by Burke, Darcy
“And there are no other family members left?” Phoebe asked.
“There are a great number of aunts and cousins who aren’t in the line of succession.” He grimaced. “More than I can count, frankly.”
“You say you were a distant cousin of the duke,” Jane said. “Had you not met any of those people?”
“No. My branch of the family had become estranged from theirs over the years.” He slid a glance toward Arabella.
“How did you become a secretary?” Jane asked.
Arabella felt a strange need to provide assistance to the duke. For what, she wasn’t sure, but he seemed uncomfortable. Arabella smiled brightly and injected her voice with humor. “Is that an equally mundane story, Your Grace?”
“Quite. My father was secretary to the Earl of St. Ives, along with his father before him, and his father before him.”
“I imagine it’s an adjustment,” Phoebe noted. “I know what it’s like to have your fortunes completely changed in the blink of an eye.”
The clock chimed the hour, and Arabella realized she had to get home. Mother wasn’t enthusiastic about her visits to Phoebe’s house, and Arabella had at least promised to keep them somewhat brief.
“I’m afraid I must go.” Arabella wished she didn’t sound disappointed, but she didn’t want to leave. He was a duke! And likely wealthy. Except it seemed he might be interested in Phoebe. Why had he called on her?
Halstead rose quickly and offered his hand. She took it, wishing he wasn’t wearing a glove, because she wasn’t. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stoke.” His gaze bore into hers as he said her name, and she knew he wanted to ask why she’d lied.
She lifted her shoulder the barest degree. “I look forward to seeing you soon. Perhaps you’ll be at the Thursby ball?”
“In fact, I will. I look forward to seeing you there.” He let go of her hand, and she felt another flash of disappointment. But it was fleeting, for she would see him again in just two days.
That gave her two days to determine his financial status, which had to be more than acceptable, and two days to devise a plan. She winced inwardly—that sounded so calculating. And yet, this was what things had come to. She had to make a match.
Arabella said goodbye to her friends and left through the door leading to the garden. As she walked home through the gate Phoebe had installed between their gardens, she thought of the duke and how fortunate it was that he’d crossed her path. While she scarcely knew him, she found him attractive, and he had helped her catch Biscuit. Perhaps finding a husband wasn’t going to be as terrible as she’d feared. Perhaps fortune had smiled upon her.
It was about damn time.
* * *
When Graham had walked into what the butler had called the “garden room,” he’d seen Miss Stoke and thought she was Miss Lennox and that she’d lied about her identity the other morning. Well, she had lied about her identity. And why was that? He was dying to know, and perhaps he’d ask her to dance at the ball just so he could find out.
However, she wasn’t the woman he was looking for, which was actually a trifle disappointing. There was something about her that had lingered in his thoughts. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Something he must put from his mind because she was not Miss Lennox—the heiress he needed to woo. She sat before him, with intelligent green eyes and a lovely countenance that he could see himself gazing into for the next fifty years.
Could he? Or was he trying to talk himself into the benefits of marriage? It was the latter, honestly, but did it matter? He was out of options, so he’d do whatever he must to rouse enthusiasm. And so far, Miss Lennox was charming, if overly inquisitive. He’d appreciated Miss Stoke’s assistance with deflecting the interrogation, and for that reason was sorry to see her go. Just that reason? his mind asked.
Yes, just that reason.
Miss Lennox’s brow creased as she edged forward in her chair. “I hope you don’t think me coarse, but I must ask why you’ve called. I don’t get many gentlemen callers. Actually, I receive none.”
“I’d expected you might hint at asking me.” He hadn’t, however, anticipated her candor. “You must forgive me. I’m new at this and probably not doing it the right way. I’ll be equally frank. The Marriage Mart terrifies me. As a duke, I must now consider whom I might make my duchess, and I much preferred meeting someone like you than some young lady fresh out of the schoolroom.” He squinted at her briefly. “Is that terrible?”
She exchanged a look with Miss Pemberton, and then they promptly broke into laughter.
