Dukes Prefer Bluestockings (Wedding Trouble, #2)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “I will need to go to my parents’ home to get some items from my trousseau. One does not go to Guernsey and back in a day.”

  I’M ELOPING.

  Excitement and nervousness competed inside Charlotte. Charlotte wasn’t the type to elope, but everything had changed since she’d met the duke.

  Riding in a carriage with him would be the first time they’d been confined together without anyone else. Even when she’d crept into his residence, she’d been well aware Flora had been with her. She wasn’t certain whispered conversations in corridors counted. As she became aware of his presence, she was certain it did not.

  The man towered over her, a fact clear now he was not perched awkwardly in a chair that had once belonged to her Great Aunt, clasping a teacup in his hand, which had been how she’d grown accustomed to seeing him.

  He gave the driver instructions and then assisted Charlotte up the short metal stairs before he settled into the seat opposite.

  Callum’s mouth tightened, and Charlotte despised the worry in his gaze. A man like this wasn’t supposed to worry. He was a duke. He was supposed to drink brandy and play cards. He was supposed to ride his curricle through Hyde Park without worrying about the wellbeing of the women he saw. The most burdensome work he was supposed to do was posing for the occasional portrait, an exercise in stillness that would have caused the athlete in him to rebel, even though everyone who saw it would marvel at the softness of his velvet tailcoat and the pleasant symmetry of his features.

  Finally the hack moved, bumping over the cobblestones, and she tried to ignore the man’s scent of fresh linen that wafted over her, his long legs that almost touched hers, and his chiseled face.

  It suddenly seemed very important that Flora come with her to Guernsey.

  “I’m sorry my brother ruined the wedding,” Callum said. “I—”

  “—Didn’t even invite him,” Charlotte finished. “It’s not your fault.”

  Lady Isla had been cruel when she met Charlotte, assuming, correctly, that Charlotte never ventured beyond Norfolk and London. Perhaps Charlotte should have some adventure. Most of the world was ocean, and it seemed wrong to exit the world without experiencing something of it.

  Once the hack stopped before her parents’ townhome, Charlotte rushed out. The door swung open.

  “Your Grace.” Flora curtsied deeply. “I trust the wedding was pleasant?”

  Charlotte gave a tight smile. “There’s been a change of plans. We’re eloping.”

  Flora’s eyes widened. “Your father does not approve after all?”

  “He approves, but my betrothed’s brother does not.”

  “I see.” Flora fixed an assessing look on her.

  “We wanted to get my trunks. Since I won’t be staying here already. If they’re packed of course,” Charlotte said, finding herself stammering. She’d never done an elopement before and the process was novel.

  “Naturellment,” Flora said. “They are already packed. I’ll have Samuel bring them to the duke’s carriage.”

  Charlotte’s cheeks warmed again. “As a matter of fact, we are taking a hack.”

  Flora blinked. “A hack?”

  “Not far,” Charlotte hastened to say.

  Flora nodded, but Charlotte had the impression she did not truly understand. The duke was in possession of multiple carriages, and should not require to take the plainest one available to anyone with coin.

  “I know it’s an unnatural mode of transport,” Charlotte continued, “but it is vital that the duke’s brother not follow us, and the duke loaned his carriage to his brother.”

  “How clever.”

  “Besides,” Charlotte continued. “We are simply going to the Thames.”

  “You’re taking a ship?”

  Charlotte nodded, and this time she smiled, contemplated again being on a ship. She’d only ever been on a rowboat before in the local pond, and she suspected it did not count as a representation of all water transport. “Indeed. We’re going to the Channel Islands.”

  “How wonderful,” Flora said.

  “Will you come with me?” Charlotte asked. “There will be many French people. You’ll adore it.”

  Flora’s face paled. “I-I can’t go.”

  “But Flora... You were going to move with me to the duke’s.”

  “And I am happy to do so. In Britain.”

  “Why is that?”

  For a moment, Flora hesitated. Finally, she sighed. “I-I am scared of boats.”

  “Oh.”

  “They can be quite dangerous,” Flora said. “The water is...unpredictable.”

  “People have been crossing the English channel for centuries.”

  “Not everyone with success,” Flora said.

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “I wish I could come. But I can’t.”

  “Because of your fear?”

  “Er—yes,” Flora said. “Forgive me.”

  She shut the door, and Charlotte was left to stare at the wooden frame.

  “What is the matter?” Callum asked.

  “Nothing,” Charlotte said, forcing herself to sound cheerful as a servant carried some of her trunks into the hack. “I’d just hoped my maid would join us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Callum said. “Of course, if you would prefer to stay after all...”

  Charlotte considered the possibility. “Is that your preference?”

  “I am always up for adventure,” he said.

  She smiled.

  She knew what London was like.

  She didn’t know what the rest of the world was like.

  If she was going to die soon, she wanted to experience something of the world.

  She wanted to see the ocean...up close.

  She wanted to stand on a ship.

  She wanted to visit a place where people spoke a different language.

  “I’m up for it,” she said.

