Once Upon a Duke

by Erica Ridley

  The breeze had given Noelle’s cheeks a rosy glow. Despite the protective barrier of a winter bonnet, a few golden tendrils had managed to come loose and bounced becomingly against the side of her face.

  He forced himself to tear his gaze from her beautiful profile before he gave himself away. The amphitheater was growing full.

  The couples amongst the audience were easy to spot. The touch of a hand, an intimate glance, two bodies seated so close as to become one. His chest tightened.

  Once upon a time, Benjamin would have scoffed at romantical fancy. That way lay inevitable sadness. He was too strong to be taken by such a naive emotion. His heart, too well protected.

  But now when he glimpsed couples in love, he no longer experienced a sense of satisfaction at having managed to keep such ill-fated folly from his life. Instead, a strange loneliness entered his chest. A yearning to expand his heart rather than hide it. If only for a moment.

  He brushed the back of Noelle’s fingers with his own. “Thank you for letting me borrow a scarf,” he murmured.

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “It’s yours.”

  And there was that melancholy again. Hope warring with emptiness. He shook his head. “I shall not rob a lady of her scarf.”

  “It’s not mine,” she said shyly. “I made it for you.”

  Those five words warmed him all the way to his heart.

  Even though he had hurt her once before, even though he could not stay, she had still knitted him something to keep him warm. It worked. With her, he felt invincible.

  He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had done something just because they thought he would like it. Not until her. She had managed to do something thoughtful every day. Starting with arranging for him to have his old bedchamber back.

  They now slept on the same floor. In the same wing. Down the same corridor. His blood heated. Perhaps slept was too ambitious a word. He had barely caught any rest at all from lying awake each night thinking about her.

  She smiled up at him from beneath her bonnet. “Thank you for agreeing to a sleigh ride.”

  Absolutely his pleasure. “I cannot imagine a better tour guide.”

  “Did you like the town a little better than you imagined?”

  “It isn’t terrible,” he admitted. “Given its unfortunate location.”

  “High praise,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Perhaps you should become a Cressmouth tour guide yourself.”

  Of course she was teasing. He was the last man for the job. Noelle, on the other hand, was perfect here. Everyone they passed clearly adored her. And why wouldn’t they? She was selfless and friendly, cheerful and outgoing…

  Benjamin’s complete opposite.

  “You’re not coming back, are you?” she asked, her voice quiet. “When you leave.”

  He shook his head. “I have no family here. Why do you stay?”

  “Because I do have family here,” she gestured around the crowded amphitheater. “Everyone you see is my family.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t think you know what I mean,” she returned, her dark gaze intense. “Family isn’t limited to blood. It’s who you make it. Family is a choice.” Her voice cracked. “Home is a choice.”

  “I am sure this village is perfect for those who have chosen to make it their home,” he admitted grudgingly. “I cannot be one of them. I am needed in the House of Lords and on my own properties. The aviary needs to open as soon as possible.”

  “We have an appointment with the partridge expert in the morning,” she said, her eyes on the empty stage rather than on him. “Will you be leaving as soon as the bottle breaks?”

  He swallowed the words he wished he could say and forced himself to be practical. “Almost. I’m not leaving without my mother’s locket.”

  Her gaze snapped to his. “It is very important?”

  “The most important thing in my life.” He cleared his throat. “Next to my country, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  But he didn’t expect her to understand. Noelle still believed his grandfather a maker of miracles, not a breaker of dreams. She didn’t know the whole truth.

  Benjamin wasn’t even convinced playing the fool’s game with the wine and the partridge would result in success. For all he knew, Grandfather might have been buried with the locket. If only the solicitor had been willing to tell Benjamin where to find it! Just to prove to himself that he wasn’t fighting for nothing. That all his years of anger and hurt and waiting had not been in vain.

  Noelle’s voice softened. “What’s wrong?”

  An idea caught him. His heart raced. In this town, Noelle knew everything and everyone. She had perhaps entered the fee for guarding the locket into one of her journals.

  His words tumbled out faster than he meant. “Do you know where the items in escrow are being held?”

  “Your locket, specifically?” she asked.

  “My locket, specifically,” he agreed with more emotion than he intended.

  She nodded. “All jewelry is being held by Angelica Parker.”

  Of course. The artist of the jewel-encrusted tiaras. Thanks to the tour he just witnessed, Benjamin knew exactly where to find her.

  It was all he could do not to leap up from the stone bench, tear off through the crowd, and keep running until he arrived out of breath at the jeweler’s door. He needed to see the locket. To ensure it still existed, to verify the condition it had been kept in, to feast his eyes on the beloved portrait.

  He forced himself to remain seated. Not for the impending play or even the scandal such a departure would cause, but for Noelle. This play meant something special to her. He wanted this evening to be special for both of them.

  It was all they would have. He would not ruin it.

  “Silkridge, as I live and breathe!” shouted a jolly male voice from right behind him.

  Benjamin twisted in his seat and stared in disbelief at two dapper London gentlemen that looked for all the world as if they had been dropped into the most delightful soirée they’d ever seen.

  “Do you know them?” Noelle whispered.

