Page 11 of My Secret Duke
A fter the excitement of dinner, the new day dawned still and clear. Ivo lay in bed and viewed the windows with narrowed eyes. He hadn’t slept well and was feeling out of sorts. This visit to Grantham might be everything his mother, and her best friend, Jane, had hoped for—they would have lots of gossip to share when they returned to London—but Ivo wasn’t enjoying it. The scene in the dining room had been unpleasant, with the arrogant prince demanding to know who had stolen his stallion, and Olivia’s worried face as she watched on. She was clearly under a great deal of pressure to ensnare Nikolai, although why she would want to was a mystery to him.
He was being disingenuous. Of course he understood why she wanted to marry the prince, although if she thought she would be happy with him… But perhaps happiness wasn’t the aim. Ivo suspected it wasn’t. He understood well enough the stratagems of marriage in the upper ranks of the ton and the reasons behind them.
When he had come face-to-face with her outside the drawing room, he had felt sorry for her. She had looked lost, and, unselfishly, he had wanted nothing more than to make her smile. He had started off with good intentions, but instead, he had ended up picking an argument with her. In response, she had wielded her tongue like a sword.
You’re the last person I should be friends with.
That had certainly stung. No one could blame him for fighting back. Then why did he feel as if he could have done better?
Impatiently, Ivo threw off the covers and rose, thinking a brisk ride would help his mood. He was counting down the hours until he left tomorrow and could return to normalcy. He thought he might spend some time at Whitmont, breathing in the sea air, clearing his head.
Ivo’s hopes of having the stables to himself were dashed when he found Prince Nikolai already there, in close conversation with Otto. Leopold the stallion was being walked carefully back and forth over the cobbled yard, while they checked him for any injuries sustained from Roberta’s wild ride. The animal didn’t look quite as magnificent as he had when Ivo first saw him trot by yesterday. There were scratches on his chestnut hide where he had been ridden through a thicket, and poultices had been applied to the worst of them.
Despite Ivo greeting the prince in his usual polite and friendly fashion, all he got in response was a cool stare. Was Ivo’s dislike of the man because of the situation with Olivia? He didn’t think so. Nikolai was unpleasant, proud, and rude, and Ivo would have disliked him whoever he was. With an inner shrug, he went to find himself a mount for his ride—he would be glad to be out in the fresh air and away from what was shaping up to be another uncomfortable day.
Gabriel had informed them last night that there were diversions planned today for the guests, to keep them busy.
“Hazard?” Charles had inquired with a smirk.
Will Tremeer had seemed to brighten at the prospect. “I missed the club while I was in Cornwall,” he admitted. “Everything seemed very dull.”
Viscount Monteith had then introduced the subject of horseflesh—he owned a racing stable and was a keen bidder at Tattersall’s—and that was that. Of course, the prince had his own thoughts on such matters—which he seemed to think were the only way to do things—and before long, the two men, having found something in common, were deep in conversation.
Remembering it now, Ivo wondered if Olivia was as horse mad as her hoped-for husband. He didn’t believe so, at least she had never mentioned horses to him during their tête-à-têtes, although they had spoken on a wide variety of subjects. A sense of loss flooded him. He missed their conversations. He buoyed himself up with the mischievous thought that if she did marry the prince, she would need to cultivate an equine interest, real or feigned.
The ride did him good, and he returned to the house feeling more his pragmatic self. Breakfast was underway, and after washing and changing out of his riding clothes, he sauntered downstairs to partake. As soon as they saw him, his sisters and Annette looked up guiltily, making him wonder what secrets they were sharing. Olivia sat farther down the table with Justina and a subdued-looking Roberta. None of the sisters appeared to be very happy this morning, and Olivia had that sulky droop to her mouth that… well, Ivo admitted it. Made him want to kiss the life out of her. Not a helpful impulse, under the circumstances.
It wasn’t that long ago when he would have hurried to sit at her side. Whispering teasing things in her ear and daring her to meet with him alone. It sounded more improper than it had been. Mostly, they had just talked, or at least Olivia had been the one to talk, usually about her family, and Ivo had listened. He had sensed that she felt rather alone sometimes and needed a confidant, and he enjoyed taking on that role.
