The Perfect Duchess

by Erica Taylor

  “He hates me too, you know,” Clara replied. “And like you, I have no idea why.” She glanced at Andrew before asking, “What would you have done had you not become the duke?”

  Andrew stared straight ahead, not answering. After a long moment, it seemed to Clara she had overstepped her bounds, wherever they were, and she opened her mouth to apologize.

  “I had planned to join the army after Oxford,” he answered slowly. “I wanted to ride in the cavalry. But fate had other ideas.”

  “You inherited,” Clara stated, and Andrew nodded.

  “As the heir, Sam was never allowed to join us on our escapades. He was not allowed the same level of freedom that we, as spares, enjoyed. Growing up at Bradstone Park in Kent was like a dream come true for the reckless, headstrong youth that I was. There are endless green rolling hills covered in orchards that slide up to the cliff and shoreline. We would ride for hours, myself, Ben, and Luke; Sarah often weaseled her way into coming with us, though she never enjoyed riding as we did. We would rise early in the mornings, escaping before our governess could wake us for breakfast. Cookie would make up a basket of breads and cheeses and a jug of fresh milk. We would take off on horseback into the depths of the estate. A footman would find us at lunchtime, bringing another basket of food, returning to the house mum about our location. And we would simply ride our horses; jumping fences and puddles, swimming in the lake, enjoying our freedom. No governess to keep us in line, no tutors to push Latin and mathematics. Mother knew we would come back; she never forced us home before we were ready.

  “Once, Sam snuck out of his lessons, and Father was furious. I always felt sorry for my older brother. He was only five years my senior, and I felt guilty that we were allowed the luxury of amusements that he was not. His life was secluded; he only saw his tutors. Father did not send him to Eton or Oxford. He only saw us—his siblings—at dinner. He took breakfast and luncheon with his tutors or alone. When he died and I inherited the title, my initial reaction was that my life was over. I was no longer allowed to have fun; I was no longer allowed to live. So I rebelled. I drank and gambled and—” he paused and a faint blush ran up his face, glancing at Clara sheepishly. “Well,” he continued and cleared his throat. “I made sure I did not stop living my life as I chose to.

  “About a year after my inheriting, four or five months after my mother’s death, I stumbled home in the middle of the night, nearly eighteen years old and drunk as can be. On my way up to my new room, I heard this strange noise. I followed it through the halls, drunk and stumbling until I came to the nursery. It was crying; I had heard my younger siblings crying. Luke and Susanna were there with Ben and Sarah, comforting Norah, Nick, Charlie, and Mara as they cried out for their mamma. I realized then that my fun really was over. I had responsibilities; I had a duty to uphold. Everyone was counting on me to make everything right and to be good and to step into Sam and Father’s shoes.”

  Clara chewed her lip, reeling from his confession.

  “It was not seamless,” Andrew continued. “But I figured it out eventually. And now, this is what you have.” He glanced again to her, meeting her eager gaze. “You asked me at the birthday ball if I ever did anything dangerous, and the answer, Clara, is no. I never do anything dangerous or reckless or remotely entertaining. I would never do anything to jeopardize my position, my title, or the safety and wellbeing of my family. I sit in Parliament; I escort my females in society. I tend to my tenants’ needs and the requirements of my estates. I provide for my family, I make sure my investments and crops are prospering. For twelve years I have done my duty. I have been deprived of joy, of life. Until I met you.”

  Clara looked up at him, startled, his mouth curving into a lopsided smile.

  “You, Clara, are the first thing I have done for myself in twelve years.”

  Her brows furrowed, she asked, “What about Christina? You almost married my sister.”

  “That was for the title,” Andrew replied with a shrug. “I was not in love with her; I barely knew her.”

  “You are not in love with me,” Clara reminded him. “You barely know me.”

  Andrew frowned. “Your father thrust her on me after one dance at a ball. I essentially made my purchase and expected delivery on my wedding day. This engagement between you and I is different.”

  “And now you’ve decided to amplify the excitement in your life?” Clara asked, becoming irritated. “And somehow I am your excitement? How does being engaged to a social pariah constitute as different?”

  “Clara, I—” Andrew began, but he was cut off by the arrival of his groom. Looking around, Clara realized they already returned to Bradstone House, the horses finding their own way home because Clara certainly hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going.

  Clara avoided looking at the duke as they reentered the house, feeling uncertain and unsure. She did not want to know what he had meant, she did not want to hear his dismissive tones or subtle set downs, just like everyone else in the ton.

  “There you are!” Susanna’s voice rang through the front hall, and Clara jumped. Susanna came rushing down the stairs, her face worried and flushed. “Where have you been?”

  “We went for a ride through Hyde Park, Andr—your brother and I,” Clara replied, stumbling over the duke’s name. Susanna glanced quickly between the two before deciding it was not worth pursuing.

  “We are going out, and we must get you changed out of that riding habit and into something suitable for Bond Street,” Susanna said, slipping her arm through Clara’s and pulling her up the stairs.

  “You are going shopping?” Andrew asked, frowning.

