Page 27 of His Illegitimate Duchess

“D o my ears deceive me, Lady Elizabeth, or has Corporal Harding just reserved two dances with you? Oh my,” Violet exclaimed as she dramatically fanned herself.

She reminded Elizabeth so much of Isabella in that moment.

“Yes, a quadrille and a waltz. I hope your ball will be particularly auspicious for me,” Elizabeth replied conspiratorially behind her own fan.

“You deserve all the happiness in the world,” her kind hostess said. “He seems like a good man.”

“I hope he is. It’s difficult to recognise one when you’ve met so few of them,” Elizabeth said without thinking.

Before she could regret it, Lady Violet nodded.

“In a way, I know what you mean. I wanted a marriage different from my parents’, but not everything that was unlike it was necessarily good.”

“How did you make your choice?”

“I let my heart make it for me,” Violet smiled as her eyes sought out her husband in the crowd.

The Marquess was the tallest man in most rooms, so that made the task easier.

“What if your heart says nothing?”

“Then you wait until it does.”

Elizabeth didn’t feel like she had the luxury of taking the time to listen to her heart.

She was eager to meet her brother’s expectations, have a successful Season, get married, and start living under a new name.

Ever since she’d learned that her mother had secretly registered her in the parish under the name Elizabeth Hawkins , she detested it.

The name hadn’t been given freely by her father, and she wanted to be rid of it.

Elizabeth Harding, she mentally tried it on. Not bad. Same initials.

She wanted to laugh at her silliness. Initials were the last thing she was considering in her quest for a husband.

Kindness, integrity, honour – those were the qualities that appealed to her the most and the Corporal seemed to possess all of them.

Besides, since he wasn’t really part of the Ton, Elizabeth hoped that meant he’d be less likely to keep a mistress.

“Marchioness.” Duke Talbot interrupted her musings as he bowed to both women. “Miss Hawkins.”

“Duke Talbot,” Violet replied, “how good of you to grace us with your presence.”

Lizzie immediately noted that her voice was warm and sincere as she spoke to him, unlike both of her sisters’ had been in the past.

“I wouldn’t dream of missing a ball at the Radcliffe’s. What would my late father say!”

Violet turned to Elizabeth. “His Grace’s late father was a good friend of my husband’s late father.”

“They were the best of friends,” Talbot said sadly.

Elizabeth wanted to ask whether that meant that the Marquess and Duke Talbot had played together as children, but she thought better of it since the question seemed too personal.

Who are his friends? She wondered. She’d seen him around many people, but she didn’t know their level of intimacy.

“I hope you will both do me the honour of dancing with me?” he offered.

“I shall put you down for the last reel. As for Lady Elizabeth, I don’t know whether she has any dances left on her card; I'm afraid Corporal Harding might have claimed them all!” Violet teased, and Elizabeth, for some reason, didn’t like that Talbot was witnessing it.

“I have the second waltz available,” she said shyly.

“Very well then, I shall see you both later,” Talbot bowed and went off to wherever men disappeared to.

“Every time I see him, I think of his poor father.” Lady Violet sighed.

“What do you think they talk about?” Lizzie said absentmindedly, too absorbed by her own thoughts to register her words.

“Who, dear?”

“Men, when they go to libraries, or card rooms, or smoking rooms, wherever there are no women. What do you think they talk about?”

“Bah, who knows?” Violet shrugged like it was of no consequence.

Soon, Nicholas and Sophie joined them, and they all enjoyed a pleasant meal together before the dancing started.

Corporal Harding was looking particularly dashing in his dark navy coat, white shirt, and nankeen breeches. His blond hair, on the edge of being longer than was fashionable, was starting to curl at the ends, but Lizzie hoped he wouldn’t cut it anytime soon.

He most likely has no valet, or he would have cut it for him by now. Is he unable to afford one?

Elizabeth closed her eyes to shut out those thoughts and tried to focus on the feeling of her hand in his as they danced.

“How do you spend your days here in London?” she asked him, wanting more insight into who he was.

“In the mornings, I deal with affairs concerning my estate, then I make social calls, or go to my club. The rest of it you know – promenading, the Opera, balls,” he shrugged.

“It must be so different from your usual days at home,” Elizabeth remarked. “I think I can guess what you prefer.”

