When they reached the group, Mama, Papa, Vallie, and Charlotte stood together.
“Papa, Mama,” Alison said as she approached. “I’ve chosen my husband.”
She held her breath, braced to see if her father would rail about the duke, but he only smiled a genuine smile. “Am I to understand that you’ve chosen Mr. Foster?”
She smoothed a hand over her skirts to hide her nervous trembling. “Yes, Papa. I love him and he loves me.”
The women smiled, each clutching her hands to her bosom in an expression of romantic rapture that filled Alison’s heart as well.
“A fine choice. I’m so grateful you two chose as you did. Particularly you, my darling daughter.”
Jonathan stepped to her side. “Why?”
“Because I do so enjoy my discussions with you, Mr. Foster. But also because the duke didn’t actually offer for you. He spoke to me, moments before I came to you and informed me he would be leaving early. When I asked why, he said because he’d intended to offer for you and his mother approved of the match, but you were obviously in love with Foster.”
Alison had entirely forgotten the duke, though it seemed it was for the best. She frowned. “You tricked us, then?”
“From the very start.” Charlotte swept a hand toward them. “We’ve all seen how perfect you two would be for each other.”
Mama stepped forward, her hands clasped in her usual demure pose. “For years now I’ve invited him to our home, and your father and I have watched your eyes light up. It only took a little cajoling on our parts to make you see it.”
“Thank you,” Jonathan said. “I know I should be angry at being tricked, but you all helped me to see that I didn’t need to wait for happiness. Whatever comes in the future, we shall have each other.”
“I agree. I cannot begrudge the method, since the outcome is precisely what I desired.” Alison smiled, not caring if her mouth was open too far or curved too wide, or if she was moving too fast or frantic in front of the group. None of that mattered anymore. She had her scientist, her magician . . . her happy ending.
About Robin Delany
Robin Delany lives in a beautiful spot in the Northern California wine country with her husband and two sweet little ones. Unfortunately, the aforementioned little ones keep her from exploring said wine country. More's the pity. She loves to spend time with her family, read, and travel. Whenever she can find a moment, she sneaks off with her muse and writes historical romances filled with sinfully sexy adventure and a dash of humor. Learn more at RobinDelany.com and then join the conversation on Twitter or Facebook.
Aileen Fish
Chapter One
October, 1810
Hampshire, England
Andrew Vickers, the 5th Duke of Langley, stood beneath a yellowing oak tree observing his guests with a yawn. The titled young men and ladies Mother had invited scampered about with a select few members of the gentry, chasing after their wooden pall mall balls on the vast lawn at his southernmost estate, Hawking Hall. Exceedingly bored, Langley wished he were in Town. There was no one in London he really cared to see, but at least there he could retire to his chamber when he wished, or bury himself in a book and speak to no one for hours on end.
Standing beside him his friend, William Butler, Viscount Pembrook, absently swung a mallet in the air, appearing no more interested in the game than Langley was.
Langley made no attempt to disguise another yawn. He could use a nap before the evening activities, if he was to be at his best. It was important he be sharp witted so he could finally put this matter of marriage behind him. “I’m beginning to wish I had simply let Mother decide who was the most qualified young lady on her list and I had agreed to marry that one.”
“Hardly the most romantic way to proceed.”
“Having our fathers arrange the match between myself and Lady Eleanore wasn’t romantic either. Everything would have been settled if she hadn’t eloped with my cousin.”
Pembrook lifted his mallet behind his shoulders and stretched. “You aren’t suddenly going to declare yourself heartbroken over her at this late date, are you?”
“Of course not. I’ve seen the couple since they returned from Scotland and they seem genuinely happy. I wish them the best. But it was such a damned nuisance finding another barrister, since I could no longer trust Farrish to have my best interests in mind. Not to mention what I’m going through trying to find a replacement for Lady Eleanore.”
