Her Best Friend, The Duke

‘I’ve always said the women of Europe are fools.’

He slipped his hand around her waist, maintaining exactly the correct distance from her slender body. She looked elegant tonight in a light blue gown made of silk, embroidered with silver flowers and with a dark blue sash around her waist. As usual her blonde hair was swept back, revealing the delicate skin of her neck. She was tall and slim, but not in the gangly way some tall women seemed to be. Her height suited her and she glided gracefully around the ballroom as if she were floating a few inches from the ground.

‘No one saw you in the garden?’ Caroline’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

‘I was as stealthy as a mouse.’

‘Mice aren’t very stealthy. We had a bit of an infestation one summer when I was seven or eight at Rosling Manor and they were surprisingly bold and quite loud for their little size. I even saw one climbing the curtains and doing a rather impressive jump from one curtain pole to the next.’

‘Acrobatic mice?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I’m not sure I believe you. Surely they would have been collected and placed into a tiny mouse circus if they were that impressive.’

She rolled her eyes at him as he swept her into a turn and he found himself grinning. England had lost some of its appeal these last few years and he found himself spending more and more time abroad, but one thing he did miss whenever he went away was Caroline. He didn’t have any close family and almost everyone else was dazzled by his title and wealth. They were polite, sometimes gratingly so, but it meant meaningful connections were hard to make.

Caroline treated him as though he were an unruly friend or a brother, with healthy doses of sarcasm, and never seemed to feel the need to agree with him just because he was a duke.

‘What do you deem stealthy, then?’

She chewed on her bottom lip as she always did when she was thinking. ‘A lioness.’

‘A lioness rather than a lion?’

‘The females do all the work to bring in the food,’ she said with a certainty that told him it was something she’d read about extensively in the huge library at Rosling Manor.

‘Do they now?’

‘I’d have thought with your years of education you would at least know a little about the animal kingdom.’

‘It was a subject sadly lacking at Eton.’

He spun her again, exerting just a little extra pressure to bring her in closer as they changed direction. They must have danced together a hundred times, perhaps more, and he could anticipate her every step.

Suddenly Caroline’s body stiffened in his arms and he felt her miss a step. It was unusual—she was an excellent dancer—and he found himself turning slightly to see what had caused her to stumble.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Caroline said, her voice with too cheery a lilt to it. It sounded false and he turned again to try to catch what she was looking at. ‘Stop it,’ she whispered furiously.

‘Tell me what you’re looking at, then I can be more discreet.’

‘I’m not looking at anything.’

He made to turn again and saw her teeth clench together, the minuscule movement of her jaw giving away the inner tension.

‘Fine. Just stop it and dance normally.’

He obliged, sweeping her across the dance floor as he waited for her to speak.

‘It was Lord Mottringham,’ she said eventually, not meeting his eye.

‘Lord Mottringham?’ From what James could remember the man was well into his sixties and had been balding for quite some years. Not the sort of man who would normally make a young woman swoon.

‘Yes.’

‘Cara, you’re going to have to tell me more than that. Do you have a tendre for Lord Mottringham?’

She pulled a face, scrunching up her nose.

‘What then?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

‘Of course it does.’

‘Father said he has expressed interest in marrying me previously,’ Caroline said, not meeting his eye.

‘Then you’ll laugh off the idea, remind your father you’re twenty-four, not sixty, and forget about Lord Mottringham and his shiny pate.’

Glancing down, he saw her cheeks were flushing. Caroline did not blush, even when she’d fallen through the ice two winters ago skating on the Serpentine and had to be hauled out by three young men who got more than a passing glance at her undergarments. Or when an elderly acquaintance had assumed he and Caroline were married when they were out walking together and had congratulated them loudly and enthusiastically. Nothing made her blush, which made the pink hue of her cheeks all the more fascinating.

‘You’re blushing.’

She glared at him, missing her step again and stamping on his toe—this time most certainly on purpose.

‘Before I lose a limb will you just tell me what is going on?’

Caroline inhaled deeply, then looked up at him. ‘I’m going to get married.’

