The Taming of the Duke

“Tonight?” Rosina breathed. “Shouldn’t we wait until we’re married?”

“We could. That would be the proper thing, of course.”

“Shall we go back inside before we’re spotted out here alone, then?”

I clasped her delicate hands in mine. “But if you really loved me, wouldn’t you want to give yourself to me, society and all its antiquated rules be damned?”

“Of course I want to. More than anything. I just worry—”

“And those worries are greater than your love for me? Nothing could be greater than my love for you. You’re all I think about, as soon as I wake and until I sleep, and then I dream of you all night. I thought your feelings were as strong as mine, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

I hung my head and affected that wounded puppy look that women succumbed so easily to.

Right on cue, she shook her head emphatically, her golden curls shimmering in the moonlight. “Darling, no. Never doubt my love for you! I just…I’d be ruined, you know that. It’s such an ugly word: ruined.”

I kept my face a mask of concern, careful not to reveal the impatience lurking beneath. Rosina Blakely was a well-established idiot with nothing to recommend her beyond a pretty (if vacant) face and a pitiful dowry—I hadn’t expected her to require so much convincing.

“I understand that, dearest. It’s not easy to be a woman in this society—you’ll never hear me argue with that. But if being ruined is the only thing holding you back…well, what does being marriageable matter when you know you’ll marry me?”

“Yes, that’s true. It’s just that you haven’t spoken with my father yet, or asked me officially.”

“But you have my word, my sacred vow. You find that insufficient?”

“No, of course not. I just need a little time.”

An exasperated sigh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Rosina, I could point out that you’re practically ruined already. In most circles, even having this unchaperoned conversation with me is enough. And there’s a whole ball going on just inside—any manner of people could have seen us.”

“Oh, God, do you think we’ve been seen?” Her eyes widened, and she turned her head to look around the moonlit garden. “My father would disown me!”

I pressed a hand to her satin-clad waist, pulling her in. “I really couldn’t say. But give me tonight and you’ll be well on your way to being my duchess before any gossip circulates. Surely no one would speak harshly of you then?”

“I suppose so.” She slackened under my grip. “Yes. There’s a tree just outside my window that leads up to my balcony, if you can manage the climb.”

I blinked, surprised at this sudden reversal. “Well…yes, I’m sure I can manage it. And you’ll be there, ready for me?” My thumb rubbed circles into her waist.

She nodded, gazing into my eyes with a dazed, glassy contentment that almost made me want to abandon the whole idea. What if, God forbid, she made that stupid face all night? Perhaps I’d blow the candles out with a line about how romantic it was to rely on touch alone, without being able to see each other. If that would work on anyone, it would be Rosina.

I released her from my arms. “Now, go back inside. Pretend you’ve fallen ill and need to leave early. Once you’re in your carriage, I’ll follow a few minutes behind. Can you do that?”

“Yes. I’ll see you soon?”

“I’ll be counting down the seconds, my love.”

She stared blankly at me for another moment before she finally turned around and walked towards the house. I took a cigar out of my tuxedo pocket, and had just finished unwrapping it when I heard a titter of laughter somewhere in my vicinity.

“Who’s there?” I asked into the darkness.

“I always wondered how you drew them in,” said a familiar female voice from behind a nearby row of shrubs. “But I should’ve guessed you would wave the dukedom in front of their faces. So, what, you promise marriage until you’ve sealed the deal, then you’re gone before she wakes up, the whole thing forgotten and onto the next victim? ”

I crossed over the shrubs and found the speaker sitting on a bench, her carrot-colored hair in a severe bun and spectacles resting on the end of her freckled nose. Not for the first time, her voluminous gown resembled nothing so much as a burlap sack. Whichever modiste had seen fit to dress her in brown brocade for the last three balls should be hanged for crimes against fashion. 

As I came to stand before her, I saw that a book rested on her lap and suppressed a laugh—all she needed was a few cats and she’d be a perfect caricature.

