by Louise Allen
Eliza and Prince Sebastian floated past Caroline and Beck without any acknowledgment of them. That was to be expected—the two of them looked absolutely besotted. They were so enthralled with each other, in fact, that Caroline fretted they’d walk into any one of the marble columns that lined their path.
Oh, but she was envious, filled to the very brim with envy. In England, she rarely gave marriage any thought except on those occasions Beck complained she ought to settle on someone, anyone, and relieve him of his duty. But he didn’t really mind his duty, his protestations notwithstanding. Caroline rather suspected he liked having her underfoot. So she flitted from one party to the next, happy to enjoy the attentions of the many gentlemen who crossed her path, happy with her freedom to do as she pleased.
But looking at Eliza, Caroline realized that she did indeed want one day to be in love with a man who would be as devoted to her as Prince Sebastian was to his bride. She wanted to feel everything Eliza was feeling, to understand just how that sort of love changed a person.
Prince Leopold and Hollis passed by Caroline and Beck. Hollis’s face was streaked with happy tears. Prince Leopold happened to look to the guests as they passed, a polite smile on his face. His gaze locked on Caroline’s—well, not locked, really, as much as it skimmed over her—but nevertheless, she smiled broadly. She began to lift a hand but was suddenly jostled with an elbow to her ribs. She jerked a wide-eyed gaze to her brother.
“Stop gawking,” he whispered. “You’ll snap your neck, craning it like that.”
Caroline haughtily touched a curl at her neck.
Beck turned his attention to the procession. The king and queen were passing them now. Beck leaned toward her and whispered, “He’s a prince, Caro, and you are just an English girl. You’re indulging in fairy tales again. I can see it plainly on your face.”
Just an English girl? She very much would have liked to kick Beck like she used to do when she was just a wee English girl. “Better to dream in fairy tales than not dream at all.”
Beck rolled his eyes. He stood dispassionately as the archbishop and his altar boys followed the king and queen.
Just an English girl, indeed.
Copyright © 2020 by Dinah Dinwiddie
Keep reading for an excerpt from Her Best Friend, the Duke by Laura Martin.
Her Best Friend, the Duke
by Laura Martin
Chapter One
Walking quickly, Caroline ducked behind a group of middle-aged women, straining her ears to hear the conversation between the two young debutantes just to her left.
‘It’s not that she’s ugly,’ Rebecca Preston said with an air of authority. Caroline could imagine the quizzical tilt of the girl’s pretty head as she searched for the right way to describe her.
‘No,’ Sophie Saltwell agreed, ‘not ugly as such.’
Caroline grimaced. At least she wasn’t out-and-out ugly.
‘Just a little angular. And old.’
‘Far too old.’
That she couldn’t argue with. At twenty-four years old she was well past her prime in the eyes of potential suitors.
‘If it were me, I would bow out gracefully,’ Miss Preston said and Caroline had to smother a laugh. Miss Preston was considered the diamond of the Season and, with her thick golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, it didn’t seem to matter to the eligible gentlemen that she was cruel and shallow. She would be inundated with proposals by Christmas and no doubt be married to someone titled and wealthy by spring. The idea of her bowing out of the search for a husband was absurd.
‘Isn’t she connected to the Duke of Heydon somehow?’ Even above the din of the ball Caroline could hear the wistful sigh at the mention of James.
‘Not romantically.’
Normally Caroline would step out at this point, fix the gossiping girls with a hard stare and make some acerbic comment to throw them off balance, but their words had been a bit too close to the uncomfortable truth and instead she found herself just wanting to slip away.
Quietly she turned, not wanting to hear what they were about to say regarding her relationship with James. Her very firmly platonic relationship. A wonderful friendship, but definitely nothing more.
With her head down she hurried from the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with the people she had grown to know so well these past few years. The same few attended each ball, each evening at the opera, each dinner party. It was suffocating rather than comforting and she had an intense desire to keep walking out of the front door and never look back.
She stilled that impulse, reaching instead for one of the doors that led off the grand hallway and slipping into the semi-darkness.
The ball was an annual event held by Lord and Lady Strand a week before the proper start of the Season in London. Caroline had been attending for seven years and knew the house well by now. She had escaped to the library which led to a small terrace at the back of the house. The terrace wasn’t accessible from the rest of the garden so unless anyone else came in through the library she knew she would get a few minutes alone.
Caroline shivered as she stepped out into the cool air, wishing she had something to put round her shoulders. It was only October, and a mild October at that, but this evening felt cold and crisp and seemed to signify the end of summer.
There were no chairs on the terrace, just a low stone balustrade running around the edge that Caroline pulled herself up on to, lying back so she could look up at the stars. The sky was clear and even here in London it was easy to pick out the constellations.
