“He was a national hero first.”
She suppressed a smile. “And is it so horrible, the requirements of being a duke?”
“When I am untouchable and can disregard the opinions of all others, then it isn't horrible at all. Rank and wealth do have their advantages.”
She smiled at him. “Then you are not in want of a wife to be a political hostess for you? Win all your campaigns with her charm?”
“Heaven forbid!”
She laughed.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think yourself a good prospect for a political wife? Should I find you a swain of the House of Commons?”
Her heart gave a thump, and she turned away quickly. “No, a political hostess I will never be.”
Chapter 15
“I have discovered the most wonderful thing, Your Grace!”
William looked up from the map he was perusing, laid out on a table in the library. He raised a brow, concealing the thrill that went through him at the sight of Beauty’s bright smile turned in his direction. She bounced on her toes. The sunlight caught in her hair and lightened her eyes.
“Mrs. Haskins plays the pianoforte.”
“Yes?” That was not news to him, though he supposed Beauty might not have known it.
“But, as well, Harold the gardener, he plays the violin. Or the fiddle, as may be.”
”That is interesting. Were you in need of a fiddler?”
“He used to play with a traveling orchestra that played at balls and parties!”
“Indeed?”
“He knows all the dances. Says he’s settled now, so he could marry his Mabel, but he still plays. Even the waltz.” She grinned up at him.
William raised both eyebrows. “Oh, horrors.” And it was, rather. He wished she would stop pursuing the subject. He did not, would not dance.
“Oh, do not frown, Your Grace! It is the most delightful thing. Why, we could have dancing this evening after dinner!”
“Dancing.”
“Yes!“
“And who would be dancing in this after-dinner impromptu?”
“Why, me, and, well, I suppose I could recruit a footman or two. Perhaps your butler knows how to dance? Or, you could dance with me?”
Did her cheeks flush? No, they couldn’t have; it was the warm sunlight on her naturally rosy cheeks.
“I do not dance.” He looked back down at the map before him.
“Even if it is just me? It would not be in company. We have no guests this evening. I checked with your mother.”
“Yes, but she would be there, attended by her servants, and Lady Judith and her sharp eyes. And don’t forget Mrs. Haskins and Harold the gardener . . .” He gave her a narrowed eye.
“They are loyal, are they not? Or we could have them play in the music room, and have everyone else leave the room, or face away from the door, and it could be just you and me and your mother. She will enjoy the music.”
“I do not remember how to dance, even if I could accomplish the steps.”
“I could go over them with you, and it wouldn’t matter how you looked because—”
She was not dropping the subject. His knee was bad enough he had almost lost the leg. Graceful, he was not. Coordinated, he was not. And he would not subject himself to the humiliation of failing at a dance.
“Miss Reynolds.” He drew himself up and gave her his most ducal stare. “I have made myself clear, have I not?”
She winced away from him, like he might strike her, then wilted, crestfallen. “Forgive the impertinence, Your Grace.” She curtsied and walked rapidly away.
He closed his eyes.
***
Beauty walked along the corridor beside the portrait gallery, hurrying back to the duchess’s sitting room. She’d been sent to fetch another ball of indigo-dyed wool for the duchess’s current knitting project.
She heard women’s voices speaking but paid no mind until the words became clear. It was Lady Judith, hidden in an upcoming alcove, Beauty realized. She was speaking low, but her voice was one that carried even when she might desire otherwise.
“That upstart! I know she is conniving to take the duchess’s place, though the duchess doesn’t pay me any mind when I tell her, and I have! But that girl is a low-birthed vixen.”
Beauty slowed, tense, her heart rate leaping, her eyes wide.
“Has the duke ever shown interest in any other lady?” It was Mrs. Lightly, a recent addition to the county, visiting her daughter Lady Tison. They were sitting in an alcove in the portrait hall, out of sight, and surely thinking they were out of hearing of the corridor as well.
They were not.
“Oh, yes! He was affianced to Lord Dillon’s daughter Lady Louisa. But it did not prosper. I should not spread tales, but as I was witness . . . He loved the lady very much and then discovered she did not return his feelings! She was happy to become his duchess, but anything further . . .” Lady Judith trailed off insinuatingly.
Mrs. Lightly gasped.
“Words were said, tears were shed, but the duke broke the engagement.”
“He did!”
“The lady would not break it herself, you see, but he refused to marry her after discovering how she felt about him. ‘Disgusted’ is the word that she used to describe her feelings toward him. Her father sued for breach of promise, and our dear duke did not contest. He paid handsomely for the privilege of not marrying the lady!”
“And no other has turned his head?”
“None suitable, I can tell you. And this Beauty person is the worst yet! No, what is liable to happen with such a person in the household is that she come with child and then need to be paid off, and the child provided for.”
“What can you do?”
“I’m doing all I can to ensure they are never alone.”
Beauty’s stomach roiled, acid rising up and burning her throat. She hurried her steps, moving to her toes to try for silence. She prayed to not be discovered by the ladies trading vicious gossip.
