by Eva Devon
She cocked her head back and leveled him with a hard stare. “If you must train me to be a better duchess, I must train you to be a better man.”
He faltered a step and nearly tripped. She grabbed the duke tightly, helping to right him before he became acquainted with her floor.
Vindication coursed through her veins. At long last, she had shaken him and nothing could have felt better in this moment. Not even his kiss.
…
Edward’s throat all but strangled at his future wife’s extraordinary statement.
Train him?
Train him, indeed.
He’d spent most of his life in training, and he’d reached the age when such training was no longer necessary, thank you very much.
He clamped his teeth together so hard he feared they cracked.
But he was determined not to say another word throughout the dance. As they progressed down the line, weaving through their partners, he ignored the several pairs of eyes that studied him.
It was as if he was a remarkable artifact from some far off land on view. He hated it. As a duke he had become accustomed to being stared at, but this night it was particularly strong. And there was nothing protecting him from the crowd at large. Usually, he had at least a coach between himself and the onlookers. At his own balls, he managed to barely be present and then stay isolated, glowering at anyone who came too near.
Now his own wife-to-be was looking at him as if he had grown a second head. She thought he was appalling. He knew. Before this moment, he couldn’t have given a blast for the opinion of anyone save himself and his beloved aunt, but much to his abrupt shock, he cared now that she was looking at him thus.
He couldn’t really do anything about it. It was who he was. He’d tried years and years to be softer, more malleable, more pleasant, but it simply wasn’t possible and she was going to have to get used to it. As he’d had to do himself. There was no other way about it.
After several moments, she snuck a glance at him. “Have you gone positively mute, Your Grace?”
“I think it is the safest option at present.”
Her blond head nodded tersely. “I see that is to be your style.”
“My style?” he echoed, doing all he could to keep his temper.
“Yes,” she mused. “When faced with adversity, you retreat.”
He all but recoiled at that. Retreat, did he?
Ha! She had no idea the adversity he had overcome during his life. The tool which had served him best was to regroup, because the last thing he wished to do was say something he’d truly regret.
And from past experience he was absolutely capable of saying something that would cause someone incredible offense even if it was not his intention.
Over the years, he’d become very careful about what he let slip past his lips. Yet, still, he often blundered. It was like he had an albatross always about his neck.
“If that is what you think, Miss Bly,” he began, astonished how many times they were required to go about such a small ballroom, “I think it wise we see each other but once or twice a year.”
“That won’t be possible, will it?” she asked, her brows furrowed together. “If we are to have children.”
He nearly stumbled again. How in damnation did she do that to him? He was usually someone of great composure, but she had caused him to nearly lose his step twice. Children, indeed. He quite liked the idea of getting an heir with Georgiana Bly.
There was something about her that drew him. God help him, he felt…something he couldn’t describe. Surely, it was simply irritation. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. This was a deep fire that she had lit and was slowly consuming him. Despite his good sense.
She was nothing like the women that he’d been with in the past. Georgiana Bly was tart. She wasn’t outstandingly beautiful in the typical sense, though she did have a particular beauty to her. She did not attempt to put him at ease. As a matter of fact, he had a strong feeling she did everything in her powers to make him ill at ease. And she enjoyed it.
He wondered at that.
Did she understand what kind of person he was?
He thought perhaps she did. Or at least she thought she understood him.
When the music came to a close, he gave her a stiff bow. “Thank you for the honor of this dance, Miss Bly,” he stated, as he knew he was supposed to do. But he couldn’t help adding, “I see that we should have a great deal of work to do when next I see you.”
“Work?” she repeated, her eyes all but dancing as she teased him. “How very trying, Your Grace. Surely, the prelude to marriage should be just the tiniest merry.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. Did she always make light of things? After several days attempting to teach her the finer points of being a duchess, he was beginning to suspect, much to his future misery, that yes… Yes, she did take things lightly. “You do not know enough about marriage if you think marriage should be merry. Clearly, you know nothing of ton marriages.”
“Touché,” she agreed with the merest shrug. “I do not. And perhaps I do not wish to know, if it is so dreary and bleak as you insinuate it is.” The dancing faded from her gaze into utter seriousness. “I shall never be cold like you, nor shall I be distant as you seem so determined to be. Despite the fact that I know at your heart’s core, you are warm through and through.”
And with that, she turned from him and marched across the room in high dudgeon.
He stared after her, unable to formulate his usually dry response. Warm through and through? That’s what she thought of him? Where the devil had she gotten that idea?
It was the first time in the entirety of his adult life that he could remember someone insinuating such a thing. He was usually thought of as one of the chilliest of them all. An aristocrat, a man to be won, a man apparently more appealing for his implacable nature.
He did not know what to think of her summation.
He turned away and headed back toward his party. It had been a great mistake inviting his young cousins, Lady Emma and Lady Gwendolyn. And his dear friend had shown up on his doorstep the night before, having returned from a journey to the Americas. Edward had to invite him along; he’d never think of doing otherwise. But no doubt Montrose would never let him hear the end of this night or his impending marriage.