  “Magnificent,” Callum said. “Then let’s hurry.”

  Right.

  Goodness knew how long her mother would keep quiet. Her mother didn’t tend to keep secrets.

  Callum took her hand, and excitement thrummed through her. They hurried toward the hack.

  The uncharacteristically blue sky had vanished, replaced with thick steel-gray clouds. Callum’s blond hair no longer gleamed, no longer glowed, but the austere surroundings did not hamper his appearance.

  She climbed into the hack. The light was dim, even though the curtains had been pushed all the way open, and she glanced at the modest street.

  She squared her shoulders. She’d come so far, and she wasn’t going to halt now, simply because her maid was too scared to go on the ship with her. The notion would be ridiculous.

  She climbed into the coach, and the hack driver headed toward Hades’ Lair.

  “I’ll only be a moment,” Callum promised her when the coach stopped.

  “Remember to fetch Lord McIntyre’s old accounts.”

  His eyes widened. “But this is to be your holiday.”

  “It is important,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he said solemnly before leaving.

  He soon returned, and the coach continued toward the Thames. The rain pattered against the roof of the carriage.

  “We should be out of Mayfair now. I’ll open the drapes.” Callum stretched toward the window, and Charlotte averted her eyes. The action was senseless, for she still glimpsed his broad chest and the manner in which the fabric tightened against interesting parts of his torso. His blond hair shifted and fell over his brow, masking his eyes. Rustling sounded, but the light in the carriage hardly shifted. She turned toward the window. The slate gray sky offered no joy. Condensation clouded the window, and Callum swept it away with his gloved hand. The view remained smeared, but gray row houses, stained from smoke, were visible. Their drab exteriors nearly blended with the ominous sky.

  This wasn’t Norfolk. No sturdy oaks and chestnut trees stretched lofty branches into the sky over wh
ich squirrels raced. No sheep grazed in picturesque pastures, and no lambs ventured into spontaneous hopping competitions. No cows ran through verdant grass, moving their speckled coats elegantly.

  This is an adventure.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The hack jostled over cobblestones. It crept over the streets, and despite the hack driver’s occasional shouts, the journey took longer than in Callum’s ducal coach. Men pushing wheelbarrows and servants rushing about doing errands didn’t halt for a hack.

  Changing his mind about the prudence of the elopement would no doubt be sensible. Yet when the hack stopped before the ship to Guernsey, his doubts disappeared. He clasped Charlotte’s hand and assisted her down the irritatingly narrow steps of the hack.

  The ship to Guernsey was not the most magnificent in the Thames. That honor belonged to the ships heading to the Americas with their bevy of finely attired passengers. But he ushered Charlotte through the crowd of sailors and toward the wooden gangway. Birds darted before them and skimmed their legs into the water. They squawked merrily, unafraid of the ocean, before they swept back into the air.

  Dockworkers moved methodically, arranging wooden crates in neat piles and hollering instructions to any newcomers with absolute confidence. Their blue and white attire did not match the Thames’s perpetual murky waters, but it reminded him of the azure waters and diamond crested waves that they might later encounter.

  He continued to hold her hand, even though they weren’t technically married yet, and even though he was most assuredly breaking protocol. Never mind. They’d be spending more than one night on the ship before they landed in Guernsey.

  Boats and ships packed the Thames. The river shouldn’t have felt narrow, but it seemed as if all the world had attempted to be crammed into the river. Shore boats left triangular ripples in the water.

  Beside him, Charlotte stiffened, and her legs swayed, even though the ship barely moved.

  “Is your heart well?” Callum asked quickly.

  “It feels fine.”

  “You seem ill at ease.”

  Charlotte’s smile wobbled. “Sometimes places feel too crowded to me, even though everyone else manages. It’s silly.”

  “It’s not silly,” Callum said. “I’ll have the steward show us to our cabins. I think you’ll feel better when we’ve left the Thames.”

  Charlotte nodded, and Callum hailed a steward.

  “I am the Duke of Vernon, and I will be traveling to Guernsey with this lady.”

  The steward’s eyes widened and then he bowed deeply. “Your Grace. We are so honored that you have chosen our ship on which to travel. I will give you the best room we have.”

  “This lady requires a private room,” Callum announced.

  “A private one?” The steward’s expression faltered. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that that might be impossible. At this late notice...”

  Callum frowned. Charlotte was not going to be sharing the room with various servants making the passage. His future wife deserved the very best.

  “There is a woman of some importance on the ship,” the steward said hesitantly. “She is the sister of Lord Braunschweig, Baron of Wolbert. Perhaps she would be amenable to sharing her room. It is quite pleasant.”

  Callum sighed. He knew the baron. He was close to him in age. If the baron’s sister was anything like the baron, she would be an unideal companion. The baron’s vainness was well known. Still. It would have to do. “Please arrange it.”

  The steward nodded and scurried away.

  Callum took Charlotte’s hand and led her to a seat. “Tell me, what are your symptoms?”

  “Symptoms?” she squeaked. “My heart hurts sometimes.”

