His fiancée.
They had been engaged since infancy, the two grand families eager to make an advantageous alliance. Their respective parents had agreed things between them while Oscar and Pearl were still in swaddling clothes. Oscar pushed the thought away, burying his head in the sand. It was something he was adept at. A lifetime’s practise of ignoring his fate had made it second nature. Yet it was looming on the horizon. Closer and closer.
He knew his duty. His father had drilled it into him until the day he’d died. That didn’t mean Oscar wanted to do it, though.
It wasn’t as if Pearl was buck-toothed or cross-eyed. God, quite the reverse, yet he wasn’t ready to give up his freedom yet, no matter that everyone had been demanding he set a date these past two years. Only Pearl seemed less anxious for the match than he was, though she never said as much.
Pearl and Ella were complete opposites in every way. Pearl was everything that Ella was not. Whereas Ella would struggle to find a match, if Pearl were free she’d have men beating down her door. She took after their mother: tall and curvaceous, ice blonde and with cool blue eyes. An undeniable beauty, Pearl turned heads wherever she went.
Ella favoured her father. Far shorter than Pearl, she was slight and her hair was a dark mahogany. Thick, rather daunting eyebrows sat over her wide, grey eyes, and she was always in motion. He’d never known a more fidgety creature in all his life. Heaven help you if she got bored; one never knew what she might do next.
Pearl, by contrast, was the perfect English lady. She always looked exquisite, spoke in quiet, well-modulated tones and with intelligence, and never raised her voice in anger or exasperation. Everyone said she would make an exceptional duchess. He supposed they were right, although he tried not to think too much about it.
A memory of Ella the year before, soaked to the bone and covered in mud after he’d hoisted her out of a puddle, made his mouth twitch with amusement. She was a bruising rider but even the best came a cropper sometimes, and she’d landed in a foot of mud. Instead of looking mortified, as he might expect from most young ladies of his acquaintance, she’d simply sat in the mud and laughed herself silly. She’d admitted it had been her own stupid fault and that she’d deserved what she got.
A frown gathered at his brow once more. It seemed impossible she was even of marriageable age, but who would ever marry her? Yes, she was a lot of fun, but Bertie was right. Despite Oscar’s words of reassurance, he knew no sensible man would take her on. The fellow would never know a moment’s peace. If it wasn’t for the fact that she so closely resembled her father, Oscar suspected there would have been talk, for two more different sisters it would be hard to find.
“Oscar!”
He turned and, as if he’d conjured her, there was Ella, heedless of the hem of her skirts in the dirt as she hurried towards them across the cobbled yard. She flung her arms around his neck and he spun her in a circle, laughing before setting her down again.
“Oh, well done, Oscar! I knew you’d win, and in such magnificent style! I was never prouder,” she exclaimed, her grey eyes shining with delight. “Oh, and you too, Bertie,” she added as an afterthought, sparing a moment to give her brother a grin.
“I’m quite overcome,” Bertie said, his tone dry.
“Good run, Rothborn. I won a pretty penny on you, old man.”
Oscar looked up as Owen Tatum appeared in Ella’s wake. He grinned and held out a hand. Oscar shook it, beaming, and then greeted Tommy. The earl gave Bertie a rather sheepish look.
“We, er… found your sister,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a little awkward.
Bertie cast Ella a dark look before reaching out and shaking Tommy’s hand. “I can only sympathise.”
Chapter 2
“Wherein challenges are accepted.”
Ella scowled at her brother. Just because she drove him to distraction didn’t mean everyone else felt the same.
Did it?
“Tommy didn’t mind in the least, did you, Tommy?” she asked, though she felt a stab of doubt now. Her family had always told her what a blessed nuisance she was, and she wondered if perhaps Tommy hadn’t been as pleased by her company as he’d seemed.
Why did people have to be polite all the time? She was never sure what they meant. If he hadn’t wanted her company, he should have said so. He could have sent her back to her sister if he’d felt that way.
“Of course not!” Tommy said, and she let out a breath as he seemed genuine. “I’m sure we’d not have enjoyed the afternoon half so well without you. Would we, Owen?”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” his friend replied, giving her a warm smile.