  Did he ever. They were his heirs presumptive. First cousins with no courtesy title and nothing but free time.

  “Miss Pratchett, may I introduce Nicholas and Christopher Pringle. Cousins, this is Miss Pratchett.”

  “You must call me Christopher,” his younger cousin said without hesitation. “Two Mr. Pringles are impossible to remember.”

  “I can be memorable,” said his elder cousin with a wolfish smile. “Some call me Saint Nicholas.”

  “Because he is absolutely wicked,” Christopher stage-whispered. “Don’t worry, my dear. You are safe with me.”

  “She is safer with me,” Benjamin said, more forcefully than he had intended. “Why are you here?”

  Before the words were out of Benjamin’s mouth, Nicholas had already been distracted by a pretty face across the crowd and took off in immediate pursuit.

  Christopher sat down next to him with a wide smile. “Once we heard you were here, we had to see for ourselves. I can’t recall the last time you took a holiday.” He winked at Noelle. “Although, now I understand the attraction.”

  “Miss Pratchett lives here in Cressmouth and has been kind enough to show me her town,” Benjamin said quickly. He did not want to imply that there was any more to it than that. There could never be anything more to it than that. Best to change the subject. “I cannot believe you followed me here. I did not mean to encourage a trend.”

  “Don’t worry,” Christopher assured him. “It was a trend long before your visit. Did you know the Duke of Azureford has a home here?”

  “It’s been mentioned,” Benjamin said with a sigh.

  “It’s delightful,” Christopher said, glancing about in obvious pleasure. “I have never seen such a charming place in all my life. Who wouldn’t wish for Christmastide year-round? I could live here forever.”

 
; “It’s not—” Benjamin began, but Christopher was already off and running, bubbling over with all the wonderful ways Cressmouth was superior to any other village he had ever seen.

  “He should be the tour guide,” Noelle whispered in Benjamin’s ear.

  He sighed. Men like his cousins flocked here for a distraction, which was a luxury Benjamin could not afford. He ought to focus on his responsibilities. Return to the real world.

  “No wonder it is now such a point of pride to have a cottage in Christmas,” Christopher was saying. “I’ve been here all of two hours and I vow I’ve made a hundred friends for life. Have you ever been so charmed, Silkridge?”

  Benjamin tightened his jaw. “It’s not called—”

  “Maybe I should stay,” Christopher said suddenly. “Or at least take an annual holiday here. Is that a strange thing to do?”

  Noelle answered before Benjamin could. “Many have dual residences. Anyone with a title, of course, and several others who have family elsewhere but also consider us their home. I am not at all surprised you’ve made fast friends of my neighbors. That’s the Christmas spirit.”

  “I like that,” Christopher exclaimed. “I shall work on my Christmas spirit.”

  Benjamin heroically refrained from dropping his face into his palm.

  Before his eyes, Noelle and his cousin engaged each other in an animated conversation about all the wintry fun that could be had within the village walls. Sledding, wassailing, roasting chestnuts on an open fire.

  If they noticed Benjamin sitting stoically between them, they gave no sign. It was what he deserved, he supposed. His retribution for lack of Christmas spirit. Or punishment for his intense desire to keep all other men away from Noelle.

  As much as he longed to sweep her into his arms and carry her out of this amphitheater into the first private corner where they could be alone, he recognized such thoughts for the fantasy they were. A woman like her would not seek his money or title, but his entire heart. She wouldn’t settle for a compromise. She would expect him to make room in his priorities for a holiday he had sworn off entirely. She wouldn’t increase his solitary family by one but rather by an entire town.

  Noelle would never leave Cressmouth. It would be like ripping her heart from her body. And he could not stay. Every mention of Christmas was a knife through his chest, a constant reminder of all that he had lost, the pain that he had been through, the suffering his grandfather inflicted even now.

  This town would never be his home. It was a living nightmare.

  “What is the most famous aspect about this town?” Christopher asked. “Has it a particular claim to fame?”

  Noelle thought it over. “I suppose the twelve Dukes of Christmas.”

  Benjamin could not stay silent anymore. “Horses do not count. There are currently thirty odd dukes in all of England. I cannot possibly believe that a third of them choose to holiday in this icebox.”

  “You’re the odd one,” Christopher said with a laugh.

  Noelle nodded up at him solemnly. “Christmas is for believing.”

  “It’s not called—” Benjamin burst out laughing despite himself. “You’re doing it on purpose now, aren’t you?”

  “I cannot imagine what you mean.” She blinked at him innocently. “I must say your cousin is quite charming.”

  Yes, Benjamin supposed he was.

  If coming face-to-face with Noelle after all these years had reminded Benjamin of Christmases past, then Christopher was the very embodiment of present-day Christmas.

  It was more than a matter of living in the moment. It was as though Christopher was living the life Benjamin would be living if he had made different choices. Christopher was gregarious and easy-going. As comfortable in small gatherings as in a crowd. He loved bobbing for apples and singing carols and he likely wouldn’t leave Cressmouth without purchasing a sleigh. He was carefree in a way that Benjamin never had been, even as a child. How could he be?

