Never Dare a Duke

by Wendy Soliman

  Her taste for her solitary walk dissipated and she abandoned her excursion to the estuary. She turned back towards the house, wondering if Hazel was out of bed yet. It was annoying not being able to knock at her door since she was sharing the room with Ellen and that would make private conversation between them impossible. She would just have to wait for Hazel to come to her.

  Farrah re-entered the house and headed towards the library. Her alternative plan of finding a good book would just have to suffice. But before she could tap at the door, she heard voices raised in argument coming from within. One was the duke’s; the other his mother’s. She heard her own name mentioned and realised that they were arguing about her. The temptation to linger and hear what was being said was compelling, but Farrah forced herself to turn away and find her way back to her room.

  Sometimes ignorance was the better alternative.

  *

  Brin enjoyed the stillness of early morning; a habit he had acquired in India in order to take advantage of the relative cool. In shirtsleeves, he was behind the desk in his library at first light. With a houseful of people all demanding his attention, it was the only time of day when he could be assured of the privacy he required in which to attend to estate matters. He issued a series of instructions to his steward, who could be depended upon to attend to the details for the day’s shoot. He dictated letters to his secretary with swift efficiency and then dismissed the man.

  Alone, he leaned back in his chair, raised his arms above his head and yawned, thinking back over the events of the previous day. As though summoned by the force of his imagination, he glanced out the window and noticed Miss Dorset walking briskly towards the lake. The desire to join her was compelling but he somehow resisted, surprised by the strength of his fledgling feelings for the spirited chit. She was the only female beneath his roof, he was absolutely sure, who was not still in her bed.

  His drawing room had been a dull place once she had quit it the previous night. Brin had been required to endure the tedium for a further two hours before the party broke up. Lady Melody had stuck tenaciously to his side for much of the time, encouraged to put herself forward no doubt because Miss Dorset had turned the tables on him and forced him to dance a damned jig with her. A smile touched his lips as he dwelt upon possible ways to gain his revenge upon the alluring Farrah Dorset.

  Someone opened the door without first knocking, intruding upon Brin’s introspective thoughts and causing him to scowl. This was the one room in the house, apart from his bedchamber, where he could be assured of privacy, and he didn’t appreciate it being intruded upon. His mood didn’t improve when his mother’s figure filled the doorway, forcing him to reconsider his earlier conclusion that all the ladies would still be abed.

  ‘What is it, Mother?’ he asked tersely.

  ‘Good morning, Brinley,’ she replied, closing the door and seating herself beside the fire. Clearly, she had something on her mind and wasn’t about to be easily dismissed. Brin had a fair idea what it was that she had come to say. ‘Come over and sit with me. We need to talk.’

  Brin was not about to be dictated to; especially by his interfering mother. Even so, a moment’s reflection was sufficient for him to decide that the delicate issue which had brought her to his door ought to be aired, his situation made clear once and for all. He left his desk and took the chair across from her. Shadow, who had been asleep in front of the fire, flapped his tail and rested his head on Brin’s boots.

  ‘Well?’ he said, a note of impatience in his tone.

  ‘I want to make it clear to you, Brinley, that I do not approve of your interest in Miss Dorset, and I want you to leave her alone.’

  ‘Do you indeed?’ Inwardly furious, Brin kept both his tone and his expression neutral. ‘It may have escaped your notice that I am no longer a child and I am free to choose my own friends.’

  ‘Ah, so you look upon her as a friend already. My, but she works fast; one must give her credit for that.’

  ‘What is the point you are endeavouring to make, Mother?’

  ‘Miss Dorset is quite unsuitable duchess material.’

  ‘Your mind has leapt from friendship to matrimony, yet you accuse Miss Dorset of being a fast worker.’

  ‘You may not be thinking along those lines. Indeed, I sincerely hope that you have a greater sense of duty than that, but she will be encouraged; never doubt it. You will become trapped unless you take great care, and you should look to someone with better connections.’

  ‘I wonder how I managed not to be trapped all those years in India without you there to protect my interests.’

  ‘Things are done differently in those uncivilized places,’ she replied, making it evident that his sarcasm was lost on her. ‘Anyway, I have gone to considerable trouble to invite suitable ladies here to make your selection easier.’

  ‘And Miss Dorset is one of their number?’

  ‘By default. Lady Hazel insisted that she be included, although her friend has not repaid her generosity by remaining in the background, as she most decidedly ought to.’

  ‘Forgive me, but I must be labouring under a misapprehension. I thought I had agreed to host a shooting party, not a marriage mart.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Brinley, of course you must marry, and marry soon. You don’t seem to be in any hurry to do anything about it, so as a mother it falls to me to remind you of your duty.’ She lifted a shoulder, even though she did not approve of shrugging as a means of expression as a general rule. ‘This seemed like the least intrusive way of going about it. I am mindful of the myriad duties that fall to your lot.’

  ‘How thoughtful.’

  ‘You are my only son and the future of the entire family rests on your shoulders. Of course I will inconvenience myself on your behalf.’

  ‘What pray are your objections to Miss Dorset?’ Brin asked, curious to see how she would respond.