Clearly, Georgiana’s daily lessons with him were not enough. Drastic measures would have to be taken.
Chapter Eleven
Mr. Bly stared at the kipper on his plate as if he was definitely regretting the choice to put it there. His already furrowed brow creased, his lips pursed, and he slowly pushed the porcelain away.
He looked in deep despair at the idea of eating breakfast, and so he took his cup of coffee and sipped it slowly, his hand trembling ever so slightly.
Georgiana hid a smile.
Her father had had perhaps one too many glasses of wine the night before.
Fortunately, he had not been overly zealous or overly silly with the Duke of Thornfield in his cups. If he had, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to show her face at breakfast this morning.
Sometimes her papa became quite merry at parties, something that most people quite enjoyed. Thornfield didn’t appear as if he’d enjoy any sort of enthusiasm. She wondered if he’d prefer it if everyone was dead.
Well, perhaps that’d be a bit too far, but he didn’t seem to like to see life in anyone, which was quite odd because his friend Montrose had appeared most jolly.
How peculiar people were.
She looked over to Elizabeth, who was staring at her breakfast with a much happier visage. She wondered if her sister was thinking of the Earl of Montrose. Georgiana wouldn’t blame her at all, for he was a handsome devil if ever anyone had seen one.
Not as handsome as Thornfield.
No, no.
Montrose did not have that granite stoicism that made him mysterious and interesting, nor that superiority, which made her wish to throttle him…and then kiss him.
It was a most perplexing state of affairs.
A footman entered the room, carrying a small silver tray upon his gloved hand. He walked to her papa, showed him the letter, and her father’s eyes brightened considerably.
“It is for you, Georgiana,” he all but hollered, whereupon he groaned and clutched his head. He cleared his throat. “If I am not mistaken, it is from Thornfield Castle. Open it. Open it at once, my dear. You must. You must.”
Georgiana took the note from the footman, broke the red wax seal embossed with the ducal coat of arms, and unfolded the thick parchment.
As she scanned the perfect, bold penmanship, her stomach sank. It was the last thing that she wanted to read.
Dearest Miss Bly,
It is the deepest wish of myself, my cousins, and my friend to invite you to stay at Thornfield Castle for a week. Aunt Agatha is desperate to know you better and thinks that it is only possible for us to come to mutual appreciation through an extended visit. Apparently, last evening my behavior was appalling and I am meant to make it up to you. We expect you no later than this afternoon. A coach will be sent. Please bring your sister Elizabeth as a companion.
Yours,
Thornfield.
She nearly crumpled the letter and tossed it onto the scraps of her breakfast, but surely that would not do. “I am to go and visit,” she said flatly to her father. “An extended stay.”
Her father blinked then all but crowed, “At the Duke of Thornfield’s?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you are engaged, my dear,” her father felt the need to point out, “and this is a wonderful honor.”
“Elizabeth is to come, too,” Georgiana said.
Her father’s eyes all but sparkled. “Marvelous, marvelous. She shall have a chance at Montrose, then.”
Elizabeth’s gaze darted up, wide-eyed. And yet her cheeks were a lovely rose at the mention of the earl.
Her mother came into the room and kissed Georgiana, then Elizabeth, on the top of the head.
“Who shall have a chance at Montrose?” her mother asked as she lowered into her chair.
“Elizabeth,” her father cheered.
“Oh dear,” her mother said. “He seems as if he’s far too charming for his own good. Elizabeth, I hope you don’t have anything too serious in mind with him.”
Elizabeth’s lips tightened. She said nothing, only sipped her tea.
Her mother’s face softened. “He is rather handsome, I agree, but, my darling husband, do not get into your head the idea that your daughter should marry him. A man like that can only come to no good, I’m certain, even if he is charming.”
“An earl, my dear, though, think of it,” Mr. Bly said, all but dancing in his seat. “An earl for our daughter. My clever Georgiana”—he inclined his head toward her—“I never thought you would marry, but look at what’s happened. And now you are going to ensure that all of your sisters make excellent marriages, as well.”
Her father drove her mad, love him as she did.
She sighed.
It did seem as if it was going to happen. She was going to sacrifice her own happiness. There would be no retiring to libraries with books of her own and a modest spinsterhood.
No, she was going to be a duchess, the most grand of titles save for royalty, and her sisters would all be wed well. Though she quite liked the idea of her own state of affairs at least making other people merry, even if she would not be.
Shaking her head, she wondered what her family would think if she told them the duke had been training her like a horse or a dog. She would just have to give her dear future husband as good as he got, then, and that was that.
…
Edward loathed giggling.
As another dose of the obnoxious sound traveled through his large library, he fought a shudder. It had been a mistake inviting his cousins down, but Aunt Agatha had been rather insistent a few months ago that it was time he did his duty and invite family.
And one, of course, always did their duty.
His connection would make it possible for them to achieve advantageous marriages, and the sooner they were married, the better in his opinion, because then he wouldn’t have to worry about them or consider them much at all.
