Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Isabella saunteredinto Lucy’s bedroom and clasped her hands together. “I knew it! You only had to put your mind to it, and you found yourself a suitor.”

Lucy swallowed hard. She’d never lied to her sister before and she had no urge to start.

“And you couldn’t have found a more dashing suitor.” Isabella plopped onto Lucy’s bed. “Sturbridge is ever so handsome.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“And he wouldn’t be friends with darling Benedict if he weren’t also kind. Benedict speaks most highly of him.”

“How nice.” Lucy’s lips wobbled, and for a moment, she wondered what it would be like if Harrison truly was courting her.

“Just think!” Isabella exclaimed, and her blonde curls bounced. “We could have a double wedding.”

“A double wedding?” Lucy murmured faintly, and her stomach tightened.

Isabella nodded her head rapidly. “It would be ever so much fun. Two best friends marrying two sisters.”

The pain in her stomach intensified, and she averted her gaze in as casual a manner as possible. “We haven’t reached the marriage stage yet.”

“Of course.” Isabella waved her hand nonchalantly. “But I’ve seen the manner in which you two look at each other. It’s only a matter of time before Sturbridge comes lugging some heirloom stone over here and pronouncing an urge to live happily ever after with you.”

“You’re overly romantic.”

“I’m not the one dancing in his arms and receiving his calls. Benedict assured me the duke must be truly smitten.” Isabella leaned conspiratorially toward her. “Even his mother is taking the matter seriously. It seems that Sturbridge has never acted this way with anyone before. And you know what that means?”

“What?” Lucy asked faintly.

“It means, dearest sister, that you’re the one for him.”

Lucy’s mouth dried. Isabella’s blue eyes sparkled with even more than their customary force. The Mediterranean Sea seemed to be shimmering right inside her eyes. It was a wonder no painter had dragged her outside to do her portrait.

But she couldn’t let Isabella think she was on the verge of marriage. She couldn’t pretend. Not with her.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Lucy’s voice wobbled.

A wide smile burst onto Isabella’s already adorable face. “Don’t tell me you’re already betrothed!”

Lucy swallowed hard. Telling Isabella the truth would be even more difficult than she’d anticipated.

“Benedict said that you wouldn’t get engaged until the summer,” Isabella chattered happily. “But I said it would be even quicker.” Isabella grinned. “Benedict proposed to me the third time we danced.”

“You mean you’re betrothed?” Lucy’s eyes widened.

Isabella tossed her head. “Of course not. He has to get permission from our parents first. I wasn’t going to become secretly betrothed to him. Some women might like the idea of eloping to Gretna Green, but personally, I’ve always wanted a large wedding. Besides, I don’t like keeping secrets from people. Having a secret suitor is sufficiently secretive.”

Isabella giggled happily, and guilt surged through Lucy.

“I don’t like having secrets either,” Lucy said. “Which is why I need to tell you something.”

Isabella looked expectantly at her, but Lucy’s throat dried, and her tongue suddenly forgot how to work. She coughed. “The truth is...”

“Yes?”

“The truth is,” Lucy continued hastily, “Harrison is not really courting me.”

Isabella’s eyes widened. “Of course, he is. I saw him. Many times.”

“Yes,” Lucy said. “But he’s not pursuing me in a romantic sense.”

“You mean he hasn’t confessed his love for you yet,” Isabella said matter-of-factly. “Perhaps he’s shyer than I thought. But I suppose that isn’t completely surprising, especially since Benedict told me he’s never courted anyone before. I wouldn’t worry about that. He’ll find the words. You can always gift him a book of poetry to help him along too. Shakespeare might be a bit cliched, but his sonnets truly are surprisingly effective. And if you think he would like something more modern, there’s always Keats and Byron. He might even know Byron from Parliament.”

“I offered to pay him to court me,” Lucy blurted.

Isabella’s eyes widened, and she halted speaking. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the next room seemed suddenly far stronger, as did the rustling of leaves outside.

“Truly?” Isabella breathed, and the pink glow on her face drained. She looked suddenly more fragile, as if she might shatter.

Lucy nodded. “He’s doing it for Benedict. And he said it benefits him too, though he probably was just being a gentleman when he said that.”

Isabella bit her lip.

“That’s why he came to make certain that our social calendars were similar. It wasn’t so that he could have the pleasure of my company. It was to make certain other people saw us together and...assumed.”

