An Unlikely Duchess (8 page)

Rebecca looked at her father in horror and then glanced toward her sister.
Quite an overreaction to being asked to play,
thought Edward. She certainly did not seem the shy sort given that she climbed statutes in company and punched unsuspecting peers in the face!

Young ladies of the house were always rolled out to play for their guests, whether their guests wished it or not.

Much as he’d been looking forward to retiring, he found his curiosity piqued. Was she shy? Embarrassed? Perhaps she did not have the talent her sister possessed and it made her self-conscious.

The thought softened his mood. That must be it. The poor thing must be ashamed of inferior talent.

It was to be expected really. She had a sharp wit. He’d discovered as much when he had been eavesdropping on her conversation at dinner.

She was incredibly beautiful. Funny. As charming a young lady as ever he’d met, if a little scandalous.

It only stood to reason that she would lose out somewhere.

He suddenly felt rather protective of her, as irrational as that was. He would sit and support her. Enjoy her performance, outwardly at least.

The sound of her wailing may even help to cure some of the lust raging around his body. He sat back and got ready to pretend to enjoy the performance.

Rebecca had leaned forward to whisper frantically to her sister but had, after a moment, made her way to the instrument although, from the way her feet dragged it seemed she did so reluctantly. She looked altogether miserable, poor dear.

As she rustled some papers looking for some music to play, Edward prepared his ears for possible bleeding. There was no telling how bad she was going to be. But he’d been tortured by enough debutantes in the past to know they could truly make some inhumane sounds when performing.

Finally, she cleared her throat and took a breath. And then she began to sing…

Edward’s jaw dropped open. He could feel it but could do nothing about it.

Her voice was, quite simply, exquisite. When her father had said that she sang like an angel, he hadn’t been exaggerating.

She had picked an Irish air about unrequited love. Full of sorrow and sweet poignancy. Her clear soprano soared around the room and made him feel like gathering her in his arms and never letting go.

Blast it! The girl was supposed to be terrible! She had no right to sing as well as she looked.

The situation was untenable and Edward felt his control slipping. Desperate for distraction, he looked around the room.

His mother was entranced, the earl looked proud as punch. Even Lady Mary and Lady Caroline were smiling while they watched the performance.

None of them were helping! They were too enthralled by the temptress.

Finally, he turned to Tom hoping for some whispered conversation to take his mind off Rebecca and her selfish talent.

But Tom’s expression had Edward wanting to leap out of his chair and throw it at Tom. He was bewitched. Utterly bewitched. Edward knew from his face because he was sure he wore the same expression.

Tom had no business feeling that way. He, Edward, felt that way. She was hi-

He stopped himself short.
She was his?
No. She wasn’t. They’d shared a mistaken kiss. And even if that one kiss had brought about a stronger reaction in him than any other contact he’d had with a woman, she was still not his. It meant nothing. It could not!

He was a duke. He had responsibilities. One of which was finding and marrying a suitable young lady.

Rebecca Carrington was far from suitable. For one thing, her behaviour could be termed scandalous. For another, he’d never get anything done with her around all day distracting him!

He had no right to feel possessive of her. But he’d be damned if he would sit there and watch Tom salivate over her.

So, although he’d never considered himself to be the immature kind, he pretended to yawn and stretched his arms above his head, then brought them down, making sure his right one hit Tom squarely on top of the head.

Tom leapt and almost shouted aloud but managed to contain the shout and not interrupt the performance.

He glared at Edward, who gazed innocently back.

“Terribly sorry, Tom. How clumsy of me.”

Tom just grimaced and turned his head back toward where Lady Rebecca was finishing up her beautiful solo.

It hadn’t served to distract him, but it made Edward feel childishly better.

Still, he could not spend the next two weeks attacking his cousin! And he sure as hell could not spend it under the same roof as Lady Rebecca and manage to keep his hands to himself.

