Why Dukes Say I Do

by Manda Collins

  The word hung in the air between them.

  Mrs. Green, missing the subtext of their words, tittered. “Lady Wharton has just arrived, Your Grace. I pray you, do not send her back to London before we’ve had a chance to winkle the latest styles from her. I fear that the village dressmaker is sadly behind the times, and I for one am in desperate need of a new frock.”

  “You are lovely, as always, Mrs. Green,” Ormonde said, though his eyes never left Isabella’s. “I feel sure, however, that Lady Wharton would be happy enough to offer you her fashion advice. She is nothing if not full of opinions.”

  Beastly man, Isabella fumed. How dare he ruin her pleasant visit?

  “I should be happy to tell you about all the latest styles, Mrs. Green,” Isabella said, deliberately turning her attention away from the duke, who was soon descended upon by one of the other village ladies.

  The assembled company passed the rest of the half hour discussing fashion. And before the visitors left, each of them had extended invitations to Isabella and Eleanor to come to tea later in the week.

  When the last guest had gone and Eleanor had excused herself to find out what Belinda was up to, Isabella and Ormonde were left alone together. The silence between them might have been awkward, but oddly it was not. Indeed it felt strangely companionable. Which was not a restful thought at all. Wishing to escape the sensation, Isabella made her way to the doorway and tried to excuse herself.

  Before she could get the words out, however, Ormonde touched her on the arm. The connection sent a jolt of awareness through her body.

  “Stay a moment, please,” the duke said, snatching his hand back as if touching her had affected him as much as it had her. A ludicrous notion, Isabella told herself. “I wish to discuss something with you,” he continued.

  With a nod she stepped back into the chamber, stopping before the fireplace. “How may I assist you, Your Grace?” she asked politely. Why was it so difficult to have anything like a normal conversation with the man? she wondered. Though he was hardly her biggest fan, given that she was here to try to convince him to do something he did not wish to do, his quarrel was with his grandmother, not with her. In fairness, though, she admitted that he might have made the situation much more uncomfortable than it already was. He would have been well within his rights to send her packing instead of welcoming her into his home.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, the duke paced a little before the windows overlooking the front drive of the country house. He was dressed for riding, which Isabella assumed meant that he’d spent the morning on horseback. She wondered briefly if he had a suitable mount for her. She did not often get the chance to ride, but being in the country would allow her to get in a good gallop.

  Ralph had not liked for her to ride as a general rule. He considered it unladylike for a woman to ride as Isabella did—with her whole being. And so he’d forbidden it. Since his death, she hadn’t purchased a mount to replace her beloved Sookey, whom Ralph had sold without Isabella’s knowledge. While she was in the country, though, perhaps she could become accustomed to the saddle again. She may as well make the most of the visit, since Ormonde was proving to be resistant to her wiles.

  There was no question of failure in her quest to bring him back to London, of course. She refused to allow her sister’s match with Coniston to be jeopardized. Perdita had already been through hell with Gervase. She deserved some happiness and Isabella was going to ensure that she got it.

  “There are actually two matters I wish to discuss,” the duke said, interrupting Isabella’s thoughts. His russet hair glinted in the morning sun, giving him the appearance of an angel in a halo. Isabella didn’t find the illusion at all amusing.

  “First of all,” Ormonde said, “it looks as if it will take upwards of a week to repair the duchess’s carriage. The local blacksmith is away in York visiting his ailing mother and will not be back before a sennight at least.”

  Before she could protest he continued, his eyes serious, “Both of our coachmen have looked at the damage and have concluded that the damage was deliberate.”

  Isabella felt her chest constrict.

  “Deliberate?” she asked, feeling like an echo. “You mean someone damaged it on purpose?”

  Ormonde nodded. Isabella did not like the gravity in his expression. It smacked too much of concern, which she most assuredly did not want.

  “Can you think of a reason someone might wish to harm you?”

  I know what you did last season.

  The words of the note echoed in Isabella’s consciousness. But surely the carriage breaking had nothing to do with the silly message. If she were a betting woman she’d lay odds that the dowager herself had sabotaged the carriage in order to give Isabella a better chance at persuading the duke to come back to London with her.

  With a nod she said as much to the duke. “So you see, Your Grace, it was likely just your grandmother’s ploy to see to it that I am here long enough to convince you to return to London with me.”

  Ormonde frowned. “Lady Wharton, I think you misunderstand me. The damage to the carriage wasn’t a bit of tampering to make the vehicle unable to continue on. This was the sort of damage that if it had occurred on any other stretch of road could have killed you or one of the servants riding with you.”

  Her hard-won poise fading, Isabella’s hand rose to her throat.

  His gaze concerned, the duke stepped forward and touched her lightly on the arm. “I do not mean to frighten you,” he said, “but it is apparent to me that whoever did this wanted to do you or someone else in your party grievous harm.”

  Gone was the frisson of awareness that came whenever they touched and in its place was cold, hard fear. Isabella fought back a shiver.

