Duchess by Design: The Gilded Age Girls Club

by Maya Rodale

  “Oh,” she sighed. “Oh.”

  Kingston held her close, even though the music to one song had ended to give dancers a moment to change partners. He held her still when another song began. It was as if he could not risk letting go for even a second, lest he lose her forever.

  It ought to have been better that they were out among the other dancers, where anyone could see that nothing untoward was happening.

  But that was the problem: something untoward was very clearly on the verge of happening. Anyone could—and probably did—see the plain, heartfelt, potent desire for her in his eyes. Or the way he was transfixed by her lips. Or the way their bodies moved perfectly in sync to a music that had momentarily ceased playing.

  A duke was about to make A Scene over a lowborn girl in an uptown ballroom.

  Even more remarkable: he didn’t care.

  But Adeline did.

  “People are watching us,” she said, stepping away from him.

  “So?”

  “People are talking about us.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do,” she said firmly.

  “Isn’t it every girl’s dream to be linked with a duke?”

  “Not mine. I have my reputation to mind. My business depends upon it. My seamstresses rely upon it.”

  “If we were to marry, you would have the protection of my name and my position.”

  “You forget one thing: duchesses aren’t usually dressmakers.”

  “Change the world, Adeline.”

  Her eyes flashed at the challenge. “I shall. One dress at a time.”

  She turned and left.

  He was a duke. A marquis, earl, a half dozen lesser titles. He was a wealthy, privileged male in a world made for men. He could have anything he wanted and he wanted her.

  He was pretty damn sure she wanted him, too—he could feel it, see it in the flush of her cheeks and the way she bit her lip as her gaze dropped to his mouth and in the way that she did not deny it.

  But she didn’t want him enough.

  She didn’t want his titles, or various estates, or money or whatever worldly goods he had to offer her. She didn’t want his protection, his name, the perks of his position.

  He didn’t know what to do with this feeling of wanting something he could not have. He was equally flummoxed by this feeling of having nothing to offer except himself—and the pleasure he could give her. If she wanted it.

  Their dance came to an end and he followed her through the ballroom. This, whatever this was, was not finished yet.

  It wasn’t every day that a woman had a duke hot on her heels, calling out her name as she fled a fancy ball. Fridays, that’s when.

  Friday evenings, just shy of midnight.

  That was when she refused something that sounded like an offer of marriage and something like the promise of a night of unimaginable pleasure. There was a part of her that badly wanted to accept and to indulge in the desire she felt everywhere. From her head to her toes, to her heart, and everywhere in between, every inch of her wanted him.

  But did she want him enough to risk her freedom, her independence, her livelihood on one night of pleasure, on a mere suggestion of marriage? She didn’t know and she couldn’t think when all eyes were watching them and judging her. It almost didn’t even matter if she ran out of the ballroom and straight into his bed—or not. Society would judge her based only on what they presumed.

  Fleeing was the only option she could see.

  But he followed.

  Kingston said her name loud enough to attract attention and turn heads. How could he be so reckless? Thanks to the success of her shop, Adeline’s name was now known in these rarified circles. Though she was in costume and wore a mask, the mention of her name, her gown in her signature style, and her link to the duke were enough to identify her beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  Miss Adeline Black: the woman who had a duke running after her.

  Miss Adeline Black: the woman who might have disrupted the wedding of the year.

  Because if they were together, it would mean that he and Miss Van Allen were not.

  Talk would be vicious.

  Adeline feared the worst. Women refusing to wear her dresses. Husbands refusing to pay for orders already placed. She would have to fold up shop, a crushing disappointment to the Ladies of Liberty, who had taken a chance on her when no one else had, and the women she employed, who had such paltry alternative options, if any. Adeline thought of Margaret and her baby on the way, Rose and Rachel who left secure positions to take a chance with her. Mrs. Van Allen could have her blacklisted from every dressmaking establishment in the city. She’d ensure Adeline never so much as sewed a button on in this town again.

  Then she might have to marry the duke out of desperation and he out of a sense of pity or obligation. It would be made worse by the knowledge that she had made her dreams come true and then ruined it all. For both of them.

  She couldn’t get away fast enough.

  But this damned duke was such a fool, striding purposefully after her, calling her name, ruining everything. Again!

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  They were outside on Fifth Avenue now, under the warm glow of the gas lamps. A mass of humans, carriages, and animals—and the city itself—helped conceal them from prying eyes and gossiping tongues, to an extent—one hardly disappeared into the shadows when dressed in the bright white silk of a warrior princess.

  “I should think it’s perfectly clear,” he said in that devastatingly swoon-worthy English accent of his. “I am making an utter fool of myself. I am ruining everything. Again. All because I fear that I cannot say goodbye to you in such a manner. Or even at all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re running away from me. Us. This something keeps pulling us together in spite of logic, reason, plans that we both have made for our futures. I fell in love with a girl and I might not be able to have her.”

  “I’m not something to have.”