  ‘I should have thought that would be obvious,’ his mother replied distantly, sitting a little straighter; a feat Brin would have thought impossible.

  ‘If it was, I would not have asked the question.’

  ‘Her father and brother are engaged in trade.’ She made the word sound like a contagious disease. ‘There, what do you say to that? You have been away for so long that you are not up to date with these matters, but they are important.’

  ‘I have been engaged in trade these past ten years. This house was falling down around our ears before I earned the blunt to set it to rights, but I detect no disapproval amongst my peers.’

  His mother waved the statement aside with a negligent flip of one wrist. ‘That is entirely different.’

  Brin shrugged. ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘Of course you do not. You are a duke, Brinley.’

  ‘Thank you for reminding me.’

  ‘Dukes lead and are never criticised. Besides, you forged trading links with the East India Company, and that is considered acceptable. Miss Dorset’s father on the other hand is engaged in trading agreements with the French, who until two years ago were attempting to kill us all and take over control of this country.’

  ‘That’s water under the bridge. We are all friends again now.’

  His mother gave a derisive sniff. ‘We are no such thing, and Dorset shows a marked lack of sensitivity in having anything to do with the French, not to mention being vulgar and unpatriotic.’

  There was only so much pleasure to be had from baiting his mother and Brin had reached the limits of his patience.

  ‘I have restored the family’s fortune and made it possible for you to give my sisters the seasons you appear to consider so important,’ he said impatiently. ‘You may interfere in their marital aspirations as much as you wish, but let us be very clear on one subject.’ Brin paused for emphasis. ‘If and when I choose to marry–’

  ‘What do you mean by if? Of course you must marry. You have an absolute duty to sire the next duke.’

  ‘What a charming prospect,’ Brin replied, a ca
ustic smile playing about his lips.

  His mother shuddered. ‘There’s no need for vulgarity.’

  ‘You raised the subject of procreation. However, to reiterate, I shall select my own wife with no interference from you. If the woman in question has connections that offend your sensibilities, then I apologise on her behalf. However, I dare say that you will get over the indignity, given time.’

  ‘Remember to whom you are speaking and keep a civil tongue in your head.’

  ‘No, Mother, you lost the right to expect my civility when you manipulated me into hosting this party and then paraded an endless stream of females beneath my nose, none of whom are capable of holding two sensible thoughts in their heads simultaneously.’ With one notable exception.

  ‘But you like Lady Melody,’ his mother said, a note of desperation creeping into her tone. ‘You danced together and spent some time in conversation after that.’

  ‘Leave it!’ Brin stood to indicate that the discussion was over, before his temper got the better of him and she goaded him into saying something that he would later regret. ‘I have done more than enough for this family’s sake. I am my own man and will not permit you or anyone else to manipulate me. I hope we are clear on that particular point since I will not repeat myself. Be aware that if you insist upon thrusting these silly chits at me then I cannot guarantee that I shall remain civil.’

  His mother’s face paled. ‘Very well. I shall leave you to remember the duty you owe to your father’s memory.’

  ‘Nice try, Mother, but I am fully cognisant of my father’s advice on the subject of matrimony. It may surprise you to learn that it does not coalesce with your own.’

  ‘Failing to understand his duty is not an accusation anyone could have levelled against your father.’

  That much was true, but his mother was not aware that a much younger Brin and his father had discussed the matter of matrimony not long before the old duke’s death. His advice had been for Brin to follow his heart. Advice that his father clearly wished had been offered to him in his younger days. The duchy had been in dun territory at the time, much as it had been when Brin took control, but instead of exerting himself to rectify that situation, as Brin had done, the pater had chosen to marry in order to get his hands on his future wife’s considerable dowry.

  And had spent the next thirty years regretting his decision while finding consolation in the arms of a parade of expensive mistresses who had helped to near bankrupt him. Brin had assured his father that he would not follow his example, and he fully intended to keep that promise. He had filled the coffers and would continue to dig his own furrow.

  ‘Very well, I shall not interfere,’ his mother said unconvincingly. ‘But be aware that I have arranged for the ladies to join you on the shoot when you break for luncheon.’ She flapped a hand. ‘I have to find some way to entertain them every day, and since the weather looks set fair today…’

  Her words trailed off, almost as though she was seeking Brin’s approbation. That would be a first, he thought. But still, since Miss Dorset would be amongst the ladies…

  ‘I have no objection to that arrangement,’ he said, opening the door so that his mother was obliged to quit his personal domain and leave him in blessed peace for a while.

  Chapter Six

  Farrah returned to her chamber, disconcerted by the fragments of the argument she had just overheard between mother and son. Well aware that the duchess resented her presence at Wentworth Abbey, she’d had no idea that the woman looked upon her as a threat to her plans for the duke. The idea was absurd.

  She removed her bonnet and pelisse and threw herself onto the window seat, mulling the situation over. Unlike half the other single females present at this party, she had gone out of her way to avoid the duke’s society once dinner came to an end, so the duchess couldn’t possibly accuse her of throwing her cap at her precious son. Could she? She had done her very best to blend in and not draw attention to herself. She had also kept her opinions firmly to herself.

