The Duke’s Darling Debutante

by Dallen, Maggie

  “Evelyn will murder me,” she muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  She blinked up at the duke. “I’m exaggerating, of course. She won’t truly end my life. Just give me a lecture, that’s all.” Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Though what is the protocol for a situation such as this?”

  He opened his mouth, but she wasn’t done.

  “When one trips, I mean. Or pretends to trip, rather. What should one do? Surely I couldn’t just stay there on the floor until my brother or Evelyn arrived to pick me up, now could I?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “No, of course not. I had to be escorted off the dance floor, didn’t I?”

  He arched his brows.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  To her surprise, his lips...twitched. She wasn’t sure how else to describe it. That firm line she was starting to be familiar with was twitching at the corners, rather like he was suppressing—

  A laugh burst out of him, so unexpected and so delightful, she found herself laughing as well, even though… “You are laughing at me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said, a smile still lingering on his face. “But only because you are incredibly diverting.”

  “Diverting.” She rolled the word on her tongue. It was by far the nicest way she’d heard herself described since coming to London. She gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

  He tipped his head. “You’re welcome.” His dark eyes still danced with laughter as he added, “Though I believe I should be the one thanking you.”

  Her brows knit together once more. “Whatever for?”

  He glanced meaningfully toward the dance floor and for no reason she could possibly explain, she was suffused with shyness.

  Tabetha was not shy. Nor was she demure or docile. But there was no denying the heat that was creeping up her neck or the way she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Nonsense,” she said. “You do not owe me thanks. I was merely doing what had to be done.”

  “Nonsense.” His voice held a note of amusement as he mimicked her. “You saved me from embarrassment by embarrassing yourself. And I...I am very grateful for your kindness.”

  Her lips tugged upward and she had to swallow down a nervous laugh. His way of talking was so serious and so very stilted. Admitting he was grateful sounded rusty and a touch awkward. But then again, she supposed a man like the duke wasn’t used to being indebted to someone.

  He likely wasn’t used to being saved by a lady, either.

  Oh drat. She pinched her lips shut, but it was too late. The realization that she had come to the rescue of the great and mighty Duke of Walton had laughter bubbling up in her chest, and any second now it would spill out from between her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to control the urge.

  “You can laugh, you know.” The duke’s voice was low and knowing. “You have an exceptional laugh.”

  She blinked in surprise. She did?

  “And besides, attempting to not laugh looks painful,” he added.

  She lost the battle with laughter at that. “It is rather painful,” she said through her giggles. “But I’m used to it. The urge to laugh always strikes at the most inopportune times.”

  His brows hitched up and his eyes were soft with amusement. “Like when?”

  And that was how she came to be telling the duke the humiliating, yet humorous tale of her bout of laughter in the midst of a funeral. “...but it turned out they were talking about a pig—”

  “Tabetha?” Evelyn’s voice cut through her lively story, and Tabetha stopped short, only to find that her hands were flailing.

  Drat. She’d been working so hard to keep her hands demurely clasped together when she spoke, as Evelyn taught her, but somehow, they’d gotten away from her. Again.

  Mariah, Clarissa, and Darius were soon crowding around them as well, and Darius was glaring down at her feet. “Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Clarissa said. “She didn’t really hurt herself.” She turned to Tabetha. “Did you?”

  Tabetha shook her head. Of course her sisters were on to her. Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time she’d feigned an injury to avoid an unpleasant scene. Nor was it the second time...or even the third.

  She bit her lip, her expression contrite as she looked up at her family. “I’m sorry I worried you.” She gave Evelyn an apologetic wince. “And I apologize for any embarrassment I caused.”

  Evelyn waved her words aside. “Nonsense. I’m just happy you’re not injured.”

  A round of looks were exchanged. Silent communications that were taking place all around the duke and about the duke.

  Each and every one of her family members no doubt wanted to ask her why she’d pretended to injure herself rather than dance with the most powerful man in the room and why the duke was tending to her. But unlike Tabetha, the rest of her family understood tact.

  Clarissa’s eyes were dancing with laughter as she met Tabetha’s gaze.

  Well, perhaps not Clarissa. But where Clarissa lacked in tact, she more than made up for with her clever mind. She’d likely already pieced together what was going on here. Or enough, at least, to know that she ought to keep her mouth shut.

  Evelyn was already assessing the situation as well. “Perhaps we’d best show the world that you are recovered with a turn about the room.”

  Tabetha came to her feet. No one was naïve enough to believe that any of the party guests were truly worried about Tabetha’s injured ankle. But if her sister-in-law believed that taking a turn about the room would help to keep her reputation intact, then so be it. “Very well, let us walk.”

  She turned to the duke and found herself holding her breath in anticipation. Would he join them? Would he offer to escort her again?

  That flickering hope was extinguished with a short bow as he made to take his leave of them. She kept her smile fixed. It would not do for anyone to see her disappointment. After all, it wasn’t as though she truly thought the duke was interested in her. She might have made him laugh, but no one in her right mind would believe that being laughed at by a gentleman meant that he cared for her.

  Silly girl.

