It's In The Duke's Kiss: A Danby Regency Novella

by Julie Johnstone

  “I have to admit,” Mother continued, “I was simply shocked when I encountered the duchess at the modiste last week and she invited us to her younger son’s birthday dinner. After the incident I was sure we had no hope of ever seeing the inside of Blackbourne Mansion. Yet look at us now! And to think I was worried when Mary failed to secure a marriage proposal from the Duke of Darlington last season.” Mother laughed. “He’s a paltry duke compared to Blackbourne!”

  Emma felt herself relax as her mother looked away, but it was as if Mother sensed her relief because her sharp gaze swung back to Emma and impaled her against the plush green cushion. “Emmaline, if you so much as utter a word about the incident I vow I’ll marry you off to Lord Smitherson, do you understand me?”

  Emma nodded while cringing.

  “Don’t think I’ve failed to notice the way he looks at you with utter adoration. The only reason I have not pressed the matter is that I wish for you to do better. But with your behavior, Emmaline, we may very well have to settle for an earl.” Distaste filled the last word and made it roll with a thud off her mother’s tongue.

  Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she prayed Papa had not truly been listening, but slowly, he lowered the book in which he’d had his nose buried and cut his gaze to Mother.

  “I am sorry, my dear, that you think your daughter being married to an earl, as you are, would be such a lowly thing.” With that one sentence, Papa raised his book in front of his face once more.

  Mother harrumphed as the carriage rambled down the road. “Don’t be so sensitive, Walter. It’s not unusual for a mother to want better for her daughters than she had herself.”

  Papa brought down his book with a sigh. “No, I daresay it’s not. Pity that.”

  Mary inhaled sharply, and Emma bit her lip in concern. Papa rarely bothered to comment on Mother’s babblings, and two comments in one night was unheard of. She must have truly hurt him. Emma longed to reach out and pat his hand, but that would only make matters worse.

  “You cannot fault me for wanting to see the girls better settled than I am,” Mother snapped, her words distinctly peevish. “The things I want for! I’m the only one I know who has to share a lady’s maid with my daughters!”

  “The utter travesty,” Papa said, shifting his book upward once again but not before Emma saw him roll his eyes. “If you think your life is so hard, Esther, you should try getting out, dearest, and visiting the streets of London sometime. I’ll take you, if you wish it. Many people have nothing.” The distinct sound of a page being turned filled the sudden silence.

  “They were born to nothing,” Mother replied. “Therefore, I’m sure they expect nothing. I was born to a marquess; therefore, I expected certain things.”

  “I know, my dear, and I understand I failed you.”

  Mother sniffed loudly but fell quiet, which was very unusual for her. It lasted all of a minute before she took another deep breath and spoke again. “Emmaline, just remember to act like a proper lady. And whatever you do, don’t mention the incident. I don’t think the duke would appreciate it at all.”

  Emma shivered slightly at the memory of the Duke of Blackbourne’s piercing gray eyes and the way he’d fairly commanded her to leave his Mayfair home. She imagined him referring to her near-drowning as the incident as her mother did and giggled.

  “I see nothing amusing about the night to come,” Mother chided. “Emmaline, honestly, you laugh at the most inappropriate times.”

  For once, her mother was absolutely correct. Uncontrolled laughter really was a dreadful flaw, yet she could not seem to correct it. She laughed when she was nervous, or tense, or sometimes, like just now, when something struck her as funny in her mind. All three prompts were problematic, and often the last was the most challenging to explain when asked, as she was certain most people would find her sense of humor wholly inappropriate.

  Papa lowered his book. “Stop picking at her, Esther. You’ll make her nerves worse, and we all know how she laughs at odd times when that happens.”

  “Oh dear! That’s true!” Her mother leaned forward and patted Emma on the knee. As she did, Papa winked at Emma before putting his book back in place.

  “Emmaline, I command you to set yourself at ease,” Mother said. “Though your hair is a fright and you have clearly not worn your bonnet while in the sun these last two weeks, given the smattering of freckles across your nose, your figure could not be lovelier. In fact, I’d say you have an envious figure.”