Shaking his head, Pembrook said, “You mean, trying to find a wife, not to replace Lady Eleanore. You can’t tell a girl she’s merely a replacement for something you can’t have.”
“Yes, of course, what else would I mean? I’m in a position I never expected. I’m turning thirty in a few weeks and had planned to be married by now. Until Lady Eleanore eloped, I’d never considered another woman for my wife. But, blast it. I’m running out of time.”
“What difference does it make if you marry at thirty, or thirty one? You’ve waited all this time…”
Langley shoved at the locks of hair drooping over his brow and pursed his lips. Brooky was a good friend, one of his closest now that his barrister cousin was married to Langley’s former intended. His ties to Brooky, however, didn’t go back as far as his school days, when his father had died. His friend’s questions stirred up painful memories that he usually kept deeply buried. “My father died rather young. He was forty-eight. I was sixteen when he left us. I feel like I barely knew him.”
He glanced at the young people playing on his lawn. “I knew the man who loved me and my mother, but not the one who made decisions affecting the lives of so many people living off the successful running of our estates. I would like to have been eased into the role I play. The Duke of Langley. The very act of assuming the title means you cannot ask advice of the former duke.”
Brooky cleared his throat. “That’s very true. I suppose I have it lucky to be part of the running of the earldom before my father turns up his heels.”
“Yes, well…I don’t plan to die young, but I would like to be here for my sons.”
One of his guests cheered as his ball connected with that of another player. While Langley was pleased they were enjoying themselves, he had no desire to join them. Mother claimed he was too serious, but the frivolity of scampering about after balls was something he’d outgrown around the time his father died. “I hate this process of looking for a bride. Every young lady I’ve considered these past few months has had someone else in mind. I thought all young ladies aspired to marry a duke.”
His friend chuckled. “Perhaps if you slink up behind the next one and catch her unaware, she can’t escape like the others have.”
Langley frowned. “I don’t appreciate the humor in that. I’ve discovered I have a knack for choosing the next noble daughter to announce her betrothal to some other man.” The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Don’t let that become known to the marriage-minded mamas. They’ll hunt you down, if only to guarantee their daughters marry soon.” Brooky broke into a pantomime, prancing about on his toes, his wrist limp, and spoke in falsetto. “Your Grace, pardon me, but would you please gaze upon my daughter? This is her third season…”
Langley bit back a smile as he picked up his mallet and considered joining the others. “Why aren’t they hunting me down now? Everybody knows I’m in need of a wife. I’m handsome, I’m exceedingly wealthy—”
“And you are remarkably humble about your better qualities.”
“I do sound like a pompous arse, don’t I?” Langley chuckled. “It truly astounds me I am unable to find a lady who’ll consider marrying me.”
“Perhaps you need to look at a broader group of ladies.”
Grunting, Langley paced a few steps closer to where his guests played. “I shouldn’t need to after this week. Mother’s guest list included the finer families of her acquaintance, and she even suggested to a few of her friends they were welcome to bring additional young la
dies for the week.”
A mousy stick of a girl chased her wooden ball nearby as it careened out of bounds. When it came to rest beside a tree, she leaned one arm on the trunk and appeared to be panting heavily. Langley motioned in her direction. “I should be able to approach any young lady here and have her fall at my feet. That one, for example.”
Taking a stiff-legged stance, the mouse lined up her mallet, swung, and connected with a protruding tree root. “Oh, botheration,” she cursed softly, shaking one hand as if the vibrations from hitting the tree root stung her.
Feeling some sympathy for her lack of skill, Langley approached her. He heard Pembrook’s footfalls in the grass behind him as he spoke to the young lady. “Be careful, I wouldn’t want one of my guests to be injured.”
She jumped when he spoke and spun to face him with a quick curtsy. “Oh! Duke, forgive my outburst. I didn’t realize anyone was nearby.”
Langley glanced back to where the others played, wondering how she’d managed to go so far astray. “I can understand why. You are quite a distance from the marked lanes. Have you never played before?”
