A Damsel for the Daring Duke_A Historical Regency Romance

by Bridget Barton

  “Goodness me, you are acidic, are you not?”

  “Well now, we have both issued our insults and must live with them.” Charlotte laughed. “Since we did not have the opportunity of being formally introduced last night, perhaps we should do it ourselves as we ride.” Charlotte went on, “I am Miss Charlotte Cunningham.”

  “Indeed you are,” he said with amusement. “The daughter of Baron Cunningham.”

  “You have already made your enquiries.” She knew he would have done but was surprised that he so freely admitted it.

  Perhaps she even admired such upfront honesty just a little. And if she did not admire that, she could certainly admire his handsome features at closer quarters than she had yet seen them.

  On the previous evening, Hector and his father had laid on a buffet, and his thirty or more guests had circulated and chattered amiably throughout.

  Charlotte had known some of the guests and been introduced to a good many more, but the son of the Duke of Sandford had always been in conversation when she was not. And, whenever she was in conversation, he was not, and she became aware of him studying her again, although much more surreptitiously that time.

  “Have you not made your own?” He was looking at her as squarely as she looked at him, and she was pleased to finally discover his eyes were a fine and unusual shade of green.

  “Of course, Lord Harrington,” she said and laughed. “Tell me, did you wait for my father to disappear before making yourself known this morning?”

  “Of course.” He smiled at her most openly. It was a confident smile, but rather more pleasant than arrogant, and she thought she liked it very much. “I always think fathers are such a hindrance to free-flowing conversation.”

  “You mean you should like to say things to me that you would not dare to say in front of my father?” She made a very good attempt at mock fear. “Goodness me, perhaps I am not safe here after all.”

  “You are quite safe. Unless you find anything but the most staid and etiquette-ridden conversation a thing to fear.”

  “Indeed, I do not.” She leaned forward to adjust the skirt of her riding habit, which had snagged a little between the two stirrups of her side saddle. She straightened up when done and was amused to see how he watched her every move. “So, since we are having such a frank and fatherless sort of a conversation, tell me why you stared at me so forcefully yesterday at the front of the hall.” She fixed him with a stare which he readily returned.

  “Because you are very beautiful,” he said, and Charlotte realized she had asked for such bluntness.

  His voice was cultured but had none of the overtly upper-class tones which seemed to currently pervade the fresh air. It was a deep voice, but he spoke softly, and the effect was rather wonderful as far as Charlotte was concerned.

  Still, despite his well-fitting black riding coat and breeches and his immaculately trimmed thick dark hair, Charlotte was determined to keep her head. She stood firm in all she had said to Ruth the day before, even though both women had derived much amusement from it and treated her assertions lightly.

  Although he did not seem to have that air of arrogance, Charlotte thought it very likely that he had the same sense of entitlement as any other man of his status.

  He was doubtless wealthy, the Duchy of Sandford was large and renowned, and she assumed, although she had no proof, that he would have enjoyed every privilege and that privilege probably extended to having the company of whatever woman he chose.

  She could hardly begin to imagine that a man who would one day be a Duke would ever find his society refused in any place and by anyone. Although she had enjoyed enough of her own privileges, Charlotte found the idea of entertaining a man to whom nobody ever said no a little irksome.

  How strange it all was; one moment she found him amusing, and the next, for nothing he had said or done, she found him irritating.

  “You seem displeased by that, Miss Cunningham.” He spoke again when she remained silent. “Are you displeased because you are beautiful or displeased that I mentioned it? Or perhaps you are simply displeased that I honestly answered your very direct question.” He was smiling broadly at her, and Charlotte laughed in spite of herself.

  “Perhaps you see displeasure where there is none, Lord Harrington. Perhaps you see silence as displeasure because you are not used to silence. Perhaps you fill every spare moment with sound.”

  “Ah, you think me a noisy and vain sort of a man.”

  “No, of course not.” She looked all around and realized they were several feet away from the nearest rider. “We are falling behind.”

  “Do you mind very much? Would you rather be nearer the front?”

  “No, I am not very interested.”

  “I am not a hunter myself.”

  “You have no skill, or you do not care for it?”

  “Both,” he said and laughed. “But I think I have no skill because I do not care for it. I prefer to ride and loiter near the back having conversation.”

  “I prefer the riding myself. So, I see we have at least one thing in common.” She could feel the ribbons of her riding bonnet sliding apart and wondered why it was her riding apparel had chosen that day, in particular, to let her down.

  She drew her horse to a halt and started to rearrange her blue velvet bonnet. She was aware that Lord Harrington had stopped his horse also, and the two beasts were side by side.