They were both intelligent young women, but they did have a tendency to let out horrific gaggles of sound.
It felt as if they were physically driving nails into his head. His shoulders tensed even further.
He wished he could go to his private study at this particular moment and sit in his own chair and hide away. But he knew he would hear no end of trouble if he did, for his future wife was to arrive at any moment.
As if his own thought managed to manifest her into the conversation, his cousin Emma declared, “Can you believe that frock she wore last night? My goodness. I have never seen anything so shockingly out of date. She will need a new wardrobe entire, lest she make us all a positive laughingstock. Can you imagine such a girl being the Duchess of Thornfield?”
His other cousin, Gwendolyn, let out a peal of laughter. “She could only ever possibly marry him because of scandal. Can you believe her gall?”
Edward ground his teeth together.
However, he was not surprised by his cousins’ discourse. It was the discourse of all of England at present.
Emma lifted a hand to her rosebud mouth and giggled again. “She will be an utter failure, my friend, an utter failure. She shall embarrass our family to no end.”
Edward snapped his gaze up. “Then I don’t see why you’re giggling, if she’s going to embarrass you so thoroughly.”
Gwendolyn’s shoulders snapped back and she stared at Edward, shocked. “I thought you were as appalled as we were. I should never wish to displease you, Your Grace.”
He scoffed. “You don’t know what pleases me or doesn’t, and you don’t think or care anything beyond bonnets and lace as far as I am able to surmise.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “I speak five languages, play the piano, sing, and—”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “You are most accomplished, Gwendolyn, in all of the feminine attributes that are deemed important, but I am concerned you have little sense. You are talking about my future wife, you know, and would-be mother to the next Duke of Thornfield. I shall not hear another word said against her.”
His cousin Emma gasped. “One would think you were in love with her, given your passion.”
“Do not be absurd,” he snapped, leaning back in his chair. “I barely know her. How could one be in love with someone one barely knows? Besides, such a thing does not matter for me to defend the future duchess.”
Immediately, both girls gave quick curtsies. “Do forgive us, Thornfield?” Gwendolyn said, her face as pale as her muslin gown. “It was not our intent to displease you. Of course, we shall welcome her with open arms and do everything that we can to increase her chances in society.”
Oh, he’d just wager they would.
He wondered what machinations they’d engage in to make Georgiana feel at home, so to speak, all the while gossiping behind her back.
“You will leave her alone,” he said firmly. “She is not to be bothered or played with, you two. She is not to be a mouse to your cat’s paws.”
Both girls looked positively indignant. “We would never do such a thing.”
He fought the urge to snort. His cousins knew how to live by the rules of the ton, and women of society had few weapons but words. Men, too, truly.
And the fact was he was very worried that Georgiana Bly would not be able to keep up with them. She had a sharp wit and a quick mind, but she had not had to endure the cruel echelons of England’s highest hall
s. It wasn’t that she wasn’t their equal in discourse. If anything, she was superior in knowledge. Yet, the ton was desperately unforgiving, and he hated the idea of seeing her open, honest face crushed under the weight of people like Gwendolyn and Emma.
The Doncaster sisters were but a sample of the cruelty that awaited his betrothed.
He would do all in his power to protect Georgiana, but he supposed he was going to have to see how she handled herself, too. He wouldn’t always be at her side to help.
The clatter of carriage wheels over gravel suddenly filled the air.
Gwendolyn’s dark green eyes sparkled. “They’re here!”
“Indeed,” Emma said, her ringlets bouncing. “We shall show you, cousin, just how capable we are of welcoming your intended.”
Welcoming indeed, he thought to himself. He wondered what that meant, but he was not going to pass judgment until he saw otherwise. He would have ways of dealing with his cousins, if necessary.
Aunt Agatha, as though she had been ignoring the entire affair—but Edward knew better—suddenly perked up by the fire. She placed her book down, stood, and crossed to the window, like a grand old ship setting sail. A smile turned her lips up. “She and her sister do seem to be a good deal more reasonable than the rest of her family.”
He sighed. “Yes, if we could but have them and not the others, all would be relatively well.”
Agatha’s lips pursed. “Her mother was rather interesting. She is daughter of an earl and all that. I do wonder how she came to marry such a man.”
He wondered, too. And what Mr. Bly must’ve been like in his youthful days to attract Georgiana’s mother. For he did not seem the sort of man to attract such a worthy lady now.
Mr. Bly appeared terribly foolish. At least so far as Edward could see. But there was little point in lamenting his future father-in-law. He had to accept it, after all.
Edward drew himself up from his table, placed his quill down, and got himself ready to face his future wife and her sister.
He hoped Georgiana was ready for such a trial as staying in residence where she would soon be mistress. She seemed capable, thank God. But he did wonder if she would bear up in the end. She had made such a declaration of disliking gatherings, and a duchess, well, that was her position, to arrange gatherings, to arrange political meetings for him, to endure the endless banal banter of politicians at dinner.
