The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior

by Megan Frampton

  “But?” Caroline prompted.

  “But . . . I don’t know. That is the thing. I like him, I even think I—” If she said it aloud, she’d be admitting it, wouldn’t she? Not that she hadn’t already caught herself thinking it before, but it seemed that if she told Caroline what was in her heart, it would be a reality. She couldn’t take it back, even if nothing ever came of it.

  Fine, then. “I think I am in love with him.” Not falling in love with him, or enamored of him, or charmed by him. No, she was firmly and definitely in love with him, and she knew that as well as she knew there was no chance anything could ever come of it.

  Which Caroline should be telling her in about five, four, three—

  “You know there is nothing that can really happen between you. You’ve heard enough of our women’s stories to know that men say things they don’t mean.” Caroline glanced up, blinking rapidly, as though staving off tears. “You know from my own story that these things don’t work out.”

  “I know,” Lily said softly, reaching out to take her hand. This was what she really needed—the comfort of knowing a friend out there knew just what she was going through, and that she understood.

  “I know you do,” Caroline replied in a voice that nearly trembled. Nearly, because she hadn’t broken down since the first time Lily had met her, long before they started the agency. Back when Lily had worked at the brothel—but not worked worked—whereas the brothel was where Caroline had come to work after coming afoul of a suspicious wife.

  The kettle began to whistle, and Caroline sprung up from her chair, wiping the back of her hand under her eyes. “What do you want?” she asked as she poured the hot water into the teapot, before shaking it gently.

  She turned around to face Lily. Her expression was kind, but also held a warning that Lily knew the truth of as well. “What do you want?” she asked again, her gaze intent on Lily’s face.

  Him. “I don’t know.” Liar. You want him. “I think I just want things to be as they are, only they can’t be, not with me feeling this way. I don’t know how he feels.”

  “And you can’t very well ask him, not without compromising yourself. Either your feelings or your position,” Caroline said in a practical tone.

  Caroline retrieved two mugs from the shelf, spooned sugar into each, and poured just a splash of milk in hers and more than that in Lily’s. “So you just need to accept things as they are, as much as possible. Until something changes.” She handed one mug to Lily. “He’s looking for a suitable wife, is that correct?”

  Lily nodded as her insides tightened.

  “And when he finds one, that will be your time to search for another position. Luckily, you know some people who can find you something,” she said with a wink.

  Lily laughed, as she was supposed to, even though a part of her—a very large part of her, starting with her heart—wanted to cry. Caroline returned to her seat and placed her mug on the desk.

  “Now that I have absolutely not solved your problem, I’ll ask about that favor I mentioned.”

  Lily took a sip of tea, glad to focus on something other than her own incipient heartbreak. “What can I do for you? Please don’t tell me you wish to marry a duke, because I don’t think I can assist you there.”

  Caroline smiled, shaking her head. “No, nothing like that. Annabelle and I were talking about how we could help our clients, or even just the women coming here for assistance who we can’t immediately help. And it is an awkward subject to broach, especially to someone you’ve just met, but we thought that if these women had access to certain things, it could help keep them from becoming even more unfortunate.”

  Though put in a convoluted manner, Lily recognized what she was saying. “You want to provide condoms?” she asked.

  Caroline bent her head in a quick nod. “And neither Annabelle nor I knew even where to get them, and since you do, we were hoping—”

  “You want me to buy them?”

  Another nod.

  “I can do that.” Lily thought for a moment. “There is a druggist nearby who used to have them. I can go there on my way home. I’ll bring them by when I come by next. Is that all right? There is no immediate need, is there?”

  Caroline shook her head. “No, we can wait. Let me get you the money for them.” She stood and went to the cabinet drawer where the agency kept its fees. “We knew you would say yes, so we went and took out enough from the bank.” She counted out the money, returned to her chair and handed it to Lily, who put it into the pocket of her gown.

  “The women will be so grateful.”

