At the Duke’s Pleasure (4 page)

“So she is,” his companion agreed. “Still, some men like their females young and innocent. Have you no desire to take a bride?”

“A bride, yes, when the time comes, since the continuation of my line demands no less. But an infant? I think not,” he retorted with an obvious shudder in his voice. “Don’t mistake the matter, she’s a nice enough little girl and pretty in her way, but I’ve no interest in taking her to wife.”

“Then if you are not here to renew this old alliance of yours, why did you come for the weekend?”

“Edgewater and I have business, estate matters concerning rights usage of some adjoining lands. I thought it would be simpler to meet in person and resolve the situation amicably rather than get the lawyers involved.” He sighed. “Besides, he’s been sending invitations my way for ages. I thought it was time I finally accepted one and have done.”

Claire hugged her arms around herself, suddenly cold in spite of the balmy evening air.

“Of course, the earl and countess have been pushing Lady Claire in my direction from the moment of my arrival. I’ve tried to be pleasant to her for her parents’ sake, but I’m a grown man. What interest do I have in a sixteen-year-old girl?”

“What indeed?” agreed his companion in a sultry tone. Claire now recognized the voice as belonging to Lady Bettis. Beautiful, raven-haired, Society darling Lady Bettis, who was well-known for the interesting, influential lovers she took. So well-known that even she—sheltered, naïve Claire Marsden—had heard whispers of the woman’s exploits.

“You’re right that you’d be bored with a girl like her. Only a woman will do for you, darling. An inventive, experienced woman who can satisfy all your needs,” Lady Bettis continued.

The duke chuckled softly. “Do I take it you’re applying for the position?”

Felicia Bettis’s laughter rang through the air like bells. “Oh, I know all sorts of positions. Care to try a few?”

Quiet descended. For a moment, Claire wondered what they were doing.

Oh stars, are they kissing?

She swallowed against the rush of bile that scalded the lining of her throat. She knew she should turn and hurry back to the house, but her legs refused to work, as immobile as one of the shrubs that were concealing her from view.

“So, you won’t be marrying her then, not even in the future?” Lady Bettis murmured.

“Why do you care, Felicia, whom I may marry? Particularly since you already have a husband.”

“Curiosity. No more. No less.” She paused. “Oh, don’t be disagreeable. Go on. Do tell.”

“There’s not much to tell, since I am far from certain of the answer. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m in no hurry to give up my bachelor status. But if I ever do decide to follow through on this betrothal to the Marsden girl, it will be for duty’s sake alone. She has the bloodlines to make a proper bride, and luckily love isn’t a requirement for the begetting of sons.”

And that’s when Claire turned and ran, when she could stand to hear no more over the sound of her own shattering heart.

She’d hated him for a long while after, determined to drive him from her mind and emotions. And as time passed, she’d nearly succeeded—hours elapsing during which she scarcely thought of him, then days, weeks and eventually months.

When she turned eighteen and her father decided not to give her a London Season, she’d made no complaint, inwardly relieved that she wouldn’t have cause to encounter the duke. And when another year, then two, and three passed without any contact from Clybourne about the betrothal, she’d convinced herself that he’d rejected the idea of a marriage between them for good.

Then two weeks ago she’d received his letter.

And his visit.

The instant she’d watched him stride into her parents’ drawing room and heard the rich, rounded tones of his mellifluous voice, she’d known that time had made no difference at all. A part of her might resent him, even hate him, but love lingered as well; the spark was buried deep but still burned improbably strong. All it would take was the faintest whisper to fan the flames back to life.

And that she could not allow.

A silly, girlish crush had nearly broken her. What would be left of her if she married him and fell truly and irrevocably in love? How would she survive knowing he cared nothing for her? That she was simply a duty and a convenience. A wellborn broodmare capable of giving him heirs and serving as his hostess and the chatelaine of his homes.

