No Ordinary Duke: The Crawfords

by Barnes, Sophie

  “I know,” she whispered. “It’s the worst kind of torture.”

  Caleb smiled, pleased by her confession even if it did not offer either of them the solution they wanted. But to bed her would be a mistake unless they agreed to marry. A notion that seemed slightly premature considering their brief acquaintance. Not to mention the fact that she would never marry a peer.

  “There is some comfort in knowing we feel the same way, I suppose.” Stepping closer, he nudged her arm in a playful way. “It’s better than the unrequited affection Mr. Townsend is suffering.”

  A tiny smile pulled at her lips. “I suppose that’s true. I just…I wish…” Her hand caught the edge of his sleeve in a hopeless gesture.

  “Me too. But no matter how much we want, getting married would be a bit hasty, don’t you think?”

  She laughed at that. “Oh, indeed. You must forgive me, Mr. Crawford. I did not mean to suggest such a thing.”

  He laughed as well and took a step back. “I should return to work so I can fix the remaining leaks in the roof before it rains.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “The boys and I will stay here a while. They’re both quite eager to catch a trout.”

  “You didn’t tell them there are no trout in this lake, did you?”

  “No,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Should I have done?”

  He shook his head. “As long as they’re happily occupied and having fun, I see no reason for it. And who knows? They might surprise you.” Adding a wink, he turned about and walked back to the house, strangely satisfied with the conversation they’d had even if it hadn’t solved anything between them. But at least they both knew where they stood with each other now. Whether or not they would act on their feelings in the future remained to be seen, but for now he would content himself with knowing Miss Clemens desired him as much as he desired her.

  5

  “Mr. Townsend came to call when you were out,” Mary confessed to Emily and Cassandra while they enjoyed their afternoon tea together on the terrace. With shawls wrapped around their shoulders, the air was tolerable. They all knew the day would soon come when they would be forced back inside, so they chose to take advantage of what little dry weather remained.

  The girls, dressed in smocks, sat at a smaller table nearby with their paints, while Peter and Eliot kicked a ball around on the grass. Overhead, the occasional banging reminded Mary of Mr. Crawford’s presence. Their conversation earlier in the day had been both unexpected and enlightening. I want you too. Another rush of heat assailed her as she recalled the sensual caress of his voice as he'd said it.

  But he was right. For them to act on their mutual desire without her risking her reputation, they would have to form an attachment, and that meant marriage, which was something she'd promised herself she'd avoid.

  Besides, how well did she really know Mr. Crawford? He'd been friends with Cassandra's brother since childhood and was still friends with him today, which ought to vouch for his character. For although she didn't know the viscount very well, having spoken to him on only a few occasions, Cassandra had nothing but praise for her older brother. And the lengths he'd gone to in order to ensure his sister's well-being when their parents wanted nothing to do with her was telling.

  “Did he really?” Emily said in response to her comment.

  “He even invited me for dinner next week so I can meet his sister,” Mary said. She took a sip of her tea and allowed its warmth to soothe her.

  “Then his courtship of you is official,” Cassandra said.

  “Did you accept?” Emily asked.

  Mary nodded. “Yes.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “On the condition that Mr. Crawford escorts me.”

  Cassandra choked on her tea while Emily clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. It took a second for them to recover.

  Cassandra darted a quick look toward the roof and leaned forward in her seat. “Have you developed a tendre for him? For Mr. Crawford that is?”

  “We'd understand if you have,” Emily whispered. “He's marvelously handsome. And tall too. I mean, Mr. Townsend is good looking, but between him and Mr. Crawford...” Emily sighed while Mary tried to still the flutter in her belly.

  “I don't know,” Mary said. Was it a tendre or merely a physical attraction? “I cannot concentrate on anything when he is near. Or even when he's not. Thoughts of him follow me wherever I go.”

  “I felt that way about Timothy,” Cassandra said. “He and I were mad for each other, which is why we chose to give in to passion and live in the moment.” She smiled with a mixture of sadness and sentimentality. “I'm glad we did, because if we hadn't, Penelope wouldn't exist. At least through her, a part of Timothy survives.”

  Mary inhaled deeply. Compared to Cassandra who'd loved and lost, her own romantic complications seemed trifling.

  “Would you let Mr. Crawford court you instead of Mr. Townsend, if that were an option?” Emily asked. “Considering your reluctance to marry, would you be open to the idea of becoming Mr. Crawford's wife?”

  “I'm not sure.” And she knew he definitely wasn't either, or he'd have suggested that option instead of insisting they curb their desire. “I've grown accustomed to my independence, and I enjoy living with you and the children. To give that up is not something I can imagine doing.”

  “But will you still feel the same twenty years from now, Mary?” Cassandra placed her hand over Mary’s. “Can you honestly tell me you would have no regrets?” Mary shook her head with increasing uncertainty. “Then why not embrace the passion you feel and see where things lead?”

  “Because the last time I tried that it broke my heart.”

  Emily nodded as if understanding. “I know,” she said, “but unlike last time, you're not a young debutant pinning her hopes on the man who kissed her. You're a grown woman with the freedom to make your own choices now. If you want to marry, there's at least one man eager to have you, and if you don't, then that is fine as well. Furthermore, you have two very loyal friends who are willing to support you no matter what you decide.”

