A Most Unlikely Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “Well . . .” Humphreys said, “When you put it like that—”

  “It’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever ‘eard! Does she realize that marriage is fer life? That there’s no gettin’ out of it unless she or Fielding dies?”

  “I believe she is aware, Your Grace,” Pierson said dryly, “but such is the way of the aristocracy, as unfortunate as it may sometimes be. Duty before all else.”

  “Even common sense?” Raphe asked.

  Pierson didn’t respond, leaving Raphe to draw his own conclusion.

  “There is no denying that they will make a fine couple,” Richardson said.

  “I’m sure they shall,” Raphe said, detesting that thought. Why? He couldn’t say. After all, he didn’t know Lady Gabriella at all, and from their brief interaction with each other, he had no reason to care about whom she married.

  And yet . . . he couldn’t tear his mind away from her pretty eyes and rosy lips. He shook his head. What basis was that for developing an interest? It was a physical attraction, nothing more. And with his sisters’ welfare in mind, the arduous work that lay ahead of them all and his disinclination to marry, there was no point at all in considering anything more than a polite acquaintance with his neighbor.

  To do otherwise would be not only mad, but a complete departure from all of his principles. It would never work. Which was why he decided to push all thoughts of Lady Gabriella from his mind by focusing on his own affairs. A plan that seemed very promising indeed, until Richardson said, “And since only a lady who has already made her debut is allowed to vouch for another, I would recommend asking Lady Gabriella to assist with Lady Juliette’s and Lady Amelia’s presentations at court. Her mother will likely refuse, but as it stands, you have no one else to turn to and nothing left to lose.”

  Chapter 5

  Standing by her bedroom window, Gabriella glanced out at the street below, her gaze lingering on the pavement where she and Fielding had encountered Huntley three days earlier. She pressed the palm of her hand to the cool glass, thankful for the peace and quiet that her solitude offered.

  Not a second had passed after leaving Huntley House before her mother had sharply remarked, “The nerve of that man! Who on earth does he think he is?”

  To which her aunt had calmly replied, “The Duke of Huntley, I suspect.”

  Gabriella had done her best not to smile.

  “He’s a disgrace to the title,” her mother had said, “A mushroom, and an imposter.”

  “I don’t see how that can be possible, Mama,” Gabriella had murmured. “He would not have been brought to Huntley House unless he was the legitimate heir. The solicitors would have made certain of that.”

  Her mother had responded with a cutting scowl. “You’re not to speak to him again. Is that understood?”

  “What if I pass him on the street?”

  “Then you must cross to the other side.”

  “That would be terribly rude,” Aunt Caroline had said, “and would probably reflect poorly on Gabriella.”

  Gabriella’s mother had stopped for a moment, as if frozen. Eventually, she’d given a curt nod and resumed walking. “You are correct.” She’d looked at her daughter, her eyes narrowing as if she were able to look inside her head. “Just don’t speak to him then.”

  Arriving home they’d handed over their gloves and bonnets to their butler, Mr. Simmons, before proceeding out onto the terrace, where a pergola covered in roses offered a shady retreat.

  “And what if he speaks to me? What if he wishes me a good day in passing? Am I to ignore him?”

  “You may acknowledge his greeting with a nod,” her mother had said.

  “Mama,” Gabriella had said, barely managing not to roll her eyes, “I do believe you are exaggerating.”

  “Exaggerating?” Her mother had squeaked as she’d dropped down onto a wicker chair and proceeded to fan herself with a handkerchief. “Did you not see what he looked like? Did you not hear how he spoke?”

  “Yes, Mama. I both saw and heard.”

  “And his sisters!” she’d continued. “They looked like they belonged in a hovel. Did you happen to notice their hands? They were red and calloused, with cracking nails and—”

  “Mama,” Gabriella had cut in. “The fact that they have had a difficult life was plain to see. But that does not warrant our condemnation, surely.”