‘You’re a fool,’ she muttered to herself, as she replayed Miss Preston’s words. They had been unkind, but not untruthful. She was too old to be searching for a first husband. Most of her friends were married and producing their second or third child by now. A couple had even been widowed and were approaching the Season with the hope of finding husband number two.
‘Not a fool,’ a low voice said from behind her. Caroline jolted upright, forgetting for a moment she was lying on the narrow balustrade and nearly flying into the garden below.
Strong hands gripped her and pulled her to safety, only letting go when she was steady on her feet. In her chest her heart was pounding and she felt the familiar rush of desire and hopelessness and comfort all at the same time.
‘James.’ She regarded him for a moment, watching as he opened his arms before moving in to embrace him. She had to suppress a sigh as he wrapped his arms around her body, giving her a little squeeze before releasing her. ‘I didn’t know you were back.’ Quickly she stepped away. She wasn’t worried about anyone seeing them, more about her reaction to being so close to him.
‘I wanted to surprise you.’
‘You did. I nearly ended up in the flowerbeds.’
‘That would have given the gossips something to talk about.’
Caroline grimaced—they didn’t need any more fodder.
‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ she said, feeling the warmth swell inside her as she always did when James was close.
He stepped to the stone balustrade, swinging a leg over and sitting on the edge, his feet dangling in the void below. ‘Come sit with me, we have a few minutes until you’re missed.’
‘I think they’ll miss you before me,’ Caroline said grimly. She was a mere Miss, a spinster, inconsequential to most people in the ballroom. James was a duke, an unmarried duke, and as such was always trailed by a horde of hopeful young women and their mothers, besieged everywhere he went.
‘I was rather stealthy,’ James said with a grin. ‘I’d only just arrived when I saw you escaping out here. Hardly anyone could have seen me.’
‘It only takes one...’
He laughed, the sound cutting through to Caroline’s core and piercing her heart. She steeled her mind, reminding herself it was always like this when James first came back. She just needed some time to
adjust, some time to get used to him being close again. In a few weeks she wouldn’t feel as though her heart were about to rip apart every time she saw him smile, knowing he would never look at her with anything more than a friendly regard.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked.
He’d written, but he was a poor correspondent. She’d received one letter eight months ago telling her about his time in Rome and another two months later detailing his travels to Naples. Then nothing, a whole six months with no word from him.
‘Italy. Venice, Rome, Naples, Sicily. It was wonderful, Cara. The people, the culture, the food. It’s divine. You should go, you would love it.’
‘I think the only way my family would allow me to travel to Italy would be if I announced I was joining a convent.’
‘A legitimate life choice.’
‘I don’t look good in black.’
‘Perhaps your abbess could give you special dispensation to wear blue.’
‘Clothing aside, I’m not sure I have the right disposition to become a nun.’
He regarded her, a mock-serious expression on his face, ‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘Too mischievous. That wouldn’t do.’
She sighed. Perhaps she would find a husband who liked to travel. A man who could show her the canals of Venice and the Colosseum in Rome.
‘You weren’t enjoying the ball?’ He leaned in a little closer so Caroline caught a hint of his scent, a blend of lavender and citrus—the cologne she had presented him with two years ago at Christmas.
‘I wasn’t.’
‘It’s the first of the Season, a novelty still surely after the long summer in Hampshire.’
‘Can you imagine doing the same thing over and over again, year after year?’ Caroline asked quietly. ‘I go to the same balls, see the same people, dance with the same gentlemen. There’s no variety, there’s no freedom.’ She eyed him, watching as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
‘You should have been born a man.’
She closed her eyes, imagining having the endless options afforded men of her class.
‘I’m too old,’ she said quietly. It wasn’t something she’d admitted to anyone else, not even her mother, who grew increasingly desperate each Season as it came and went without a single marriage proposal. At first Caroline had purposely scared any potential suitors away. She hadn’t wanted to be tied to some old goat of a man, losing what little power she had over her own life. Then she’d gained a reputation for being a little too forthright, a little too free with her opinions.
And now...well, now she was wondering if she hadn’t been too quick to decide she didn’t want the same life all her friends had settled into.
‘Too old? You’re twenty-four, Cara, not sixty. Too old for what?’
‘For this.’ She looked at him in the moonlight, her expression grave. ‘Most of those girls in there are seventeen or eighteen. They’re young, they’re nubile, they’re impressionable. Who would choose me over someone like Miss Preston or Miss Saltwell?’
‘Anyone with half a brain.’
Caroline shivered as a breeze caught the material of her skirt, rippling it against her legs. James shrugged off his evening jacket and draped it around her shoulders, his hands brushing against her bare skin and sending sparks of heat through her body.
