Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe

CHAPTER THREE

“Wake up!”

Lucy rubbed her eyes, then stared at a slender figure beside her bed. “Isabella?”

“Yes,” Isabella whispered impatiently. “Get up!”

Lucy scrambled up. Even though it was summer, and it was almost always light when Lucy awakened, today darkness shrouded the room. “Did something happen? Mama? Papa?”

“They’re fine. They’re sleeping.”

“Oh.” Lucy furrowed her brow and glanced at the cover. Snuggling back into bed seemed exceedingly tempting.

Isabella marched to the drapes and opened them. “You need to dress.”

Moonlight floated into the room, casting a magical glow over all the furniture.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Lucy said.

“No, it’s almost morning,” Isabella corrected. “The sun will rise in half an hour.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Then we will be out, enjoying it,” Isabella said.

Lucy stared at her younger sister. “You’re suggesting we leave the townhouse?”

Isabella nodded impatiently.

“But we can’t do that.”

They couldn’t leave the townhouse. Not alone. Not without Mama.

“Rose will join us,” Isabella said. “Besides, we’ll be chaperoning each other.”

“I see,” Lucy said uncertainly.

“And it will be light soon.”

“Where will we go?” Lucy asked.

Isabella gave a mysterious smile, and Lucy suddenly felt sorry for Mona Lisa’s sister.

Lucy sighed and rose. “I suppose I could dress.”

Isabella opened Lucy’s wardrobe. “You don’t wear enough pink.”

“Because I despise the color.”

Isabella flung Lucy’s only pink gown onto the bed. “Pink enhances your complexion.”

Personally, Lucy didn’t think making her face appear redder was a vital component for looking presentable. Still, she allowed Isabella to help her into the dress.

“Mama won’t like this,” Lucy said.

“After today, Mama will be ecstatic.”

“Indeed?”

Isabella’s smile faltered. “Though it’s not necessary to tell her straight away. Will you

join me?”

“Naturally.” Lucy hadn’t expected her perfect sister to rebel, but she wouldn’t protest, even if the whole thing was terribly unconventional.

“Thank you.” Isabella rang the bell pull, and Rose arrived shortly.

“You’re up!” Rose’s eyes were wide.

Isabella jutted out her chest. “I dressed her myself.”

Rose scrutinized the various buttons on Lucy’s dress. “Excellent, miss.”

“I helped,” Lucy said.

“Splendid,” Rose said uncertainly, perhaps wondering why she’d been called.

“Rose, we’re going to go outside,” Isabella said. “You are to accompany us.”

Rose bit her lower lip and twirled a dark ringlet of hair in a nervous manner. “You’re not normally awake at this time.”

“But we are today,” Isabella said. “It would be a shame to miss the early morning.”

“I should ask your mother.”

“And wake her?” Isabella scoffed. “I doubt she would appreciate that.”

“I—er—suppose not,” Rose said miserably. “You wouldn’t prefer to wait?”

“Naturally not.”

Lucy stared at her younger sister. When had Isabella gained such confidence? It wasn’t unwelcome, but confusion coursed through Lucy.

Soon Isabella, Rose, and Lucy strode through the townhouse and exited onto Grosvenor Square. It was so early, even the butler had not taken his customary position by the door, and they did not encounter any servants.

An icy breeze assailed them, and Lucy wrapped her arms underneath her cloak.

“Are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”

“She’s walking in the direction of Hyde Park,” Rose said.

Indeed, Isabella was marching west on Upper Brook Street. Unless they had a neighbor whom Isabella adamantly wanted to visit, they would be there soon.

The sun rose, and long pink and tangerine sunbeams played over the otherwise proper and staid houses.

Isabella spread her hands out triumphantly. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes,” Lucy said as they crossed the street to enter the park.

Hyde Park had seemed jarring amidst the rows of carefully designed townhouses, complete with elaborate facades. Sunlight danced amongst the soaring trees that lined the groomed paths, lending the park an ethereal aura. They might as well be hundreds of miles removed from London and its normal bustle. Huge, thick trees stretched out their lofty branches, adorned with chestnuts, at regular intervals. A fresh scent wafted about her, and for a moment, it didn’t matter they were sneaking into the park early in the morning. It only mattered they were here.

“We’re in a hurry.” Isabella lengthened her strides and jutted her chin in the confident manner prevalent in merchants assured of their good fortune.

Lucy scampered after her. “Are you meeting someone?”

“We’re visiting the Serpentine,” Isabella said.

“Indeed?” Lucy had visited the Serpentine before. Visiting it again hardly required such subterfuge.

“The men are at the Serpentine,” Isabella explained.

“You mean for us to watch the rowing?” Rose asked, and Lucy widened her eyes.

“Yes.” Isabella gave a serene smile, as if she had not just dragged them out to watch aristocratic men exercise.

*

IT WAS NOT RESPECTABLE.

Lucy was certain about that.

Watching men exercise must be one of the least respectable activities one could do.

Isabella unfolded a thin blanket and laid it on a grassy spot that overlooked the Serpentine.

Various dukes and earls, viscounts and barons, stripped off their tailcoats. They stretched, showcasing the muscular girth beneath their shirts. Some pushed themselves back and forth off the ground, emphasizing their forearms’ capability for strength, while others squatted. Lucy removed her gaze from rounded bottoms and broad shoulders.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Lucy said miserably.

“Nonsense,” Isabella said. “It is imperative you find a husband.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to watch strange men exercise.”

