No Other Duke But You--A Playful Brides Novel

by Valerie Bowman

  “I suppose so.” Delilah shrugged. “If only there was some way to make it easy.”

  Glancing over both shoulders, Danielle lowered her voice. “What if I told you there is?”

  “Is what?” Delilah asked, blinking.

  “A way to make it easy. Or easier, at least.” Danielle’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Delilah knew mischief when she saw it. Her pulse quickened.

  She searched the Frenchwoman’s face. “What do you mean?”

  Danielle took a step closer and whispered, “You know I’m a connoisseur of perfume.”

  Delilah nodded. Danielle was half-French and had the best-smelling lavender perfume. She’d even helped a few friends buy perfume that would suit them. But Delilah failed to see what that had to do with matchmaking.

  “I met a woman in Sweetings Alley who sells … special perfume,” Danielle continued.

  Delilah frowned. “I’m not certain I understand. You mean perfume that will draw Branville’s attention?”

  Danielle glanced around again. They were quite alone, but it was obvious the Frenchwoman did not want to be overheard. “If I tell you, you must promise to keep it a secret. It may sound quite mad.”

  A strange emotion uncoiled in Delilah’s chest. It felt like hope. “I’m excellent at keeping secrets, and I’m also half-mad myself, or so my mother tells me, which means I am in no position to judge the madness of others.”

  Danielle smiled. “Very well. The woman who makes the perfume is a Roma woman named Madame Rosa. The perfume is purported to make the person it’s sprinkled upon fall in love with the person who administers it.”

  Delilah narrowed her eyes. “Cousin Danielle, you do know that sounds ever so much like what Oberon’s up to in our play?”

  Danielle smiled and nodded. “I told you it would sound mad.”

  It did sound mad. Entirely mad. But that didn’t keep excitement from racing through Delilah’s veins. Because in addition to sounding completely mad, it also sounded … perfect. “How do you know it works?”

  Danielle shook her head. “I don’t know that it works. I haven’t purchased any. Madame Rosa told me about it when I visited her shop last year. But it cannot hurt to try, can it?”

  Delilah’s jaw fell open. The greater implications of this news were beginning to filter through her mind. “You’ve known about a love potion all this time, and you’ve failed to tell me or Lucy, the best matchmakers in town?”

  Danielle laughed. “Honestly, I thought you’d scoff at it.”

  Delilah shook her head. “Lucy might scoff, but I won’t. I’m completely desperate. Madness begins to sound like sense when one is desperate.”

  Danielle gave her a warning look. “You cannot tell Lucy. You can’t tell anyone. You promised.”

  Delilah nodded and crossed her fingers over her heart. “It shall be difficult, to be certain, but I promised and I will keep that promise. The secret is safe with me, but you must take me to see Madame Rosa.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Delilah sincerely hoped she was dressed appropriately to go to a magical perfume shop and buy love potion. She wore a light pink gown with matching slippers and no jewelry, save for her prized possession, a small golden heart pendant her father had given her the Christmas before he died.

  Guilt tugged at her when she considered how she was keeping this scheme from Lucy (Lucy so adored a scheme), but Delilah had promised Danielle that she wouldn’t tell, and she intended to keep her promise. The entire premise was completely mad, of course, but Cousin Danielle was an intelligent woman who had traveled the world and seen many things that Delilah had little idea about. How did she know there wasn’t some sort of magical love potion in existence? Besides, as Danielle had pointed out, it couldn’t possibly hurt to try it. Could it?

  Danielle’s coach arrived at Delilah’s town house at precisely one o’clock in the afternoon the next day. Delilah had already decided it best to keep the details to a minimum when describing her outing to her mother. She could picture the look of horror on her mother’s face if she were to call out, “I’m going out to buy love potion,” as she headed for the door. It was tempting, but she wasn’t quite that brave. Besides, even if her outing seemed perfectly reasonable, she didn’t want her mother to know she needed any help capturing Branville’s attention.

  On her way to the front door, Delilah stuck her head into the gold salon. “I’m going out shopping with Cousin Danielle,” she announced. “I’ll be back later.”

