Duke of Misfortune

by Blake, Whitney

  “What has that to do with this moment, right now?” Lee asked, truly not seeing the connection. He did enjoy the idea of her watching him, though.

  “You looked so lost in it. A man who can get so lost in the words of another cannot possibly be happy with anything less than a love match.”

  She sounded oddly convinced, and her logic, as unexpected as it was, made a certain sense. Lee could tell her that he’d given up the idea of romantic love a long time ago, and certainly did not deserve it now with the plan he was going to execute.

  He did not.

  Instead, he thought of how rare and wonderful it was that someone, any woman, was making such a supposition. He did not necessarily think that she’d uncovered a secret part of him—he thought he knew himself too well for that. She was mistaking passion for sentiment, surely.

  “Be that as it may—”

  “This would not be that, would it? We hardly know one another.”

  “Marriages have been formed on less,” said Lee, wryly, pointing out what they both knew. “And you must, at least, like me. You took a great risk. I should not have asked you to come with me.”

  “I wouldn’t trade it.”

  “But you will not marry me?”

  Miss Driffield looked away, her eyes unfocused slightly as her thoughts went inward. Once she had thought a little, she said, “I worry that you will grow to resent me. I am no titled lady. I wasn’t raised to become a duchess. It is not that I doubt my abilities, but I doubt how my temperament would fit a life like that.”

  There were so many selfish, rude titled ladies who hid behind their wealth and enormous privilege and were never brought to task for their behavior. Even Lee, who had really been on the outside looking in at the ton, knew that. “I believe you would fit it more than most who have been born to it.”

  So far, he had only thought of the pragmatic need to marry, not ahead to the days that would follow such an event. In this moment, he let his imagination drift to the inevitable: their wedding night, if their kisses were anything to judge by, would be exquisite.

  It had never occurred to him that she would be a bad duchess, or that her rank—or lack of it—was a problem. Father might have scoffed at it, but that was one variable Lee did not have to worry about.

  Why, even Thomas would have had little to say against a woman whose fortune was vastly—

  Here he was at that, again.

  “I don’t know if I can have an opinion other than the one I have,” said Miss Driffield. “You have never seen me lose my temper.”

  “On the contrary, I think I have!” he smirked and touched his eye lightly.

  “That wasn’t temper. That was something else,” she replied. A slight frown overtook her face.

  “What was it?”

  “I enjoyed kissing you so much that it startled me, and I panicked.”

  The earnest, glum confession made him chuckle. “There, you see? Many marriages do not boast of that.”

  “Boast of what?”

  “Tension. Heat.” He leaned toward her, now, the way that she was leaning toward him. She didn’t recoil at all. “The sense that if anyone makes the wrong—or right—move, everything will combust.”

  She opened her mouth and vaguely tongued her lower lip. Lee knew he had her, then.

  “I’d no idea it existed,” she said, trying to sound less interested than she was. It endeared her to him, but he wouldn’t have any problem if she was more noticeably aroused. Unlike many others, he would not view it as a character defect in a woman of quality.

  “Then from my perspective, things could be much worse for us.”

  Almost guiltily, she admitted, “Some of the thoughts I had did involve putting an end to my mother’s unshakable quest to see me married off. You are, by far, the…” she trailed off, perhaps thinking something carnal—he hoped something carnal—or endeavoring not to insult him.

  He closed the small distance between their foreheads and kissed hers. “Then let me do right by you.”

  It seemed almost laughable if he thought about how his life had been less than a week ago, but he was about to propose to this woman, a woman who exceeded all of his younger daydreams of what a wife should be. Clever, mercilessly beautiful, opinionated—and not a wisp of a thing he might feel he could accidentally crush at any second.

  There was still a tiny shade of doubt in her eyes, but he could tell that common sense, whether a right or wrong invention, was winning against her ethical qualms. She might have spoken boldly about not minding if her reputation was torn, but he knew as well as she did that it was not quite true.