  Susanna nodded. “Of course. You want the ton to accept Clara as your fiancée, she needs to leave this house in the company of someone other than her fiancé. Shopping with me will indicate I have given my support to the union, which, of course, I have.”

  “She has a point, Clara,” Andrew agreed. “It might be beneficial to be seen together to help convince the ton of the reality of this engagement.”

  “Whatever you think is best,” Clara replied, following Susanna absently up the stairs.

  Shopping seemed to be the Macalister girls’ answer to everything. Feet hurt? Buy another pair of shoes. Feeling ill? A nice brisk walk down Pall Mall will do one’s constitution good.

  “A little bit of shopping will improve your mood,” Susanna replied, patting her hand as they set off down Bond Street. “And some fresh air will not hurt either. Trust me. Shopping is always the answer.”

  Norah and Sarah accompanied them to Bond Street, and they seemed to have a genuine love for shopping, possibly closer to an obsession. Their enthusiasm seemed odd to Clara, who had never overly cared for shopping, but their exuberance began to rub off on her. They did not look for anything in particular; they simply wandered through the stores looking at everything, purchasing items Clara knew they did not need.

  Clara followed Susanna through the shops on Bond Street, chatting about ribbons and flowers and wedding plans, surprised when she found herself relaxing. She’d never enjoyed shopping with her sister, but here she felt a little more comfortable in her skin and in her position. And Susanna’s exuberance was intoxicating.

  Two hours and several purchases later, Susanna and Norah’s parcels and packages were handed up into the carriage as the quartet set off for ices at Gunter’s.

  “There is something quite relaxing about spending a day wandering looking at lovely things,” Susanna admitted, linking her arm with Clara’s. “We have been given the great gift of privilege, and not everyone is so lucky. If buying a few extra ribbons or bolts of fabric helps these merchants put food on their tables, then I am happy to oblige. I’d rather spend money in a way that would help someone than sit and stare at it. Donating is good and all, but these people are the ones who will benefit from our generosity. Direct action always reaps the most rewards.”


  “And you like pretty things,” Clara added, though she was touched by Susanna’s perspective of their shopping exploits. Susanna had the right of it, though Clara had never thought of it in those terms. There was something to be said for saving one’s income, but if that income was plentiful, there were ways it could be used to help someone else.

  “Well, yes, there is that,” Susanna admitted, beaming at Clara. “But what lady does not?”

  Clara laughed, and they walked arm-in-arm down the street to spend more of their privileged funds at various establishments.

  Upon returning to Bradstone House, Clara was grateful for a few moments alone with her tumultuous thoughts. Her heart twisted at the thought of not going through with the engagement, of leaving Andrew as her sister had. Over the past week since she’d taken up residence in Bradstone House, Clara had nearly forgotten she had no intention of marrying Andrew, too caught up in silly conversations and vases of beautiful roses. He was only marrying her out of some misplaced need to keep her safe, something she still could not quite comprehend.

  She lay on her bed, bright golden rays of the afternoon sun filling the room with light and warmth, quite the opposite of her mood. Confusion and irritation coursed through her as she thought about Andrew and her sister and the mess that had become her life.

  For as long as Clara cared to remember, she had always had a tendre for Andrew Macalister. When she was a child she had fancied herself in love with him. When he became the Duke of Bradstone and his friendship with her brother came to an abrupt end, she was certain she would see him again. She studied hard, wanting to keep up with him intellectually, learning Latin and maths, even some bits of science, all to make sure she would have something smart to say to him. She also strived to become a graceful and sophisticated lady, so when he saw her again he would be sure to take notice. Throughout her teen years, her childhood crush transformed into a challenge. She knew it was impractical to morph herself into exactly what Andrew could be interested in, so she strived to be someone worthy of his caliber of gentlemen.

  Then, one week after her eighteenth birthday, after eight years of lessons and studying and learning to shoot and ride and doing everything she could think of to impress him, he appeared at her debutante ball and danced with her twin sister.

  To say she was crushed would be an understatement. He took her heart with him as he led Christina onto the dance floor. She managed to hide her hurt over the following weeks, through his engagement to her sister, through the scandal of Christina leaving him at the altar, and when her father made her tuck tail and run back to Cumberland, she was secretly grateful to be away.

  Here she was, five years later, engaged to the one man she could never shake from her heart. He laughed and teased and kissed her, but he was also cold and domineering.

  She was beginning to understand both were different sides of the same coin.

  One thing was for certain—if she did not belong in society, and she was not convinced she did, then she needed to remove herself from the situation. But the only way to be certain would be to try and fit in, especially with the Macalister family, because she would never know for sure if she did not try. If she was not careful, she would find herself in deeper than she had been as a child. If the odd, tingly feeling that accompanied any thought of Andrew meant she was in danger of her childhood crush resurfacing, then this time it would be with grown up and mature expectations and desires. She had been hurt by Andrew once before, when he chose Christina over her, so Clara knew she could survive it a second time. Her engagement to him was not real, not in any way that mattered to her. She could weather the scandal of her own abdication, and she would walk away from him in the end, if that is what it took to maintain her dignity. The mere impasse she had bought herself would conclude, and she would not hold him to a promise he made out of a misplaced sense of duty. She would not become his wife out of pity. If that outcome should come to pass, she needed to be ready and able to walk away.