  Lily swallowed the rest of her tea, then glanced at the clock over Caroline’s head. “I should be off, Rose will be waking from her nap in a bit.”

  She got up from her chair, smoothing her gown. “Thank you.”

  Caroline stood also. “For what? I haven’t solved any of your problems, and I’ve only added more things for you to do.”

  Lily planted her fists on her hips and glared mockingly at her friend. “For being here, and listening to me, and knowing exactly what I am going through. For all of that. Thank you.” Her tone softened. “For being my family.”

  Caroline smiled and opened her arms to take Lily in a hug. “Thank you, too. And be careful.”

  Lily felt the prickle of tears sting her eyes. “I will.”

  “Your Grace, thank you for attending our little gathering.” The Countess of Daymond swooped in on him as soon as the butler had taken his coat and hat. Her expression looked startled, and faintly alarmed, as though a candle were right in front of her nose and she was blinded by the light.

  Oh, dear Lord. Was the light him?

  “Thank you for the invitation.” He would have to get a damn secretary, wouldn’t he, if he persisted in accepting invitations. A wife might also be of assistance, but he didn’t think he could ask his new bride to see to his social calendar as well as his illegitimate child. Although she would likely prefer to see to the former than the latter. But there was only so much he could expect from a marriage.

  The countess was still talking, and he had to remind himself to pay attention.

  “And of course the Montgomery ladies are here, and my own Lucinda will be playing the pianoforte, and the earl has promised not to steal you away until you have taken a turn around the conservatory and seen the flowers. Do you know, I was able to hire the Queen’s gardener’s second assistant? Quite a coup, I know there were many other people vying for his services.”

  On the other hand, maybe he should remind himself not to pay attention. Or think about more pleasant things. Such as cold porridge, tight cravats, and finally reading the agricultural tomes that were beginning to gather dust in his bedroom.

  “The Duke of Rutherford has arrived,” the countess said as she swept into a large room that appeared to be housing a vast number of ladies. Dear heavens, were there any males here at all?

  Marcus had more sympathy for the stud in a herd of horses. Or perhaps the rooster in a henhouse.

  Or the only man in a group of women, likely some of them unmarried.

  His cravat felt very, very tight.

  “Duke,” he heard a voice—thankfully, a male voice—say just to his right. He turned and was relieved to see Smithfield, whose smirk indicated he knew just what Marcus was feeling.

  “Good afternoon,” Marcus replied.

  “Come this way, Your Grace, I wish to introduce you to my daughter’s godmother.” The countess took his arm and drew him farther into the room before he could grab Smithfield and make a run for it.

  “Your Grace, may I present Lady Townsend? She is Lady Lucinda’s godmother, and she is my dearest friend.” He didn’t begrudge anyone having friends, but he didn’t necessarily need to be informed of each and everyone’s friends’ status when he was introduced.

  Or perhaps he was just grouchy.

  He took the lady’s hand in his and bowed. She gave him a thorough look, one that started at the top of his head, down to his
feet, then back up again, which was when he recalled he’d met her before, to the same scrutiny.

  And like before, he didn’t know whether or not to hope he’d been found wanting.

  “And here is Lucinda! Come here, my dear,” the countess said, gripping his arm a little tighter, as though he were about to make a run for it.

  Could she read minds?

  “Your Grace,” Lady Lucinda murmured, lowering her eyes as she dropped a curtsey. He bowed, and then was gratified to see, when she met his gaze, the humorous light lurking within. He did like her, certainly. Enough to make her his wife?

  The countess took her daughter’s arm in her other hand and drew her to Marcus’s side. “Your Grace, you can accompany Lucinda to the conservatory. Mr. Ball is there to inform us all about the new plantings.”

  She spoke in a louder voice as she addressed the many ladies—and two men—in the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to follow the duke and my daughter to the conservatory, I would be delighted to show you the very rare and exotic flowers and plants we have imported.”