‘You said so on the terrace, but surely not to Mottringham?’ His voice was louder than it should be when he spoke, so Caroline shot him a warning glance and pressed him to continue dancing.

‘Yes. No. Maybe.’

He blinked. ‘You must know.’

‘If he offers. If anyone vaguely suitable offers. The person doesn’t much matter,’ she informed him.

‘Your husband doesn’t much matter?’

She shrugged. ‘I wish to get married. I doubt I will find someone who makes my heart flutter and my head swoon. As long as he is kind enough then, no, I don’t think his actual identity is all that important.’

James stopped, aware of the other couples spinning around them, but unable to take in everything she was saying. It was such a reversal of everything she’d ever expressed before.

‘You never wanted to marry. Now you’ll accept any old fool?’

‘I didn’t wish to marry. Now I do, that’s all there is to it.’

Insistently she tugged on his hand, trying to get him moving again.

‘Dance,’ she whispered, ‘Everyone is staring at us.’

He raised his arms again and took her back into the hold, letting his body remember the steps so his mind could try to piece together the shocking news Caroline had just delivered.

She’d always been insistent that she didn’t want to settle. Time and time again she’d told him of her friends’ miserable lives, saddled with husbands they could not stand and no freedom to make their own decisions. Of course there were exceptions. Lady Georgina, the friend who was like a sister to her, had found true love with her Australian and now lived in wedded bliss on the other side of the world, but it wasn’t love Caroline was thinking about. It was marriage. A loveless marriage, probably arranged by her father to a man she had only ever made polite conversation with.

It was one of the things that bound her and James together. Both of them were growing older, unattached when the world thought they should be married. It had always been for different reasons—in James’s case he’d always been holding out for love, that lightning strike of a moment his parents had always talked about. For Caroline it was a desire to maintain her freedom, her ability to have some control over her life. It might have been for different reasons, but as the years had passed and one after another all their friends had married, it’d been something they had shared.

The last notes of the waltz swelled, then faded and Caroline was quick to pull him from the dance floor before the couples could take their places for the next dance.

‘Close your mouth,’ she muttered as she led him to the edge of the ballroom. ‘I don’t know why you’re so shocked, it’s not as if I’ve just announced I’m running away to do missionary work in Africa.’

James rallied. She was right. In anyone else he would think it the most normal of suggestions.

‘Cara—’ he began, but was interrupted by a pretty young woman positioning herself in between him and Caroline. There was a momentary flash of irritation on Caroline’s face before she recovered her normal composure.

‘Miss Yaxley, you were saying earlier you wanted to introduce me to the Duke of Heydon,’ the debutante said with a flutter of her eyelashes.

‘So I did.’ Her voice was flat and from her body language James knew she didn’t much like this young woman. ‘Your Grace, this is Miss Preston. Miss Preston, it is my pleasure to introduce the Duke of Heydon.’

‘Delighted,’ James murmured, wishing the young women would move on so he could get back to questioning where Caroline had lost her senses.

‘Miss Yaxley is a dear friend,’ Miss Preston said, clutching hold of Caroline’s arm, ‘and she’s said on more than one occasion she wished we could meet.’

‘Mmm.’ Often in these situations he found it easiest to use as few words as possible.

‘I saw you dancing a moment ago. You dance very well, Your Grace.’

She stood there, looking at him expectantly. Of course she was angling for a dance and it would be supremely rude of him not to offer. Still, he considered staying quiet, not least because it looked as though Caroline could not stand the woman beside her.

In the end manners won out, ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Preston?’

A hand went to her chest in a move he would wager she’d practised in front of a mirror. ‘I’d be delighted, Your Grace. It would be an honour.’

‘Perhaps…’ He’d been about to suggest he pencil in his name on her dance card for one of the dances later in the evening just as the music for the next dance began.

Quickly she linked her arm through his and angled herself towards the dance floor. James shot a look back over his shoulder at Caroline, wanting to call out and tell her to wait for him so they could discuss her announcement further, but she was already disappearing into the crowds.

