Duchess Diaries [2] How to Pursue a Princess

by Karen Hawkins

  Margaret had to fight a flare of temper. Randolph had done nothing to deserve such a snub. The man was beyond rude. What have I gotten myself into?

  Kirk limped to the chair she’d indicated by the fire. She noted how he leaned heavily upon his cane as he walked, moving as if one leg would not bend properly. He didn’t wait for her to be seated, but sank into his chair, wincing visibly.

  She sighed in exasperation and took her seat. “Your leg must pain you in this cold weather.”

  He cast her a sour look, making the lines upon his face even more pronounced. “A brilliant assumption. Will you next note that my eyes are brown and that I favor my left hand?”

  That did it. “Alasdair, stop being a prig.”

  He flushed, but after a short silence, he burst into a deep laugh that surprised her. “I haven’t heard that name or that tone since my mother died.”

  He looked so much younger when he laughed that Margaret’s heart softened instantly. “Your mother would never have stood for you acting in such a manner. Now come. What brings you?”

  Kirk leaned the cane to one side. “I came to you for help and I can see that, because of my blasted temper, I’ve somehow managed to raise your hackles. Ironically, that is why I need your assistance.” He gave a sour smile. “Your grace, as you’ve noticed, I’m not very good at the niceties. Since my wife died seven years ago, I’ve lived alone and I rarely mingle with society. I fear that’s ruined what few graces I once possessed.”

  “So I see. I can only be glad that your mother is not alive to find out. She would have you by the ear for letting all of her hard work disappear.”

  His eyes gleamed with humor. “So she would have.” His voice, a deep, rich baritone, warmed. “She wasn’t afraid to let her opinion be known.”

  “Far from it. I always admired her for that.”

  “She admired you, too, which is why she named you my godmother.”

  “You were one of my first.” Margaret sighed regretfully. “I cannot help but think that if your mother were still with us, you wouldn’t need me to assist you in your current predicament.”

  “Ah yes. My predicament.” His expression darkened. “When I came to you some months ago, we spoke of a—”

  The door flew open and Lady Charlotte flew into the room, a book tucked under her arm and one hand on her mobcap, which sat askew, the lace flapping over her ear. The pugs began barking hysterically as they ran toward the door.

  “Hush,” Charlotte scolded.

  The pugs lowered their barking to an occasional woof, and wagged their tails instead.

  She paused to pat one or two before she hurried to where Margaret sat. “Lud, Margaret, I had just reached the page where Rosaline kisses Lord Kestrel when a footman practically dragged me into the foyer and— Oh! Lord Kirk!” On catching sight of his face, she blinked, but recovered quickly and curtsied. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t see you there.”

  Kirk inclined his head as if he were a king, but made no move to stand and welcome Lady Charlotte.

  Margaret had to fight the urge to reach out one of her slippered feet and kick him in the shin for his lack of manners. “Lord Kirk, you remember Lady Charlotte?”

  “Of course.”

  “How do you do?” Charlotte came forward, her hand outstretched in greeting.

  Still not rising, he shook it politely enough, but when Charlotte took a seat near Margaret, he frowned.

  Margaret waved her hand. “Pray continue, Lord Kirk.”

  “No, thank you,” he replied in a curt tone. “I don’t wish my personal matters to be discussed in public.”

  Charlotte, tucking her book away, smiled sweetly, her soft blue-gray eyes fixed on him. “Oh, but I already know your personal matters. All of them.”

  “Lady Charlotte is my confidante,” Margaret added. “Very little happens at Floors Castle without her assistance.”

  Kirk’s mouth thinned, but after a moment of inner struggle, he gave an impatient sigh. “Fine. I don’t suppose it makes any difference at this point. Your grace, several months ago you offered to assist me in fixing my interest with Miss Dahlia Balfour in exchange for a favor that I found most distasteful.”

  “That of pressing her father, Sir Balfour, to repay a loan you’d so generously made him. I remember.”

  “Exactly. I had no need for that money and I would have gladly made it a gift, but for reasons you never explained, you felt it in the best interest of everyone concerned that I press for repayment, which I did.”