Graham smiled along with them, but wasn’t sure why it was so amusing.
Miss Lennox caught her breath. “My apologies, Your Grace. We aren’t laughing at you but at the situation. I am not remotely interested in marriage—not even to a duke. However, if I were, you would be precisely the kind of man I’d consider. I value little more than honesty, and a man who’s willing to risk his masculinity and come right out and say what he wants is incredibly refreshing.” She looked over at her friend. “Isn’t it, Jane?”
“It’s downright bizarre.” Miss Pemberton studied him a moment. “How many sisters do you have?”
“None.”
“I would have wagered half of Phoebe’s fortune you had at least five.”
“Good thing you can’t,” Miss Lennox said to Miss Pemberton in mock horror before laughing again. “I see what you mean. Gentlemen with numerous sisters tend to be the most palatable.”
“I’m afraid I’m a touch lost. I’m still stuck on ‘risking my masculinity.’ How on earth did I do that?”
“By saying the Marriage Mart terrifies you,” Miss Lennox answered. “I suspect it terrifies most men, but they’d never admit it. At least not to a woman.”
“I am not most men,” Graham said. “I will gladly disclose when something frightens me, especially the prospect of putting myself on display for the purpose of courtship.” He tried not to shudder and failed.
They started laughing again. “Oh my goodness!” Miss Pemberton drew a deep breath. “You must realize how amusing it is to hear a man say those things. We’re the ones who have to select just the right wardrobe and perfect all the best skills. We have to be beautiful, witty, charming, flirtatious without being fast, and most of all, biddable.” She made a face and settled back in her chair.
Miss Lennox nodded vigorously. “This is why I have forsaken marriage. It can’t possibly be worth the monstrous effort.” She gave him a pitying look. “I am sorry you must engage in the circus, but I understand that a duke has a duty.” She turned her head toward Miss Pemberton as her mouth bloomed into a beatific smile. “How lovely it is to be a spinster no one cares about.”
Miss Pemberton smiled in return, and Graham couldn’t help but feel left out. He also couldn’t help but feel completely stymied. Miss Lennox had made it abundantly clear she wasn’t interested in marriage. And yet she had said that if she were, Graham would be just the sort…
She drew him back from his thoughts. “And here I suspected you called on me to discuss how I’ve adjusted to inheriting a fortune.”
He pounced on that notion. “I did think it was something we would have in common.” He offered his most charming smile. “You came into your inheritance quite suddenly, I take it?”
“Yes. My great-aunt changed her will after I went to live with her. She told me as she lay dying that in her final months, I had made her happier than she’d been in years.” Miss Lennox looked away briefly, blinking rapidly.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She delicately cleared her throat. “Thank you. Now, I wonder if I might help you.”
He arched a brow, curious. “In what way?”
“While I am not interested in marriage, I may know other women—more mature women such as you would prefer to meet—who might be. Bluestockings and…spitfires.” She stifled a laugh so that it ended as a giggle.
Miss Pemberton grinned, then brief
ly rested her fingertip against her cheek. “I am not—yet—the pariah that Phoebe is. I’m sure I can come up with at least a few ladies who might be interested in meeting a duke.”
He needed more than a meeting. He needed courtship and marriage and not necessarily the courtship. But they had to be rich spitfires. Or at least one of them did. “I would appreciate that, thank you.” In the meantime, this arrangement would ensure he saw Miss Lennox again, and he could perhaps find a way to change her mind about marriage.
Miss Pemberton began listing names, and Miss Lennox contributed until there were seven. He wanted to ask if any were heiresses, but to do so would expose himself. He would need to conduct covert research. “I don’t suppose you could write those names down?” he asked.
“Of course.” Miss Lennox stood and went to a small writing desk, where she sat and quickly dashed off the list.
Graham realized this was the second time that week women had suggested other women to him. What on earth had happened to him? This was not the life he was used to. He flirted with women. He charmed them. He bedded them. The end. Hell, maybe he was a rake. He had no idea.