“There, you see?” She folded her arms, glaring at Bertie, who just rolled his eyes at her.
“Congratulations, Rothborn.”
They all looked around to see the imposing and immaculate figure of the Duke of Ranleigh bearing down on them across the yard. Oscar stiffened a little and Ella watched with interest. Oscar hated Ranleigh, though she could never understand why. He seemed an interesting and rather dashing figure.
Ranleigh was watching Oscar, a vaguely amused glint in his dark brown eyes. He was a handsome fellow, though an older man with a sprinkling of grey at the temples. Perhaps in his mid to late thirties he was considered one of the greatest catches still left on the marriage mart. Though, to Ella’s eye, he could never be as handsome as Oscar, who in her opinion surpassed every indicator of masculine beauty by a mile.
Oscar was not quite as tall as Ranleigh but was perhaps a little broader in the shoulder. Ella tried not to stare, but Oscar was well worth looking at. His hair was thick and wavy, a light, golden brown that shone with touches of bronze when the sun caught it. His eyes were a warm reddish hazel with flecks of green and gold.
With a little sigh of despair, Ella realised she’d been in love with Oscar for exactly six years, after hero-worshipping him for even longer before that. What a fool she was. Not that she’d ever said anything or given any sign of her feelings. Nor would she.
When she’d first realised she’d tumbled into love with him, Ella had acted differently, keeping her distance and not bantering with him or giving him a casual hug or touch like she would her brother. But then Bertie had remarked upon it and asked what the matter was. Had they argued? So, she’d done her best to treat Oscar as she always had, despite the pain it sometimes gave her to be so close, and yet so very far.
Ella had lost Oscar before she’d even been born though, as he’d been betrothed to Pearl from the cradle. It was a wretched situation and she hated herself for her feelings. Sometimes she hated Oscar for it too, and Pearl, who seemed not to care a jot for him. Not in the way Ella did. It seemed a cruel hand for fate to deal her, but she knew there was nothing to be done about it. Oscar had his duty and, if she was honest—and Ella was always honest—Pearl would make the perfect duchess for him.
Pearl would make the perfect anything, she thought, with just a little bitterness and a dash of envy.
Ella would have made a disastrous duchess. She’d have caused endless trouble without even trying. It was a gift of sorts, albeit an unwelcome one.
Pearl looked like a swan, sailing through life without ever ruffling a pristine white feather. Ella snorted as she realised she was a duck in comparison, waddling through a muddy puddle and making everyone laugh as she tried to shake the dirt from her feathers.
Fighting her way free of such maudlin self-indulgent musings, Ella returned her attention to the men and the sudden brittle atmosphere that seemed to have descended upon them.
“Virago could beat Miss Skirmish blindfolded and on three legs,” Oscar was saying with disgust.
Ranleigh had implied Oscar had been lucky to win, Ella gathered, and that he’d only done so as Miss Skirmish was indisposed.
Oh, dear.
“It sounds as though a wager is in order then,” Ranleigh said, and that rather sardonic expression that seemed to always lurk in his eyes glinted with challeng
e.
“As you wish,” Oscar replied, folding his arms. “Name a time and place.”
Ranleigh considered for a moment, a gleam in his eyes as he watched Oscar. “The Craven Stakes, first meeting of the season, next year. I’ll wager two thousand pounds that Miss Skirmish can beat your Virago without breaking a sweat.”
Oscar snorted and held out his hand. “Done. It will be a pleasure to take your money.”
A slow smile dawned over Ranleigh’s face. “We shall see, Rothborn, we shall see. Adieu, my young friends.”
“Pompous ass,” Oscar muttered, glowering at the man’s back as he strode away. “I’ll make him eat his words. See if I don’t.”
Bertie frowned a little and cast Oscar a rather anxious glance. “I don’t know, Oscar. That chestnut is quite something.”
Oscar made a noise of disgust and glowered at her brother. “Oh, hush up, Bertie. I’m celebrating.” He turned to Ella and pointed at her, giving her a severe look. It was as severe as Oscar ever was, at least; there was laughter in his eyes as usual. “You, run along back to your sister or wherever you came from.”
