Page 9 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 9

“ Y ou don’t like him, do you?”

Daphne glanced up at her sister, silhouetted against the window.

Do I like him? Do I like him? Well, of course not. He’s brusque and vexing and clearly thinks that I am vexatious.

She swallowed hard, trying her best not to remember the feel of his lips against hers, his fingertips sliding down the sensitive skin of her neck. She firmly forgot about the answering pull of desire low in her gut, the wanting that had crawled up from deep inside her.

“The Duke of Thornbridge? No, of course not,” she answered briskly. “Are you going to help me unpack?”

The afternoon was wearing on, and it would soon be time for the Duke’s seven o’clock sharp suppertime. Servants had been dispatched to fetch suitcases and boxes and had duly returned. Daphne was to stay in the same room she’d stayed in last night. She had assumed Emily would stay with her, but no. Emily had a different room. They were in Emily’s room at that moment, the boxes half unpacked, things strewn everywhere.

Conversation had crawled after the Duke left. Nobody seemed to have much to say.

Perhaps we’re all in shock .

Emily turned away from the window, sighing. “You don’t have to worry about unpacking my things, Daff. You should be… should be…”

“Should be what? Planning my wedding? No, thank you.”

Emily bit her lip, looking distraught. “Do you truly hate him, Daff?”

Daphne sighed. “I don’t hate him. He’s not ugly , and I don’t think he’s cruel. We’ve already agreed to leave each other alone.”

Emily blinked. “You talked to him about it?”

Daphne shrugged, perching on the edge of the bed. She picked up a strip of ribbon, rolling it over and over in her hands until it was a long, thin tube.

“He’ll leave me alone, and I will leave him alone. I’ve already met his son. He’s a sweet, little boy—you’ll like him.”

“You… You know who he is , don’t you?” Emily whispered, leaning forward. “The Duke of Thornbridge, that is.”

Daphne frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“He was married before. To Beatrice’s older sister, Jane.”

Daphne sucked in a breath, recalling seeing Beatrice curled up on the edge of Anna’s bed, sobbing her heart out, and Anna trying her best to soothe and console her.

“I remember it vaguely,” she admitted. “But we were young when she died. We didn’t know her, did we?”

“Not much. But there was a good deal of talk about her death, and the Duke.”

A cold shiver rolled down Daphne’s spine. “They don’t think that he?—”

“No, no,” Emily interrupted hastily. “Nothing that the Duke did. She died in childbirth, but there was talk about the Duke’s mother, who died in the same way.”

“Could be bad luck.”

“It could. Curses aren’t real, after all.”

Emily crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed beside her sister. For a long moment, they sat together in silence.

“This is my fault,” Emily said, at last. “If I’d just gone through with it?—”

“No, Emmie,” Daphne interrupted firmly. “I won’t have you blaming yourself. None of this is your fault. If anything, it’s mine, for riding off into the woods instead of doing the sensible thing and going home.” She paused, glancing sideways at her sister. “But I’m worried about you , Emily.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What’s going to happen to you now? With… with the Duke of Clapton. He hasn’t exposed you, has he?”

Emily got up abruptly, moving over to the window. “Don’t worry about that, Daff.”

“Oh, I will worry about it,” Daphne shot back, hurrying over to stand beside her. “Is he still going to force you to marry him? Emily!”

Emily sighed. “It’s all taken care of, Daphne.”

Daphne hadn’t been expecting that. She blinked, taken aback. “What, all sorted?”

Her sister shrugged. “I spoke with him. Properly, face to face. No more letters. It’s taken care of, and I don’t want you to worry anymore.”

Daphne stared at her sister for a long moment. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

She sighed. “There’s something you aren’t telling me, Emily. Out with it.”

Emily moved over to the bed again, leaving Daphne to trail behind. She began unpacking, carefully smoothing out and folding her things.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said, her gaze fixed on her clothes. “Later, when all of this is sorted out. When you are safe and happy.”

Daphne stared, baffled. Never, never had her sister kept a secret from her. They’d always shared everything, every scrap of gossip, every piece of information. Daphne had never considered hiding a thing from her sister.

Well, that’s not quite true, is it? said a snide voice at the back of her head. You didn’t tell her how the Duke of Thornbridge made you feel.

Daphne cleared her throat, realizing that Emily was not going to talk about it anymore. Could something terrible have happened between her and the Duke of Clapton?

No, if it was something terrible, Emily would have told her. Wouldn’t she?

“With two sisters as duchesses, you should be safe now, Emily,” Daphne heard herself saying. “I can have fencing lessons like I’ve always wanted, and if the Duke bothers you, I’ll challenge him to a duel.”

