“And you are clearly without wisdom at all,” she managed to say lightly. “But then, I suppose you have little to share.”
Had she gone too far? No, he laughed, and his appraising look now appeared a little surprised to hear her defend herself so astutely.
“You and Charlotte would agree on that point, I think,” he said good naturedly. “But I like to think I have a little sense. I am the gentleman, after all, that sought you out.”
Tabitha’s breath caught in her throat. His voice was serious.
“One of the better decisions of today.” The duke grinned. “I do not think I can give Lieutenant Perry the same praise.”
They were very much alone now. For some reason, they were being given a wide berth by the other wedding guests, though plenty of glances were being shot their way. Tabitha could not think why, but her mind was entirely occupied with attempting to keep up with the duke’s conversation.
“The lieutenant has done something to offend you?”
A dark shadow crossed over the Duke of Axwick’s face. “He has married, ’tis all, and there are few who would critique him for it, but I would not have advised it.”
A flicker of concern bloomed in Tabitha’s heart. A duke would never consider her for marriage, that would be ridiculous—but a small part of her, until that moment, had hoped.
“You think marriage is not advisable?” she managed to ask calmly.
He frowned. “Marriage of any kind is to be avoided, but a gentleman in Perry’s position, to be called to war at any time, never knowing what the next year will hold… ’Tis not a life for a woman.”
Tabitha’s face relaxed into a relieved smile. “So, you do not prescribe against marriage in general.”
“Ah, I must disagree with you there,” the duke said quietly. “Here, I will prove it to you. I will tell you something I have only ever told one other person in the world. I am never going to get married.”
Instead of impressing her, as he clearly intended to, Tabitha felt a surge of instant disappointment—and was forced to scold herself silently. What would a duke want with me? She had no connections, no cousins who were earls, or great aunts or uncles with honorifics after their name.
This was casual flirting, of course.
“Not going to be married?” Tabitha arched an eyebrow and allowed her right arm to fall to her side. “And have you made this decision based on the scarcity of eligible young ladies?”
“Nay, Miss Chesworth, there are plenty. Indeed, a very beautiful one is standing right before me.”
Tabitha’s body grew warmer, but her curiosity got the better of her, and instead of coquettishly playing along with him, she asked the question actually on her mind. “Why then?”
“Ah.” The duke smiled broadly. “That would be telling.”
“Yes, it would,” said Tabitha without thinking, taking a step closer. Her hand grazed his.
She was consumed by the sensation of him. Her champagne flute still clutched in her hand was now pressed between his waistcoat and her silk gown.
Their eyes met with such intensity that Tabitha gasped. Something strange was happening.
“Miss Tabitha Chesworth,” murmured the Duke of Axwick in a low voice only she could hear, “I would very much like to get to know you better.”
“Well then,” she whispered, losing all sense of propriety, all sense of where they were, and just speaking from the desire flaming through her heart, “there is no time like the present.”
The duke opened his mouth, and Tabitha’s heart skipped a beat, so thrilled was she to be saying these words. It was madness to be standing close to a man who had this effect on her, an effect she barely understood but wanted, but before he could say a word…
“Miss Chesworth? It is you I spied hiding away there near the fire!”
“Is it the missing bridesmaid? Thank goodness, we can make a full reel!”
The duke breathed out with a shaky laugh. “I might have said something rather wild there.”
Tabitha took a step back. The distance between them was empty and cold now, and she regretted it, hating whoever it was who was calling her away from this mysterious and delectable man. “And I might have listened to you. But duty calls, Axwick.”
He nodded, and without saying another word, she walked away from him.
It was a wonder she was able to walk at all, and when she thought about it later that evening, toasty and curled up under the bedclothes at home, with the heat of a warming pan defrosting her toes, she wondered how she didn’t fall over, so intoxicated was she with the duke’s presence.
She had not turned around as she had walked away from him. She had not needed to. She had felt his stare watching her every step.
Chapter Four
“God in heaven!” Richard’s curse was low, unintended for anyone else, not that it would have mattered. He had been alone for hours.
This was the last thing he needed, to open another box and find a mass of bills. He had been convinced the box cleared the day before was the last, but no. They kept arriving at Number Fourteen, Queen Square, Bath.
Even in the dim evening light, he could make out the name Arnold in a fine ink script, always paired with numbers: fifty guineas, one hundred pounds, four thousand guineas…
Richard leaned back in the peeling, leather armchair in his study. He should have listened to his instincts. It had been too good to be true when his butler, Matthews, had said it was the last of them. It was enticing, the thought that he had finally dealt with all his brother’s debts.
The fifteenth duke had had few friends but plenty of enemies. Renown for being loose with his cash, loose with his morals, and terrible at cards, he had been sought out and robbed over and over again.
Richard would have had sympathy for him if the fool hadn’t enjoyed it so much.
And now his brother’s club had sent a servant, and low and behold, Arnold had stashed another three boxes of debts there.
It was their father all over again. A candle guttered on the mantlepiece as Richard rubbed his tired, aching eyes. This was a painful and rather raw reminder of the pressure he had endured when he had been forced to go through his father’s debts three years ago.
