Who had valued her so little she could not see what she was worth?
The bays flicked their heads and whinnied, and he loosened his grip on the reins.
He’d made it to the park without knowing, and the most fashionable of the ton streamed through its gates, vibrating with the possibilities an afternoon’s outing would entail. Feathered hats and parasols bobbed alongside top hats, but he didn’t see any of it. He only saw Eliza’s face right before he kissed her.
Hurt.
Confusion.
Wariness.
Loneliness.
Her hand on that damn dog.
He turned the bays before he could change his mind and headed in the direction of his club. He couldn’t afford to let her get to him, not like this. Only one other person had ever gotten under his skin, and he wouldn’t think of her. Not again. Not ever.
He had to remain objective. He would marry Eliza and give her a home with sprawling fields she could fill with all of the dogs of her choosing. Hell, he’d build her a paddock just for her dogs if that suited her. But what he would not do was fall in love with her.
He handed off his curricle to the man at the club and bounded up the steps two at a time. It was an unusual time of day for him to be there, but Mandricks gave a nod as soon as he’d entered and by the time he’d settled into his favorite chair in his favorite retreating room, a whiskey, neat, appeared in his hand.
It was a warm day for a fire, but he sat before it anyway, staring into the flames as if to lose himself.
Too quickly memories of that day reared up in his mind. He could smell the crush of the ball around him, hear the butler announcing the names of guests as they spilled into the already full room, the muted hush that fell over the crowd as each name called was not the one for which everyone waited.
Bethany.
Damn her.
A hand to his shoulder startled him from his reverie, and he looked up to find Sebastian Fielding, the Duke of Waverly.
“Sebastian.” Dax indicated the seat opposite him. “Rather unusual to see you here.”
“I could say the same to you.” Fielding took the seat indicated. “I normally lunch with my mother on Tuesdays, but she was invited to a quilting tea. What is your excuse?”
Dax made a grumbling noise in his whiskey.
“Is that so?” Sebastian said, leaning back in his chair and propping an ankle on the opposite knee.
Dax eyed Fielding. The Duke of Waverly was a respected member of society. Dax had witnessed his attentiveness during the Parliament session and knew from various sources that the Fielding coffers were quite flush and his estates well maintained. Fielding was an analytical sort, and Dax knew him to be perceived as rude at times, but it wasn’t that the man was being hurtful. Fielding simply did not mince words. The most interesting fact about the man was that he was the closest thing Dax had to a best friend.
“I’m in search of a bride,” Dax decided to say.
Fielding merely raised an eyebrow. “It is the obligation of the title. I assume you are finding it difficult.”
“Something like that.” Dax took a swallow of whiskey. “Have you given thought to your duty in that regard?”
“Of course, I have. One shouldn’t leave such a matter to chance.”
This boded well for Dax’s own thinking.
“And what parameters have you set on the matter?”
Dax expected the usual quips of making a match that added valuable connections to a family, perhaps bringing with it valuable land and natural resources.
Instead, Sebastian said, “She must have broad hips.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dax nearly choked on his whiskey.
“Hips. I expect her to have a body well built for breeding. I must ensure the continuation of the line after all, and what better way than to acquire a wife with good hips for birthing.”
Dax cleared his throat, feeling Sebastian’s criteria fall too closely to his own. After all, Dax sought a wife with plain features. What more was it to require one with hips adequate for birthing babies?
But hearing the words from Sebastian brought a sour taste to Dax’s mouth.
He shook his head. “I suppose adequate hips is a sensible choice.”
Sebastian made a noise of agreement. “Of course, it is. I would choose a filly for her bloodlines. Why would I not choose a woman with the biological make up in favor of healthy birthing?”
“You’re comparing the future Duchess of Waverly to a stud horse?”
“The mare actually,” Sebastian corrected. “But yes, I can see the analogy.”
