An Unlikely Duchess (17 page)

Eventually, Rebecca got the coughing under control, though tears continued to stream down her face, which was now flushed though from the brandy or the near choking, he could not tell.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, grasping her hands and hunkering in front of her.

“Yes, quite thank you,” she rasped, her voice made hoarse from the exertion.

“When was the last time you drank brandy, Rebecca?”

“Never.”

“
Never?
” he repeated amazed. “And for your first taste you decide to gulp it like a drunkard?”

She smiled ruefully and shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I rather thought I needed it.”

He returned her smile with a rueful one of his own and let go of her hands to sit beside her. Rebecca tried not to feel disappointed at the loss of contact.

Edward heaved a sigh before turning to face her.

“I am sorry for my behaviour,” he muttered, trying his damndest not to be distracted by the glimpse of skin at the neckline of her attire or the way the light from the lantern shot her hair through with a blazing red.

“Which part?” she quipped.

He smiled wryly. “I deserve that. I’ve been a cad. For all of it, really. I haven’t exactly been a gentleman.”

“And why is that, your grace? You who is the epitome of a gentleman if everything I’ve heard of you is to be believed.”

“The epitome of a gentleman?”

“Indeed. Or so I was told before your arrival here.”

He frowned. For some reason, that description did not sit well with him. It made him sound — well — boring. But then, hadn’t that been exactly what he was since his father’s demise? Never putting a foot wrong. Never doing anything without thinking it through methodically, logically. Never stepping outside the role of duke for one second… until her.

“What can I say? I’ve never felt the need to act like anything less than a gentleman. Until I met you.”

Her eyes widened before she lowered them to her lap demurely.

Rebecca’s breath hitched. He really should not say those things. It was most improper. As was the thrill that shot through her when he did.

She risked a quick glance at him and found him staring at her again with that expression on his face, one she could not quite decipher but which made her feel hot and tingly and scared, all at once.

“I should return to my bed,” Rebecca said softly and was annoyed to hear the tremble in her voice.

“As should I. I have an early start.”

At the mention of his leaving, Rebecca’s stomach lurched. She did not want to want him to stay. She wanted to be as furious with him as she had been earlier today. But he’d apologised. More than that, he’d kissed her. And now she could not help wanting things that were, frankly, dangerous and impossible.

She needed to remove herself from this room and from him. An apology, though very nice, did not really change anything.

“Ah yes. Your urgent business in Town. I do hope it is nothing too serious. After all, you have kindly volunteered to take Caroline and me under your wing, remember?”

He muttered a couple more choice words before answering.

“That was an accident.”

“An accident, your grace?”

“Your grace?”

She blushed slightly and he had to grip the seat to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Hartridge,” she amended.

He waited, one eyebrow raised haughtily.

“Fine. Edward,” she huffed.

He smiled in triumph. “As much as being around you gives me more pleasure than it should, I cannot say I am looking forward to the task.”

“Why ever not?” she asked curiously, “It was your idea, was it not?”

“Yes it was. Curse my mouth.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly and, though he knew he should keep things distant and aloof, he felt that he owed her an explanation. Especially in light of his terrible behaviour.

“You are young and innocent Rebecca. You do not yet realise the impact you have on any normal, red-blooded male. I will have my work cut out for me fighting them off in London. With you
and
your sister.”

“Oh.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Well, we do not wish to give you more work.”

He chuckled softly.

And then, because he could not help it, he touched her face, placing a finger under her chin and raising it until she looked at him.

“It is not the work I am worried about, sweetheart. It is stopping myself tearing from limb to limb any man who even looks at you.”

Rebecca did not know what to say. Nor did she move, trapped by him, by his words, his scent, his presence, everything.

He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. Not like the passionate embraces they’d had thus far, but a soft brush of his lips against hers.

“Goodnight, my lady” he whispered against her lips. And then he was gone.