“Like I did?”

Lucy nodded miserably.

“How did you plan that?” Isabella asked.

“I crawled through his library window and asked him.”

Isabella’s eyes widened further. “You didn’t.”

Lucy nodded, then giggled. “I did! You should have seen his face.”

Isabella laughed, but then her face sobered. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Lucy avoided Isabella’s gaze. She wasn’t used to seeing her sister’s eyes be so filled with concern. “I did what I had to do. You’re right. It’s not fair that you can’t be with Benedict unless I’m being courted. Harrison agrees.”

“Harrison?” Isabella raised an eyebrow.

Lucy’s cheeks warmed. “We’ve grown closer.” She jerked her head toward Isabella. “But that doesn’t mean he’s anything besides my faux suitor.”

“You mean you don’t love him?” Isabella asked.

Love. 

How odd that a word that contained only a single syllable should feel so heavy and unutterable.

Lucy drew back. Did she love him? For an odd moment, her heart quaked. But then she remembered she couldn’t possibly love him.

“It’s a business arrangement,” Lucy explained. She straightened her torso. Perhaps, when she was sitting more upright, her heart would no longer quiver oddly. “Papa has many business arrangements. All completely impersonal.”

“He doesn’t have any business arrangements like you have.”

“Well.” Lucy shrugged and smoothed her dress. “The situation is different. Everything is pretend.”

“I saw you exit the balcony with him last night,” Isabella said, and her brow remained furrowed.

The room suddenly heated. For a moment, Lucy imagined being back at the ball, back on the balcony, back in the duke’s sturdy arms. Heavens, she’d been able to feel every contour of his muscular chest. Her lashes swooped downward, and everything was dark, save the memory of the duke’s lips on hers.

“Lucy?”

Lucy’s eyes shot open. Isabella’s gaze remained on her.

“I wanted to avoid speaking with Lady Letitia.”

“No moonlight seduction?”

Lucy’s cheeks heated.

“Something did happen,” Isabella exclaimed.

“A few kisses,” Lucy admitted.

“He kissed you?” Isabella’s eyes widened. “And multiple times?”

Lucy gave an embarrassed nod.

“While I was attempting to make conversation with his dreadful mother, you were dancing in his arms and kissing him?”

Lucy grinned guiltily. “But it didn’t mean anything. It was just because Lady Letitia was suspicious. That’s all. So business!”

The last word was said at a higher pitch than normal. Lucy’s throat dried. Apparently, talking about Harrison made her forget where her vocal cords were. 

“I see.” Isabella nodded slowly. “That can’t be easy.”

“It’s fine.” Lucy forced a smile on her face. “Harrison and I are friends. What better thing is that?”

“If you’re certain...”

“Yes,” Lucy said quickly. “I am.” She hesitated. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from telling anyone. Not even Benedict.”

“Benedict is the duke’s best friend.”

“Then the duke can tell him if he cares to do so.”

“You’re right,” Isabella said reluctantly. “I’ll be discreet.”

Lucy nodded, and her shoulders eased. “I don’t want to worry you. I just—”

“Don’t want me to imagine a baby Harrison tottering around?”

“Precisely,” Lucy said.

“Then I won’t do that.” Isabella squeezed her hands. “And thank you.”

Lucy nodded. “Let’s speak of something else.”

“Very well.” Isabella changed the conversation to some musings over the latest Parisian fashion and her overall sadness that designers no longer desired to drape their customers in fabric so they resembled goddesses.

Lucy made the appropriate expressions of sorrow, but her mind was preoccupied. Lately, Harrison was the only thing on her mind.

It would be difficult when the season ended, and she no longer saw him.

*

HARRISON MARCHED FROMthe townhouse, fueled by milky Darjeeling tea and scones. He turned abruptly, then strode up the short flight of steps to Lucy’s townhouse. In the corner of his eye, a lace curtain flickered. The duchess had seen him.

Well, he didn’t care.

He wanted to see Lucy, even if the action was not condoned.

He knocked on the door and was ushered into Lucy’s family’s drawing room.

“Your Grace!” Mrs. Banks bounced up, and a smile played upon her lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Lucy shot him a startled look. No doubt she remembered that Harrison had agreed to call on her family once a week. Since he’d called on her yesterday and the day before, his presence was hardly essential.

