As if his reputation proceeded him.
Eliza swallowed, but it was too late.
The Jilted Duke stepped from the crowd, his gaze directed squarely at her.
“Your Grace.” Viv smiled and extended a curtsy. “May I introduce my sister, Lady Eliza Darby?”
Eliza knew she was meant to curtsy. She was meant to bow in respect. She was meant to—something, but she couldn’t move, her mind absorbed with only one thought.
Louisa and Jo were right.
The Duke of Ashbourne was gorgeous.
* * *
The rumors were correct.
Lady Eliza Darby had a rather unfortunate face.
She was skinny, so much so her gown hung on her like a mill sack. Her face was dwarfed by enormous gold spectacles that sat atop a perfectly hooked nose. Her mouth was hardly there, and he suspected at any moment her hair would explode free of its pins in a riotous mass of frizzy, dull brown hair.
He had never seen anything more perfect in his life.
He bowed. “Lady Eliza, it is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
When he straightened, he saw her mouth had gone slack, a strange garbled noise emanating from its depths.
Perhaps the girl was stricken by periods of muteness. Even more promising.
The Duchess of Margate stepped in. “My sister is honored you would select her as your partner for the first waltz.”
He smiled but stopped when it became apparent it may cause physical harm to the plain Darby sister.
Oh, she was marvelous indeed.
He turned the smile on the duchess instead. “Yes, of course. I could not think of a better partner.”
Truer words.
He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Panic surged for but a moment when he realized she may not be well enough to take his arm. He encountered similar behavior in other debutantes overwhelmed by his presence, but the chance at a duke usually righted their senses with alacrity. While the girl did step forward and slip her hand onto his arm, her expression didn’t clear.
Was that fear he saw in her eyes?
The notion unsettled him, but he couldn’t allow it countenance. He very much needed a bride, one specifically suited to his needs, and it was only luck that would have returned the unfortunate Darby sister to the marriage mart that season. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of her before the duchess had approached him. She would play the part splendidly.
He turned her onto the dance floor and slipped his hand about her waist as was proper.
The gasp that escaped her lips was anything but however.
He paused, the slightest hesitation he knew no one else would have seen, but she felt it. Her eyes flew to his, and he knew she felt it.
What was happening here?
The sound she had made, the barest of…whimpers? As if she were so unused to being touched that the simple, chaste positioning of his hand at her waist elicited a vocal response.
A twinge pinched his chest, and he sucked in a breath, slipping them into the first step of the waltz as if physical movement would propel him from the traitorous feelings that surged through him in so innocuous and brief a moment.
How many other ladies had he swept into a waltz without similar reaction? With nothing more than the cool, focused step of a well-bred lady assuming a dance with an eligible partner?
It was several measures into the dance before he ventured conversation.
“I understand you’re fond of hounds, Lady Eliza.”
Her frown was swift, and he wondered how so few words could garner such a reaction.
Perhaps Lady Eliza was not what she appeared.
“I am,” she said, and that was all. The first and only words he’d heard come from her lips.
“I see. I’m quite fond of them myself.” He tried another smile, and this time she didn’t coil in fear.
Indeed, she lifted her chin and met his gaze with uncomfortable focus.
“Just what kind of hounds are you fond of, Your Grace?”
He blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“If you’re so fond of hounds, you should know which types suit you best. So please. Regal me with your knowledge of hounds.”
“I…” He’d never before been so quickly cut down by a woman, and he didn’t know quite what to say. “I beg your pardon. I was told you enjoyed the company of a good canine—”
“So you claim to enjoy hounds in order to pander to an apparent interest I have? How good of you, Your Grace.”
If he had not been so well schooled on the required steps of a waltz, he might have floundered then. Instead he turned her neatly about the floor, perfectly synchronized with the couples about them.
Never before had a lady treated him with such…
Honesty.
“I’m afraid you’ve trapped me in the truth, Lady Eliza. But for what it’s worth, I’ve never encountered a lady who would object to such pandering. It’s my understanding the attention of a duke is worth the cost.”
Something passed over her eyes, but he was too unfamiliar with her expressions yet to know what it was.
“If the cost is self-respect, then I’m happy to say I shan’t pay the price.”
He did falter then. The slightest hesitation in the turn of a foot, but their momentum carried them nicely into the next turn.
“I admit it’s rather tiresome to tediously converse with young ladies schooled in the expectations of the opposite sex. I’m rather surprised to discover your candor. I should think a lady such as yourself has been well trained on what her future husband would expect.”
Her eyes flashed. Even through her ghastly spectacles, he could see it.
“And are you to be my future husband?”
The question was bold, but from her, he was coming to understand it was not unexpected.
“I believe we have not been acquainted long enough for us to have reached such a conclusion.”
The lady scoffed, turning her head as she bit her lower lip.
“We are both aware of my sister’s machinations in this dance, and I am one to call a horse a horse if that’s what it is, Your Grace.”