Rebecca made her way slowly up the stairs and to her room. She’d forgotten to take a book but it was of no matter now. Nothing now would be able to take her mind off Edward.

She walked as if in a trance. Her mind and heart focused on one thing and one alone— he’d called her sweetheart.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of planning, packing and, much to the earl’s despair— shopping.

A trip to London for a Season was not a matter to be taken lightly. Particularly when you had not one, but two daughters hoping to make an impact.

The dowager and countess were in fits of happiness choosing gowns and events with military precision. Caroline grew more excited as the days went on. And Rebecca did too, though she had not been able to shake the strange
ennui
that had come on since Edward’s departure.

Try as she might she could not put from her mind that last night in her father’s library. It felt like something had shifted between them. Like they’d crossed an invisible line and had made things all the more complicated.

Rebecca found herself wishing she’d never asked to go to London. She could not imagine Edward escorting her to balls and soirees knowing that she was there to search for a husband. The things he’d said, the way he kissed her; it made her feel like perhaps she was coming to mean something to him. And yet, what could it mean, really?

He did not profess to love her and she certainly did not love him. Of course not. Besides which, all the old problems still existed. Rebecca Carrington was far from fit to be a duchess!

Nothing had changed. Not really.

She resolved to put Edward from her mind once and for all and concentrate on what was needed for the great move to London.

The day after Edward had left, the ladies had made a trip to Dublin and sought out their favourite mantua maker and now, just days before they were due to set off, their purchases had arrived. Rebecca knew the poor woman must have worked day and night to have readied so many gowns in so little time. But the Carringtons were one of the leading families in the country and when the countess wanted something, she got it!

There was much excitement at the breakfast table that morning.

The earl had listened ruefully to the excited chatter before turning to Mr. Crawdon.

“A day for a hunt I think, Mr. Crawdon?”

“An excellent idea, my lord,” answered Tom with considerable enthusiasm.

The gentlemen bid them good day and made a swift escape and the ladies retired to their rooms to re-examine the gowns they’d purchased and make last minute arrangements.

The morning was a flurry of excitement — gowns, ribbons, bonnets, gloves and on and on until Rebecca’s head spun with it.

The excitement was infectious and even the servants were caught up in it. Rebecca barely thought of Edward or the prospect of a husband. She looked forward to the sights they would see, the parties they would attend and, admittedly, the fabulous gowns they would wear.

The ladies shared a light nuncheon before returning to their packing and Rebecca and Maura had settled down to some last minute sewing when a commotion sounded in the entrance hall.

Rebecca glanced at Maura in confusion before they both ran to see what was going on.

There was pandemonium down below. Footmen scarpered here and there and Mr. Crawdon stood in the centre barking directions. What on earth was going on?

Rebecca rushed to the top of the stairs at the same time as Caroline and her maid, Betsy, arrived.

Her mother and the dowager shortly appeared from the morning room on the left.

“Mr. Crawdon, what are you about?” Rebecca shouted down.

Her cry drew his attention. She could see that he was deathly pale.

“My ladies,” he answered turning his attention to Caroline and then to the dowager and countess, “I am afraid I have some bad news. Lord Ranford, he has taken sick.”

“What?”

“We were hunting and he complained of a malady with his chest.” The ladies stared in horror as he continued with his tale. “We started to ride back at once but—”

He was interrupted by the arrival of several footmen carrying what appeared to be a heavy sack. Rebecca felt the room spin alarmingly when she realised the sack was her father. And he wasn’t moving.

The countess screamed and promptly had a fit of the vapours. Caroline burst into tears and Mr. Crawdon was shouting above the din that someone should go for a doctor.

Rebecca felt sick at the sights and sounds surrounding her.

“My lady” —Maura had clasped her hand— “are you well?”

Rebecca took a steadying breath and took in the scene once more. She would be no good to anyone, least of all her father, if she were to swoon now. In the absence of their brother Charles, who was still at Oxford and would likely spend the Season in London, being something of a man about town, and given that her mother and Caroline were currently indisposed, it fell to Rebecca to take control of the situation.