  Resolutely, he was not thinking of his own quandaries. Those he would confront later, in the dark, with a potent glass of something to hand.

  “Your Grace, I…” she bit her lower lip, almost where she had just licked it moments before. “Yes, I… though, you did not do wrong by me, exactly; I don’t want you to think so…”

  Lee shifted from the settee as fluidly as he ever might have on the stage and got to one knee. He had to take advantage of her lull in speaking. He’d done this before, but only a role, and so the crouch came naturally to him.

  Miss Driffield went mute and fixed her eyes on his. She seemed to go slightly paler under her freckles, but there was the ghost of a smile on her face.

  “Will you do me the honor of accepting my proposal, Miss Driffield?” Gently, Lee took her left hand and held it.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Far less than stunned when Mrs. Driffield chose that moment to bustle into the parlor, Lee did not hurry out of his position.

  “I don’t know if that Roderick was a good choice for the new footman, as it took him simply ages to fetch me, Your Grace…” with the timed practice of a bad actor who tried to seem as though she was not at all bad, Mrs. Driffield brought a hand to her breast, eyes taking in Miss Driffield on the chair with Lord Valencourt kneeling. “My word.”

  “I have proposed marriage to your daughter, Mrs. Driffield.” Lee thought it would be the best tactic not to acknowledge the nighttime, theatrical transgression that had inspired the proposal. He wanted neither woman to comment on it, as it might instigate a deeper conversation than he was ready for. He squeezed Miss Driffield’s hand. “Perhaps I should apologize for my abruptness?”

  “No, no, don’t be silly—ah, I mean to say, do not concern yourself, Your Grace.”

  As her mother continued to flap about in excitement, Miss Driffield said into his ear, “And must I continue to call you Lord Valencourt or Your Grace or Valencourt, always?”

  He was not prone to blushing, but he felt sure that he was. He shook his head. “I told you that Emilian is my name.” No one would use it but her, and he wanted her to reclaim it from his brother and father, who’d made it sound dirty and undesirable.

  “It’s lovely.”

  “When do you think the wedding should be, Theodora? I always like the palettes of spring and—”

  “Why do we not enjoy the moment, Mother, and consider such things later?”

  “Of course, that is the correct and proper thing to do, isn’t it?” Mrs. Driffield collapsed onto a chair and got up almost as soon as she’d sat. Lee gawked at her before curtailing his natural response to her agitation. “Heavens, I must tell Mr. Driffield.”

  “Father is in the garden,” said Miss Driffield, tolerantly, her face still very close to Lee’s. Her mother glanced at the two of them, hesitating as she clearly weighed whether it was proper to leave the room. They were an engaged couple, but they were a very newly engaged one.

  “Go on, Mother, do tell him! He shall be very cross if he doesn’t learn of this immediately.”

  Miss Driffield tugged at his hand and he took that to mean that he should reseat himself on the settee. As Mrs. Driffield all but sailed out of the parlor on self-created waves of happiness, he said, “So she expresses everything so candidly, not just censure and disappointment.”

  “Oh, yes… it’s most tiring but,
sometimes, it’s also endearing.” Miss Driffield did not hide her laugh. “When she is happy, worried, upset, melancholic… I am sure that neighbors and the whole of Mayfair must also know.” He could listen to her laugh for hours, and when she sobered, he still smiled. Oh, this was terribly dangerous for his common sense and sense of self-preservation.

  “Well, now they will all know good news,” said Lee.

  Her lips pressed together for a second, as though she were thinking about whether it really was. He respected the logical reasons for which she’d said yes to him, as well as the way she’d surmised he was a man of passion. Yet he would not be able to bear it if she regretted doing this. The consequences were quite clear if she chose an alternative, but he hoped she was past considering one.

  Once asked, he had started to think she would make a wonderful duchess. She’d probably be more practical than him, and she was charismatic enough to win the staff and servants over—what few of them were left, anyway.

