Her Best Friend, the Duke

by Laura Martin

  ‘You’re too kind, Miss Preston.’

  She inclined her head and then turned, heading back out through the library and to the ballroom. Caroline knew she should follow her—by now her mother would have noticed her absence and would be growing frantic—but before she moved she took a moment to peer wistfully into the darkness of the garden below. It was too much to hope that James had waited, hiding himself in the bushes somewhere. He was a duke, not accustomed to having to creep around in the shadows, and no doubt he was striding through the ballroom leaving a trail of hopeful young debutantes behind him.

  ‘Enough,’ she said firmly. This dreaming would have to stop. She’d decided to find a husband this Season and spending her time obsessing about James wasn’t going to help her achieve that aim. From this moment on he would occupy her thoughts only when he was in the direct vicinity.

  Turning, she walked back through the library, hearing the music that signalled a waltz as she opened the door to the hall and slipped back into the crowd.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Have you met my daughter?’ Mrs Wilson said, gripping a petrified-looking girl who didn’t look as though she should be out of the schoolroom. James inclined his head, murmuring all the right words as his eyes searched subtly for a way to escape. He would swear the debutantes were getting younger and grimaced at the recognition it was most likely just him growing older in comparison.

  Artfully he slipped away. He’d spent a lifetime being accosted by hopeful mothers and shy daughters and knew how to take his leave without causing any offence. He was used to being the most eligible bachelor present and over the years had honed the skills that meant he could enjoy a social occasion without it being all about the women who wished to marry him despite not knowing him at all.

  His eyes were on the slim figure on the other side of the ballroom and he walked briskly to try to avoid anyone else interrupting his passage.

  ‘Miss Yaxley,’ he said as he came up behind her. She was with her mother and another middle-aged woman, her eyes darting around the ballroom in her customary fashion as if looking for a means of escape.

  She turned to him, the smile on her face full of pure happiness for a second before she remembered her surroundings and set her lips into a more demure half-smile.

  It was always like this when he came home. Caroline was his closest friend, despite the outward observation that they had little in common. They’d become unlikely friends when he had proposed to her friend Lady Georgina several years ago. After Lady Georgina had left him on their wedding day to run off to Australia with an ex-convict, he and Caroline had drifted closer and he’d found her wry humour uplifting ever since.

  In public, though, they had to remain cordially distant. He would bow and she would curtsy. He would ask for a dance, at most two. They might spend a couple of minutes conversing in plain view of all the other guests, but certainly no more. Anything more than that would invite gossip, even scandal, and they had been careful to avoid any hint of that throughout their friendship.

  Not that there was anything inappropriate about their relationship. They might embrace on meeting in private, but there wasn’t ever anything more than that. They were blessed with that strikingly rare thing—a friendship between a man and a woman that was strictly platonic, with no desire for anything more on either of their parts. It was one of the things James was most grateful for in his life.

  ‘Lady Yaxley, Lady Whittaker.’ He inclined his head to each of the older women.

  Lady Yaxley smiled at him, the warmth radiating from her. Over the years he’d been a regular guest at Rosling Manor in Hampshire and James suspected Lady Yaxley viewed him as the son she’d never had.

  ‘Might I request the pleasure of a dance with your daughter?’

  ‘Of course, Your Grace, it is wonderful to have you back in the country.’

  ‘You must meet my daughter, Your Grace,’ Lady Whittaker said as he took Caroline by the arm. He smiled non-committally and whisked Caroline off before he had to supply an answer.

  ‘Smoothly done, Your Grace,’ Caroline said, laughing at his haughty expression.

  ‘You may have been playing this game for seven years, Cara, but I’ve been attending balls for almost two decades.’ It was a sobering thought.

  ‘Two decades,’ Caroline mused. ‘You’d have thought you’d have perfected a simple waltz by now...’

  ‘Cheeky minx. I’ll have you know I’m the most sought-after dance partner in the northern hemisphere.’

  ‘I’ve always said the women of Europe are fools.’

  He slipped his hand around her waist, maintaining exactly the correct distance from her slender body. She looked elegant tonight in a light blue gown made of silk, embroidered with silver flowers and with a dark blue sash around her waist. As usual her blonde hair was swept back, revealing the delicate skin of her neck. She was tall and slim, but not in the gangly way some tall women seemed to be. Her height suited her and she glided gracefully around the ballroom as if she were floating a few inches from the ground.

  ‘No one saw you in the garden?’ Caroline’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

  ‘I was as stealthy as a mouse.’

  ‘Mice aren’t very stealthy. We had a bit of an infestation one summer when I was seven or eight at Rosling Manor and they were surprisingly bold and quite loud for their little size. I even saw one climbing the curtains and doing a rather impressive jump from one curtain pole to the next.’

  ‘Acrobatic mice?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I’m not sure I believe you. Surely they would have been collected and placed into a tiny mouse circus if they were that impressive.’