Emily chuckled. “Do you know, I believe you would? But please, Daff, don’t worry about me. Things were dealt with. I just wish… well, I just wish it could have been managed before all of this occurred. You are suffering because of me, and I can’t bear it.”

“I’m not suffering,” Daphne admitted. “The Duke will leave me alone, and I won’t be having any children, which is a relief.”

Emily shot her a sharp look. “So long as you’re happy, Daff.”

Daphne shrugged. “I’m quite all right, I promise.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and Daphne felt a stab of misery. When had she ever felt awkward around her twin before? What was happening?

“We should start to get ready,” Emily said quietly, after a moment. “It’ll be time for supper before we know it.”

Reluctantly, Edward opened up the proper dining room.

He’d always hated that room. It was huge, ugly, and always cold, no matter how high the fire burned. His father had insisted on the two of them taking their evening meal there every single day. The table was long and wide, and laden every day as if they were having a dinner party.

They never had dinner parties, of course. Edward would sit at one end of the table, and his father at the other, and the distance was such that no conversation was physically possible. They would have had to shout.

No doubt that was his father’s aim. When Edward got old enough to voice opinions of his own without fear of reprisal, he began taking his plate and glass down to his father’s end of the table and sitting beside him. The late Duke would always watch him approach impassively, saying nothing.

For a moment, Edward had believed that he had done it, that he was finally breaking through the walls the late Duke had put around himself.

At the next suppertime, he learned from the waiting staff that the late Duke had taken his meal in his study and intended to do that from now on.

Edward ate alone.

He had only set up the lower half of the table so that the seven of them could sit close together. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but he had a feeling that his bride-to-be would be the sort of person to pick up her plate and walk over to wherever she preferred to sit and set it down there.

There was no musty smell in the room, at least. Perhaps it would be better to eat here with others instead of his father, who would have only glared at him down the length of polished mahogany.

“You poor thing, Edward. How you must be suffering.”

He flinched. “Clarissa. I didn’t hear you coming.”

He turned to face his stepmother, who was smiling at him.

“I do tend to creep around,” she answered, chuckling. “Where shall I sit, then? I suppose you’re sitting at the head of the table.”

“Of course. Um, Clarissa? I hoped to talk to you.”

His stepmother glanced up at him, her eyebrow raised. “Oh? This sounds serious.”

He winced. “I… I was sharp with you earlier. In the breakfast room, when you were speaking to Miss Belmont.”

I told you to mind your place, he added silently, feeling a rush of guilt. I told you that you weren’t my mother. Unforgivable.

He dropped his gaze, swallowing hard. “Please forgive me, Clarissa. I spoke out of turn.”

“You cannot speak out of turn in your own house,” she replied.

“Of course I can. You didn’t deserve that, and I certainly shouldn’t have spoken to you that way in front of the others. I am sorry, Clarissa.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then broke into a wry smile.

“It’s quite all right, Edward. I could never hold a grudge against you.”

He gave a relieved smile. “I’m glad, truly. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

She nodded, gliding closer. “You know how much I always wanted a child. I always thought of you as mine, but I think perhaps I made a mess of being a mother. I tried, though. Please believe me, Edward, but I did try.”

“Raising children is hard,” he snorted. “Trust me, I’m a terrible father to Alex. Sometimes I worry that—” He broke off abruptly, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Clarissa bit her lip. “You can talk to me about anything, you know.”

He turned away. “I know. It sounds like they’re coming. Let’s hope this goes well, eh?”

It was clear that his guests were uncomfortable. He didn’t blame them. They didn’t know him, didn’t care to know him, and perhaps they still believed that he had somehow kidnapped their precious Miss Belmont.

Miss Belmont herself had changed into a simple burgundy dress, and her twin sister wore an identical gown in grey. There was something eerie about the pair of them. They looked so alike, standing side by side with blank faces.

But somehow, Daphne was prettier. He wasn’t entirely sure how that could be, considering they looked the same.

In a flash, Edward recalled how she’d looked up at him after he kissed her, with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, her chest heaving. He remembered the powerful pull of desire he’d felt, the urge to hold her again. He’d wanted to hold her against him, slide his hands across her waist, and touch the fluttering pulse in her neck.

He’d wanted to kiss her again, more deeply this time, to taste her.

He was glad he’d controlled himself, of course. Theirs wasn’t going to be this sort of marriage. Besides, who wouldn’t be appalled by a beastly, clodhopping man like himself slobbering all over her? No, he had to stick to his word.

Clearing his throat, Edward shook away the thoughts and stepped forward to greet Daphne and her sister.

