Page 25 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“ D o you actually like the baron?” Beatrice asked, absently trailing a brush through her long, silky hair.

Valeria, who had been mustering the enthusiasm to change for bed, looked up from the nightdress she had been staring at for the past five minutes. “Hmm?”

“The baron. Do you like him?”

“He is… a very nice gentleman.”

Beatrice groaned, shuddering. “You are sublime, Valery! You should not settle for ‘very nice’. It makes my skin all… prickly, just hearing you say that.” She clicked her tongue. “I knew you were not keen on him. I said as much to Amelia, but she told me to stay out of it.”

“Amelia scolded you?” Valeria found that rather hard to believe.

“Well, no, she was ‘very nice’ about it, but I heard the real meaning in her words,” Beatrice replied. “Do you at least like the viscount?”

Prodding the dip of her temple, Valeria continued to stare at the nightdress. It was far easier than coming up with a reply that would satisfy Beatrice’s insatiable curiosity.

“My goodness, Valery, if you do not like either of them, then why are you entertaining their pursuit?” Beatrice gasped, apparently needing no reply at all to know exactly what Valeria was thinking.

“Because I am out of time and choices,” Valeria murmured, too tired and disheartened to keep skirting around the truth. “There are… difficulties with Skeffington House, and if I do not marry by the Season’s end, then… we shall probably lose it.”

Beatrice jumped up from the cushioned chair by the vanity. “What?”

“You must not breathe a word of it to your mother,” Valeria urged, realizing her mistake too late. “Your father lent my papa some money to rescue the manor, but it was not enough. He cannot ask for more, and your mother does not know of any of this, so you must not say anything.”

The younger woman paled, her mouth parting in a horrified ‘o’. Her hand flew to her chest, her kindly eyes brimming with sudden tears. “And that is why you must marry now? Your life, your happiness, is the cost of saving Skeffington?”

“It is my duty and my privilege,” Valeria replied, her voice sticking in her throat. “I would do anything to save Skeffington, and I mean that with all my heart. As long as I have that home to visit, and everything is as it has always been, I shall be content.”

Beatrice shook her head. “But… how can this be? Where is your father’s fortune?”

“All but gone.” Valeria smiled sadly. “He is… the gentlest, most generous soul. When friends asked for loans, he gave them without question, and so, naturally, they asked for more and more. When friends asked if he would invest in speculations and endeavors to help them, he did so, having such faith in those friends. Now, those ‘friends’ have either vanished or pretend they do not know him. He has received nothing back, through all these years, and everything keeping us afloat has dwindled. Without me and a fortuitous marriage, we will be destitute.”

“But Mother would take you in,” Beatrice insisted, her voice wavering. “You could live with us.”

Valeria nodded, grateful that her cousin knew at last. “I know, but it would break my papa. He would never be the same if he lost that house, where he lived with her —the love of his life. It would be like losing her twice.”

“I am sorry, Valery.” Beatrice rushed forward, throwing her arms around her cousin. “I had no idea.”

Valeria held her back. “There was no reason for you to know, but… I need you to understand why I must do this, whether I like the gentlemen or not. That is of no importance. Papa and Skeffington— they are what matter.” She coughed a throaty laugh. “In truth, I did not want you to question me anymore. So, now you know.”

“Dearest cousin, do not hate me,” Beatrice murmured, pulling back, “but… I think it does still matter. What if you come to resent Skeffington House for what it has cost you? What if you never wish to visit, because it only reminds you of happier times? What if you are miserable, and your sacrifice does not feel worth it anymore? Heavens, what if you end up bitter with your father because his choices led to your unhappiness?”

For a moment, Valeria stared blankly at her cousin, unable to comprehend what she was saying. Not once throughout the financial struggles, and the eventual realization that her marriage was the only solution, had she ever considered such things. Even now, she could not fathom a world where she would think ill of her father or Skeffington House.

But what if…? The question nipped at her brain like a barb, sinking deeper with each repetition.

After all, she had not yet had to think of such an existence, not in any meaningful way. She was still living at Skeffington with her father, oblivious to what marriage would be like, to what living in another residence would be like, adapting to the routines and preferences of a relative stranger.

“Maybe it is not my place, but… I needed to say it,” Beatrice mumbled sheepishly. “It does matter. You matter. And I want you to be happy. So, if there is any possible way, maybe you could marry a ferociously wealthy man that will make you happy too?”

