Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

Suitable Young Ladies

“Hera made dinner out of one of your new boots. I’ll order a new pair made up tomorrow,” Mr. Brown informed Addison with just the proper amount of consternation. Addison’s mother had hired Mr. Brown to valet for him six years ago. In fact, Brown had taken up his duties the day after Addison reached his majority—precisely two weeks before his father was killed in a duel. This was not the first pair of boots that had ended its usefulness in such a manner.

Doubtless, it would be the last.

“I’m sure she enjoyed them more than I did.” Addison much preferred his older pair, which had been broken in years ago and all but conformed to the shape of his foot. “How many pairs is that now, eh, Hera?” Addison addressed the smaller of his canine pals, who curled up beside Zeus on his bed where both of them watched his every move now that he’d returned home for the night.

“Four pairs now, Your Grace,” Brown answered for the energetic English Foxhound. “I shall save the remaining one for the next time you go out for the evening. Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Your Grace?”

“I did,” Addison said, turning to the side as his valet assisted him in removing his jacket. He attended most dinner parties out of duty but this one had been somewhat different, less stilted. And although he normally found comfort in observing the rules laid out for social interaction, he hadn’t minded the few breaches of etiquette that evening. Chaswick and his wife were more than affable, as had been their guests.

Collette, however, presented something of a conundrum.

She fit, and yet she didn’t.

Throughout the evening, he’d found his gaze landing on her more than was strictly proper. She dressed like a lady, she carried herself like a lady, she even spoke like a lady. But there was something in her eyes—a wariness. One he recognized because he’d seen it before in his brother.

As a youth, Addison had considered Rowan an equal member of their family, perhaps more than equal since he was older, and deserving of all the same rights and privileges bestowed upon himself. But at the age of six, when a tutor had been hired for the sole purpose of preparing Addison to one day become the duke, the relationship between the two brothers took a subtle shift.

Because Rowan had no need of such training.

When his tutor had refused to provide Addison with an adequate explanation for that, he had taken his questions to his father. The answers provided that day went on to shape much of his later outlook on life.

His father had explained that Rowan was a bastard, and as much as he’d like his older son to be his heir, it simply was not possible.

“Why can’t Rowan be your heir?” Addison had asked.

“Because I didn’t marry his mother.”

“Why not?”

“There are two categories of women, son.” It was rare for his father to shower such undivided attention on him, so, even at such a young age, Addison had taken careful note of his father’s words.

“Marriageable and unmarriageable.” His father had explained that Rowan’s mother fell into the second category. “As a duke, as a man with honor, if you compromise a woman who falls in the first category, you must marry her. But if you compromise a woman who falls in the second category, you must not. It’s a matter of honor.”

Untarnished debutantes from established, distinguished families were top of the marriageable list. Farther down were respectable widows and heiresses, and lastly came gently bred females forced to act as teachers, chaperones, and governesses.

The second category encompassed everyone else, beginning with debutantes with besmirched reputations, disreputable widows, illegitimates, middle class, and—it went without saying—dancers, courtesans, and prostitutes.

Miss Jones, as Addison saw her, fell into the first category. He’d not considered before that she also fell into the second one.

He’d not truly comprehended her reasons for refusing his proposal. He had heard them, but not listened. If he had, he might have already surmised that as far as she was concerned, she believed herself to be wholly in the unmarriageable category.

Rowan had realized this about her. Of course, he had.

So why did Addison feel a persistent need to treat her as though she was in the first? Was it because his desire to marry her had more to do with the woman herself than the circumstances of her birth?

Because in being honest with himself, honor was no longer the only thing compelling him to get her to the altar.

“I’m taking a young woman driving tomorrow afternoon, Brown. Please inform Tibbs to have the curricle ready at fifty minutes past one.”

“I hadn’t realized any suitable young ladies were residing in town just now,” his manservant commented. “One of the ladies on your mother’s list, by chance?”

“God, no.” Addison exhaled. Of all the uncertainties surrounding Miss Jones, he was in no doubt that his mother would not approve of her. She tended to see matters in black and white.

As his father had. And his grandfather before him.