  “Your actions sent Lily Balfour running to me, her godmother, looking for assistance. And with happy results, too.”

  “Very happy,” Lady Charlotte said. “The happiest of all.” In case Kirk didn’t understand, she leaned forward and whispered, “Marriage.”

  An impatient look crossed his face. “Are you saying that because I pressed for repayment of that loan, Lily Balfour attempted to contract an eligible marriage?”

  “She didn’t ‘attempt’ to contract an eligible marriage; she did so. A most eligible marriage, in fact. She’s blissful.”

  Kirk’s lips thinned. “While the outcome might have been happy for Miss Lily, it was less so for me.”

  Margaret arched a brow. “Oh? Sir Balfour hasn’t repaid you?”

  “Yes, he has, but my issue is not with the funds, but with Miss Dahlia’s opinion. Because I pressed her father for the payment of that loan, Miss Dahlia now thinks I’m the lowest, vilest, most reprehensible man to walk the earth.”

  Margaret tried to look surprised, but must have failed, for Kirk’s brows lowered to the bridge of his nose. “You knew she’d be angry with me.”

  “I didn’t know. I merely suspected.”

  “And yet you still asked me to pursue that route, even though you knew my feelings for Miss Dahlia.”

  “Oh!” Lady Charlotte clapped her hands together. “You have feelings for Miss Dahlia. How lovely!”

  “No, it’s not lovely,” Kirk snapped. “Dahlia Balfour sees me as no more than an older, decrepit neighbor who rudely pressed her father for the repayment of a loan that sent her sister off to sell herself in marriage!”

  Charlotte’s smile faded. “Oh. That does sound quite villainous.”

  Margaret tried to rally. “Kirk, I’m sure Miss Dahlia was a bit put out, but she’ll come around.”

  “No, your grace. She’s more than ‘put out.’ She’s furious.”

  “Nonsense. It’s been several months since the incident; surely she’s softened some.”

  “You don’t know Dahlia if you think she will soften her feelings toward anyone she believes has insulted her family.”

  Margaret waved aside his words. “Surely she knows that Sir Balfour was at fault for asking for that loan to begin with.”

  Charlotte nodded. “And for pretending that he wanted the funds to do something for his daughters, as he told you when he first borrowed the sum.”

  “That was a lie,” Margaret continued, “for he spent it on expanding his greenhouses and in buying roses, which he breeds.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he did with the funds,” Kirk said firmly. “Dahlia’s protective of her family, right or wrong. And now she believes that I selfishly demanded those funds and, apparently, sent her sister running off to contract a marriage.”

  Margaret sighed. “So you think the harm is irreparable?”

  “She won’t speak to me, won’t answer my letters, won’t even look in my direction when we meet. It’s as if I’m dead to her.”

  “Oh dear.” Charlotte looked at Margaret. “This may be more difficult than we imagined.”

  Margaret thought the same thing, but she wasn’t about to give up before she’d even begun. “Lord Kirk, whatever ill Miss Dahlia thinks of you for your involvement with the loan I can rectify when she comes to visit by simply telling her the truth—that you pressed for the loan at my request.”

  “You can’t tell her that, for then she’ll want to know why I agreed, and you cannot ad
mit that it was because I wished your help in securing her affections. We are stuck, your grace. We cannot admit the truth.”

  “Oh dear,” Charlotte said again. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Neither had Margaret. “We’ll think of something, so never fear. Let me put my mind to it. Meanwhile, there are other issues to be addressed.”

  Kirk rubbed his temple and Margaret noticed how long and beautiful his hands were, like those of an artist or a violinist. It was odd to see such a thing on such a gruff man.

  He dropped his hand with a sigh. “Your grace, this was a mistake. I came to you because I—” He scowled. “To be blunt, I’m desperate. I’ve lived a solitary life since my wife died and I’m not fit company for someone as lively as Dahlia.”

  “You’re a widower?” Charlotte asked.

  “My wife died on our return from India seven years ago.”