The dance passed in a blur, with Miss Preston doing her best to engage him on the mundane subjects of the weather and men’s fashion. He was glad of the quick pace of the dance and used every turn as an opportunity to search the ballroom for a sign of Caroline. With her height and the striking blue ballgown she should be easy to pick out, but despite his best efforts she had disappeared. At the end of the dance he bowed to Miss Preston, resisted her efforts to take a stroll in the gardens, and searched in earnest for Caroline. After ten minutes it was clear she’d left the ball and he retreated to the gentlemen’s sanctuary—the card room—to mull over the evening’s events while playing a few hands.

Chapter Three

‘Slow down, Bertie,’ Caroline called, laughing as the dog pulled harder on the lead in response to her pleas. He was pulling so hard she was almost running and, despite the overcast skies, there were still plenty of people in Hyde Park to see her unladylike conduct. She could imagine her mother’s face and almost hear the lecture about the proper way to walk when out in public. It would not include a fast trot.

Bertie had his nose to the ground and was following some invisible scent, pulling Caroline off her normal route and taking her deeper into the park. Not that she minded. Four hours she’d spent that morning at the dressmaker’s, being pushed and pulled and prodded as she was fitted for a wardrobe of new gowns.

She closed her eyes as she remembered her mother’s face when she had announced last night she had finally decided she wished to marry. Lady Yaxley had crumpled with joy, the tears falling without check. Seven years Caroline had been out in society but never before had she suggested she wished to truly start to look for a husband.

Her mother had embraced her, whispering into her ear that she would find Caroline a suitable husband before the year was out.

Caroline had smiled weakly, wondering if she already regretted her decision. This morning her mother had woken her at the crack of dawn, announcing Caroline would need a new wardrobe for the Season, something fitting for a woman looking to attract a husband. Then she’d bustled Caroline off for a whole morning at the dressmaker’s, overseeing as the seamstress brought out reel after reel of material.

Bertie barked, a sound of joy, and pulled even more, wrenching the lead out of Caroline’s hand. She stiffened on the spot for a moment, unable to believe the brown streak already a hundred feet away was her dog. Hitching her skirts up, she began to run after him, keeping her head bowed in the hope no one would see her on this most unladylike dash through the park.

She followed Bertie down the path and around a bend, past a dense copse of trees, having to follow the bark now he’d disappeared from view. With a curse under her breath she ran faster. Bertie loved to swim and the last thing she wanted was to reach the Serpentine to find him terrorising the ducks.

Caroline had her head bent low and the first thing she saw as she rounded another bend was an expensive pair of boots. Too late she tried to slow herself, instead hurtling into the solid body. She felt arms wrap around her, steadying her for just a second before setting her back on her feet.

Bertie was sitting on the path, wagging his tail in delight, looking as though he were the most well-behaved dog in the world.

‘I see you haven’t got very far with training Bertie this past year,’ James said, reaching down and stroking the bloodhound’s silky ears.

‘Father says he’s untrainable,’ Caroline said, looking into the dog’s deep brown eyes. ‘Either that or there’s a problem with his owner.’

James picked up Bertie’s lead, then offered her his arm. They hadn’t arranged to meet, not directly, but when James was home they often orchestrated a pleasing half an hour together strolling through Hyde Park around this time in the afternoon. After his reaction the night before Caroline had been tempted not to come, but the desire to see him again, to feel her body brush innocuously against his as they walked arm in arm, to hear his deep chuckle and listen to tales of his latest adventures through Europe had proved too much.

‘I thought you might not come. Not after you left so abruptly last night.’

‘I didn’t leave abruptly.’

‘If you’d moved any faster, you would have been running.’

‘You had the pretty Miss Preston to entertain you.’

‘Yes, she is pretty, isn’t she…’ James mused. ‘Shame about her rather terrible conversational skills. For some reason she seemed intent on twittering on about nothing but the weather and fashion.’

Caroline let a little giggle escape.

‘I’m guessing that was your handiwork?’