  “You’re right. You are not something, you are Someone. You are a woman who has opened my eyes, made my heart beat harder, disturbed my equilibrium and turned my life upside down just by being you. And that is why I need you, Adeline. I had a very narrow view of the world before you sashayed into my life—and don’t tell me you don’t sashay because you do and it’s mesmerizing. I would wed an heiress, fix the roof, and that would be all until death do we part. But I want you more than the roof, Adeline. I want the wide-open view of the world you have shown me. I need you to show me more. And I want you by my side for all of it. I’m hoping you’ll take my hand and embark on the risk of a lifetime with me.

  Heaven help her but she was moved.

  He was changing because of her. He was becoming a man she could be with, if she ever allowed herself the luxury. The attraction between them was fierce and potent but these words revealed it was more, too. It was nothing less than thrilling and terrifying and wonderful all at once.

  But Adeline didn’t quite believe that he wouldn’t wake up in the morning, more clear-headed, and proceed to Miss Van Allen and drop down on bended knee. She did know that they could not stand outside of the Carlyle mansion and bicker.

  Also, she had an idea.

  If he was truly tempted by her, by the idea of life with her, she had something to show him. They needed to go somewhere away from the prying eyes of society.

  “Come with me,” she said as she stepped into the throng along Fifth Avenue and raised her hand to hail them a hack.

  “I have a carriage and—” he said.

  “We’re not taking your carriage.”

  A hired hack slowed to a stop in front of them. Kingston assisted her and all her skirts into the carriage and shut the door behind them.

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “You’ll see,” she replied. And to the driver, she requested the first address she thought of that was not at all romantic or even remotely conducive to seduction. It wa
s a place that no one in the Four Hundred would ever go. She had to scare him off before he ruined everything for them both.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The “resorts” of the Bowery are better described as foul dives.

  —The New York World

  The Bowery

  Kingston stepped out of the carriage and looked around. They were not on Fifth Avenue anymore. In fact, he had no idea which part of the city they were in. He suspected it was the part which visiting Dukes did not usually frequent, though it reminded him of the places where he’d spent a few wild and reckless nights in his university days, when he was intent upon nothing more than emulating and maybe even one-upping his wastrel of a father.

  Yet Adeline seemed to know precisely where they were, and she appeared to be at ease in these dark surroundings even though she was dressed in a gorgeous white gown that contrasted starkly with the surroundings and everyone else’s attire.

  “Where have you taken me?”

  “McGurk’s. It’s a dance hall on the Bowery. This, Your Grace, is the New York to which I’m accustomed. Not quite Fifth Avenue, is it?”

  It was not. The buildings were not as towering or ornate or impressive or even clean. But the energy on the street was something else entirely as men and women alike, in all shapes, sizes, colors, and hailing from different countries of origin populated the sidewalks and the streets, all carousing and (mostly) making merry together. It was crowded, loud, boisterous. There was a feeling that something was going to happen. Fun was going to be had.

  In her stunning white gown, Adeline left openmouthed stares in her wake from men and women alike. While it aroused his possessiveness—how dare they gaze at her so brazenly!—Kingston understood. She and her gowns were stunning in an uptown ballroom and downright shocking here on the Bowery.

  It was impossible not to stare.

  Adeline led them into a particular dance hall that was dark and crowded and had an air of danger. Once they procured a corner small table and two pints of what one hoped was ale, Kingston started to feel a pressure ease in his chest. No one knew him here, certainly no one from The Four Hundred. The very air seemed imbued with a sense of devil-may-care, pleasure first, business tomorrow, and there was only tonight.

  “I must confess: I do feel a bit out of place,” he said.

  “We are not quite dressed for the occasion.”

  “I don’t think it’s my attire alone.” He eyed her gown.

  “Don’t tell me you’re too fancy for a downtown haunt, Your Grace.”

  “Don’t hold it against me.” He paused. Sipped his ale. “On second thought. Yes, please do hold it against me.”

  “You are incorrigible.” But she smiled and that was everything.

  “What I am is out of my element. I used to frequent such establishments but it has been some time.”

  She reached out and clasped his hands. “I think you’ll manage just fine, English. Just mind your pocket watch.”

  His pocket watch had belonged to his grandfather, had been a personal gift from the Prince Regent, and was worth no small sum. If he lost it tonight, he would consider it a small price to pay to spend this evening alone with Adeline in this dim, dangerous downtown spot where no one would recognize them.

  That pressure in his chest eased even more.

  “All right, tell me about you before you were the Duke. I want to hear stories of your wild and misspent youth.”

  “It’s been so long.”

  “Has it really?”

  “Not at all and I am wounded that you would think so,” he said in mock horror. She laughed and he was enchanted all over again. “Once upon a time, a few years ago, I hadn’t a care in the world. I wanted for nothing and was due to inherit everything—a prestigious title, vast tracts of land, houses, etc., etc. And so I did what most men in my position did. I consumed my days and nights with women, wine, and other diversions. Horse racing, boating, house parties, card games. My days and nights were very full.”

  “You must have been insufferable. In fact you sound awful.”

