adamantly shook her head.
“Not at all,” she said, setting her chin. “I thought I had it once before. It wasn’t worth it.”
“Oh Freddie, I had no idea—” Jemima began, but Freddie smiled sadly and shook her head.
“Another time. Suffice it to say that I would be content with a man who would respect me, be friendly to me, and allow me to do as I please.”
“Not a particularly strong man, then?” Jemima asked, to which Freddie shrugged.
“I suppose you can say that.”
“Must you marry at all?” Jemima asked, to which Freddie nodded sadly.
“If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t,” she said. “But I am already four-and-twenty. My parents are desperate for me to marry. They will support me for as long as they must, of course, but I know they worry — and rightly so. My sisters are married, and with no brothers, one day my father’s title will go to a cousin. I should hardly like to have to place the entirety of my existence on his benevolence — or lack thereof.”
“It isn’t fair, is it?” Jemima murmured, to which Freddie shook her head.
“Of course not. But that is the reality of our lives, Jemima, so we must make the best of it. Ah, here comes my mother now with a potential beau in tow. She was truly heartbroken when your brother and Rebecca married, you know.”
Jemima squinted at the approaching pair. “Who is that with her? We haven’t been part of society long enough for me to know many of the ton yet.”
Freddie craned her neck around the dizzying array of swirling dancers before them. The man beside her mother was only slightly taller than she was, which meant he was rather short himself. Curly reddish-brown hair, trepidation on his face…
“Oh! I’m in luck. It’s simply Lord Gilmore.”
“What of Lord Gilmore?” Celeste said as she rejoined them, her pale cheeks flushed from the exertion of dancing. “Please don’t say my mother is bringing him here for me. He’s nice enough, if a bit of a bore.”
“Agreed,” Freddie said with a smile. “But no, it is my mother this time. Our families have known one another for ages. There is nothing particularly disappointing to say about Miles except that he hardly ever speaks and conversing with him is akin to speaking to a statue.”
“My brother likes him,” Celeste said with a shrug. “There aren’t many with much bad to say about him. An agreeable sort. Goes along with everything.”
An idea sparked in Freddie’s mind — one that Jemima clearly shared by the intense way she was looking at her.
&nbs
p; “You have a rather intriguing look on your face, Freddie,” she remarked, and Freddie nodded. Perhaps they could all find what they were looking for — both Freddie, as well as her parents.
There was only one unknown factor.
Miles himself.
~~~~~
Miles followed Lady Rothwell across the ballroom with trepidation. He had no wish to dance with her daughter, but the woman had been insistent. When Lady Rothwell wanted something, well, she as known to chase after it with the stubbornness of a dog after a stick.
When he finally realized that she wasn’t going to let him alone without his agreement, he decided he would come and get this over with.
He knew she was chattering incessantly beside him as they walked, but he didn’t bother attempting to determine just what she was saying, for he knew her well enough to be aware that her words flew so fast they required a great deal of concentration, and usually it wasn’t worth the effort.
Lady Fredericka, on the other hand…
Despite her diminutive size, it was easy to find her through the crowd. She was as pleasing to the eye as she had always been. The same light brown hair, the color of cocoa, piled high on her head in the latest style, well-crafted ringlets floating around her temples. The same warm brown eyes, wide in her heart-shaped face. That same knowing, intelligent smile on her pink, bow-shaped lips.
A smile that was currently directed at him. Why did she look so cunning, so satisfied? It slightly unnerved him. He hadn’t seen her in a couple of years now, for their paths didn’t cross nearly as often as they had as children. He only attended these things to appease his mother, despite the fact he hated them with all of his being.
The music was too loud, the ballrooms too echoey, and the conversation too difficult.
But his mother was insistent that they attend, that he begin the search for a wife. She was desperate for grandchildren.
And he would do anything for his mother. Without her, who knows where he would be. Likely a madhouse. Instead, he was the Viscount of Gilmore, heir to the Marquess of Dorrington, and no one knew his secret.
He intended to keep it that way, but accompanying ladies such as Lady Fredericka in dances only added to the challenge. What made it worse was he knew her well enough to be aware that she wasn’t an empty-headed simpering miss. No, Lady Fredericka was one of the most observant people he knew, and one of the very reasons he attempted to keep his distance from her, despite her beauty.
But here he was.
“Lady Fredericka,” he said with a bow before holding out a hand. “Would you care to join me in a dance?”
He looked up at her, awaiting her response.
“Of course, Lord Gilmore,” she said with a smile, placing her hand in his. He led her to the floor, saying nothing else, both relieved and chagrined when a waltz began to play. They were easiest to dance, for he only had to count, but if she decided to have a conversation, it might prove rather difficult.
But, of course, she did. She had always had much to say. He leaned back slightly to determine just exactly was now coming from her mouth.
“How are you enjoying the Season?”