The fourteenth duke had passed on his vices to his eldest son, while Richard, the younger and therefore ignored, had watched them drink and gamble the family wealth away.
When their father had died, it was Richard’s responsibility to try to untangle just how much the family coffers owed, while his good-for-nothing brother, Arnold, had done nothing about it—nothing but increase his own gambling stakes.
He was the duke by then, after all, not the heir apparent.
The study door opened, and without glancing up, Richard barked, “What now?”
There was a dignified silence. Richard looked up through untidy hair and saw Matthews in the doorway, apologetic…and holding an ominous, mahogany box in his hands.
“My apologies for interrupting you, your grace,” the butler said stiffly, “but this box has been delivered …by a bookmaker from the East End.”
“By the devil’s teeth,” cursed Richard, not bothering to keep it under his breath this time, head dropping to his hands. “Thank you, Matthews. Just add it to the pile, will you? I doubt I will complete it today, but best to have it all together.”
The butler obeyed, and without another word, exited the study, closing the door quietly behind him.
Richard muttered aloud to the empty room, “When will I ever be finished paying off these damned mistakes of the Axwickes?”
“As long as you do not make any new mistakes of your own, very soon.”
Richard jumped to his feet as his sister Charlotte rose from a high-backed chair drawn close to the fire.
She was holding a book and smiling. “I do not recommend Mrs. Radcliffe if you scare so easily, Richard,” she said in a serious voice. “’Tis not for the faint of heart, her novels.”
Sinking back into his chair, Rich
ard asked dryly, “And have you been enjoying the perils of Mrs. Radcliffe all evening, Charlotte?”
His sister moved gracefully around the boxes on the floor to sit opposite him at the rather grand desk—so grand, thought Richard, that perhaps they should have sold it.
“You returned from Lieutenant Perry’s wedding in an utterly foul mood,” she said starkly. “And you have not shaken yourself out of it since.”
Richard frowned. “Arnold left us in such a hole that ’tis taking all my energy to pull us out of it.”
Before he could stop her, Charlotte leaned forward and picked up one of the debts. “Can I help?”
Richard snatched it from her, incensed, embarrassment flooding through him at the idea that a woman—his sister!—would belittle herself with such matters. “This is my burden to bear, Charlotte, leave well alone. You are utterly useless in this matter and without a dowry, you are permanently stuck with me!”
The hastily spoken words rang out into the silent room. Charlotte’s hand was still outstretched, but her gaze had not left him. They were wide, full of horror, and brimming with tears.
In a rustle of skirts, she rose to leave the room, but Richard, cursing himself silently for his temper, reached out. “I apologize,” he said gruffly. “I did not… I have no wish to be cruel to you, Lotty. ’Tis just…”
Words appeared to fail him, and Charlotte glared with a sharpness he recognized: the Axwick fury.
He tried to quell the anger, the bitterness, the hurt that she thought he could not do it on his own and forced a smile.
“I am over-worn with guilt,” he said. “It consumes me, causing me to say things I have no right to—which are not true. I am sorry the Axwick estate has naught to give you, though you need nothing to tempt a gentleman to offer for your hand.”
He thought she would leave him in a temper and rightly so, but Charlotte said nothing as she lowered herself gently back into the chair. The tears did not fall, but Richard could not pretend there wasn’t hurt still in her features.
She spoke in a barely controlled voice, “I make a much better chaperone anyway.”
Richard felt his stomach contract painfully as he saw the bitter truth in his sister’s face. She was over thirty now and was invited to balls as a chaperone rather than as a dance partner—not that he would ever admit it to her face. Wild horses could not have dragged it from him.
“Nonsense,” he said gruffly. “Any man wise enough to see your beauty and your worth, Charlotte, will have an easy conversation with me. I swear it.”
She did laugh this time. “I am not sure whether a gentleman should ask you permission, Richard, you are so abrupt! And after all, all this concern may not be necessary. I could end up with a very nice dowry, if you were only to marry well!”
Her laughter did nothing to lighten his mood.
“You know full well,” Richard said a little more tersely than he had intended, “I have vowed never to marry. The line ends with me.”
“But Richard–”
“No,” he cut across her. “No, Lotty. The Axwickes have proved again and again to have tainted blood in the male line, weak blood, weak men. I will never wed, and the Axwick line will end with me.”
He had expected her to be solemn at his words and try to dissuade him as she had always tried.
But she laughed. “You were rather taken with Miss Tabitha Chesworth today.”
Richard stiffened. Miss Tabitha Chesworth had been forgotten when he entered the study four hours ago, determined on naught but the task ahead. But as soon as Charlotte mentioned her name, he was transported back.
By God, she was beautiful. They had stood together for some minutes, alone in a sea of people. He had moved closer to her, that delectable body, and she had not moved away—she had moved toward him, and he had felt the quickening of her heart.
She had not known her power over him, and he had seen the desire in her eyes. The way her eyes had flickered across his features, the curve of her smile as she suggested those delightful words…
“Well then, there is no time like the present.”
