What the Duke Wants

by Amy Quinton

  He shook his head of his wayward thoughts. She was decidedly not duchess material, to say the least.

  Now, where in the hell had that thought come from? Duchess material?

  “Pardon me, but did you say something, Your Grace?”

  Stonebridge tried to cover up the fact that he had just snorted aloud. Never mind the mud and effusive bellowing. That he wasn’t doing. Because Dukes didn’t do that sort of thing.

  “No, I most certainly did not. God, this jacket is irritatingly too snug. It’s ridiculous that I should need assistance just to remove my damned jacket.” He had stood after the removal of his boots and was now attempting to peel off his coat on his own. Bryans moved in to assist.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Your Grace, if I may be so bold, is everything quite…”

  “No, you may not be so bold,” interrupted the duke. “She’s…It’s nothing. Everything will be resolved as soon as this damned house party is over and things return to normal.”

  A few moments passed without further comment as the duke, with the help of Bryans, removed his remaining clothes and stepped into his dressing gown to be worn until suitable replacement garments could be readied. Abruptly, Stonebridge spoke:

  “Bryans, I want you to find out all you can about a woman here by the name of Miss Grace Radclyffe. I assume she’s a guest.” He wasn’t sure what prompted his request; the words just seemed to burst out of his mouth of their own volition.

  “No need, Your Grace. She’s all anyone has talked about since we arrived. Apparently, she’s the earl’s niece through his first, now deceased, wife. All the servants are half in love with her, as she’s quite friendly with the staff, knows everyone by their first name and all that. She’s been living here about a year, since her parents died. Her father was a bookseller in Oxford, and probably why she doesn’t put on airs with the staff. Shall I inquire further?”

  “No, thank you. That will be all.”

  “Oh, and I almost forgot. It seems she has a peculiar tendency toward clumsiness.”

  “Don’t I know it,” murmured the duke.

  “What was that, Your Grace?”

  “Nothing. That will be all.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. I shall inquire further without betraying your interest.”

  The duke ignored the impudence and left without another word, slamming the door behind him.

  Stonebridge reentered his bedchamber and walked over to the windows overlooking the west side gardens. Thankfully, he didn’t have a view over the back lawn, though the formal and colorless style of the side garden wasn’t much of an improvement.

  He leaned his hands against the window frame, tapping his fingers in his habitual staccato rhythm, and stared out across the expanse of gardens, forcing his thoughts on to his soon-to-be betrothed. He was surprised she hadn’t been in attendance when he arrived, though he had to admit he had probably arrived earlier than expected and he was glad for the respite.

  He clasped his hands behind his back as he realized he was tapping the window with enough force to rattle the frame. He paced the floor instead and allowed his thoughts to wander where they would. They headed unerringly to Miss Radclyffe, of course.

  He had never met her before today, despite knowing the Beckett family for many years. I would have remembered her. And she had not been living in the earl’s house above a year ago. Surely, I would have known of it.

  Things had obviously changed in the last year, and when this house party came about, the situation must have forced Swindon’s hand. He couldn’t very well hide her from his guests, now could he?

  He had no idea why Miss Radclyffe had not taken part in the little season with the rest of her family. She was respectable enough through her relationship to the earl to attend, and if she had attended, he would have known about it. They would have been introduced. In different circumstances. At a different time. At least he wasn’t caught unawares after he had married Beatryce.

  And why in the hell would it matter if I had met her after my marriage? It wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  He shut the door to further thoughts of the Mud Goddess and turned toward his dressing room. What was keeping his valet?

  “Bryans!” he bellowed.

  * * * *

  Grace’s Room…

  At the same time…

  Phew. Grace was familiar with all access points to her room, including the route through the servants’ stairs, just in case a hasty retreat was required. More than once, she had been thankful for this knowledge and today was no exception. She made it back to her room without anyone bearing witness to her less than flawless attire.

