A Duke Too Far

by Jane Ashford

  “Are we going to begin?” asked Charlotte. “Why are you standing there staring at us?”

  Harriet straightened the pile of paper that sat before her. She didn’t look up, and Ada wondered if this had to do with Harriet’s place next to the duke at dinner for two nights in a row. It didn’t matter now, of course. Harriet hadn’t kissed him. The tactile memory of that kiss flamed through her. She had to shake her head to clear her mind. “There’s just one more thing,” said Ada. Under her friends’ eyes, she hesitated. “I invited Compton to help us.”

  “A stranger?” said Charlotte.

  “A man?” said Sarah at the same time.

  “Ada,” said Harriet.

  Ada resisted the impulse to take a step back. “This is his house, after all, and we are looking for a secret about his family.”

  “But when we’ve helped people before—” began Sarah.

  “You just want to flirt with him,” interrupted Charlotte.

  “No, I don’t. That is…” She did, Ada admitted silently. Not flirt, but spend time with him. Learn about the man whose kiss could linger in her mind and heart and right down to the tips of her fingers. But that wasn’t her only motive. There could be two quite different reasons for doing a thing, she thought. Equally strong. Or three, even. This was for Delia, too. She wanted to…complete her dead friend’s mission. “He knows all about this place. And Delia was his sister.”

  “Haven’t we made a vow that no gentleman will ever come between us?” asked Sarah.

  “No,” replied Charlotte. “We decided that was very silly.”

  “Decided when?” Sarah’s round face wasn’t well suited to annoyance.

  “It was more dispute than decision,” said Harriet. “And not resolved.”

  “Ha,” said Sarah.

  “We are not going to start one of Sarah’s endless debates,” replied Charlotte. “We have planning to do.” She tapped the page in front of her.

  “Mine?” Sarah sat straighter and glared at Charlotte. “You made us talk about different kind of charts for hours.”

  “That was important!”

  “He’s going to meet us here,” said Ada.

  Silence fell over the group.

  “Shouldn’t you have consulted us?” asked Harriet. Her reasonable tone was almost worse than Charlotte’s outrage or Sarah’s wounded gaze.

  “You never look before you leap,” said Sarah.

  Charlotte stood. “Well, I’m not going to—”

  The door opened, and the young duke walked in.

  Peter’s experience with groups of young ladies was sparse. Indeed, if he was honest, it was nonexistent. But there was no mistaking the uneasy atmosphere in the room. He’d felt the same awkwardness in the past, when he’d intruded on his father and his sister bent over some shared project. They too had looked at him as if he was an unwelcome diversion. He hadn’t cared for the experience then, and it was worse now, when one added illicit kisses to the equation. He nearly turned and walked out again.

  “Come in,” said Miss Ada.

  He looked at her, and then he couldn’t look away. “Am I interrupting?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  The warmth in her voice brought back other sorts of heat—the sight of her in a nearly transparent nightdress, the soft languor of her lips, the feel of her in his arms. Peter grew almost dizzy with it.

  “What sort of neckcloth is that?” asked Miss Deeping.

  He put his hand to his throat. He hadn’t been able to unearth a proper neckcloth this morning in the jumble that was his wardrobe. He’d tied on a spotted scarf, meaning to change, and then forgotten about it. Living alone, he wore whatever was nearest to hand. But he wasn’t living alone now. He needed to remember that. Peter tugged at the cloth, as if he could make it fashionable by adjustment. It was sometimes difficult to know you’d done something eccentric until you did it and saw the result. Miss Charlotte Deeping’s mocking smile, for example. How was he to make improvements in his wardrobe?

  “It’s rather like a Belcher neckerchief,” said Miss Ada.

  “Oh, is there going to be boxing?” replied Miss Deeping. “If I’d known we’d planned a bare-knuckles bout—”

  “Charlotte!” said the other three young ladies in unison.

  “She has brothers,” added Miss Ada, as if this explained something.

