All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke

by Vivienne Lorret

  In order for his formula to work, he needed to know every marriageable person in polite society. One single error or miscalculation could risk his Fellowship with the Royal Society. He was hosting this party for one purpose—­to reveal the validity of his Marriage Formula. Not only to his guests but to two persons who could assist him in gaining the Fellowship he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything before. In fact, he’d purposely invited Lord Basilton and Lord Pomeroy from the Royal Society in order to calculate matches for their unwed offspring. If everything went as planned, Basilton and Pomeroy’s approval—­by way of their votes in the New Year—­would earn him a Fellowship.

  Gazing at his aunt, who was ineffectively attempting to tidy the corner of his desk, North swallowed his pride. “Forgive me. I was distracted earlier. Though it is no excuse, I’d realized suddenly that I had an unmarried guest at my party whose name was, until that moment, unknown to me. Under the current circumstances, surely you can understand my appearance of rudeness.”

  Surprise lifted his aunt’s penciled brows before her expression fell to something of a disappointed pout. “Oh, is that all? For a moment, I’d thought Miss Sutherland’s understated beauty had you tongue-­tied.”

  If one could call blue eyes that resembled the pale perfection of a winter sky understated. Or a complexion as flawless as moonlight. Or hair the white-­blond color of a candle flame. Or lips tinged pink as if brushed by madeira. Understated? No, her beauty was quite evident.

  He meant to laugh, but more of a growl came out instead. “I am not a man ruled by baser impulses. If I were, then my formula would mean nothing and every hope I have of becoming a Fellow would be for naught.”

  “Nephew, I had no idea that Miss Sutherland’s attendance at this party could jeopardize so much. When Zinnia wrote and asked if her niece’s friend could attend, I saw no harm in it. Clearly I underestimated the power of one unmarried young woman.”

  North eyed his aunt. There was more than a trace of mockery in her tone and expression. “Miss Sutherland holds no power over me. You give her far too much credit. Besides, she cannot be overly marriageable if I’d never met her.”

  “She has been out of society for the past two years,” she said, appearing distracted by her attempts to straighten the papers on the corner of his desk. “Which, as it happens, was when you garnered interest in society in order to begin your formulaic calculations.”

  He opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment before dipping a quill pen into the inkpot. “Then Miss Sutherland must be at least four and twenty.”

  “Five and twenty.”

  He jotted that down. “Of noble birth?”

  “Her father is a country gentleman. He earned a knighthood in the war, years before he married. Her mother is a cleric’s daughter. They reside in Surrey. Norwood Hill.”

  “Such a meager connection to earn Miss Sutherland the opportunity to marry into the aristocracy.” Still, it was more of a connection than his own mother had had, he mused, dipping his pen once more. “Has she a fortune, a wealthy relation, or dowry property?”

  “None. She is educated, however. Her parents employed a tutor and a dance master for her instruction before her debut.”

  “Perhaps she descends from a hearty lineage—­multiple sons born on both her father and mother’s side? How many brothers does she have?”

  Edith clasped her hands and offered him a patient stare. “Like you, she is an only child, as were her parents.”

  Huh. Studying the parchment, he released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He felt . . . relieved. Beyond relieved, actually—­elated was more precise. “Then she is of no consequence. Her presence will not disrupt my ability to prove my formula in the least.”

  Eager now, he opened one of the fresh ledgers, which he’d begun solely for this party, and scribbled her name on the page. Miss Ivy Sutherland of Norwood Hill—­no consequence. Then he underlined the last two words for good measure.

  Aunt Edith huffed in obvious exasperation, drawing his attention. From that disapproving purse of her lips, he already knew what she was going to say.

  “Nephew, I wish I could admire your uncanny ability to write down a name and summarily disregard the person who carries it.”

  “I do not disregard either the person or the name,” he argued, while softening his tone. “The names in each of my ledgers are the means that will gain me a Fellowship. I value them a great deal.”

  She pointed down to his disorderly desk. “If only you’d spent as much time figuring love and happiness into your equation.”

