The Duke and the Vicomtesse: (Clean & Wholesome Regency Romance Book) Read online

  “I am game, if you are,” he said. He held out his hand, bowing to her. She looked at it for a moment, then put her hand in his. Why not? It was better than sitting here falling asleep from boredom.

  He led her to the dance floor. The dancers parted. Marie-Therese could feel eyes on them from every direction.

  When he gripped both her hands in his, she looked up at him, startled. For a very strange thing had happened when she felt his palms on hers. A warm glow spread through her person, and her breathing started to quicken imperceptibly. She suddenly found it hard to look him in the eye.

  What was happening to her? She had never experienced anything like it.

  With a sick feeling, she felt her eyes drawn to his face, as though pulled by some magnetic force over which she had no control. The duke was staring at her with a strange look as if she had said another scandalous thing. Their eyes locked.

  Suddenly, she felt as if they were the only dancers on the floor. Everyone else—the ladies and gentlemen in their finery, the gilded ballroom décor, even Minnie—faded away in her peripheral vision. It was only him and her, moving to the music in an empty space.

  “Change partners, if you please.” What? Someone had spoken. She looked around. The dance had moved on, and the next dancer was waiting. Releasing the duke and feeling suddenly self-conscious, she took the hands of the next gentleman, barely seeing him. Then the room started to spin.

  “I must retire,” she whispered, stepping out of the dance circle, her only desire a chair in a corner somewhere. She could feel the Duke’s eyes on her as she stumbled away.

  She was fanning herself when Minnie approached her. “Did the Duke ask you to dance?” she breathed, sitting down next to her. “I was standing next to Lady Rivenhall and Lady Hawksbridge when I saw you move to the dance floor with him. You should have seen their faces! I have never seen two ladies look so wounded.”

  “What of it?” Marie-Therese was feeling faint, unusual for her; she prided herself on her strong constitution. But right now, she didn’t think that she could bear Minnie’s prattle for a second longer.

  “Even you, cousin, must admit it is unusual for a duke to ask you to dance,” Minnie continued, then stopped when she saw Marie-Therese’s expression harden. “I don’t mean to offend you, but you must see the truth in what I say.”

  “Why is it? I am the daughter of a vicomte!” Marie-Therese squared her shoulders.

  Minnie frowned. “Well, yes, but…”

  Marie-Therese stood up. “I find the evening intolerable,” she stated. “I must insist we leave.” She turned on her heel and strode away, a confused Minnie following her.

  Marlborough watched as Marie-Therese strode through the drawing room, her cousin in her wake. She had such spirit—although perhaps a little too much, he thought. He liked ladies who were informed to a certain level about world events, literature and art, but not to the degree that Marie-Therese seemed to take interest in the intellectual realm. She wore her intellect like a badge of honor, which was not becoming. Besides, her orphan status and lack of wealth would always hinder her acceptance in high society.

  The duke kept telling himself this. She’s not of your world, he repeated. He tried hard to forget the feel of her hands on the dance floor, and the flash of her dark eyes as she spoke.

  Chapter 6

  Kitty’s Plan

  M arlborough found his seat in the exclusive opera box, settling his sister and Lady Hawksbridge. He glanced at the assembled in the great Haymarket Theatre, awaiting the performance.

  He spotted her almost immediately: Marie-Therese, in some lesser seats. Her cousin was by her side, as was an older gentleman and lady, whom Marlborough assumed to be her guardians, Mr. and Mrs. Bloom.

  Marie-Therese was wearing white, which became her olive complexion handsomely. Her dark curls were amassed on her head, with stray tendrils on her neck. Her dark eyes were alight, obviously keen to hear the opera. She nodded distractedly as her cousin talked incessantly to her. Marlborough could tell she found her cousin tiresome at times.

  Kitty glanced at Phoebe. They had both noticed Marlborough’s sharp surveillance of the assembly, and Kitty had bristled when his gaze fixated on Miss Marie-Therese Deauchamps. Kitty’s eyes widened at her best friend, and she nodded. It was time.

  “Marlborough,” Kitty yawned. “Have you spotted anyone of interest in the assembly tonight?”