  “I don’t approve of Danielle,” Mother replied from her perch on the settee, where she sat looking at pictures of gowns in periodicals and sipping ginger tea.

  Delilah had to fight her eye roll. Of course Mother didn’t approve of Danielle. She didn’t approve of any of the Cavendishes.

  “Your Cousin Daphne could have made a much better match,” Mother continued. “I don’t know what my sister was thinking when she allowed that marriage to take place.”

  “Yes, well, I’ll see you when I return.” Delilah had long ago learned it was best not to argue with her mother about things like whom she did or did not approve of. Mother never changed her stance, and she enjoyed telling Delilah how wrong she was.

  Mother’s opinion had never stopped Delilah from being great friends with the Cavendishes. She’d always adored her Cousin Daphne and her husband, Rafe, his twin brother Cade, and Cade’s wife, Danielle. Rumor had it, they were all spies. They were certainly all interesting and well-traveled, and had a great many fascinating stories to tell. Stories like knowing where to purchase magic perfume, Delilah thought with a smile.

  She hurried out to the coach and allowed Danielle’s groomsmen, who’d been riding on the back of the conveyance, to help her up into the interior.

  “Good afternoon,” Danielle said, as Delilah settled herself into the seat across from her cousin and her cousin’s maid.

  “Good afternoon,” Delilah replied, patting her reticule. “I’ve got all my pin money saved and ready.”

  Danielle laughed. “I’ve already given the coachman the address.” She called out to the groomsman, who let the coachman know they were ready to leave. The coach took off at a clip toward London’s main shopping district.

  “You haven’t told anyone about this, have you?” Danielle asked, eyeing Delilah carefully.

  “No. Mother only knows I’m going shopping,” Delilah replied.

  “And Lucy?” Danielle asked, drawing out the duchess’s name.

  “Not a word.” Delilah crossed her fingers over her heart. It was true. It had nearly killed her not to tell Lucy, but she’d bit the inside of her cheek and kept her secret to herself when she’d spoken to Lucy last night.

  “Did you tell your mother you were going out with me?” Danielle asked, a sly smile on her face.

  “Yes.”

  “No doubt she disapproves.”

  “She disapproves of most of what I do.”

  “You haven’t told her about the play yet?”

  “Not yet. She’s heard there’s a play, but I’ve managed to remain silent every time she rails about how tasteless and vulgar such a thing is.”

  Danielle swallowed a laugh. “You didn’t?”

  Delilah shrugged. “It’s quite amazing how people assume you agree with them when you merely remain quiet.”

  “You’re quite right,” Danielle said, patting Delilah on the knee. “I assume you still want an offer from Branville, or we wouldn’t be on this little trip today.”

  Delilah nodded, turned her head, and stared out the window, watching the sights of the busy town pass by. She’d barely had time to contemplate what she was about this afternoon. It was ridiculous to buy magic perfume. But she was desperate. Not the mild sort of desperate that called for trying to make the Duke of Branville jealous. No. The mad kind of desperate that resulted in a head injury from a tree limb and a trip to buy magic potion. She thought about her cousin’s question. Delilah wanted an offer from Branville, but she didn’t expect one. She
hadn’t expected one for days now. Oh, why couldn’t she be brave enough to tell her mother to go to hell? Thomas had done that once with his father. But she knew it was a statement he’d regretted the rest of his days.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. She’d come home from play rehearsal quite late last night, and Mother had been waiting up in the gold salon. She’d reminded Delilah that she only had a matter of days to secure an offer from Branville, thus ensuring Delilah’s involvement in this insane outing today.

  Before Delilah had turned toward the door to go to bed, she’d asked her mother, “How’s your courtship with Lord Hilton coming?”

  A sly grin had quickly spread across her mother’s lips. “I daresay I shall secure my engagement before you secure yours.”

  Delilah had nodded again and quietly left the room.