“Oh, Millie,” I said. “It’s just you. And a gentleman never kisses and tells—not that you’d have any reason to know that.”

She looked up at me, her spectacles sliding up her face. “Good thing you’re not a gentleman, then. And, as I’ve told you a thousand times, it’s Millicent. I haven’t gone by Millie since we were five. Or, no, actually, it’s Miss Farnsworth. Just because I’m unmarried, that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like a child.”

“Believe me, Miss Farnsworth, I wouldn’t dream of treating you like a child. Nor even like a young, eligible woman, for that matter.” I looked her up and down, my gaze snagging on the high collar of her frumpy gown. “I doubt I could suspend my disbelief that far.”

Millie rolled her eyes, but not before pulling at her neckline, as if that would fix anything. “I’ll remind you that we’re the same age, your grace. And, despite making every young lady in London promises to the contrary, you’re as unmarried as I am.”

“Precisely. You may as well be sixty. Christ, you may as well be dead as far as marriage is concerned—though I suppose you know that, if this tableau is any indication. But I’ll be in my prime for twenty years to come.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. But you don’t think your escapades have had any effect on your own prospects? Women talk, you know. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve overheard.”

“Yes, yes, all they do is talk. What of it? Who would take their word over mine?”

“Men wouldn't, I'll grant you that. But other women would. How do you think I knew about your reputation? Not exactly the kind of behavior most women like to see in a prospective husband.”

“I think the prospect of becoming a duchess more than makes up for a few scandalous rumors. And I don’t see any other eligible dukes filling dance cards tonight, do you?”

“Please, I don’t think you’ve danced more than twice this whole season, and even those times were just to further whatever scheme you had going. You’re always too busy skulking around the garden with your latest conquest.”

“How would you know who’s dancing? You brought a book to a ball. You’ve gone well beyond being a wallflower—you’re not even in the room. And I’d bet my whole estate that no one has noticed your absence. Why do you even bother showing up?”

Her face took on a shrewish, pinched quality that I recognized from when we were children and our schoolyard games had gone too far. Obviously, I’d hit a nerve.

She started to speak, but I beat her to it. “And why is it that you know so much about my comings and goings? If I didn’t know any better, I’d accuse you of caring for me.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re despicable, and everyone sees it. The only reason no one tells you that to your face is that you outrank all of them.”

She spoke evenly and without emotion but, judging by the rising color in her cheeks, she was at least a little agitated. I was about to keep prodding at her—Millie was great fun when she was angry—but we were interrupted by a rustling in the shrubs behind us.

Though it was technically scandalous for Millie and I to be discovered alone together like this, she didn’t even bother standing up. She must have known she was well beyond concerns about marriageability. In fact, being caught with me might actually help her reputation. At least it would make her look somewhat desirable.

But no such luck for Millie, because the intruder revealed herself to be Charlotte Cavendish. Charlotte, though pretty in a delicate, bird-like way, had a rather ugly habit of bursting into tears at the slightest hint of stress.

It was this habit that had made her my least favorite evening visit thus far—when I had said something that disagreed with her fragile constitution, she had sobbed so loudly that all four of her brothers came running into her room. I had spent the rest of the night crouched and cowering inside her wardrobe, and I still had a knot in my neck from the whole ordeal. So it seemed unlikely that she would have the emotional fortitude to expose any scandals, keeping Millie in the clear.

I smiled and bowed my head to Charlotte, as if running into her in this remote corner of the garden was perfectly normal. And as if I hadn’t spent most of an evening (before the tears/brothers/wardrobe incident) in her bed.

“Miss Cavendish,” I said warmly, “I’m so pleased to see you. Are you well?”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, clutching a drink in such a vice grip that I feared the glass may shatter, “I’m sorry, I hate to interrupt, but I was hoping to speak with you, your grace. Alone.”

Nothing Charlotte wanted to say to me alone could be of any interest to me—she probably believed I may still marry her with the proper inducement—and it was all but certain to end in tears. I sat down on the bench next to Millie, who looked miffed but didn’t move.