  “If you think of anyone with a reason to wish you harm,” he said firmly, “let me know at once. You were lucky we’ve had so much rain of late, because the mud cushioned what might have otherwise been a more dangerous fall.”

  Isabella nodded. With some difficulty she managed to impose some calm upon herself. Wishing more than anything to change the subject so that she would not seem so vulnerable, she asked, “There was something else you wished to speak of?”

  His brow still furrowed, the duke took a moment to realize what she was asking. At the reminder he flushed. “Oh yes. It has been pointed out to me that it is perhaps unwise for me to allow Eleanor and Belinda to continue to carry on left to their own devices without some kind of female guidance.”

  Surprise made Isabella’s eyes widen. Of all the things she might have expected him to say, it wasn’t this. “I am in agreement with this assessment,” she said carefully. She could tell just from her brief acquaintance with his sisters that they desperately needed some kind of guidance. “Surely you are not asking me to act as your sisters’ governess, Your Grace? For I can assure you that I have no such qualifications. I am quite abysmal at the pianoforte and I have no gift at all for recitations.”

  He laughed. It was the first time she’d heard him do so and she was charmed in spite of herself.

  “No!” he said, running a nervous hand over his mussed hair. He was clearly out of his element talking about such things. But the fact that he cared enough to approach someone he had no reason to trust said much for his affection for his sisters. “I would not presume upon your good nature in such a way. I would, however, presume upon you to help me find a suitable governess. If that is at all agreeable to you.”

  She was strangely flattered that he trusted her opinion. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter, she thought, remembering the way the neighborhood ladies had fawned over him that morning.

  “Of course I will assist you,” she said more warmly than she’d intended. But, she thought, better to seem more eager than not eager enough. “You do know, however, that Eleanor is nearly ready to make her come-out.”

  His good humor fled at her words. “Not yet, surely,” he said. “I believe many young ladies do not make thei
r debuts until they are a bit older.”

  “Only if some event prevents them from doing so,” Isabella said firmly. “Unless there is a death in the family, or some sort of financial difficulty that prevents it, forcing a young lady to make her debut at an advanced age merely serves to put her behind the rest of her peers. I realize that you do not wish to take up your role as the duke, but if your reticence prevents your sisters from taking their own rightful positions in society, Your Grace, you are being unfair to them.”

  He looked as if he would argue, but she held up a staying hand. “I have no wish to be unkind, or to use your sisters as a means of luring you to London. But surely you can see that your actions affect them.”

  “But Eleanor is only seventeen. That is far too young for her to be on the town.”

  “But not too young for her to begin attending neighborhood parties and the like,” Isabella said. “Like it or not, Your Grace, she is almost grown and by preventing her from leaving the nest you will only hamper her chances at happiness.”

  “What a coil,” he muttered, looking as if he’d like to tug on his hair in frustration. If he didn’t care about his sisters one way or the other he’d have told Isabella to go hang, so his obvious dismay was a point in both their favors. His because it meant he was a kind guardian and hers because it meant that he might be persuaded to go up to London on his sisters’ behalf.

  She said she did not wish to use his sisters to lure him up to London. That did not mean she would not do so if she must. Besides, she truly did believe that having their brother accept his rightful position would be good for Eleanor and Belinda.

  “In any event,” Isabella went on, “I will write to my sister in London and ask her if she will put the word out that you are seeking a governess. I imagine that any governess in need of a position would leap at the chance to work for the Duke of Ormonde.”

  “Thank you,” he said, still looking somewhat hunted.

  “And, Lady Wharton,” he continued, “I do realize that my decisions affect them. It simply had not occurred to me that by refusing to go to London I was hampering their social welfare. I still think of them as children, I suppose.”

  It would take a bit of time, Isabella supposed, for him to begin thinking of his sisters as young ladies. Perhaps she could do him some good while she while she was here, in addition to doing the dowager’s bidding.

  “I understand, Your Grace,” she said, smiling at him. “I have a younger sister, too.”

  * * *

  Trevor found himself reluctant to ruin their unusual amity by broaching the topic of the bargain, but he knew that he would be doing Lady Isabella a great disservice were he to let her continue on with the idea that they were now at some kind of peace. Far from it.

  “There is one further item I wish to discuss with you, my lady,” he said just as she was rising from her chair. “It will take but a moment.” Feeling like the veriest clod, he took out the sheet of foolscap on which he’d jotted down his list of items for her to accomplish before he’d agree to come to London.

  Looking surprised, Lady Isabella nonetheless remained seated and inclined her head to indicate that she was listening.

  Trevor cleared his throat. “I realize that you came here not at your own whim,” he said, “but because my grandmother has for whatever reason chosen you to be her emissary.”

  “Yes.” Her dark hair shone in the light from the windows, and Trevor found himself wondering what it would look like when loosed from its elegant chignon.

  Realizing the direction of his thoughts, he mentally shook himself and returned to the subject at hand. “Lady Wharton,” he said firmly, “I have decided that I will go with you to London.”

  Her eyes widened, and to his discomfort she smiled. It was the first real show of genuine warmth he’d seen from her since her arrival last evening. “Your Grace,” she said with relief, “that is wonderful news!”