  While she took a moment to catch her breath, she noticed a change of clothes laid out on her bed. Bessie. Ah, bless her. And if she knew her maid, and she did, or rather if her maid knew her, and she did, then, there was also a copper bathing tub, filled with hot water, awaiting her behind the screen. Grace could smell the lavender oil already.

  Someone scratched at the door. At Grace’s “enter,” Bessie, her lady’s maid and pretty-much-second mother, entered the room. Bessie was round and petite and in her early fifties with a kind face and ginger hair. She had been with the Radclyffes as a helper, maid, child-minder, cook—everything and anything—for many, many years. Bessie was a real mothering sort, despite having no family of her own.

  Grace and her mother (when she was living) had always helped Bessie with the daily chores. Their life had been too modest to require a full staff, as they danced on the edges of the gentry. Now, in this new life, Grace was closer to Bessie than anyone, in truth.

  “How did you know?” queried Grace as Bessie hurried across the room to help her undress.

  “Well, you took a wee bit longer than usual on your morning walk, and weel, based on past experience…weel, I just assumed…”

  Bessie’s gentle Scottish brogue trailed off. The maid looked pointedly down at her shoes, but not before Grace noticed the telltale blush that stole across her cheeks.

  “Oh, no need for embarrassment, Bessie. I’m thankful you know me so well, and you never complain. I don’t know what I'd do without you.” Grace’s voice trailed off as an unexpected wave of sadness crept over her when her mind touched on the changes in her life over the past year. Thankfully, Bessie spoke and put a halt to her wandering thoughts.

  “Now, now dearest, there’s no need to thank me, really. You’re like the daughter I never had, and when your dear mother and father passed, bless their souls, I couldn’t leave you. With no siblings and just your aunt? Oh dear, how I do rattle on. Let’s get you situated in the tub and start setting you to rights. I’ve brought you a pot of hot chocolate and some toast since you’ll likely miss breakfast before we’re through.”

  “Thank you, Bessie, really. As always, you make everything just right.” Grace, now undressed, relaxed into the steaming tub. “Oh, this water feels wonderful. It almost makes my trip to the mud bath worth it.”

  “My dear, what a lovely you are. You handle your incidents with such…well, grace. Now, you just relax whilst I run off to see what I can do for these clothes. I shall be back in a trice to help you dress and ready yourself for the afternoon. For now, simply relax and I’ll be back before you know it.”

  And at that, Bessie left and Grace set herself to the task of washing away the souvenirs from her adventure in the garden.

  After a thorough wash and final rinse of her hair, she calmed enough to relax in the soothing waters of her bath where her thoughts quickly returned to her encounter with the infamous Duke of Stonebridge, known stickler for propriety, noted for his impatience for anyone less than perfect, famous for his seriousness at all times, and well-known as the soon-to-be fiancé to her first cousin, Beatryce.

  Though the duke and Beatryce had known each other since childhood, she never had the pleasure of meeting him before today, not directly anyway. She’d certainly heard plenty about him though. With his extreme wealth, title, and good looks, he was considered THE catc
h of the upper ten thousand even though everyone expected him to marry Beatryce.

  Despite all of that knowledge, however, nothing prepared her for the reality of the presence of the Duke of Stonebridge. Just thinking about their encounter brought forth an alarming wave of heat across her body. Fortunately, it was quite easy to convince herself that these telltale signs were due to the warmth of her bath water. Not a result of thinking about him.

  Of all the people to meet during one of my incidents. The duke himself. In the flesh. Beatryce’s almost betrothed. Sigh.

  Did she imagine the secret smile and the heat that seemed to flash in his eyes before he so abruptly left her in the garden? Nothing about their encounter fit with her mind’s preconceived picture of the duke’s personality. He was known for his seriousness and staid countenance. The gossip below-stairs had painted an all too vivid picture in her mind despite her best attempt not to prejudge someone she didn’t know. Yet for a moment, she thought she had detected real warmth in his gaze, albeit briefly. Did she meet an imposter? Most likely this warmth was the result of her own overactive imagination. Or perhaps, wishful thinking that for once, her clumsiness could be overlooked by someone other than herself, the servants, and Bessie. Certainly, above all, she detected barely constrained power lurking behind his eyes. In her mind, that power equated to warmth and passion. So much for the cold, aloof man she had expected.