Dax studied his friend for several seconds. They had been at Eton together, and their fathers had passed at nearly the same time so they entered Parliament sessions nearly together. Sebastian had always been rather dry and calculating, but since his father’s death…well, he’d grown cold somehow. Again, Dax recalled how people often found him rude and crass, but it wasn’t that at all. Unfortunately, it was something far more complicated.
Dax took a sip of his whiskey. “Have you found any of this season’s debutantes to your liking?”
“I must say it’s been a rather disappointing year.”
Mandricks appeared then with a glass for Sebastian and fresh whiskey for Dax. Both men nodded their thanks and waited for Mandricks to retreat before speaking.
“I take it you have not found anyone suitable,” Sebastian said after taking a sip of his own drink.
Dax wondered briefly how much to tell Sebastian. He studied his friend. Sebastian hadn’t been there the night of Dax’s humiliation. The previous Duke of Waverly had passed away suddenly, and there were several months where Dax had lost contact with his school chum. He wondered what had happened to his friend in those dark months, and all too clearly, he recalled the boy who had raced the ball fields with him at Eton.
Sebastian watched him carefully, his face impassive, and Dax suddenly realized Sebastian would likely be the very person to understand his plan.
“I’m seeking a plain wife,” Dax said.
Sebastian tapped a finger against his glass. “A plain wife? You mean one of unfortunate visage?”
Dax gave a sharp nod, and the guilt of betrayal whispered through him.
Sebastian seemed to consider this for a moment as his gaze drifted upwards.
“I can see how such an attribute in a wife could be advantageous. You’d need never be concerned about being cuckolded.”
Dax winced at the word.
“Ah,” Sebastian said. “Attempting to avoid a repeat of the past, I see.”
Dax gave a short nod, and Sebastian dropped his foot to the ground and leaned forward.
“You believe by selecting a plain wife you can avoid the public embarrassment you received at the hands of Lady Bethany Walpole?”
“The Marchioness of Isley, you mean.”
Sebastian’s laugh was dry. “Marchioness. I suppose she is now.”
Dax studied the fire, but he could feel his friend’s stare. He wondered if he could speak the truth. He was perfectly fine with his desires privately, but somehow speaking them aloud made them dangerous. But Sebastian would not think him cruel. Of all people, Sebastian would be the most likely to understand.
“I seek a plain wife so as to avoid emotional entanglement.”
“You don’t want to be in danger of falling in love with your wife.”
Dax turned sharply to study his friend. Sebastian’s words carried the same meaning but with it, a cutting sting as well.
“Yes,” Dax answered simply.
Sebastian straightened. “And you think by marrying a woman of unfortunate visage you will not be tempted to love her?”
“Exactly.”
Sebastian scoffed, and Dax started at the noise, sloshing whiskey in his glass. He stared at his friend who was shaking his head.
“You believe emotions are tied to a person’s physical appearance?”
Dax’s mind traveled immediately to an image
of Bethany with her long, luscious golden curls, her bright eyes, and wide smile, the way her hips perfectly filled his hands, the exquisite curve of bosom and bottom.
He blinked, destroying the image.
“Yes, I would say love is most acutely tied to one’s physical attraction to another person.”
Sebastian knocked back the last of his whiskey and set the glass down on the table between the chairs.
“One has absolutely nothing to do with the other.” He pointed a finger so as to articulate his point. “Emotions are biological nonsense. You can’t trust how you will feel from one moment to the next based on mere physical appearance. Beauty is fleeting whereas personality lasts forever.”
The muscles along the back of Dax’s neck tightened with a trickle of dread.
“Personality?”
Sebastian stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt under his jacket.
“Yes, personality. Personality is predictable.” He gestured to Dax. “I supposed I’m the only person to whom you have spoken your desire to marry an unfortunate looking woman.”
Dax stood. He wasn’t about to have this conversation while seated.
“You are. How do you figure that?”
Sebastian shrugged carelessly. “You obviously assumed I would agree with such a heartless plan, because I’m—what does society call me? The Beastly Duke?” Again the careless shrug. “I am not pretending to be otherwise, but in this matter, you’ve simply made a grievous miscalculation.”