He might provide her with an easy, pampered existence. He might even be kind to her in his own way. But no amount of material pleasure could replace the one thing she needed the most. The one thing she was certain he would never share.

His love.

Some might argue that she should fight for his attention, his affection. And perhaps she might win. But what if she did not? What if she gave everything, only to lose? She knew enough to realize that the defeat would destroy her. That she would die inside one slow, small piece at a time, until all that remained was a ghost of someone who used to be Claire Marsden.

I cannot take that chance
, she thought now, as she lifted her head and gave a sigh.
Not when he speaks of alliances and obligations. Not when he gazes at me with appraisal in his eyes, but no affection.

No love.

Before she gave herself further opportunity to consider, she sprang to her feet and crossed the room. Marching out into the hall, she took the stairs at the quick clip. Her footsteps slowed, however, when she reached the door to her father’s study.

Briefly, she hesitated. Then, straightening her shoulders as though preparing for battle, she raised a hand and knocked.

“Come.”

At her father’s softly worded command, she entered the room, careful to close the door behind her. She found him seated in an armchair near the fire, reading a newspaper by the light of a single candle. The meager illumination provided scant defense against the night-shrouded interior, leaving the room draped in thick shadows.

As she moved forward, the earl peered at her over the tops of his silver-framed spectacles. “Claire, what are you doing back downstairs?” he asked. “I thought you’d retired for the evening.”

“I…um…I was going to, but I found that I could not sleep.” Walking farther into the room, she sank into a nearby chair.

“Too excited, eh?” Her father gave her a wide grin. “And so you should be, now that the engagement is official. Just think, by this time next year, you’ll be the Duchess of Clybourne and one of the most esteemed ladies in the land.”

“Hmm, yes. That’s what I…um…wanted to discuss. You see—”

“No need to be nervous, the duke will attend to all the particulars. Only look at how extraordinarily generous he has been already. When he mentioned giving you a Season in London, I assured him such an extravagance was entirely unnecessary.”

Well used to Papa’s parsimony, she gave no outward reaction to that bit of news.

“But Clybourne insisted,” the earl continued as he ran a palm over his thinning blond hair, now liberally laced with white. “He insisted as well on bearing the cost of the whole venture! Said he wouldn’t hear otherwise and that he must be given the pleasure of indulging you in this way.”

In other words, Claire instantly surmised, Papa had balked at paying and the duke had found himself compelled to accept the expense in order to make good on his promise to her—a magnanimous offer on his part, she had to agree. But she wasn’t here to think kind thoughts about the duke, but rather to see to her own well-being.

“That is generous indeed—” she said.

“More than generous,” her father interrupted. “He’s invited your mother as well, did I tell you that? Said you’re both to live at Clybourne House in Grosvenor Square for the duration of the fashionable season. Told me he wanted to give you every opportunity to get to know him and his family better before the wedding.”

He sent her an approving nod. “I understand the dowager duchess has her own suite of rooms there, and if I heard right, one of the duke’s sisters will be in residence along with a pair of his brothers. Don’t worry, though, that you’ll be crowded for room, since the duke’s town house is as big as a palace.”

Papa chortled at the notion.

Claire didn’t smile. She hadn’t imagined the duke would expect her to live with him in his house, even with her mother and his own there to serve as chaperones. But why was she worrying over such matters when there were far more important issues at hand?

“Yes, I am sure the town house is lovely,” she murmured, threading her fingers together in her lap as she rallied the nerve to state her case.

But to her frustration, her father interrupted again. “If you think Clybourne House in London is impressive, just wait until you see Braebourne, the duke’s principal estate. Now there’s a house and grounds that will turn your eyes round with awe. Majestic, it is, and no mistake. Most beautiful home in England to my way of thinking, and as luxurious as any kept by the royals themselves.”

He waggled a finger. “Of course such extravagance isn’t strictly necessary in order to maintain a well-run establishment, but as its mistress, you’ll be able to exercise a measure of prudence here and there. Only consider that Braebourne shall soon be your home. You, my girl, are an immensely lucky young woman.”

