Dying For A Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  Angelic was the only word that could possibly describe a face like that, Benedict thought, with a rare dash of whimsy. Her hair glinted in the summer sunshine like ripe corn and her lithe figure tripped down the stairs and presented them both with a delighted smile. That startling expression dimpled her cheeks and made her bright blue eyes glitter with vivacity. She seemed to exude life and laughter and Benedict’s heart sank at the realisation. The last thing his family needed was more encouragement to be frivolous and vain after all his hard work to instil some moral fibre into them. This spirited creature may look angelic, but he didn’t have the slightest doubt that every lovely inch of her was trouble.

  “Instinct tells me you must be Aunt LuLu,” she exclaimed, running up to his mother and holding her hands out. “But I simply cannot believe it. You aren’t nearly old enough to be Papa’s sister! You look more like this gentleman’s sister than my aunt!”

  Predictably this drew a delighted peel of laughter from Lady Rothay.

  “Incorrigible child!” she scolded. “When you must know very well this is my eldest son, The Earl of Rothay.”

  Benedict watched with misgiving as she dipped a low curtsey and looked up at him from under her long lashes. “I’m so pleased to meet you, my Lord Rothay.” Her eyes were warm and full of humour as they looked upon him and he felt a stab of real fear. Trouble. She was trouble.

  Benedict took her hand and greeted her with icy civility.

  “Miss Skeffington-Fox,” he replied, with dignity. “You are most welcome.”

  He felt the appalled look that his mother sent his way without having to see it but Miss Skeffington-Fox didn’t seem in the least perturbed. In fact he was alarmed to see the flicker of a smile at those luscious, full lips, though it was quickly vanquished.

  “Oh but we are cousins are we not, my Lord. You must, I beg you, call me Phoebe.”

  Benedict inclined his head a little but made no reply and did not echo her demand.

  “I hope you will forgive my uncle’s not receiving you. Yesterday’s funeral was fatiguing for him. You understand that the family is still in mourning?”

  “Perfectly,” Phoebe replied with a sympathetic smile. “You have my condolences, my Lord.”

  Casting him one sharp look of disapproval, his mother quickly swept their guest up and into a flurry of introductions. Once done, Lady Rothay turned to escort her into the house, only Miss Skeffington-Fox halted on the steps and gave a shrill whistle through her teeth.

  Everyone froze in shock, and then gasped as two huge grey wolfhounds leapt down from the carriage and trotted meekly to her side. She looked up at the faces around her with surprise as she took in their mingled expressions ranging from appalled horror and awe.

  “Oh dear,” she said, laughing and not looking the least bit remorseful. “Have I shocked you? I’m afraid I will you know. Papa says I have the manners of a Light Bob, but then I would I suppose, having been brought up with them from the cradle.”

  Benedict sucked in a breath of astonishment. Good God the girl was a hoyden to boot. What the devil were they to do with her?

  Lady Rothay gave her an uncertain smile and Phoebe took her arm in an affectionate manner. “Oh, pray don’t be angry with me, ma’am. I promise I shall do my best to behave. I’m not in the least stupid I promise you and will learn anything you wish to teach me.”

  “Oh, dear child,” Lady Rothay murmured, covering her hand with her own. “As if I could ever be cross with you.”

  “And I’m so pleased to meet you too,” piped up a soft voice.

  Benedict watched in dismay as Cecily ran up to her and grasped her other hand. “I am so happy to have another sister closer to my own age,” she added.

  Phoebe tipped back her head and laughed. “Oh, you sweet thing, but I’m three and twenty, my dear.”

  This fact was exclaimed upon by all and Benedict’s thoughts darkened further as he wondered why she hadn’t married yet, come out be damned. Any woman who looked like that would never be short of offers.

  In fact the picture made by his beautiful dark-haired sister and the lovely fair Miss Skeffington-Fox was quite breath-taking. With growing apprehension he foresaw the lines of love-struck young men queuing outside his door growing to epic proportions in the near future.

  Phoebe laughed and kissed Cecily’s cheek. “Oh, but aren’t you a beauty! My goodness are we to come out together? We shall set the ton on their ears I think!”

  And with that terrible prediction ringing in his own ears, Benedict followed them into the house.