Addison bid his valet good night, extinguished the last remaining candles, and climbed into bed. He would see her tomorrow. He would drive her to one of the more private sections of the park. He would discover whether that kiss had been an anomaly.

* * *

“The Duke of Bedwellis taking you driving?” Bethany paused in spreading the jam on her morning toast to pin a questioning gaze on Collette.

“He’s likely showing his appreciation for her efforts with his sister. They do have a prior association, darling.” Chase said, hardly pausing before taking another bite of bacon, while Collette squirmed beneath her sister-in-law’s all too knowing gaze.

“The duke’s sister was one of my top students in the few days I spent at Miss Primm’s. He was in need of reassurance that the school is the best place for her.” Collette picked at the egg on her plate. She was nervous for the day, and whenever she was nervous, her appetite went into hiding.

“I’m not certain that school is an appropriate place for any young woman of character,” Chase added. “Not while Primm bows to the wishes of the likes of that Metcalf woman.” It was a sore spot for him, and Collette appreciated his loyalty.

“She didn’t have much choice,” Collette gently reminded him. “And Miss Shipley wrote me an excellent reference. She said neither she nor Miss Primm were happy about letting me go, but they stood to lose nearly half their students otherwise.”

“Not sure I’d count those sorts of students a loss,” he grumbled.

“Chase.” Bethany placed her hand on his. “It’s not fair to blame the girls for their parents’ actions. That’s twenty girls whose lives would have been uprooted.” But then she smiled. “And speaking of uprooting lives, Chase has agreed to take me down to Brighton for a short holiday before winter sets in. We’re going to be leaving tomorrow.”

A look of adoration passed between her brother and his wife. It was almost as though he knew her secret already. Bethany flushed and raised her toast to her lips.

Collette wouldn’t be surprised if Bethany had told him the night before. She doubted they kept anything from one another very long.

What would it be like to have someone like that in her life? Her father had loved her mother in his own way but not in that all-encompassing way her brother loved Bethany.

“When you go with the duke, you’ll want to be sure to wear a bonnet. And a wool coat as well. When I ventured into the garden this morning, the winds were already picking up.”

If the weather turned, the duke would have an excellent reason to cancel their appointment. Did she want that?

She didn’t.

Because as unsettled as he made her feel, she also liked talking to him. She liked… him.

“I hope it doesn’t rain,” she said.

“It won’t,” Chase declared without looking up from his food. “The weather doesn’t dare inconvenience dukes. Or so Blackheart would have me believe.”

And just as her brother predicted, the storm held off.

Although the sky was gray and gloomy hours later, the streets remained dry, giving Collette every reason to expect her escort for the afternoon to present himself at the allotted time. Because of course, he would arrive precisely on the agreed upon hour, and she would be prepared to receive him.

Diana had once tried to convince her that it was a lady’s responsibility to keep a man waiting, but doing so made no sense to Collette. It was disrespectful of his time, wasteful, rude, and inconsiderate.

Not to mention petty and silly.

So at two before two, Collette was already waiting in the drawing room, gloves and bonnet ready on the sofa beside her. Bethany sat across from her, tugging at her embroidery.

And when the knock sounded, Collette was on her feet before Mr. Ingles could even open the door, sliding her hands into her gloves.

“My Lady.” The duke stepped inside, bowed in Bethany’s direction, and then turned to Collette. “Miss Jones.” How did he manage to do that? Steal the air out of a room the minute he stepped into it?

“Your Grace.” Bethany rose, sliding a chastising glance in Collette’s direction that said something akin to, ‘Don’t be so eager.’ “We so enjoyed having your company last night. I hope you’ll join us again soon.”

Would Collette be in London the next time they invited him? An anxious feeling gripped her at the thought, and she fumbled when she went to tie the ribbons on her bonnet. It wasn’t that she would regret missing dinner parties. She didn’t belong really, anyhow. It was rather the all-around uncertainty that lurked in her future.

“I look forward to that as it was my pleasure.” He turned his gaze on Collette. “You will want a coat.”

“Right here.” Mr. Ingles appeared behind her, holding her gray coat up so she could slide her arms inside. It was a coat that a teacher would wear.