  Most of the time.

  ‘I will never understand the minds of grande dames who think they have some sort of divine right to dictate the behaviour of others,’ she told the view in an exasperated tone. ‘Besides, my conduct up until now has been faultless.’

  Well, faultless if one discounted her frank exchange with the duke in the grounds not long after her arrival, but since she hadn’t known his identity at the time she could hardly be held responsible for that. Besides, the duchess knew nothing about it.

  Only another six days, she reminded herself, throwing back her head and sighing. Six more days, then she could leave this place and never set eyes on the duchess again. She felt momentary regret since she wouldn’t see the duke again either, but she chased those thoughts away with an irritated shake of her head. He would marry some eminently suitable, perfectly behaved, dull as ditch water female eventually and she had no desire to witness his felicity at first hand.

  A tap at the door intruded upon her introspective thoughts and preceded Hazel putting her head around it.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Her friend walked into the room and closed the door behind her, the draught created sending a waft of smoke back down the chimney and into the room. ‘I wondered if you would be up yet, but I suspect you have already been outside, given the state of your boots.’

  ‘Ah!’ Farrah hugged Hazel and spared her muddy boots no more than a passing glance. ‘You know me, I never was one for lingering in bed. I went for an early walk. It was really quite bracing.’

  ‘I dare say you were bowled over by the wind.’ Hazel joined Farrah on the window seat and watched the branches being bent back by the wind in question. ‘You have a pretty view from this part of the house. Our rooms look over the formal gardens, but I suspect that you prefer this wilderness.’ Hazel craned her neck. ‘I can see a lake and the river in the distance. The weather has improved so the gentlemen will be able to enjoy their sport.’

  ‘Which is more than can be said for the poor birds that they intend to slaughter.’

  ‘Yes, well…’

  ‘Your mother has been scolding you again, I take it.’

  Hazel sighed. ‘Dearest Mama, she means well and only wants what she thinks is best for me.’

  It was a lament that Farrah had heard once too often and she quite lost patience with Hazel. ‘Nonsense!’ she said briskly. ‘If that was the case, she would have noticed your partiality for Mr Anglesey and encouraged you to follow your heart. Your mother thinks only of her own status. She wants to boast that her daughter is a duchess and take credit for bringing the union about.’

  Hazel’s face paled. ‘I know,’ she said bleakly.

  She looked genuinely distressed, and Farrah momentarily regretted speaking her mind. She had hoped that Hazel might actually entertain feelings for the duke once she made his acquaintance. It would have been a happy outcome for all involved, but satisfied now she had seen them together that neither one of them was interested in the other, it fell to Farrah to encourage Hazel to put her own interests ahead of those of her ambitious mother.

  ‘You are so sweet and obliging that you fail to see what is patently obvious to me. You happen to be so beautiful that your mother fully intends to exploit your attractiveness with scant regard for your own feelings.’ She smiled at Hazel and squeezed her forearm. ‘If your Mr Anglesey is worth having, then you are going to have to exert yourself and fight for him. There’s no help for that.’

  ‘I so desperately don’t want to disappoint anyone,’ Hazel replied, looking distressed.

  ‘I am perfectly sure that you don’t, but you cannot have it both ways, my love.’

  ‘No, you are right, I suppose, but…’

  ‘But nothing. Anyway, wait and see what you can agree with Mr Anglesey when he gets you alone today.’ Farrah smiled and pinched Hazel’s cheek. ‘Just don’t get too carried away.’

  Hazel smiled, eradicating the worry lines from her brow. ‘You know very well, d
earest, that I am devoted to Daniel. It should be such a happy time, and would be if only Mama would see reason.’

  ‘Things have a way of working themselves out.’

  ‘Speaking of which, the ladies are making their way downstairs. Coffee is being served and then the duchess is arranging a series of open carriages to take us to the shoot, where a picnic has been arranged. The gentlemen are leaving now, I believe. It’s only about two miles away.’

  ‘Then you and I shall walk.’

  Hazel giggled. ‘Mama will be appalled by the prospect. It’s so muddy underfoot.’

  ‘A little mud never hurt anyone.’ Farrah rubbed ineffectually at her hem, where mud from her earlier walk remained undisturbed. ‘Come along. Let’s go down and declare our intention of getting a little exercise.’

  They were met with a varying degree of civility by the ladies already gathered in the drawing room. The duchess gave them a frosty nod as they helped themselves to coffee.

  ‘Farrah and I intend to walk to the shoot on such a bracing morning, Mama,’ Hazel said during a gap in her mother’s conversation with Lady Kirkham.

  ‘Walk!’ Lady Beardsley looked horrified. ‘I have never heard such a thing. It is a full two miles, and the mud…You will not be fit to be seen.’

  ‘Even so, we are quite determined. Would anyone like to join us?’ Farrah hoped they would not; at the same time inwardly applauding Hazel’s determination to stand her ground. ‘Ellen, how about you? You look a little pale. The fresh air will have a beneficial effect.’

  Ellen wrinkled her nose. ‘Certainly not! I cannot abide walking. Besides, it’s freezing.’