  Benjamin’s life had begun with tragedy. His mother had not died during childbirth, but rather from complications that had plagued her thereafter. She lived just long enough to pose for a portrait with him in her arms, and then was taken from him. Taken from them all.

  Grandfather had blamed Benjamin ever since.

  Father had been his only ally, but he too had been ripped from Benjamin before his time. When Grandfather stole the locket, withheld the last link to family…

  If it had not been for those formative events, would Benjamin be like Christopher today? Might he be cheerfully milling through a crowd of strangers, turning them into lifelong friends one by one?

  He was jealous, he realized in surprise. Not of his cousin’s carefree life, but of his easy connection with the villagers. Over the last few days, he had realized that the people of Cressmouth weren’t being so nice and solicitous to him because of his title, or even his connection to the town’s founder.

  They were just nice.

  Benjamin hadn’t been experiencing the spirit of Christmas. He was experiencing the spirit of Cressmouth.

  The townsfolk had become more important to Benjamin than any other shire in England, perhaps because they weren’t nameless and faceless like the rest of the population. He no longer cared about their welfare on a policy level, but a personal one.

  “Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, we will be justified in our loves,” shouted an actor. “For indeed…”

  The Winter’s Tale had finally begun. Unlike the good people of Cressmouth, Benjamin had not seen this play before. Or any play, to be honest. He kept himself far too busy. Although he could not imagine sitting through the exact same play year after year, the audience was rapt with attention.

  He leaned back slightly for a better view. He was watching Noelle rather than the play. He couldn’t help it. She was far more interesting and a lot less easy to read. Every time he looked at her, his thoughts jumbled. He wished he had kissed her. He was relieved he had not. All his thoughts of her were contradictions. She made him want to stay. She made him want to flee. She made him… want.

  His arms felt empty without her in them. He yearned to know what it might be like to wrap them about her, to feel her body pressed against his. To claim her mouth with a kiss.

  Only her mouth, of course. He could claim nothing else, and he should not even be thinking of that much. It did not matter that she consumed his every thought, his every desire. It did not matter that she somehow made him feel at home no matter whether they found themselves in an amphitheater, on a sleigh, in a counting house, an aviary staring at a pear tree.

  No matter how fond he might be of Noelle, she was not of his status. He could not have her. She was his grandfather’s clerk. This was not his home. He had to try to remember.

  “My prettiest Perdita!” called Prince Florizel from onstage. “But, oh, the thorns we stand upon…”

  Noelle’s breath caught.

  He touched his fingers to hers in question.

  “Prince Florizel allows nothing to stand in his way,” she whispered, her eyes shining as she gazed down at the stage.

  The pieces clicked together. Although Perdita was abandoned as a baby, Florizel fell in love with her anyway. Chose her anyway. No wonder Noelle loved this part. Benjamin’s chest clenched in regret.

  He could not be her Prince Florizel. There was no magic spell to save them in the end. No running off to Sicily together.

  Regardless of any wild fancies in Benjamin’s heart, he was not in a position to take a wife outside his class. Not when thumbing his nose at Society’s conventions could lose him political allies and impede his ability to make a difference in the House of Lords. Too many people were counting on him.

  “Sure the gods do this year connive at us,” said Autolycus on stage, “and we may do anything…”

  Benjamin understood the sentiment. He knew all too well what it was like to feel as though the fates had conspired against him. Being with Noelle made him wish he could do anything. Watching he
r laugh at lines she had heard countless times and tear up at melodrama she already knew would occur was the most endearing thing he had ever seen.

  She was not tired of this town, this play, this eternal Christmastide. She loved it. She looked forward to every aspect with anticipation and allowed herself to feel it all so deeply it was as if every line were experienced anew.

  For so long, Benjamin had wondered why a woman as intelligent as Noelle wasn’t more like him, and now he could not help but wonder the opposite. While he could not foresee any future for himself that did not involve utmost dedication to duty and responsibility, he was intensely grateful she had been spared the same fate.

  The pleasure she took from life was infectious. She was a force impossible to deny. He had visited the bedside of a goat, for God’s sake. Was willingly sitting in the open air in the middle of the winter with a warm woolen scarf wrapped tight about his neck. A scarf Noelle had knitted for him, not knowing if she would ever witness him using it.

  “I am ashamed,” said Leontes onstage. “Does not the stone rebuke me, for being more stone than it?”

  Benjamin was glad they had spent time together outside the counting house. The sleigh, the picnic, the play. He could not recall a happier day. She could even make a snowy evening seem warm and inviting. He would remember this forever.

  He tried not to think about the moment he would have to say goodbye. Surely she understood why he couldn’t stay. He did not choose to be a duke, to have a seat in the House of Lords, but it was not a responsibility one could shirk.

  His throat tightened as he realized he hoped for her approbation. Her acknowledgment that he had no choice, that of course England must be his priority in all things, would perhaps ease the pain of having to walk away.

  “Oh, peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,” said Leontes onstage. “This is your son-in-law, and son unto the king, who, heavens directing, is troth-plight to your daughter. Hastily lead away.”