‘Where has all this come from?’ James turned to face her. ‘I thought you didn’t want to marry.’
She grimaced. It had been what she’d said for so many years. For so long she’d been convinced having no one was better than settling for second-best. The man she loved would never think of her in the same way, so she’d decided she would grow old a spinster.
‘I didn’t. I don’t...’ She paused, knowing she should guard her feelings, keep her secrets, but as always James’s eyes found hers and the words started to spill out. ‘I’m twenty-four. Most women in my family live well into their sixties. That’s forty years of solitude. Of returning home each night to a quiet house, to seeing all my friends dote on their children and one day their grandchildren. I don’t want a husband, but I do want to be married.’
James sat there looking at her, blinking rapidly as if he thought a bandit had stolen the woman he knew and replaced her with an impostor.
‘Any man would be lucky to have you,’ he said eventually. ‘More than lucky.’
Caroline scoffed. ‘If you could just remind the eligible gentlemen of that fact, I’d greatly appreciate it.’
James opened his mouth as if he were about to say more when they both stiffened. The door to the library was opening, letting in a swell of music from the ballroom for a couple of seconds before dying away. She squinted into the darkness, trying to make out who was walking silently through the library.
They couldn’t be caught together, not like this. The members of the ton were aware of Caroline and James’s unique relationship. An unlikely friendship she’d heard it touted by some of the more polite gossips. Still, she was an unmarried woman and he a single gentleman. They had to be cautious and being found together with no chaperon on a private terrace would cause a grand scandal.
Caroline closed her eyes for a second, imagining the pain and humiliation that would follow if James was forced to marry her. He would, of course, he was a gentleman and, more than that, he cared for her, just not in the way she wanted. Still, it would be painful, knowing he’d been forced into the one thing she wished for every day.
‘Arrivederci,’ James whispered, then launched himself off the wall into the flowerbeds below. Caroline slipped off his jacket and dropped it down to him, then he was gone, blending into the darkness as he disappeared into the bushes.
‘Miss Yaxley.’ It was Rebecca Preston, her face a picture of suspicious confusion as she stepped on to the terrace.
‘Miss Preston.’
‘Are you out here alone?’
‘Of course,’ Caroline said sweetly. ‘The ballroom was a little too hot for my liking. I thought some fresh air would be pleasant.’ She swung her legs back over the balustrade and stood to face Miss Preston.
‘I thought...’ Miss Preston began, stepping up to the balustrade and peering over suspiciously. ‘Have you seen the Duke of Heydon?’
‘No, not for some months. I believe he’s still in Italy. Why do you ask?’
‘No matter.’ She waved a dismissive hand, then turned slyly to Caroline. ‘You two are friends, aren’t you?’
‘We are.’
‘Perhaps you could introduce me to the Duke. I would love to make his acquaintance.’
Caroline looked at her, blinking in amazement at the request. A wave of nausea roiled through her as she imagined pretty Miss Preston fluttering her eyelashes at James, before she quickly reminded herself that one of his strengths was an ability to see past an attractive façade to the person underneath.
‘I’d be delighted to introduce you,’ she said, knowing she should stop there, but unable to help herself. ‘He is quite a particular man, though, and can be a little abrupt if you stray from the topics of conversation he is interested in.’
‘Oh?’ Miss Preston leaned forward as if eager to snatch the knowledge from Caroline.
‘He loves to talk about the weather, he’s quite an expert, and he is very interested in fashion and clothing, both men’s and women’s.’
‘Really? How extraordinary.’
‘He’s an extraordinary man.’
‘Thank you, Miss Yaxley, I shall await the introduction with anticipation.’ Miss Preston paused, her lips forming into a rosy pout that Caroline would wager the young woman practised in the mirror to make sure she got it just right. ‘Of course, if you need any introductions from me then it would be my pleasure. It may be my first Season, but I seem to be inundated with invitations already.’
‘You’re too kind, Miss Preston.’
She inclined her hea
d and then turned, heading back out through the library and to the ballroom. Caroline knew she should follow her—by now her mother would have noticed her absence and would be growing frantic—but before she moved she took a moment to peer wistfully into the darkness of the garden below. It was too much to hope that James had waited, hiding himself in the bushes somewhere. He was a duke, not accustomed to having to creep around in the shadows, and no doubt he was striding through the ballroom leaving a trail of hopeful young debutantes behind him.
‘Enough,’ she said firmly. This dreaming would have to stop. She’d decided to find a husband this Season and spending her time obsessing about James wasn’t going to help her achieve that aim. From this moment on he would occupy her thoughts only when he was in the direct vicinity.
Turning, she walked back through the library, hearing the music that signalled a waltz as she opened the door to the hall and slipped back into the crowd.
Copyright © 2020 by Laura Martin
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