Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe

CHAPTER EIGHT

“The Duke of Sturbridgeis here.” The butler’s voice boomed through the townhouse, and Mama straightened immediately. A wide smile dashed across her face.

“Heavens. He must be here to see Mr. Banks. Do send Mr. Banks in immediately.” Mama fluffed her hair. “How very kind of the duke to drop by.”

“Yes.” Lucy’s heartbeat pattered. The duke was here. She hadn’t dreamed last night: he had agreed to her plan.

“I know his mother’s house is next door, but it is such a kind gesture to check on us.”

“Indeed.” Lucy attempted to smile, but nervousness thrummed through her. She smoothed her dress hastily.

“Oh dear, we’ve quite forgotten to set out any sweets,” Mama said mournfully. “What will the duke think of us? The English already think we’re cannibals.”

“I’m certain that’s not a common belief.”

“We could be cannibals for all the duke knows. He hasn’t been to New York. He would have mentioned if he’d been.”

Footsteps clinked across the marble floor. Footsteps that made her heartbeat quicken.

“The sweets!” Mama dashed to the bell pull and yanked it firmly. The bell pull dropped into her hands, and she stared at the fabric. “That was not supposed to happen.” 

“His Grace, the Duke of Sturbridge,” the butler announced.

Mama’s face paled, and she tightened her grip around the broken bell pull.

“Ladies.” The duke swept into a deep, elegant bow. He tilted his head. “You’re sewing something quite interesting, Mrs. Banks. Is it a belt?”

“Me, sew a belt out of this fabric?” Mama shook her head hastily, and her carefully coiled locks appeared rather less carefully coiled. “Though that is quite an idea.”

“I’m certain it would make a nice belt,” Sturbridge said.

Heavens, the man was gallant.

Mama gave the duke a shocked smile, then giggled. “No, this is our bell pull. It toppled off. Dreadfully embarrassing.”

“Let me assist you.” The duke marched to Mama and examined the bell pull. “We can reattach this.” He gazed at the ceiling, where part of the bell pull still dangled. “Though perhaps a chair is necessary.”

Sturbridge headed to a small table where Lucy sometimes wrote letters and picked up a chair. 

“No chairs,” Mama said hastily. “I heard what happened to the Duke of Sandridge. He was on a chair fixing something, and it broke.”

Sturbridge put the chair down. “Oh, yes.”

“I would not want you to fall on your bottom,” Mama continued. “It’s probably a very nice bottom already. Not that we should be discussing a duke’s bottom, of course. I hope you don’t think we go about discussing bottoms in general.”

“Mama!” Lucy exclaimed.

Papa strode into the room. “What’s all this?” 

“We’re discussing whether the duke should stand on the chair,” Mama said. “I wouldn’t want him to collapse onto the floor.”

Papa blinked, then nodded, evidently finding no flaw in Mama’s desires. “Ah. Quite sensible of you.” He hesitated. “Is there a reason why we think he would fall?”

“No, absolutely no reason at all. My friend Sebastian might be clumsy with chairs, but I do not share his difficulties.” Sturbridge grabbed the chair, marched toward the bell pull, and set the chair underneath it. He took the broken bell pull from Mama and held it up. “I could tie it, but some sewing would make it last longer.” He looked around. “Miss Lucy Banks, do you have a needle and thread?”

“Oh, she’s always sewing something. Hats, scarves, she’s quite a talented daughter,” Mama chattered. “My daughter Isabella is also quite talented. All my daughters are talented.”

Lucy rushed over with her sewing utensils.

“Thank you.” Sturbridge took her sewing box from her and fiddled with it.

Lucy’s eyes widened. Surely the duke did not mean to sew the broken bell pull himself?

Sturbridge expertly threaded the needle without the eye scrunching and brow furrowing Lucy would have anticipated, and in the next moment, he was sewing the broken bell pull back together.

“My!” Mama put her hand to her heart and craned her neck upward. “You’re quite good.”

“Mm-hmm.” The duke moved slowly but methodically, and a smile played on his lips, as if he found the task enjoyable. He seemed unstrained by the awkward position his hands were in.

In fact, Lucy was grateful he fixed the bell pull. It would have been a struggle for anyone else.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve sewn,” Mama said.

The duke’s face sobered, and Lucy wondered what he was thinking. Then he smiled again. “We dukes have multiple talents.” 

“Yes,” Mama said. “That’s becoming quite clear. Most admirable. Most, most admirable, though quite distressing that it broke. I’m utterly mortified.”

The duke jumped elegantly from the chair and carried it back to the table. “It was a pleasure.”