  “A man should be happy on his own without needing another to spoon-­feed it to him. As for love,” he said while sprinkling sand over the fresh ink in the ledger so that it wouldn’t smear, “it is an emotion invented by the idle-­minded.”

  When he heard no response, he lifted his gaze from Miss Sutherland’s name and saw his aunt’s disappointed frown.

  He released an exhale. “Very well. Will it soothe your ruffled feathers if I promise not to ignore Miss Sutherland or her friend with the pinching slippers for the duration of the party?”

  Appearing to mull this over, Edith took a moment before nodding curtly. “Dinner will be in one hour.”

  North had other plans for this evening, such as organizing his ledgers and making sure every person here was accounted for. He felt the flesh between his brows furrow. “This morning, you’d said that we would not be having a formal dinner this first night, since so many of our guests would be tired and want trays taken to their rooms.”

  “Yes, but we must think of those who are not tired. Besides, we have many more guests in attendance than we’d originally anticipated. Perhaps you have finally earned a measure of acceptance from those dreaded purists.”

  “It is more likely that they believe I aim to make one of their daughters a duchess.”

  “Then let them think what they will.” As if the matter had been settled, she made her way to the door. “Tonight’s gathering will be an informal dinner in the Great Room. The footmen will carry trays of cheeses, tarts, and hors d’oeuvres, allowing you the freedom to move about, thereby giving you the perfect opportunity to make amends to Miss Appleton and Miss Sutherland.”

  As the door clicked shut, leaving him to his solitude, North’s gaze drifted down to the name in the ledger. As before, all other thoughts stopped, suspended like a pendulum in a clock paused at the crest of the oscillation. It was unnatural. Illogical.

  The only reason for his current state of mind had to stem from the inordinate pressure he was under to prove his formula. Yes, that must be the reason. And with that reassuring thought, he bent down, blew the dust from the page, and closed the book.

  North was certain that his next encounter with Miss Sutherland would be a matter of rote behavior and nothing more.

  Chapter Two

  “FOR AN INFORMAL dinner, this is quite the crush,” Ivy said from beneath the wide stone archway of the Great Room.

  There were at least one hundred guests, she surmised. The finest array of satins, silks, and lace crowded elbow to elbow in the vast space. If not for the green and gold brocade draperies along the far wall, and the wide tapestries adjacent, the clamor of conversation likely would echo to deafening proportions. Instead, prattling, laughter, and the occasional clink of glassware all rose overhead to the vaulted wood-­beamed ceiling.

  Beside her, Lilah nodded. “It’s a veritable sea of coiffures, tiaras, and feathers.”

  “Yes and beware the waves of gossip,” Ivy said, charting a course toward the footman with the red wine on his tray. She needed something to settle her unexpectedly raw nerves. For some reason, she could not stop mulling over her encounter with the duke and wondering if the next would unsettle her just as much. From this vantage point, however, she hadn’t spotted him yet.

  “Gossip, I can take
. It’s the wine I’m worried about.” Lilah smoothed her gloved hands down her pristine white dress.

  As a woman on the shelf, Ivy’s wardrobe wasn’t restricted to a muted palette. This evening she wore her favorite red satin petticoat beneath a gauzy silk tulle sheath. Earlier, she’d had the maid prepare the blue muslin, trimmed in velvet, yet blue was too calming a color. Inside, Ivy was anything but calm. Therefore, she needed to wear something that made her feel confident, and even a bit pretty.

  Belying her self-­assuredness, however, she caught herself fidgeting with the cuff of her long white glove. Abruptly, she stopped. “If you do happen to encounter a spill of wine, just be sure it is from the duke’s glass.”

  “I do not know why you are fixed on seeing me married to the duke. As you well know, any titled gentleman of noble birth will do,” Lilah whispered.

  To Ivy, the answer was obvious. “Yes, but one can easily assume that the duke invited unwed debutantes to his party for the sole purpose of finding a bride for himself. The same cannot be said of the other gentlemen in attendance.”