  Charlotte clicked her tongue in sympathy. “Did she die from a spider bite? There are over twenty types of spiders in India.”

  Margaret looked at Charlotte. “How do you know that?”

  “There was an article in the paper. I read it just yesterday.”

  “No.” Kirk’s voice crackled with impatience. “My wife and I were sailing back from India when a fire broke out on the ship. We didn’t realize it, but in addition to our luggage, the ship was carrying kegs of gunpowder.”

  “Goodness! How dangerous.”

  “I found out later that the captain had hidden the kegs on board to make additional money.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “That must have been devastating.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Margaret’s heart tightened at the bleakness in Kirk’s voice. “Lord Kirk and the surviving crew were left adrift for several weeks before another ship found them.”

  “Lord Kirk, I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said.

  “It is history,” he said shortly. “After the accident, I tried to rejoin society, but without Lyla, it was useless, empty. Because of my injuries, I wasn’t able to enjoy dances and such and”—he took a deep breath—“people were not kind. They disliked looking across the dinner table at my scar and I can’t blame them; I’ve no wish to see it myself. And so I left society and buried myself in my house and books, never dreaming that one day I’d meet Miss Dahlia Balfour.”

  “And things changed,” Margaret said.

  “Yes. The Balfours have been my neighbors since before I wed Lyla, but I’d never really had much commerce with them. The girls are all six or seven younger than I am, and after I married, I rarely saw them. One day, I went to pick up some books I’d ordered and I met Dahlia coming out of the store. I knew her, of course, for our carriages passed each other upon occasion, but she saw the books and her eyes lit up.” He shook his head in wonderment. “We started talking about books we liked and which authors we enjoyed and— I can’t describe it, but we stood there in the street, for two hours, quoting poetry and discussing stories we’d read—” He turned to Margaret with a bemused look. “It was as if, in opening a book together, we discovered ourselves between the pages.”

  Margaret nodded. Goodness, he is head over heels. I wonder if he realizes how much. . . .

  “Oh my,” Charlotte said in a breathless voice. “How romantic.”

  Kirk frowned. “I wouldn’t call it ‘romantic.’ Dahlia and I have a lot in common, true. We both like to read, we love poetry, and we enjoy the same music, too.”

  “Surely you didn’t play music there in the street, too?”

  “At that chance meeting, I invited Dahlia to feel free to borrow whatever books she might wish to. I have an extensive collection, you know, and she was in heaven when she saw my library. She began to visit me every week or so after that and we’d talk about whatever book she’d read. Once while she was there, I convinced her to play the pianoforte I had brought from France as a wedding present for Lyla. Dahlia’s amazingly talented.” He nodded, almost to himself. “She will make a suitable bride.”

  “ ‘Suitable’?” Margaret said, almost stuttering over the word. “Is that all you can say?”

  Kirk flushed. “Yes.”

  There was a stubborn note to his voice that said far more than he was able or willing to. “I see,” Margaret said, and rather thought that she did. “Kirk, before we continue, I must be plain. While I will do what I can to assist you in making a case for Miss Dahlia, you must make an effort as well.”

  “I must make an effort? To do what?”

  “Whatever I say.” She tapped her chin with a finger, her gaze never wavering. “Fortunately, you have a lot of potential.”

  Lady Charlotte tilted her head to one side, regarding him from head to toe. “Potential, but unrealized potential.”

  While Kirk did not adhere to fashion in any way—his brown coat and trousers were at least a decade old in style—he was very neatly dressed, his neckcloth knotted about his throat, the ends tucked into his waistcoat, his boots firmly placed upon the ground. There was a solidness about him that a woman could appreciate. An older woman, yes, but perhaps not a younger one. No, if he wishes to woo Dahlia Balfour, he will have to gain some polish. “We must get him a tailor.”

  “New clothes, definitely,” Charlotte murmured. “And boots.”

  “And someone to teach him to tie a neckcloth properly.”

  “Oh yes.” Charlotte reached down and picked up a pug that was sitting at her feet and plopped him in her lap. “Lord Kirk, I don’t suppose you can dance?”