Dax pulled on his own cuffs, irritation making him agitated.
“And what miscalculation is that?”
Sebastian leaned in. “If you wish to avoid falling in love with your wife, you must marry someone with a deplorable personality.” His smile was cold as he straightened. “As always, it’s interesting running into you, Dax. Do give my regards to your mother.”
Dax raised a hand in acknowledgment as Sebastian retreated back through the smoky rooms of the club toward the front entry.
He sat heavily then, his eyes unable to focus on anything but the two empty glasses on the table before him. The ghost of Eliza’s hesitant, unschooled kiss passed over his lips like a caress, and his stomach flipped.
Eliza’s unexpected wit.
Her uncompromising loyalty to her dog.
Her perplexing and vacillating nature.
Dear God, he was in a great deal of danger.
Chapter 4
Eliza was aware of the mating process of dogs. This, however, did not prepare her for her sister’s unexpected arrival in her rooms the morning of her wedding to discuss with Eliza exactly what would be expected of her that evening.
Eliza held up a hand when Viv’s lips thinned and her eyes took on a motherly softness.
“I’m quite informed when it comes to what will be expected of me this evening as the wife of the Duke of Ashbourne.”
Viv let out a breath. “Oh thank heavens, because I was not looking forward to explaining it.” She cocked an eyebrow. “How is it that you know?”
Henry took the opportunity to make his presence known with a whine at Viv for her neglectfulness in not bringing him a bit of morsel from the kitchens.
“Oh, I see,” Viv murmured. She straightened her skirts and sat on the bench at the end of Eliza’s bed.
Viv looked tired. She’d looked tired a lot lately with faint bruises under her eyes and a wilting about her lips. Eliza wondered if she were still not sleeping well. It had been nearly two months since she had appeared on Andrew’s doorstep, trunks and maid in tow, declaring her intent to see her sisters properly wed. And not to some blackguard like she’d unfortunately married.
The Duke of Margate had seemed like a nice enough gentleman the few times Eliza had met him when he’d wed her sister nearly eighteen months prior. He carried butterscotches with him, and he always asked about her watercolors.
Such a shame he’d been caught abed with an opera singer from Covent Garden.
Eliza placed the last of her brushes in her painting kit and snapped it tightly shut for her maid, Lucy, to add to her things to be taken over to Ashbourne House that morning. She brushed at the skirts of her new gown, a periwinkle muslin Viv had insisted on. Eliza didn’t see what was wrong with any of her other muslin gowns, but apparently she needed something new for her wedding day.
Her stomach flipped at the thought, and she wrestled down her anxiety. Only a few more hours and she would be safely wed. Only a few more hours and her dream of starting a family could actually come to fruition.
It didn’t help. Her mind invariably strayed to that kiss. The way Ashbourne had held her with such ferocity as if he needed her to live, which was absurd because no one needed her. His kiss, so soft, so alluring, as if he knew not to frighten her.
But more than anything she could not forget the smell of sandalwood. She’d never been close enough to a man to understand the tantalizing qualities of his scent. The Duke of Ashbourne smelled wonderful. Oh drat, this was not at all helping to calm her nerves.
She settled on the bench next to Viv and took her sisters hands into her own.
“Have you heard from him, Viv?”
Her sister’s eyes went glassy and vacant, and Eliza squeezed her hands to bring her back.
“No.” The word was almost inaudible. Viv shook her head as if rousing herself. “No, I have not heard from him.”
“I’m sure it’s simply because he doesn’t know what to say.”
Viv’s eyes flashed. “Begging for forgiveness would be a good start.”
Eliza looked down at their hands. “I know I’m not experienced with marriage.” She looked up, met her sister’s gaze, and smiled awkwardly. “At least not yet. But I know some married couples have an understanding between them.”
Eliza didn’t say more for she didn’t need to.