Beauty must stay away from the duke. She must!
Tears pricked, but she pushed them back. She knew she was not meant for a duchess or for the duke.
Her face burned as she thought of how she’d lately been cajoling him to dance with her. How forward she had behaved. And how much Lady Judith would have felt herself justified in her opinion of Beauty if she had succeeded in convincing him.
But the duke didn’t dance with upstarts. Lady Judith need not fear.
Beauty would not seek him out.
But it seemed, in the days that followed, that it was the duke who sought her out at every turn. He trampled over her resolution by attending every morning practice, joining her biweekly rides, showing up daily as she walked in the gardens, and drawing her out into conversation at dinner.
She ought to push him away, but she found herself unable to do it.
She was even grateful for Lady Judith’s narrow-eyed presence. It was all that reminded Beauty to keep her distance, and to keep to her place.
***
He caught her in the ballroom. The shrouded chandeliers hung low, suspended only a foot or two over the elaborate inlaid floor, swaying like cumbersome ghosts on their long chains. They were lowered for their yearly cleaning. The specialists would begin tomorrow.
Beauty danced in between the chandeliers, waltzing in the arms of a ghostly, invisible partner, performing a gliding, turning step through the dust-cloth covered forms.
She swirled around the largest central chandelier that hovered over the inlaid wood rosette, moved in and out and around the hanging shapes as if they were other dancers—clumsy, clunky, ponderous, and inelegant next to her graceful pointed steps and balletic turn of ankle.
His breath caught.
She was so beautiful.
If she were the one with the title, ‘Your Grace’ would fit her in every way.
She would have that title if she married him.
>
Marry me, Beauty.
His inadequacies struck him anew.
He would look ridiculous next to her, Farmer Will beside the princess, no matter the actual positions of their birth and circumstance.
He had often thought on the irony of his title, of being called ‘Your Grace.’ There was nothing graceful about him. Not anymore.
She loved to dance and only wanted a partner. How could he deny her?
Perhaps he could bring in the gardening violinist for her and find a footman who hadn't two left feet and order him to dance with her. William need not ruin her graceful steps by attempting to stand up with her himself.
But his stomach clenched at the thought of any other man holding her, drawing her close to him. Society may have accepted the waltz, its close hold and single partner, but he . . .
Would Beauty look up into the eyes of the footman, tall, handsome, and whole, and fall in love? How could she not?
Then William would be down a footman, needing to replace the hapless man and get him away, far away, from Beauty . . .
William forced himself to breathe in and out. He identified the emotion that tormented him.
Jealousy.
***
“Miss Reynolds.”
Beauty paused her movement. The duke stood beyond the shrouded chandeliers. Beauty’s face heated. She had been caught.
He had been adamant about no dancing, but surely her dancing by herself, not bothering anyone . . .
“May I join you?” the duke asked.
“Of course.” She backed away, giving space for him to walk between the lowered chandeliers as well. “It is fascinating to see them when they are lowered like this.”
“I mean, I—” The duke reddened—he reddened!—and gave a bow. “May I join you in this dance?”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. He was asking her to dance! Joy rose up in her. But then she bit her lip, looked around. They were alone, though the doors were open. Lady Judith was not in sight.
He frowned, appeared nervous, like he might take back his words and retreat. No, she wanted to dance with him!
“Yes—yes, happily.” Delight filled her, and she smiled up at him, walked forward, held out her arms to him.
He appeared to gulp. He put his hands at her back and unexpectedly pulled her into him. Her breath caught as her chest came in contact with his abdomen. She looked up, up into his face—it was quite scarlet now—and she could not help but giggle.
“If you are intending a waltz, Your Grace, that is not quite the correct position.” She pulled back, twisted, and arranged his arms more properly, his right hand at her upper back, her left hand on his shoulder.
“There. Now, take a step forward, as I take a step back.”
She went through the steps with him, the wobble from his weak knee making it harder to accomplish the steps, true, but his own self-consciousness making it ten times worse.
She moved them away from the lowered chandeliers to give them room to move, and they worked for several minutes, her stepping back to demonstrate the box step, him trying, then in position together again.
As awkward as their dancing was—and it was quite abysmal, she had to admit—he was absolutely, completely adorable.
All ducal command and self-possession was gone, and what was left was a boyish blush, biting his lip in concentration, and grimaces as he wobbled.
She couldn’t keep back her giggles every time he almost knocked her off her feet.
“Again,” she said and held her arms out for him to take dance position again.
He gave a noise of disgust, grabbed her with both arms and . . . picked her up, her body pressed to his, her feet dangling.
A gasp escaped her. A look of determination overtook his face, and he swung her around in a circle. And another. They spun. She threw back her head and laughed. He joined her. They laughed in the pure joy of movement.
He stumbled. She yipped in alarm as they tumbled. His long arms tightened around her, and they landed with an umph of forced-out breath.
She was on top of him. He let out a sound that could have been a whimper of pain.
She was hurting him.
