Dukes, Actually: 12 Dukes of Christmas #5

by Erica Ridley

  Adam deeply regretted his drunken confession about the fortuneteller and following the signs. “She said I’d see five gold rings. Not one hundred and five. I’m far past that amount, which proves her wrong.”

  “Or it proves you’re too stubborn to take a hint,” Swinton said smugly, and melted back into the crowd before Adam could respond.

  Was he missing his best chance at happiness? He hadn’t wanted to reduce Carole to nothing but a temporary lover, but nor had he made her a better offer. Would he? Could he?

  What would New Adam do?

  New Adam wasn’t shy and awkward but bold and confident. New Adam wouldn’t waste time wooing the wrong women when the right one was there in his sights. When it came to choosing a wife, the only preferences that mattered would be his own. So what did he truly desire?

  He didn’t just want Carole to be happy. He wanted to be the one who made her happy. The one who stood at her side, no matter what. The one she loved, as much as he loved her.

  Equal parts fear and panic twisted in his stomach. His chest tightened until his galloping heart threatened to break free. His palms were clammy; his throat too dry to speak.

  Being in love wasn’t the end of the world, he promised himself. Neither was being shy. But he’d vowed not to hold back with her. Not after all this. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t seize the opportunity to be completely honest with her, come what may.

  And they had a good thing, did they not? No—a great thing. A splendid thing. Spinsterhood was unnecessary. Marriage was a huge step, but worth the leap if they could take it together. Surely she’d see that.

  Maybe she’d see that.

  He squared his shoulders. Old Adam would not have tried to win the hand of the girl of his dreams because he knew he’d be too shy to succeed. New Adam would probably always be awkward at such things, but he was going to try anyway. There was no one else he’d rather spend the rest of his life with.

  It was about time he let her know.

  Chapter 15

  Carole’s cheeks ached from the effort of maintaining a happy expression. She hadn’t stopped talking and smiling for hours. Introducing her favorite people in the world to Adam should have been a joyful occasion, but instead she felt like an automaton; performing exactly as she was programmed to. And it was her own blasted fault.

  Adam hadn’t sprung this party on her as a surprise. He’d been candid about his reasons for visiting the village she called home since the beginning. She’d volunteered to help him, for the love of crumpets. They both understood the game. She had been the one to try and change the rules with an intimate encounter on top of his sofa.

  Him gently refusing to complicate something simple had been the right answer. The only answer.

  Just look at this party. A roaring success! He wasn’t standing in the corner glaring wordlessly at his guests, but mingling. Conversing. He’d even played half of a billiard game with Lucien le Duc before so many people crowded the room as to make wielding a cue impossible.

  She’d liked Adam from the first, but now he was even better. More engaging, more magnetic. With or without deep pockets and a fancy title, when he returned to London for the Season, ladies would be lined up at Almack’s to waltz with him.

  At least she wouldn’t be there to see it.

  Carole turned back to the party. She could cope with this. She’d prepared for this. It was what they both wanted.

  When at last the night had stretched so long that dawn was bleeding into the sky, most of the guests returned to their homes and only a few stragglers remained.

  “Wait,” Adam said softly, his warm lips brushing her ear. “I need to talk to you.”

  They had spent the past six hours repeating pleasantries and introductions until their voices went hoarse, but there had been no time to talk. She wasn’t certain she wished to. Or that there were any words left in her throat at all.

  Yet her feet stayed planted in the middle of his drawing room as he and his butler masterfully shooed the rest of the flock out the door without them noticing they were being evicted.

  Once again, she and Adam were alone.

  It didn’t feel like before. Perhaps nothing ever would.

  “Carole,” he began, his expression serious and stern.

  She waited.

  No further comment seemed forthcoming.

  “It was a good party,” she assured him, the words tumbling over each other like dead leaves. “You will be the toast of the ton next Season, I swear it. Gentlemen begging for billiard games, ladies swooning over each other left and right, vying for the chance to be your duchess—”

  “You.” He drew himself up, as tall and imposing as he must appear when he addressed his peers in the House of Lords. “I want to marry you.”

  She blinked. Apparently two could change the rules.

  “No, you don’t,” she reminded him. They both knew it could not work. “You want a High Society debutante with good blood, advantageous connections, a large dowry, vast properties, and an Almack’s voucher. I have none of those things.”

  “I know.” His expression was tortured. “It doesn’t matter. What we have is better.”

  He meant this, she realized in wonder. This was a real proposal. If she said yes, he would do it.

  The exquisite crack in her heart made her realize she would do absolutely anything to keep him in her life… except ruin his.

  She wasn’t haut ton. He’d spent the evening being introduced to all the “connections” she had. There were no family estates in her dowry. The amount wouldn’t even cover what he’d spent on new windows. There was no Almack’s voucher. She’d never even been formally presented to Society.

  Marrying her wouldn’t be an advantage. It would be an albatross.

  “Adam,” she began, and then stopped. The truth was too hard to say.

  The only reason he thought he wanted her was because he’d never had a connection like this with anyone else. It wasn’t Carole who was special. It was the novelty of coming out of his shell.