  They gathered in the drawing room where tea was brought and Jessamy immediately demanded the names of the two lofty giants who were flanking either side of Phoebe in the manner of Egyptian Sphinx. Phoebe grinned at the little boy whilst gently removing one large paw from the delicate hem of her cobalt blue sarsnet gown. Benedict refused to notice that the colour exactly matched her eyes.

  “This handsome fellow here is Goliath,” she replied stroking the wiry head with affection as the big creature stared adoringly up at her. “And this beautiful lady is his lovely wife, Delilah.”

  Benedict frowned with disapproval. Firstly it ought to be Samson surely, not Goliath, and they hardly seemed appropriate names for a young lady’s pets. Certainly not Delilah!

  He noticed too late that Phoebe was looking up at him with unconcealed amusement.

  “You do not approve of my dogs, my Lord,” she said. He noted that she didn’t make it a question. He cleared his throat, embarrassed despite the fact that it was she who ought to be blushing.

  “I doubt you seek my approval, Miss Skeffington-Fox.”

  To his growing annoyance the woman laughed at his slight. “Indeed not, my Lord. Especially as these were a gift to me from the Duke of Wellington. He named them you see,” she added with a smile that was so full of devilry and satisfaction at having bested him that his temper was lit.

  Jessamy looked up at her with undiluted awe in his eyes at this news. “You ... you know Old Nosey?” the boy breathed out in astonishment.

  “Jessamy!” Benedict scolded him, making the boy jump. “His Grace the Duke of Wellington to you, my boy!” he said, perfectly aware he sounded like a pompous arse and a hypocrite too. Jessamy knew as well as he did that he often referred to the general by his nickname.

  “Oh, I rather think the general likes his nicknames, when they are used with such affection,” replied Phoebe, staring at him unblinking. There was a challenge in her eyes that he didn’t believe he’d misinterpreted.

  “I bow to your greater knowledge of the man,” he said, inclining his head without the merest trace of a smile.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding her head with every appearance of seriousness. “I should.” Only the glimmer of amusement in her eyes betrayed that she was mocking him but it was only too visible.

  The eyes of everyone in the room bore into him and he made his excuses, leaving the room with all haste.

  He shut the door behind him with a muttered curse and wondered why he’d let the blasted woman rattle him so. She was clearly a baggage and no better than she ought to be. He would have to do his utmost to limit the damage she could wreak, most especially to Cecily who at seventeen, was at a most impressionable age.

  He walked back to the entrance hall just as the footman was greeting Miss Theodora Pinchbeck, his betrothed. “Theodora,” he said with real relief as he took in the cool elegance of his wife to be. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you.”

  Miss Pinchbeck was a good-looking rather than beautiful woman. She was tall and a little too slim with an angular face and a rather long nose that gave her a slightly horsey appearance to those unkind enough to remark it. She was, however, the epitome of good manners and grace and would never in her life whistle on the doorstep or bring two big ugly and ill-named dogs into a family’s house without a by your leave!

  Miss Pinchbeck smiled at him. Her grey eyes were placid and showed none of the sparkling devilry of Miss S
keffington-Fox, for which he was heartily thankful.

  She placed her gloved hand in his and lifted her cheek to be kissed.

  “I take it your cousin has arrived?” she enquired with a slight quirk of one eyebrow.

  “She has,” he replied with a grim expression. “And I’m afraid I shall have to introduce her to you. You won’t cry off will you?” he asked, smiling at her.

  “I have made a promise, Benedict,” Miss Pinchbeck said with a serious little frown puckering her brow. “Your family is my family, for better or for worse.”

  Benedict opened his mouth to explain he had only been joking but thought better of it.

  “Worse, my dear,” he replied instead. “Most certainly worse.”

  ***

  Phoebe looked up as Lord Rothay returned to the drawing room and felt pleased that she hadn’t frightened him off so easily. She had been disappointed in his leaving, wondering if perhaps she had misjudged him. She prided herself on being a very good judge of character and had taken an instant liking to the earl, because of rather than in spite of his frigid welcome. The trouble was that she could never resist a challenge - and Lord Rothay was most certainly a challenge. She could almost hear her maid Sarah Huckington’s sigh of dismay. In this case, however, it was followed by her own as he was accompanied by a pinch faced young woman who looked her over with barely concealed contempt. She had just taken a sip of her tea when Lord Rothay entered and introduced Miss Pinchbeck. Her name was so vastly appropriate that Phoebe almost choked and had to set the cup down with some haste before it rattled to the floor.

