The Perfect Duchess

by Erica Taylor

Andrew stared at the solid oak door, not knowing what to expect on the other side. It was not that he was afraid, quite the opposite. He was not sure of his feelings. He was fairly certain he was about to make a very rash decision, but he could only hope it was right. He had spent twelve years making sure he had no doubts about anything, and that slip of a girl found a way of getting under his skin in less than a day.

  Slipping silently into the room, Andrew nodded to Sarah, who sat beside the bed in a chair. Sarah patted his arm as she passed, silently offering him support, though he knew she was taking in more than just his worry over the injured girl. Her eyes met his, and there was compassion and a hint of amusement in them.

  His attachment to Clara shouldn’t have been this strong after only having her in his life again for scarcely a day. Years ago, she had been someone important to him regardless of how silly that childhood infatuation had been.

  Now she was here, injured no less, and her little mews of tormented sleep were preventing the room and Andrew’s temper from calming completely. He moved to sit beside the bed and smoothed his hand over her forehead and cheeks, careful to avoid the bandage wrapped around her head. He hadn’t seen the full extent of the injury, but he hoped it would heal without issue.

  Clara’s distressed breathing calmed under his touch, and it brought him some comfort knowing he could at least offer her something to ease her misery. He could not change her brother or his treatment of her, he could not change how the ton treated her and how the rumors flew about her like leaves in the breeze.

  Or could he?

  Andrew looked away, his mind racing at the possibility of saving this girl, keeping her away from the forked tongues of the ton, keeping her safe from the hateful actions of her brother. Was such a thing possible? Could he turn the tide of society’s opinion of her? Could he possibly hope to offer her the type of protection she needed?

  It was an intriguing idea. But first thing’s first, Andrew thought. She has to wake up.

  Chapter Five

  Clara’s feet twitched slowly, and she was vaguely aware of her surroundings. Definitely not her own bedroom, as she was in a bed and not crumpled on the floor, which was the last thing she remembered. Wherever she was, it was quiet and peaceful, and that was certainly not typical of Morton House.

  Her lids fluttered open, her brown eyes trailing the length of the room, from the darkened windows, to the olive-green drapery, the walls with a striped floral wallpaper, the posts of the bed and the bed draping above, and finally to Andrew, standing watch at the foot of her bed like a guardian angel.

  Or perhaps a vengeful archangel. His eyes were dark and hard, practically glaring his displeasure.

  “Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse and dry. She tried to sit, wincing at the pain in her head. Her palm found the bandage wrapped around her.

  “Bradstone House,” he answered coldly, and his tone made her want to bury herself down in the blankets. With a nod to her bandages, he added, “A physician has been in to see you. Do you remember what happened?”

  Clara frowned, her memory fogging as she tried to recall the details of how she came to be in Bradstone House. “My brother, he was quite angry with me for attending the ball. He . . . he hit me. After that, everything is a bit of a jumble.”

  “You were bleeding on your bedroom floor,” he supplied. “I intervened before your brother could cause you further harm. He will not have another opportunity to harm you, Lady Clara.”

  “I thank you for the rescue, your grace,” Clara said gratefully. Relief rushed through her accompanied by a flood of emotions that were too complicated to untangle and analyze. She broke away from his gaze. “Once I am well, I will be on my way.”

  “You will not,” Andrew stated. “You are not going anywhere.”

  Clara’s eyes snapped back to his face, her brows pinching in confusion.

  “It is quite improper for my time in this house to extend beyond what is required for recuperation,” Clara replied, not enjoying the dark glare he was sending her way.

  “You misunderstand, Lady Clara,” he said. “I intend to marry you. Only once you are out of Morton’s reach will you be truly safe.”

  His words hung in the air, and for a very long moment Clara wondered if she had imagined it.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, incredulously.

  “You and I will be married.”

  “Surely you jest,” she said, but there was no trace of humor on his handsome face.

  “Far from it.”

  “You’ve not even asked me,” Clara replied.

  “Lady Clara, will you marry me?” he asked gruffly.

  “No,” she answered. “And you don’t want to marry me, not really.”

  “You are in need of protecting,” he replied. “This is the course that offers the highest level of safety.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I do know you.”

  “You knew me when I was a child,” she allowed. “I imagine I am not the same person and neither are you.”

  “Who we are now does not matter,” he argued. “What matters is your safety. Under my roof, with my name, you will be protected.”

  “This is lunacy,” she muttered, wondering if she was still asleep in some head trauma-induced hallucination. The words she’d wanted to hear her entire life were coming from the man she’d always dreamed of marrying, but it was all wrong.

  “Have you anyone else in the position to offer you the same level of protection as I?” he inquired.

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Good, we are in agreement.”

  “We are absolutely not in agreement, your grace,” she sputtered. “And furthermore, what gives you the right to make such decisions on my behalf? You are not my brother or father or in any position to act so high-handed.”

  “You are in need of protection,” he insisted. “You brother has done a fine job of acting as horridly as possible, leaving you penniless and without a place to go. Do I have those facts correct?”