  Emma blinked in surprise at the compliment. She opened her mouth to thank her mother, but her mother’s next words silenced her. “If only you could behave as a duchess should, maybe you too could have someday been one, but no duke will ever have you the way you act. Never fear. An idea has just occurred to me.” Mother patted her again, while Emma sat woodenly. “Perhaps you can catch Lord Nathaniel’s attention. You must have done so on the ice that day. That might be the best conclusion to that day. Yes, I do like that idea. I shall work toward that end for you.”

  Emma nearly groaned as the carriage rumbled to a halt in front of the Duke of Blackbourne’s enormous home. The last thing she wanted was her mother’s help with Nathan. She’d most likely just scare him off from ever wanting to talk to Emma again.

  “Mother,” Mary said, “why exactly were we invited tonight? It’s not as if we are friends with the duke, his mother, or even Lord Nathaniel.”

  “We’re their neighbors,” her mother answered. “They invited all their neighbors, and we shall take advantage of the boon!”

  Papa looked out from behind his book. “If they invited all the neighbors, why then did we not receive a proper invitation?”

  Mother opened her mouth to answer but then frowned. “I suppose we must have been inadvertently left off the list.”

  Emma had a bad feeling about this suddenly. What if the duke had not meant to invite her family? What if—“Mother, did you know of the birthday party before you went into the dress shop?”

  “I might have heard something of it,” Mother said as she looked down and toyed with her gloves, which were already perfectly in place.

  “Esther,” Papa warned in a low tone.

  Mother looked up with narrowed eyes, but then she plastered a smile on her face as the door to the carriage was opened and their coachman held out his hand to help them descend.

  “There now,” Mother said. “We’re here, so does it really matter how it came to be?”

  Emma and Mary exchanged a silent look as Papa groaned, but they all alighted the carriage one by one.

  “Lucian, dearest,” his mother said as she strolled into his study and shut the door behind her, “I need to tell you something.”

  He hooked a finger between his neck and too-tight cravat and then gave the constricting material a tug. Nothing good ever followed that sentence when uttered by his mother or brother. Considering Lucian despised dinner parties filled with inane chitchat, and in a few short minutes he’d be forced to endure one at his mother’s behest for Nathaniel’s birthday, Lucian was already in a foul mood. Not to mention, he’d barely gotten any sleep because he’d had to retrieve Nathaniel in the middle of the night from the Fox and Hound Pub, and Lucian’s resultant mood wasn’t simply foul—it was dangerous. One would think almost killing Lady Emmaline would have made Nathaniel realize he needed to grow up, but it had not in the least.

  In the week immediately following the mishap, Lucian had been called upon to retrieve Nathaniel, who was very deep in his cups, from two gaming clubs, one house of ill repute, and White’s. It was the last disgrace that had caused Lucian to order Nathaniel to the country. He’d hoped that here, away from the enticements London offered, Nathaniel might think upon his meaningless life. But all Nathaniel had thought about was the best pub in which to drink each night.

  Lucian stalked to the sidebar and poured himself a drink while his mother silently watched. He took a long sip of the whiskey and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the way the spir
its warmed first his mouth, then his throat, and finally his belly. He turned to his mother and studied her, trying to decide how bad the news would be. “I suppose this has something to do with Nathaniel.” Lucian set his now-empty glass on a table.

  His mother twisted her hands and then did the same to a strand of her short silver hair. “Well, in a sense,” she replied.

  “You’d better just say it, Mother. Your guests are set to arrive any minute.”

  “Our guests,” his mother corrected, narrowing her blue eyes.

  “Your guests,” he repeated. “If you recall, I did not want this dinner party.”

  “I recall,” she said, sarcasm tinging her tone. “I believe your response when I asked was, Why the devil would we have a bloody dinner party to celebrate Nathaniel’s birthday? He celebrates every day.”