  Ugh. And why should I care? Really. He is practically married. To Beatryce of all people.

  And he was reputably too stuffy to warrant a turn of her head anyway. Just because he had heavenly eyes, didn’t mean he…

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a rapid knock on the door.

  Chapter 5

  “Aunt Mary! Beatryce!”

  Grace knew them by the sounds they made as the barged into the room. Besides, who else would it be? Bessie had just left and wouldn’t have knocked so soon after, nor so loudly.

  “Please, just give me a quick minute and I shall be out…”

  “Where have you been?” thundered her aunt, interrupting her. Grace barely had time to register her aunt’s obvious anger before Aunt Mary peered around the bathing screen. Actually, glared would be more precise.

  Aunt Mary looked like the veritable shrew of old. Her face contorted and wrinkled as it scrunched up with ire. Her eyes were lost beneath her plumped-up cheeks.

  “Don’t you know this is the most important week of Beatryce’s life? And yet you decide to embarrass us before we’ve even had a chance to formalize her engagement to the duke? Do you wish to ruin your cousin’s life with your selfishness?”

  Obviously, the question was rhetorical. Aunt Mary’s voice faded away as she paced about the room before she returned to peer at Grace behind the bathing screen. Grace stayed put in the cooling water. Duly chastened.

  “To think that we have clothed you. Spent our time and money to give you a home when your mother and father died. And this is how you repay us for our generosity? I was sure your mother had raised you better than this.” Aunt Mary attempted to portray sorrow and anguish over being treated so shabbily by her wayward niece, as if Grace’s clumsiness was all performed on purpose.

  “I do apologize, Aunt Mary. You see, I didn’t see the mud and…”

  “Mud???” Grace didn’t realize her aunt’s voice could trill quite that high. And the sudden purplish tint to her aunt’s complexion was most alarming.

  “What mud? Do you mean to say that you have already demonstrated the common blood running through your veins by behaving with your usual graceless comportment? I only knew that you had not bothered to join us at the breakfast table where you should have been on hand to meet Beatryce’s future husband. Am I correct in saying that not only did you miss breakfast, but that you have further embarrassed this family with some sort of incident involving mud?”

  Grace noticed Aunt Mary did not mention whether or not the duke had made it down to breakfast. Instead, Aunt Mary maintained her look of distaste and arrogance as Grace waited silently in the tub, trembling from the cooled water. Aunt Mary beheld Grace as if the mud were still present, tainting the room and the very air she breathed. Then, she proceeded to look about the room with determined eyes, as if additional mud might be lying in wait, ready to contaminate her when she least expected it.

  Aunt Mary returned to the screen, refocused her gaze on Grace, and continued, “I can only be glad His Grace was not on hand to witness such unladylike behavior…”

  Grace looked tellingly at the water, wishing she could hide beneath the surface. At Grace’s betraying blush, her aunt cut her own words short with a gasp followed by, “No!”

  Aunt Mary stopped talking, and for a moment, her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as she struggled with what to say. It was quite comical, actually, to witness this unusual occurrence. Aunt Mary always knew what to say and had plenty to say. The entire situation must be inconceivable to put Aunt Mary at such a loss for words; Grace could never have predicted this scenario.

  Aunt Mary turned to leave the room, her tolerance at an end. She spoke to the room at large as she headed toward the door, “I don’t think my constitution can handle any more abuse at the moment. Beatryce, my dear, I shall return to my room for a lie down until my nerves recover. Grace, you had better be back to rights and downstairs without a moment to spare or I shall not be responsible for my…Aieeee!”

  Grace winced. Apparently a little patch of mud had managed to escape everyone’s notice after all, and puddle in the perfect location just inside the door to Grace’s room. As if lying in wait for Aunt Mary to attempt to exit.