“No sir, I haven’t. I spend most of my time indoors. Mr. Tolliver was a bit overenthusiastic in knocking my ball aside and it ended up here, as you see.” Her eyes glimmered with some emotion he couldn’t pin down, and her lips trembled.
If he didn’t know better, he might assume she was flirting with him. Given her average appearance—her brown hair swept up stylishly enough but the loose curls were already falling flat, her smallish eyes and pale complexion—he doubted she’d had the opportunity to practice any of the womanly arts. The light in her eyes and the innocent, sweet smile improved her looks, but she could easily be overlooked in a ballroom filled with Diamonds of the First Water.
Brooky reached for the girl’s mallet. “A young lady is expected to display well in the drawing room, Langley, not out in the fields.” His sympathetic tone chastised Langley for not recognizing this.
The girl’s lips parted in a smile that warmed her coloring and brightened her eyes even more. Langley caught his breath at the instantaneous change. She was perfect for his needs. Perfectly plain, so long as she didn’t smile, and not apt to be swept away by some other man while she remained at Hawking Hall. Given that his mother had invited her here, she must be a suitable match. He offered what he hoped was his most charming expression. “Forgive me, but I do not recall your name.”
“Lady Charlotte Griffith, sir.”
He heard her name and stepped back. Could this situation become any more awkward? Just last month he’d come within a straw’s breadth of proposing to her sister, Lady Alison. But since he hadn’t actually proposed it wouldn’t be terribly gauche of him to pursue the younger sister. Playing the part of the charming suitor, he bowed. “I am at your service, my lady. Would you care for some assistance?”
She blinked, then took her mallet back from Brooky and handed it to Langley. “If you wish.”
Lining up a shot to ricochet off another tree, thereby putting her at least half the distance to the playing field, Langley hit the ball. “There we are. Now, Lady Charlotte, tell me something about yourself. You look very young. Are you out in Society?”
“I am eighteen, sir, and came out this past Season.”
“And are you betrothed?”
“No sir.” Her hand flew to the pendant around her neck, pressing the small gold heart in the less-than-ample valley between her breasts, the tops of which were bared by the décolletage of her gown. Her slender figure made her youth all the more apparent, but he couldn’t nitpick every detail about the girl.
“How disappointed you must be to not have been swept off your feet in your very first Season. I believe we can be of assistance to each other.”
Brooky cleared his throat. “Langley…”
“Strictly honorable, old boy, strictly honorable.” He held out his arm to Lady Charlotte. “Shall we walk?”
Her fingertips trembled through the fabric of his sleeve, making him feel as though he led a lamb to slaughter. “Do I frighten you?”
“No sir. Well, only a little, sir.” Again she toyed with the heart on the chain.
“I assure you I am perfectly harmless.”
“I know you are. Lady Eleanore talked about you often. And Father mentioned you chose not to propose to my sister because you could see she was in love with another man.”
“Did he? I suppose that’s the truth of it.” He was fully aware of how chivalrous he’d been, as much as it irritated him to admit he’d set his own goal aside for someone else’s sake, thereby putting himself even more behind schedule. He wasn’t a heartless cad. While love was a fine aspiration for those who believed in it, it wasn’t a requirement for him. “You’re aware I am looking for a wife.”
Her head came up and she stared wide-eyed at him, as if she’d ascertained the direction of his thoughts. “Yes sir. It’s widely known.”
Langley continued to study Lady Charlotte. She gave the impression of one very naive in the ways of men and women. She would likely spend the next few years attending assemblies and London soirées, gaining a bit of Town polish. Perhaps he should do the kind thing and pass her by. But he had a schedule to keep, and he hated being late for anything.
At some point over the years since his betrothal to Lady Eleanore, their mothers had chosen June as the perfect month for the wedding, and since this year Langley would turn thirty, he’d agreed this past June was the perfect date. But it hadn’t come to pass. He gritted his teeth. He was still determined to marry before his thirtieth birthday, so his mother had come up with the idea to invite all these people to his estate. All he needed now was to have one of the young ladies agree to become his bride.