  Marlborough started, then turned his eyes to his sister and her best friend. “The usual selection,” he stated. “No one of interest.”

  Kitty smiled. “I thought that I saw Miss Deauchamps in the crowd,” she said, straining her neck. “Oh yes, there she is. Sitting next to that mousy cousin of hers.”

  She turned to Phoebe. “My dearest, did you hear of the scandalous assembly last week?” she said, fanning herself. “Lord Byron and his debaucheries! He is leaving England soon, so I have heard. His wife is filing for legal separation. And who do you suppose was at this assembly?”

  “My dearest, I simply do not know,” Phoebe answered, all agog. Kitty glanced at her brother to make sure he was listening before she imparted her dart.

  “Miss Deauchamps! The very same! Against her guardians wishes, obviously.” Kitty fanned herself, sitting back on her chair.

  “Miss Deauchamps attended an assembly hosted by Lord Byron?” Marlborough was frowning. He glanced back at the crowd.

  “Indeed! Most scandalous,” Kitty whispered. “I cannot talk of what goes on at such assemblies, but I am sure you both are well aware. She is wild, there is no doubt about that.” She turned to her brother. “You look surprised, Marlborough! I do not know why. She opined at considerable length her admiration for the scoundrel at Lady Clarence’s luncheon.”

  “She did,” he admitted. “But I thought her admiration was for his writing, not the man himself.” He frowned again.

  “She is flighty, her guardians can barely contain her,” Kitty continued. “I fear it is the Gallic influence. The French are always over excited, never mindful of proper conventions.”

  “Indeed,” Marlborough said absently and frowned again. He glanced back at the crowd, looking at Marie-Therese.

  He was disappointed, but he should have known. She had expressed admiration for Lord Byron after all. But he simply couldn’t carry on with a young lady who had attended one of the scoundrel’s infamous assemblies. His face darkened at the thought.

  He had been enchanted by her, he had to admit it to himself. But she was wild, in such a way no proper English lady should be.

  Kitty nudged Phoebe. They both smiled. Marlborough’s countenance had gone cloudy. Their plan was working.

  “Are you looking forward to Don Giovanni, Your Grace?” Phoebe leaned forward, so that her bosom was displayed to best advantage. She had dressed with extra care tonight, wearing her best jewels and a new gown. She smiled deeply, fluttering her eyelashes.

  Marlborough looked at her as if for the first time. “Indeed,” he answered. Lady Hawksbridge had impeccable connections. She was a fine lady, worthy of his patronage and admiration. He must remember that and banish thoughts of a certain unworthy lady from his mind.

  He smiled at her as the lights dimmed. The opera was about to commence.

  ***

  Marie-Therese saw him in the booth, above her. But he was steadfast on the opera, never glancing at the assembly.

  She frowned. She found him perplexing. He was conceited and insufferable at times, but there were other times when she found herself thinking of him rather fondly. He had challenged her at Lady Clarence’s luncheon, but she didn’t hold that against him. In fact, she had enjoyed his argument. She thought he had a fine mind, unlike most of the dandies that attended such occasions. And then there was that rather peculiar sensation when he had held her hands during the dance…

  She looked up, watching his face engrossed in the opera. Turn to me, she willed.

  But he didn’t.

  The opera ended, and Marlboroug
h and his party rose to leave. She saw him walk past with the two ladies he had come with. He wasn’t smiling.

  She stared intently at him, and he looked at her passively, not quite meeting her gaze. She knew he had seen her. But he didn’t smile, or even acknowledge her in any way. He looked through her as if she was made of glass. And then he turned to Lady Hawksbridge, taking her arm and staring down at her, smiling.

  It was a deliberate snub. Marie-Therese was well aware of it. So was Minnie.

  “The duke is cold tonight,” she remarked, staring at her cousin. Marie-Therese forced one of her false smiles.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she lied, turning away.

  But inside, she kept replaying his icy stare. He had obviously decided she wasn’t good enough to converse with. So be it. She didn’t need his approval.

  But her heart felt heavy as they took their leave.

