Thaddeus felt as though he had been assaulted by a tornado after the drive. Lady Jane was a steady, pleasant breeze, but her sister—he didn’t think he had ever had so many ideas and images and bizarre thoughts tossed at him.
She was a force of nature. He had to revise his opinion of her after their outing, however; it wasn’t that she was determined to speak for her sister, it was that her sister didn’t always care to speak.
The clear love the sisters had for one another sent a stab of jealousy to his heart. His parents had never seemed to care demonstrably about one another, and certainly not for him. He knew they loved him, as you were supposed to love your offspring, but there was nothing more than what was required by custom and good manners.
But everything the two ladies said to and for one another—it could not have been said by anybody but them.
He surprised himself by chuckling over the Dangerous Meal idea as he was driving home after dropping them off. He’d ascertained that both would be at the Prescotts’ ball the following evening, and he assumed he had received an invite, and if he hadn’t, well, a duke was welcome anywhere he chose to go.
He arrived back at his town house looking forward to speaking with Melmsford, even though his attempts at discussing fashion had been thwarted—one might almost say frustrated—by Lady Lavinia’s sharp annoyance at his conversational gambit.
“Melmsford,” he called as he stepped inside past Fletchfield.
His secretary, as usual, popped out from the library. Did the man ever stop working?
Perhaps he ought to order him to do so.
“Fletchfield, whisky,” he called as he strode inside. “And two glasses,” he added.
He went to sit on the sofa, as he had the previous night, and Melmsford sat opposite him, immediately leaning back against the cushions in what Thaddeus supposed was a comfortable position. Or at least it was designed to look like a comfortable position.
“Well, Your Grace?” Melmsford asked. Thaddeus was grateful the man actually seemed interested. Although he paid him enough and could order him to be interested, if it were that important to him.
But he wanted genuine interest, not paid for interest.
Likely that was in short supply as a duke. Even the few unmarried females he’d met who’d shown interest in him—with the exception of the Capel sisters—had his title and wealth as their goal, so their interest would, eventually, be paid for if they were able to marry him.
But he knew that the Capels themselves were exceedingly wealthy, so whatever interest they might show was not because of his holdings. Perhaps his title?
It was still early; he’d just met Lady Jane. He didn’t need to rush into things.
But he saw the camaraderie between the sisters and their brother, and he longed for that himself. Nearly yearned for it, if someone as stoic as he could yearn. And it didn’t seem to matter that Percy was the earl’s by-blow; the three of them were family, as much as if everyone was legitimate.
The sooner he got himself married, the sooner he wouldn’t be lonely. The sooner Melmsford wouldn’t have to bear all the brunt of his conversation.
Fletchfield entered the room and set the tray with whisky and the glasses upon the usual table, then nodded to Thaddeus and exited quietly. It was good when a servant knew just what one wanted—he hoped he would have that in a wife as well.
He was nearly decided on Lady Jane as his bride already. Making decisions was something he was quite comfortable with, and he didn’t see the point of fussing around when he knew what conclusion he would reach eventually.
“The drive, did it go well?” Melmsford asked.
Thaddeus rose to pour whisky into two glasses, handing one to his secretary. “It did.” He raised an eyebrow toward Melmsford. “Though her sister also joined us. Lady Lavinia.”
Melmsford’s eyes widened. “Ah!” he exclaimed.
Thaddeus chuckled, taking a sip from his glass. “Precisely.”
“Lady Jane is quiet, and respectable, proper in appearance—”
“Quite lovely, in fact,” Melmsford interrupted, his cheeks turning a bright red as he spoke. The result of his boldness in speaking or the whisky he’d just taken a sip of?
“Yes, she is lovely. I assume she is capable of running a household, and of course she would have Mrs.”—he hunted for the name in his mind—“Mrs. Webb to assist her.”
“So you’re decided, then?” Melmsford said.
Thaddeus gave a quick nod before finishing his whisky. “I am. I will see Lady Jane at the Prescotts’ ball tomorrow. I will ask her then.”
And then he wouldn’t have to go to any more Society parties where he would have to listen to novels being read or have to dance when he always felt too big and awkward, as though he might trod on his partner’s foot at any moment.
He could stay at home in his town house, visit his various estates, and concentrate on learning the land and fathering an heir. Not in that order.
JANE FLUNG HERSELF on the bed when the sisters were finally able to get away from their Very Inquisitive Mother, who only had about seventy thousand questions about the drive, only one of which was about what Jane actually thought of the duke.
And even then she started asking another question as Jane was answering.
“Are you all right?” Lavinia asked, sitting beside her sister.