  When he returned to London, more secure and more confident, he would discover that any number of women would be delighted to be the object of his attention. Waltzes, promenades, even billiards. Carole wasn’t unique. In a matter of weeks, he would find someone just like her who could also offer all the other characteristics that she could not.

  With that woman, with the better choice, he would be able to achieve so much more. Not just enrich his duchy, but expand his connections, be more popular with the set in Parliament. The thought made her shake with panic and jealousy and bitterness. But for every problem, no matter how hard, there was always one right answer.

  She kissed him on his cheek and whispered, “No.”

  The only solution was goodbye.

  That was it. The last of the few belongings Adam cared to keep were loaded into his coach. Two hours past dawn, and his driver was already waiting for him beside the carriage.

  Under other circumstance, Adam might’ve taken one last walk through the cottage, just to be certain he wasn’t leaving anything important behind. But today he could not bear to look at the billiard room. He knew exactly what he was leaving behind.

  Carole had said no.

  He gripped the doorframe until his knuckles went white. The idea of walking away from this cottage, walking away from Carole, made him dizzy. His heart was incomplete without her. Yet he would have to go to London alone. Have to marry someone else, knowing full well his heart was hundreds of miles north.

  Perhaps Carole would wed someone else, too. She claimed she didn’t want to, but maybe she just didn’t want to marry him.

  He could try to convince her, but her happiness came first—and, frankly, so did his. Having to talk an unwilling woman into marrying him was not the equal, loving union he’d been hoping for. If she didn’t want him, then she wasn’t the right one after all.

  “Ready, Your Grace?” asked the driver.

  It was then that Adam realized
his proposal had lacked the most important words of all. He’d gotten the Marry me bit out, and forgotten the I love you. His stomach twisted. He covered his burning cheeks with his hand. Of all the henwitted mistakes a lovesick swain could make during a proposal…

  Then again, she hadn’t said she loved him, either. Or asked about feelings at all. Her answer was just… no.

  He would have to respect her wishes.

  “Ready,” he said with a sigh.

  John nodded and swung the carriage door open.

  Adam turned to Swinton. “Let’s go. I won’t be coming back.”

  The barest flash of pain cut behind Swinton’s stoic eyes. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  Devil take it. Adam’s heart twisted as he stared back at his butler in belated realization. Swinton would do whatever he was told, even if it meant leaving the woman he cared about behind. The stubborn codger was loyal to a fault. Adam swallowed the tight lump in his throat.

  “I can’t ruin both our lives.” He gestured at the open cottage door. “Stay.”

  Swinton’s voice was stern. “I’ve looked after you since you were a child, Your Grace. I won’t stop now. If you go, we both go.”

  They went.

  Chapter 16

  Sleep was impossible. Staying awake wasn’t any better. Carole missed Adam, missed her sketchbook, and had missed the perfect chance to explain to him that the reason she’d said no wasn’t because she didn’t care about him, but because she did.

  Would it have made any difference? Probably not. Thoughts of her would vanish the moment he was back in the beau monde, surrounded by aristocratic beauties who could offer endless things that Carole could not. She slumped atop her writing desk. No matter who he married, she would always be the first one to love him for who he was.

  None of this had been a game. She couldn’t let him leave without a proper goodbye.

  Leaving Judith to sleep in for another hour or two if she could, Carole ran out of her house without bothering with her hair or the wrinkled state of her day dress, and banged upon Adam’s door with the knocker.

  And banged.

  And banged.

  It wasn’t until a sleepy-eyed young footman opened the door that she realized coming to call at nine o’clock in the morning after a party that had ended at dawn wasn’t exactly the best idea she’d ever had.

  “Adam,” her mouth blurted. “Is His Grace awake?”

  “I couldn’t say, Miss.” The footman stared back at her, his expression blank. “He isn’t here.”

  Not… here?

  “He went into town at this hour?” she asked in disbelief. “Where in the world would he—”

  Not. Here.

  “Gone?” She whispered to the footman.

  He nodded. “I’m afraid so, miss. Left for London a couple hours ago.”

  “When will he return?” She regretted the question as soon as it was out of her mouth. Of course the footman wouldn’t know the answer.

  He shook his head. “Never, Miss. He took what he cared about, and said he wouldn’t be back.”

  A blade of regret sliced through her, jagged and searing.

  She’d always believed that the best thing about being a dedicated spinster was never risking the pain of loss. Not ending up like her father. But she did lose. Without even having the years of bliss first.

  This was her fault. Not Adam leaving; they’d both always known it would come to that. But he didn’t have to leave so suddenly. With so many things unsaid between them.

  “Miss?”

  “Thank you,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to rouse you from slumber.” She started to turn away, then thought better of it. “When you speak to Swinton, can you ask him—”

  “Can’t, Miss.” The footman made an apologetic face. “Left with His Grace, Mr. Swinton did.”

  Carole stared at him in horror, her heart beating too fast. She’d ruined Judith’s chance at happiness as well as her own. This was going to destroy her.

  Just as it was destroying Carole. There was nothing left for her here.

