Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The carriage stoppedat the Port of London, and Fletcher and Harrison exited. People piled into small boats to take them to the ships docked further away, hauling valises and trunks. Rain drizzled over them, and their faces were determined, no doubt eager not to lose their grasp of their suddenly slippery holdings. The wind swirled more fiercely, as if already prepared to usher the ships away from London.

Thankfully, there was only a small queue in front of the ticket office, and Harrison soon spoke with the ticket master.

“I would like a return ticket to New York,” Harrison said.

The gray-haired man nodded. “There’s a ship leaving this afternoon.”

Harrison’s shoulders eased. “That would be perfect.”

The man eyed Harrison’s clothes. “Would a shared cabin suffice?”

His valet shot a horrified look at the ticket master. “Oh no, this is His Grace, the Duke of Sturbridge. He requires a cabin of his own.”

The ticket holder’s cheeks pinkened, but he nodded. “Very well. Nothing on this ship, as I said, but there is one at the end of this week, if that would do. We can give you a superb cabin then.”

A disgruntled expression came over Fletcher’s face, one Harrison had always thought reserved for when Harrison came back to the club with mud on his boots, and his valet lectured him on the importance of boot maintenance.

“The duke intends to go to New York today,” Fletcher said.

“Yes, I see.” The ticket holder bit his lip. “I am certain I can rearrange some things. Perhaps the captain does not require his captain’s suite.”

“It will be fine,” Harrison interrupted. “Absolutely fine. The important thing is that I get there as soon as possible.”

“Are you certain?” Fletcher shot him a quizzical glance. “These ships are already uncomfortable.”

The ticket master straightened his body. “I assure you this company works hard to provide a comforting environment for all our passengers.”

Fletcher rolled his eyes. “Well, it is still a ship made entirely of wood that sails over waves. I can’t think of anything quite as uncomfortable as that.”

The ticket master did not argue.

“I can share a room,” Harrison said. “It will truly be no problem at all.”

“Indeed?” Fletcher shot a worried look at him.

“I am certain I can survive.” If Harrison had been a few years older, he would have fought in the Napoleonic Wars. Certainly, a ship could be no comparison to the agony those people experienced.

“You may board,” the ticket master said.

“Are you certain, Your Grace?” his valet asked.

“Absolutely, Fletcher. In fact, I’m pleased there’s a ship leaving today.”

“How stoic of you, Your Grace.” Fletcher’s eyes sparkled in wonder. “How very admirable.” He turned to the ticket master. “Isn’t His Grace admirable?”

“Most,” the ticket master said cautiously, as if the wrong word might banish him to prison.

Fletcher nodded with a pleased expression, then his face paled. This time, he bit his lip. “Your Grace, do you require my services on your travel? I am, of course, always available for you.”

Harrison smiled. “You needn’t worry. You can make certain everything is prepared for my return to Cornwall. I would not want you exposed to the hazards of an Atlantic crossing.”

Relief flooded Fletcher’s face. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace. Thank you so very much.”

“You’re quite welcome.” If Harrison wasn’t happy, he was glad he could alleviate Fletcher’s worry.

A cloud formed over his valet’s face. “Who will choose clothes for you to wear every day?”

“I will manage.”

“But the buttons? The cuff links? The sewing?”

“I am aware of how to put on loose buttons,” Harrison said.

“Truly?”

Harrison nodded, deciding not to share his skills at sewing and long experience of self-dressing. “Perhaps I will not wear my cuff links for this trip if they prove too complex.”

“How very brave of you, Your Grace.”

Harrison purchased the ticket. He bade farewell to Fletcher, then headed up the gangway toward the ship. Murky green water tossed the ship back and forth, seagulls swarmed the area, swooping down with the sudden ferocity of cannonballs when they spotted potential food. Harrison forced himself to greet the sailor at the top of the gangway with a smile.

The sailor took his ticket and led him down a steep step of stairs. A musty smell pervaded the narrow dark passage, and Harrison’s nostrils flared involuntarily.