  Chapter 7

  Eden Hall

  “M

  ust you leave me, ma chérie?”

  Marie-Therese tried hard to stifle the guilt that sprang up within her at her aunt’s plea.

  “It is only for a little while,” she soothed, stroking Celine’s hand. “Minnie has had an invitation for us to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Shaw at Eden Hall, in Derbyshire. It will only be for a few weeks, a month at most.”

  Celine clutched her niece’s hand, her other waving her lace handkerchief at her tears. “But I am so unwell!” she cried. “I am not long for this world, I fear. It breaks my heart to be parted from you.” She started sniffling, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief.

  Marie-Therese sighed. It was always the same whenever she suggested a desire to escape the city for a spell. Her aunt had been dying, forever, apparently. Usually she indulged her, but not this time. This time she really must leave London.

  The invitation had been a godsend. Marie-Therese had felt more restless than usual since the night at the opera and the Duke’s snub. She had seen him twice since at other engagements, and he never acknowledged her. As much as she told herself that it didn’t matter and she had never sought his good opinion, it still hurt to be suddenly ignored. So much so that when Minnie had mentioned the Shaw’s invitation she had accepted with alacrity, alarming her cousin, who wasn’t used to such enthusiasm for company from Marie-Therese.

  “You will be fine.” Marie-Therese stood up, attempting to release her hand from her aunt’s grip. “I will write, regularly. The time will pass as nothing.” She kissed her aunt’s forehead, then left the room, not glancing back.

  She was already packed. The carriage would be ready soon. She felt a lightness in her step, which had been missing these past few weeks.

  ***

  The carriage pulled up at the Shaw residence, careening around the circular entranceway until abruptly halting in front of the doorway.

  A lady ran out of the house toward it, flapping her arms wildly. It was Mrs. Emily Shaw.

  “My dears!” The lady waited until Marie-Therese and Minnie had alighted. “You are so very welcome! I have such frivolities planned for your stay!” She clapped her hands together delightedly.

  Minnie clapped with her, the two women jumping on the spot with their arms around each other.

  Marie-Therese sighed. She had forgotten how vapid Mrs. Shaw could be. She should have known better. Mrs. Shaw was Minnie’s best friend from London, lately married to an elder gentleman, Mr. Shaw. It had been a very advantageous match on Emily’s part, and she and Minnie had crowed about it for a long time.

  “Come in! Come in!” Emily picked up her skirts and ran back towards the doorway.

  Marie-Therese looked up at the house. It was impressive—a fifteenth century hall, covered in ivy and moss. The grounds looked impeccable as well. She was sure there would be time and space here for her to pursue her own endeavors, steal away from company. There was sure to be a vast library, and opportunities for long walks.

  “Marie-Therese!”

  She stopped daydreaming and heeded Minnie’s call, entering the grand entranceway. They were led to the drawing room, where a teapot and dainty teacups awaited them, along with a spread of miniature cakes arranged tastefully on the table.

  “So, tell me all the news from London,” Emily sighed, picking up the teapot and pouring. “It seems an age since I have been there! It is so boring here in the country, I sometimes think I will go quite mad with it!”

  “Oh, the usual season,” Minnie sniffed, accepting a cup. “We have been quite run off our feet! Balls, luncheons, the opera…” she paused, a sly smile creeping upon her lips. “…Marie-Therese made quite an impression on a certain duke—but I should not gossip!”

  “Oh, do tell,” Emily said breathlessly, her eyes shining. She turned to Marie-Therese eagerly.

  Marie-Therese stiffened. “There is nothing to tell, Mrs. Shaw,” she said quickly, glaring at Minnie. “I am quite sure my dear cousin has taken leave of her senses, entirely. The duke she speaks of attended some engagements which we also did. Nothing more, I am afraid.”

  “Oh, Marie-Therese, you can be an insufferable bore!” Minnie pouted, sipping at her tea. “He admired you, I am sure of it! Although he has turned cold lately, I do not know why.”

  “There is no turning cold, or otherwise,” Marie-Therese sipped at her tea. “There is simply nothing to speak of, and we should change the subject.”