  “After your performance earlier, the duke is likely to see me and then instantly glance down to my feet and inquire about the comfort of my shoes.”

  “I fail to see the problem in a man recalling you from a previous encounter.”

  Lilah sighed. “Because his recollection would be of my shoes, not of me, Ivy. You don’t know how many times Aunt Zinnia has reintroduced me to a gentleman within minutes of a first introduction, only for him to behave as if the second time was new to him. Just once, I’d like a gentleman to remember me.”

  Ivy threaded her arm through her friend’s and squeezed her companionably. “And I am here to make certain that your wish comes true.”

  From the far corner, Lady Cosgrove lifted an arm and beckoned both Ivy and Lilah to her. As they entered the room, the crowd seemed to undulate, each group of attendees moving to and fro. If the center of the room could be compared to a tidal pool—­filled with the shiniest of stones—­then the cluster of society’s premier elite fit there perfectly. Their ostentatious display of jewels gleamed beneath the light of an immense wrought-­iron chandelier. Chaperones and their pastel-­clad charges formed the first ring, turning their ears toward the center of the room while their eyes followed the unmarried gentlemen. In groups of only two or three, those gentlemen caused surges, altering the form of the gathering as many angled for their attention. Along the outer rim were the matrons. It was no surprise that this group positioned themselves to oversee the entire room at a glance. Everyone knew that these women held the most power. The dowager duchess and Lady Cosgrove were among them.

  Also within their midst was a woman too old to be a debutante but far too young to be considered a matron. Her hair was silken gold—­a shade darker than Ivy’s—­the thick waves styled into an elegantly simple twist. Her peach silk gown was the same, elegant and simple. As was the diamond pendant she wore. In her slender carriage, she possessed a regal quality that one could never learn. One had to be born with it. Ivy, unfortunately, had not been.

  “Miss Appleton, Miss Sutherland,” the dowager duchess began the instant they arrived. “I should like to introduce you to an honored guest, Lady Granworth.”

  The name sparked a recollection for Ivy as both she and Lilah offered the obligatory curtsies. This time, Ivy managed to be somewhat graceful.

  “Of course, since Lady Cosgrove and Lady Granworth are cousins through—­Zinnia, is it your mother’s side?” The dowager duchess turned to her friend. In receiving a nod, she continued. “No doubt you have heard mention of her, Miss Appleton.”

  “I have, Your Grace,” Lilah said. “In fact, Aunt Zinnia, Lady Granworth, and I have exchanged letters during the past year.”

  It was in this moment that Ivy recalled hearing Lady Granworth’s name in conversations with Lilah. Juliet Granworth was Lilah’s third cousin. Apparently, there had been a split at one time in their family. When Lady Granworth’s husband had passed a year ago, however, Lady Cosgrove had reached out with an olive branch.

  “After so many letters, you must call me Juliet. It is a true pleasure to meet you in the flesh, at last, cousin.” Extending a gloved hand to Lilah, Juliet Granworth smiled. When the light caught her sapphire-­jeweled eyes, her delight was evident. Then she turned to Ivy. “Miss Sutherland, please call me Juliet, for I am certain we will be friends as well. From Lilah’s letters, I feel as if you and I are already acquainted.”

  “I assure you that I’m not nearly as wayward or impulsive as Lilah has likely expressed,” Ivy said with a grin.

  This comment earned a cough from Lady Cosgrove and a silent smirk from Lilah.

  “I believe the descriptions I read were quite complimentary of an admirable determination to live by one’s own rules,” Juliet replied with all the appearance of sincerity.

  Even though Ivy was touched by the compliment, at the same time she noted Lady Cosgrove’s disapproving glance toward Lilah. Deciding it was best to save her friend, Ivy added, “A careless endeavor on which only a woman resolved never to marry should embark.” She managed the words without the slightest of grins. Contrition, thy name is Ivy, she thought, congratulating herself.

  “A truth well spoken, Miss Sutherland,” Lady Cosgrove said, her stern agreement a clear warning to her niece. “Gentlemen of noble birth prefer accomplished, genteel brides.”