  She rolled her eyes at him as he swept her into a turn and he found himself grinning. England had lost some of its appeal these last few years and he found himself spending more and more time abroad, but one thing he did miss whenever he went away was Caroline. He didn’t have any close family and almost everyone else was dazzled by his title and wealth. They were polite, sometimes gratingly so, but it meant meaningful connections were hard to make.

  Caroline treated him as though he were an unruly friend or a brother, with healthy doses of sarcasm, and never seemed to feel the need to agree with him just because he was a duke.

  ‘What do you deem stealthy, then?’

  She chewed on her bottom lip as she always did when she was thinking. ‘A lioness.’

  ‘A lioness rather than a lion?’

  ‘The females do all the work to bring in the food,’ she said with a certainty that told him it was something she’d read about extensively in the huge library at Rosling Manor.

  ‘Do they now?’

  ‘I’d have thought with your years of education you would at least know a little about the animal kingdom.’

  ‘It was a subject sadly lacking at Eton.’

  He spun her again, exerting just a little extra pressure to bring her in closer as they changed direction. They must have danced together a hundred times, perhaps more, and he could anticipate her every step.

  Suddenly Caroline’s body stiffened in his arms and he felt her miss a step. It was unusual—she was an excellent dancer—and he found himself turning slightly to see what had caused her to stumble.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Caroline said, her voice with too cheery a lilt to it. It sounded false and he turned again to try to catch what she was looking at. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered furiously.

  ‘Tell me what you’re looking at, then I can be more discreet.’

  ‘I’m not looking at anything.’

  He made to turn again and saw her teeth clench together, the minuscule movement of her jaw giving away the inner tension.

  ‘Fine. Just stop it and dance normally.’

  He obliged, sweeping her across the dance floor as he waited for her to speak.

  ‘It was
Lord Mottringham,’ she said eventually, not meeting his eye.

  ‘Lord Mottringham?’ From what James could remember the man was well into his sixties and had been balding for quite some years. Not the sort of man who would normally make a young woman swoon.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Cara, you’re going to have to tell me more than that. Do you have a tendre for Lord Mottringham?’

  She pulled a face, scrunching up her nose.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

  ‘Of course it does.’

  ‘Father said he has expressed interest in marrying me previously,’ Caroline said, not meeting his eye.

  ‘Then you’ll laugh off the idea, remind your father you’re twenty-four, not sixty, and forget about Lord Mottringham and his shiny pate.’

  Glancing down, he saw her cheeks were flushing. Caroline did not blush, even when she’d fallen through the ice two winters ago skating on the Serpentine and had to be hauled out by three young men who got more than a passing glance at her undergarments. Or when an elderly acquaintance had assumed he and Caroline were married when they were out walking together and had congratulated them loudly and enthusiastically. Nothing made her blush, which made the pink hue of her cheeks all the more fascinating.

  ‘You’re blushing.’

  She glared at him, missing her step again and stamping on his toe—this time most certainly on purpose.

  ‘Before I lose a limb will you just tell me what is going on?’

  Caroline inhaled deeply, then looked up at him. ‘I’m going to get married.’

  ‘You said so on the terrace, but surely not to Mottringham?’ His voice was louder than it should be when he spoke, so Caroline shot him a warning glance and pressed him to continue dancing.

  ‘Yes. No. Maybe.’

  He blinked. ‘You must know.’

  ‘If he offers. If anyone vaguely suitable offers. The person doesn’t much matter,’ she informed him.

  ‘Your husband doesn’t much matter?’

  She shrugged. ‘I wish to get married. I doubt I will find someone who makes my heart flutter and my head swoon. As long as he is kind enough then, no, I don’t think his actual identity is all that important.’

  James stopped, aware of the other couples spinning around them, but unable to take in everything she was saying. It was such a reversal of everything she’d ever expressed before.

  ‘You never wanted to marry. Now you’ll accept any old fool?’

  ‘I didn’t wish to marry. Now I do, that’s all there is to it.’

  Insistently she tugged on his hand, trying to get him moving again.

  ‘Dance,’ she whispered, ‘Everyone is staring at us.’

  He raised his arms again and took her back into the hold, letting his body remember the steps so his mind could try to piece together the shocking news Caroline had just delivered.

  She’d always been insistent that she didn’t want to settle. Time and time again she’d told him of her friends’ miserable lives, saddled with husbands they could not stand and no freedom to make their own decisions. Of course there were exceptions. Lady Georgina, the friend who was like a sister to her, had found true love with her Australian and now lived in wedded bliss on the other side of the world, but it wasn’t love Caroline was thinking about. It was marriage. A loveless marriage, probably arranged by her father to a man she had only ever made polite conversation with.

  It was one of the things that bound her and James together. Both of them were growing older, unattached when the world thought they should be married. It had always been for different reasons—in James’s case he’d always been holding out for love, that lightning strike of a moment his parents had always talked about. For Caroline it was a desire to maintain her freedom, her ability to have some control over her life. It might have been for different reasons, but as the years had passed and one after another all their friends had married, it’d been something they had shared.