Jane turned her head to look at her sister, her arms flung to either side. “I am fine. I just need to not be around people for a bit.”
Lavinia started to rise, but Jane put her hand on her leg. “Not you, silly.”
The reminder of which made Lavinia start to giggle, while Jane stared at her in confusion.
“I called the duke—the enormous, full of presence, very serious duke—a silly. Didn’t you hear me?”
Jane’s expression grew startled, and she gasped as she clapped a hand over her mouth and began to laugh.
And then the two of them were howling with laughter, clutching their sides as they rolled around on the bed.
“A silly!” Jane exclaimed after they’d settled down.
Lavinia nodded, wiping the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. “At least I didn’t call him a blunderbuss or a jobber knot.”
Jane sat up abruptly, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Where do you get these words, Vinnie? A jobber knot?”
Lavinia sat up as well, a knowing look on her face. “When you are a successful author,” she said in a mockingly haughty tone, “you have to speak many languages.” She shrugged. “I happen to speak pub.”
Jane’s expression grew shocked. “Vinnie. You have not spent time in a pub. Tell me you haven’t.”
Lavinia gave her sister a sly look. “Fine, then I won’t tell you.” She leaned over to whisper in Jane’s ear. “But I did.”
“Oh!” Jane said, grabbing a pillow from the bed and launching it at Lavinia’s head. “How could you do that and not take me? You went with Percy, didn’t you?”
Lavinia nodded as she dodged the missile. “I didn’t think you would want to go. Also I know your Mr. McTavish is a bit of a . . .” She paused as she searched for the word.
“A what?” Jane said in a suspicious tone.
“A stick in the mud?” Lavinia replied. Not for the first time, she wished she thought before she spoke. “I mean, he is so proper, and quiet, and doesn’t seem to always enjoy our family gatherings. What with their being so noisy and all.”
Jane folded her arms over her chest. “You mean he’s like me.”
“Yes! And that is why you are perfectly suited for one another,” Lavinia said in relief.
“I suppose.” Jane sighed. “Though that means we really have to deter the duke. There is no possibility Mother will allow me to say no, and I can’t even trust that I wouldn’t say yes if he got me alone and proposed.” She closed her eyes and pitched back onto the bed. “I wish I was more like you, Vinnie. Able to speak my mind, no matter what.”
“You mean like calling a duke a silly? Inserting myself into a carriage ride planned for two?”
Jane opened her eyes to look at Lavinia, a warm look in her eyes. “You are always there for me, no matter what.” She patted Lavinia’s arm. “I’ll even forgive you called Mr. McTavish a stick in the mud.”
“If the mud fits . . .” Lavinia replied in a mischievous tone.
Jane hoisted another pillow and flung it at Lavinia. This time, it didn’t miss.
“WHATEVER YOU DO, Vinnie, do not let him be alone with me.”
It was the following evening, and the two sisters were at the Prescotts’ ball. Jane had feigned a headache to try to stay home, but their mother had merely glared at her and given her all the headache powders in the house. Along with her evening gloves.
“I should have brought a sword or something,” Lavinia replied. “At the very least I could have challenged him to a duel.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “You don’t just challenge someone to a duel and then get to dueling. Besides,” she continued, frowning in thought, “duels are illegal, and they used to be done with pistols, not swords.”
“Details,” Lavinia said in disdain. “My heroes always carry swords and are able to duel at any time, night or day,” Lavinia said proudly.
Jane just rolled her eyes harder.
“You have no appreciation for artistic license,” Lavinia sniffed.
The two had been announced fifteen minutes earlier, and had quickly found a quiet corner behind one of the enormous statues studding the room every ten feet or so.
The Prescotts were similar to the Capels, in that both families were exceedingly wealthy and neither had quite the correct amount of respectability. They also had a daughter to marry off, although their Phoebe was not nearly as opinionated as Lavinia, nor as beautiful as Jane.
The room, therefore, was opulent in its decorations and provisions, making it clear that whichever gentleman managed to snare Phoebe would be getting a sizable fortune as well.
“Perhaps the duke will see Phoebe Prescott and decide she is suitable to be his bride,” Lavinia remarked. The two scanned the crowd to find Phoebe, who was in the middle of the room with a cluster of suitors around her.
They also found Phoebe’s laugh, which was louder than most people’s laughs, and employed more often.
“Though I imagine the duke is not interested in a wife with a sense of humor. At least not one who demonstrates it as often as Phoebe does.”
“If only I laughed more,” Jane said in a mournful tone.