  Peter had no idea what they were talking about.

  “And you know very well you’ve seen them wearing odder things,” Miss Ada said to her friend.

  “Is that meant to be a recommendation?” asked Miss Deeping. “Because I must tell you it is not.”

  Peter decided to ignore the whole exchange. That worked sometimes. “You did say ten o’clock.”

  “Ha,” said Miss Deeping, as if this was an admission of guilt.

  “Did you bring the keys?” replied Miss Ada.

  He pulled the small ring from his pocket. “Yes.”

  “Charlotte will take charge of finding where they fit.”

  Miss Deeping scowled. Clearly she didn’t like being given orders. And yet she reached out, as if she couldn’t help it. Peter let her take the keys. “That will be a monumental task,” he said. “I don’t know how you will—”

  “I shall divide the house into sections and eliminate them one by one,” she interrupted. “Crossing them off on a grid I assemble. I assume you have architectural plans?”

  She seemed to imagine she was another Julia Grandison, Peter thought. But he refused to be intimidated. “For the modern wing, yes,” he answered. “The older ones were chewed up by rats.”

  “There are rats in your record room?” Miss Sarah Moran shuddered and held a book to her chest.

  “No longer. My father saw to that, with the cats.” He was fairly certain they’d swept out all the droppings as well. He had organized the family records, but he didn’t spend much time reviewing that long, sad saga of spendthrifts and scoundrels.

  “Sarah will look,” said Miss Ada. She turned to her friend. “You won’t have to go very far back to find Delia’s governess. The one I told you about last night.”

  “Are you assigning our tasks then?” asked Miss Harriet Finch quietly.

  For some reason Miss Ada winced.

  “What about me?” added Miss Finch with raised eyebrows.

  Her slender, auburn brows couldn’t begin to compete with Miss Ada’s, Peter thought.

  “They’re the sorts of things that Charlotte and Sarah always do.” Miss Ada’s voice had a pleading edge. “They like them.”

  Miss Finch made no reply.

  “I suppose you know where to find the plans of this wing,” said Miss Deeping to Peter.

  “I do indeed.”

  “Then you can get them for me.” She stood. “Which was your father’s bedchamber?”

  She seemed to think he was under her command. Outlandish neckcloth or not, Peter wouldn’t be chivvied. “What?”

  The dark, slender girl looked impatient. “That is the obvious place to begin with his keys.”

  “Ah.” He hadn’t thought this through, Peter realized. He’d been diverted by the prospect of seeing Miss Ada again. And then by sartorial embarrassment. He didn’t want a stranger poking through his father’s room, even though it had been cleared out after his death. “I will examine it,” he declared. “If I find nothing, you can begin a wider search.” He held out a hand.

  Miss Deeping hesitated, obviously reluctant to return the keys. After a moment she did, however. Looking sulky, she started toward the door. Miss Ada’s other friends joined her.

  “Not a word to Aunt Julia,” said Miss Ada.

  They looked at her as if she’d said something very stupid and trooped out. The door closed behind them with a definitive click.

  They left silence behind. And the a
ftermath of a torrid kiss, though they didn’t know that. Did they? “I don’t think your friends wanted me here,” said Peter. “Did you tell them about…last night?”

  “Of course not.” She sounded annoyed.

  “Well, girls confide all sorts of things, don’t they?”

  “Oh, are you an expert on girls?”

  “Far from it. Quite otherwise. That’s why I asked.” He held up his hands in surrender. The ring of keys jingled.

  “Charlotte would have enjoyed trying those keys.”

  “Of course her amusement is of paramount importance. But this is my house, and I do insist on being involved.”

  “Well, you are, aren’t you?” Miss Ada often seemed older than her years. But this remark might have been tossed across a schoolyard.

  “Why is this going so badly?” asked Peter. Last night she’d been eager and pliant in his arms.

  She raised her formidable eyebrows.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice clipped.