  He did sound awful. Because he had been awful. He wasn’t mean or cruel, as some of his “friends” were. But he had no thought beyond himself and his own amusement. The death of his father and the assumption of all his responsibilities meant he no longer had time for anything other than duty. He found he liked having a clear head in the morning and a sense of purpose to propel him through the day.

  “I would have kissed you already,” he admitted. “More, even.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you.”

  He held her gaze. “You would have wanted to.”

  “Or so you think,” she said. She sipped her ale.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Sometimes a woman will do what she must to survive. Even if it means indulging the whims of a duke. Or some other lordly type.”

  “Are you saying women wouldn’t have wanted me? Because I have never taken a woman against her will. There are some lines a decent man doesn’t cross and that is one of them.”

  “What I mean is that when a man holds all the power, a yes may not be a yes. A woman might agree because she can’t afford otherwise. Do you see, Duke?”

  He was beginning to. And he was terrified to really look, for who knew what he might see? What if he discovered he wasn’t the gentleman he’d prided himself on being? He suddenly felt a deep fear of being unwanted, politely tolerated. But being with Adeline felt different. One thing was becoming clear: he needed a woman who didn’t need him at all.

  “What changed you?” she asked. “Something must have changed you. You pride yourself on behaving like a gentleman and supporting your family and tenants.”

  “My father died.”

  “I’m sorry.” She rested her hand on his.

  “Everything became my responsibility. So I decided to follow the example set by generations of Kingston dukes: wed and bed an heiress. Use her fortune to further the estate for another generation.”

  “You had no other example to follow, I suppose.”

  “Until I came to New York. Now I see that there might be another way.”

  What he was trying to say was that marrying Miss Van Allen was not the answer. He needed money, yes. But there were other ways to get it: this city had shown him that. Adeline was showing him that he needed a life he could commit to with his whole heart. Duty was more than providing money. Honor was more than not cheating at cards. Legacy was more than just perpetuating what came before.

  The truths struck him hard and fast; he could hardly catch his breath enough to articulate them to Adeline. He could only try to explain.

  “I didn’t realize any of this until I met you.”

  “I think I understand,” she said. “You are resolved to be a different man.”

  “I promised I would sacrifice my own pleasure to serve my family, duty, my estate.” He paused, thoughtful. “I promised I would ensure my children are provided for, so that they have choices. And I promised I would not torment my wife with affairs that drive her to ridiculous lengths in trying to get my attention.”

  It seemed the only way to stop it all was to wed a woman he could love.

  “You’d better wed a girl who entrances you then,” Adeline replied. “A girl you can’t take your eyes off of. A girl who you can’t stop thinking about.”

  “In other words, I’d better wed a girl like you.”

  Adeline had made a grave miscalculation. McGurk’s was not supposed to be conducive to romance and seduction. It was loud, dingy, dark, full of unrefined and frankly unwashed persons. But the duke didn’t put on airs. No, he pulled up a chair for him, and her, and procured her a glass of ale. Then he looked into her eyes and bared his soul. To her and her alone.

  That was its own kind of seduction.

  The intimacy. The risks. The novelty. The surprise. The way he gazed at her, the way his firm, sensuous mouth occasionally tipped into a smile. The way his fingers entwined with hers, now d
elicately stroking the palms of her hands, her inner wrists. It was the littlest touch and yet she felt sparks flying. Embers started to smolder. Tonight, she was going to burn.

  And damned if she wasn’t falling for all of it.

  And then he had to say it.

  Then I’d better wed a girl like you.

  “There you go with the proposals again,” she teased. Deflected.

  “If I ask you enough maybe you’ll say yes.”

  She took a sip of her drink. She might be the woman he needed, but she was not the marrying kind. However, that didn’t mean she didn’t have wants and desires that she was more and more eager to explore with him.

  “Tell me, Adeline, why you refuse to wed.”

  “Quite simply, I have seen that no good comes of it.”

  He waited for her to explain.

  “My father was the first man my mama married. He went out West to seek his fortune and it was years before we learned that he had died of dysentery. Meanwhile, we subsisted on the charity of my aunt and uncle, working from dawn until dusk in our sweatshop on Norfolk Street. Everything we earned went into my uncle’s pocket. He had my mother pay in other ways, too. I could hear it. I was seven.”

  Kingston clasped her hand and tightened his grip.

  “When we learned my father had died, my mother was free to marry someone who might help provide for us. We were desperate to get out of that house, so she wed the first man who asked. He was just as bad, maybe worse. I was ten.”

  Kingston pressed his lips into a firm line.

  “He died in the way that bad men tend to do—a stupid accident as a result of an excess of alcohol and an argument. I wasn’t sad at all. I was twelve. I vowed to support us—by then I had a deft hand with a needle and thread, a rebellious streak, and ideas. But Mother didn’t believe me that there was another way. And maybe there wasn’t. So she married again. And I managed to get a job sewing in a shop—Madame Chalfont’s, in fact—so I did not have to be at home. It hurt me to see it.”