Lavinia nudged her shoulder. “You should never change who you are, whether it is in pursuit of finding a husband or avoiding one.”
Jane exhaled as she nodded. “You’re right. It’s just—what if he speaks to Father first, and Mother finds out?”
“Father is out of town on business for the next few days, remember? And the duke wouldn’t speak to Mother, not without first talking to him.” Lavinia looped her arm through Jane’s. “I will be by your side all evening, except for when you are on the dance floor.” She leaned in closer. “That would be a bit odd, even for me.”
Jane laughed, as Lavinia had hoped she would. She could feel Jane’s tension, however, and wished that her sister had been born a bit less beautiful, and their father been a bit less successful in business.
Then she would be able to marry whomever she wished, and Lavinia wouldn’t have to squeeze herself into carriage seats meant for two.
“Oh dear,” Jane said. “Mother is coming.”
True enough, their mother was approaching, the feather plumes in her hair nodding vigorously as she strode forward.
“Oh dear,” Lavinia echoed, seeing her mother’s smug expression.
“There you are, Jane. And Lavinia,” she added, as though it was an afterthought. “The duke’s carriage is outside.” She stepped forward and raised her hand to Jane’s face, beginning to pinch her cheeks. Jane flinched, and Lavinia put her hand on their mother’s arm.
“Jane looks lovely, Mother,” she said in a low tone.
Her sister’s cheeks were bright red, not from the pinching, but from the embarrassment.
“Of course she does,” Lady Scudamore replied in a loud voice.
“The Duke of Hasford,” the butler intoned.
Everyone in the room turned to stare at the doorway, where the duke stood.
Lavinia did as well, unable to suppress her gasp as she saw him. He was framed in the doorway as though he was stepping out from a painting, one where the triumphant king overcame his adversaries through brute strength. He wore evening clothes, which should make him look respectable, but the power and force of his body and personality overcame his polite dress, making him look like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Why did he have to be the man who made her insides flutter like one of her heroines? The duke who her mother had determined was for Jane, and who Lavinia was equally determined would not marry her sister?
The duke descended into the ballroom, greeting the hosts with a polite nod, his intense gaze searching the crowd. Landing on Jane, and then allowing a small contented smile to pass across his face.
No, you will not, Lavinia vowed to herself.
And then he began walking toward them.
THADDEUS WAS GROWING more accustomed to the stares, even though he still had to resist the urge to wince at all the attention. Attention he received only because of his title. In training, and on the battlefield, Thaddeus had gotten his share of stares and attention, but it was because of his command, not because of his name.
He didn’t know if he would ever not regret the circumstances that led to him standing in a ballroom instead of in battle formation.
But he had plans to improve his current life, and she stood just a few yards away, looking lovely and demure in a gown of pure white. Of course her mother and her sister stood beside her, but he focused his attention on her.
She would bring a quiet respite to his life, assist him in performing his ducal duties while also bringing him a measure of personal contentment.
He took a deep breath and strode toward Lady Jane, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone in his path who might wish to speak to him.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said as he reached them.
All three curtseyed, although Lady Lavinia was the only one of the three who did not lower her gaze.
He felt . . . exposed when she regarded him. As though his basest thoughts and deepest desires were revealed to her.
He did not like the prickly feeling he had when in her presence.
“And how are you this evening, Duke? My daughter Jane is looking beautiful tonight, wouldn’t you say?”
Thaddeus saw Lady Lavinia grimace, just for a moment. He felt a sense of chagrin at witnessing her mother’s clear preference, and felt immediately defensive of her.
“Both of your daughters are looking beautiful,” Thaddeus replied.
Because it was true. While Lady Jane was once again the decorous lily, her sister was vibrantly and starkly gorgeous in a sky blue gown that matched her eyes. The gown was simple, its sleek lines emphasizing the curves of her figure. Her dark hair was piled up on her head, revealing the elegant lines of her neck.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Lavinia replied, the wry twist of her lips indicating she didn’t quite believe him.
“Lady Jane, might I have a dance? And Lady Lavinia?” Because he couldn’t very well ask one sister to dance and not the other.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Lady Scudamore answered. She took Lady Jane’s dance card and presented it to him, while Lady Lavinia fumbled with getting hers off her wrist. Lady Scudamore also gave him a pencil, which he used to scribble his name on the card, then did the same to Lady Lavinia’s.
“I will return to claim my dance,” he said as he bowed.
The ladies curtseyed all over again, and he stepped away, the familiar feeling of suffocation overtaking him as he realized many of the guests had been watching the entire encounter.
The sooner he was settled, the sooner he could stop being an object on display.