Page 17 of A Duke Of Her Own
“You need not have missed us,” Lizzie said in her forthright manner. “Tobias and I invited you to live with us, and you refused!”
Francie sighed. “The scandal—”
“Hang the scandal! Have you forgotten that Tobias once tossed me over his shoulders and walked with me that way from a crowded ballroom? We are already infamous.”
Francie smiled and did not bother to protest that a scandal attached to a gentleman in comparison to one attached to a lady carried vastly different consequences.
“The Duke of Merrick!”
The announcement echoed through the ballroom, eliciting a buzz of excited whispers among the attendees. The men straightened their posture while the ladies fluttered their fans more vigorously, each speculating what could have brought the duke to this event.
“Why is everyone suddenly restless?” Francie asked.
“Hmm,” Lizzie said, elegantly unfurling her fan to hide a knowing smile. “Society’s most elusive and sought-after duke has decided to grace us with his presence, has he?”
“Why is he reclusive?” Francie inquired, her eyebrows arching with curiosity.
“The duke is a complicated man, it seems, or so the whispers say,” Lizzie explained, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “You’ve been in Derbyshire, so you would not be familiar with him. He’s an incredibly handsome man, the kind that has young ladies practically hurling their handkerchiefs at his feet in hopes he might retrieve them and grant them a dance. But he’s notoriously cold and aloof; the man rarely, if ever, dances at these events. So, one does have to wonder—what brings him here tonight?”
Just as Lizzie finished her sentence, a tangible ripple of gossip surged through the crowd. As much as she wanted to consider herself above such idle chatter, Francie couldn’t resist the temptation. She craned her neck subtly, trying to get a glimpse of the man who had stirred such excitement. And there he was, stepping into the room as if he owned it, capturing the attention of every eye yet seemingly indifferent to the collective gaze. His clothes were faultlessly tailored to his lean, graceful physique, and he cut quite a dashing figure in his black trousers, well-fitted matching jacket, and an exquisitely designed silver and blue waistcoat. Midnight black hair complimented his lean, strong features, and unfathomable silver eyes scanned the crowd.
“Oh my,” a lady Francie recognized as Lady Clara murmured admiringly, “He is quite handsome, isn’t he?
A wave of confusion swept over Francie, momentarily clouding her thoughts. It took several heartbeats for her to accept that Mr. Alexander Crawford, the man she’d given her body and love, was none other than the elusive Duke of Merrick. Emotions swirled within her—alarm and hurt being the most prominent, burning in her chest like hot coals.
Why would he hide his identity?
Before she could spiral further into her thoughts, she caught herself.
Have I not done the same? Have I not kept my own secrets?
Yes, she had withheld parts of herself from him for reasons she considered valid. Could she then blame him for doing the same? Perhaps Alexander had his reasons, just as she had hers. And yet, despite this rational line of thought, a lingering sense of hurt refused to dissipate entirely.
Francie realized everything she thought she knew about Mr. Crawford—or should she say, the Duke of Merrick—had irrevocably changed in just a few moments. The ground beneath her seemed to shift, throwing into question everything Francie thought she understood about Alexander.
I know you, she had said to him. But did she really?
A duke lived in grand townhouses and country estates with grand halls, gilded mirrors, elaborate tapestries, and a battalion of servants ready to cater to every whim. His cottage appeared like a humble dwelling, the interior adorned with simple yet elegant rustic furniture and rugs. It was cozy and inviting but startlingly simple for a duke.
Even there in the country, in her modest cottage, she maintained a staff—a cook, a housemaid, and a footman. The duke and his loyal companion, Samson, appeared to manage everything themselves.
He even cooked and baked for me.
Her heart pounded so hard she felt faint. Francie knew firsthand that nobility carried its share of responsibilities. Estates had to be managed, tithes collected, and workers paid. Then there was the matter of politics—the never-ending game of alliances, rivalries, and appearances that needed to be maintained. As a member of the House of Lords, the duke would be involved in legislative affairs, drafting and voting on various bills and motions. The demands on his time should have been unyielding.
So how could he afford to sequester himself away in a secluded corner of Derbyshire, far removed from the hustle and bustle of London?
And he cooked for me.
Francie simply could not recover from her astonishment. Perhaps it was Alexander’s capacity to live humbly, to distance himself from the distractions of high society, that made him seem so shockingly fascinating, more so than usual. She did not know this cold, arrogant gentleman Lizzie mentioned. Only the tender and passionate lover and friend. Suddenly Francie wanted to knoweverythingabout him. Sorrow clutched her throat, for she knew it would be impossible.
“You are shaking, Francie,” Lizzie said worriedly.
“I need to leave,” she said.
At that moment, her gaze collided with the duke, and Francie squeezed the champagne glass tightly.
“Good heavens, I will take this,” her sister-in-law muttered, prying the champagne glass from her hand.