  Lucian’s mouth quirked with amusement. “Did I say that exactly?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  He sighed. Ever since his brother’s return, Lucian’s tension had doubled. “I’m sorry, Mother. That was an unpardonable response.”

  She shrugged. “In your defense, I did inquire about the dinner party immediately after you had to fetch Nathaniel from White’s and help poor Tensley carry your brother upstairs.”

  Lucian snorted. “I carried Nathaniel upstairs. Tensley directed.” With seventy years to his name, Tensley had long since passed the age of retirement, but the butler had been with their family since Lucian was a child. As long as the man wished to continue working, Lucian would let him.

  His mother smiled gently. “Careful, darling. If you keep doing things like allowing our ancient butler to stay employed and carrying your brother up a flight of stairs to avoid wounding Tensley’s pride by procuring a footman to help, someone will notice and people will start to talk about how you have a warm side that you don’t show others.”

  “There is nothing warm about me,” Lucian replied, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. “I’m cold, uncaring, and calculating, exactly as the ton presumes, and more importantly, I’m precisely as a duke must be.”

  His mother rolled her eyes. “Your father had the oddest notions about how a duke should act, and I despise the fact that I’ve never been able to dispel you of them.”

  Lucian chuckled and patted his mother’s arm. “You’re very cheeky, but you’re my mother so I have to allow it. Now what is it you wanted to tell me? The Marquess of Winthorp and his daughter will be here any minute. I bid them arrive half an hour early so we could finish discussing the betrothal terms between Nathaniel and Lady Francine.”

  His mother frowned. “Did Nathaniel finally agree to the marriage?”

  “He agreed to consider it.”

  His mother’s eyebrows shot to her silver hairline. “And you allowed that? I’m surprised you did not bully him into an immediate acquiescence.”

  Lucian scowled. “I do not force anyone to do anything. I persuade. There is a subtle yet crucial difference. I gave him until the end of the upcoming Season to agree to the betrothal.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then I explained quite succinctly this morning that I will cut him off. He will then be forced to support himself.”

  Mother’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Would you really, darling?”

  Lucian clenched his jaw for a brief moment. He hated to cause his mother worry, but he refused to lie. “I would. I probably should go ahead and do it now.”

  His mother surprised him by leaning forward and giving him a peck on the cheek. “But you’ll only do that as a last resort because you do have a heart, after all. However hidden you may keep it.”

  “Rubbish,” he retorted, turning toward the window to conceal his face. He knew he was excellent at suppressing his emotions, but sometimes his mother’s perceptiveness caught him off guard. He’d yet to cut Nathaniel off because he feared his brother would fall flat on his face, or worse, and Lucian was loathe to learn what the or worse could be. Nathaniel seemed to have a desire to destroy himself that Lucian could not comprehend. It had been so for years, going back to even before their father had died. Even at the age of nine, Nathaniel had done things such as take one of the carriages out for a drive on the grounds without asking and let all the horses out of the stalls, which kept him in trouble with their father. Lucian had long suspected it was for attention, which was probably the biggest reason he’d not been harder on him before now, but Nathaniel had to grow up. This self-pity and thoughtless behavior could not continue any longer.

  “And tell me again why you think the Francine chit would be a good match for Nathaniel?”

  Lucian smirked at his reflection in the window. His mother never said an unkind word against anyone. She didn’t need to. You could tell by how she referred to people whether she liked them or not. If she liked a lady she referred to them as my dear. If she disliked them, they were the chit.

  He slowly faced her once more. “You’ve known the Francine chit,” he said in a subtly chiding tone, “since she came out of her mother’s womb. When do you think you may drop the word chit and refer to her simply as Lady Francine?”

  “I don’t believe ever.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Not even if she married Nathaniel?”

  “Especially not then,” his mother replied in a rather dramatically dire tone. “I predict she’d make him miserable; therefore, I would not like her.”

  “You already don’t like her,” he retorted.

  Mother’s hand fluttered to her chest once more. “Does it show?”

  “Only to me, Mother. Only to me,” he assured her. “But why don’t you care for her?”

