All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke

by Vivienne Lorret

  “Freddie hates these types of affairs. What if I never attend another ball?” Isabelle pouted out her ruby-­painted lower lip.

  “He will give you everything you desire. And he can’t avoid all social functions in his position.”

  Isabelle looked away. “You know as well as I that this match was my mother’s doing. She feared we’d become destitute if I didn’t marry a man of great wealth.”

  “She wouldn’t have agreed had you been ill suited.”

  “I am always going to wonder if the only enticement she needed was his ten thousand pounds a year.”

  “I don’t believe that for one moment. And neither should you. Your mother takes your best interests to heart.” Sophie wished her stepmother cared enough about her to do the same, but her stepmother’s main goal since her father’s death had been to make her life miserable and lonely. “Let’s promise to not dwell on anything but us for the remainder of the evening.”

  “It’s hard to do that when I’ll be moving away after the New Year. I always thought we would marry and have children of our own at the same time. I’m afraid we’ll grow apart when I move.”

  “That’s nonsense. And stop thinking that way. I will write you every day.”

  Isabelle visibly gathered herself, standing taller as she took in a deep breath. “Then I agree that we should dispense of this maudlin conversation and enjoy the ball.”

  Sophie squeezed her cousin’s hand before she focused her attention on the room around them. Even though she’d been to this house plenty of times as a child, Sophie took a moment to enjoy the beauty of the architecture. The ballroom floor was an intricate pattern of dark and light hardwoods. Tall rounded pillars lined the edge of the long rectangular room. White paneling covered the walls three-­quarters of the way up, and the rest was painted in gold leaf.

  But none of that was what made this particular room so beautiful; it was the scene played out on the frescoed ceiling in rich oil paints, which was nearly as old as the house itself. It was in this room that Sophie had learned every Greek tragedy and victory—­as depicted above their heads in vivid color—­under her friend’s tutelage. That was before her dearest friend, Adrian, became the Duke of Helmsworth.

  She closed her eyes for just a moment and caught the faintest snippet of memory of Adrian telling her about Bacchus and Ariadne falling in love at first sight and the artist drawing hundreds of stars on the ceiling where Ariadne had been raised to the heavens; those painted stars shone in the candlelight even now.

  “Have you ever seen anything so breathtaking?” Isabelle asked, drawing Sophie out of her reverie.

  “It’s been a long time since either of us have been here. We were too young to truly appreciate the beauty of this place as children.”

  “I am glad we get to see it once more.” Isabelle grabbed Sophie’s hand and pushed through the guests until they were a few steps away from joining the country dance that some of the guests had lined up for.

  “Do you think we should try the dance?” Isabelle asked.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to attend the competitions in the garden or cards in the games room?” Sophie said. Of all the places her stepmother and stepsister might be, the ballroom was the likely choice. And running into them could very well ruin both her and Isabelle’s night.

  Sophie studied the room around them, remembering a moment from her childhood when she and Adrian had hid on the mezzanine level that jutted out over one side of the ballroom, watching a party just like this. She looked up then and saw two men standing there watching the events of the ballroom.

  She squinted her eyes . . . was that the duke standing with an older gentleman?

  The younger man appeared to study the crowd with little interest. With his hands curled around the upper railing, his body seemed tense and . . . unwilling. Then his gaze landed on her and paused. He had the same powerful presence his father once had, and even at this distance, she could see the resemblance. How embarrassing to be caught staring, and of all the ­people to be caught staring at.

  Sophie ducked her head, and her fingers skimmed over the edge of her mask to ensure it was secure. Her identity was safe.

  “I think we should join in for the next dance,” Isabelle said, pulling Sophie to the dance floor. “No one will recognize us.”

  “I can’t help but feel this will end badly for me.” Sophie looked at the nameless faces around her, looking for the two ­people who had the power to ruin her and Isabelle’s night.

  “What can your stepmother possibly do?”

  “Keep me from seeing you.”

  That was the last thing either of them wanted.

  “How about we give each other a signal if we see either of your step-­relations?”

  Isabelle always knew the right thing to say to put Sophie at ease. “I’ll flick my fan open if I spot them,” Sophie decided.

  “And I shall do the same,” Isabelle said. “Now let us fill the rest of our night with more fun than we imagined possible.”

  Isabelle took Sophie’s hand and pulled her right into the middle of the dance floor where dancers formed two neat rows for the next country set.

  Sophie looked across from her. Her dance partner was tall, his hair fair, and she had no idea who he was. That gave her comfort in knowing her identity was likely just as much a mystery. With her brown hair and dull brown eyes, there wasn’t anything about her that would make her stand out in a crowd. Tipping her head, she curtsied to her partner before taking his hand and following the steps with the rest of the dancers.

  “MY FATHER CANNOT possibly have expected me to pick the future duchess in a crowd of three hundred, Uncle Albert.” Adrian pulled at the front of his jacket. This whole situation was strange. Tonight’s purpose and outcome were to save this house and surrounding lands. He could never forget that. He wanted to keep this estate for his children.