  “And if it is an affair with Mr. Crawford you want, neither of us would judge you,” Cassandra piped up.

  Mary squeaked while Emily responded with a giggle.

  “You cannot be serious,” Mary muttered. “The scandal would be—”

  “Nonexistent,” Cassandra claimed.

  “Think about it,” Emily said. “Nobody would have to know.”

  “Except us,” Mary reminded them. She shook her head. “I cannot believe we're discussing this. That you would even suggest it.”

  “Think of who you are talking to,” Cassandra said.

  “Well yes,” Mary agreed. “I can understand you, perhaps, but Emily?”

  Emily pursed her lips. “We are not living sheltered lives anyone. I have read a few books here and there, and I have listened to everything Cassandra has been willing to share. Which is quite a lot.”

  Mary stared at her in dismay. It was like looking at a completely different person from the one she'd been living with for the past five years.

  “And,” Emily added, “since I have never even enjoyed a man's attention, I can promise you, Mary, that if I ever have the chance to spend just one night with a man like Mr. Crawford, I will take it.”

  The glint in Emily's eyes and the fierce determination in her voice gave Mary pause. Unlike her and Cassandra, Emily had never even been kissed, and while her own experience with kissing had led to disaster, she didn't regret knowing what it was like. Which was probably similar to Cassandra's opinion on lovemaking.

  “I don't know if I can,” Mary told her friends. She picked up her teacup and stared down into the dark brown liquid. “Five years ago, I fell in love when Wrenwick kissed me. For weeks he courted me in secret, assuring me he would soon make our engagement official. But that never happened, because in the end, he didn’t dare oppose his father’s wishes.” She sighed with lingering disappointme
nt. “It took me years to recover from the hurt I suffered when I realized I didn’t matter as much to him as I thought I did.” She sipped her tea. “I cannot go through that again.”

  “Then wait a while,” Cassandra suggested, “until you figure out what you want.”

  “Miss Clemens,” Daphne said, drawing Mary's attention away from her friends, “can you please help me paint a kitten so it looks just like Raphael?”

  “I can try,” Mary said and set her cup down. Rising, she went to admire the girl's work. “But I cannot promise you I will succeed.”

  “You always say trying is half the challenge already solved.” Daphne moved aside and handed Mary her paintbrush. “I'm sure your attempt will be better than mine, anyway.”

  Smiling, Mary dipped the brush in a bit of brown paint. She'd think of her conversation with Emily and Cassandra later. Right now, all she wanted was a distraction from her ongoing contemplations about Mr. Crawford and the undeniable effect he had on her.

  Clouds were gathering by the time Caleb finished attaching the final slate tile to the part of the roof he'd worked on for the last couple of days. The women and the children had retreated inside a while ago, but only after the girls had completed their paintings. He'd paused his work when he'd seen Miss Clemens get up to help Daphne and had felt his heart squeeze in response to the nurturing image she presented. She was good with children and would make an excellent mother one day, if given the chance.

  By the time he'd gathered his tools and descended the ladder, rain had started to fall. Looking up at the darkening sky, Caleb could only hope the repairs he'd made so far would hold and that no additional damage would be done to the house during the night.

  The fragrant smell of meat roasting in the oven filled his nostrils when he entered the kitchen. His stomach growled in response, his body warming to the sight of Miss Clemens peeling potatoes while Miss Howard chopped vegetables and Lady Cassandra prepared some gravy. The atmosphere was cozy in its inclusiveness. It agreed with him more than sitting at the head of a long empty table while waiting for his meal to be served.

  But this was temporary. Eventually he would have to return to Camberly House and resume his duties.

  Banishing that unpleasant thought, he removed his damp jacket and hung it on a peg near the door. “Anything I can help with?” he asked.

  “You're welcome to set the table,” Mary said with a brief glance in his direction.

  Caleb nodded and went to wash his hands before going in search of the plates. Stacking them in his arms, he carried them into the dining room. A wry smile tugged at his lips at the thought of a duke performing such an ordinary task. His mother would probably be horrified. He laughed and shook his head. When he'd told her he needed to get away for a while, he'd failed to mention what he would be doing or how he'd be living.

  The door opened and Miss Clemens stepped in. “How are you doing?”

  “Have a look,” he suggested as he placed the last fork in its allotted spot.

  She surveyed the table, then looked at him with enough curiosity to make Caleb's stomach tighten. Her gaze grew assessing. “Why are you so good at everything you do?”

  He grinned while shrugging one shoulder and locked her compliment away behind his heart. “Experience and self-reliance, I suppose. I've never been opposed to trying new things, and since leaving home ten years ago, I have had to figure a lot of things out on my own. Setting a table properly, however, just requires a bit of attention to detail. Most people can do it if they try.”

  “I know. But most people might not know to align the edge of the plate with the edge of the table or to place the silverware as precisely as you have done.” She tilted her head. “It simply makes me wonder, that is all.”

  Caleb drew a deep breath. She was right to do so, of course. After all, how many laborers would think to fold the napkins to imitate fans? The foolish effort would likely give him away.