  Why did Mother always have to be so competitive? Why did she have to be so unloving? As a child, Delilah had dreamed of having a mother who tucked her into bed at night and sang to her. One who worried over her when she was sick. Instead, her mother had always told her to stay away from her if she was ill, so she wouldn’t come down with the same malady.

  Father had been there instead. Kind. Loving. He’d called her his little butter stamp and kissed her forehead when it was hot with fever. If only Father hadn’t got sick. If only Father hadn’t died. How would her life be different now if he were still here? Mother would be nicer. Less angry. Less judgmental. Or at least she’d keep her angry, judgmental thoughts to herself.

  Father had never allowed Mother to say anything unkind to Delilah. She hadn’t begun doing so until after he’d died. Mother had always been quietly disapproving. She’d always sighed or rolled her eyes whenever Delilah tripped or spilled something on her clothing. But she’d never said anything truly awful to her until after Papa had died.

  Delilah would never forget the night her mother had said the most awful thing of all. It had been the night of her debut. She’d been dressed in a gown of white, her mother’s choice, not hers. She’d managed to keep the gown white too. Not a mark on it. Not a scuff on her pristine white kid slippers or her gloves either. It had taken every bit of her concentration to keep her clothing pristine, but she’d managed to make her way down to the foyer in a perfectly pressed, unwrinkled gown. She’d been waiting impatiently for her mother to meet her in the foyer on their way to her very first debutante ball. Delilah had been filled with hopes and dreams of meeting a man and falling in love and having the perfect courtship.

  Mother had come down the stairs, looking as regal as the queen descending to her court. She wore a gown of plum silk and stood silently while Goodfellow helped her on with her gray fur pelisse.

  Delilah, ever impatient, couldn’t wait a moment longer to discover how her mother thought she looked. She twirled in a circle and asked, “What do you think, Mother?”

  “You haven’t stained anything yet, have you?” was Mother’s clipped reply.

  “No,” Delilah answered with a wide smile, thrilled to be able to honestly report such a thing for once.

  “Good,” Mother replied. “For heaven’s sake, try to keep it that way.”

  Delilah nodded obediently, while Goodfellow opened the front door for them. On the way toward the coach, she glanced down at her finery and an unexpected thought made tears well in her eyes. “Mother,” she asked quietly. “Do you think Papa would be proud of me tonight?”

  Her mother had turned to her without a hint of emotion in her eyes. “It’s probably best he’s not here to see it, don’t you think? That way he wouldn’t be disappointed.”

  Mother had turned and made her way to the coach. The groomsmen had helped her up and Delilah had quickly followed, but she could barely breathe. Her mother’s words had crushed her. She sat in stone silence all the way to the ball.

  Once they arrived, Delilah had forced a false smile to her face. She danced and talked and ate refreshments. She went through all of the motions of being a normal, carefree young lady at her first ball. But she’d already tucked away the desire to find a match deep, deep inside. She wasn’t good enough and she never would be.

  Instead, she set about doing her best to make matches for all of her friends. She’d already learned some of it from Lucy Hunt as a child and enjoyed it. Being a matchmaker was the next best thing to making one’s own match, wasn’t it? The last thing she wanted was to be an embarrassment to her mother. She’d already caused her enough shame. And Delilah truly couldn’t bear the thought of being a disappointment to the memory of her dead father. It was safer not to try.

  Delilah’s penchant for matchmaking had made her happy all of these years. Only it hadn’t. Not entirely. She’d always felt there was something missing, but she’d also always been scared senseless at the notion of making her own match. Now that her mother had forced the issue, Delilah was nearly as miserable as she’d been that first night. She was on her way to buy magic perfume, for heaven’s sake.

  The traffic in London was surprisingly light that afternoon, and it felt as if only minutes had passed before the coach rolled to a stop on Lombard Street. The coachman pulled down the steps, and the groomsman helped both ladies to alight. Danielle’s maid remained in the coach.

  As soon as Delilah’s slippers touched the ground, she glanced around in search of the magical perfume shop. Unless she was missing it, however, there didn’t appear to be a perfume shop nearby.

  Danielle nodded toward the end of the street. “We have to walk the rest of the way.”