  “Well, why? Do you know?”

  She seemed to search for words.

  “I never understand why people don’t just admit that a situation is awkward. Wouldn’t it save a great deal of time?”

  “That depends on what is behind the awkwardness, I suppose.”

  “Which is what I’m asking you,” he pointed out.

  Miss Ada frowned. “My friends are trying to help you,” she replied. “And you were rude to them. Well, to Charlotte. You ought to be grateful.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “You don’t think you should be grateful?” She looked shocked.

  “That I was rude,” Peter said. “I simply wished to be the one going through my father’s bedchamber. It seems a reasonable desire. Wouldn’t you feel the same?”

  “You didn’t say it that way.”

  “It seemed obvious.”

  “Well, it wasn’t.”

  They faced each other across the table. He resented the change from last night, Peter realized. When his senses had swum with tenderness and desire. But they couldn’t repeat that venture into temptation. It might be better to be at odds. “I wasn’t the one ordering them about, which they didn’t seem to like, if I’m any judge.”

  Miss Ada’s face crumpled. She looked as if she might weep. “Sarah and Charlotte and Harriet are my best friends in the world. It feels as if I’ve known them all my life. I won’t be set against them!”

  “Of course not.” Peter was shocked at the idea. And envious of the bond they shared. He had no such friends.

  “I won’t take your part over theirs.”

  Could he ever wish her to? Might there come a moment… No. Every feeling revolted at the thought of asking that. And in any case, such a moment would not arise. Because he had to keep away.

  She gazed up at him, her dark eyes soft and pleading.

  If he stayed in this room, he was going to take her in his arms, to comfort her and more. “We shouldn’t remain alone together,” he said.

  Miss Ada stiffened. “Well, I suppose you should go then.”

  “And so I shall.” With a bow, and many vain regrets, he left her.

  Ada stood alone beside the long table. He’d actually gone! When he must have known that she meant just the opposite. It had been perfectly obvious. She sank into one of the chairs and rested her chin in her hands. Ella rose from her spot by the hearth and trotted over to paw at her skirts.

  “There is no reason to feel abandoned,” Ada said to her dog, reaching down to pat the little animal’s head. Yet she did—quite pathetically abandoned. Her…host had walked out on her. She’d annoyed her best friends. Stepped on their toes. Ridden roughshod over them. Their investigations had always been mutual. They tossed ideas back and forth. They rushed to volunteer for various tasks. They urged each other on. But not this time. She’d pushed forward without them, brought in a stranger. “He doesn’t even understand what an…honor it was,” she said to Ella. “‘Insist on being involved,’ he said. Does he know that he sounds like a schoolmaster?”

  Ella offered a sharp bark of acknowledgment.

  Ada sighed and turned to gaze out the window at the ruddy leaves of an oak tree. This morning had been such a prosaic contrast to their passionate encounter in the dark. A duke living in a ruined castle, with bats, ought to brood and simmer with passion, shouldn’t he? He should growl and rant. Seize the object of his desire and press her against a wall, kissing her witless.

  A small sound escaped Ada’s lips. The picture brought back every delicious sensation of last night.

  And then a memory of Compton tapping the bat out of the air at dinner rose in her mind, bringing a reluctant smile. He wasn’t gloomy. He was…unique. And she was glad, actually. She didn’t care for dour. And brooding quickly palled. Last year, one of Charlotte’s brothers had decided that a touch of Byronic sulking would make him interesting. A dreadful, and rather amusing, mistake. No, she liked Compton just the way he was—except that he might have made more of the opportunity just past. How often could they be alone?

  But she’d annoyed her friends. Which wasn’t right. She must go and apologize to them. Ada pushed away from the table and headed for the stairs, Ella trotting at her heels.

  Her own bedchamber was empty, but she found Harriet in the room she and Charlotte shared. “Don’t scold me,” Ada said before the redheaded girl could speak.