Bethany grimaced, shaking her head, but refrained from suggesting Collette wear the prettier coat that had been delivered earlier that week.

With her bonnet finally tied, and her coat buttoned, Collette endured the exchange of a few more niceties between Bethany and the duke, and then allowed him to lead her outside and down the front steps.

Uncertain as to why he’d even suggested this outing, she kept quiet for as long as she could, not bothering to attempt any conversation until she was seated beside him, high off the ground, in a vehicle that did not seem at all as though it had been designed to carry ladies.

“We may yet have rain today.” An utterly foolish conversational gambit but also one that gave nothing away as to her nervousness. Perhaps that was why people so often discussed the weather. It prevented them from having to give anything of their emotions, their thoughts, or feelings away.

“It should hold off for our drive. Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Not as bland as her topic but only slightly more original.

She could feel him all along the side of her, much as she had when they’d sat on the stairs together.

“The guests were lovely. I always enjoy meeting Chase and Bethany’s friends.” Why did she sound so breathless?

“Are they not your friends as well?”

Collette stared down at his hands. He wore leather gloves and handled the two horses as though it was something he’d been doing all his life.

“They are not, really.” She didn’t think to answer him with anything other than the truth.

“Because your father was not married to your mother.” Now he was being original.

“Yes.”

“But not because any of them looked down on you. It’s because of how you see yourself.” She glanced sideways at him in surprise. When she’d reminded him that she’d not belonged before, he hadn’t seemed to understand. Why did he now? She turned again to study him. Since he was intent upon the road ahead, she was able to study his profile, his determined jawline, lips that were not thin, nor too full, and a nose that, from the side, appeared far more ducal than it did from the front—rounded—and hooking down just slightly on the end.

“It’s not how I see myself. It is who I am,” she said.

“You are a sister, a teacher.” He met her stare briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “A lady.”

Oh, but was she?

“I am also a daughter,” she rejoined. “Unacknowledged by her father.”

“You would have been a different person, then, if your father had married your mother and acknowledged his daughters?”

“Of course not.” But she immediately reconsidered her answer.

“Although it is my brother who, in fact, shares this sort of experience with you,” he said, “you and I have more in common than one might think.”

The vehicle lurched as he turned them off of the paved road and into the graveled one inside the park.

Her first inclination was to dismiss such a ridiculous statement as nonsense. But he was not joking.

“I can think of very little we share in common, Your Grace.”

“The natural order of life has somehow failed us both,” he said. They were leaving the tall houses and manicured gardens of Mayfair behind and disappearing into a large copse of trees. For as long as she’d known, this park had been within walking distance of her home. It was a place that catered to London’s elite and yet she and her sisters had taken great pleasure in the wilderness of it.

She’d considered it her park, but had it ever been, really?

“Go on,” she encouraged him, curious as to how the natural order of life could have possibly failed a duke.

“You ought to be living your life as the daughter of a baron. You ought to have been raised with like ladies and all due respect. You ought not to have been dismissed from your teaching position if that is how you wish to live your life.” His throat moved, as though he was swallowing an unwanted emotion.

And then she understood.

“You ought to be living your life as the second son of a duke,” she said. “Not as the duke.”

He didn’t respond but dipped his chin in agreement. “I accept the duties of the title, and I will do my best to bring honor to it. But by all rights, it belongs to my brother.”

“But there is nothing to be done about it.”

“No,” he answered. “Not that my brother would accept it if there was.” His mouth twisted into something that was part grimace, part grin, making Collette think she’d like to meet his brother someday.

“Are you the same person you would be if you were not the duke?” This was not at all the conversation she’d expected to have with him today—something philosophical but also personal. It was the sort of conversation she might have had with Diana, or Chase even.

Not with a duke.

“Outwardly, no. Inside, I think yes. I have found ways to keep that person alive.”

For some reason, this answer made her heart swell. Because people were often so much more than what they showed to the world.

“How?” She didn’t care if this was too personal of a question to ask him. It was he who had opened this subject up, after all.

He glanced behind them and seemed to make a decision. “I have something to show you.” In a surprising move, he steered the two horses around in a half circle so that they were returning the way they’d come. “Fancy a trip to Bond Street?”