  “Yes, but you needn’t be so blunt about it,” Clara grumbled. “I might be penniless and destitute, but I am still a lady. I have friends.”

  Much to Clara’s surprise, Andrew’s face softened. “Yes, you do. I am your friend. My sisters will be your friends. You have an ally here should you choose to accept it.”

  His words rang with a painful truth, as much as she wanted to deny him.

  “What about my aunt and uncle?” Clara asked, trying to find any other option than his ridiculous plan. “Or Great-Aunt Bridgette?”

  “Would either one of them be willing or able to take you in?” Andrew asked, even though by his tone he knew the answer.

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “Great-Aunt Bridgette said she would not spend a penny more on me, and my Aunt Lucinda practically disowned me in the carriage last night for coming without a chaperone. It was a lucky twist of events that she was even here. She was not pleased to have Lady Danbury rush over to inquire about her chaperonage of me.”

  It might have been her imagination, but Clara thought she saw Andrew’s lips twitch.

  “No, I imagine she did not.”

  “This cannot be happening,” Clara muttered to herself, giving her head a little shake, trying to come up with something, anything else but marriage to the one man she actually wanted to marry. But not like this, not when he did not want to truly marry her. He’d almost married her twin sister, for goodness’ sake.

  Nothing came to her.

  Andrew stood at the foot of the bed, watching as she struggled with herself, trying to find another solution, waiting for her to come to the inevitable conclusion.

  “I will agree to marry you,” Clara said slowly, not truly meaning the words. “But I will not marry under scandalous circumstances. I’ve had enough rumors and scandal to last my lifetime.
At the very least, I would like the banns to be called.” Banns took three weeks to be called in each of their home parishes. Her home parish was near the Scottish border, and would take a messenger at least a week to get there. She’d just bought herself four weeks—four weeks for her brother to be dealt with, four weeks to find another solution than being strapped to someone who truly did not want to marry her.

  “I can agree to that,” he replied with a nod.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Clara watched him, waiting for him to burst out laughing, claiming the whole thing to be a joke or an elaborate prank but nothing came. Had she actually just become engaged to the Duke of Bradstone? The gentleman she’d held feelings for since . . . forever?

  No, she reminded herself. The engagement would not be real, at least not for her. She would take the protection his name offered, even as his fiancée, and find another way to be safe from her brother. Andrew had broken her heart once, she wouldn’t allow him to do it again. That left her four weeks to figure her life out.

  A soft knock came on the door, and Andrew called for the person to enter. A maid appeared carrying a pitcher and towels.

  “Martha,” Andrew said to the maid as she came through the door. “Have my sisters dressed for the evening yet?”

  Martha set the pitcher and towels down on the table beside the bed. “I do not believe so, your grace,” she replied.

  “Very good. Could you please ask them to attend me for a moment? And have tea brought up as well.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Martha replied curtsying.

  “That is not necessary,” Clara said softly. He turned his gaze back to her, and she blinked in surprise. The cool aloofness was gone, his blue eyes had melted into warm pools of light. There was no pity in his eyes as she had feared there would be. There was only concern.

  “It is absolutely necessary,” he replied, not moving from his post at the end of the bed. “The physician said you need two whole days of rest.”

  Clara blanched at the prescribed treatment and then winced at the pain in her head. “What am I going to do for two whole days?”

  “Read,” he suggested. “Rest. Allow your head to heal. You took quite a blow to the face as well.”

  “What about my brother?” Clara asked. “Does he know I am here?”

  “I do not know what your brother knows,” Andrew replied. “He’s left London.”

  “Jonathan is gone?” she asked, startled. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A few hours,” he replied. “And yes, Morton is nowhere to be found, according to my sources.”

  “You have sources?”

  Andrew nodded. “I’ve a friend who is rather adept at . . . well, things like this, I suppose.”

  “Does he fancy himself a spy?” Clara asked in jest, but Andrew did not laugh. “Oh, goodness, is he a spy?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I’ve never asked.”

  “Will he be able to determine where Jonathan has gone?” Clara asked. “And what happens when he returns?”

  “Do not worry about any of that right now,” Andrew replied. “Just rest and relax. The doctor said you are not to over-worry yourself.”

  There came knock on the door, and Andrew called for them to enter. Two familiar-looking women came into the room, followed by a stout woman carrying a tea tray and Martha the maid. Clara recognized them as Lady Susanna and Lady Norah, two of Andrew’s sisters. Clara had seen them from afar throughout the season, and briefly when Andrew was engaged to her sister Christina.

  Lady Norah Macalister was a beauty of a very rare sort, with dark chocolate hair and twinkling turquoise-blue eyes. Her long dark hair fell in waves around her face, only part of it pulled off her shoulders. She wore a fashionable mint-green day dress, the color highlighting the green tint to her blue eyes perfectly. Clara had a feeling that was the reason she chose the color.

  Lady Susanna was equally as lovely, though in a less dazzling way. Susanna had a warm, round face and smiling blue eyes, the same color as Andrew’s. She wore a dusty rose day dress, simple yet elegant, her hair pulled away from her face and off her shoulders in a loose bun.