  Emily looked from one to the other. “Well, I have some exciting news!” she stated. “It has been insufferably dull here, I cannot deny it. Some boring old dinners, nothing more. But I have just been informed that there is to be a ball at Midford Manor, this very week. You are timely in your arrival, to be sure.”

  Minnie cried with delight, seeking details. She and Emily spent the next ten minutes speaking of it.

  Marie-Therese tuned out. Inwardly, she cursed. She had accepted this invitation thinking that she would be able to escape the interminable round of balls she had endured in London, and would get the quiet and contemplation she so desired. Now it seemed she must endure at least one more.

  And what was Minnie doing? Gossiping about the Duke? It was simply not seemly. She really would have to speak to her. She didn’t want people getting the wrong impression that the Duke had favored her when that was simply not the case.

  He hadn’t favored her, had he? He had simply noticed her once, and then he had returned to his own high-society world, where Marie-Therese just did not belong. No more to it than that. His admiration seemed to be exclusively reserved for Lady Hawksbridge, now, from what Marie-Therese had noticed the past few times she had seen him.

  She didn’t care, she told herself, fiercely. But she was dismayed to find that she had dug her fingernails into her arm, enough to cause red welts on her skin.

  Chapter 8

  The Engagement

  M arie-Therese surveyed the dance, frowning. She had been introduced to all the local gentlemen and ladies and hadn’t found anyone particularly interesting. It was going to be another long, boring night.

  She had enjoyed her time at Emily Shaw’s country manor up until now. Eden Hall was indeed a lovely country house, and she had had ample opportunity to excuse herself from Minnie and Emily and spend long hours in the library. She had gone on many charming walks through the countryside, picking flowers or reading from whatever poetry tome she had plucked off the library shelves. Mr. Shaw had rarely made an appearance, as he was more concerned with hunting and riding with the local gentry.

  Marie-Therese looked at Minnie and Emily, watching them crane their heads to see who was next to be introduced. They lived for such events. Marie-Therese had a rare moment of doubting herself. Why couldn’t she be more like them? Why was she so peculiar? She knew that bookishness and affinity for study were not valued in young ladies. Was it her perverse French blood, unable to be constrained by English propriety? She simply didn’t know why she could never truly fit in with her peers—but she did know that it made life very hard.

  “Marie-Theres
e!” came a shrill voice. It was Minnie, gesturing for her to come over.

  “Yes?” Marie-Therese stood beside her cousin.

  “It is him!” Minnie pointed. “The Duke! With Miss Rivenhall and Lady Hawksbridge.”

  Marie-Therese blanched. No, it wasn’t possible! She had left London expressly to escape the Duke. How could he be here?

  And yet there he was. She watched him be introduced to the assembly before he continued walking with the ladies. All three of them surveyed the crowd with haughty eyes.

  “I do not believe it,” Marie-Therese muttered to herself. She hadn’t even wanted to come to this silly ball. Was there ever an end to the vexation?

  No matter, she told herself. He refuses to acknowledge me, anyway. Just keep out of his way and all will be well.

  Her strategy worked splendidly for the first half of the evening. As soon as she saw him move toward where she was, Marie-Therese would quickly change locations. She had walked outside onto the balcony for some fresh air when she overheard two local ladies talking.

  “There he is,” one of them was saying. “The Duke of Marlborough, with his sister and another lady. He is a handsome fellow, I must say! Very tall and dark, with those brooding eyes.”

  “His wife is dead, isn’t she?” the other lady asked.

  “Yes, three years in her grave,” the other confirmed. “But I have heard whispers that he is about to become engaged again. To the other lady that he came with. What is her name?”

  “Lady Hawksbridge.”

  “Yes, her. Apparently, they will announce it very soon.”

  The ladies wandered off, still talking.

  Marie-Therese stood rooted to the spot, unable to take a step. It was only country gossip, she knew that. And yet it pierced her heart like a lightning bolt. It made sense. Of course it did. Lady Hawksbridge was his social equal, or very nearly. Not like a former French vicomtesse reliant on her English relations for status and wealth.