  He felt like a churl to crush her enthusiasm. But crush it he must.

  “I will not go without a concession on your part,” he said firmly.

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  He gave in to the impulse to run a hand through his hair. “You must allow me to show you just what it is we do here at Nettlefield House. It is not an insignificant amount of work to run an estate such as this. And if my grandmother cannot bestir herself to come here and demand my presence in London herself, the least I can do is impress upon her emissary its importance in my life.”

  A flash of annoyance crossed her eyes but was quickly masked with an expression of patience. “Your Grace, I have no doubt that your feelings for this place run deep, but I am hardly the best person to convey that emotion to the Dowager Duchess of Ormonde. I have spent very little time in the country myself, and have no notion what it takes to run an estate of this size. The only opinion I could possibly convey on the subject to your grandmother is that you appear to be attached to the place. And you can do that yourself in a letter if you wish.”

  Trevor crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed her from head to toe. She certainly was not the picture of a country lady. But he had little doubt that she could convince the dowager to leave him in peace if she set her mind to it. Since he could not convince his grandmother himself, he would see to it that Lady Isabella did. The more he considered the matter, the more he was certain he was choosing the right course.

  “But why bother with a letter when I can have my very own personal champion?” he asked with a tilt of his head. “Once you have seen the farm in all its glory, I am certain you will agree to plead my case to the dowager. Namely that the running of this estate is far more important than swanning about town in fancy clothes to attend foolish entertainments.”

  She was vexed. It was obvious from the way her bosom rose and fell with her frustrated breathing. Then, she seemed to come to some decision within herself. “Is that what you think this is about, Your Grace? The dowager wishing for you to buy a new wardrobe and accompany her to soirees and balls?”

  “The thought did cross my mind,” he said with a frown. “Do you mean to say that she does not wish for me to do those things? Along with finding some young lady with an enormous dowry to wed and get an heir on as quickly as possible?”

  Realizing what he’d just said, he raised a hand in apology. “Your pardon, Lady Wharton,” he said. “It’s just that I cannot help but feel wrongly done by when my grandmother has not bothered in the twenty-eight years of my existence to even seek me out. She washed her hands of my parents years ago, and her sudden interest coincides awfully with my cousin’s death.”

  Isabella looked as if she might like to argue but instead gave a short nod. “I do not deny that it looks suspicious. But I can assure you that she has long felt the loss of your father from the family circle. Even so, it does not matter what reason she has for wishing you to come take up your rightful place as head of the family. The fact that she is your elderly relation ought to be reason enough for you to abide by her wishes.”

  “Even though she has not abided by my own or my family’s wishes for some twenty years?” he demanded. “That seems a very unbalanced form of familial affection, my lady.”

  “It might,” she agreed, “but that is neither here nor there. This is my side of the arrangement. If I agree with you that your endeavors here are important enough to keep you from visiting the Ormonde estates in person, then I will tell the dowager so. But either way, you must come to London with me without argument.”

  “So,” he said with a laugh, “you get your way no matter what happens? You drive a hard bargain, my lady.”

  “I have my orders from the dowager,” she said coolly. “Now, do we have a bargain?”

  Trevor knew that she could simply make up her mind to disagree with him no matter what she thought of the estate. But he somehow doubted she would do that. There was something about her that spoke of integrity. She might have lied to him about the purpose of her visit or made excuses for his
grandmother, but she had not. Lady Isabella might have her faults, but lying wasn’t one of them. At least he hoped not.

  By having her shadow him about the estate for the next week he would get what he’d been wanting for years: a witness to see that his father’s hard work on the Yorkshire estate had not been the waste of time his family had assured him it would be.

  That the dowager herself would know how wrong she’d been.

  Short of bringing his grandmother herself to Nettlefield House, Lady Isabella was the next best thing.

  “You have my word,” he said, offering his hand to her in a gesture of good faith. She hesitated for the barest second before giving him her hand. Neither of them was wearing gloves and the brief feel of skin on skin sent a jolt through him that had nothing to do with honor and everything to do with lust.

  Her eyes widened in surprise—perhaps she felt the jolt, too—and met his before she pulled her hand back and let it fall to her side.

  “Well then,” she said briskly, not meeting his eyes. “We have an agreement. How long do you suppose it will take you to show me the workings of the estate? A few days? Might we be able to leave for London at the end of the week?”

  It was Tuesday now, but Trevor had no intention of leaving the estate at all, much less at the end of the week. “Oh, I should think it will need more than a few days.” he told her. “And of course there’s the matter of your damaged carriage. No, I think a week at least. Possibly two.”

  “But that’s—,” she began to protest before he interrupted her.

  “I really must insist, Lady Wharton, that you let me show you the estate on my own terms. Not all of the elements I wish to show you will be available this week. Sheepshearing, for instance, doesn’t begin until next week.”

  “Sheepshearing?” Her voice was a high-pitched squeak. “I am hardly the most appropriate judge of how best to shear a sheep, Your Grace. Indeed, I think I might comfortably take your word for it in that case.”