  But she chose to abandon the topic in favor of another. Moving toward him while her fingers trailed over the back of each chair, she quietly asked, “Is there a Mrs. Crawford I ought to know about?”

  Caught off guard, Caleb blinked a few times before he could answer. He decided to pose a question of his own. “Do you honestly think I would have said the things I said to you earlier if there were?”

  A flush filled her cheeks, but she kept her assessing gaze on him. “That is what I am trying to determine.” When he didn't respond, she pressed her lips together in a pensive way before saying, “I have misjudged people before.”

  “Is that why you left London and came to live here?” He had to ask even if she refused to answer.

  She dropped her gaze, and Caleb held his breath in anticipation of either enlightenment or disappointment. The only sound filling the room was the rain tapping hard against the windows.

  Miss Clemens shifted. Another second passed. And then, “Yes.” Hesitantly, she raised her gaze to his and showed him her mortification. “I kissed a man I should not have kissed and believed him when he said that we would eventually marry.”

  Everything inside Caleb revolted in response to those words, and yet he forced himself to ask, “What happened?”

  “I stupidly assumed our courtship was real, but as it turned out, I was not good enough for the gentleman in question. Or at least that is what his father said when he told me to stay away from his son.”

  Moving closer to her, Caleb stared down into her upturned face. “I am sorry you were hurt.”

  She smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “It is in the past, but the impact it had on my life...” She shook her head. “I was young and naive and convinced I was madly in love. But even if I'd wanted to consider another gentleman's attentions, none were forthcoming after I became known as a woman who sought to trap unsuspecting gentlemen into marriage.”

  Confounded by the cruelty she'd been subjected to, he could not think of what to say except, “Who started that rumor? Do you know?”

  “The father of the kissee.”

  Caleb's lips twitched a little. “The kissee?”

  “As in the victim of my unrestrained passion.” She rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. “Never mind the fact that he kissed me first and not the other way around.”

  The unfairness tore at Caleb's heart. “I don't suppose you'll tell me the scoundrel's name so I can give him a sound thrashing?”

  She smiled just enough to lift his spirits. “It is in the past, Mr. Crawford. Best not dwell on it.”

  “Right.” He could not stand the anger or the jealousy he felt toward a nameless stranger—a man who'd tasted Miss Clemens's delectable lips without valuing the pleasure of it. “You should know that the man was an idiot.”

  A touch of humor seeped into her eyes. “Really?”

  He met her gaze boldly. “All I know is if I had been the one to kiss you and court you, I would not have been able to walk away and forget you.”

  Her eyes shimmered in the candlelight, and Caleb took a step forward. He had to reach her, touch her, hold her...

  Miss Howard strode into the room with a steaming pot of vegetables. Lady Cassandra followed on her heels, carrying a dish with slices of meat neatly arranged next to a row of boiled potatoes.

  Caleb flexed his fingers and forced his attention away from Miss Clemens, who was now calling for the children to come and eat their dinner. He went to the table and took his seat between Daphne and Miss Clemens, as he’d done every evening since his arrival. Without even thinking, he placed a slice of roast pork on Daphne’s plate along with one potato and a spoonful of vegetables. He then cut up the meat and potatoes for her and removed the steamed carrots from the mixture of vegetables because he knew she did not like them.

  “Did you grow up in a large family, Mr. Crawford?”

  It was Lady Cassandra who’d asked the question, and Caleb glanced in her direction. “I had three brothers and quite a few cousins who visited regularly.”

  “Had?” Mi
ss Howard asked.

  Caleb strove for a casual demeanor and said, “My oldest brother passed away recently.”

  “Oh.” Miss Clemens jerked in her seat and turned her body more fully toward him. “I am so sorry to hear that.”

  “We all are,” Lady Cassandra said.

  “Thank you.” He reached for the various dishes and proceeded to serve himself now that everyone else had filled their plates. “His death has made me reflect on some of the choices I’ve made. When I fell out with our father ten years ago and left England with every intention of putting as much distance between us as possible, I also lost touch with my brother. He wouldn’t have known where to find me if he’d wanted to, while I just couldn’t bring myself to write and explain what had happened. His relationship with our father was so very different from my own.”

  “And your other brothers?” Miss Howard asked. “You said you had three in total?”

  Caleb nodded and took a bite of meat. “I lost touch with them as well and have recently discovered that they left England shortly after I did for similar reasons. Because our father wanted to control our lives.”

  “It would seem you’ve come to the right place then,” Lady Cassandra murmured. “The three of us are well acquainted with the pressure demanding parents can place on their children. When my parents discovered I’d conceived out of wedlock, they practically threw me at every available bachelor, desperate to get me married before it started to show. Miss Clemens and Miss Howard share similar experiences.”

  “I was ignored throughout every Season,” Miss Howard said. “When my fate became clear, Papa produced a suitor forty years my senior and told me I’d lost the right to be picky.” She pushed her vegetables around on her plate while quietly adding, “I have never cried so much in my life, but then I heard about Lady Cassandra and what her brother had done to help her. When I sought her out for advice, she suggested I come and live with her here.”