The sailor opened the door to a tiny room. Three men played cards. They shot a disappointed look at him, as if they’d hoped his bed would remain empty. Still, they nodded politely.

“Good afternoon.” Harrison placed his single trunk on the side.

“Quite fancy clothes you’re wearing,” one of them remarked.

“Some people take the importance of traveling seriously,” the other one said, dealing more cards. He turned to Harrison. “Would you like to play some whist?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” Harrison couldn’t imagine playing anything now, not when his heart ached. “I’ll just lie down.”

The other men turned from him, already uninterested in his presence.

Even though it was the middle of the day, and Harrison was not prone to taking naps, he was suddenly very, very tired. The sounds of the men playing cards and exclaiming over their luck and misfortune did not lessen his weariness.

Finally, the ship jerked, and the sounds of sailors shouting drifted through the floorboards. He followed the other men upstairs to watch the ship set sail. Some children clapped their hands in excitement, and even older passengers seemed impressed by the ship’s ability to glide along the Thames.

Boats and ships and barges thronged the Thames, and it seemed impossible to think the ship could ever possibly make its way all the way to New York. The ship inched slowly through the barrage of traffic.

Harrison lingered above the deck. London’s grimy buildings receded in size until the only thing he could see were large swathes of flat land unmarred by any mountains. What had Lucy made of the scenery when she’d sailed a few days before?

If only Lucy were here, so he might speak with her. He’d enjoyed every moment with her, even the ones he complained about.

Heavens, he missed her. He missed her so very much. No doubt, he always would.

*

HOME.

Lucy said the word in her mind and tried to conjure the requisite joy as the carriage rumbled over the cobblestones toward her parents’ Fifth Avenue house. She’d long since stopped crying, and her parents avoided the subject of Harrison, as if he had never existed.

When the familiar buildings swirled past and her family’s servants greeted them with enjoyment, Lucy’s smile was not forced. The house sparkled in its customary manner, and sunbeams gleamed over the polished wooden floorboards.

Lucy ascended the steps to her bedroom, and Lucy’s maid, Eliza, soon entered the room with Lucy’s bags. 

“Did you have a good time in London?” Eliza’s wide smile exceeded even that of her normal enthusiasm.

Lucy hesitated, then simply nodded. Eliza didn’t want to hear a negative story that involved her heart aching. Besides, most of it had been good. Except the end. That, certainly, had been dreadful.

“Oh, I am so envious of you. It must’ve been so wonderful.” Eliza chatted happily as she unpacked Lucy’s trunks, putting some clothes aside to take down to the kitchen to work on later. “How incredible you were there.”

“Yes.” Lucy smiled. She’d forgotten that that had been incredible.

“Was it every bit as wonderful as you thought? You must tell me everything.”

“It was wonderful,” Lucy agreed.

Eliza’s eyes shimmered. “Did you meet any lords?”

“There were a great many.”

Now, Eliza’s eyes both shimmered and widened. “Indeed? Earls?”

“Yes. And some viscounts, marquesses, and also some dukes.”

“Dukes.” Eliza sighed. She held her hand over her heart as she gazed at Lucy in wonder. She plopped onto Lucy’s bed before she hastily bounced up. “I’m sorry, miss. I don’t usually sit here.”

“You were taken aback.”

“Most certainly.” Eliza nodded hastily, and her white cap slid down with the force of her movement. She tucked it back into place. “How incredible. I must ask Rose all about your trip.”

“I’m sure she has some stories to tell.”

“Oh, I imagine. Did you go to any balls?”

“Yes.”

“Just like Cinderella. Oh my.” 

“There are balls in New York for me to go to.”

“Oh, but they can’t be the same. They can’t compare.” Eliza shook her head with a firmness she normally devoted to ascribing the unpleasantness of beholding a poorly creased dress.

Lucy strode to her bay window. The view might not be of Grosvenor Square, but it remained good. It was home, and that was enough.

In time she might even forget Harrison. Somehow, the thought did not seem reassuring. Still, she gazed out the window. Other buildings stared at her, and she reminded herself not to miss Grosvenor Square’s leafy trees.