The Ugly Duckling Debutante

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Do you like ducks?” he asked.

  Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Excuse me?”

  “Ducks,” he repeated. Her face became more confused than before. “Birds,” he clarified. Nothing. “Animals that fly, and people shoot them for sport and—”

  She put up a gloved hand and smiled weakly. “I know what a duck is, Renwick.”

  He ignored her. “I find that ducks make me feel better when I’m upset.”

  “Because you shoot them?” she retorted.

  “No, I don’t shoot ducks. I must admit I’m a terrible shot. I am actually quite good with a sword, but guns always seemed too inhumane, not sporting at all.” He shook his head as if to protest more. “Ducks, however, make me feel better because they are beautiful. Their feathers are made perfectly to deal with water, and it naturally runs right off their backs.” He noticed the interest pique in her eyes. He smiled and knocked twice on the carriage door. “Off you go.” He hopped out and held his hand for Sai to take. She snubbed him but tripped over her own dress, falling directly into his arms with a loud yelp.

  Those who were walking through Hyde Park at the time laughed at the obvious lover’s quarrel. Nicholas, of course, couldn't hear their exact words, but he could guess accurately because he had been around the ton long enough to know how the gossip worked.

  “Next time, accept my help, or I can’t promise I will catch you.” He put her on her feet and watched her straighten her skirts. “What a terrible situation to be in if your skirts suddenly flew over your head.”

  “You would know,” she snapped.

  He winced. “Touché. Shall we go see the ducks?”

  “Does water run off your back as well, my lord?”

  He rolled his eyes. “It's Nicholas, and no. It used to. I hadn’t a care in the world, but when I realized what harm my actions caused, it seemed water never stayed on my back, but penetrated deep into my soul, making me the blackest creature alive, drowning in my own misery.”

  Sai stopped walking and looked into his eyes. Her gaze was enough to send men to their knees in worship; instead he merely wanted to fall in adoration. She smiled and kissed his hand. “None of us is perfect, my lord. You should remember that before you are so quick to condemn yourself.”

  “Was that a compliment?” he pried.

  She laughed. “You’ve been given compliments all your life. Compliments are merely pretty words thrown at pretty people to make them feel better about their lot in life. No, Nicholas. It was not a compliment; it was a truth.”

  She stepped past him, picking up her skirts, and went to sit directly in front of the small duck pond. For the third time in this woman’s presence, he was speechless. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t care.

  He took his seat next to her and sighed. “Usually there are more ducks.”

  Her smile lifted to her cheeks, making him want to spend his life staring.

  “You mean there are usually more ducks than this one sad little fellow?” She pointed to a short squatty duck which had just lay down next to the water's edge. He seemed unbothered by their intrusion.

  Nicholas reddened. “Yes."

  “I guess that means you owe me,” she teased.

  “Owe you?” His voice cracked. “And just exactly what do I owe you, Mademoiselle?” He fought to keep his voice even and light.

  “Ducks,” she answered. “Lots and lots of ducks.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. “I promise you, I will find you more ducks. Next time you feel like crying, let me know, and we’ll go hunting for ducks together—without pistols, naturally,” he added.

  Her smile wavered, reminding him once again that he was the one reason for her sadness. Fear gripped his chest just as a heavy weight of agony pressed down on him, paralyzing his thoughts. Would he never be rid of the guilt? Just watching Sai brought back all the sweeping memories of last night. He’d never felt bad about a kiss before. In fact, he hadn’t even felt like a terrible person for kissing married women, so why did it now feel like the guilt was eating him alive?

  She picked a flower next to her and twisted it between her fingers. He was going insane, because in that moment he even felt jealousy for the tiny flower. What would it feel like for her fingers to twist into his hair during an embrace? His body warmed at the inappropriate thoughts swarming around in his head.

  The old Nicholas Renwick would have laughed in his face; he was aroused by a flower. A flower! He really was going mad. He had done and seen it all, yet the way this woman held the particular flower between her hands was enough to inspire him to write sonnets. He cursed himself silently and took a deep cleansing breath.

  “Are you well, my lord?” Sai asked.

  Naturally, the breath he just inhaled was thick with her scent, the smell of sugared lemons and the purest green grass.

  “Fine,” he croaked.

  “Are you feeling ill again?” She lifted her hand, though still gloved, bless the Lord, to his forehead and tilted her head. “You don’t feel warm.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by an approaching man. “Do my eyes deceive me, or do I see the reformed rake Lord Renwick having a private chat with the talk of the ton?”

  Nicholas closed his eyes in protest; maybe if he couldn’t see Rawlings, then Rawlings would become bored and disappear back into the hole he crawled out of.

  He opened one eye and saw both Rawlings and Sai staring curiously at him. Mad, he was mad. He pushed himself off the ground and shook Rawlings’ hand. “I’m afraid the rumors are true.”

