Must Love Dukes (6 page)

And his words had been final, although she hadn’t realized it at the time. He was gone an hour later, and she was left to deal with Josiah alone.

***

She pulled her gaze away from her vanity mirror and the memory of that horrible day. Now, a year later, she was to be hauled against her will to London to be married. Her fate always came back to Josiah, with Solomon urging him to do his will. There was no distant relative to turn to.

No aunts. No uncles. How long would she last on the road—alone?

She rose from her vanity chair and brushed a tear from her cheek. What was she to do now? Stepping toward the window of her bedchamber, she leaned her forehead against the glass. The cool pane soothed her rampant thoughts, while her shaky breaths created puffs of fog in a stilted rhythm before her.

Only an hour later, and with not nearly enough time to think her way out of this mess, she was summoned to the library. She knew the conversation that was to come and could do nothing to stop it or even slow it down. She left her bedchamber with her head held high. Surely this was how walking to the gallows felt.

***

“Dear, you’ve barely touched your dinner. You’ll waste away to nothing if you don’t eat.” The Duchess of Thornwood laid down her own fork to further investigate her son. Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over in the candlelight of his Mayfair dining room.

“Mother, last I checked, I was fourteen stone of solid muscle. I am hardly at risk of wasting away.” Devon flexed inside his coat, testing his statement’s truth with a pat of his arm before looking back down the dining table at his mother. “Yes, quite fit. No reason for you to be alarmed.”

He’d chosen to begin the evening with his family in the smaller of the two dining rooms since there were only the three of them. He was regretting that decision somewhat because it put his mother within easy reach for conversation. Having recently arrived from the country, she’d been taking the opportunity to be motherly. And of all mothers, he believed his to be the most motherly.

She spent most of her waking hours being motherly to his sister Roselyn. But since his mother’s arrival only three days ago to stay with him in the city and enjoy the season, she had deemed it his turn to be mothered. He was hardly in need of her skills. He was two and thirty, after all. But from all appearances, that mattered little to her.

“It’s the new cook I arranged for, isn’t it?” she asked in a loud whisper.

“Hmm. No, this beef is interesting. The sauce is certainly different. I’m not sure what was wrong with my old cook, but that’s a discussion for another day.” Devon sawed another piece of the beef off to reassure her that he would not starve. He almost choked on it but managed to swallow it with the help of a large gulp of wine.

“She came with the best of recommendations. Lady Cale positively raved about her.”

“Perhaps Lady Cale was simply happy to be rid of her,” Devon quipped.

“Devon! You shouldn’t say such things of society matrons who are held in high esteem by all of London. You know your reputation would be improved by playing by the rules occasionally, dear.”

“Nothing can change my reputation, Mother. That fate was sealed quite a while ago. And at any rate, I find rules less palatable than these carrots, if that is possible,” Devon returned, pulling a face of disgust.

A bubble of suppressed laughter down the table drew Devon’s attention to his little sister, who was trying to hide her smile behind a water glass. He was glad to have an ally in the family on occasions such as this. Too bad that ally was a girl barely out of the schoolroom. She couldn’t stand up to their formidable mother as effectively as he could.

“Now, Roselyn, you too would benefit from Devon watching his step in society. Your come-out is only a year away! As the daughter of a duke, your chances of making a good match should be excellent. If the current duke would toe the line, that is.” She shot Devon a look down the table, the stormy gray eyes he’d inherited from her slicing through him.

Her dark hair had silvered with age, yet she was still the statuesque woman she had always been. He secretly enjoyed their dinnertime battles when she came to town, although he feigned boredom and annoyance. It was nice to have someone to talk to over dinner who truly knew him, although he would never admit that to the scowling woman.

“My actions don’t matter to these people, Mother. They tossed me in with Father the moment I set foot on a ship. I might as well enjoy being ‘mad.’” He lifted his wineglass in the name of madness and tossed back the contents.

“Your father was a brilliant man,” his mother countered.