  She shook off that disappointment and made her smile even wider so that by the time he was done excusing himself to her brother and Evelyn, she was positively beaming.

  His gaze turned to her and he blinked.

  Perhaps her grin was a bit over the top. “Thank you for the dance, Your Grace. Or rather, the almost dance.”

  He laughed softly. “It was my pleasure.”

  The others were listening and she didn’t need to be told that he would prefer she not air his personal business. She met his gaze and held it. “I hope you...take care of yourself.”

  He gave a nod in understanding. “I will. And thank you.”

  As he walked away, her insides seemed to deflate. Why did she get the sense that this was the last time she’d see him?

  Mariah slipped her arm into the crook of Tabetha’s. “Come, Tabetha. Let us walk.”

  Mariah’s sweet, quiet company was exactly what she needed, and she gave her sister a grateful smile as they began to walk the edges of the room.

  For the purpose of being seen.

  The duke’s voice was in her head as they walked, and she was more grateful than ever that she was with Mariah, who wouldn’t pester her with questions.

  To be seen. That was why women rode in the park, and it was why they took a turn about the room. And the duke had helped her reputation immensely tonight by letting her be seen on his arm.

  He’d shown her favor—twice. Even if it had ended badly both times.

  She glanced about the room, ignoring the questioning looks and the whispers her family always seemed to garner. Lady Ainsworth and her daughter Charlotte were staring at them as they whispered, and a gaggle of girls around them burst into giggles.

  But Tabetha couldn’t bring herself to care. Her gaz
e had already moved on, seeking out a certain tall, dark, and handsome duke.

  Had he left for the evening already? Or was he off conversing with some other young lady? One who knew how to keep her mouth shut and who wouldn’t even think of causing a spectacle on the dance floor?

  She didn’t realize she’d sighed until Mariah squeezed her arm tightly. “He’ll be back, Tabetha,” Mariah said softly. “I’m sure of it.”

  Tabetha flashed her sister a smile. Was she? Tabetha wasn’t. But she hoped her sister was right. And that hope...well, that hope was disturbing.

  Tabetha had no misguided notions about the way she was viewed by society. She might be the sister of an earl, but she was not fit for a duke. She did not need the ton to tell her that. She ought to squelch this fluttery sensation in her belly that had her hoping Mariah was right and that this wasn’t the end of his attentions.

  She was drawn to him, she could admit that. He was striking, handsome, and so...everything she was not. So serious and so very proper. It made her want to tease him until he laughed. His stoicism was like a challenge to that part of her that loved to make people smile and to brighten their days.

  She’d seen him walking toward the steps earlier tonight and she’d known she should ignore him. She’d known she should leave him in peace, but she hadn’t been able to especially when he’d frozen, looking pained. Ridiculous, but she’d had the distinct impression that he’d needed her.

  She worried her lower lip as she replayed his actions—from earlier this evening and at the last ball.

  His injury explained some of his odd tendencies. The tightness around his mouth. The way he’d winced when they’d waltzed. Perhaps he hadn’t disliked her so much as she’d thought. Perhaps she’d misread his pain for disdain. After all, if he’d truly been horrified by her incessant chatter and her lack of decorum, why would he seek her out again at tonight’s ball?

  Pieces were falling into place. But the more she pieced together, the more holes she seemed to discover in the overall puzzle that was the Duke of Walton. He’d made it clear that he was singling her out...but why?

  Was it possible that he was drawn to her as she was to him?

  She clapped a hand over her mouth as a giggle threatened to escape and she met Mariah’s curious gaze.

  She really oughtn’t get her hopes up about a duke.

  But she was a little afraid...it was too late.

  5

  The afternoon sun shone brightly down on Hyde Park as Luke stood under the shade of a particularly large willow tree.

  Which should have been pleasant.

  It was one of those perfect days where it was neither too hot nor too cold, and the sun was bright and warm, but the shade crisp and cool. And so the attendees of the picnic found themselves standing in the exact right temperature. Coupled with that, the scent of fresh flowers and new grass abounded. Luke drew in a whiff, reveling in the fact that something within the city might smell this good.

  It was almost like being home.

  And yet, the effect of the perfect weather was significantly dampened by...well, the company.

  “Can you believe it?” Miss Charlotte said next to him, her voice dropping low, disdain evident in her tone. “She actually allowed her petticoats to show. How absolutely dreadful.”

  The other girls who stood in their circle snickered behind their fans. Luke attempted not to roll his eyes.

  He’d come to this picnic on a lark. He’d received an invitation, and while he still had to fulfill his obligation to Crest to show favor to Lady Tabetha, there was no reason he couldn’t begin his search for a bride. After all, that was why he’d come to London for the season in the first place.

  How he’d been cornered by Miss Charlotte Ainsworth was still a bit of a mystery, but regardless of how it had happened, he was now trapped in conversation with the mean-spirited girl and her persnickety friends.

  “Dreadful,” another one of the ladies repeated, eyeing him over her fluttering fan. He’d already forgotten her name, not that it mattered.

  While she was surely pretty, he couldn’t tell with the fan moving at such a rapid speed, she’d not had an original thought the entire conversation. None of them had.