  He nodded gravely. “Is there something that brings on those spells? I want to know,” he said.

  “But you’re not a doctor.”

  “No. But I don’t want to see you suffer.”

  She thought back to the moments when her heart had seemed to speed out of control. It had been at large events where she’d felt alone. “Loud noises. It hurts my ears. More I think than it hurts other people’s ears. It gives me headaches.”

  “Then I’ll avoid them,” he said.

  “You must think me so silly.” Her face was still pink, and something in his heart panged.

  “Not at all. Prevention is a good remedy.”

  “I know it’s not like this for other people. I’m difficult.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I-I suppose. I don’t like crowds. There can be...touching.”

  He released her hand.

  “I mean—that was fine,” she admitted. “Almost nice. But I like to know in advance, if that makes sense. If I can see you, before you touch me, that helps.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t know anyone who didn’t like touching.

  Touching was a very good thing.

  “Sort of like how milkmaids have to approach cows. Only from the left side.”

  His lips twitched.

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “Smiling,” he protested. “Not laughing.”

  Her shoulders slumped down.

  “It’s fine,” he said gently. “I’ve never had a woman compare herself to livestock before.”

  A pleasant rose color bloomed across her cheeks.

  “I understand though. So no sudden touching. What else affects you?”

  “No strong smells,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Some of the men at balls smell quite strong.”

  “You’re laughing again.”

  “I’m in perfect agreement.”

  “The cologne... It’s too much.”

  “No cologne then.” He frowned. “How do I smell?”

  “Most delicious,” she said quickly, and then blushed. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks rosy. The woman was beautiful, even if she did not seem to be the least bit aware.

  “I will do my best to make certain you’re comfortable,” he promised.

  Charlotte didn’t even share a room with her sister, and he was not going to have her start now. People who were shy seemed to benefit from having space. It was not something he craved, but his brother Hamish had always seemed to take great pleasure in occasional solitude.

  Charlotte could take his room, and he could room with Lord Braunschweig. He could tolerate a few uncomfortable nights if it lessened Charlotte’s anxiety.

  “You’ll have a private room on the ship. The finest here.”

  “Doesn’t that belong to you?” she asked.

  “I can room with someone else.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to do that,” she said.

  “Nonsense,” he said. “It’s my pleasure. I want you to be comfortable here. Besides, I can room with the Austrian baron.”

  Charlotte smiled.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “You’re different from what I expected.”

  “Are you saying I have a bad reputation?”

  “The very worst,” she said, and then a tawny rose ascended her cheeks again. “I’m sorry. That’s probably not an appropriate thing to say.”

  Normally he wouldn’t mind that he had a bad reputation.

  Normally he would even take pride in it. A bad reputation meant he wasn’t living up to the expectations of his late guardians.

  But now... Now he despised his reputation.

  The ship moved and made its way through the crowded river. It shouldn’t have been unexpected. They’d traveled here expressly to sail. And yet...

  Callum had never expected to cross the channel again. When the White Cliffs of Dover had shone like a beacon as his ship had sailed toward Kent, filled with soldiers, he’d thought he could never leave the shore of Britain again.

  And yet here he was, blithely heading across.

  Charlotte looked divine. Her blond hair was swept back, but curled tendrils framed her face, not quite covered by her lace veil. The thin lace didn’t mask her features, rather it only served to make
her appear more heavenly.

  The word was not one he’d anticipated ascribing to her. Heavenly was a word men who made love matches might use. Everyone knew Charlotte was a bluestocking. She wasn’t known for her charms, and yet Callum had an urge to take her into his arms.

  Heaven.

  It was a location to which she would soon be visiting.

  Perhaps that explained his sudden sentimentality.

  CHARLOTTE HAD PLANNED to be installed in the duke’s townhome, awkwardly arranging menus with his housekeeper and trying to look authoritative before a bevy of London servants who would be aware of just how unexpected her position as duchess was. She’d planned to be attending the same balls as before, though this time nobody would let her take refuge behind curtains. She had not planned to be on a ship that glided through the Thames, and that would soon glide over the English Channel.

  No one, not even Flora, had asked Charlotte so many questions about herself. She’d told him that her heart hurt during stress, and he seemed determined to alleviate stress—even the kind not obvious to everyone else. Through all if his questions, he’d seemed kind. His lips might have twitched, but he seemed to be smiling with her. She seemed to know he would never share what she said with anyone else.

  More passengers gathered on the deck, observing the sailors. The ship swept through the Thames and moved past dockyards.

  A well-dressed man and woman eyed them. The woman had the sort of caramel colored hair that was just unique enough to merit some attention. Her dress was stylish, and her figure was in all the fashionable proportions.

  “Your Grace?” The well-dressed man raised his eyebrows in evident surprise. Not a loose hair was visible, and they must have been perfectly plucked. He waved.

  “I’ll introduce you,” Callum said to Charlotte and offered her his arm.

  Charlotte rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. It felt good, even if the short walk did not merit physical assistance. The floorboards were clean, and unlike on land, there was not even a hint of mud on which her feet might slide.