  The last notes of the waltz swelled, then faded and Caroline was quick to pull him from the dance floor before the couples could take their places for the next dance.

  ‘Close your mouth,’ she muttered as she led him to the edge of the ballroom. ‘I don’t know why you’re so shocked, it’s not as if I’ve just announced I’m running away to do missionary work in Africa.’

  James rallied. She was right. In anyone else he would think it the most normal of suggestions.

  ‘Cara—’ he began, but was interrupted by a pretty young woman positioning herself in between him and Caroline. There was a momentary flash of irritation on Caroline’s face before she recovered her normal composure.

  ‘Miss Yaxley, you were saying earlier you wanted to introduce me to the Duke of Heydon,’ the debutante said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

  ‘So I did.’ Her voice was flat and from her body language James knew she didn’t much like this young woman. ‘Your Grace, this is Miss Preston. Miss Preston, it is my pleasure to introduce the Duke of Heydon.’

  ‘Delighted,’ James murmured, wishing the young women would move on so he could get back to questioning where Caroline had lost her senses.

  ‘Miss Yaxley is a dear friend,’ Miss Preston said, clutching hold of Caroline’s arm, ‘and she’s said on more than one occasion she wished we could meet.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Often in these situations he found it easiest to use as few words as possible.

  ‘I saw you dancing a moment ago. You dance very well, Your Grace.’

  She stood there, looking at him expectantly. Of course she was angling for a dance and it would be supremely rude of him not to offer. Still, he considered staying quiet, not least because it looked as though Caroline could not stand the woman beside her.

  In the end manners won out, ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Preston?’

  A hand went to her chest in a move he would wager she’d practised in front of a mirror. ‘I’d be delighted, Your Grace. It would be an honour.’

  ‘Perhaps...’ He’d been about to suggest he pencil in his name on her dance card for one of the dances later in the evening just as the music for the next dance began.

  Quickly she linked her arm through his and angled herself towards the dance floor. James shot a look back over his shoulder at Caroline, wanting to call out and tell her to wait for him so they could discuss her announcement further, but she was already disappearing into the crowds.

  The dance passed in a blur, with Miss Preston doing her best to engage him on the mundane subjects of the weather and men’s fashion. He was glad of the quick pace of the dance and used every turn as an opportunity to search the ballroom for a sign of Caroline. With her height and the striking blue ballgown she should be easy to pick out, but despite his best efforts she had disappeared. At the end of the dance he bowed to Miss Preston, resisted her efforts to take a stroll in the gardens, and searched in earnest for Caroline. After ten minutes it was clear she’d left the ball and he retreated to the gentlemen’s sanctuary—the card room—to mull over the evening’s events while playing a few hands.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Slow down, Bertie,’ Caroline called, laughing as the dog pulled harder on the lead in response to her pleas. He was pulling so hard she was almost running and, despite the overcast skies, there were still plenty of people in Hyde Park to see her unladylike conduct. She could imagine her mother’s face and almost hear the lecture about the proper way to walk when out in public. It would not include a fast trot.

  Bertie had his nose to the ground and was following some invisible scent, pulling Caroline off her normal route and taking her deeper into the park. Not that she minded. Four hours she’d spent that morning at the dressmaker’s, being pushed and pulled and prodded as she was fitted for a wardrobe of new gowns.

  She closed her eyes as she remembered her mothe
r’s face when she had announced last night she had finally decided she wished to marry. Lady Yaxley had crumpled with joy, the tears falling without check. Seven years Caroline had been out in society but never before had she suggested she wished to truly start to look for a husband.

  Her mother had embraced her, whispering into her ear that she would find Caroline a suitable husband before the year was out.

  Caroline had smiled weakly, wondering if she already regretted her decision. This morning her mother had woken her at the crack of dawn, announcing Caroline would need a new wardrobe for the Season, something fitting for a woman looking to attract a husband. Then she’d bustled Caroline off for a whole morning at the dressmaker’s, overseeing as the seamstress brought out reel after reel of material.

  Bertie barked, a sound of joy, and pulled even more, wrenching the lead out of Caroline’s hand. She stiffened on the spot for a moment, unable to believe the brown streak already a hundred feet away was her dog. Hitching her skirts up, she began to run after him, keeping her head bowed in the hope no one would see her on this most unladylike dash through the park.

  She followed Bertie down the path and around a bend, past a dense copse of trees, having to follow the bark now he’d disappeared from view. With a curse under her breath she ran faster. Bertie loved to swim and the last thing she wanted was to reach the Serpentine to find him terrorising the ducks.

  Caroline had her head bent low and the first thing she saw as she rounded another bend was an expensive pair of boots. Too late she tried to slow herself, instead hurtling into the solid body. She felt arms wrap around her, steadying her for just a second before setting her back on her feet.

  Bertie was sitting on the path, wagging his tail in delight, looking as though he were the most well-behaved dog in the world.

  ‘I see you haven’t got very far with training Bertie this past year,’ James said, reaching down and stroking the bloodhound’s silky ears.