  “I believe, Emilian,” she said quietly, and it made his bones turn to liquid gold, “that if we are to discuss anything so intimate and pleasant that you’d best call me Teddie.”

  “Teddie?” Charmed, he could not stop himself from beaming.

  “There was another Dora in town. She said we could not share the pet names.” Teddie rolled her eyes in an unseemly show of disdain. “And I was younger, with uglier hair.”

  Adamant, Lee took her hand again, this time from where he was sitting normally, and said, “It is not. I’ve been itching to say since the night we met that I adore its color. I should think it would be amazingly hard to mix such a shade if one were to attempt to paint it.” Teddie dimpled rather than smiling fully, and there was a question on her lips before he could compliment her further. “I used to paint, yes.”

  “And why did you give it up?”

  Mr. Judd died to become the Duke of Welburn, thought Lee.

  “It became impractical.”

  “Perhaps you can take it up again, later?” Teddie played with her thumb on the inside of his palm. “After we’re married and settled and you’ve explained to me what a duchess does with her days.”

  That, Lee did not have to struggle to answer. Although he wanted to kiss her like a fiend, he feared that would startle her, so he confined himself to bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing them each very softly. “I know what this duchess will do with her days.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You might be the first man in the history of man to propose to the woman who gave him a black eye—and especially with the eye still freshly colored.”

  Lee carefully touched under his eye. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

  “You’re a quick healer. If I hadn’t really known it was there…”

  “Well, that’s something.” The afternoon was replaying like Lee was slated to be locked away for losing his mind, and it felt about as surreal. He was filled with optimism when he thought that Teddie was now to be his wife—and torn with conflict when he thought about the circumstances of his proposal. But as always, over supper with his oldest friend, the world seemed a little less complicated.

  The Albany was quiet and serene, with each set commanding the respect of its neighbors. Paul leaned over and refilled both of their glasses with wine, managing to do so as smartly as the most seasoned butler. It was very late and he’d insisted on privacy, though indubitably Bloomfield could hear everything they were saying.

  “And you know, when I said you should woo her, I didn’t expect it to have such quick results,” said Paul.

  “You didn’t count on my charm.”

  It was easy to be glib, to be merry, in the company of his friend and another bottle of wine. Things would be fine. But deep in the back of his mind, Lee could not stop the little, doubting voice that asked him if he was really doing the right thing. He was lying, or at least concealing the truth, to take advantage of her situation for his own ends. He hadn’t expected things to move this fast, but he couldn’t have let her entire world collapse.

  Only a cad would refuse to marry a woman he’d ostensibly compromised. It didn’t matter if they hadn’t done anything or the circumstances had been innocent. Society would have painted it differently.

  He must have been doing the right thing. Teddie would be safe, even elevated above her station. And, he thought bleakly, it was either this or allow his entire estate and means of survival to crumble. That meant not only his own life suffering—many others’ lives would, too. There were servants and tenants and communities to think of.

  Many more than just steadfast Clements and Mrs. Yarrow. She, at least, had found a new position in a bakery, of all places. And in a clumsy apology that he couldn’t quite afford, Lee had rehired Clements back into his set of employees. He was rather old, but unimpeachable in his professionalism and work.

  Considering the number of people Lee had depending on him was both silly—what an archaic system, he thought—and sobering.

  Teddie herself was far better to think on. His fiancée.

  “I didn’t count on you asking her to sneak out to go to the theater,” said Paul. He shook his head. “What on earth possessed you?” But there was a teasing note in his words and Lee thought that he was secretly proud of the audacious suggestion. “What on earth possessed her?”

  It had not been uttered out of a desire to mislead her, no. But it was extremely unseemly, and he’d never asked a woman to do something like it before.

  No one would dare print licentious things about a duchess, would they?