  “I do beg your pardon, Miss Pinchbeck,” she replied, hoping her amusement was sufficiently hidden. From the lurking scowl in Lord Rothay’s quite startling green eyes she gathered that this was not the case. “I am very pleased to meet you,” she added with a demur smile.

  “Miss Pinchbeck is my fiancée,” Lord Rothay added, and she was certain she saw a glint of malice behind the words. Phoebe looked back at Miss Pinchbeck and repressed a smirk with difficulty.

  “I felicitate you both,” she said as she mentally shook her head over the match. What a disaster that would be!

  Miss Pinchbeck murmured a dutifully polite reply and sat down. The heavy sighs that caught her ear from the twins was duly noted as a pall of restraint descended over the room. Phoebe glanced at her aunt who returned a pleading look but it seemed nothing could be done but endure. The next twenty minutes were inexorable and strained Phoebe’s good manners, such as they were, to breaking point.

  Benedict and Miss Pinchbeck dominated the conversation which was as dull and colourless as Miss Pinchbeck’s dove grey silk dress. It was refined and elegant but had nothing of interest that might capture the eye, or cause offence. Phoebe thought she’d really rather cause offence than be accused of being dull.

  Trying in desperation to turn the conversation from the depressing route it had taken into discussing the weather and the possibility of rain this afternoon, Phoebe seized her chance.

  “What a lovely gown, Miss Pinchbeck,” she said, trying her best to be friendly in the face of such obvious disapproval. “It’s exquisitely cut. Who do you visit here in town?”

  “Oh, nobody that you would have heard of, Miss Skeffington-Fox,” she replied with such a modest smile Phoebe had to bite her lip. “She is really not one of the shining lights of the ton’s modistes you understand, but she suits my tastes.”

  She saw the look of approval that Benedict cast his betrothed and surmised that Miss Pinchbeck lived up to name more completely that she had imagined. She was undoubtedly a penny pincher.

  “I must tell you, Theodora, that Miss Skeffington-Fox here arrived with so many band boxes and valises that we have been obliged to give over a whole room to their storage. “

  Phoebe flushed as Miss Pinchbeck gave a disparaging titter of amusement and felt a rush of anger at his slight. How dare he? She had spent her whole life following her father from one rude posting to another. Admittedly there had been some glamorous parties and the like but for the most part she had lived in dangerous and meagre circumstances that Miss Pinchmouth wouldn’t endure for a day. She had finally brushed the dust from her skirts and allowed herself the pleasure of shopping. And yes, she’d enjoyed it and spent a fortune, damn him.

  “You disapprove of my spend thrift ways, no doubt?” she put to Lord Rothay, her words laced with a dangerous tone that he would do well to note. But Lord Rothay did not yet know her.

  “How you choose to spend your father’s allowance is no affair of mine, Miss Skeffington-Fox,” he replied with a tight smile.

  “I collect that I asked you to call me Phoebe, Cousin Benedict,” she said, enjoying the dark look in his eyes. “And it appears that you have made it your affair by commenting upon it.”

  An appalled hush fell over the room.

  “Would anyone care for some more tea?” Lady Rothay squeaked, clutching the teapot and sending Phoebe an imploring look.

  “In fact it would seem that you imply that I am wasting my father’s money,” she persisted, ignoring Lady Rothay’s futile attempt to divert her, the atmosphere in the room practically crackling now. “But you see I have rarely had the chance to buy such niceties as Miss Pinchbeck probably enjoys as a matter of course. I have spent my life in rather different circumstances than the safety and polish of refined society, so yes, I have been rather extravagant. Indeed my father positively forced me to ensure I spent every penny that he sent my way to make up for the lifestyle I have lived until now.”

  She paused, noticing with deep satisfaction that he looked dreadfully discomforted and knew he was on the point of begging her pardon. She’d be damned if she offered him the opportunity. She was already planning her dignified sweep out the room and hoped he suffered agonies of guilt over his presumption and ill manners. The thought pleased her enormously.

