A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Henrietta Harding

  Rebecca’s eyes flickered across the party, easing past the other conversationalists, the beautiful young women in light pink and green and yellow gowns, the fabric cut low toward their breasts. Back towards the other rose bushes stood several young men. One of them, his back to the bushes, caught her attention. He was tall, broad-shouldered, speaking almost conspiratorially to the man beside him. Both erupted into laughter. It was the sort of laughter that made Rebecca ache to know what they might have said.

  Augustus followed her eyes across the garden. “I see you’ve spotted some party guests. I imagine you don’t know them. Although…”

  “I’ve met Theo before,” Tabitha said. Her face grew shadowed, an indication that she didn’t fully approve of him.

  “What did he do to you, Tabitha?” Rebecca joked.

  “I’ve just heard some rather… colourful things about him,” Tabitha said.

  “That’s our Tabitha, hmm? Never one to fully reveal what it is that’s on her mind,” Augustus teased.

  Suddenly, the man who’d spoken with Theo spun round to reveal himself. Rebecca drew a sharp breath and nearly leapt back. A small amount of wine spilled out from the top of her glass and dotted the very top of her bodice. She hardly noticed.

  “My goodness,” Tabitha whispered.

  For of course, the dark-haired man – so dominant and broad of shoulder – was, in fact, Owen Crauford, her apparent betrothed. Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed. She cut even further back, as though she could possibly hide behind Tabitha. But before she could fully leap out of his eyesight, he spotted her. For a long, strange moment, they locked eyes, just as they had at her home a few days before. Slowly, Owen lifted his glass toward her, a sort of salute. Rebecca did the same. Neither smiled.

  “What on earth is happening here?” Augustus asked. His eyes seemed almost devilish, earnest.

  Tabitha too glanced from Rebecca to Owen and back again. Her mouth turned into a round ‘O’.

  “Are either of you going to inform me of why it seems Rebecca’s face has frozen into a strange half-smile?” Augustus asked, arching his brow. “Or must I demand it of my guests?”

  “Don’t!” Rebecca hushed. She gave Augustus an earnest expression, suddenly feeling as though she was in the midst of a bizarre game. If she showed Owen that she cared that he was here, that they had any sort of mutual friends, then she felt he’d won. She had to maintain a calm demeanour. None of this mattered.

  “I’ll explain,” Tabitha said, with the air of a mother who was forced to do everything. “You know that Rebecca’s father is continually pairing her with potential suitors?” Tabitha began.

  “Of course,” Augustus said. His eyes sparkled with memory. “She’s got rid of every single one, in her mighty way, haven’t you, Rebecca? Quite impressive to me, as an onlooker. I imagine, each time, yes! This is the one! And then, suddenly, you’ve found a way to break it off.”

  “Yes, yes,” Tabitha continued, seemingly impatient with Augustus’s never-ending monologue. “Well, the newest model seems to be Owen Crauford. He’s there. With Theo. And we hadn’t any idea he would be here.”

  Augustus’s expression shifted. He ducked about to get a better look at Owen, then clicked his tongue.

  “He really is quite handsome, isn’t he, Rebecca?” he said. He spoke in a nearly provocative way, as though he wished to drag some sort of emotional response from her. “I’m rather good friends with Theo and have only met Owen a handful of times. Theo speaks highly of him. Apparently the two have been thick as thieves since childhood. Much, I suppose, like the pair of you.”

  Tabitha and Rebecca exchanged annoyed glances. Owen had returned to his conversation with Theo, both of them flitting in and out of outrageous laughter.

  “I have been out with them a few times,” Augustus continued.

  “I can imagine the course that might have taken,” Tabitha said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  “Tabitha. It’s not as though any of us are married men,” Augustus said, chuckling a bit. “She pegs us all as playboys when, in fact, it’s only the two of them. As I said. Thick as thieves, the pair of them.”

  Rebecca ducked her head, her nostrils flared. “Playboys?”

  “So tell me, Rebecca,” Augustus continued, rubbing his palms together. “You must have some sort of plot to rid yourself of this one. Certainly, he’s more handsome than the others, but I imagine that won’t get in your way. You’re the sort of woman who won’t be paired with anyone. You wish to make your decisions yourself. I’ve known you for years.”

  “You seem to have a stellar portrait of me, Augustus,” Rebecca replied, growing annoyed.

  “I’m only curious about which direction the great Rebecca Frampton will take her life next,” Augustus continued. “And now that I know who your potential beau is, I have a better view – from the side-lines, of course.” He leaned towards her, waiting.

  But Rebecca felt strange, as though her heart had climbed up the little hallway of her throat and begun to bump about, making itself known. She’d never cared for a moment about any of her other potential suitors. But the fact that Owen Crauford was there – actually standing across the garden from her, essentially ignoring her – filled her with a longing and a fear she couldn’t possibly quantify. Why didn’t the great Owen Crauford wish to give her the time of day? Why couldn’t he amble away from his friend Theo and greet her properly?