  Lucian noted how his mother reached for her long strand of pearls and wound it tight around her fingers. She often did that when she was contemplative. “Well, when she was a child it was because she acted so very spoiled and vain.”

  “I don’t recall that,” Lucian said, casting his mind back and trying to seek out a memory of Lady Francine when she was younger.

  His mother smirked. “Darling, you wouldn’t know because you’ve never paid the chit a bit of attention.”

  “I pay no woman attention but you, Mother. It has nothing to do with the chit…I mean, Lady Francine.”

  “Men are so blind sometimes,” his mother muttered. “It has everything to do with her. She is exceptional in neither wit nor beauty, and thus, you haven’t noticed her.”

  He opened his mouth to refute that statement, but his mother cut him off. “When an exceptional lady comes along who is right for you, you’ll take heed. I’ve no doubt. And then you will fall in love and marry.”

  “As long as this exceptional lady is perfectly mannered and meticulous in thought rather than impetuous, then I’m sure I’ll notice her, as you say.”

  His mother laughed. “Oh, darling, you will see…” Her words trailed off, but the way her eyes twinkled as if she knew things he did not intrigued him.

  “What is it you think I’ll see?”

  “You do not choose with whom you fall in love the way you choose the perfect flower to pluck. Love is imperfect, and whomever you love will be so also. Love falls like an apple from a branch and hits you in the head, and it’s irresistible, despite its flaws.”

  When his mother dribbled this romantic nonsense, he really was at a loss as to what she wanted him to say. He tugged on his cravat. “And why don’t you like Lady Francine now?”

  “Because she sees your brother as a prize. A stallion to be tamed.”

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. His mother looked angry, but the image of Nathaniel as a stallion to be tamed was amusing. “You know this how?”

  “It’s in her eyes,” Mother responded, matter-of-fact.

  “Her eyes?”

  “Oh, yes. When she looks at Nathaniel, they gleam like those of a child about to get a new toy. She thinks she’ll be the one to change him from rake to respectable.”

  Lucian glanced out the window where a carriage was pulling up. �
��Well, the chit is here now. Should we hide the boy toy?”

  “That is not funny,” his mother snapped and moved past him to look out the window.

  “I’m not laughing.” Lucian barely held back said laughter. He forced himself to sober. “Have you considered that Nathaniel likely needs someone who is not impetuous but steady? Who is not a rule breaker but one who respects the rules? Who thinks of the future as well as the moment she is in?”

  “I’ve considered all of that, and I agree that he does need his opposite. But it is not the Francine chit.”

  “I think it might be, Mother.” Lady Francine would be a steadying presence, and she adored Nathaniel. He needed both adoration and a calm wife. “Let us agree for tonight to disagree, shall we?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed with an odd amount of enthusiasm. “I’m so glad you said that because—”

  Lucian narrowed his eyes as he stared out the window. He studied the two women and the man who had exited the carriage in front of his home. They had their backs to him so he could not see their faces, but he was positive it wasn’t Winthorp and his daughter. For one thing, Winthorp’s wife was deceased, but a woman with silver hair stood next to the man. For another, Lady Francine did not have brown hair and the woman in the courtyard did.

  “Who the devil—” He lost the thought as another woman descended from the carriage.

  All Lucian could see of her was the hint of a lovely ankle, which quickly disappeared as her gown fell into place. Her face was obscured by a thick veil of long black hair. She looked up suddenly, and his breath caught deep in his chest—Lady Emmaline in the flesh. The intensity of his reaction, nearly identical to how he’d felt when she’d shown up at his Mayfair home, surprised him yet again. Perhaps he had formed an odd connection of sorts to her in his mind since he’d saved her.

  Lady Emmaline strolled with utter grace toward his front door. He found himself leaning closer to the glass as she neared. He recalled her eyes suddenly. They were extraordinary. Yes, they were the color of a perfectly cloudless day, and that did make them lovely, but what made them exquisite was her gaze appeared innocent yet challenging at once, an intriguing combination.