Mostly, he could not stay and encourage whatever fantasy Lady Caroline and her family seemed to be nurturing.

As Lady Rebecca finished her performance and stood to graciously accept the applause and praise, Edward made up his mind.

He would speak to the earl first thing tomorrow morning. And then he was heading back to London. Away from the Carringtons, away from the pressure of his mother and away from the torturous temptation of Lady Rebecca Carrington.

****

Rebecca finished the performance and immediately made her way to her mother. She meant to make her excuses and take her leave of the assembled party. When her father had asked her to play, her stomach had dropped.

She had always loved to sing and did it well. But this was Caroline’s night to shine, not hers. She’d bent toward Caroline to ask how she could get out of performing without seeming rude but Caroline had cut her off.

“Rebecca, I should not have said the things I said earlier. I beg that you forgive me. I would not have you stay quiet as a mouse on my behalf. Not that you could anyway,” Caroline said gently, a wry smile on her face, “You must perform. We cannot embarrass Father. Now go.”

With a quick pat of encouragement on her arm, Caroline urged her to stand. And so she had. For what else could she do?

She avoided eye contact with everyone in the room and began to rifle through the music sheets though she knew several songs by heart.

Her eye was drawn to a particular piece. A sweet song that had been taught to her by Mrs. Maguire, the cook.

It spoke of love, of heartbreak, of desire and loss. It seemed natural to her that she would sing this piece.

Once she began to play she forgot everything and everyone in the room. She lost herself in the music and felt herself relax for the first time since this morning.

The song held extra meaning for her tonight as she thought of everything that had happened today. The duke with his overwhelming presence, the kiss and the knowledge that he would never be hers.

The song expressed feelings that Rebecca could not.

When she finished, she thanked the assembly for their compliments without really hearing a single one. She had reached the end of her tether tonight and wanted nothing more than to leave the room and even to be coddled a little by Maura. After all, it had been a very trying day.

After making her excuses to her mother and Lady Catherine, she bade a general good evening to the room, avoiding eye contact with everyone, particularly the duke, and made her way wearily up the stairs and to her room.

As she opened her door, she was filled with gratitude as she noticed the fire lit, her nightrail laid out and a cup of tea waiting for her by the bed.

Maura began to fuss about her, removing her dress and leading her gently toward the dressing table to brush out her long chestnut locks.

“How was your evening, my lady?” Maura asked jovially.

Rebecca looked into the eyes of her maid and confidante. Before uttering a word, she promptly burst into a fresh barrage of tears.

Maura stared in shock for several seconds before dropping the brush and folding Rebecca in her arms.

She had seen her mistress in some hairy situations and had nursed her through some terrible accidents. But rarely had she seen her cry.

“There, there my lady. It is not as bad as all that surely,” she crooned leading Rebecca gently to her bed.

“It is, Maura. Oh, it is,” sniffled Rebecca.

Maura settled Rebecca against the pillows and handed her the teacup.

“You should drink that up and get a good night’s sleep and you will be right as rain,” she assured pulling at the coverlet and plumping the pillows behind Rebecca’s head.

After a few moments and some reassuring platitudes from Maura, Rebecca began to feel calmer.

She assured Maura that she was feeling better and dismissed her without any more tears.

Then, settling herself down she determined to sleep, dream pleasant dreams and forget all about the man downstairs who had been playing havoc with her emotions from the second she’d set eyes on him.

Rebecca willed sleep to come quickly and began to make preparations in her head for her upcoming Season and search for a husband.

Would he be handsome? Charming? Kind?

Hopefully he would be all those things. She closed her eyes and tried to envision his face. But all she could see was the face of the Duke of Hartridge.

Well, what harm would it be to dream that he was to be her beau? Nobody needed to know about her dreams. Nobody but her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next day dawned bright and sunny. Rebecca was awakened by Maura bustling in to draw the curtains.