  “If it were up to me, I’d have given you some time to choose,” his uncle said. “The good part of tonight is that every eligible woman in a fifty-­mile radius is here. You have the pick of the crop. I suggest you make good use of the night ahead and find your bride before it’s too late to save the estate.”

  Today marked the one-­year anniversary of his father’s passing. One week ago Adrian had received a sealed envelope from his father’s solicitor. The writing on the outside had been his father’s. When Adrian had opened it, a lot of the troubles he’d had obtaining funds from the estate had become clear. He needed to marry before the rest of the money tied into the estate could be released to him.

  His father’s note had been short, saying that if his son had already found someone to love and marry, he wished them a great future together. If not, Adrian had one week to fulfill that final duty as a son, or the money tied into the estate would remain out of reach until his thirtieth birthday, which was two years away. Problematic, since he could no longer hold off paying the succession duty for the estate.

  His father’s note had also included very specific instructions on how Adrian should go about finding this elusive bride, so here he was, holding a Christmastide ball in search of her, whoever her turned out to be. He knew his father had meant well, and the past year had been full of change for Adrian; no carousing and gambling into the wee hours of the morning, no more nameless women adorning his arm—­and his bed. He had taken his responsibility as the Duke of Helmsworth seriously. But his father was not here to see that change.

  Adrian had never been opposed to marriage; he had always assumed he would meet someone he liked well enough to court, and then eventually propose in his own time. It was almost distasteful to pick a bride in a roomful of masked guests. This was a lifelong decision, and to make it in one night . . .

  What if Adrian chose someone he despised?

  This was not a decision he intended to make lightly, as it affected not only his life but also the b
ride-­to-­be’s.

  “It’s a bit . . . severe to have to pick someone I do not know. Someone I cannot even see.”

  “Your father did like to have the last laugh.”

  “That he did.” Adrian raked his fingers through his hair. “Tell me whom you recognize.”

  “No one.” His uncle laughed. “That is the point of having a masked ball.”

  “I’m beginning to despise that fact more and more as the night goes on. And I do believe you are lying to me. You are enjoying my predicament.”

  His uncle slapped him on the shoulder. “I recommend you get on with it while the night is young.”

  “Yes, I suppose there is no time like the present.”

  Adrian rubbed his hand through his unruly hair and took one last look at the clusters of attendees before descending the stairs. Though he wore a mask as everyone else did, his presence did not go unnoticed, because the guests parted to allow him entry into the middle of the room.

  A young woman in a virginal blush gown and white-­feathered mask stepped forward on the hand of her father. She seemed out of breath, as though her father had made her run for the opportunity to be the first to dance with the duke.

  “May I present my daughter, Your Grace.” The man did not give his daughter’s name, as the invitation was very specific in that the bride would remain a mystery to the prince of the ball—­which was him, unfortunately—­until he was overcome with what . . . affection?

  Adrian imagined his father would love seeing his son rip off his mask at the end of the night and go down on one knee to press his suit to the lucky lady who should enamor him above everyone else.

  The young woman curtsied as her father held her hand out to Adrian, which he took, for what else was he to do? This was likely how the evening would go. Nameless women would dance with him all evening, followed only by banal conversation that would bore him to tears before half the night was through.

  Adrian walked the young woman into the middle of the ballroom. She could not have been a day over eighteen; her cheeks were red in embarrassment, her hand shook in his as he turned her to face him for the dance the orchestra started up.

  “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The young woman’s voice was shaky and nervous.

  “And yours, my lady. Do you live in Helmsworth?”

  “Norwich, Your Grace. We are visiting relatives in Helmsworth for the winter season.”

  Helmsworth was a town of estates and rolling lands of green. Perfect to escape to during the heat of London’s summers and an even better retreat during the cold winter months, when you wanted nothing more than to shut yourself in and sit by a warm fire. Though that was far from what was happening now.

  Had the night really only just begun?

  Chapter Two

  SOPHIE KNEW THE moment the duke entered the lower room. And he was as devilishly handsome as her imagination had built him up to be over the years. Gone was the boy she had grown up with. In his place stood a man with a strong and determined bearing. The duke was tall, his shoulders wide. His dark—­almost black—­hair was on the long and unruly side, with streaks of gray at the temples. She couldn’t make out his eyes from the distance that spanned between them, but she wondered if a hint of mischief could still be found in them.

  The duke did not wear a costume, only evening dress and a simple black mask. She supposed the purpose of the night for him was not to hide but to participate in his upcoming engagement.

  Sophie focused her gaze elsewhere as he walked his dance partner out onto the floor for the next country set.

  How odd was it that she didn’t want to be recognized? Even though it was unlikely he would know her, considering they hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years, it was the possibility that had her heart beating a little faster in her chest.