It was indulgent to lose oneself in tantalizing memories, but Richard was rudely awakened by laughter.
Richard scowled at her good naturedly. “’Tis no crime to allow one’s thoughts to dwell on a pretty woman.”
“No crime at all,” Charlotte countered sweetly, “unless of course, one has taken a vow never to marry.”
“That does not preclude…other things.”
His sister rolled her eyes. They had always been open with each other as children, and that had continued into adulthood. He hardly paraded his paramours before her, but Charlotte was under no illusion he found comfort in the arms of the beautiful and the…available…from time to time.
“Well, do not waste your time on her.”
Richard frowned, strangely eager to prove his charm suitable to bring down Miss Tabitha Chesworth’s gown around her ankles. “Why the devil not?”
Charlotte frowned. “Because I asked her cousin, the bride, and she told me Tabitha was quite open with her acquaintances about her desire to marry. To marry, Richard. Not be seduced.”
Richard smiled thoughtfully. Well, he had never been turned down before, and even the thought he could be refused was a rather thrilling one.
But only one or two of his previous conquests had been purchased with jewels or coin. The rest had been bought with flattery, and if there was one thing he was sure of, his tongue was more than enough of a tool to get women warm for him.
“I see no reason why I could not succeed,” he said aloud. “She is hardly a nun, is she, this Miss Chesworth?”
His sister shook her head. “No, but the rules of propriety are not ones easily set aside.”
Ah, the challenge. Richard shifted in his seat, the mere thought of wooing Tabitha causing him to get stiff. All women were essentially the same, after all. How hard could it be?
He said with a nonchalant air, “Charlotte, have you responded to the invitation to a ball from Lady Romeril?”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
Richard grinned. “I have a favor to ask—a new friend of yours to add to the guest list.”
Chapter Five
It was impossible not to be mesmerized by the swirling colors as a line of couples moved delicately, intersecting and weaving as they danced the La Royale.
Lady Romeril’s ball was not one to miss. Held each season in Bath, only the best people were invited. As Tabitha sipped from a silver goblet—Lady Romeril never missed the opportunity to show off—she marveled at the fact she had been invited at all.
There was a heady scent of lavender, punch, and people in the air. She was standing feet from the musicians, and she admired the way the candles flickered at the speed in which they played.
“—and of course, I had to accept.”
Tabitha started at Lady Romeril’s words and attempted to hide the fact she had not been listening. “You do not say, my lady? I had always thought—”
“I do indeed,” Lady Romeril said with a pompous nod of the head. “And at great personal expense, mark you—but then, anything the darling Regent asks of me, how could I refuse?”
The ability to nod infrequently and appear to be listening carefully was all that was needed. No one wished to hear her opinion. They just wanted to share their own.
She felt a gentle nudge, and Tabitha smiled at her friend Letitia Cavendish who had the misfortune of being with her when Lady Romeril had descended. As their host continued chattering, Tabitha’s eyes widened at Letitia, who stifled a laugh.
“…and so, Lieutenant Perry thought, when he delivered my wedding invitation personally…” Lady Romeril said impressively, turning her gaze back to her younger listeners and smiling regally. “It was awfully kind of him to deliver it himself, but then I was the guest of honor, you see—”
“Except for the bride, of course.” Tabitha bit her lip as soon as the words were out of her mouth. W
hat had possessed her to say such a thing—and to Lady Romeril, too, one of the matriarchs of Bath society?
Letitia had flushed with embarrassment on her behalf, but as Tabitha had suspected, Lady Romeril was paying her no attention.
“Yes, a very beautiful wedding,” she mused. “Few brides could have compared to me on my wedding day, but I do think Miss Mabel could be one of them. You were there, were you not, Lady Letitia?”
Letitia’s flush had only just begun to subside when she was called upon to make actual conversation with her hostess, and when she spoke it was with a splutter.
“W-Why yes, madam. I was honored to be invited.”
Lady Romeril beamed. “Did you not think…”
Although it was most impolite to allow her mind to wander, Tabitha could not help it. The room was hot, Lady Romeril most tiresome, and there was so much to look at.
Her gaze drifted back to the dancing couples. It was a different set, and one immediately caught her eye. Wearing a brilliant, scarlet gown was Miss Emma Tilbury, the mistress of the Earl of Marnmouth.
Tabitha stared at her, her dark cascading hair, haughty eyes, and the casual disdain for the rules of society. Miss Tilbury was dancing wildly, throwing her hands in the air and moving so quickly, her skirts flashed glimpses not just of her ankles, but her knees.
Tabitha lowered her gaze in embarrassment. Just the thought of being a gossiped-about mistress and invited to an occasion such as this, with the best of Bath’s society! She had heard of her; who had not? But it had been Letitia who had pointed her out as they had entered Lady Romeril’s home.
The music continued, and Miss Tilbury whooped. Tabitha stared, unable to keep her curiosity at bay. What was it like being so free, you did not mind what people thought of you? What was it like to care so little for society’s rules and morals that you would willingly allow a gentleman to…
Always the Bridesmaid Page 3