Miss Lennox rose from the desk, and Graham quickly got to his feet. She handed him the folded parchment. “Do let me know if I can be of further service. You seem a pleasant sort.”
Miss Pemberton stood, exclaiming, “Oh! What about Arabella? Why didn’t we put her on the list?”
“Well, now I feel incredibly foolish,” Miss Lennox said, shaking her head. “Yes, add Miss Stoke. She’s lovely—and you already know her.”
“I do.” And if he were honest, he wanted to know her better, if only to get to the bottom of why she’d lied to him. No, if he were honest, he wanted to know if she was an heiress. An heiress who pretended to be a retainer so she could walk her mistress’s dog. Only she didn’t have a mistress. Did Biscuit belong to her?
So many questions. He looked forward to getting answers.
Perhaps this heiress hunting wouldn’t be as bad as he’d expected. Conversely, it could turn into a total disaster, particularly if his desperate situation became known.
As he left Miss Lennox’s house, he was certain of two things: He was only incrementally closer to his goal, and he was an absolute, unmitigated imposter.
Chapter 4
“You look as though you’d rather be anywhere else,” Arabella whispered to her mother as they entered the Thursby ballroom after greeting their host and hostess.
“Not anywhere else, just at home with your father.” She took a deep breath and relaxed her brow, though she didn’t quite smile. “I do hope he eats while we’re gone.”
Today had been difficult. Some days he ate, some he nibbled, and some, like today, he couldn’t force himself to take any sustenance. Mrs. Woodcock had made his favorite pudding for dinner, and they were hopeful he would eat it.
“Let us not think of that,” her mother said, straightening her spine. “We must focus on the matter at hand, which will have the ultimate goal of improving your father’s health: finding you a husband.”
Arabella had drafted a mental list of eligible bachelors with the Duke of Halstead at the top. When she’d learned the handsome swordsman she’d met in the park was a duke, she’d been nearly giddy with excitement. Or at least relief. She’d found him engaging, which was more than she could say for most gentlemen she met.
However, he had called on Phoebe, and Arabella hadn’t yet been able to discover why. She’d been too busy managing the household while her mother focused on her father, and there hadn’t been time to pay another visit to Phoebe.
Mother looked over Arabella with a critical eye. “I wish we’d been able to afford a new ball gown,” she murmured. “But you did well with this.”
Arabella had taken one of the two new gowns they’d purchased last Season and had changed the ribbons at the sleeves as well as the embellishments at the hem and on the bodice. The dark rose dress was the same, but the new gold ribbons and sparkly gold beaded flowers gave it fresh life.
“The bandeau is especially charming,” her mother noted.
That was entirely new, made of a gold silk taken from one of her mother’s old gowns and adorned with roses and pearls. Arabella lifted her hand to the back of her head and gave her nape a slight stroke. “Janney is getting better with my hair.” The ladies’ maid portion of her job was not her forte, but she was learning, just as Arabella was.
Mother kept her voice low as the ballroom began to fill. “She is indeed. I look forward to when she doesn’t have to work so hard. To when we all don’t have to.”
Conversation had gathered around them, but there was a sudden lull. Heads turned toward the main entry, and everyone stared at the Duke of Halstead as he made his entrance. He registered the attention with a smile and was immediately waylaid by a group of guests. People began talking again, and Arabella heard the same word over and over: “Halstead.”
She hadn’t told her mother she’d met him. It wasn’t just that she oughtn’t to have met him at Phoebe’s house, but also that she didn’t want to raise her mother’s hopes. Although if Halstead followed through on what he’d said the other day and asked Arabella to dance…
The arrival of the Countess of Satterfield interrupted Arabella’s thoughts. In her late fifties, Lady Satterfield was a well-liked Society matron. Her stepson was the Duke of Kendal, and she had a reputation for helping young ladies navigate Society, including her daughter-in-law. The duchess had reentered Society as Lady Satterfield’s companion years after a scandal and had soon found herself wed to the duke. It was a heartwarming love story that young ladies like Arabella sought to duplicate for themselves.