  Gentle reader, it seems the Duke of B— has taken to showing off his fiancée in public. The pair were spotted in a rare moment of riding through Hyde Park. Lady C— has not been seen for nearly a week and was later the same afternoon spotted with Lady R—, Lady S—, and Lady N— shopping along Bond Street. The quartet purchased ribbons and a pair of satin slippers. Does this increase in ventures indicate the Duke of B— is ready to let his pet out into the world? We all wait with anticipation to see where they next appear.

  Chapter Ten

  It was five mornings later when Andrew saw Clara again, in a much different scene than the breakfast room fiasco the prior week. Everyone had already tucked into their meals, coffee and tea and chocolate steaming before them, when Andrew entered the breakfast room.

  Sarah, Susanna, and Norah were chattering to each other with Clara in the middle, looking much more animated than he had seen her before. The bruising on her face had faded, though he suspected she had covered some of it with a powder. She looked almost back to normal.

  “What do you have planned for the day, ladies?” Andrew asked as he filled his breakfast plate.

  “I thought some sightseeing was in order,” Sarah replied. “Clara hasn’t been to London in years, and I would like to see some of the sights as well.”

  “We were thinking the museum, the gardens, the tower, and definitely the animals,” Susanna continued. “What do you think, Clara?”

  “Sounds lovely,” Clara replied smiling. “It will be nice to venture out of this house.”

  “You were out of the house last week,” Andrew said and took his seat.

  “Really, Andrew? Surely she is allowed out more than once in a week?” Susanna asked before Clara could respond.

  “Exactly,” Clara said, smiling and tilting her chin at him. “Besides, I should experience more of London than your arrogant and haughty stares.”

  Andrew wanted to roll his eyes at her, but he was finding her spunk endearing.

  “What do you say, your grace? Will you join us?” Clara asked.

  “Absolutely,” he answered. “How about after luncheon? We can do ices at Gunter’s.”

  “Might I inquire what is the reason for your obsession with Gunter’s?” Clara asked, looking around at the occupants of the table.

  “Family secret,” Andrew replied.

  “Andrew loves ice cream,” Susanna answered, ignoring his response. “I mean, absolutely adores ice cream. He is willing to pay extraordinary sums each year to have Gunter’s personally cater his events. Gunter is, of course, just enamored to have the patronage of the Duke of Bradstone and deems it pertinent to give Andrew whatever he wants. He makes excess strawberry ices just to make sure it is always available when Andrew stops in.”

  “And he stops in normally once a day,” Norah added.

  “Really?” Clara said, turning towards Andrew. “It is curious, your grace, how you keep in such fine physical shape if you indulge in sweet confections so frequently?”

  “The usual,” Andrew replied, inwardly groaning at his sisters’ attempt to irritate him, and now it seems they pulled Clara into their game. “Fencing, riding, boxing. Normal gentlemanly pursuits.”

  “Boxing?” Clara asked, her eyes flickering out of focus for an instant, a hazy memory resurfacing. “Like prize fighting?”

  “Not quite that plebeian,” Andrew replied, glancing at one of his sisters, but Clara did not look to see which one. “I frequent Gentleman Jackson’s when I feel the desire to beat something to a pulp.”

  Norah stood up abruptly, glaring at him. “Excuse me,” she said stiffly. “I have lost my appetite.” She stomped from the room, practically slamming the door shut behind her.

  “Andrew, can we not make it through one breakfast as a family without someone throwing a fit?” Sarah asked.

  Andrew set his fork down, regarding his older sister. “I will not apologize if Nor
ah took offense to my words.”

  “Why would Norah take offense to prize fighting?” Clara asked.

  “You remember Norah’s twin from the other day, Nick, with the blackened eye?” Susanna asked and Clara nodded. “Well, our dearest ducal brother has deemed it ungentlemanly for Nick to partake in prize fighting, which is a bit of a strange passion of Nick’s.’

  “It is ungentlemanly for any gentleman to partake in prize fighting,” Andrew quipped. “Think of the scandal it would cause, were people to find out the boy fights for money.”

  “But he’s good,” Susanna responded. “And no one knows it is him, he uses a pseudonym, like a stage actor.”

  “You are not helping his case,” Sarah said.

  “He needs to find a more respectable pursuit,” Andrew continued. “Some sort of goal that does not involve beating another man with his fists. Why will he not consider joining the army?”

  Susanna scoffed. “Yes, let’s send him off to be fodder for Boney’s bullets. We already have one brother involved, do we really need another?”

  “I did not say I was going to enlist him against his will, Susanna,” Andrew grumbled. “I’m not an ogre. I just think he should focus more on his studies and less on fighting.”

  “He just wants you to take notice of him,” Sarah interjected. “He only wants to make you proud.”