For a moment, he worried he’d interrupted her. Perhaps she preferred tackling her knitting without his presence. But her lips spread slowly into a broad smile, and his heart clutched.

Heavens, she glowed.

How odd to think she’d been here so many months before, and he’d never even noticed her. Her skin had taken on a delightful peach blush that thankfully did not hide the adorable freckles scattered generously across her face.

Her eyes sparkled, and his gaze fell to her lips. He averted his eyes. He should never have looked at her lips. Now the only thing he could think about was how they might taste if he pressed his lips against her own.

He wanted to do just that very, very badly. He needed to taste them. It was a simple act of scientific curiosity, he told himself, absolutely nothing more. After all, he’d never kissed a redheaded woman.

“I wanted to invite you to my home in Cornwall,” Harrison said. “It’s fairly far away, but it is a wonderful summer destination.”

Mrs. Banks glanced at her husband. “What do you think?”

Harrison had invited other people to his house party, but somehow, it seemed particularly important that they accept.

“Thornridge Castle is near the ocean,” Harrison said. 

“Did you hear that, Mr. Banks!” Mrs. Banks exclaimed. “The duke has his own castle.”

Harrison gave a modest shrug. “It was built a long time ago.”

He didn’t want them to think he went about spending vast amounts of money on faux crenelated manor houses.

“And it’s historical,” Mrs. Banks squealed and clapped her hands.

“There are lots of corners in castles,” Mr. Banks said. “I hope you do not intend to take my daughter to one of them.”

“Papa!” Lucy exclaimed in an anguished tone, and her face reddened. “You mustn’t speak to the duke like that. He’s a perfect gentleman.”

Harrison nodded, because it was the proper thing to do, but he didn’t feel precisely like a gentleman now. Taking Lucy to a private place seemed like a most intriguing thing to do.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine stripping her of her clothes. He imagined kissing her skin. He shifted his legs hastily, conscious of Mr. Banks’ gaze.

“I think that would be wonderful,” Mrs. Banks declared. “We want to see as much of the country as possible.”

“There will be some other guests, of course,” Harrison said. “My friend Lord Brooke and some local gentry always come. The Duke and Duchess of Framingham are still in Sweden unfortunately, otherwise they would attend. They plan to arrive in London a few days after the house party begins. The Duke and Duchess of Sandridge will be present though.” 

“Ah. The chair falling fellow,” Mr. Banks said. “I’ve heard about him.”

“Er—yes.”

“Did you say that the house party is in two months?” Mr. Banks asked.

“Yes.” Harrison frowned. “I trust you won’t be returning to New York before then?”

“No, no.” Mr. Banks waved his hand, as if the idea were absurd and were to be brushed away. “But I know two months can be a long time for young people.”

Lucy stiffened, and her eyes no longer met his.

Harrison sighed. Did Mr. Banks mean to imply he found it difficult to imagine he would still be interested in his daughter in two months? Was he so incredulous Harrison might find Lucy utterly appealing?

Mr. Banks didn’t know about the plan Lucy and he had concocted, and the fact remained that Lucy was beautiful, caring and intelligent. He would be lucky to have someone like her in his life. It was absurd no one else had noticed that before.

“I assure you I will still very much want to have the pleasure of Lucy’s company—and yours, of course—in two months. I am not fickle.” His voice was sterner than he’d intended it to be, and he flushed.

Mr. Banks smiled pleasantly, though. “In that case, we would be most honored to join you.”

Harrison’s shoulders lowered. He hadn’t even realized they were tense. He glanced at Lucy, and his heart warmed. Somehow, his heart always warmed when he saw her, as if it were confusing her with a fireplace.

“Indeed.” Harrison shifted his legs, then rose. “Lucy, would you like to go for a carriage ride with me?”

Lucy’s sister gave a broad smile and nudged Lucy.

“I-I suppose so,” Lucy stammered, and Harrison beamed. Lately, he was also always beaming.

“Have a good time,” Isabella said.

Harrison extended his hand to Lucy, and she took it. Energy pulsated through him at her very touch, and his next step was less graceful.

For some reason, her parents were smiling. Evidently, elegance was not highly prized in New York. 

Harrison led Lucy to his carriage, thankful he’d decided to take it. He assisted her into it, spoke to the driver, then sat opposite her.

The carriage ride was short.

“We’re here,” Harrison announced as the carriage slowed. They needed to walk the rest of the way.