  A general rustling and clatter as teacups were put down, ladies stood up, and a queue—with Marcus and Lady Lucinda at its head—was formed.

  He felt like a damn parade leader. At least no one had given him a banner that said Unmarried Duke Here to carry.

  “I do apologize, Your Grace,” Lady Lucinda said in a low voice as they walked down the hall. “My mother is . . . not subtle,” she concluded in a wry tone.

  “It is of no matter,” Marcus replied.

  They were silent for the remainder of the walk.

  A short, earnest-looking man waited at the end of the hall, standing in front of a massive door, a telltale smudge of dirt on his face indicating that he was the gardener. He beamed as they all moved past him. The countess brushed past Marcus as she made her way to the front, and Marcus bumped into Lucinda, catching a hint of her scent. It was floral, naturally, and smelled lush and fragrant. She smelled nothing like Lily, the only other woman he’d been close enough to sniff lately.

  If he thought about it, he would have to imagine Lily did not wear scent, as that was something proper ladies of fashion did, not governesses serving at the whim of their charges and their employers.

  Something about that thought made him angry, but he brushed it away as the countess began to speak.

  “Our conservatory will be, I hope, something special to see, and I am so glad all of you”—at which point she looked right at Marcus—“were able to join us for this little party.”

  She nodded to the gardener, who turned and opened the doors, then stepped aside so the countess could enter.

  They all filed in, with nearly everyone exclaiming in delight as they walked into the room.

  And it was impressive, Marcus had to admit; like his conservatory, the room had a multitude of windows, but that’s where the comparison ended.

  There were tables in a variety of heights set in clearly well-planned ways around the room. Statues were scattered throughout, young men and women clad in not very much clothing, all of whom looked absolutely delighted to be captured in stone and set in this room. Pillars were set in each corner, with hooks hanging from them, from which were suspended plants whose flowers cascaded down the sides. There were pleasant-looking benches on which to sit, a large cabinet holding an assortment of gardening tools—all of which looked to be kept in impeccable shape—and on a side table, trays with attractive looking pastries and other confectionary delights.

  It was the kind of undertaking only a family with means and purpose could achieve. It was the kind of undertaking he would have scoffed at six months, or even six weeks, ago. But he could see now that in the right family, it would be a wonderful accomplishment, a delight and tribute to the passion of the family members.

  The thought sent a stab of poignancy through him. He wanted the kind of family, the kind of emotion, that would inspire an effort like this one, even if the work was primarily done by the Queen’s former second assistant gardener.

  “It is wonderful,” he said to Lady Lucinda, who was still at his elbow. Thank goodness she was not a talkative person, because he wouldn’t have heard her anyway, so engaged was he in absorbing the beauty of her mother’s conservatory.

  He’d never paid much attention to plants, beyond the fact that they were the source for foodstuffs. But he had to admit, standing in all this splendor, that there was more to them than being the basis of bread, peas, and even onion custard.

  “Mother is very proud of her work.” Lady Lucinda paused, then cleared her throat. “I am very proud of my mother, even though she has been driving me crazy with her obsession.” She chuckled. “I wish never to hear about the distinction among roses ever again.”

  Roses. Rose. His daughter, his bloom among the thorns of his life.

  Dear God, when had he become so melodramatic? It must be the picturesque setting.

  Or a bad poet had been lurking inside of him all this time. No wonder his cravat felt snug.

  “Shall we find a place to sit?” Marcus didn’t wait for her answer, just drew her away from the crowd of chattering, delighted women and helped her sit on a small wooden bench tucked away between a statue of some nymph or another and what appeared to be a centaur. Or a badly sculpted thick-legged man.

  “Thank you, this is nice.” Lucinda turned her head to him. “How are you enjoying town? This is your first time in town as the duke, is it not?”

  He nodded. “Yes, although I spent some time here in the past, before I inherited.”

