Romance: Regency Romance: A Lady's Powerful Duke (A Regency Romance)

by Matilda Hart

  “Quite.” The Duke replied. He was not in a place to argue with her, but all he wanted to do was protest.

  Chapter Six

  “And where have you been all day?” Constance asked once Joan finally arrived back home.

  “With Emil, of course.” Joan replied, removing her coat and hanging up her purse.

  “What on earth happened to your hair?” Constance seemed to be in a bad mood, Joan could tell.

  “We went swimming.” Joan said nonchalantly.

  “My word, the fact that he still wants to marry you is baffling to me. You’re showing the man your true colors and he hasn’t run to the hills!”

  “We like each other, Auntie.”

  “You said that you would discuss with him the wedding date today. Did you do so?” Constance asked.

  “Um….. I forgot.” Joan replied.

  “Forgot! Child, if you don’t set a date soon then I’m afraid the wedding is never going to happen.” Constance had a look of terror on her face.

  “Of course it will happen. We’re just….taking our time. That’s all.” Joan wanted to escape this conversation as soon as possible. She had felt in the last week or so that Constance had become more persistent, and Joan was afraid she couldn’t hold her off much longer.

  Meanwhile, at precisely the same time Emil was receiving an intervention of his own back at the Lawrence estate, and from the moment that he stepped through the door.

  “You know, son, that if you go on like this it’s going to look incredibly bad for our family.” Genevieve protested.

  “I know not what you mean, mother.”

  “You were supposed to be at the Kelly ball tonight. Everyone noticed that you and Joan were not there, and I could hear whispers about it.”

  “Let them whisper!” Emil replied, exasperated.

  “You may not care what people say but I do.” Genevieve said with a huff. “One’s reputation is far too fragile to endure this kind of talk. You and Joan just go about doing whatever you please as though you were immune to the rules of society, simply because you were engaged. It looks bad to be engaged for this long without a precise date set for the wedding. I need to make plans, I need to order flowers, arrange for the food, decide upon a guest list. None of these things take care of themselves, and this certainly can’t be done at a moment’s notice!” Genevieve was turning red in the face as she explained the exhausting list of tasks ahead of her.

  “Mother, please calm down. I don’t care to talk of this right now.” Emil tried to escape from the room.

  “Are you simply going to ignore me, child? Is that how you treat your poor mother? My constitution is far too weak for this kind of stress.” Genevieve sat down on the couch to steady herself.

  “Mother, I promise that this week Joan and I will discuss it. Now, may I go up to my chambers?” Emil said before exiting the room.

  “Promise me, my boy.” Genevieve said, as one last push.

  “Yes, right.” Emil said, leaving the room in a haze.

  “And don’t forget the Campbell party tomorrow!” She yelled to him.

  “Good God.” Emil said under his breath when he was out of hearing.

  Within him was an anxiety that he could not destory. Was that to be the end of their halcyon days? The very thought of breaking off the engagement with Joan, let alone having a wedding - with all its pageantry, stilted attire, overly-perfumed old biddies, useless gifts made of silver, and pompous ceremony - made the Duke quite sick to his stomach. How was he to endure any of it?

  And yet, perhaps the only person that he could tolerate to go through the embarrassment of it all with was his dear friend - Joan. However, Emil knew that there was no chance of convincing her to take their ruse to the next and most frightening level: actual marriage.

  No, he wouldn’t entertain the idea any longer. Time was running out and he and Joan needed to come up with a new plan. They would come up with something suitable tomorrow, and of all places, at the detestable Campbell party. At least Joan would be there to soften the blow.

  The Duke collapsed into bed. Truly, he was exhausted from the day’s exertions. Oddly, he became aware of the fact that he missed Joan in that moment. They had been spending most of each day together, but certainly had never been in one another’s company late at night. Recollections of her in the water that day - the way her bathing costume clung to her skin - came rushing through his head.

  No, he thought to himself. He mustn’t think of her like that. Once those thoughts and sensations began to take hold, then they would not cease. She was his dear friend, after all. But Emil had to admit, it had been quite a while since he had enjoyed the bodily companionship of a woman. He had not told Joan this, but he went through quite a phase in his early twenties where he enjoyed the company of many different women. It was easy enough to accomplish in London, and the Duke was a man of means deemed quite attractive by women.

  But Emil had turned a new leaf and promised to make a gentleman of himself. He had been quite successful at it, and with his new frame of mind he intended to look upon Joan with the purest intentions possible. At least, he hoped he could.

  ********

  Joan looked around the room for Emil. She desperately needed him by her side, but she could also tell that he needed to engage in conversation with some choice members of the party, per Genevieve’s instructions.

  Joan herself was forced to do a bit of schmoozing, but she couldn’t help but think how much easier it would all be if Emil was there to soften the blow.