  He nodded toward Sai who curtsied sweetly. When Rawlings gingerly took her hand and kissed it, his eyes spent too much time focused on her bosom than on her hand like propriety dictated. Nicholas’s mood darkened.

  Rawlings lifted a calculating eye toward Nicholas and smiled before returning his attention back to Sai. “I see for once the rumors have been understated; you are far lovelier than even the most exaggerated stories have suggested.”

  She blushed brightly and flashed him a devastating smile. Why didn’t she smile at Nicholas like that? Is that what she wanted? Compliments? Well, she would be waiting a long time. Although he sometimes wondered if Sai’s attitude had to do more with being shy than with being conceited, he wasn’t going to take the chance she had an inflated view of herself and add to it. Especially since she had men like Rawlings ready to cut open their chests and offer their hearts to her.

  “I’m so glad to have met you,” Sai crooned, hooking her arm with Rawlings. “Do tell me how you know Lord Renwick.”

  This is going to be painful, Nicholas thought, falling into step beside the two.

  The next ten minutes managed to become the bane of Nicholas’s existence. He suffered through Sai’s rich laughter each time Rawlings shared a story of how Nicholas pulled pranks on the ladies of the ton as a boy. Rawlings even shared the unfortunate event which took place when Nicholas mistook one of the women as his mother and grabbed her from behind, only to be surprised by the notorious flirt who prophesied he would become a lady killer in his later years. That is exactly what happened; although, now he felt he should be killing men, especially men bearing the name Rawlings.

  “I must take my leave,” Rawlings said at last. He bent low to kiss Sai’s gloved hand, then leaned in to whisper in Nicholas’s ear, “This is one chit I wouldn’t mind relieving you of, old man. I’ll be waiting for you to mess this up.” He slapped him on the back and waved off leaving a stunned Nicholas behind.

  “What did he say to you? You look positively radiant,” Sai inquired, hooking her arm in his. Its effect was felt immediately; he relaxed and was able to act somewhat like himself again.

  “Nothing of consequence. Just an old joke between friends.” He looked at her penetrating glance and sighed, “You seemed to take to Rawlings. Would you rather be with him than me?” He didn’t mean for the question to sound accusing, but it came out that way nonetheless.

  “
Are you so unsure of yourself that a man like Sir Rawlings would be competition?” she snapped.

  He laughed to hide his doubt. “Of course not. You do know my reputation, do you not?” He wasn’t playing fair.

  She stopped and faced him. “What I know, is only what I’ve been told, and I can only assume from what I’ve been told, that your reputation is a direct result of your insecurity and inability to commit to one woman for your entire life. So yes, I do prefer Sir Rawlings to you, if only for the reason he knows exactly what he wants and goes after it!”

  “And I don’t?” he barked.

  “No.”

  Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and pulled her against his chest crushing his lips across hers simultaneously. She pushed at his chest, but it did nothing to dissolve the burning passion between them. He’d always heard that love and hate drew a dangerously fine line between them. He had no idea that lust and fury did the same thing. He was drowning in her essence, and he didn’t know whether to love her or hate her for it. Her lips worked perfectly with his, making it almost seem like they were made for one another, yet he knew that was just him falling for the lie of lust. Sai’s breathing quickened when he attempted to lift her more firmly against himself. Lucky for him, he leaned against a nearby tree and tried to more fully get her within his grasp. Opening his eyes, he was suddenly desperate to glance at her swollen lips.

  He pulled back in time to catch a glimpse of her raised hand fly forward in a slap. He ducked and winced, narrowly missing the swing, the force of which sent Sai falling to her knees. He pulled her up quickly into an embrace just as a curious couple walked by. “She’s tired, not feeling well,” he explained. They continued walking, shaking their heads in disapproval.

  “Take me home,” Sai demanded, stomping her foot.

  It made him laugh; he couldn’t help himself. Before he knew it, he was doubling over with tears streaming out of his eyes. “Forgive me!” he said, still laughing. “It’s just your face really does betray your emotions. If looks could kill…”

  She smiled and bit her lip. Nicholas knew she was trying to keep from laughing; she probably didn’t want to offer him the satisfaction.

  “You really must stop kissing me like that,” she stated while straightening her skirt. “It’s rude.”

  “Rude, or unsettling?” he argued, suddenly confident he had a similar effect on her as she did on him.

  “Both,” she admitted.

  He pulled her into a chaste hug and whispered, “Lust and love are two different things.”

  She stiffened in response and answered, “I know.”

  Chapter Nine

  The problem was Sara really didn’t know. She felt that lust was a natural part of passion, and passion fed directly into love; they were one in the same. A life without passion was not a life she desired. She had experienced enough of that life her entire existence. But Nicholas appeared to believe they were separate things.