  Lilah laughed wryly. “What good are accomplishments or manners if there is not a single gentleman interested in them? We are tutored to speak French, to read Latin, to dance, to exhibit poise, to draw, and to sew, but none of that matters if . . .” Her words trailed off as her eyes widened.

  Surprised by her friend’s outburst, Ivy couldn’t speak. Lilah often spoke her mind to Ivy when they were alone, but this was the first time she’d ever said anything in direct contradiction to her aunt. As Ivy watched her, Lilah’s lips parted and her gaze darted to her aunt as if she’d just realized the same thing.

  “That is to say—­”

  “I quite agree, cousin,” Juliet interrupted. “I’ve met no gentleman who has any real interest in needlework. Otherwise they would all be dressed in coats with thistle flowers embroidered on the cuffs, and keep a ready needle tucked away in a waistcoat pocket.”

  Ivy laughed, liking Juliet Granworth despite her enviable beauty. “Indeed. Now, whenever I see a gentleman with a monogrammed handkerchief, I will not assume he has a sister but more so that he embroidered the square himself.”

  “That must be the true reason gentlemen do not want ladies in their clubs,” the dowager duchess said cheekily, stunning the group. “They fear the competition.”

  This time they all laughed, even Lady Cosgrove.

  “I wonder what has become of my nephew,” the dowager said after a moment, searching the crowd. “Regrettably, he is often late when distracted by a new invention. I do believe that his Marriage Formula is currently occupying his mind.”

  “A formula for marriage, ma’am?” Juliet asked, her wispy brows lifting. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of such a thing. Are men and women so easy to enter into an equation?”

  The dowager duchess tsked. “I am not in full agreement with my nephew on this notion of his. However, he did alter his original title for my sake—­which was The Matrimonial Goods Exchange—­ therefore, I feel obligated to support him.”

  “Ghastly title, Duchess,” Lady Cosgrove said under her breath.

  “I concur,” the dowager duchess answered. “His former title made it sound as if marriage were part of a bartering system, which—­of course—­it has been for centuries. I believe, however, we’ve risen above that archaic notion. In our modern day, more and more marriages are decided on by matters of mutual regard and fondness, as they should be. I’m sure you would agree, Zinnia.”

  Lady Cosgrove was silent for a moment. Ivy imagined that at any mome
nt, she would employ another infamous look. Instead, a wistful smile graced her lips.

  “You and I were fortunate, Duchess,” Lady Cosgrove said with an uncharacteristic softness. Then, looking to Lilah, she cleared her throat. “Though not all young women can afford romantic notions.”

  Perturbed, Ivy spoke up in defense of her friend. “Everyone deserves a chance to find love, no matter their circumstance.”

  She would have said more, too, but suddenly, a wave of dizziness spiraled through her. She closed her eyes for an instant to recover. Then her gaze swept to the door, as if instinct directed her to the cause of the ailment. She didn’t understand how she knew the duke would be standing there. But he was.

  And he was looking directly at her.

  “At last, there is my nephew,” the dowager said, lifting a hand to beckon him forth. “You were good to spot him first, Miss Sutherland. Had I not noticed the shift of your attention, his arrival might have escaped my notice.”

  Ivy wanted to deny that her attention had shifted in any way. She wanted to think of a lie to excuse her sudden absorption in the area surrounding the archway. At the very least, she wanted to be able to turn away. Yet she could do none of those.

  The duke hesitated, reluctance etched on his features in the way his dark brow furrowed. Then his nostrils flared as he drew in a breath, deep enough to expand those broad shoulders and the wide chest beneath a dark gray coat and silver satin waistcoat.

  And when he took his first step, Ivy was certain she felt the quake of it beneath her feet.

  “For his tardiness,” the dowager duchess continued, “we should question him ceaselessly about his formula.”

  “Duchess, I fear we should not antagonize your nephew,” Lady Cosgrove said, likely in the hopes of making a favorable impression for Lilah’s sake.