“I am well, Maura.” Her voice shook alarmingly but she forced herself to stay calm and gradually felt less dizzy.

Rebecca marched over to Caroline and pulled her into a quick hug.

“Come, Caro. We must help Mama.” Guiding her older sister by the shoulders, she rushed down the stairs.

“Murphy,” she called to the usually unflappable butler who was looking decidedly uneasy at this moment. “Have them put my father in his study. The chaise there should be big enough for him. And loosen his cravat.”

“You there,” she pointed to a footman who was hovering by the door, “fetch the doctor immediately.”

“Your grace,” she lowered her tone in deference to the older lady who was kneeling by her mother’s prostate form. Mama had not yet succumbed to a dead faint but did not seem far off. “Please accompany my mother to her room. I shall come directly.”

“Of course, my dear,” the dowager moved immediately, coaxing the countess from the floor and instructing the lady’s maid to go on ahead of them.

“Maura, please fetch the smelling salts and bring them to my mother’s room along with some strong, sweet tea. She will want to see my father soon but must calm herself first.”

Maura bobbed a quick curtsey and went on her way.

Rebecca took a fortifying breath. She had not even looked properly at her father yet, but felt a little better having taken some control of the situation.

She turned to address Caroline and was, for a moment, struck dumb by the sight before her. Caroline was still weeping, though silently now and Mr. Crawdon was holding her in a tight embrace, his lips close to her ear murmuring something that Rebecca could not hear.

What shocked Rebecca was the intimacy of the pose. Mr. Crawdon looked
pained
by Caroline’s distress and Rebecca could not help but feel that she was witnessing a private moment. But it was far from private; they were in the entrance hall for goodness sake.

“Caroline,” she called gently and her voice seemed to pull both Caroline and Mr. Crawdon back to their senses. They jumped apart and Caroline looked even more distressed.

“Caro,” Rebecca repeated, “I am going to sit with Papa until the doctor arrives. Perhaps you can check on Mama?”

Caroline nodded her assent mutely and, studiously avoiding making eye contact with either of them, she swept off to assist the countess.

Rebecca did not have the time or inclination to question Mr. Crawdon about his rather familiar behaviour. Her mind was wholly occupied with her father.

She set off toward the study with Mr. Crawdon falling into step beside her.

“Allow me to say, Lady Rebecca, you would be a great asset as a military general! I’ve rarely seen a person bark orders with so much authority, certainly not a person who does not come past my shoulder,” he quipped.

Rebecca allowed herself a small smile.

“I am my father’s daughter in many ways, Mr. Crawdon,” she answered lightly, then immediately sobered. “Please, tell me exactly what happened.”

“Truly, my lady, I do not know. He complained of pain as I said and, on the ride back he — he just slumped over. He almost came off his horse but thankfully we were close to the house and the footmen who accompanied us were able to support him while I rode ahead to raise the alarm.”

They had reached the study and both slipped inside quietly. Murphy had done as he was instructed and her father lay tucked under an array of blankets on the large and comfortable chaise under the window.

Rebecca felt ill again looking at his deathly still form. His breathing was terribly shallow and she’d never seen anyone look so pale.

She felt tears spring to her eyes as she made her way slowly to his side and dropped to her knees, grasping his hand. It was freezing.

Behind her, Rebecca heard Caroline and her mother enter the room. The countess came immediately to her side and Rebecca moved away to allow her mother to take her place.

She turned back and noticed that, although he wasn’t now touching her, Mr. Crawdon had moved to her sister’s side and was standing protectively over her.

It made Rebecca yearn for someone to watch over her, protect her. Her mind threw up an image of Edward and she nearly sobbed aloud. She knew that if he’d been there he would have made everything better. Just having his commanding presence in the house would have made her feel safer and less scared.