He hadn’t been very particular in his search, since Mother was likely to mold whichever woman he chose into a duchess in her own likeness, which suited his needs adequately. Lady Charlotte seemed even more malleable than the others he’d considered of late. The longer he looked at her, the more her subtle, blossoming beauty beckoned. Perhaps he’d been harsh with his first reaction to her looks. A few added pounds would soften the sharper planes of her face. Her eyes sparkled with humor, the most attractive quality in his book. Yes, Lady Charlotte would be the perfect wife.
Charlotte stumbled on a tuft of grass and grasped Langley’s arm to keep from falling. She couldn’t take her eyes off the duke even long enough to watch her step.
She laughed silently. She was certain he was about to propose. Until a moment ago, Langley wasn’t aware she existed. He had to ask her name. That fact alone proved she was correct in her uncertainty about having come.
The first time she’d seen Langley while visiting Lady Eleanore’s family some years back, she’d considered him the most handsome man of her acquaintance. He was so gallant. Some boys had put a girl’s doll up a tree and Langley had climbed up to rescue it. He could have ordered a groom or gardener to fetch it, but he didn’t. He’d tugged off that tailored coat, rolled up his sleeves, and jumped for a low branch.
When he was once again on the ground and handed the damp-faced girl her doll, Charlotte had sighed at the romance of the entire event. As he was betrothed to Elle at the time, Charlotte had decided to find a man just like the Duke of Langley for her own husband, but secretly imagined his face on that dreamy beau.
Another stumble forced her to look down where she walked. She was clumsy even at the best of times, and there was no hope for grace when she kept staring at the duke. When she’d heard he and Elle weren’t to be married, she’d thought perhaps she’d be the lucky one to catch his eye. Watching him come so close to proposing to not only her sister, but also all her dearest friends, she realized he was completely unaware of her existence.
There were now at least a dozen marriageable misses visiting Hawking Hall. Only one reason came to mind why he had singled her out. It had to be the pendant. She touched it again and wondered if there really was magic bestowed on the necklace. That gypsy gi
rl was right, at least for one of the five of them.
When the gypsy had first sold the necklace to Elle with a promise it would lead to the heart of a duke, Charlotte thought it only fitting her friend took possession. Langley was Elle’s duke, after all, right up until the moment when Elle fell in love with Mr. Farrish. The necklace had been passed from one friend to the next in their little circle, and when Charlotte’s sister Alison became engaged to Jonathan rather than Langley, she had given the pendant to Charlotte in hopes she’d be the one to finally capture the heart of the duke.
Even then, before the invitation had come to visit Hawking Hall, Charlotte was no longer certain she wanted the necklace or the duke. She’d always dreamed of marrying for love, not because she was the last apple in the bushel.
Langley’s declaration that he could make any young lady fall at his feet rang through her thoughts, tossing a wet cloth over whatever remained of her romantic feelings toward the man. The words stung her to her very soul. It was very true in her case she might easily fall for him—quite literally if she didn’t watch her step—so she steeled herself for what he might say.
Chewing her lip, she looked at the bright red wooden ball lying in the grass. She must be strong and not be swayed by pretty words.
“Here we are,” Langley said, removing his arm from her grasp. He handed her the mallet and stepped behind her.
Before she could turn to see where he was headed, she felt the warmth of him standing oh, so close behind her. Much too close. She shivered when the superfine wool of his coat brushed against the bare skin of her upper arms. He reached around her and grasped the mallet below her hands. It was nearly impossible to focus on the ball with her heart pounding so loudly.
“Now, we’ll hit it a bit harder than normal to bring you back into play.” He guided her arms as he swung the mallet and connected with the ball. His entire person wrapped around her when they reached the peak of their arc, then he let go and stepped to one side, still standing scandalously close. Close enough his exotic scent filled the air around her.
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