  “In fact, Lord Rothay, I wouldn’t have missed the past years for the world, despite the privations that were sometimes forced upon us. But then I am not, as you perhaps now perceive, the kind of woman who succumbs to fits of vapours or will allow herself to be bullied or talked down to. Now if you will forgive me it has been a rather fatiguing day and I think I shall go to bed.” She turned to Lady Rothay. “Perhaps you would be so very kind as to send a little tea and toast to my room, Aunt Lucilla? I don’t think I could face dinner right now.” She leaned down and kissed her aunt’s cheek and whispered. “Forgive me,” before giving her a saucy wink and sweeping out of the room just as she had planned.

  Chapter 3

  “It is one thing to show a man that he is in error, and another to put him in possession of truth.” - John Locke.

  “Tea and toast?” exclaimed her maid, Sarah Huckington, as she shook out the creases from a lovely butter yellow silk dress. “What on earth do you mean you asked for tea and toast? You’ll be famished! You know you need to eat your dinner or you get in one of your tempers.”

  Phoebe turned from the dressing room table with a scowl. “I do not have tempers,” she said, with a huff. “And it was worth it for the look on his face.”

  “Aye, well, it seems he may well have asked for a set down if what you say is true,” Sarah replied with a nod as she reached for another gown.

  “Oh it is, he was positively odious,” Phoebe replied and turned back to the mirror to finish brushing her hair. “And he certainly got a set down,” she added with relish.

  Sarah straightened up and looked at her via the mirror. “Well you just keep out of his way, my lamb.”

  “Keep out of his way?” Phoebe looked back at her in astonishment. “Why on earth would I do that?”

  Narrowing her eyes, Sarah crossed the room and snatched the hairbrush from her, brushing her long golden locks with rather more vigour than was required. “Now, little Bee, you just told me he was rude and overbearing and so full of puff you could hardly stand it. So tell me why you wouldn’t stay away from a man you clearly can’t stand.”

  �
��Can’t stand?” Phoebe repeated, blinking at the woman who had been her nurse from infancy and the closest thing to a mother she’d ever known.

  “Oh do stop parroting me, child. You’ve spent the past half hour ranting about his faults. Are you telling me you don’t hate him?”

  “Of course I don’t hate him,” Phoebe replied laughing at the consternation in Sarah’s eyes. She gave a heavy sigh. “I think he’s wonderful.”

  Sarah threw her hands up in despair. “I swear, Miss Phoebe, I’ve known you since the cradle and I still don’t understand you. You are the most contrary creature on God’s green earth.”

  “Oh but, Sarah,” she exclaimed, grabbing her hand before she returned to unpacking. “You haven’t seen him. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Such broad shoulders and dark hair and those eyes, oh, Sarah, they’re green! Not a muddy sea green either, green like ... oh like emeralds I suppose.”

  Sarah snorted. “I’ve never known you lose your head over a pair of pretty eyes before, my lass, and Lord knows you’ve had enough of them looking at you with adoration. Goodness me, when I think of Captain Dreyton,” she said with a deep sigh as her own eyes became a little misty.

  Phoebe huffed. “Oh, don’t start harping on about Captain Dreyton again, Sarah, I beg you. We would never have suited.”

  “And why ever not?”

  Phoebe watched as Sarah got a mutinous look in her eyes, her arms crossed beneath a generous bosom. Poor Sarah. All she wanted was to see Phoebe safely married, she did worry so. She would never understand that Phoebe was looking for ... for ... well to be truthful she had no idea what she was looking for. But she couldn’t help but feel she had found whatever it was in the odious Earl of Rothay. However unlikely that may seem.

  “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t have married Captain Dreyton. And I want a good one mind,” Sarah warned.

  “Because he was too nice!”

  Sarah stared back at her in outrage. “Well of all the bottle headed ... too nice? Well if that don’t beat all,” she muttered, turning back to the case and shaking out a deep green sarsnet with irritation. “Too nice! And now you’re thinking of setting your cap at an ill-mannered brute who no doubt thinks you’re a hoyden, though I’m not sure I blame him.”