  “Is that what you expect? What have you been up to since we left?”

  “And please don’t answer me with questions, the way you do.”

  “Do I?” Harriet flushed. “I do. Sorry.”

  “Well, it’s very useful sometimes, when we’re trying to work out a puzzle. But not now.” Ada sat down, facing Harriet across the hearth. “I came to beg your pardon. Sarah’s and Charlotte’s, too. I didn’t mean to…manage everyone. I was hurrying.”

  Harriet raised her eyebrows.

  “And bringing in Compton without telling anyone,” Ada added. “That wasn’t right. I shouldn’t act the leader.”

  “But you are.”

  “No I’m not,” replied Ada, shocked.

  “You’re the one who begins things. We never would have come together in the first place without your conviction that Meg hadn’t taken that ring.”

  “But you all joined right in,” said Ada, startled.

  “We did. Once you insisted. If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have done anything. Mortifying, but true. I don’t think Sarah or Charlotte would have either. We’ve never acknowledged this, but perhaps it’s time.”

  Ada didn’t know what to say.

  “It’s a good thing, Ada,” said her friend. “Admirable. I’m so glad you goaded me.” Harriet smiled.

  “Well, but…bringing in Compton. Aren’t you going to tell me that my friends are more important to me than any gentleman?”

  “No.”

  “You aren’t?” Ada was surprised.

  “School is over,” said Harriet slowly. “Things will never be the same for us.”

  A sinking feeling came over Ada. “Well, not exactly the same, but—”

  “We aren’t living in each other’s pockets, knowing every detail of our lives. We won’t be, ever again.”

  “But we’ll always be friends!”

  “Of course we will. And we were all delighted to come on this journey of yours. One last time.”

  “Last?” Ada didn’t like the sound of that.

  Harriet gave her a sweet smile. “Haven’t you been thinking about the future? We’re all going to London next season, Ada. I can hardly wait. I’m sure we’ll see each other often in town. But we’ll be living with our own families, going about with them. And then we’ll marry and have families of our own. Perhaps it’s time to become accustomed to others becoming…attac
hed to our group. Gentlemen in particular.”

  This was unexpected. “I’m not sure Sarah would agree with you.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t. Now. But when it is her gentleman?” Harriet cocked her head, her smile broadening.

  It was odd to think of her friends with husbands, probably quite varied sorts of men. Ada tried to picture them as eight rather than four, but the gentlemen remained as vague as the groom in her dream. “Charlotte swears she will never marry.”

  “I know,” said Harriet.

  “You think she doesn’t mean it?”

  “Oh, she does. Now. But I suspect she will change her mind. We’re young. I intend to enjoy two seasons at least before I settle down.”

  “You don’t seem young just now.”

  Harriet laughed.

  “And you’re an heiress. You’ll have more choices than the rest of us.”

  “True.”

  Ada was surprised. Harriet usually evaded mention of her unexpected fortune. Her friends knew only that her inheritance would be very large.

  “And more trouble determining whether men like me for myself,” Harriet said. She hesitated, then added, “In fact, I’ve been wondering whether Compton may have heard how I’m placed.”

  Ada’s mind went blank.

  “He has shown a few hints of interest. Nothing marked, but—” Harriet fell silent, looking troubled.

  It was possible to have too many feelings at once, Ada realized. They jostled in her throat, and she almost choked on a combination of jealousy, a fierce denial that the duke could be so mercenary, and the knowledge that Harriet’s fortune would probably save his disintegrating estate. For the first time, Ada was envious of one of her friends. And she hated it. “How would he have heard about your inheritance?” she managed. “He doesn’t seem to know anybody.”

  “True.” Harriet looked relieved. “I mustn’t imagine things.” She grimaced. “My mother says word will spread like wildfire now that my grandfather has made his intentions known. And I must expect gossip and a great deal of attention. Some of it quite false. I don’t wish to seem arrogant, but I truly dislike the idea.”