  Of course. A shop that sold magical perfume wouldn’t be sitting about in the open, would it? Stood entirely to reason. Delilah, Danielle, and an accompanying footman made their way down the street and through a narrow alleyway, past a small white picket fence, to the back of a set of mews. They turned once more to locate a small green door nearly hidden behind a mass of dark ivy.

  “Please remain here, Henry,” Danielle said to the footman, who nodded and stood facing away from the door, his hands folded behind his ramrod-straight back. “We shan’t be long.”

  Nerves clawed at Delilah’s middle as Danielle lifted her gloved hand and slowly knocked on the door.

  After a distressing length of complete silence, an old woman’s voice finally called, “Enter.”

  Danielle grasped the handle and pushed open the rickety green door. She held it open for Delilah to precede her into the shop.

  Delilah stepped inside and sucked in her breath. The interior was dark and cool with a heady mixture of scents she couldn’t quite identify. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until they’d been in the shop for what felt like five minutes. She stared at all the strange and wonderful things inside, lining narrow shelves along every wall. The space was small and cramped and completely filled with all manner of items, including tin lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, beads, candles, and wooden tables filled with rows and rows of perfume bottles and vials.

  The dimness was illuminated by the flickering light of candles. Delilah turned in a wide circle to take in everything and accidentally knocked into a table full of perfume bottles. The bottles teetered. Danielle caught two of them before they fell on their sides.

  “Sorry,” Delilah whispered, wincing. She scrambled to right the rest of the bottles.

  “This way,” came the old woman’s voice again, and Delilah turned to see a tiny old lady sitting behind a table piled high with candles and vials of perfume. She was dressed in colorful robes and wore at least a dozen golden chains of varying lengths around her neck. Golden bracelets jangled on her wrists. Her curly gray-and-black hair was piled high atop her head and secured by a colorful scarf.

  Danielle took Delilah’s hand and led her over to where the woman sat. “Good afternoon, Madame Rosa. This is my cousin, Delilah.”

  “Come closer, girl,” the woman said, squinting at her.

  Delilah swallowed and took a step closer.

  “Sit,” Madame Rosa ordered, and Delilah dro
pped into one of the two rickety wooden chairs that faced the woman’s table.

  “Let me see your bare hand,” Madame Rosa said.

  Tentatively, Delilah pulled her white kid glove from her slightly shaking fingers and held out her hand, palm up.

  Madame Rosa slid open a drawer to her right and pulled out a looking glass. She grasped Delilah’s wrist and pulled her hand closer. When she bent over it, the heat of her breath warmed Delilah’s palm. “Hmm,” she murmured. “Quite interesting. But ye didn’t come here for a palm reading, did ye, lass?”

  “Palm reading?” Delilah glanced uncertainly at her cousin. Danielle shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  “I read palms,” Madame Rosa explained. “I can see the future in the lines of yer skin.”

  Delilah simultaneously wanted to snatch her hand away and push it closer to the woman’s craggy nose. “What do you see in mine?” she asked, curiosity clawing at her insides.

  “Want a palm reading, eh, lass?” The old woman laughed.

  Delilah pulled her hand back into her lap. She swallowed. “I only wondered…”

  “I’ll tell ye one thing for free, lass,” Madame Rosa said.

  Delilah leaned forward so far she nearly toppled off the edge of her chair. She searched the old woman’s face. “What?” she breathed.

  “True love is in your future,” Madame Rosa said, nodding sagely.

  Delilah sighed and closed her eyes. She clenched her palm and rubbed her knuckles with the thumb of her other hand, nearly overcome with relief. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that, Madame. In fact, it’s why I’ve come. Well, not for the palm reading, but for…” She glanced tentatively at Danielle again. “The special perfume.”

  A frown descended over the old woman’s face. “Special perfume?”

  Danielle cleared her throat. “The elixir you told me about, Madame. Last time I was here.”

  Delilah nodded eagerly. Elixir sounded so much more official—and admittedly more insane—than perfume. “Yes. Yes. That.”