“You’re quite the gentleman tonight,” Miss Belmont said as he turned to walk away.

He paused, glancing back at her. “I’m always a gentleman.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re far too sharp to be one. But with my family, you were a perfect noble.”

“Perhaps I like your family more.”

Miss Belmont’s sister gave a disapproving tut. He’d said the wrong thing, as usual.

Edward turned away, hoping to mask his humiliation.

They’re all so… so sociable. Full of all the right graces, always knowing the right thing to say.

He’d heard of the Duke of Langdon, of course. The wild Duke tamed by love. The witty, handsome noble who could turn the charm on and off at will.

It was hard not to feel jealous.

“Shall we sit?” Edward announced to the room.

They all moved towards their chairs, but Miss Daphne Belmont paused, glancing around.

“Where is Alex? Isn’t he joining us? What about Mrs. Trench?”

“This is a formal dinner,” Edward responded, feeling once again as though he’d put a foot wrong. “Alex is too young to join us. It isn’t the done thing.”

“Perhaps not,” Lady St. Maur conceded, settling in her seat. “But I’m sure none of us would object. When my girls were young, they always sat with me and my husband at the table. We liked having them there. We are all about to be family, after all.”

Edward took his seat at the head of the table. He realized a moment too late that the table had been set up at the wrong end. This was the seat his father had sat in, whereas a younger Edward would sit at the opposite end.

It felt wrong, more wrong than he could imagine.

“Well, perhaps Alex will join us later,” he relented. “I hope the food is to your liking.”

That seemed to kill all conversation. The first course was served, and for a few long moments, only the sound of polite eating and drinking filled the room.

Lady St. Maur broke the silence first, clearing her throat and saying something or other about the wedding. Her daughters joined in, and Clarissa, and for a while, the conversation was light and almost pleasant.

“I imagine we can keep things simple, then, if the wedding is not going to be elaborate?” Lady St. Maur said, glancing at Edward.

“Simple, yes, but a certain standard must be achieved,” Edward answered. “I don’t want to give any rise to gossip. Make the choices that suit you and your daughter, Lady St. Maur, but I can’t have people saying that I skimped on my own wedding. They’ll say I was angry at being caught out. I’m sure you know the sort of things people will say.”

Lady St. Maur nodded sympathetically.

“It’ll be expensive, then,” Miss Belmont remarked, reaching for her wine glass.

Clarissa shot her a disdainful look and scoffed. “Then perhaps you should have seduced a regular lord, instead of a duke.”

There was a pause after that.

Edward’s hand tightened around his fork.

“Clarissa…” he began threateningly, but Miss Belmont interrupted him.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but there was no seduction here. Your stepson will tell you that. You must know that?—”

“I know nothing,” Clarissa interrupted. “In fact, I?—”

“Enough,” Edward bit out.

He’d spoken much louder than he’d intended, his voice echoing through the dining hall. It seemed to ring off the crystal glasses. Everybody had gone very still. Miss Belmont was staring at her plate. Clarissa was staring at Edward, her expression unreadable.

“Edward, I am only saying what will be said everywhere,” she said, her voice shaking just a little.

He eyed her for an instant. “You cannot speak to the future Duchess of Thornbridge in this manner,” he responded, at last. “Not now, not ever. Just because a piece of false gossip might be repeated does not give you the right to say it yourself. I am sorry, Clarissa, but I cannot tolerate this from anyone, not even you. You must apologize.”

The silence grew heavier. The Duke and Duchess of Langdon were inspecting their soup bowls closely. Lady St. Maur looked horrified. Miss Emily Belmont appeared to be on the brink of tears.

Edward held Clarissa’s eye, willing her to do as she was told.

Come on, Clarissa. Just say that you are sorry. Please. Let’s get this done with. You must know that I cannot let this slide.

Clarissa cleared her throat. “I am sorry, Edward. That was an improper thing to say.”

The awful silence continued.

“Not to me,” Edward said. “To Miss Belmont.”

The color drained from Clarissa’s cheeks. She got abruptly to her feet, the chair scraping back, making them all jump. She glanced across the table at Miss Belmont, and Edward saw the dislike in her eyes.

“I apologize, Miss Belmont.”

“Think nothing of it,” Miss Belmont murmured. “I’d like to be friends.”

Clarissa smiled tightly. “Of course. Do excuse me.”

She left the room at once, leaving silence behind her once again.

Say something, Edward urged himself. Something, anything, just to break the ice.

The Duke of Langdon cleared his throat. “This soup,” he announced, “is excellent. Duke, I must have the recipe.”