“Ryder and I never discussed it,” Viv said softly. She seemed to hesitate, and it was strange for Eliza to see her older sister so unsure of herself.
Viv always seemed to arrive three meters ahead of herself, her confidence and vitality far preceding her. Now she twisted her wedding band around and around endlessly on her finger. She seemed to realize she was doing it and pressed her hands against her thigh.
“I realize it may have been foolish for me to assume fidelity from my husband. I can’t say it’s entirely common.”
Eliza’s mouth opened without a word coming forth as her sister’s comment sank in. She’d never considered if Ashbourne planned to be faithful. Her own loyalty was not in question as it was painfully obvious she would not be sought after for assignations.
But Ashbourne…Ashbourne would seek such comfort out. Of course, he would. Pain tightened her chest, and she rubbed a hand absently along her collarbone. It didn’t matter. It was probably for the best if he were happy and his needs fulfilled. Surely, other women would be capable—no, skilled at such things.
Eliza swallowed. “No, I’m afraid you’re right. But perhaps, he didn’t realize your expectations. A lot can be misunderstood between two people.”
Viv’s smile was just a touch watery. “When did my little sister get to be so wise?”
“At the same time you were getting to be so strong.” Eliza squeezed her sister’s hand and stood. “I think I’d best finish up here if we are to leave for the church on time.”
Viv rearranged her skirts as she stood. “Yes, I suppose. I’m rather surprised Ashbourne wished to wed by license.”
Eliza paused in placing her watercolors in the remaining trunk.
“He wishes to return to his summer home soon. Apparently, he doesn’t enjoy London in the summer.”
Viv watched her carefully. “I can’t say that I blame him. London can be dreadfully hot in the summer.” She cocked her head. “Still, a week is awfully short notice to wed. I’m surprised he hasn’t returned to the house in that time to meet with Andrew.”
Eliza swallowed, remembering her only meeting with Andrew to discuss the terms of her marriage. She hadn
’t seen Ashbourne since that day in the drawing room. Embarrassment and guilt surged within her, and she tamped it down as best she could.
That kiss.
She’d nearly ruined everything with that kiss. He couldn’t even bear to look at her after it was through, and yet it had kept her awake every night since.
She forced the pain away as she was so good at doing.
“He sent his instructions along with his solicitor. Andrew assures me everything is in order.” She allowed a smile then to soothe her sister’s curiosity.
Viv returned her smile with one of her own and a softening of her gaze. She closed the distance between them and gave her a meaningful if slightly awkward hug. Eliza could not fathom why all the members of her family suddenly felt compelled to hug her.
Viv’s eyes were moist when she pulled back, and with a slight nod, she turned and left, softly closing the door behind her.
Eliza was once more alone with her trunks, her life packed into neat boxes ready for the next part of it. Her gaze inevitably drifted to Henry, perched on the sofa she’d had placed by the fire, so he’d have somewhere to lounge. She would need to make such arrangements in her new home, and with a jolt, she realized she’d never seen her new home. She wondered if any bride ever saw her future home before her wedding day.
She squeezed in on the sofa with Henry, who obligingly lifted his head to make room. He lolled against her hip and rested his head in her lap, so it really was no compromise. She scratched at his supple fur.
“My dear, Henry, what are we about to embark on?”
She felt the stirrings of fear and apprehension. After all, what she was about to do she’d never done before. She wasn’t a debutante like Viv had been. Viv had had scores of men interested in her. Eliza had spotted more than one surreptitious slip onto balconies and into hidden alcoves. Viv must have had a world of experience more than Eliza did at this very moment.
Even Louisa attracted her far amount of attention.
She scratched behind Henry’s ear.
“It needn’t matter, old friend. Soon we’ll be a family again.”
She pushed to her feet, determined to resume her packing. They were to stay in London for a few days at Ashbourne House before heading to the shore and Ashbourne Manor. She’d need to keep a trunk of the things she would require while the rest would be sent on to Glenhaven and Ashbourne Manor as the servants had been notified to open up the house.
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 5