I don’t feel lucky
, she thought, as a lump of panic swelled inside her chest.
I feel trapped
.

“I can’t do it, Papa,” she said in a rush. “I cannot marry the duke.”

Her father stared, his blue eyes boring into her for a long moment. Then he tossed back his head and laughed. “Very funny, child. For a second I thought you were serious.”

She leaned forward in her chair. “But I am serious. Completely serious. Please know that I am fully sensible of the great honor of His Grace’s proposal and what it would mean to be his duchess, but after much consideration, I realize that I cannot marry him. I fear that…we will not suit and I do not wish to be his wife.”

The earl stared again, only this time his pale brows scrunched together—hard. “
What!
”

She flinched, cringing at the anger in his voice. “I—I know you want this marriage to proceed and that the union is one of long standing—”

“It certainly is of
long standing
, its duration nearly the same number of years as you have been drawing breath on this planet. What maggoty nonsense are you on about? Not marry Clybourne! Of course you’ll marry him. You agreed to do so only a few hours ago.”

“Yes, but I have since had time to change my mind. Please, Papa, I do not want to wed him. I just want to stay here with you and Mama and go on as we have been. I promise I won’t be a burden and shall ask for nothing. You won’t have to buy a single new dress for me all of this year or next if you wish. I won’t ask for books or bonnets or extravagances of any kind. Just say I may write and refuse him. Please tell me I don’t have to be his bride, after all.”

“And then what? You’re nearly two-and-twenty years of age, a circumstance I haven’t found troubling given that you were promised to Clybourne. But if you don’t marry him, you’ll soon be a spinster and there’ll be no one who’ll have you.”

Her eyelashes swept downward. “I am willing to accept that risk.”

“Well, I am not,” he told her in an implacable voice. “Neither is there the need to do so, since you have a perfectly good offer of marriage. An excellent offer of marriage from an honorable nobleman of unassailable character, who will always provide for your well-being and happiness.”

My well-being, yes
, she thought.
But my happiness…Why can Papa not see that is exactly what I am trying to protect?

He drew an audible breath in a clear effort to regain control of his temper. “Cold feet, that’s all this is. A few days from now, you’ll be thanking me for refusing to let you withdraw. Go to bed and get some sleep. You’ll soon enough change your mind.”

She met his gaze, her jaw set with determination. “But I will not. Nothing shall sway me from my decision.”

Her father fixed her with an assessing look. “And nothing shall sway me from mine. Hear me and heed my words, Claire. You
will
marry Edward Byron. This union is what I want, what your mother wants and what the duke wants. So unless Clybourne decides to act like a bounder and jilt you, the engagement between the two of you stands. Do I make myself clear?”

Claire glanced away again, fearing she might shame herself otherwise. “Yes, Papa. Perfectly clear,” she said, swallowing back tears.

The earl huffed out a breath. “Well then, let us say good night so you may seek your rest. If you see your mother, please inform her I shall be up directly, as soon as I finish reading my paper.”

She nodded, no longer trusting herself to speak. After a perfunctory curtsey, she let herself from the room.

To her profound relief, she managed to reach her bedchamber without encountering anyone. Trembling, she flung herself across the bed, sure that sleep would be the last thing she found there. She waited for the tears to start as well. Instead her eyes remained dry, thoughts spinning in circles through her mind.

You will marry Edward Byron
.

I will not. Nothing shall sway me from my decision.

Unless Clybourne decides to act like a bounder and jilt you, the engagement between the two of you stands.

Unless he jilts you…jilts you…jilts you
.

She sat up in bed, struck by a sudden thought.
What if the duke did jilt me!

But no, he never would…unless she gave him reason?

A slow smile curved her mouth as the notion took hold.

Could she do it?

Did she dare try?

Oh mercy, they shall all be so angry with me. But what will it matter in the end if it allows me to gain my freedom?