“It is difficult to enjoy everything the Season has to offer when one has as many obligations and decisions waiting back home as I do.” Oliver sighed, seeming weary for the first time since she’d met him.

She understood him very well. For him, every day spent in London most likely signified spending money he didn’t have in order to find a wife who did.

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of time,” Elizabeth said compassionately.

Oliver gave her a grateful smile. “You seem to understand that very well. What about you? What does the day of a lady look like?”

“Unfortunately, I’ve found the life of a lady difficult to adjust to in certain aspects. There is a lot of… fluff. ” She tried to wave the hand that he was holding, but he squeezed it with a smile.

“Fluff?”

“Yes, soft, feathery fabric that’s really airy and light,” she explained.

“I see. And you’re yearning for something like… coarse canvas?”

Elizabeth laughed softly.

“You’re clearly struggling to pick out the right kind of fabric, but yes. Something more substantial, more tangible, would be welcome. It’s what I’m used to. Or used to be used to.” She frowned.

“I went to a pugilist’s parlour the other day, what kind of fabric would that be?”

“Is that a place for prize-fighters?”

“A place for gentlemen who want to playact prize-fighting,” Oliver clarified. “Duke Talbot mentioned being a member in one when we were up in Winchester, so I decided to try it. It wasn’t too bad, I might go again.”

Elizabeth couldn’t imagine the Duke engaging in fisticuffs. Then she remembered his broad shoulders and the way his body felt when they danced, and she reconsidered.

“That sounds very interesting,” she said, wisely reigning those thoughts in. “Shall you have the opportunity to continue that activity back in Wexcombe?”

“Only if I start arranging fights with my tenants,” he said wryly.

Elizabeth grinned. “Better yet, with your creditors. Both parties would be extraordinarily motivated to inflict injury on each other.”

“Do not make the mistake of underestimating my tenants, Lady Elizabeth. They are very upset with me for being late with the repairs they desperately need,” he said sadly.

Elizabeth’s heart ached. She couldn’t imagine the feeling of being responsible for the well-being of so many. She knew how much he needed additional funds, and suddenly wondered why he hadn’t proposed matrimony to her yet.

He was obviously as sober about the process as she was, so hope for love wasn’t the motive for his hesitation. Perhaps he wasn’t sure of her acceptance yet.

Yes, that must be it, she decided, and resolved to express her interest in him more clearly.

“I am certain you will soon be able to complete all the repairs.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“I thought you were good at reading people.”

Oliver smiled at her, and she shyly averted her eyes. She felt she had made progress.

When the dance was over, he led her to the refreshments so she could enjoy her habitual lemonade.

“Why do you always do that?” he asked her while his right hand played with the flower arrangement on the table.

“Do what?”

“Smell the glass first before taking a sip.”

Elizabeth had no idea she had been doing that and was delighted that the Corporal had observed her so intently.

“I like the smell of lemons.”

Harding pulled out a rose from the bouquet and brought it to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

“What about roses?” He asked in a suddenly deeper voice as he lifted the flower to her face.

Lizzie’s lids fluttered shut as she inhaled the (too sweet) fragrance of the rose, but they flew open when she felt its velvety petals touching her lips.

Oliver’s eyes were dark as he stared at her mouth. She gasped slightly, and he quickly drew his hand back and blushed. Elizabeth looked around to see if anyone had observed the intimate moment, but it seemed no one had.

“I apologise, Lady Elizabeth, I-” he stuttered.

Elizabeth found it endearing. It told her he was no practised seducer, which she was happy about.

“It's time for our second dance,” she said with a smile and hoped he understood that she hadn’t minded it at all.

Before she knew it, the waltz had passed in a flurry of movement, smiles, and pleasant conversation. Before Harding handed her over to the Duke, the two men exchanged greetings and some pleasantries. Elizabeth was amused at their stiff and empty interaction.

“Do these consecutive dances mean we will soon hear the banns being read for you two?” Talbot asked her in a friendly, teasing tone.

“Nothing’s been settled yet,” she answered with a smile that betrayed her. “I didn’t know you frequented a pugilist’s parlour!” she said accusingly, for some reason.

Talbot’s confusion was visible on his face, so she clarified, “The Corporal told me he visited a parlour you’d recommended.”