  “Might I claim you for the next dance,” the gentleman next to her said, a hint of something dark and mysterious in his voice. He was dressed in Georgian costume, powdered wig and all. While he didn’t have the same height as the duke, he stood taller than her and carried himself in a distinguished manner that said he was someone worth noting.

  As the orchestra started the next set, the gentleman took her hand and bowed regally. His hold was firm and warm as he guided her into the right position on the floor. Before she could protest or ask for a later dance, they were moving through the steps in line with the duke. Sophie was handed off to the next partner, and then the next, until she was in the duke’s arms. She was so stunned by her stupidity that she forgot every rule of etiquette she’d ever learned during her dancing lessons and uttered not one word as their steps started.

  His blue eyes were more beautiful than memory served. So much so it was difficult to tear her gaze away from his. That must have been a belated and stunned reaction to having been flung into his arms.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” she finally mustered. “It’s interesting that we should find ourselves dancing together instead of playing spectators as we used to.”

  The duke searched her eyes, as though he was sifting through all her secrets. Sophie blinked. Why had she given him that much information? She had planned to pretend ignorance, pretend she didn’t know him.

  “There is something vaguely familiar about you,” he said. “Have we met, my lady?”

  She didn’t dare mention that they’d had the same dance instructor, or that they’d learned to dance together.

  “I have spoken out of turn.” She cleared her throat. “What is it that you find familiar in me?”

  “The way you carry yourself. Almost as if we have danced before.”

  “Maybe we have,” she teased, then internally chastised herself. What was she thinking?

  While she wasn’t one to outright lie, she knew she couldn’t reveal who she was. The duke would surely feel obligated to ask what she’d done during the years they’d been apart. It was also possible he wouldn’t remember her.

  “I am intrigued,” he said.

  She stammered a few sounds of confusion that made her want to groan at her insipidness, then she was handed off to her original dance partner.

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I should like to find you again after this dance, my lady,” her partner said.

  “I think that would be acceptable.” What was she saying? She didn’t want to dance with nameless men all evening. Her cousin’s voice rang clear in the back of her mind, telling her this was a night she could be anyone she wanted to be, be with anyone whose company she wanted to enjoy.

  “Excellent,” he said, bringing her a little closer than what was considered acceptable.

  “That is if I can spare the time, my lord. You see, I am here with my cousin, and she will never forgive me if I abandon her for the evening.”

  “Then I will dance with her and keep you both company.”

  She ducked her head and smiled. “Your tenacity is to be admired. And you have been an excellent dance partner. I must apologize for being a poor conversationalist.”

  “And I should have chosen a dance that did not include the duke. Are you one of the ladies vying for his hand?”

  The comment seemed to draw the duke’s attention their way. Sophie tried hard to not glance over at him but failed.

  She blushed at having been caught staring twice now. “I am not,” she said, loud enough that she hoped the duke heard.

  “Would it be too presumptuous to ask for a second dance?”

  She gave him a bright smile. “I would be honored,” she said as they switched partners.

  It wasn’t long before she was with another dance partner, giving her time to think of something witty to say to the duke on their next passing. She made idle chatter about the weather and the event with her other partners. Before she knew it—­or could better prepare herself—­she was once again in the duke�
�s arms.

  “And we meet again,” the duke said in his pleasantly deep voice.

  “We do, Your Grace.” She tipped her head, not that she needed to, but more to break eye contact with him. His hand brushed against her lower back as they turned around each other. She could have pulled away, but she didn’t want to.

  “You know, I find it wholly unfair that you know who I am, but I do not know precisely who you are. Can you give me a hint as to your identity?”

  As tempting as it was to bite onto that and tease him for not remembering her, such a revelation was impossible.

  “You did call for a masked ball. I wonder what it would say about my character should I give you even a sliver of information about me.”

  His hand squeezed hers, their arms brushing as the turned around each other. Sophie did her best to ignore the tingling sensation that ran through her whole body whenever he touched her. He was doing it on purpose, too.

  “Yet I’m sure we have met before. Surely you won’t keep me in suspense indefinitely?” The duke wore a wry grin, revealing a dimple in one cheek. He really had grown into a handsome man.

  “I’m afraid knowing who I am, or any of the attendees, would take the fun out of the evening.” She couldn’t keep the silly grin from her face. Really, she was just glad to have found her voice.

  “You find me amusing,” he said.

  “Perhaps more than I should.”

  “I’ll try not to take that insult to heart.”

  “I meant no disrespect, Your Grace.”

  They turned around each other, their hands almost touching when they should not for this part of the dance. Sophie was allowing herself to get lost in the moment. That would do her no favors. But it was tempting to make a friend of the duke after having been apart for so many years.

  “Your silence is a form of torment. Have I upset you?”

  “No, Your Grace. I was merely thinking the dance has almost concluded and I’ve enjoyed our time together. I wish you luck this evening. You have a difficult decision to make in the course of one night.”