  “I agree,” Aunt Caroline had said. She’d taken the seat facing her sister-in-law. “It would be unkind of us to treat them too harshly.”

  “Perhaps if they were servants I would agree, but he is a duke, Caro. A duke!” She’d waved her handkerchief with greater enthusiasm. “And we are his neighbors. The Warwicks and the Huntleys have always been close—our titles securely linked both socially and politically. Oh heavens, whatever will people think?”

  “I suppose that depends on what they see,” Gabriella had said, her attention drawn to a peacock butterfly that had been showing great interest in a potted marigold.

  “Whatever do you mean?” her mother had asked.

  Bracing herself for the argument that would surely follow, Gabriella had looked straight at her and said, “Simply, that I think we should help them.”

  Her mother’s mouth had dropped open. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Any improvement on their part can only serve to reflect well on us.”

  “Gabriella does have a point,” Aunt Caroline had said.

  “Of course she has a point,” Gabriella’s mother had hissed. “But that does not make her suggestion any more appropriate. And considering what a chore it was for her to prepare for her own debut, I hardly think she’s in any position to make such propositions.” She’d given her daughter a dubious look. “Have you any idea of the amount of work that would have to be done in order to turn that man into a gentleman or his sisters into ladies?”

  Heat had risen to the nape of Gabriella’s neck. “I know it won’t be easy, but I should like to try.” Having spent a lifetime in her sister’s shadow only to find herself suddenly tossed into the center of attention with expectations that were difficult to meet, Gabriella felt a deep need to help her neighbors adjust to their new way of life. She knew how it felt to be whispered about and teased, her interests so different from those of other young ladies that she’d never managed to secure close friendships with any of them. Until Fielding had started showing an interest, her existence had scarcely been acknowledged.

  “I don’t like the idea of you keeping their company,” her mother had complained. “What if they bring you down to their level instead of you raising them up?”

  Gabriella had sighed.

  Adhering to her mother’s guidance, of practicing the perfect curtsy and the perfect smile in front of her mirror, were beginning to grate. Perhaps because of their recent encounter with Huntley? It had certainly brought out a side of her mother that Gabriella found she could not approve of. Because although she conceded that Huntley did not appear to be eligible for his title, the man did not deserve to be insulted because of it. And although she’d always known that her mother was somewhat high in the instep, she would never have supposed that she would treat another peer, let alone another person, with such complete and utter scorn. Least of all when she felt he deserved their sympathy rather than their censure.

  “Well, I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Aunt Caroline had said.

  “Of course you would,” Gabriella’s mother had muttered.

  “And you have always placed great import on participating in charitable work.” Gabriella had given her mother a sweet smile. “Surely you would not have us turn our backs on someone in need when we are in a position to help?”

  “Well . . . I . . .” Her mother had frowned. “I really don’t have the time, Gabriella. You know how busy I am raising money for the hospital and advocating on its behalf.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t suggesting that you take on this task but rather that I do,” Gabriella had said. “And besides,” she’d added
before her mother could voice a protest, “it will give me something different to do besides studying insects.”

  That remark had apparently settled it, although her mother had still been concerned about Fielding’s opinion on the matter. Eventually she’d said, “I will have to ask your father for guidance in this matter.”

  Which had resulted in another conversation filled with questions and explanations, at the end of which Gabriella’s father had said, “If what you say is true and the Duke of Huntley and his sisters are as unprepared for their new positions as you claim, then something must indeed be done to rectify the situation. But,” he’d added with a pointed look at Gabriella over the rims of his spectacles, “I am not convinced that your helping them as you suggest would be the right approach.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Gabriella’s mother had said.

  Flattening his mouth, Gabriella’s father had given his wife a quelling look before adding, “Your sister brought disgrace upon this family, Gabriella. We cannot risk a single mistake. I’m sorry.”

  “But—”

  “The answer is no.”