It was unfortunate timing that the last strains of the waltz died away, leaving them suspended on the edge of the ballroom, opposite from where he’d discovered her with her sisters. As a gentleman he was required to return her, but as a man, he wasn’t yet finished speaking to her. A perplexing thought, and one he didn’t wish to have. Not about his prospective bride.
His prospective bride was to fit into a nice bundle he could discard when he was finished with her. Lady Eliza Darby suggested nothing was neat about her. From her riotous hair to her too large spectacles, she defied convention but it wasn’t from a desire to flaunt. Rather, Lady Eliza exuded an air of indifference. She quite simply had better things to do than bow to the demands of society.
He offered her his arm to turn about the room. She didn’t hesitate this time as she laid her hand atop his arm.
“I believe your sister did mention something of the sort.” He nodded to an acquaintance from his club as they passed, not missing the man’s raised eyebrow and quick turn to his partner, his lips already moving on a salacious whisper. Dax kept them moving.
“I should think her suggestion would be rather unnecessary. We are two eligible individuals at a ball. Isn’t that what these gatherings are for?”
When she delivered it so bluntly, the ball lost a little of its glamour. Not that he thought of it in those terms to begin. Balls had been anything but glamorous since that day so many years before when he’d found himself standing in the pit of his own humiliation. Balls were nothing more than a necessary evil when his position required his attendance and a damned nuisance when he wanted nothing more than to avoid them.
“It is at that,” he said.
The crowd shuffled about them as new partners matched up to begin the next dance, and he moved them expertly between passersby. He couldn’t help but notice the s
idelong glances and surreptitious peeks. It was quite something he was sure to see Lady Eliza Darby on the arm of the Jilted Duke.
He hadn’t meant to cause such a ripple, but it wasn’t to be avoided, he supposed. Lady Eliza would not have been the obvious choice for the bride to a duke, but that was exactly why she was so perfect.
He studied Lady Eliza beside him. Her chin was firm and tilted slightly upward as if she struggled to see through her enormous spectacles. Her shoulders were wound tightly back, and from this position, her gown didn’t hang so shapelessly. But her gaze was steady before them, seeming to not see their gawkers. Or if he were truly coming to understand her, she didn’t care to see them.
“Do you spend most of your time in London?”
The question startled him for its practicality. Never before had a debutante, or other female acquaintance, asked such a relevant question.
“I spend a good deal of time in London, yes. The title requires my presence in Parliament for the term as you likely know.”
She nodded. “Do you have a country seat you prefer?”
His glance lingered a little longer on her profile. “I have a home to the south of London on the shore. It’s a lovely respite from the crowds of the city.”
You would like it.
He wasn’t sure where the thought came from, and it was only luck that he hadn’t said it aloud. But he realized with sudden certainty that Lady Eliza Darby would do well at Ashbourne Manor perched along the cliffs as it was.
There was plenty of room for hounds.
He stopped abruptly when they were mere feet from her sisters. He’d only need take a few more steps, and his duties this night would be through. He’d made contact with his prospective bride, exchanged pleasantries, and was seen dancing with her by nearly the entire ton. He could hurry off to his club now and sink into the welcoming arms of a good whiskey.
And yet he stopped. Compelled to prolong this interlude with the unexpected Lady Eliza Darby.
She turned, her expression blank as she viewed him. He wondered at that. Wondered what it would take to spark interest in her eyes.
He shouldn’t be thinking of such things for they didn’t matter but then he heard himself ask, “What kind of hounds are you fond of, Lady Eliza?”
She considered him, and for the first time in his life, he felt the prickling finger of scrutiny. No one scrutinized a duke, let alone a wallflower.
She seemed satisfied with whatever it was she found and said, “Landrace collies.”
His arm fell away from hers. “That’s a working dog.”
She nodded crisply. “Of course it is. That’s what makes them such fun.”
Fun.
He’d never before heard a lady describe dogs as fun. Gown shopping, attending a musicale, selecting hair ribbons, most certainly. Dogs? No. A prickle of unease began at the back of his neck, but for the first time since he’d laid eyes on her, her expression softened. While she wasn’t smiling, she was far warmer than she’d been for the duration of their dance.
He should have ended it there and fled. Selected a different wallflower from this year’s offerings. One who elicited absolutely no response from him at all.
For Eliza Darby was eliciting far too much from him.
And it scared him.
But instead of fleeing, he did the unthinkable.
He took a step closer to her.
The ballroom was filled to capacity and then more, and no one would have cause to comment, but now he stood far too close to Lady Eliza, and her eyes went wide with the realization.
He was close enough to smell her, and she smelled like…
Soap.
Debutantes splattered themselves with all kinds of nonsense thinking to lure in a gentleman. Lavender, rose water, and lemon. But not Lady Eliza. She smelled like freshly laundered sheets and sunshine.
Dear God. He had to get out of there.
But instead he tipped forward, so close now he could have…kissed her.
Once again something flashed over her eyes, and he yearned to know what it was. Right then, standing in the middle of Lady Sudsbury’s ball, he vowed to find out exactly what each and every one of her expressions meant.