For a moment, she was tempted to pull the pillow over her head and sink back into the dreams which had comforted her through the night. But that simply would not do.

It seemed impossible that she had only met his grace yesterday morning and so much had happened since.

But, although Caroline had apologised for her harsh words last night, Rebecca knew there was truth in them. The duke had been brought here to marry her sister and it would do Rebecca no good to continue on in her childish ways and ignore her duty to the family.

She must grow up and marry.

That meant she must make plans to go to London.

Her sense of adventure reared its head and Rebecca found herself quite excited at the prospect of a Season in London. She was quite sure that there’d be
faux pas
after
faux pas
but she’d also get to experience all the glorious sights, sounds and experiences London had to offer.

She sat up and bid Maura a cheery good morning.

“Oh, my lady. You seem so much better this morning,” exclaimed Maura happily in her thick Irish brogue. “I was sick with worry for you last night. I’ve never seen you so blue devilled!”

“Yes, well, one cannot mope around forever,” retorted Rebecca, somewhat embarrassed at Maura’s outpouring. She would never put the duke from her mind if she were reminded of her reaction to him.

“Today is a new day, Maura. What’s done is done. And you and I have plans to make.”

Maura began laying out a morning dress for Rebecca.

“We do?”

“Yes, we do. We are to go to London.”

Maura paused in the act of straightening the pale blue muslin she was handling and turned to stare at Rebecca.

“L-London, my lady?”

“Yes, London,” answered Rebecca brusquely.

“But, my lady – whatever for?”

“It is time I found a husband.”

Silence. Rather deafening silence, actually. Rebecca wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or offended. Really! Was the idea of her marrying so strange that it would render her maid mute?

“A husband?”

“Yes, you know one of those men with whom you share the rest of your life? Well. I am getting one.”

Maura hurried over to help Rebecca out of her nightgown.

“It is just—”

“Yes, Maura?”

“Well, you’ve never expressed an interest in marrying before.”

“I am well aware that this must seem sudden.” It was sudden. “But I am not getting any younger and I know my duty. I must marry. I will never do that by spending all my time here. I intend to ask Father for a Season and I fully intend to be engaged by the end of it.”

“Oh,” was the weak answer. A step up from silence, Rebecca supposed.

“Oh, and a walking dress please Maura. I think I shall take my walk this morning. I need fresh air and some time to think.”

I also need to avoid the
duke,
Rebecca thought, but kept that to herself.

Rebecca stepped out into the garden and inhaled the fresh air and scents of early summer that surrounded her. She did so love her home and would miss it dreadfully.

She knew every inch of this land— the gardens, forests and lakes. She knew the tenants and their families and could often be found in one of the cottages helping the local children learn to read or chatting with the wives of the farmers.

Making her way to the partly obscured gate, which led from the garden and into the forest beyond, Rebecca felt a pang of sadness. If, or rather when she married, she would be leaving all this behind.

It was the only home she’d ever known. She knew that the likelihood was that she would marry an English gentleman, would settle with him and would come here only as a guest. The idea was strange and not at all pleasant. She would have a new home. Be
mistress
of a new home. She who had once tried to assist her mother in hosting a ball and had ended up writing the wrong date on half the invitations!

Rebecca wondered if her husband would have a large estate to manage. She could not do too much damage on a small one. Her father’s wasn’t exactly small and she’d learned enough from Mama to be able to run a household of that size. Balls and parties aside of course.

She found herself wondering about the duke’s estates, sure that they were vast and plentiful.
Oh, stop it Rebecca,
she scolded herself.

She needed to put that man from her head. A brisk, early morning walk before she broke her fast was just the thing for it.

She made her way determinedly through the gate and down one of the well-worn paths through her father’s lands and towards the lake. She would soon pass a row of pleasantly situated cottages belonging to some of the tenants. Though partly obscured by a wall, the children were always scampering about and Rebecca looked forward to seeing their happy faces peek over the wall.