  And that had been the end of that, but it had not put a damper on Gabriella’s determination to help Lady Juliette and Lady Amelia. She simply could not bear the thought of them going through what she had once had to endure. A shudder went through her as she recalled how the other young ladies of her acquaintance had reacted when she was a child and they’d seen her pick up a spider. It had been during a party in celebration of the eighth birthday of Penbrook’s youngest daughter, Lady Charlotte. The children had been gathered in the parlor and Gabriella had spotted the tiny creature crawling on one of the roses in a nearby vase.

  “That’s disgusting,” Lady Charlotte had squealed as Gabriella had stood with the spider crawling around her hand.

  “You’re disgusting,” Lady Rowena had said while scrunching her nose.

  “Only boys would touch an insect,” Lady Hyacinth had told her with mocking disdain.

  Gabriella hadn’t spoken to any of those girls since, but she had been keenly aware of their critical gazes and hurtful snickers whenever their paths crossed over the years that followed.

  Now, with the eventuality of Lady Juliette and Lady Amelia enduring a similar painful experience, Gabriella could not stand by and do nothing. Her moral compass simply wouldn’t allow it. Which meant that she would have to find a different way—one that meant thwarting her parents’ wishes.

  A knock sounded at the door, pulling Gabriella away from her thoughts and back into the present. “Come in!”

  One of the maids entered. “My lady, the Earl of Fielding has come to call on you. Shall I tell Simmons to show him into the parlor?”

  With a sigh, Gabriella nodded. “Yes. Tell him that I will be down in just a moment.”

  The maid departed with a bit of a bob, the door gently closing behind her.

  Marry well.

  The mantra that had been repeated in the Radcliffe household since she’d been a child reverberated in her head like a bell. It had become even more constant since her sister’s marriage. Gabriella winced. Victoria had summoned the courage to determine her own future—one apart from the ton. But at what cost? She’d left behind her family and all of her friends, travelling to the far side of the world for the sake of one man. It seemed incomprehensible.

  Glancing down at the vanity table, Gabriella’s gaze fell on the mother-of-pearl comb that had been her sister’s. Victoria had pressed it into her hand one day, shortly before her departure, and said, “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  But if that was true, then why hadn’t she written?

  Angered by her sister’s betrayal, Gabriella turned from the vanity table and headed for the door.

  Arriving in the parlor a few minutes later, she had to admit that Fielding did look rather dashing in his navy blue jacket and beige trousers—certainly more fashionable than Huntley. She cast the thought aside and went to greet Fielding, not liking the fact that she’d just compared her almost-fiancé to another man.

  “You look as lovely as always,” Fielding told her as he came to place a kiss upon her outstretched hand. It was elegantly done—much more so than Huntley’s awkward effort.

  Stop it!

  She forced a smile. “Thank you, my lord. You are exceptionally kind.”

  “It’s not kindness, my lady. I merely speak the truth.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Shall we sit for a while?”

  “Of course.”

  Passing him, Gabriella lowered herself to the plush silk brocade and swept her legs to one side, a position that would ensure a perfect drape of her gown. She then folded her hands in her lap and waited for Fielding to sit down next to her, albeit with an arm’s length between them.

  “I hear that the heir to the Huntley title has been found,” Fielding said.

  He maintained the same pose as usual—a glaring contrast to the way in which Huntley had casually lounged in his chair when he’d welcomed her for tea in his library. And then of course there were the physical differences to consider. Fielding was slim and roughly the same height as she, while Huntley . . . his bearing spoke of pure strength and power. And when he stood, he forced her to look up at him. There was something about that gesture that demanded respect, even if he was rough around the edges and spoke as though he’d just climbed out of a coal mine.

  “My lady?”

  Startled by Fielding’s voice, Gabriella blinked. “I beg your pardon.” She could feel her cheeks grow warm beneath his gaze. The flush of a guilty woman. “Yes. Yes, it would seem that he has.”

  “Well? Have you met him yet? I would love to hear your impression.”