“Your precious society sees that a bit differently.” Devon shrugged. “Since my return to England, I will have you know, I’ve taken madness to new heights. I’m not about to sell my soul to the ton for the likes of Roselyn.” He gave his sister a warm smile and a wink.

“I wouldn’t hear of it, Brother,” she returned with a charming smile that would surely melt a thousand hearts come next season.

He didn’t want to think about it. This year he was still free of ballroom responsibilities. This year he could do as he pleased. He turned his attention back to his mother. “There is an entire year before I will be forced to attend garden parties.” He shuddered for effect over the last words before continuing. “I may not even stay in town the entire season this year. Parliament existed before I arrived, so I hardly see where my daily presence is needed. It does nothing to increase our family’s coffers. Ships, on the other hand…”

“After all that your father did for this country?”

“And what did this country do for him in return?” Devon asked, arching one brow in his mother’s direction. “Drove him to an early grave with their taunts, took him from his family… English society be damned.”

“Devon, don’t say such things. Geoffrey—God rest his soul—will be turning in his grave with talk like that.”

“Rest assured, Mother, Father was much too preoccupied with gaining the favor of the
ton
to ever turn in his grave for the likes of me.”

“He was a wonderful duke, dear. You should really try to be more like him.”

“I’m too much like him. That is why none of this suits me.” He waved his hand around to encompass the dining room of his Mayfair home and the town it sat within. “I belong on foreign soil—exploring, mountain climbing, and investigating for scientific research. Not here arguing with a room of fifty men over inconsequential tax laws by day and enduring their ridicule by night.”

“Traipsing about foreign lands is not doing your duty for your family.”

“I never asked for this. I returned for a reason, and that reason is now buried on Thornwood grounds.”

His mother dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “You are the duke now. And you must settle yourself and fulfill your duty to your title. Attend Parliament sessions. Find a suitable wife. Have a child. Your place is here, Devon. You had years of walking on mountains to fill your time. Now, this is your life. And you have those little boats of yours to occupy your time, which should be enough for you.”

“It’s mountain climbing, not walking on mountains, Mother. And those
little
boats
are a fleet of three-masted frigates.”

“Why should it matter to me how many masts are on your boats? You know I know nothing of the details of your work, dear.”

If all went according to plan, she had no need to know the details of the shipping business, either. He took a steadying breath. The additional ships would make his venture profitable—they had to. Lord Harrow had undercut him for far too long with his corrupt contracts. Devon would set things to rights for his family by honest means—a sentiment Harrow had never understood or abided by. Devon shook off the thought of his rival at sea.

“We will be ready to set sail not six months from now. I know what is asked of me here, but I plan to be on board when they cast off. I must oversee—” He was cut off by his mother’s quick change of subject.

“Come with me to the Dillsworth ball. It is rumored to be the event of the season. Quite the crush! All the matrons will be there showing off this year’s crop of young ladies.”

“Absolutely not, Mother.”

“You will force me to attend the first large ball of the season with no escort at all?”

“When you’ve described it in such appealing terms? Yes. There is no possibility I will attend.”

From down the table, Devon heard a small “I wish I could attend.”

His mother answered Roselyn with a quick “Next year, dear.” She then settled her glare back on him. “It is time you showed some interest in marriage, Devon.”

“Yet I have none. I am mad. Not to mention a confirmed bachelor. Or have you not heard what they say about me?”

“That is neither here nor there, dear. I only wish that, before I depart from this world, I will be able to hold a grandchild in my arms and know that your father’s legacy will live on. Then I might pass on in peace.”

“Oh God.”

“Yes, that is certainly who I will meet in the end, dear. I am glad we are in agreement on that point at least.”

“Mother, you are nowhere close to dying. I am not going to that ball with you. And I am certainly not selecting one of the virgins on parade in the Dillsworth ballroom with whom to sire an heir. Have you ever been forced to converse with one of them? Egad! Dreadful stuff.”