His sisters would have laughed at the idea that their feckless brother could offer anyone good advice, but when Olivia had looked to him, he had felt… Well, why deny it? He had felt extraordinary. The soft glow in her eyes, the admiring smile on her lips. It depressed him a little, that it was unlikely she would ever ask him anything again.
Now, he murmured a general greeting and went to fill his plate from the covered dishes laid out on a side table. He was deciding between sausages and bacon, when there was the sound of a scuffle behind him at the door, followed by a quiet reprimand. Two of Olivia’s younger sisters and Vivienne had entered the room.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Olivia had risen to her feet, and her voice was surprisingly harsh. She sounded as if she was on the verge of a temper tantrum. Or tears.
For a moment, Ivo was confused, thinking she was talking to him, that he shouldn’t be here. After all, she had already told him she couldn’t risk being in his company. Again, he felt that dip in his mood, remembering how things used to be, but he quickly pushed it aside when he saw that it was her siblings she was glowering at. Vivienne put her hands on the girls’ heads in a protective manner. “They have promised to be good,” she said. “Their governess has been seconded by your grandmother to help with preparations for the ball, so they have been left to their own devices.”
“Always a dangerous state of affairs.” Justina gave a grimace. “Where is Antonia?”
“She is helping set up the archery competition.”
“Archery?” Roberta brightened suddenly. “Can I—”
“Not for you,” Olivia said in that hard little voice. “Not after yesterday.”
Roberta shot her a fulminating look but after an inner struggle said, “I am going to apologize for that.”
“An apology does not make it better,” her sister retorted, as if that was the end of the matter. She was beginning to sound unnervingly like her grandmother at her most formidable.
“But it helps,” Vivienne reminded them as she led the way to the table. “Now, girls, what will you have to eat? Sausage and bacon and eggs? Toast and tea?”
“Black pudding,” Roberta murmured, and then laughed softly when her sisters pulled disgusted faces.
“When does the archery start?” Ivo turned and carried his plate to the table, choosing to sit beside his sisters and Annette. That left a nice, safe gap between himself and the Ashton girls.
“At ten,” Justina answered him. She gave a little jump, as if Olivia had pinched her under cover of the table, and her expression turned resolute. “I do hope you will be participating, Your Grace. There will be prizes.”
Ivo smiled. “Ah, then I will certainly participate. I have not shot an arrow in a contest for some time.” Archery had been fashionable among ladies and gentlemen during the last century, but more recently, with the war in France, its popularity had declined.
“Oh, we are all excellent archers,” Justina assured him. She slid her sister a sly look. “Especially Olivia. She is a champion.”
“Is she now?” Ivo hesitated as he speared a piece of sausage with his fork. “Then I accept the challenge. But do not expect me to let you win, ladies. I am not that much of a gentleman.” Olivia had accused him once of not being a gentleman and, as he had hoped, she remembered.
Her head jerked up, and her eyes narrowed. He gave her a bland smile. She was trying so hard to be proper, the perfect wife for the prince, that she may well decide it would be better to bow out of the archery. Which would be a pity. Ivo didn’t think that trying to be perfect was making Olivia very happy.
“Are you really going to shoot arrows, Ivo?” Adelina asked doubtfully. “We thought we would go for a walk. There is a nice view from the Grecian folly on the estate, or so I am told.”
“It is certainly a pretty outlook,” Vivienne said with a smile. “I go there when I want some time to myself.”
Ivo suspected the new Duchess of Grantham frequently needed time to contemplate her new relatives.
“Thinking time?” Annette asked brightly, and then seemed to reconsider the question.
He watched as the cousins exchanged a speaking look. What was that about? There seemed to be an awful lot of secrets and mystery circulating. Which reminded him that the last thing he should be doing was joining in an archery contest where Olivia was a participant. Not if he wanted to keep secret his own ridiculous obsession with her.