Isabella arched an eyebrow. “First of all, they’re not strange. They’re titled lords.”

“All?” Rose gasped and jerked her head toward them.

“They’re handsome, are they not?” Isabella asked.

Lucy chose not to answer that question.

The men piled into a long rowing boat, evidently eager to traverse the Serpentine.

“Besides, it is a fact universally acknowledged that men are lazy creatures.”

Rose stared at the boat as it moved over the Serpentine at a brisk clip. “They don’t appear lazy.”

“No.” Lucy followed her gaze, conscious of the synchronized movements of the men as they wielded oars in perfect unison. The boat moved rapidly.

“I wasn’t referring to their inclination for physical activity,” Isabella said. “Men are prone to marrying someone whom they see often. Familiarity makes the heart grow warmer.”

“I thought familiarity breeds contempt,” Lucy said. “And that distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

Isabella waved her hand dismissively. “Perhaps the saying is not of the utmost importance.”

“Is there a particular reason why I must find a husband?” Lucy’s voice wobbled despite her best efforts.

Isabella’s face sobered, and she took Lucy’s hands in her own. “Benedict proposed while we were dancing last night.”

Lucy straightened. “Indeed? You didn’t say anything!”

“You’ll be a viscountess.” A joyful smile leaped onto Rose’s round face, and she clapped her hands.

“Ideally.” Isabella’s lips remained drawn into a tight line.

“Our parents won’t let you marry,” Lucy said faintly.

Isabella nodded.

“But he’s a viscount!” Rose exclaimed. “And so charming.”

Isabella’s eyes appeared sorrowful, but she nodded. “He is.”

“Our parents will want me to marry first,” Lucy explained.

“Or at least be courting someone,” Isabella said.

Lucy bit her lip.

“You must find a suitor.” Isabella leaned toward her and an odd determination caused her chin to jut out. Her cerulean eyes were transformed to steel.

Lucy crossed her arms automatically.

Isabella’s eyes dropped to Lucy’s arms, and she shrugged. “Unless you want to doom us to a lifetime of remaining with our parents.”

Lucy shuddered. Permanent spinsterhood was an unwelcome thought. Being considered one now sufficed in dreadfulness.

“I’m not that old,” Lucy protested.

Isabella’s eyebrows lurched upward. “You’re twenty-three.”

Lucy grimaced. “You needn’t say that so loudly.”

Lucy had gone to a fancy finishing school in Boston, and she’d been marched before all the eligible men in New York. Unfortunately, those men had been wary of her. Or at least, she’d thought they’d been wary.

Papa’s millions were impressive on a ledger, but everyone knew Papa had once been poor. When everyone in New York’s upper crust longed to be viewed as the equals to London’s ton, that was scarcely forgivable. Mama had ushered Lucy to the continent in order to find an aristocrat appreciative of a sizeable dowry who might not know Papa’s unvarnished origins.

Perhaps if Isabella had attended the balls instead of Lucy, Isabella might have been whisked away by some New Yorker with no trouble at all. Perhaps Papa’s one-time poverty was not the problem. Perhaps the problem was simply Lucy. She was too brash, too open with her emotions, and not pretty enough to counter her disadvantages.

“I’m trying to help you,” Isabella reminded her.

Lucy’s stomach turned miserably. “I know.”

Everyone sought to help her. Her parents were even trying to help her. What other parents would move across the ocean to Grosvenor Square, the most fashionable and expensive square in all of Europe?

Lucy raked her hand through her hair. A strand fell, and Lucy attempted to tuck it back into her chignon. “It’s not easy.”

Isabella crossed her arms. “I managed to find someone.”

Lucy shifted her legs over the grass. “And that’s—er—wonderful.”

But Isabella was different from her. Isabella was elegant and alluring. Lucy had spent her life hearing other people exclaim about Isabella’s beauty, expressing relief Isabella did not share Lucy’s hair color.

No.Isabella’s triumph on the marriage mart couldn’t be replicated by Lucy. She knew that, even if Isabella didn’t understand. Isabella had always dazzled everyone. She didn’t know what life was like when one was not. Isabella hadn’t experienced disappointed sighs upon entering a room.

Isabella’s eyes brightened, perhaps imagining Lucy marrying, unaware she was contemplating the impossible.

“You know Mama and Papa want you to marry first. Having an unmarried older sister is embarrassing.”

“Isabella!” Lucy said in an outraged tone.

“Well, it is,” Isabella said staunchly, though her cheeks did pinken. Perhaps she regretted her frankness. “It’s the sort of thing that might make the viscount wonder.”

“Then he wouldn’t deserve you.” Lucy crossed her arms and returned her attention to the rapidly moving boat filled with appealing aristocrats. “Besides Lord Brooke won’t change his mind. He’s smitten.”

Isabella ignored Lucy. “I think any of those men might make a good husband. Look how good-natured they are.”

Lucy stared at the men.

They were cheerful and hardworking, clearly undaunted by the early hour.

“Everyone complains about matchmaking mamas,” Lucy said. “They should be talking about matchmaking sisters.”

Isabella’s pink lips formed a smug smile. “We’re a rarity. You’ll find someone, I’m certain. He’ll be as remarkable as the viscount.”

Lucy wished that were true. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Just be where they can see you and look exquisite,” Isabella said. “That always works for me.”

Lucy tried not to roll her eyes. Lucy required a better plan.