Papa stood before the bell pull, then yanked it tentatively. The bell pull did not topple into his hand, and he craned his neck, examining the duke’s stitches. Finally, he grinned. “You did an excellent job.”

“That was my intention,” the duke said.

The housekeeper rushed into the room, evidently having heard the bell pull.

“Oh Mrs. Dowdling, I am sorry,” Mama said, “but we must have sweets. The Duke of Sturbridge is here.”

“Do you care for tea as well?” Mrs. Dowdling asked.

Mama nodded her head violently. “Yes, tea would be wonderful.” She turned to the duke. “Unless you are a chocolate or coffee drinker? We have multiple options.”

“Tea would be wonderful,” the duke said, and Mrs. Dowdling scampered from the room.

Mama gestured to an armchair. “Do take a seat, Your Grace.”

Papa sat on the sofa beside Mama. He plopped his shoes on the peach-tufted ottoman and put his arms casually behind his head. “It is nice to see you again.”

Mama scowled at Papa’s feet, then rose. “This is a gentlemen’s conversation.”

“Actually, I came to see Lucy.” The duke fixed his gaze on Lucy.

Even though Lucy knew this was a faux courtship, even though she was absolutely certain of the fact, her heart leaped. No doubt, the duke could add acting to his many varied skills.

“You came to see Lucy?” Mama’s voice had never sounded so startled.

The duke winked at Lucy. “Indeed.”

“Heavens.” Mama turned to Papa. “This is the first time Lucy has had a gentleman caller. We must be certain to celebrate.”

“Mrs. Dowdling’s already bringing sweets up,” Papa reminded her.

“Sweets?” Mama shook her head in disgust. “Cook must make a cake.”

Lucy’s face reddened. Had Mama just told the duke she’d never ever had a gentlemen caller in her life?

The duke grinned, evidently finding the entire situation amusing.

Lucy’s skin heated as if Mama had thrown her into the fireplace, and she sank into the sofa. If it had any power to swallow her up, now was definitely the time for it to show its magical prowess.

“Your Grace.” Mama clapped her hands. “Do tell me. What is your favorite flavor of cake? Cook is an expert at all of them.”

The duke rubbed his chin as if Mama had just asked him the best way to secure peace. “Something that can be made quickly.”

“Ah, yes. Quickly. Good thought. Lucy, this man is brilliant.”

“I am.” The duke gave a broad grin.

Lucy debated tossing a pillow at him. Smacking him would be appropriate.

Mama hurried away, evidently eager to confer with Cook.

Papa scrutinized the duke. “Why are you calling on Lucy? Don’t tell me this is a romantic thing. Should I get out my shotgun?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Sturbridge’s expression lacked its earlier confidence. 

“You should know I do have shotguns here,” Papa said.

“Noted.”

“I’m quite good at using them too.”

“I see.”

“Some people might not think that,” Papa explained. “After all, I live in New York City and am a banker.”

“Very appropriate for your name.”

“I found it inspirational myself.” Papa leaned back, and a pleased expression darted over his face, unencumbered by his wrinkles and sideburns. “But I can use a shotgun as good as any hungry farmer who sees a deer rushing through his fields.”

“It’s illegal to shoot deer here. They belong to the royals.”

“Then I would do it furtively.”

“I see.”

“I’m certain I could sneak up without anyone noticing.”

“That seems to be a family trait,” the duke remarked drily.

“Excuse me?” Papa asked.

The duke shook his head. “Nothing. Not important.”

“Well, I could slaughter the duke—I meant, the deer while the deer slept. Do you get my point?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Papa,” Lucy pleaded, “you mustn’t speak of such things. He’ll think you’re serious.”

“I am serious,” Papa said. “I’m a very serious man. Everyone says so.”

It was true. Everyone did say that Papa was serious, but he acted quite silly at home.

Mama soon arrived. “We’re going to have a strawberry tart.”

“Ah, excellent choice,” the duke said.

She settled on the couch. “Now, what have you been talking about when I’ve been gone?”

“I have been discussing your husband’s gift with weapons,” the duke said.

“Oh.” Mama giggled. “Well, it’s a good thing I left that conversation. That sounds most dull.”

“It wasn’t.”

Mama laughed. “You are so polite.”

“Now, tell me,” the duke said. “I was wondering what Lucy’s schedule was for this coming few months.”

Mama’s eyes goggled. “You were?”

“I wanted to make sure that you were attending all the best balls.”

“How very considerate.” Joy sprang over Mama’s face, and the duke’s lips curled.

Something made her heart ache, and for the first time, Lucy wasn’t certain she was doing the right thing.