‘I might have dropped a few hints about your favourite conversational topics, but she is awful. I couldn’t help myself.’

Bertie was walking sedately for James, allowing the lead to go slack as he trotted contentedly alongside them, sniffing the path as he went, but not haring off after every scent as he would if Caroline was holding his lead.

‘Miss Preston was under the impression you were the closest of friends. She informed me a grand total of nine times how close you were.’

Caroline snorted. ‘Yesterday was the first time she’s ever spoken to me. I’ve received my fair share of disparaging remarks from her before, but she only struck up a conversation when she knew you were back in the country.’

‘So I’m to thank for your blossoming friendship.’

‘More like to blame.’

They walked a little way in silence, Caroline’s revelation the evening before hanging between them.

‘Have you a moment to sit with me, Cara?’ James motioned to a bench. He was the only person in the world who called her Cara. To most she was Miss Yaxley, and to those close to her Caroline—even her mother didn’t shorten her name—but James knew the truth. One day a few years ago she’d confided that she disliked Caroline and he’d spent half an hour suggesting alternatives until they had settled on one they both liked. So now he called her Cara. She was sure James knew the meaning behind the name—it meant beloved—but he couldn’t know how much she wished it were true, that she was his beloved.

She nodded, allowing him to lead her across the grass, perching on the cold stone of the bench.

‘Your announcement yesterday took me rather by surprise,’ he said quietly. His dark eyes were fixed on hers and Caroline found it hard to concentrate on his words. To the world their bent heads and relaxed manner would signify intimacy and inside that was what Caroline really yearned for.

Quickly she pushed away the fantasy, hastily looking up and focusing on a spot in the distance.

‘I think I may have reacted poorly. I wanted to apologise.’ He tapped her lightly on the hand, as ever oblivious to the effect of his touch.

‘There’s no need. I can see why you would be surprised.’

‘I do understand, Cara, I understand the desire to share your life with someone, the allure of waking up next to a warm body every morning, to have someone you can discuss affairs with over a leisurely breakfast.’

‘It’s not just that.’

He looked at her and nodded his understanding. ‘Children.’

‘Yes. Although I suppose I would be lying if I said that was everything I yearn for. I think it’s different for women. As a man if you are single you still live in your own house, follow your own rules. As a spinster I’m expected to stay in the care of my parents until they die and then I will probably be saddled with some elderly relative as a companion.’

‘I can see how that could feel oppressive, but you’ve always said you wouldn’t want to give up your freedom, not to a husband who will make all your decisions for you.’

‘Perhaps I just need to find the right man. Someone mild in manner and not overly interested in what I am doing.’

‘Someone who marries you just for your dowry?’

‘You make it sound so tawdry,’ Caroline said with a flash of heat in her voice. ‘That is what most marriages are, James. Hardly anyone marries for love. A few lucky people might find it unexpectedly along the way, but love matches are few and far between.’

‘I know. Of course I know that. Look at me, just the wrong side of forty and still holding out for something that occurs in one relationship in a thousand. Perhaps you have the right idea of it.’

‘You were tempted to settle once, too,’ Caroline reminded him gently.

‘Lady Georgina.’

‘She would have made you happy.’

‘I’m sure, but I would have always had that doubt. Wondering whether the next woman I met would be the one I fell completely and hopelessly in love with, miserable because I couldn’t do anything about it.’

Caroline had never met James’s parents, but knew they were the ones responsible for his completely absurd notions of love. His father had been a duke, his mother a governess, and they had fallen in love at first sight. From the way James told the story they had been perfect for one another, never arguing, always in complete harmony. Caroline suspected he was remembering with a child’s nostalgia, but she couldn’t deny their marriage had stayed strong despite society’s disapproval. All his life James had been waiting for the same thunderbolt of love to strike him.

‘It may be a moot point anyway, I have to find a suitable man willing to marry me. No one has offered yet.’ Caroline picked at the embroidery on the hem of her coat. This was one of the issues that had been eating away at her, this fear that she would declare herself finally ready to marry and no one would step forward and offer to take her.