  The casual airs emanating from these two ladies were startling to Clara. She was used to the elegantly formal version of the two Macalister sisters: Lady Norah was impeccably and most fashionably dressed at the balls and soirées, a popular social butterfly who always reminded Clara a little of her society-obsessed twin sister. Lady Susanna was less the regal lady and more approachable and agreeable in such casual attire and airs. Someone, Clara thought, she could be friends with.

  Another woman came through the door and Clara recognized Lady Radcliff from the night before, elegant and full of authority. She was carrying a bundle of clothing that she set gingerly on the side of the bed.

  “I’ve brought you something to change into,” Sarah offered, patting the folded white nightgown. “Your things have not yet arrived, and I felt you might sleep better not done up all evening.”

  “Thank you, Lady Radcliff,” Clara murmured, trying to sit up, wincing again at the dull throb along her scalp.

  “Sarah, Norah, Susanna, I’d like you to officially meet Lady Clara Masson,” Andrew said. “Lady Clara, please meet my sisters.”

  “Pleasure,” Norah said, and she and Susanna dipped into a curtsy.

  “It is indeed,” Clara replied. “I would do the same, but it seems I am to be bedridden, and I think your brother would be quite cross with me if I got out of bed just to curtsy.”

  “I would,” Andrew replied.

  “Might I ask what happened to create this situation?” Susanna asked, her gaze raking over Clara’s face. Clara knew there was an ugly bruise forming on her cheek. It was tender to the touch now. It would be quite sore in the morning and a horrid purple color.

  “My brother, the Earl of Morton,” Clara admitted with a sigh, a little embarrassed to be admitting all of this to Andrew’s wonderfully elegant sisters.

  “That is repugnant,” Sarah said, clearly appalled.

  “I survived,” Clara said with a shrug. “If not for your brother coming to my rescue . . .”

  She looked at Andrew, and for a moment felt the other occupants of the room fade away until it was just Andrew staring intently at her with his bright eyes melting into hers.

  The sound of tea cups clinking brought them both out of the spell, and Clara quickly looked away. Sarah was pouring tea, seemingly unaware anything had transpired between them.

  “Lady Clara, how do you like your tea prepared?” Sarah asked.

  “Two sugars and a splash of milk, please,” Clara replied. “And please just call me Clara. Since you are all present at my pathetic sick bed, I would appreciate you all using my Christian name. This is all less embarrassing that way.”

  “Quite right,” Andrew said and turned to address the taller of the two maids. “Martha, could you possibly have Beverell find me another chair, please? I am certain to break the ones in this room.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Martha replied, curtsying, and left the room. Clara realized there was no fear on the maid’s face, no terror, no recoil. Andrew spoke to his servants with respect. He used their names, correctly she was certain, and he was polite. He said please. Jonathan was never so mannerly.

  A moment later a burly footman came in bearing a larger chair, more suitable for his grace’s tall frame.

  “Ah, much better,” Andrew said and settled himself into the chair. “Thank you, Beverell.”

  “Is there an explanation for Clara’s appearance in our home?” Norah asked.

  “Yes,” Andrew replied. “Clara has agreed to become my wife.”

  A stunned silence swept through the room, pierced only by the sounds of porcelain tinkling together as Lady Radcliff sipped her tea and set her cup down.

  “That is r
ather . . .” Susanna began.

  “Unexpected,” Norah finished.

  “Indeed,” Sarah added. “Though perhaps not so.” A strange look passed between Sarah and her brother, and Clara looked away.

  “It seems this was his best solution to offer his protection,” Clara added.

  Norah frowned. “Truly there was no other way?”

  “There was not,” Andrew replied with finality.

  “Andrew, you cannot possibly expect the ton to accept this?” Norah asked, with a guilty glance to Clara. “With absolutely no offense intended, Lady Clara, I am sure you are a lovely person. It is simply—”

  “I know what is said about me,” Clara interjected defensively. True, she was not the most popular person, and wild rumors flew about her activities the past five years, but she was still the daughter of an earl. That had to count for something.

  “The ton will accept this engagement,” Andrew stated gruffly.

  Clara shot him a look in warning. “I assure you, this was not something I intended to happen when I woke up this morning,” Clara stated, returning her gaze to Andrew’s befuddled sisters. “Far from it. But we are here in the end, it would seem. None of this was my idea, and I tried to deny him. Your brother seems to be a rather stubborn individual, though I am sure this you already know.”

  Norah and Susanna glanced at each other in bewilderment, though Clara did not quite understand their confusion.

  “You told him no?” Susanna asked.

  “Twice,” Andrew replied.

  “Possibly more,” Clara added.

  “Then why . . .” Susanna began, but her voice faltered.

  “Clara will have my name and title to offer protection from her brother,” Andrew continued. “I would appreciate the support of each of you.”

  The three sisters exchanged a glance, something passing between them that Clara did not understand, and as each turned to regard her again, she saw a strength and determination she had not expected.

  “It seems we are to welcome Clara to the family,” Sarah said. “Whatever you need from us, Andrew, we will do our best to provide.”