“Suit yourself. You always do anyway. I will attend alone. I do hope ruffians do not overtake my carriage on the way there.” She cut a sidelong glance at Devon to see if her remarks were denting his resolve.

“If they do, make sure you hide the good jewels,” he returned with a smile.

“Really, Devon. What am I to do with you?”

“Rap the backs of my knuckles?” he asked, flexing his large hand over the white tablecloth for her inspection. “No? Well, then perhaps I am a lost cause,” he offered with a smile.

“Never.” The duchess rose from her chair and motioned for Roselyn to join her. “Good night, dear,” she said, lifting her cheek to Devon as he rounded the table. He kissed her good night and watched as her dark gown sailed around the corner and out of his dining room.

“Never” was right. But she would never leave him alone about his life choices. Wife, heir, and duty to his country had been drilled into his mind for as long as he could remember. It was too bad that those prospects did not sound the least bit appealing. He wanted more from his life—to see and experience it, not have it dictated to him. He sighed. Perhaps he was fighting a losing battle.

He was a duke and there was no changing that fact. Certain behaviors and standards were expected of him. Yet it all seemed so vapid and meaningless. The same words could be applied to the ladies he was supposed to court and marry. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

He would not change who he was. Nor would he attend some silly ball. With a smile of self-satisfaction on that score, he left the dining room to return to his library for the evening.

***

His lips were sweet from the fruit liqueur that had flavored their lagers. Her hands slid over his shoulders and into his silky dark hair just as he pulled her onto his lap. The carriage jostled down the street, his thighs flexing beneath her to hold them steady. She could feel the solid wall of his chest against her as she murmured his name.
Devon
.

Then, as dreams often do, he melted away just when she wanted him to stay.

“Lillian, we will be to the city within the next hour. Wake up now, and do try to make yourself presentable.” Solomon’s voice carved through her dream like a knife taken to her warm thoughts.

She blinked at the afternoon sun that filtered into the carriage through the window, hoping she had not said Devon’s name aloud as she had in her dream. The carriage ride must have brought that particular memory to mind, or perhaps it was her return to London where they had met. She was not sure which, but she shook the last of his hold on her mind free with a quick toss of her head.

Glancing out the window, she noticed that the homes and buildings had become denser, indicating they were nearing the city. Devon was most likely somewhere in this city at this very moment. Although she was extremely unlikely to run into him since he haunted seedy pubs while she would be spending all of her time in parlors and ballrooms. She worried for a moment about what she would do if she did see him again.

Gazing down at her gray traveling dress, she smoothed a wrinkle from its surface. If she did see him again, would he recognize her? Most likely not. He wouldn’t even glance her way if they saw one another in the park, say, or on the street. She’d dressed in clothing she would never again wear and had acted as she never would again. She took a steadying breath. That day was long in the past and buried there.

Now she was in town on a different mission, a survival mission. Could she escape the trap of marriage this season long enough to reach her majority next spring and be free to make her own decisions?

“Lillian, did you not hear me? Where is your head today?” Solomon slanted a dark-eyed glare at her from across the carriage.

“Solomon, it hardly takes me an hour to ensure that my hair is in place. However, I am awake now, so you may go back to…” She paused, trying to think of something he appeared to be doing. However, he sat completely still, staring ahead without a paper or a book to read in sight. “I’m not sure how you were entertaining yourself on the journey, but rest assured you may return to it now.”

“I would rest assured if you were not insisting on staying with that Mary of a brother of ours. How will that look to your suitors?”

“Do
not
call him that! Nathaniel has chosen his path in life, and I find no fault in it. If you want my participation in any of this despicable marriage business, you will cease this line of conversation.”

“You do not make the rules in this family, Lillian.”

“Neither do you, Solomon.” She spat the words back at him as she reached up to refasten a loose pin in her hair.

“Lillian, you must see the prudence of staying in our family’s home while in London. Nathaniel is a bachelor of sorts. It’s not appropriate for him to host you while you’re in town.”