  “I see a difference in you, Miss Rebecca Frampton,” Augustus said, his voice lowering.

  Flustered, Rebecca cast him a glare. “You’re ridiculous, Augustus.”

  “You’re not acting the way you did with the others. I see it. Tabitha, you’re my witness. Don’t you remember what happened when she first paired up with – oh, goodness. Gregory?”

  “She had him out of her life almost immediately,” Tabitha agreed.

  “Or Roger,” Augustus continued, his words speeding. “You must remember Roger. When you belittled him at that ball in front of everyone. He walked away like a dying dog. Stumbling over his feet.”

  “It didn’t help that he was quite drunk,” Tabitha agreed.

  “Right. But now? You’re standing there, wide-eyed, as though you wish… Is it possible that you actually want to marry Owen Crauford?” Augustus asked.

  “Lower your voice,” Rebecca insisted, hissing.

  “Tell me, Rebecca. Is it so? Will the great Rebecca Frampton finally settle?”

  “I just can’t imagine another way,” Rebecca said, sounding tentative, even to her own ears. “It seems to me that Owen Crauford really is a fine catch. My father is quite excited about the match. I’m a little afraid.”

  She stumbled over this. Was it appropriate to verbalise her fears? That she was frightened that if she didn’t marry Owen, she would be stuck with whoever came along next. Someone who wasn’t as dashing, as interesting as Owen? Could she possibly state that, since Owen didn’t seem interested in her, her interest had spiked considerably? These weren’t casual conversations for late-afternoon, pre-dinner parties. They were things she only allowed to stir in the back of her mind.

  Augustus’s butler appeared at the entrance of the garden to announce that it was time to gather in the dining room for dinner. The ten dinner guests formed a single-file line. Rebecca detested how conscious she was that Owen was far ahead in the line, several people between them. How she suddenly craved to be beside him, if only to demand his attention. Doesn’t he realise that we’re meant to spend the rest of our lives together? Is he going to ignore me throughout this entire dinner?

  They were seated at the table. As it hadn’t been known that Rebecca and Owen were betrothed, or in the first days of their engagement, they hadn’t been seated together. This was fine for Rebecca, who wouldn’t have known what to say to the elusive Owen anyway. She perched next to Tabitha, toying with the edge of the bright yellow napkin that splayed across the china plate.

  “You’re nervous. I can see it,” Tabitha whispered, her voice t
here beneath the hubbub of other conversations.

  “I am not,” Rebecca returned.

  “Good evening, everyone!” Augustus began. He lifted from the head of the table, raising his glass. “I wish to welcome each and every one of you to my fine dinner celebration, one meant to kick off the events of summer. I’d like to say a special hello to my dear friend, Rebecca, who I haven’t seen in quite some time. To you, Rebecca – a girl who has upheld her freedom above all else.”

  Rebecca furrowed her brow as the others drank. Why had Augustus considered it his duty to say such a thing, there in front of Owen Crauford? Was he attempting to push her in her usual direction, away from any sort of romance, marriage, or motherhood? And, if so, shouldn’t she be thanking him? As he sat, she gave him a half-smile. But under her breath, Tabitha whispered, “What has got into Augustus?”

  The dinner was gorgeous: roasted lamb, herbed potatoes, mince pies, everything flavourful and bountiful. Throughout dinner, Rebecca found herself glancing up to find the earnest, dark eyes of Owen, who seemed strapped in a conversation with Theo and the rather pretty blonde girl beside him. Rebecca stirred in another strange emotion. She’d never been jealous before. Could this possibly be it?

  “Who is the blonde girl?” Rebecca asked Tabitha, her voice as low as possible, hardly there.

  “I believe her name is Zelda,” Tabitha replied.

  “Is she courting anyone?” Rebecca asked.

  “I’m not certain. She was last year,” Tabitha said. “But things change so swiftly. I…”

  Rebecca chewed her chicken with panicked, quick bites. Suddenly, the blonde girl, Zelda, said something that brought an enormous smile over Owen’s lips. He cut his yellow napkin over his mouth and laughed outrageously, far too loudly for any sort of dinner conversation.

  Rebecca felt her lips turn downward. Was it possible that she could lose him just like that, there at the dinner table? She’d never hear the end of it from her father. She’d feel endless shame, and surely die a spinster. Just as she’d wanted. Wasn’t that what she wanted?

  Tabitha again squeezed Rebecca’s hand beneath the table, as though she wanted to show some kind of support. Truthfully, it felt wretched to be pitied in this manner. Rebecca wouldn’t allow Zelda to take her betrothed. She would either dismiss the man of her own accord, or she’d marry him. Rebecca was far too stubborn to be taken down in this manner.