  Fortunately for everyone present, Aunt Mary caught herself in time on the door frame, but it was a near thing. Grace leapt out of the tub and threw on her dressing gown. Cautiously, she peered around the bathing screen.

  Aunt Mary glared back from across the room, gripping the door frame for a moment longer before she turned on her heel with a “Humph” and stormed out. It took all of Grace’s composure to keep from laughing aloud at the sight.

  Throughout the entire ordeal, Beatryce had sat upon a low stool by Grace’s vanity. She hadn’t uttered a single word, nor had she attempted to help her mother. No, Beatryce remained poised on her stool, the picture of the composed debutante with an affected air of boredom about her as if she found the entire episode tedious. Beatryce sighed as if coming to some sort of important realization.

  “Oh Grace, I really do not know how or why you manage to infuriate her so readily. You must know by now she is all that is delicate,” commented Beatryce, breaking her silence.

  Delicate? Ha!

  It took all of Grace’s self-control not to respond to that, though in her mind, she rolled her eyes. How could Beatryce say that with a straight face? If her career as a Duchess failed, she might find success treading the boards.

  “Really, Grace, you look so unrefined standing there with that ridiculous grin on your face.” Beatryce perused her nails as she spoke, belying the fact that she noticed anything outside of herself. “Yes, I've noticed you trying to hide your amusement, and I don’t find it humorous in the least. You’re lucky I don’t tell Mother.

  “But I’m warning you now—” Her voice hardened as she spoke. “—don’t mess this up for me.”

  Beatryce stood and glared at Grace with that last statement. Then her face changed completely as if another, happier thought had suddenly come to mind, “By the by, I found this on top of your writing desk this morning…”

  Grace grew alarmed when she saw the familiar sketch book held firmly in the grip of Beatryce’s left hand. A lifetime of sketches representing all her ideas for clothing styles and designs, painstakingly drawn out in detail from her own imagination, filled the pages of that leather-bound book. Not to mention the encouraging notes from her father and mother tucked between the pages. The book and its contents represented a large part of her plans to secure her livelihood after her twenty-first birthday, and there it was. In the han
ds of her spiteful cousin. Grace knew she hadn't left it out for Beatryce to find; she wasn't stupid, for she knew what Beatryce would say if she came upon it, as she apparently had.

  “I must say my mother would find the contents of this book very…interesting.” Beatryce paused dramatically before continuing, “I find it difficult to believe you would ruin your own family by following in your father’s footsteps and going into trade, but you’ll be happy to know I am here to prevent you from making a dreadful mistake that you’ll one day regret. Honestly, it’s for your own good and because I love you that I do this, you know.”

  Grace couldn't breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest over what she suspected was about to happen. Her heartbeat reverberated in her ears, drowning out the sound of Beatryce making her way across the room. Everything about the situation felt unreal, as if the events unfolding were happening to someone else, and she was simply there as witness. Grace was wholly unable to believe what she assumed her cousin was about to do. Absolutely, there was no love between them, despite Beatryce’s words to the contrary, but this?

  Grace watched as Beatryce approached the fire burning in the fireplace, too stunned with disbelief to move and put a halt to what was about to happen. She simply couldn't fathom anyone being so deliberately cruel, even though she knew. Oh, God, she knew.

  Beatryce looked over her shoulder, back at Grace, and offered a small, regretful smile. The look in her eyes suggested she was aware of how painful this would be, yet it mattered not, for she just as quickly faced forward again and unerringly tossed Grace’s journal into the fire.

  Grace closed her eyes and fought back her tears. Her eyes burned. It always seemed to make Beatryce happy to see Grace cry, especially when Beatryce was the cause of her tears. Grace battled to deny Beatryce that one, simple pleasure.

  Once the tightness in her face began to ease and she was confident she held her emotions in check for now, Grace opened her eyes and sought out Beatryce, who studied her from across the room. Probably hoping to see the revealing signs of moisture trailing down her cheeks and brightening her eyes.