After exchanging greetings, Lady Satterfield glanced toward the crowd surrounding Halstead. “Looks like we have a new reigning Untouchable.”
Arabella had heard of that name—a few years ago, a group of young ladies had taken to calling the most sought-after but reluctant-to-marry bachelors Untouchables. They often had nicknames such as the Duke of Desire or the Duke of Ruin. “Does Halstead have a nickname?” she asked the countess.
Lady Satterfield laughed. “I don’t think so. I suppose he’d be the Surprise Duke.”
“Or maybe the Sudden Duke,” Arabella’s mother suggested with a smile. It was nice to see her enjoying herself—and it didn’t seem to be an act.
“Oh, I like that,” Lady Satterfield said. “Have you met him?”
“We haven’t,” Arabella’s mother answered, and now Arabella definitely had to behave as if she hadn’t either. Hopefully, he would play along. If he even spoke to them this evening.
“I’ll be sure to introduce you. He’s a lovely fellow, very genuine. Inheriting a dukedom when one didn’t expect it could bring out the worst in someone. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with the Duke.”
“I don’t suppose he’s looking for a duchess yet?” The hope in Arabella’s mother’s voice was unmistakable—at least to Arabella. She added a lighthearted laugh, as if she were joking.
Lady Satterfield looked toward Arabella. “The Marriage Mart is a priority for you this year?”
“Yes.”
Lady Satterfield’s gray eyes widened briefly. “My goodness, I didn’t mean to make it sound as if you hadn’t prioritized it—when and even whether to marry is no one’s business, but of course, most of Society makes it their business. You know I am not one for gossip, just making conversation.”
Arabella gave the countess a warm smile. “You’ve the most generous heart of anyone in Society as far as I know. I don’t feel the least slighted by your query. The truth is I’ve had trouble standing out amidst the other young ladies. I’m afraid I’m not as…” She searched for the right word.
“Aggressive?” Lady Satterfield offered helpfully.
That was the perfect word. “Exactly. I suppose I was naïve to think the right gentleman would happen to cross my path. This Season I mean to be a bit more…focused.” She winked at the countess, who laughed
softly.
“Well done, my dear. If I can be of any service, I do hope you’ll tell me. You should meet Halstead. As I said, he’s quite charming, and maybe he’s just the gentleman you’ve been waiting for.” She turned her head, clearly seeking the duke out.
Arabella watched as the countess’s gaze seemed to meet Halstead’s. A few moments later, he was heading in their direction.
“How did you do that?” Arabella’s mother asked in wonder.
Lady Satterfield elevated a slender shoulder. “For some reason, the younger set responds to me.”
The duke arrived with much attention showered in his direction. However, he ignored it all as he bowed to the countess. “Good evening, Lady Satterfield. It’s a delight to see you.”
The countess dipped a curtsey. “And you, Duke. May I present Mrs. Stoke and her daughter, Miss Arabella Stoke?”
Arabella and her mother curtsied, Arabella holding her breath as she did so, waiting to see if the duke would pretend they hadn’t already met. He bowed in return, first to Arabella’s mother, then to Arabella, seeming to go along with the ruse. “It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
With an exhalation, Arabella relaxed. “Good evening, Your Grace. It’s an honor to meet you.” She put a slight emphasis on the word meet, just to confirm that they must pretend this was their first meeting.
“Lady Satterfield was just extolling your virtues,” Arabella’s mother said.
“Was she?” he asked, his left brow arching briefly as he glanced toward the countess.
Arabella tried not to stare at him, but it was impossible for her to look at him and not see his open shirt from the first time she’d actually met him—before she’d known he was a duke. Tonight, he was completely covered, however, and even more resplendent than he’d been at Phoebe’s. His dark coat was impeccably tailored, and she wondered what would happen if he picked up his sword. When he parried, would the seam split, or would the garment move with his athletic form?