  Even as he thought it, he knew it was naive. They had, they were—especially if one considered the outrageous Lady Hareden, Duchess of Bowland—and they would. “It is no matter. I’ll tell anyone who will listen that it was an outing between two intended partners. Her maid was there.” Lee raised his eyebrows. “She was chaperoned.”

  A paltry claim to make when the venue in question was a theater, but nonetheless somewhat of a defense. That they were engaged would be the larger bulwark, and all Lee would have to do to spread that around was bend the truth a little bit. He’d had plenty of practice at it of late. He just wasn’t sure if it would catch up with him.

  “I am certain of it,” said Paul. “But what a creative choice of meeting place.”

  “She said she’d never been to a theater.”

  “Your one, true love.”

  “Well…”

  Paul took a sip of his wine and regarded Lee sympathetically. “I’m sure it will all be all right. Just don’t get lost in that head of yours, and you’ll pull through. She likes you, from the sounds of it, and I would expect that to go a long way toward future happiness.” He glanced at his wine glass and eyed the ruby liquid as it caught the light. “Poor girl.”

  “Being stuck with me?”

  “No, being stuck with a mama like hers. While I can understand that you don’t like the deception you’re creating… or the lack of transparency… I wouldn’t say any woman you married was ‘stuck’ with you, my friend. In some ways, you’re working our grand, obscure codes of honor and conduct much like the wily mamas and society darlings.” Paul considered his own words. Amused, Lee waited for him to finish his thought. “That’s all the ladies of Almack’s do, isn’t it? Selectively divulge… gently manipulate…”

  Benevolently, Lee shrugged. He didn’t know. He also didn’t have an opinion, really. Society was Paul’s hobby, not his. It was a pity that they could not just trade their titles. Lee would far rather have lived as a bachelor in a London set, and although he had never exactly seen Paul take responsibility for much, he felt that Paul would make a better duke than him. In theory, dukes could also have as many mistresses as they wanted, provided they married and had an heir.

  Yes, he thought, he was most likely the most inept and ill-suited person to become one. Even now that he was engaged, he had no interest in taking other women to bed. Teddie had, somehow, eased her way into his veins like spirits warming his blood.

&
nbsp; It didn’t seem like she was dull or docile enough to marry just anyone, but Paul raised a good point. The point unsettled him. Teddie herself had admitted that a good portion of her motivation in accepting his proposal was precisely to stop the carousel she was riding in the marriage mart. He had to add that pragmatism and foresight to the growing list of reasons why he was captivated by the woman.

  *

  “Emma, I just don’t know if…” Teddie sighed.

  Everything was, for once, going right. Too bad it all felt a little wrong, the way one’s ears did if one was on the brink of catching a head cold. Nothing was glaringly a problem, but something nagged at her all the same.

  “It’s only happened so quickly,” said Emma. “If you’d had more time to get used to the idea of things, I am certain you would not feel bewildered.” Her sister was not without empathy, but she seemed to believe that for sneaking out of the house and being seen, Teddie deserved some consequences. “This is not the worst thing that could have come from your…” She raised her eyebrows. “Little excursion.”

  Bess, who was taking in the hem of one of Teddie’s dresses a few feet away from them, gave a small cough of amusement.

  Emma narrowed her eyes at her. “You should have stopped her, Bess.”

  “Oh, I am glad I went. It was so refreshing to see a part of London from which I have been remote,” said Teddie.

  “For a good reason. Many good reasons, I believe.”

  Like many other things, it was probably the case that Emma would not understand why the adventure had been important to Teddie. Though, it had drastically changed her life in ways she had not expected. Teddie looked out the window and relaxed in her seat. Perhaps in time, the women of her family would learn to forgive her impulsiveness.

  If Father had an opinion on what she’d done, he’d kept it to himself.

  Either way, it did not matter. The scene had been set and she was to be married.

  At least His Grace… Lord Valencourt… Emilian… was not at all bad to think about.