  They figuratively and literally fawned over Miss Charlotte as she disparaged one person after the other. The entire experience was dreadful.

  He’d have to discern the other ladies’ names if for no other reason than he could cross them off his mental list. None of these women would be suitable in the role of duchess. At least not his duchess.

  He shook his head, staring out between the low-hanging branches of the tree. When had original thoughts and kindness become two of his qualifiers?

  His eyes closed because the moment he posed the question, he knew the answer. Since meeting Tabetha.

  Which was ridiculous. He needed a woman who was noble in her bearing, and ready to take on the vast responsibility of a dukedom.

  But then his brows drew together. Surely, his mother had been exactly that. And he’d loved his mother—of course, he did. But he, so much like his father, had already established that he needed something different.

  Warmer. That much had already been clear.

  “Your Grace,” one of the ladies, whose name he could not remember, spoke in that breathy sort of voice that sounded as though this conversation were the most exciting event of her entire life, while in fact, it had been one of the most tedious Luke could remember. “Don’t you agree?” she asked.

  Blast. The conversation had moved on without him and he’d lost the thread entirely. “Mmm,” he said in lieu of an actual answer. It was yet another advantage to being an aloof duke. He needn’t answer if he didn’t wish to.

  “Well I think you’re exactly right,” Miss Charlotte continued even as she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. It was a gesture of a woman who thought herself in charge of this conversation. In charge of him. Did she think she was proving her value by denigrating others?

  She looked up at him with the sort of cloying smile that turned his stomach. “While His Grace was the very definition of gracious, her behavior was beyond reprehensible. Not that I’d expect anything different. Complete disasters, the lot of them.”

  For a moment, Luke stared at her in confusion. Who was she discussing with such disdain? Then his stomach clenched. Charlotte was referring to Tabetha, of course. Hadn’t they been discussing every minor error of every debutante from last night’s ball? Of course, Tabetha’s name was bound to come up.

  “The Darling sisters must be the most awkward debutantes to ever be unleashed on society.” Charlotte finished with a look of triumph, her chin notching up with her victory.

  Gently, he removed his arm from under Charlotte’s hand even as he took a small step away. Luke had no intention of misleading Miss Charlotte. He wished to make himself very clear on that topic. In fact, he’d like to also make it known that Tabetha was not clumsy, only unfailingly kind. But he couldn’t defend Tabetha without revealing the truth.

  He’d spent his life cultivating an image of perfection. Every move he made was meant to portray power and confidence. And every time he made a public mistake, he diminished his appearance, which took away from his actual usefulness. If people didn’t have confidence in a man, how could they trust him? Especially one of his position.

  But right now, in this moment, he cared far less about Miss Charlotte and her friends’ opinion of him and far more about Tabetha’s reputation.

  How could he allow her to be disparaged on his behalf?

  Charlotte’s brows drew together, confusion clouding her eyes at his decisive move away from her. Then her lips pressed into a thin, firm line, her gaze growing hard.

  Luke’s shoulders stiffened. “Ladies, I have to confess that you misunderstood last night’s events.”

  One of them giggled. A nasally sound that grated on his ears.

  “So kind of you,” Charlotte replied, her voice practically dripping with disdain.
“But we all know that our bumbling friend, Lady Tabeth—”

  “Speak of the devil,” another one of them cried. “Here she comes.”

  Luke’s head swiveled around, scanning the park.

  Not twenty yards away, Lady Tabetha came toward their party atop a large mount, sidesaddle. He grinned to see it, knowing how she felt about riding in that style. She wore a riding habit of rich blue velvet, her hat plumed with several feathers as she slowly trotted toward them. Her thick blonde hair was elaborately twisted into a complicated coif that left a mass of curls trailing over one shoulder.

  A warm, rich feeling spread through him.

  Not only did she look stunning, the habit skimming her curves in a most flattering fit. But she rode, even sidesaddle, with an ease that left little doubt about her skill as a horsewoman. Tabetha was breathtaking.

  Unwittingly, he took a step closer to the path and then another, coming out from under the branches. Almost as though he was drawn to her, his feet moved of their own accord. “Good afternoon,” he called as he waved his hand.

  With a flick of her wrist, the animal kicked up his heels, moving faster toward him. Just behind her, was her sister Lady Clarissa and a groom, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away from Tabetha, as her body gracefully moved with the horse.

  “Good afternoon,” she called back, giving him a large, open smile. As sincere as it was charming. His chest grew tight to see her in such splendor.

  She stopped just next to him, and without thought, he reached up a hand to help her down. Her gloved fingers slid into his, their hands fitting together perfectly. His other hand came to her waist, his palm fitting into the curve as he lifted her down. “How was the rest of your evening?”

  She landed, her body close to his. So close, he caught a whiff of her light scent. Jasmine. He drew in a deep breath, thinking of summer fields.

  But instead of answering, her gaze slid behind him, her smile slipping from her face.

  Still holding her fingers in his, he looked back too, only to realize that Miss Charlotte and her group of worshippers had followed him out from under the tree. They stood in a cluster behind him, their gazes ranging from curiosity to animosity.