  As she took hold of the first ribbon, the second floated this way and that on the gentle breeze. With a sigh of annoyance, she made several grabs for it before Lord Harrington reached over and caught the ribbon.

  Gently, he took the other one from her and silently tied the ribbon under her chin. She felt the warm skin of his hands graze her neck a little as he worked, and she was surprised by the little shiver of excitement something so simple could cause.

  “Perhaps we might have more than one thing in common. Still, I suppose the discovery of such things depends on something else altogether,” He carried on, saying nothing of her bonnet or its errant ribbons.

  He gently heeled his horse and set off again, and Charlotte did the same. She was grateful for the return to their conversation as a means to shake off the strange feeling of actually liking this man.

  “And what would that depend upon?” she said after clearing her throat.

  “You giving me a chance.” He turned his wonderfully amused and broad smile on her again.

  The flecks of grey in his dark hair looked silvery in the sunlight, and since he was clearly no more than thirty, looked incredibly appealing.

  There was something about the early greying that gave his appearance a little extra interest, and Charlotte thought it very attractive.

  “What on earth would make you say such a thing?” She laughed. “Really, you sound as if I already wound you, and yet I have not struck any blows.”

  “Conversational ones? Perhaps just a little. But no, Miss Cunningham. It is something else altogether which leads me to suspect you have already decided to take against me.” His green eyes were full of amusement, and Charlotte had to admit to herself that she was enjoying this curious little conversation very much indeed.

  “Enlighten me, please do,” she countered.

  “You have an idea of me fixed in your mind, Miss Cunningham, and I can tell you exactly what that is.”

  “I am all interest, Sir.”

  “You have discovered that I am the son of the Duke of Sandford, and so you have assumed that I must be one of the tiresome sorts of men who thinks he may go wherever he chooses and say whatever he pleases.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. And no doubt you think me an arrogant man who thinks he has every right in the world to stare at any young lady he chooses to stare at.”

  “Do I? Well, you did stare, Lord Harrington. The truth of that cannot be ignored in this little theory of yours.”

  “Is my theory boring you?” he said and performed a very adept seated bow in her direction.
<
br />   “Not in the slightest. In fact, I find myself very entertained by it. Please do continue.”

  “Thank you,” he said and bowed again. “It is true that I did stare at you for longer than I ought to have done. But that was not arrogance, Miss Cunningham. I did not look your way because I thought I had every right to.” He paused for a moment. “But because I was taken off guard by you. When you stepped down out of your carriage, I was drawn to you for a moment and, I freely admit, took the opportunity to gaze at you. But I did think myself unobserved. Initially.”

  “Initially. Yes.” She raised her eyebrows at him and silently demanded he continue.

  “And then you looked back at me. I ought to have smiled apologetically and looked away, but I am bound to say that I do not go in for every point of etiquette and manners on the market. Which is not to say that I am a savage, Miss Cunningham, simply that I find that by following it all to the letter, all the warmth, amusement, and spontaneity is drained out of life, and the whole business of living seems awfully long-winded.” He looked at her like a young boy who had just got his clothes dirty but was hoping to win his governess over with a fast explanation and a ready smile.

  “I have no doubt!” She laughed a little more heartily than she might ordinarily have done.

  Well, if he could pick and choose the finer points of etiquette and appearances, then so could she. What was sauce for the goose was most certainly sauce for the gander.

  “But before I had the opportunity to modify my own poor behaviour, I found you staring at me with such intensity I could not possibly have looked away if my life depended upon it.”

  “Could you not?” Charlotte had never been more amused.

  “No, good lady, I could not. You see, you made the whole thing a competition of sorts. It was clear to me that it was far more important that you be the victor than you actually make a subtle admonishment of my own staring.”

  “I cannot begin to see how you have come to this conclusion,” she lied.

  “Yes, you can.” He laughed loudly. “Miss Cunningham, you do not hold all the high ground, whatever you may think. You might have chosen to view me as a man of arrogance and privilege, for I daresay it is easier.”

  “Easier than what?”

  “Firstly, easier than admitting you threw down a gauntlet with your hard stare and, secondly, easier than actually getting to know me better.”

  “Surely the throwing down of a gauntlet goes a good way to increasing one’s knowledge of another? After all, one must know one’s opponent.” She looked into his green eyes and was pleased to see the excitement in them. “So perhaps you might get your wish in the end.”

  “I can only hope so,” he said and stared ahead to where the other riders were changing direction.

  As Charlotte rode along at his side, she truly hoped that her initial assessment of the character of James Harrington would be proved very, very wrong.