Duncan’s dark blue eyes shimmered in Valeria’s mind, though the memory of his vibrant smile did very little to chase off the shadows of her worries. She pictured his arms around her, holding her tightly as if he could protect her from anything, but it left her feeling utterly exposed.

I cannot think of anyone but him, who could do both…

Yet, he had made his position clear when he had not kissed her. He was seeking a bride, a duchess, and he did not want it to be her.

Whatever the feelings were inside her that she could not suppress, they were undeniably one-sided. Maybe, he liked her company. Maybe, he had enjoyed their time together as much as she had, but it ended there.

Indeed, it was probably the most honorable thing he had done, putting a stop to their meetings before something happened that would turn her blooming affection into something stronger, that would only lead to a shattered heart later.

The crack he had inflicted was, at least, bearable.

“ Is there such a man?” Beatrice pressed, with such hope in her voice that it brought tears to Valeria’s eyes.

“No, Bea, I do not think there is,” she replied thickly. “Not for me, anyway.”

Making a hasty excuse that she needed some fresh air, while instructing Beatrice to get some rest, Valeria hurried out of the guest bedchamber as fast as she could. But she could never be faster than the future that awaited her with increasing imminence, the prospect of it chasing her down the stairs and all the way out into the cool, cloudless night.

Quite by accident, Valeria found herself wandering the faint, overgrown path that she had once followed. The world was silent, save for the occasional hoot of an owl and the soft whisper of the trees, and though the manor was filled to the brim with guests, she felt as if she was the only person in existence. A comforting feeling, albeit temporary.

Finding the beautiful meadow that she remembered passing, she paused at the fence and leaned against it, folding her arms across the top slat, her chin dropping onto her forearms. With the moonlight casting an otherworldly glow upon the Thornhill grounds, she admired the swaying heads of pretty wildflowers, like dancers whirling in a vast ball, waltzing around and around.

Will the Duchess of Thornhill stand here one day, gazing at this meadow? Is she someone who knows this path already? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing such thoughts to leave her alone before they ruined her peace and quiet.

“Valeria? Is that you?”

Her eyes snapped open, her heart jumping into her throat. She whirled around to find that she was not so alone after all, a figure standing a few paces away on the same echo of a path. The very last person she wished to see.

“If I had not seen you in daylight, I might suspect you to be a vampire, for you always seem to creep out at night,” she remarked, returning her stubborn attention to the wildflowers.

Duncan approached. “I was just about to say, we really ought to stop meeting like this, under the cover of night.”

“You already did say that,” she reminded him gruffly. “Unless I misunderstood the meaning of our last parting?”

He did not respond, coming to stand at her side. A notable gap remained between them, deliberately placed. Duncan was keeping his distance now; she had received the message loud and clear.

“You could not sleep?” he asked, after a moment.

She shook her head. “Too much champagne.”

“You barely had a glass,” he said, the softness of his voice snagging at her heart.

She refused to look at him, her eyes blurring in her determination to keep her focus on the meadow. “You must have been watching me closely if you know that.”

“There does not need to be animosity between us, Valeria.” He sighed heavily, mirroring her crossed arms and resting chin. “I know I said that my debt to you was paid, and you said I owed you nothing, but I still want to help you, however I can. You have become…”

Her heart stopped altogether, her breath trapped somewhere between her lungs and her mouth, while a sudden warmth beetled upward from her chest to her cheeks. I have become what, Duncan? What am I to you?

She wished she had some manner of emotional tamping rod to shove down the traitorous hope that tried to rise with the feverish warmth. He was only going to disappoint her; she could sense it in the air, crackling like a storm was rolling in. Yet, for all of her attempts to tamp down her hope, it had transformed into black powder, ready to ignite against all the warnings.

“You have become a responsibility,” he said, unleashing the first bolt of disheartenment. “Goodness, that sounded cold. I apologize; I do not know how else to explain it. I feel I have a… duty to see your ambition fulfilled. Is that better, perhaps?”

Not in the slightest…

“You think my ambition is to be married?” she blurted out instead, her tone edged with bitterness.

He glanced over at her. “I am mistaken?”

“Even before my debut, my ambition was never marriage. I respect those who seek it with their whole heart, and dream of nothing but being wives and mothers, but… that has never been me.”

She had removed the stopper on a shaken bottle of pent-up resentment and frustration, and could not, for the life of her, jam it back in again. “To me, marriage was meant to be a complement to life, not life itself. It was not important to me.”

He continued to stare at her. “But that has changed…”

It was not a question.