“Ah. Not any parlour, mind. Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon , run by bare-knuckle champion John Jackson,” Talbot said proudly.

“I just never imagined you having an interest that is so… undignified,” she mocked.

“I’m no sailor, but I’m still a man.”

“I thought you were a duke and not a man.”

He grinned.

“Wait, why a sailor?” She asked.

Talbot seemed shy all of a sudden.

“Your friend’s brother, whose letters you so faithfully read. The one you wanted to flee to, all the way to America, which was a very quixotic idea on your part. You probably consider him the epitome of manliness.”

“I don’t know what quixotic means, but yes, sailors are supposed to be very manly. They are also said to be very loud and rude.”

“Quixotic is something unrealistic, impractical, idealistic, such as your dreams of America,” Talbot explained without any hesitation. “And the brother?”

“I haven’t seen Thomas in ten years. I don’t know him from Adam at this point. And he wasn’t why I wanted to go to America.”

Talbot’s eyes were amused as she elaborated, and she grew aware of every shoulder and head movement she made when she spoke. She didn’t like it.

“Why did you want to go to America?” he asked.

“I wanted a new beginning,” she admitted. “I wanted to be able to change my circumstances through hard work, I wanted… more. ”

“It sounds like a nightmare,” he said lightly, and her chest shook with silent laughter.

“To you, it most likely does,” she conceded. “You and I, we’re the exact opposites. Your lineage and name are sources of pride for you. You like what they represent.”

Talbot said nothing for a while.

“What would I be the epitome of?” he asked, as aloof as ever, but his eyes betrayed that he was genuinely curious about her answer.

Elizabeth mentally went over all the things she knew about him.

“You’re the epitome of the Ton, ” she finally said, and he didn’t seem as happy as she’d thought he would be.

What would I be the epitome of? She wondered, but decided to stay away from that topic.

“Why don’t we talk about your banns being read?” She said instead.

Talbot gave her a cool glance, feigning ignorance.

“The Opera, flowers, dances – you and Miss Grey are almost leg-shackled,” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Your charming way of expressing yourself becomes more pronounced as one’s conversation with you progresses,” he said mockingly.

Elizabeth wanted to pinch his waist for being mean. So she did. Just a little, as much as her gloves allowed. He burst out laughing, incredulous. Heads were turning towards them, and Elizabeth’s annoyance quickly drained from her body.

He whispered, wide-eyed, “Did you just pinch me?”

“Your Grace,” it was Elizabeth’s turn to feign ignorance, “whatever do you mean?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“To decipher your so cleverly posed question,” he said pointedly. “You’re wondering about my feelings for Lady Helena?”

“No,” it was Lizzie’s turn to look at him arrogantly, “I’m not wondering about your feelings , I’m wondering about your potential matrimony.”

“Isn’t that the same thing in the female vocabulary?” he asked, then cleared his throat and, in a theatrical voice, recited, “ Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart, ’Tis woman’s whole existence . In her first passion, a woman loves her lover; in all the others, all she loves is love.”

“I can only speak for myself: no. Where are those verses from?”

“They are from a poem I’ve recently been reading. By Lord Byron. So, you don’t care for love?” Talbot asked.

“No, I don’t care for it.”

He nodded with something like approval.

“What other hidden interests do you have?” Elizabeth asked. “Aside from boxing?”

Talbot most likely knew she was running away from the subject, but he let her.

“I like to hunt. I like racing my thoroughbreds. I like to read.”

“What kinds of books do you read?”

“First, you tell me what the last book you’ve read was?”

“Depends who’s asking. If it’s Aunt Isolde, then A Father’s Legacy to His Daughter. ”

Talbot grinned. “And if it’s me asking?”

“Then Oakwood Hall ,” Elizabeth whispered near his ear, and his hand on her waist twitched.

She then reluctantly added, “ Evelina.”

“Not Camilla or Cecilia? ” he teased, and his amused smile told her he could guess why she liked Evelina, who was an unacknowledged daughter like herself.

Elizabeth looked away from his knowing gaze.

“So you like novels?” he asked after a while.

Elizabeth nodded eagerly.

“Then I must send you some of my favourite books!”

“Oh, please do!”

They were both smiling at each other before Talbot said, “That way, you shall have the opportunity to read some good books for once.”

She really wanted to pinch him again.