  Chapter 4

  “Is your father not expecting you back at Sandford today?” Hector Hanover said as the two men enjoyed a very late breakfast in one another’s company.

  “Oh yes,” James replied languidly as he took another piece of the perfectly crisp, well-cooked bacon. “Do you know, my father has the cook barely warm the bacon at Sandford. Really, I struggle to eat the stuff. It seems like a different food altogether here at Hanover Hall.”

  “Yes, I remember breakfast at your father’s table, my dear fellow,” Hector said and winced in a way that amused James greatly. “But tell me, are you to stay on with me today?”

  “Yes, if you do not mind it.” James chewed thoughtfully.

  “Of course I do not mind. I am always pleased to have you here, and we shall at least be able to talk a little easier now that the other guests have departed.” He smiled happily. “But you know me, my dear fellow, and I do like to know the circumstances of everything. So tell me, why are you lurking here when your father expects you back?”

  “I am lurking here, my dear Hector because my father expects me back.” James laughed.

  “I had a feeling you might say that.” Hector was further amused. “Will you never tire of vexing the Duke? Really, he must be furious with you at times.”

  “He is almost always furious with me. It is such a perpetual attitude with him that it has actually become his state of being. The Duke of Sandford is furious, and he intends to remain that way, whatever happens,” James said, and the two men roared with laughter.

  James and Hector had gravitated towards one another within days of them arriving at Eton. They were both thirteen and both nervous, although each had very obvious humour which they used as a means of getting them through the most trying times in the early part of their public-school education.

  Other boys liked them very much and, whenever together, they had everybody laughing, even the older boys whose stronger instincts were ordinarily to bully the younger ones.

  The humour had never ceased between them as they had matured into men and, nearly seventeen years later, they were still able to make one another laugh.

  “So, let me guess,” Hector said as he leaned back in his chair and took a long drink of his tea. “The Duke is once again reminding you of your responsibility to marry a suitable would-be Duchess and sire a suitable would-be Duke. Am I right?”

  “You are. Of course, since that is what he continually reminds me of, then you could hardly have failed to be right on this occasion.”

  James liked Hanover Hall very much and was pleased to have a little time with his old friend without the encumbrance of polite conversation with a myriad of other guests.

  The breakfast room was well situated and, being on the same wing and orientation as the morning room, it enjoyed bright sunshine whenever there was any to be had.

  The room was light and bright and, although it had not changed since James had first been there as a boy in the school holidays, it did not seem out of date. The lemon-yellow walls were fresh, and the wooden panelling as white as he always remembered it.

  The large vase of spring flowers on the sideboard was an obvious touch of the housekeeper, Mrs Merton, who had been trying to surreptitiously provide a civilizing influence on Hector and his father since Hector’s mother had died so many years before.

  That was just another similarity between the two of them as much younger men. Hector had lost his mother shortly before arriving at Eton, a loss which he managed and covered very well indeed.

  And so when James lost his own, beloved mother at eighteen, Hector had provided the sort of support that only comes from personal experience. It was a quiet support without overt fuss of any kind, and it was something that James would never forget as long as he lived.

  “So, amuse me,” Hector went on. “Who does the old Duke have lined up for you now?”

  “It is not one, Hector, but many. As his exasperation with me grows, so, I am afraid, does his list.”

  “He has a list?”

  “You have met my father, Hector. Of course, he has a list.” James laughed, although he felt a dull feeling in the pit of his stomach when he remembered he had brightly promised to sit down with his father and go through the list that he and Charles Holt had prepared as soon as he returned home.

  Perhaps that was a large part of why he was hovering at Hanover Hall. Although he knew he had other reasons too. Well, just one reason.

  “There must be some front-runners. Do not leave me in suspense, let me have some names.”

  “Hector, you are a little too amused at my expense for my liking,” James complained.

  “I know,” Hector said and helped himself to a hard-boiled egg. “But carry on.”

  “Well, at the very top of the list is Lady Felicia Trent, daughter of the Earl of Whittingham,” James began.

  “I have seen her,” Hector said. “At some event or other over on your side of the county. Anyway, I am bound to say she is awfully pretty.”

  “Indeed,” James said without conviction. “But she has
such a tiresome character. She perpetually corrects people, in their speech or on some matter of a misgiven date. Anything! She will correct and correct, and it is an attitude which leads me to continually call her Felicity instead of Felicia.”

  “But why?”

  “Just to see if she ever grows tired of correcting people in that quiet, needle-nosed way of hers,” James said with disapproval.

  “And does she?” Hector said and paused expectantly, his fork halted halfway to his mouth.

  “No,” James said dryly, and Hector boomed with laughter.

  “Oh dear. So, who is next on the list?”