  Somehow, she stumbled down Adam’s front walk and back into her bedchamber. She shut the door firmly, crawled up into her fourposter bed, and closed the curtain tightly.

  Darkness. That was what she needed. And her pillow. And a good cry. But the tears didn’t come, no matter how long she lay there, staring blindly into the dark. They didn’t come until Judith crawled in beside her and said it wasn’t Carole’s fault. Sometimes people leave, even when we love them. Sometimes they leave and never come back. That was life. All they could do was carry on.

  The days blended together. Carole stayed in her dark hideaway where it was safe. Where she could pretend she was still dreaming and might wake up at any moment.

  The rattle of a tea tray jerked her back to the present. She waited in silence for the sound of the tray sliding onto the table and the metallic latch of the door, indicating Rhoda had returned to her duties. The tray rattled onto the table. The door did not close behind the maid.

  Carole slipped a finger in the crack between her curtains and gasped.

  Her father sat on the dressing stool next to the tea tray.

  “What are you doing?” she stammered.

  He poured two cups. “You didn’t keep our billiards match.”

  A hitch somewhere between a laugh and a sob tangled in her throat. That was what it had taken for her father to take an interest in her life.

  “Did you wait long?” she asked bitterly.

  “Two days.” He stirred a lump of sugar into one of the cups. “But I’m getting better at making your tea how you like it. Do you want some while it’s still hot?”

  Father had been bringing in her tea trays?

  “I…” was all she managed.

  He tied the curtains to the posts, then brought two steaming teacups to the edge of the bed. “Sit with me?”

  She sat up and accepted the warm cup. “You forgot the saucers.”

  “I’m not very good at this,” he answered lightly, but his eyes were full of pain. “I’m not good at this, love. I haven’t been good at anything since your mother died.”

  Her heart twisted. “I’ve been trying to help. I—”

  “You’ve been singlehandedly running this household since before you were old enough to leave the schoolroom. In my grief, I let you. I shouldn’t have. I closed myself away when you needed me most.”

  “I didn’t mind helping,” she whispered.

  “That’s how you dealt with your grief. If you personally filled the hole, then maybe there wouldn’t be one. Being in charge gave you a purpose. Making decisions about the menu made you feel you still had some say over life. I know, because I was doing the same thing, up in my study. I couldn’t save your mother, but maybe I could save more money for our household. I just had to research a little more. Sell this stock. Buy that bond. Concentrate on the market.”

  She stared down into her cup and nodded. “I knew you were working.”

  “I wasn’t working, sweetling. I was running away. I was hiding inside ledgers and books and numbers. Sound familiar?”

  “Maybe.” Sketchbooks, billiards. Geometry she could predict. Drawings she could control. “So what do we do?”

  “We stop running away and start running to. That’s why I came here to you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What do you want?”

  What she couldn’t have.

  “The duke next door?” Father guessed, his gaze fierce. “If he hurt you—”

  “He asked me to marry him,” she blurted. “I said no. He doesn’t really want me. I’m not duchessy enough.”

  Father frowned. “What do duchesses do that you can’t?”

  “I don’t know. They organize parties and decorate homes and manage households…” At her father’s smug expression, she clarified, “big ones. For important people.”

  “Did he mean it?” Father asked. “When he asked you to marry him?”

  She sighed. “
It doesn’t matter. He left.”

  “You said no,” Father reminded her. “Maybe he needed a moment to hide, too. No one is perfect, love. Nothing ever is. But when it’s right for you… say yes.”

  “It’s too late,” she said dully. “He’s in London by now, with a gaggle of debutantes quacking at his heels.”

  Father’s lips quirked. “I can’t imagine you quacking.”

  “I missed my chance to find out,” she said with a little shrug.

  “Did you?” He rose to his feet and lifted a folded square of parchment from the tray. “Seems to me, your Great-Aunt Murray invites you to London every Season.”

  “I can’t go,” she stammered. “You need me here.”

  “You needed to be here,” he said softly. “You tried so hard to be useful that you never noticed when you turned into the most capable young lady England has ever seen. If you want to go to London, you have my blessing. Do what your heart tells you.”

  “In that case…” Hope began to blossom. She hooked her arm through her father’s. “You and Judith are coming with me.”

  Chapter 17

  Carole rolled back her shoulders and stepped into a magnificent Mayfair town house. Mrs. Sands, the owner of the town house, was bosom friends with her great-aunt Murray.

  Mrs. Sands had also landed the enviable coup of having the most eligible bachelor on the Marriage Mart accept her invitation to tonight’s soiree.

  Carole and Aunt Murray were running late. Judith had spent no less than an hour curling and pinning and arranging Carole’s hair. She’d told her maid not to bother, that by now he’d have a dozen paramours.

  “Not anymore,” Judith said when she finally let her out the door.

  But now that she was here, in the grandest residence she’d ever seen, surrounded by the crème de la crème of High Society, Carole once again felt like the green country girl she’d always been. How was she meant to compete with elegant ladies dripping in jewels and draped in the latest fashions?

  She forced one foot in front of the other anyway. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. Maybe coming all this way was all for nothing.