  Swallowing, Gabriella instinctively glanced at the clock. It appeared to be moving with infernal slowness. “I—err . . .” She couldn’t lie, could she? Probably not. “Do you recall the man we met on the pavement the other day when we were returning from our drive?”

  His frown deepened. “The servant?”

  “Yes—well,” she steeled herself, “as it turns out, that was the duke.”

  The silence that followed could only be described as loud—so loud it seemed to fill every corner of the room, burrowing its way beneath tables and chairs and climbing the walls until it dripped from the ceiling.

  “Surely, you jest,” Fielding finally murmured. He shook his head. “That man was a peasant. The way he spoke—it cannot be. It simply cannot!”

  “And yet it is. Quite so.”

  Rising, he began to pace. “Do you have any idea what a mess this is?”

  “Some.”

  He came to a halt before her. “No, you do not seem to understand. Mother has invited him for dinner next Friday at Fielding House. The invitations have already been sent out.”

  “Then . . . then you must call it off,” Gabriella insisted. “Find an excuse. Any excuse. Please.”

  “But—” He met her gaze, and Gabriella’s heart sank. “Several peers have already accepted. Cancelling is out of the question.”

  “Right.” Her mind began to whirl with ideas. “Perhaps I can talk to the duke then. I’ll advise him to decline.”

  Fielding remained silent for a moment as though considering such a solution. “No,” he eventually said. “Let him make his own decision.”

  “But—”

  “If he’s not up to it, then he’s not up to it. But Society deserves to know who the new Duke of Huntley is, don’t you think?”

  “What I think, is that he ought to be prepared for what to expect. A dinner at Fielding House is no small matter.”

  “Precisely. And as the new Duke of Huntley, he must be capable of keeping proper company. If he’s not, then perhaps he ought to return to wherever it is he came from.”

  Gabriella stiffened. “That’s rather harsh.”

  “Perhaps.” Returning to his seat, he enfolded her hand with his. “But there is a difference of class for a reason. In my opinion, people ought
to stay where they belong, rather than try to break rank. It helps ensure a certain order, which in turn keeps the world spinning in the right direction.” Giving her a bland smile, he stood up again. “Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be off. Mother will be beside herself when she hears this news. The least I can do is to help her prepare.”

  “Right. Yes, of course.” Ignoring the numbness that filled every limb, Gabriella rose to her feet, bid Fielding a good day and then stood for a long moment after, reflecting on their conversation.

  The chiming of a clock eventually jolted her into action. “Simmons,” she called, addressing the butler as she snatched her spencer off a hook on the hallway wall, “if anyone asks, you may tell them that I have gone out.”

  One minute later, she was standing at the servants’ entrance of Huntley House, with Anna by her side. “I need to speak to His Grace at once,” she told a maid, who hastened away to convey her message.

  “My lady,” Anna implored for what had to be the fifth time at least, “You really shouldn’t be here.”

  That sentiment was echoed by Pierson, who arrived soon after with a brisk step. “Lady Gabriella. Would it not be more seemly to use the front door? This is highly irregular.”

  “I am aware of that, Pierson, but I would like to keep this visit discreet—especially since my parents are unaware of my coming here.” She gave him a meaningful look that would hopefully do the trick and then said, “Now, will you please let me in?”

  Staring down at her, Pierson stepped back and waved her through, closing the door behind her. “Right this way,” he said, striding off through a hallway that led past the kitchen and onward to the servants’ stairs, by which they were able to reach the foyer. “Please wait here a moment,” Pierson said as he closed the stairwell door behind them. Turning about, he then strode away to deliver the news of her arrival.

  Gabriella glanced about. She considered the bench against the wall. Perhaps she ought to sit? No. She was much too agitated for that. Instead, she began to pace while Anna watched with increasing unease. Surely the duke’s secretary would have advised him against accepting the invitation from Lady Fielding. She clasped her hands to still her trembling fingers. This was bad. Really, really bad.