  He seemed the type of man who understood himself, but the sadness in his eyes when he spoke made her wonder just how much he knew about love. If he thought the purpose of marriage included only having children and possibly experiencing a small hint of happiness, he was wrong.

  If anything, she had learned from the Song of Solomon, that passion and love coexisted—and she doubted very much that Nicholas knew that.

  He was right in some respects. His kissing unsettled her—not because she didn’t like it; quite the opposite, in fact. But she felt his many reasons for kissing her had more to do with him than with her. The first was because he was feeding his own lust in the garden, the second time out of anger, and the third time just to prove her wrong.

  What she wanted was to share a kiss with someone who truly wanted to kiss her just because she was her. Not because they had anything to prove.

  Sara said nothing as Renwick escorted her into the waiting carriage. Instead, she mulled over more Scripture to keep her thoughts in check. She didn’t even notice when they stopped in front of her aunt’s house until Renwick cleared his throat and reached out to touch her hand.

  His touch always sent the most incredible sensations in her stomach, she felt about ready to take flight from her seat. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry. My thoughts were far away.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked.

  Surely Nicholas Renwick was the spawn of the devil; the king himself would share state secrets with Renwick if he but asked. His velvet voiced paired with his perfect face did nothing for the butterflies in her already fluttered stomach.

  “I’m fine.” She exhaled, hearing the ragged breath whoosh past her ears.

  He laughed as he helped her down from the carriage. “Don’t forget about Almack’s.”

  “Almack’s?” she asked.

  Her question was met with a look of surprise in Nicholas’s eyes with an accompanying groan from his throat. “Please tell me you know about Almack’s.”

  She shook her head even though it would have been better to lie.

  Nicholas smiled before kissing her hand. “Only certain patronages can hand out invitations to Almack’s. One must be invited, and we, my dear, have been invited by Lady Jersey. It seems she is quite taken with you, as is the rest of London.”

  Sara curtsied and answered before she could stop herself. “All of London but the one by whom I truly want to be taken.”

  She took her leave, but not before noticing a wide-eyed Renwick frozen in shock. Serves him right, she thought before entering her aunt’s house.

  Before Sara reached the blessed stairs, she heard her aunt shout out her name. She hung her head in defeat and followed the thunderous voice into the salon where earlier she had met half the ladies of the ton.

  “Ah there you are, my gel!” Lady Fenton rose from the tiny loveseat and approached her, arms out in front of her body. “And how was the park?”

  For some reason, all Sara could think of was the kiss, and she flushed with embarrassment just in time to meet her aunt’s calculating glare.

  “That good?” The corners of her mouth tilted into a smirk. “Well, I have the most wonderful news! Lady Jersey sent invitations to Almack’s tonight. I want you looking your best, my dear, and I have ordered some changes done to your gown.”

  Sara was confused. Why would her gown need to look any different? What was her aunt getting at? “I’m grateful for what you’ve done,” she swallowed. “You’ve given me more than I can ever repay, but why go to the trouble of making changes to an already beautiful gown? Considering I am already betrothed to Lord Renwick, I thought…?”

  Her aunt’s smile hid no manipulation. It was enough to make Sara’s stomach churn.

  “My dear gel, if you were marrying the king himself, I would still make changes to your gown. The rest of the ton must see you as desirable, as the one who got away. Who knows! What if our honorable Renwick does the deplorable thing? Where would we be then? No, my gel. We shall command attention tonight, and you will be the belle of the ball. The duke will see what he is missing, and Renwick will be falling prostrate at your feet. Trust me, my dear. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  Sara nodded her head politely, but inside she wanted to scream. Was she to be put on display? As ugly as she was? What type of cruel joke was this? It was difficult enough to go about feeling like a fraud, but it was going to be quite another thing entirely to be presented to the whole of the ton on Renwick’s arm feeling like an overdressed doll. He deserved someone naturally elegant—a swan, not a duck. A plain and ugly little creature. She felt much like the lone squatty duck she had seen this afternoon, but all she truly desired was to be a graceful woman without a care in the world.

  “Are you listening?” her aunt snapped at her. It brought her attention careening back to the present.

  “Yes, my lady.” Sara curtsied, though she had no idea what she’d just agreed to.

  “Good, we shall start immediately. Davina has plans for your hair
as well as some face paint. Your dress, however, will not be ready for another hour or so.”

  Sara stood there like a statue waiting.

  “Well!” her aunt commanded. “Go see to your preparations!”

  Sara took that as her cue to leave and nearly tripped up the stairs from running so fast. If only she could actually run away, but then again, it would be in the opposite direction of Renwick, and something inside her twisted each time she thought about never seeing him again. Surely she wasn’t falling for him? He was still a rake with an ill temperament. One minute he looked like he was ready to confess love, the next he would be so angry she feared he would chase her through the park—though she could tell by the look on his face he did not like being slapped. In a way, she did have the upper hand. That thought brought her comfort.