  The Campbell party proved to be just as stuffy and insufferable as all the rest. Of course, Joan fielded a number of congratulations and well-wishes from those who heard about the engagement, but she was also asked again and again when the date of the wedding might be. She and Emil promised to discuss the issue on that night, but they hadn’t yet had a moment to themselves.

  “You haven’t eaten a thing.” A voice behind her said. When she turned she gave a sigh of relief to see Emil before her. “You’re probably judging the food. So French of you.” He added.

  “I brought macaroons in my pocket!” She whispered with conspiratorial glee. “Would you like one?”

  “Where the devil did you get those?” He asked, delight in his eyes.

  “I finally found a French bakery in London that I tolerate.”

  “I’ve got a better plan. How about we sneak out of here and enjoy the macaroons in the garden?” He said. The idea was like music to Joan’s ears.

  “What a fine match, you two are.” An elderly woman approached them.

  “Ah, yes. Thank you.” The Duke replied courteously.

  “When is the date?” She asked. Joan could have guessed that that would be the second thing out of the woman’s mouth.

  “Soon. Quite soon.” Emil said.

  “In my estimation, it’s becoming rather a trend for young couples to wait before actually going through with it. I think it’s not proper.” The woman added.

  “Thank you for that opinion.” Joan said.

  “You’re just nervous, I’m sure. But there’s nothing to fear.” Joan was afraid the old woman might never stop talking. “It’s your duty in life to make a good match, and the two of you are simply performing your station. You’re on your way to becoming members of proper society.”

  “Yes, yes. Thank you. Quite.” Emil didn’t know what else to possibly say.

  “If you’ll pardon me, I have much more to say on the matter, but I’m afraid that my sherry has gotten a little low. I’ll return promptly.” The old woman said, and turned to the refreshments stand.

  “Run.” Emil said.

  “What?” Joan replied.

  “I do not jest. Out that door.” He commanded, and grabbed her hand.

  The two of them literally ran from the ballroom and straight out towards the gardens. There they were, yet again. Almost like the day that they had met. But in the present situation, they were running together.

  “I thought I mi
ght explode in there. People are scarcely less annoying after you are engaged than before.” The Duke said, finally stopping at a bench near a fountain.

  “These people have no brains inside their heads. The politics of society are as suffocating as this corset.” Joan said, trying to loosen it a bit as she sat.

  “Joan, what are we going to do? The pressure is mounting in the most unbearable way.” Emil said.

  “It’s true. I suppose we just need to keep this up. As long as humanly possible.” She said, staring absently at the fountain.

  “You do know that there are only two options. We either have to reveal ourselves as being frauds, or we need to actually wed.” Emil said, turning to her.

  “You know how fond of you I am, Emil. But to be married? I fear that it might ruin our friendship.” Joan said. And truly, that was the scariest outcome of all. She could tell that there was scarce one happy married couple in all of England, and if that happened to her and Emil, she would not be able to endure it.

  “I agree, Joan. I would not want that for all the world.” He replied. “I suppose, we’ll just keep going.”

  “I’ll tell Constance that my father’s schedule is such that, he keeps going back and forth about which date he’d be able to attend the wedding!”

  “That’s a fine idea. It’s actually plausible.” Emil said. “Truly, any important architect across the English Channel would have a difficult time figuring out when he could make the journey.”

  “I think that should give us some time.” She said.

  “Smart Mademoiselle, as always.” Emil said, and put a loving arm around her shoulder.

  Joan could feel the strength of his embrace around her, and every muscle in her body relaxed. Before she could scarce think, she placed a gentle hand upon his knee. The sensation was delicious. Joan had forgotten all about the macaroons. She reasoned that any such embrace from a loving friend would give the same kind of positive sensation, and she resolved to think about it no further.

  She had enjoyed the touch of a man before, but certainly nothing that would ruin her reputation. Even though Joan was a girl that cared not for a proper reputation and maidenhood, still she had never been acquainted with any man in France that she felt she could give herself over to, in that way. There was simply no point to it, as there were too many hills to climb, gardens to explore, books to read, and games to play with the Lost Boys. And certainly amorous relations with any one of them was absolutely out of the question.

  No, the warm, comforting feel of Emil’s arm around her shoulders was indeed nothing more than the affection of a friend, she reasoned with herself. Joan had to admit then, the very thing that she told herself to stop thinking about was still persistently on her mind. She decided to start some kind of conversation to alleviate the tension of the moment.

  “Lovely fountain.” She said. It was the first thing that came to mind.

  “Quite.” Emil said. The Duke was aware that perhaps putting his arm around Joan’s shoulders was indeed the wrong choice. But he had little time to think about it before his arm seemed to - as though it had a life of its own - jump up from his shoulder and rest itself where it then resided; atop her perfect shoulders.