  When dinner finished, everyone sojourned back to the garden for another round of wine. Rebecca again sidled close to Tabitha, watching as Theo, Owen and Zelda crowded around the wine table, still chuckling. Augustus approached both Tabitha and Rebecca in his jaunty, boyish manner.

  “It was a beautiful dinner, Augustus,” Tabitha said. She was ever polite.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Augustus said. “If only your husband could have joined us.”

  “I know he won’t miss the next one,” she returned.

  Augustus’s eyes found Rebecca’s. He leaned towards her, speaking conspiratorially. “I don’t suppose you know much of Owen’s family?”

  Rebecca stiffened. “I’ve met his father, Neil.”

  “Oh yes. The gambling addict,” Augustus continued. “He’s rather lacklustre at the table yet returns nearly every night. Rumour has it he’s gambled away all of his family’s fortune. I imagine that’s why you’ve been paired with the stunning Owen Crauford to save the family name.”

  Rebecca couldn’t draw a smile, not even a mocking one.

  “I’ve heard rumours about Owen, as well,” Augustus said. “He has a similar affair with gambling. It seems his luck is rather stellar –”

  “And perhaps, this means only that he’s an accomplished player,” Rebecca said spitefully.

  “Perhaps. But when does the luck shift? Perhaps Neil was once a grand player, as well. Perhaps he swam in copious winnings for years, before finding himself passing more and more of his familial wealth to others.”

  Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “I don’t suppose you’re pushing me in my ordinary direction, Augustus? Trying to show reasons I must abandon this engagement?”

  “I would never,” Augustus insisted, his words playful. “I know only the truth as it’s been displayed for me. And, as Tabitha has spouted earlier, Theo there is quite the playboy. I can’t imagine Owen any differently. Look at him now. There, with my beautiful friend, Zelda. The three of them can’t keep themselves away from one another.”

  “It’s a party,” Rebecca said. “Everyone is meant to speak with everyone else.”

  “And yet, you and Tabitha have kept to one another,” Augustus said.

  “I simply know her to be the best company,” Rebecca said. Her heart pumped with anger. Unfortunately, Augustus’s words had begun to sow seeds of doubt in the back of her mind. Her eyes flashed back to Owen who, it seemed, had taken this precise moment to turn back to her. Again, he bowed his head in greeting. He took a delicate step away from Zelda and Theo who, it seemed, had brewed up another conversation without him.

  Augustus had been a friend for years, the sort of man Rebecca knew hadn’t any ill will toward her. She recognised that her engagements over the years had been something of a comical entertainment for her dearest friends. Augustus simply wished to join the fun, whilst also warning her about very real facts regarding her potential beloved.

  “Perhaps I’ll discover this all for myself, Augustus,” she said, delivering a sterling smile.

  Before Augustus could give any retort, Rebecca took a large step towards Owen. She felt strangely drawn to him, as though she was guided by some invisible force. Moments later, her heart thudding so loudly she could hardly make out any conversation in the garden around her, she stepped directly in front of him. She lifted her wine in a mock salute.

  “Good evening,” she said. She was grateful that her voice sounded clear, without wavering.

  “And to you,” Owen replied. “A funny thing, isn’t it, to find one another here?”

  “I didn’t envision that we had mutual friends,” Rebecca said. “Although, our estates are so close to one another, it really isn’t outside the bounds of reason.”

  “No. I suppose not,” Owen said. His dark eyes sparkled with humour. He stepped a bit further away from Theo and Zelda. Rebecca followed his lead, turning around so that they both faced the dinner party guests, all of them growing tipsy, dancing to the music, their smiles wider and their laughs more outrageous.

  Rebecca was grateful for this establishment, as it meant she didn’t need to gaze into those aggressive, powerful black eyes. Silence fell between them. It felt like a strange balloon, one that Rebecca felt willing to pop, if she could only find the appropriate words. She cleared her throat, glanced down at her wine. In the absence of speech, she’d accidentally drank it too swiftly.

  “Shall I pour you another?” Owen asked.

  “Perhaps,” Rebecca said. “Thank you.” She passed her glass to him, assessing his enormous, capable hands.

  He sauntered away for a moment, leaving her at the side of the little crowd. Theo’s eyes found hers for a moment, and he gave her a small nod. Embarrassed, she tossed her eyes back to the crowd. She felt unwilling to unite herself with resident playboy Theo. Although, was she becoming too cruel? It wasn’t as though she knew anything about him beyond gossip-fuelled conversation.

  Owen appeared beside her again and passed her a full glass of wine. She accepted it, finding herself grateful that he’d returned. Her eyes connected with his again.

  “That speech Augustus gave before dinner…” Owen said suddenly, giving a sly smile. “That was quite remarkable.”