“Oh!” Ella exclaimed, crestfallen. “But Oscar, I want to celebrate too!”
Oscar rolled his eyes at her and pinched her cheek. “Fine, do it with Pearl. We’re not going anywhere we can take a chit like you. Tell her, Bertie.”
Bertie opened his mouth, but Ella glowered in disgust.
“Oh, don’t bother. I know when I’m not wanted. You are going to the Newberry Mansion House ball tomorrow, though?” She cast this question to the assembled company, so it didn’t appear as if she was asking Oscar alone.
Tommy and Owen agreed that they were, and she knew Bertie was. Oscar gave a careless shrug.
“I suppose, if I must. Now run along, Ella, there’s a good girl. I must see to Virago before I get changed.”
Ella sighed, looking up as the earl offered her his arm.
“May I escort you back to the Portland Stand?” he asked, smiling at her.
She took one last look at Oscar and Bertie as they disappeared into the rubbing down house and nodded. “Yes, please, Tommy. I had better face my sister now. At least she can’t lecture me in public.”
***
Guy de Warenne, the Duke of Ranleigh, ran an experienced hand over Miss Skirmish’s pretty fetlock.
“A pity,” he lamented, as the lovely chestnut turned baleful, long-lashed eyes in his direction. “But we did the right thing. She’s a special lady, this one, and I’ll not take any unnecessary risks.”
“Even to shut the mouth of that young whippersnapper, Rothborn?”
Guy looked up at the Earl of Falmouth, who was watching him with amusement in his grey eyes.
“Even for that,” he said, a rueful tone to his voice. “But I shall show him in the spring, Alex, don’t you worry.”
“I never doubted it,” Alex replied, his lips twitching a little. “Though I wonder why you bother.”
Guy shrugged and nodded at his groom to carry on as they left the stable and wandered across the yard, back out among the crowds.
“His father was a dear friend to me when I was little more than a boy, a mentor I suppose you’d say. I’ve wanted to look out for the lad. Sadly, I went about it all wrong and put his bristles up when he was a very young man. Now he thinks I seek to best him at every turn, which is not true.”
“Yet you challenge him with this race?”
Guy grinned at Alex and gave a shrug. “True, but I couldn’t help myself, and I never saw a young man in direr need of being taken down a peg or two.”
Alex snorted and shook his head. “He’s five and twenty. Do you not remember what we were like at that age, believing ourselves invincible?”
“Of course I remember. I’m not in my dotage yet, Alex. It wasn’t so long ago.”
A dark chuckle rumbled through his companion. “I shall have to agree with you seeing as I am a year or two your senior.”
“Three years, Falmouth,” Guy replied with a gleeful note to his voice. “Tell me, how is that lovely young wife of yours? Keeping you on your toes, I hope?”
A warm look entered the man’s eyes and Guy experienced just a little pang of envy.
“Céleste is doing well, and living up to your expectations admirably, I thank you.”
Guy nodded, aware of the reverence in his friend’s voice. “And the children?”
“I am assured that William is the greediest baby that ever lived and his big sister, Marie, dotes on him not at all. He is a usurper in her eyes and she has made her feelings on the matter abundantly clear.”
Guy smiled, remembering the sight of the tiny blonde child wrapping the forbidding looking man at his side around her tiny thumb with amusement.
“Ah, domestic bliss. I never believed you would succumb to it.”
“Nor I.” Alex looked quite disgustingly pleased with himself.
They walked on a little further, skirting the milling crowds, before Guy turned to him once more. “I take it you’ll be wagering on the outcome of my bet with Rothborn?”
“Naturally,” the earl replied, a smile lingering over a mouth that to most people looked cruel and uncompromising. “I shall even enter it into the book at White’s.”
Alex tipped his hat and bade Guy a good day, and Guy did not miss the fact that his friend hadn’t reveal which way he would be betting. The devil.
***
“…quite outrageous. I don’t know what you’ll do next….”