“Actually—no, I do not think it has,” she replied fervently, shaking her head in dismay. “I think my opinion of it is exactly what it has always been. I daresay I do not want to marry at all. If I had any choice in the matter, I would not.”

“What would you do instead?” he asked quietly, as though he feared he might stopper the outpouring of honesty if he spoke too loud.

“I would spend my days taking care of my father, tending the gardens, reading my books, learning how to cook, becoming as much of a scholar as a lady is allowed to be, and then… in an ideal world, I would inherit, becoming a viscountess in my own right, and passing that along to a cousin when my time came.” She shrugged, the fantasy bittersweet. “I would not even need all of Skeffington, if I could just have a corner of it.”

The scent of lavender drifted across the meadow, greeting her senses in a relaxing wave. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, letting that exquisite aroma conjure a vision of the life she craved: a cottage in among the oak trees in the southernmost corner of Skeffington’s grounds, where a stream babbled, and apple trees weighed heavy with fruit in the summer.

She imagined a kitchen garden, perhaps a goat or a cow, a flock of hens, utterly content with a place to call her own, that required no husband or immense fortune to keep it.

“But… fate has decided otherwise,” she murmured, the vision shattering. “I do not want to marry, but I must. Society is always talking about the great weight that sons carry upon their shoulders, but no one ever considers the daughters. How, more often than one might think, it falls on her shoulders to keep a household afloat. And… I am in a position where I am drowning and desperately trying to swim, all at once.”

All of a sudden, Duncan’s arms were around her, pulling her away from the fence and into a gentle embrace. It had none of the urgency of their drawing room dances, his movements slow as if he did not want to startle her, yet she was still breathless as she peered up at him, confused by the gesture.

He smiled at her and cradled the back of her neck, holding her tighter until her body gave in, relaxing into his embrace. She had not known just how much she needed someone to hold her until that moment, nor how the strength of him could make her feel so safe, when he was a danger to her scheme.

For a moment, it was as if she could block out the future and the rest of the world if she just stayed there, within the tight circle of his muscular arms, her head against his sturdy chest.

“What are you asking, Valery?” he asked in a breathy whisper, using the name she reserved solely for those closest to her.

She pulled back slightly, frowning up at him. “I… am not asking anything.”

But she heard it as she spoke, the urgent plea beneath the torrent of anxiety and panic that she had just spilled out into the air between them. She was asking the thing she would never dare to say out loud, the question he had already answered when he had not kissed her.

You need a duchess, I need a husband, and… you keep popping into my head whenever I think of a man who could make me happy, while saving everything else that I hold dear…

Her throat closed, holding back a fresh tide of impassioned words. He had not offered, and she would not beg.

“Valery…” His head dipped, his fingertips skimming a lock of hair behind her ear. “I want to help you…”

He bent his head further, his lips a moment away from grazing hers. Her neck arched back slightly, eager to feel that sweet press, but as her eyes met his, she faltered. There was a strange gleam in his eyes—a shine of something like remorse. And as she noticed it, naming the emotion, feeling the sting of it in her chest, she realized that there was a ‘but’ missing from Duncan’s sentence.

I want to help you, but…

She put her hands on the broad muscle of his chest, taking a half step back, out of his arms.

He wants to help, but he is not willing to sacrifice that much for a woman who is not what he wants.

She read what went unsaid in those beautiful eyes, deep in the fathoms of that remorseful blue. And if she gave in and kissed him now, she would be ruined for anyone else.

“But you cannot,” she said quietly, lamenting the absence of his touch as his arms fell to his sides, letting go of her. “Do not worry, Duncan. I understand. As I hope you can understand why I must leave now.”

He bowed his head. “Not the party, surely?”

“No, not the party.” She forced a smile, refusing to crumble at his unspoken rejection. “After all, I still have a hunt to complete and a prize to win.”

He raised his gaze, that painful remorse like starlight in his eyes. “I will help you in your chase.”

“I should hope so,” she replied, aiming for humor, but falling flat. “Goodnight, Duncan.”

“Goodnight, Valery.”

Hearing that name from his lips burned a hole in her chest, tapping another crack through her sore, weary heart. And as she turned to leave, not rushing her exit this time, she knew that the next three days were going to be the hardest of her life.

Still, at least she had the tools to quieten her mind next time, when they dared to suggest that Duncan was the only man she could see herself marrying. If such a thought struck her again, she had only to think, I want to help you, but… and those thoughts would surely wither like cut roses, left in the blazing summer heat.