She scrambled against her skirts, stepped on them, became tangled. Her knee went where it ought not.
He grimaced, and his arms tightened around her. “Peace, Beauty. Hold still.”
She paused, looked down on him, her breath rapid. Her ringlets fell forward, narrowing her vision to only his face before her. As she held still, his good eye focused on her, his pained expression clearing and becoming something much different.
His arms moved, his hand rested on her cheek, his thumb stroked her cheekbone. Her skin flamed under his touch. Her breath caught.
He breathed in deeply, his barrel chest expanding under her, her body rising and falling with each breath he took.
Was that tenderness in his expression?
“Ahem. Do you require assistance, Your Grace?” The butler’s voice broke the spell. She struggled to remove herself from on top of the duke again, mortification running through her.
His arms tightened, constraining her. He sat up, taking her with him. She gasped as he scooped his arm under her legs and caught her up against him, his other arm behind her back.
“I—I am able to stand.”
A strange devilry lit in his gray eye. He did not let go but moved his own legs under him, and with a strained subvocalization, lifted both their weight and stood.
“Your Grace!” She yelped and threw her arms around his neck as the movement rocked her.
He held her like a groom about to take his bride over a threshold, and the intensity of his gaze sent lightning through her body. It thundered through her with each rapid pulsing of her heart.
“Your Grace!” Her voice came out small.
His expression didn’t take on remorse or self-consciousness. He let go of her legs and turned her until she was flush against him, her legs dangling, his arms around her back. He lowered her slowly to the ground. She swallowed.
He was so strong.
Once her toes touched the floor again, his arms loosed, and she backed away, her cheeks flushed and her breaths rapid. She pulled her eyes away from him and straightened her skirts.
“Thank you for the dance, Miss Reynolds.” He bowed, turned and left, his head tall, and his limp more pronounced than it had been before.
The butler raised a brow but said nothing as he followed the duke out of the ballroom.
***
That had been . . .
William limped painfully away, willing his blood to cool and his heart to calm.
It was high time he investigated Beauty’s claims of issues with the new Clayden Hall steward. The letters of inquiry he had sent had proved inadequate.
He needed some time away from her, or else he would be blurting out unrestrained proposals next he saw her.
And that would never do.
He sent servants to make all ready for his departure, kissed his mother’s cheek in goodbye, avoided meeting the soft brown eyes of the woman he loved who sat near, and was on the road in an hour.
***
Beauty overheard the maids talking the next day.
“Unless she’s grooming her to be the next duchess?”
“Nah, can’t be. She 'as no birth at all. Common as dirt. And no wealth to make 'er low rank acceptable!”
“Then the duchess seems right foolish, putting such a pretty thing so near the poor duke.”
“She can’t not know the girl’s a beauty. She calls her Beauty!”
Beauty was quite sick of all of it.
Her heart clenched.
But the interrupted dance in the ballroom did not seem to have come to the attention of the duchess or Lady Judith, for which mercy Beauty was supremely grateful.
***
He had been gone for over a week.
She missed their practices together.
Despite knowing he wasn’t there, and that she should not be yearning to be with him, she found herself looking for him every morning, expecting to see him around every bend of the path in the gardens, and filled with sadness when she did not find him
Chapter 16
“Beauty! Good! You are still awake!”
Beauty looked up from her novel, and a thrill of shock ran through her from head to foot. The duke stood before her in the dim light of the few candles still burning in the drawing room.
No, it was Will Grant, his clothes rough and travel-stained, his blind eye uncovered. A grin overstretched his face, and he stood tall, shoulders broad. He held out an ungloved hand to her. “You must come.”
“Your Grace! You’re back!” She scrambled to her feet.
“Just arrived. I’ve been riding hard to get here in time.”
She blinked a question to him.
“It is the perfect night. Forgive me for being gone so long. My task took more time than I had anticipated. But tonight is perfectly clear, the moon is only a sliver past being full. And I’ve caught you before you retired, thank heavens! Because . . .” His grin was infectious, and a joyous excitement radiated off him. “I want to show you the heavens.”
The duchess and Lady Judith had retired hours ago, but Beauty had been caught in the gothic novel they were reading, and she was burning the candles low and far too late into the night.
“Tell me you’ll come with me?” The chill of the outdoors still clung to him, as did the scent of horse. A heavy wool cloak was around his shoulders.
“Come where, Your Grace?”
“Not very far.” He smiled down at her, his hand waiting.
She dropped the book onto the settee, her place in it lost. She paid it no mind. How could she refuse the boyish excitement in his eyes?
She put her hand into his. It engulfed hers, large and warm.
He pulled her along, his long uneven strides forcing her to half run. He picked up a lit lantern placed on a side table and led her along darkened corridors, the servants long abed.
She shouldn’t be doing this. Walking in the garden during daylight was one thing; she should not follow him in the dark of night. But she could not resist this strange excitement in his eyes. It drew her in and caught at her heart.
Beauty's Rose (Once Upon A Regency Book 4) Page 10