  “Dance? With this?” He gestured toward his knee. “No, dammit.”

  Lady Charlotte tsked. “Such language.”

  “He’ll have to work on that, too,” Margaret said thoughtfully, her mind racing as she made a mental list. “And his address, for he’s rude as a—”

  “That’s enough.” Kirk grasped his cane and stood. “Forget this. I did not come here to be insulted.”

  “No, you came to be transformed into a man worthy of a beautiful woman, one you clearly believe is out of your reach.” Margaret waited until her words had sunk in. “She’s lovely.”

  “Yes.”

  “And lively as well, I take it.”

  “Very much so.”

  “And intelligent—”

  “She’s everything, damn you! And she’s far too good for me. What the hell was I thinking to come here? I should have admitted the truth—that she’s not for me—and just been done with it, but oh no. I hoped.” He laughed bitterly and began to limp toward the door, his knuckles white about the cane.

  Charlotte exchanged a surprised glance with Margaret.

  “Lord Kirk,” Margaret called. “Please. Just one question and then you may go. For your mother’s sake.”

  He was almost to the door, but at her words, he paused and then turned. “Yes?”

  “You’re twenty-nine years of age?”

  He nodded once.

  “That’s all?” Charlotte exclaimed. “I would have thought—” She caught his dark gaze and flushed. “I mean, twenty-nine is a lovely, lovely age.”

  “No, it’s not a lovely age.” Margaret stood and walked toward him. “It’s the age of a man who should be settled and married.”

  His eyes blazed with anger. “I’m finished with this conversation. It was a mistake. I’m sorry I wasted your time.” His scowl grew blacker with each word, the scar making him look particularly sinister. He started to turn back to the door.

  “Since you don’t wish to win Miss Balfour’s regard, then you won’t mind if I turn her attention elsewhere?”

  He stiffened in place. “You will turn her attention elsewhere?”

  He really had the most amazingly beautiful eyes, sherry brown and thickly fringed. Looking at them made her think of his mother and the memory stiffened Margaret’s resolve. “We’ll need two months of your time.”

  “Two months? For what?”

  “It’ll take that long to teach you the basics of seduction.”

  His face bloomed red. “Se
duction?”

  “Or courtship, whichever you wish to call it.”

  “It will also take that long to order your new wardrobe,” Charlotte added. “That coat—” She shook her head.

  Kirk regarded his coat. “What’s wrong with my coat?”

  Charlotte looked as if she might giggle, though she wisely refrained. “It’s out of fashion and ill fits you. Worsted is a horrid material for a coat, and your cravat is a mere knot, rather than a properly tied arrangement.”

  “I’m surprised you allowed me to enter your presence.”

  “You’re a friend of her grace’s,” Lady Charlotte pointed out fairly. “I had no choice.”

  Lord Kirk’s lips thinned. “Is there anything else I must change?”

  Margaret tapped a finger on her chin and looked him over. “Your hair.”

  “My hair? What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “It’s far too long for current fashion. It’s a bit aging.”

  “I am my age, madam. I cannot change that.”

  “You look thirty and seven, perhaps even forty.”

  He started to turn back to the door once more, but as he did so, Margaret added, “Leave if you wish, but know this: Miss Balfour has already accepted an invitation to my Christmas Ball. She will attend my house party for the three weeks beforehand, and she will not leave unattached.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “But I do. I shall see to it that she receives at least one offer, if not more. It’s the least I can do.”

  “You would work against me?”

  “While I genuinely wish you to succeed in your endeavors, I cannot ignore that Miss Dahlia is also one of my godchildren.”

  “Her grace has so many,” Lady Charlotte added.

  “But only a few who warrant my attention. Miss Dahlia is one of them. She believes—as was the truth when I asked her—that I invited her to my house party for the express purpose of assisting her in making a fortuitous match.”

  He fixed an incredulous gaze on Margaret. “She specifically stated that?”

  “Yes. At the time, as I thought you were serious about wishing to win her, I committed myself to that end. I cannot rescind my offer merely because you are getting cold feet.”