‘Don’t be absurd, of course they will.’ He patted her hand again as if she was an elderly spinster aunt and quickly she withdrew it.

‘Seven years I’ve been out in society, James, and I’ve not had a single offer.’

‘Not one?’

‘Not one. Not even from a lecherous old man or a penniless fortune-hunter.’

‘Why ever not?’ He sounded genuinely astonished.

‘Perhaps I’m unmarriageable.’

‘I’m being serious, Cara. You’re intelligent, funny, can make conversation about more than just the weather, and you’ve got a decent dowry and good family connections. The gentlemen should be lining up to ask for your hand in marriage.’

‘I lack a certain vital ingredient,’ she said softly, noticing he hadn’t commented on her appearance.

‘What?’

‘Beauty.’

‘Nonsense. You’re a fine-looking woman, Cara.’

Fine was not beautiful.

‘Besides, beauty doesn’t come into it most of the time. As you said yourself, the majority of matches are business transactions.’

She sighed—she knew it was true. The most likely reason she’d not received a single proposal was because she’d so adamantly not wanted to be proposed to. Over the years she’d actively discouraged courtship from any man who’d shown an interest in her and no one had been interested enough to fight through that discouragement.

‘I don’t think I know how to encourage a gentleman’s suit,’ she said softly.

‘You don’t know how to flirt?’

She shook her head. ‘I think I did once, but years of trying to discourage gentlemen has left me unable to remember how to.’

Caroline thought back to the giddy couple of years after she’d made her debut. She and Georgina had revelled in the attention they’d received, enjoying the dancing and socialising at balls and always having full dance cards. Still, she had always been careful not to encourage anyone too much, to keep everyone at a distance until she had worked out what she wanted. Even from a young age Caroline had been wary of the marriages of the ton. Although her parents were happy, you only had to look around to see the number of couples who disliked each other, who avoided one another all evening or even lived most of their lives apart. It had never been what she wanted.

‘Go on,’ James urged, grinning. ‘Flirt with me.’

‘I most definitely will not.’

‘It’s the only way you’ll learn.’

‘I hardly think this will help.’

‘Won’t it? You said yourself you used to be able to—perhaps it is all about practice.’

Caroline felt her heart begin to pound in her chest at the idea of looking into the eyes of the man she loved and casually flirting with him.

‘No,’ she said, standing abruptly.

James caught her by the hand, holding on to it long enough for her to relent and sit back down. He looked at her earnestly, his rich brown eyes burning into hers.

‘I want you to be happy, Cara.’ He was still holding her hand and Caroline was finding it hard to concentrate as his fingers moved against hers. ‘And if this is what you think will make you happy, then I will do whatever I can to help.’

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘But I think you may have a point. For so long you’ve pushed eligible gentlemen away, instead choosing to dance with the husbands of friends or the men you know have their sights set on someone else. You’ve shied away from interacting with the men who might view you as a potential wife and as such you’ve forgotten how to talk to them, how to make them want to bring you flowers and write terrible poetry extolling your beauty.’

Quietly she pressed her lips together. She knew where this was leading and already she wanted to stop him. It would be far too heartbreaking.

‘Let me help you. I’ll introduce you to all my eligible friends, of course, dance with you at the balls, extol your virtues at dinner parties, but let me do more than that. Let me be your teacher.’

‘My teacher?’ Caroline repeated weakly.

‘Twenty years I’ve had women flirt with me—some are bold, some are timid, some are downright bizarre—but I’ve experienced a whole range of tactics and behaviour from women who would like to become my wife. I’m perfectly placed to know what works and what doesn’t.’

It made sense. Women threw themselves at James wherever he walked, fluttering their eyelashes or trying to engage him in deep conversations. Even so Caroline wasn’t sure her heart could withstand the man she loved tutoring her on how to catch the attention of another.

‘I’ll make it fun.’

Closing her eyes, Caroline nodded. It was a mistake, of course it was. It would mean weeks spent in James’s company, more than she had ever done before.