  And for the Duke, Joan’s hand felt as though it were burning a hole through his knee.

  Chapter Seven

  Walking through the streets and markets of London was something that the Duke found to be a little overwhelming, and usually he would avoid it at all costs, but on that day he had decided to buy Joan some flowers. He had never made such a gesture before, hoping that his friend would find it at least amusing. They always teased one another about such common displays of affection.

  What he found in the city would upset him quite. The flower shoppe was on Barry Street - Emil knew it well as he would frequent the less tasteful pubs nearby, back before he was a changed man - and the area was known for its superb mix of the charming and more scandalous aspects of London.

  Popping into Lady Gale’s Flower Shoppe, Emil was suddenly overcome with the warm perfume of the flowers. The smell was gorgeous, and somehow the atmosphere of it spoke instantly to his lighthearted glee. Emil had definitely noticed that he had been more upbeat than he ever had in his life. Always a gloomy boy, the companionship of his special friend had made him practically good natured - the prospect of which would have horrified him in years past. But presently Emil thought that there was no reason to not be - dare he even say the word - cheerful every once in a while. What he had lacked in the past was someone that he had things in common with, with whom he could spend time and speak his mind.

  In years past, the flowers in the shoppe would not have even registered in his spirit, but on that day, the blossoms seemed as though they had sprung into life just for him. Looking about the rainbow of arrangements, all in different sizes and shapes and smells, Emil suddenly became overwhelmed by which bundle to select.

  “Might I help?” The shoppe girl asked.

  “Why, yes. Your timing is good. I’m quite overwhelmed and know not what to get.” Emil said with a smile. Although the Duke would scarce pay attention to the interest of most women - of which he was often the object of affection and desire - on that occasion he couldn’t help but notice how much the shoppe girl was quite aflutter in the Duke’s presence. Emil found it quite annoying.

  “Who is the lucky lady, then?” The girl asked, cheeks aflame and twirling her hair.

  “Just a friend.” The Duke said, then jumping right to the business at hand. “Would a yellow arrangement be appropriate this time of year?” He asked.

  “Well it depends. What are your intentions with this ‘friend’?” She asked, looking him up and down.

  “To…..be her friend.” Emil replied. He couldn't quite understand how this girl had not understood what he had meant by the word.

  “Is this a friend that you’re apologizing to, a friend who is sick, a friend who is grieving, or an amorous friend?” She asked.

  The Duke couldn’t possibly understand how these could be the only options afforded to him. The truth was that it was none of the above. Why couldn’t that silly girl get it through her head?

  “It’s a friendly friend. A best friend.” He replied flatly, wishing he had never asked the girl for assistance in the first place.

  “I seeeeeeee.” The girl replied, drawing out her words in mock belief. “Well, blue flowers are for the friend who is sick or grieving, yellow are for the one that you’re apologizing to, pink flowers are for the one that you….love. But! RED flowers are for the one that you have other intentions with.” The girl was getting excited by her own suggestion.

  “Did I not just tell you that none of those apply to the woman in question?” The Duke was getting quite frustrated at that point. “What color does one select for the friend friend?”

  The girl appeared less excited at that point and also quite annoyed that the Duke wasn't playing along with her suggestions. “White.” She replied flatly. “Plain old white.”

  “Right, well then I’ll take this bundle here.” The Duke was relieved that the whole business was settled.

  Walking back onto the street, the Duke considered the absurdity of all the flower girl’s questions. Was he going mad, because within his head he was actually going back and forth about whether or not he had purchased the right color. Did Joan - his beautiful, vivacious, sweet friend - really deserve plain white flowers? Might she be more pleased with red? Or would that be conveying an impossibly wrong suggestion?

  “What the devil?” The Duke said to himself. There, across the street, was none other than the lady in question. Joan, walking side by side with a young man, seemed to be walking and carrying-on a pleasant conversation with a personage that Emil could not recognize, but all at once wanted to murder. Who was that daft prick talking to his friend? Had she been abducted? Must he intervene?

  In troth, the two seemed to be smiling and chatting, so the Duke would make an utter fool of himself if he stepped in
. Holding the lily white flowers in his hand, Emil felt like an impossible fool. No, he would not let himself react as though he were seeing his wife with some other man. That was precisely what the situation was not. That was his friend walking with another man, and he made a point to take a breath and resolved to ask Joan about it later in the day when they had a planned fencing match back at his estate. Of course, he would wait to give her the flowers until he got an acceptable answer about the identity of the gentleman walking with her through the streets.

  Later that afternoon, Emil had calmed himself down considerably, and Joan was still aglow from her delightful day in the city. She could tell that something was slightly off with Emil, nonetheless.