And yet… he couldn’t seem to help himself. The memory of her words last night still rankled, but perversely, he had enjoyed seeing her lose control. Perhaps if he could provoke her again, she would admit to herself that the path she had chosen was the wrong one. That Ivo was far more compatible with her than the prince, and she should be sorry she had refused him. So sorry that she may in fact change her mind…?
Hardly the wishes of a gentleman. Better if his hope was to show her how unhappy she would be with Prince Nikolai so she could escape that particular fate and go on to live a more fulfilling life. And if he was an unselfish sort of fellow, that would be his goal. Ivo wished he could be better, he really did, but he was not quite there yet.
The contestants in the archery sets were split into two teams, each with a target to shoot at. Ivo, Annette, and his sisters formed one team, while Charles, Gabriel, Olivia, and Justina were on the other team. The older women had decided it was more sensible to rest and chat in one of the sitting rooms, and save their energy for the ball tonight. The viscount was reading the newspaper, while Vivienne was amusing the younger Ashton girls—keeping them out of mischief—with the help of her brother. The prince was who knew where, and frankly, Ivo wasn’t sorry for his absence.
The game began in a friendly enough manner. Ivo’s team spent a lot of time giggling, while Charles and Gabriel were so deep in conversation that they had to be reminded when it was their turn. Justina blushed whenever Charles looked her way, and blushed even more when he attempted to show her how best to hold the bow. Watching the couple with amusement, Ivo thought Charles was being remarkably patient with the young woman. Gentle. Perhaps the tender feelings he had noticed previously were not just on Justina’s part, although seeing Gabriel’s frown as he watched them, Ivo wondered if anything more could come of it.
Eventually, the others dropped away, either through choice or disqualification, and the two best archers, or perhaps the only two who were taking the contest seriously, were left to face each other.
Ivo and Olivia.
Ivo supposed he could be a gentleman and bow out, allowing Olivia to win by default. But when the opportunity came and she turned to him, her expression hostile, it felt as if she wished anyone else in the world was facing her, anyone but Ivo. Did she hate him so much? Her behavior irritated and disappointed him, and it made his decision an easy one.
He was not going to be a gentleman.
To decide the winner, they would play one set, with each of them having three arrows to fire at the target. The one with the highest score would be declared the champion. With the first arrow, they both hit the bull’s-eye, to the cheers of those who had stayed to watch. On the second shot, Olivia took up her position, focused on the target, and was just about to fire her arrow when a loud voice from behind them called her name. Her shot went astray.
“Lady Olivia!” It was Prince Nikolai, seemingly unaware that he had just caused her to miss. He continued talking. “I thought we could walk in the garden. Your sister has apologized,” he added, and then frowned, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether Roberta had been truly sorry or not. The girl in question was standing a little way behind him, watching on with a scowl.
Olivia took a deep breath, and Ivo tried not to laugh out loud as he saw her grappling with her desire to tell the prince exactly what she thought of his intrusion. “I’m glad to hear it,” she managed with a forced smile.
Olivia was trying so hard to be perfect, but Ivo could see by the tight line of her mouth, and the flash of irritation in her blue eyes, that it was a losing battle. He decided to encourage her to reveal her true, competitive self.
“You could forfeit,” he suggested with a smile as false as hers.
She flashed him a fulminating look. “I am going to win!” Hastily rearranging her features, she turned back to the prince, and spoke in a softer tone of voice. “My apologies, sir, but I need to finish this game. I will be happy to walk with you… soon.” She caught sight of her sister lurking near a bush. “Until then, I am sure Roberta will be happy to show you the gardens.”
Roberta opened her mouth as if to protest, and then, catching her older sister’s eye, swallowed the words. “Of course,” she said dutifully.
The prince hesitated, glancing between the two, and then, with a shrug, strolled away with his hands behind his back, Roberta trotting by his side. Just before they disappeared around a bend in the path, she turned back and poked out her tongue.
Olivia wasn’t watching. She straightened and drew back her bow string with impressive strength, her eyes narrowed on the target. “Now,” she said, “I am going to end this debate between us, Northam, once and for all.”