Ella allowed her mind to drift as Pearl continued to scold her. She wondered if Oscar would dance tonight. He seldom did, much to Pearl’s irritation. Oscar despised balls and dancing, and only appeared at all if he had no choice. Ella didn’t blame him. Dancing was fine, but given the chance to spend an evening with Oscar playing cards or talking, or… or anything at all….
Stop it, Ella, she scolded herself. Not yours. He’s not yours.
“As if disappearing at Newmarket weren’t bad enough, I half expected someone to tell me they had found your body in a ditch….”
Ella rolled her eyes to the heavens, though she took care not to let her sister see. Pearl had worked herself up for this one and she knew better than to make things worse.
“If father had an ounce of sense he’d send you away to stay with Aunt Hermione until you’ve learned manners befitting your station. I’ve told him so….”
Ella gritted her teeth. She well knew that Pearl would get her out of the house if she could. Aunt Hermione was the worst fate that Ella could imagine being inflicted on anyone. A crotchety old woman with a moustache and the temper of an aggravated wasp, she was not an easy companion. Young people were too loud, too fidgety, and had no respect for their elders. To say she despised Ella wouldn’t have come close to her true feelings. Even perfect Pearl didn’t escape Hermione’s critical gaze. It was the only positive thing Ella could think to say about her.
“You ought not be allowed to attend tonight after your shocking behaviour,” Pearl continued, her tone full of self-righteous indignation. “How you twisted papa around your finger is beyond me. I tell you now, though, embarrass me tonight and I shall make you pay.”
Ella blanched a little at that. Pearl didn’t make such threats lightly. Ella had been on the receiving end of her sister’s retribution too often not to take note.
“I won’t,” she said in a hurry, praying she’d be able to keep her promise. Ella had made promises too often in the past, only to discover them impossible to keep. Not that she went looking for trouble exactly, but somehow she seemed to find it, or it found her. She wasn’t certain which.
“I’ll be the model of propriety, Pearl. You have my word.”
Pearl cast her a frigid look of disgust which chilled Ella to the bone as the carriage rocked to a stop, and then it vanished into a sweet smile as the footman opened the door for her.
Ella wondered how she managed it. Pearl in public was quite a different creature to the Pearl that Ella saw in pri
vate. Public Pearl glowed with warmth and beauty and a quiet, elegant poise that Ella could never hope to emulate. Pearl in private held about as much warmth as the marble statue of Venus that was the centrepiece of her father’s impressive gallery at their home, Atterbury Hall.
Ella sighed and tried not to trip on her skirts as she stepped down in her lovely sister’s wake. Having managed that much, her hopes lifted that perhaps she’d get through the evening unscathed.
***
Oscar resisted the urge to tug at his cravat. He knew it was immaculate, but the blasted thing seemed to strangle him tonight. God, he hated these affairs. The only reason they were anything like bearable was the fact everyone knew he was spoken for. The only obvious benefit of his engagement was that he escaped the worst of the marriage hungry young women and their mothers.
With a grunt of amusement, he noticed Ranleigh giving an enthusiastic mother a look of cool disinterest as she thrust her mortified looking daughter under his nose. The young woman was wearing a monstrously ugly dress, covered entirely in flounces and bows. Oscar wasn’t sure which of them was the most appalled, Ranleigh or the girl. It wasn’t the mother.
That was the trouble with having a title; it was like waving a juicy carrot in a room full of half-starved rabbits. For a moment he entertained himself by imagining the assembled company with fluffy tails and ears. It was easier with some than others. The poor girl under Ranleigh’s icy gaze made a rather perfect example with her excess of white frills. She almost bounced in her eagerness to escape him too. Oscar chuckled.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Oscar looked around to see Bertie watching him with curiosity.
“Don’t be an ass. How long before we can leave?”
Bertie sighed and shook his head. “You must dance with Pearl, old man. Hell to pay if you don’t.”
“I know, I know,” Oscar muttered, irritated. As if he didn’t know his duty. He looked across the crowded ballroom to his intended and tried to muster enthusiasm for the idea.
What was wrong with him? She was astonishingly lovely, and the eyes of every man in the room were drawn to her as if by some irresistible pull. He should chomp at the bit to take her in his arms, and yet….
The Corinthian Duke Page 2