“Millie’s a dear old friend of mine, you know, and I’d hate to send her away. Surely anything you wish to say to me you could say to her, too?”

I could feel Millie’s white-hot glare on my skin without turning towards her, but I kept a pleasant smile plastered on my face.

Charlotte’s brow furrowed. “Oh, that’s…it can wait, then. I’ll just leave you with this. They brought out the port and I didn’t want you to miss it.” She placed the glass she’d been holding in my hand.

Almost touched by the gesture, I used my free hand to clasp hers. “Thank you, that’s so kind of you. Perhaps we’ll find some other time to talk.”

“Yes, I’m sure we will.” She curtsied and turned back the way she came.

Once Charlotte was out of earshot, I turned to Millie. “You think I’m such a devil, making enemies of women left and right, but would you believe that Charlotte and I shared a night together? And she seemed perfectly friendly to me.”

“She wasn’t being friendly. And you really shouldn’t drink that.”

“Well, clearly she bears no ill will towards me, at least. And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t drink?” I downed the port in one gulp, even as Millie tried to wrench the glass from my hand.

“You’re going to regret that,” she said.

“Yes, yes, I always regret the last glass in the morning. At least I’ll have Rosina to nurse me through it.”

Millie grabbed my arm, her bony fingers digging into my flesh. “Don’t go to Rosina’s. She’s not…I can’t explain, but trust me. Stay here.”

“Oh, Millie. Oh, no. Did you actually think something would happen between us tonight? Please tell me you didn’t think that.”

She rolled her eyes, but I saw hurt flash through them. “Of course not. There’s no need to be cruel.”

I stood up. Surely Rosina had left by now, and I had neither the time nor the patience to coddle Millie’s feelings, especially when she’d been so shrewish all night.

“I do nothing but insult you, and you think that means there’s some unresolved tension between us? That I could actually be attracted to you? We’re not even friends; we just have the family connection. It’s pathetic, Millie, honestly. You read too many novels.”

Her expression hardened. “God knows you don’t deserve it, but I was trying to help you. You’ll realize that soon enough. Enjoy your evening with Rosina.”

“Thank you, I intend to. Especially now that I have your permission.” I turned on my heel and walked back towards the house.

I said my goodbyes in a haze of trite words and blurry faces, and found my carriage waiting outside for me even though I'd already forgotten calling for it. Nestled in the plush velvet interior and careening towards Rosina's family home, my nerves buzzed with giddy excitement, though I couldn't exactly say what for. 

The prospect of a night with Rosina was definitely cheering, but these escapades had lost their thrill months ago--half the appeal of seduction was novelty, and that was long gone. I really only kept the whole scheme going out of habit. What else would I do at the endless string of balls that stretched on through the whole season? Actually look for a wife? I shuddered to think of it.

No, my excitement was not borne of anticipation. I would have been just as happy turning the carriage around and returning to that moonlit garden. Happier, even. Conversing with a woman who lobbied barbs back and forth as though we were playing racquetball, even a woman entirely devoid of beauty...it was infuriating but also, I had to admit, a little fun. I didn't know what to make of that. Maybe I should try having a conversation with Rosina tonight? Although she was so dense I'd probably have to explain what a conversation was first.

My carriage drew to a stop, pulling me from my reverie. 

Standing up, I found that the ceiling had somehow lowered itself in the journey, and I hit my head on my way out. 

Descending the stairs, my feet kept switching places. I tumbled head first onto the grass.

The carriage driver got out and took my arm, but two gossamer figures glided over across the lawn, shooing him away.

The cool grass tickled my face as I watched a firefly above twinkle on and off, on and off. Melodic voices swirled in the air above me, and I listened to them as my field of vision closed to a single point.

"God, Charlotte, how much did you give him? You said we'd have an hour before it started working!"

“I don’t know! But you said he’d leave right after you, and—”