“Lady Eliza,” he whispered her name. Despite the deafening crush of the crowd, he was close enough now that the whisper was stark and pronounced between them. “Why are you so fond of dogs?”
He knew the question struck her for she hesitated, but she didn’t retreat. If anything her shoulders grew more taut, her chin traveling up another degree, her gaze focused directly on his.
In the short few minutes of their dance, he had come to understand Lady Eliza was a formidable opponent. Her sharp tongue surprised him, her wit even more.
But her next words—they slayed him.
“Because it’s nice to have someone who always wants to be with you.”
He willed his gut to unclench as he watched her retreat through the crowd.
Chapter 2
“We’re going to end up in the gossip columns.”
“Isn’t that what—umph—you want?” Johanna fell against the window sash as they jockeyed for positions around the drawing room’s front windows the next day when the Duke of Ashbourne arrived quite unexpectedly.
Viv rested her chin on her folded hand, one arm braced against the other as she peered down into the street as the Duke of Ashbourne alighted from his sleek black curricle. “I wanted all of you safely and respectfully married. Not the subject of tattling tongues.”
“I’m not certain you can have one without the other,” Louisa pointed out.
Eliza was glad for their conversation for it distracted her sisters from seeing her obvious discomfort. If she weren’t careful, she was sure to rip her gown asunder from plying the folds of her skirt between both clenched fists. She willed herself to let go, forcing her mind to focus only on the things she knew.
Ashbourne was a skilled dancer. He was polite and respected. He had all his teeth.
If she caught a whiff of his scent just once more she would most definitely fall to her knees in surrender.
She had been so busy preparing herself for his physical nearness, she had not known to prepare herself for the alluring quality of his scent.
She glanced down at her rough collie, Henry, sitting lovingly at her feet, his head pressed to her thigh. He returned her gaze with his quiet, soulful dark eyes as if to say he understood the attractive quality of scent.
She scratched absently between his ears and felt his sigh against her leg.
Viv turned from the window.
“Come, girls. Let’s prepare to receive him.” She took a seat on the sofa, spreading her skirts appropriately.
Louisa followed obediently, perching on the end of a chair, her eyes glittering in the direction of the door. Johanna followed more sluggishly, choosing a chair just outside of the main seating area, keeping her back slightly to the door.
Eliza did not move at all. She stood where she’d been sorting her watercolors on top of the piano by the window where the light was good. She had hopes of completing her collection of rabbit illustrations soon and wanted to check once more that she’d captured all of the necessary scenes.
And sorting watercolors kept her mind busy enough to forget about the Duke of Ashbourne.
About the way her heart had leapt at the simple touch of his hand at her waist.
At the way his smile reached naturally across his face and how she yearned to absorb just a little of that happiness.
There was a cleft in his chin, and for whatever absurd reason, she wanted to place a single finger there as if to mark her spot. Heat burned across her cheeks instantly, and she willed herself to distraction.
Her brain skittered, recalling the events that had earned him the name of Jilted Duke.
Surely a man so scorned would not be smiling so if he had not recovered from the embarrassment.
She looked down at her rendition of a bunny hopping through ferns, pushin
g the thought aside.
It didn’t matter what Ashbourne felt. It had no bearing on her whatsoever.
“Eliza, do come sit. You should be ready to receive your guest when Mallard presents him.” Viv motioned for her to take the chair opposite and most advantageously positioned near the door.
She straightened her watercolors, reassuring herself once more that the Duke of Ashbourne was of no concern to her when the sound of a door closing down the hall shot through the stillness of the drawing room like an arrow piercing the center of its target.
Viv shot to her feet, her skirts falling about her in a rush of muslin. Louisa got to her feet with far more gentility, but Johanna not only surged to her feet but ran the few steps to stand between her sisters.
“He’s gone to see Andrew.”
Johanna needn’t have whispered it so scandalously. Eliza’s heart already threatened to pop directly out of her chest. Henry whimpered at her side, and she absently scratched his head again, her watercolors completely forgotten.
She left the sanctuary of the piano, moving toward the safety of her sisters, her eyes unable to leave the door, her ears straining to hear even the slightest noise.
“He wouldn’t—” The words stuck in her throat like a chimney sweep’s broom in a clogged flue. “He wouldn’t be asking for my hand already. Would he?” She asked the question of Viv, the most experienced of all the sisters, but her eyes refused to leave the door.
She felt Louisa’s hand touch her arm even as she couldn’t look to acknowledge the comfort.
Viv shook her head. “He can very well do what he wishes. He is a duke after all.” The cynicism in her voice was not missed by Eliza and likely not her sisters, but none of them commented.
Minutes passed, and none of the Darby sisters moved. The door was like a siren, and they were victims to its call.
Henry resumed his place next to Eliza, and she set a hand atop his hand, drawing comfort in the familiar roughness of his coat, the way his heat seemed to calm her nerves. Somewhere a clock ticked. Carriages rattled by on the street outside. Louisa swallowed. That’s how deathly still they were. She could hear her sister swallow beside her.
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 2