“Just fine,” he responded, noticing from up close how much she had grown into her looks. She was still small, but he was struck by the warmth of her brown eyes and her easy smile. She had always been a precocious little thing, but now she had gentled somewhat. “It’s been busy.”
“I can imagine,” she said, before saying something that he didn’t quite catch.
“Pardon me?”
“I said that it is good to see you again. It has been so long.”
“It has,” he said, wishing she would dispense with the polite conversation and allow them to simply dance.
“I believe our fathers are still acquaintances, but it is a shame they do not spend time together as they used to,” she said, to which Miles shook his head.
“It is not a shame, Lady Fredericka. You know as well as I do that my father has never been easy to get along with, and it has only worsened as he has aged.”
Her eyes widened in shock and her mouth snapped shut. Thank goodness.
Unfortunately, it didn’t last.
“How is your mother? She is always such a dear. I have seen her time and again when she comes for tea.”
“My mother is well,” he said, pleased she had finally found a topic of conversation which he was interested in taking part in. “She especially enjoys visits with your mother. A respite from her own home.”
“Yes,” she said, blinking but nodding sagely. “I suppose that is true.”
“She always liked you, Lady Fredericka.”
“Oh, come, Miles, call me Freddie, please. The fact that we have aged is hardly reason for us to become so formal with one another.”
“Very well,” he said, softening, but then muttered a curse as he stumbled slightly into Freddie when they both stepped forward at the same time. He had become distracted and stopped counting.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, but she shook her head, saying something he didn’t quite catch before a smile softened her lips.
“You know, Miles, no one has regarded me so intensely for quite some time.”
He swallowed. There was a reason he did so, and it wasn’t the same one she had conjectured. She squeezed his hand, which was currently outstretched and wrapped around hers.
“Miles, I must ask you something. Something important.”
He nodded.
“Would you— would you call upon me tomorrow?”
Miles lost count altogether at her question. He stopped, blinked, and she, continuing to move, ran right into him. He caught her, holding her up. Had he heard her correctly? She wanted him to call upon her? He asked her to repeat herself, which she did. Yes, it seemed he was correct.
“Why?” he said, causing her cheeks to flush beautifully, and then he moved her out of the way before another couple knocked into her.
“Why not?” she asked with a shrug before taking her plump bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it for a moment – causing an unexpected flicker of desire to course through him. “We have known one another long enough to be aware that there is nothing distasteful about the other, no family secrets or skeletons in the cupboard.” Or so she thought. “Unless my mother is in the wrong, you require a wife, so you are currently seeking one out, and I am far past the marrying age. I need someone to provide for me. Does that answer your question?”
If he was right, she seemed angry with him, though why, he had no idea. Her reasons for courting were as unromantic as he had ever heard, but perhaps she had a point.
“It’s only a call,” she said, holding her head high. “It is not as though I am proposing marriage. Yet.”
Miles took her hand and led her off the dance floor, needing to be free of the swirling dancers, to go somewhere where he could properly hear her and not have her words garbled by the music.
“Freddie,” he said when they were out of the ballroom and into the foyer to where the doors led. “Are you sure about this?”
A frown marred her perfect features.
“Do you not want to call upon me? I understand if you do not wish to. Perhaps there is someone else you are—”
“There is no one else.”
“It was just a thought, Miles,” she said, and he could tell she was attempting to feign nonchalance. “If you’d prefer not to, it is perfectly fine.”
He sighed. She had clearly decided that something was the matter with her, which was so far from the truth. He was surprised by her lack of confidence.
“All right, Freddie. I’ll be there.”
“Well, you needn’t be so excited about it. You know what, this was a terrible idea.”
She moved to brush past him, but he grasped her arm and gently turned her toward him.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he said firmly. “Goodnight.”
It was he who walked past her now. It was time to find his mother, and get the hell out
of here.
* * *
Inventing the Dukeis now available for pre-order on Amazon.
Also by Ellie St. Clair
Standalone
Unmasking a Duke
Christmastide with His Countess
Her Christmas Wish
Happily Ever After
The Duke She Wished For
Someday Her Duke Will Come
Once Upon a Duke’s Dream
He’s a Duke, But I Love Him
Loved by the Viscount
Because the Earl Loved Me
Happily Ever After Box Set Books 1-3
Happily Ever After Box Set Books 4-6
Searching Hearts
Duke of Christmas
Quest of Honor
Clue of Affection
Hearts of Trust
Hope of Romance
Promise of Redemption
Searching Hearts Box Set (Books 1-5)
The Unconventional Ladies
Lady of Mystery
Lady of Fortune
Lady of Providence
Lady of Charade
Blooming Brides
A Duke for Daisy
A Marquess for Marigold
An Earl for Iris
A Viscount for Violet
The Bluestocking Scandals
Designs on a Duke
Inventing the Duke
About the Author
Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and passion -- romance novels.
In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or where, love can always prevail. She has a particular soft spot for the bad boys of history, and loves a strong heroine in her stories.
Designs on a Duke: The Bluestocking Scandals Book 1 Page 20