  “It must be very different, to be here as the duke.” She likely didn’t mean to sound superior, as though it was infinitely better to be a duke, but it had to be inherent in someone who was raised in this kind of rarified atmosphere.

  And she wasn’t wrong, of course; it was on balance nicer to be someone who was deferred to, had power, wealth, and privilege. But it would be too easy for him to just have that and not do anything with it. As he’d nearly done before Rose came into his life.

  Being a duke was work as well as rewarding. In the time since he’d paid attention, he’d realized just how much more he had to do. It was a challenge, and he hadn’t had a challenge since . . . well, since that spoon-balancing time. And since meeting Rose. And Lily.

  Meanwhile, Lady Lucinda was waiting for some sort of reply, even though he barely recalled what she had said to him in the first place. Oh, yes. Differences in life.

  What could he say that wouldn’t make him sound like a pompous ass? Lily’s voice came into his mind as clearly as if she were speaking into his ear: Nothing, you already are a pompous, not to mention arrogant, ass.

  He smiled at the thought.

  “I am older than I was, and so the things I do now for pleasure,” he said, such as walking in the park with my daughter, or coercing her governess to lose her lemony demeanor, “is different from what I did five years ago, before I was a duke.” He wouldn’t mention what he used to do before. She was a lady, after all.

  Although some of those activities had brought him Rose.

  “I presume the same is true of you?” Nicely played, he imagined Lily whispering in his ear. Turning the conversation back to her, as though he were engaged in her reply.

  Which, he reminded himself sternly, he was. She was so far the best option for a wife he’d seen thus far.

  “Yes,” she replied, on a laugh, “when I was here many years ago, all I wanted to do was to go to the music halls. I was mad for the pianoforte, and I even had dreams of becoming a musician myself. Can you imagine?” she said with a trace of bitterness in her voice.

  He drew back and regarded her. “I could, actually. You are definitely more than you appear, Lady Lucinda.” Well, that certainly, nearly, made his intentions clear. Not that he knew what his intentions were, precisely.

  What were his intentions?

  He felt a sudden wave of panic, glancing around the room, desperate not to continue the course of
the conversation. “Tell me,” he said in a different tone of voice, “which of your mother’s flowers are your favorite?”

  She hesitated, as though she were as confused as he by the sudden change of topic. Well, at least they had that in common.

  “I do love delphiniums, and of course roses. In spite of my mother’s obsession with them,” she said in a wry voice. “But I would have to say that my favorite flowers of all are lilies. They’re so triumphantly exotic, and colorful. And their scent! For my birthday last year, my father got me a perfume that smelt of lilies. It is my favorite.” She chuckled a little self-consciously. “I am wearing it now.”

  As she spoke, she raised her wrist, inner part up, and he had no choice but to lower his nose down to her arm and sniff.

  It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, if asked, he would have to say it was pleasant.

  “Very nice,” he said.

  “And my mother promised we would devote a whole corner to the conservatory to lilies.” Another self-conscious laugh. “No doubt that seems foolish . . .” she began.

  “Not at all,” Marcus murmured.

  “But apparently lilies are difficult to grow, and Mr. Ball is one of the foremost experts in them, so that was one of the reasons Mama wanted him so badly. For me,” she added.

  “That is wonderful. Not foolish at all,” Marcus said.

  She smiled. “It is one of the privileges of our position, is it not? And you, you are in such a good position, you can do whatever you like.”

  Marcus smiled in return. “Such as commanding lilies to grow, or to demand strawberries in winter, or for the furn—”

  He froze, mid-sentence. Strawberries in winter. Swapping all the furniture from one side to the other.

  Having Lily. Marrying Lily.

  Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He was a duke, and with all the power his title entailed, he could do what he liked, even though it might—for a brief while—shock members of a society he’d only recently joined. Lily was the best possible choice for a mother for Rose, not to mention the best possible choice for someone to share the rest of his life with without loathing.