Page 22 of My Secret Duke

O livia discovered that everything felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her. It was puzzling because she still had the same old problems to beset her. Although she was invited everywhere, she was not flooded with suitors—her only actual proposals had come from a harassed-looking gentleman with seven children and a dead wife, and an ancient gentleman without two pennies to rub together. She had no desire to play mother, having already done that with her sisters, nor did she want to be nurse to the old man.

She was having more fun than she would have believed possible after the scandals that had sent her scurrying back to Grantham. If it wasn’t for the niggling anxiety of making a suitable marriage, she would have been perfectly content, and sure that the right partner would come along soon.

In the meantime, Ivo was her friend again. Who would have thought having him once more in her life would make her so happy? And yet it did.

They were being careful though. A conversation in a quiet corner, or a dance where they could chat. He made her laugh and poked fun at some of the other guests, and she found herself doing the same. And if she sometimes worried they were being rude, she reminded herself that plenty of them had spoken cruelly about her, so why not return the favor?

During one of their dances, she told him about the ancient gentleman’s proposal. Ivo was amused. “If he had married every lady he ever asked, then he would have a harem by now,” he’d said.

Olivia knew what a harem was. “I’d prefer to be the only wife in my husband’s life,” she said dryly. A memory popped into her head, and she remembered how, when she was twelve, she had planned to run away to London and become a courtesan.

When she told Ivo, he had sputtered with laughter.

“I didn’t know what a… a courtesan was of course,” she admitted. “I had overheard my parents talking, and it sounded like it was an exciting thing to be.”

“But they stopped you?” Ivo’s green eyes were dancing.

“Yes. They found out from one of my sisters, and I was sent to my room without supper.”

There was a comfortable silence before he asked, “Has Lord Hollingsworth called?”

“No. Sadly, I didn’t come up to scratch in his mother’s eyes.”

“Poor Lord Hollingsworth,” he replied, mock-seriously. “Is he doomed to be single forever?”

“Surely she will find him someone who comes up to the mark?” she said, aware that her cheeks were warm. She was enjoying herself, and Ivo’s eyes were sparkling.

“Only if she can do the choosing.”

“You mean like soldiers on parade? Would she line them all up and then inspect them?” She made her voice sound like Lady Hollingsworth’s. “Too short, too tall, too forward, smiles too much…”

He fought his laughter, his chest shaking. “I thought I was the mimic,” he managed at last.

“Are you coming to Justina’s debut?” Olivia changed the subject once more as their dance finished.

“Yes, we are all coming. As long as you promise there will be some juicy scandal.”

Olivia grimaced. “I hope not. I want her to enjoy herself. It will be a small affair, but she doesn’t mind. Gabriel cannot afford—” She bit her lip.

“Olivia,” he said softly, leading her away from the dancers. “None of us are flush with the readies.”

She nodded and then sighed. “I know. Why did my father have to be such a spendthrift? Things would be so much more comfortable if we were wealthy.”

“I do not plan to always be poor,” he said quietly.

There was something meaningful in his expression, which Olivia chose to ignore. Instead, she smiled at him. “Do you have a dare for me? I am bored with polite chitchat.”

“A dare?” He met her gaze, and she could see the thoughts turning in his head. And then he said, “I think it’s your turn. What dare will you give me?”

Instantly, her mind flooded with possibilities, most of them completely out of the question. Take me into the garden and kiss me. Dance with me again and again. Hold me close and tell me… But no, none of them were doable, even though she wanted them to be. She was aware of those old, foolish urges rising up inside her, the longing to do something completely wild and unacceptable despite all of the very good reasons she knew she should not. Could not.

She looked about for inspiration, and her eye fell on a young girl she had noticed earlier. She sat against the wall, shoulders a little hunched, looking completely miserable. A stern, matronly woman sat beside her, glowering at anyone who passed in a protective but unhelpful manner. Olivia turned to Ivo with a wicked grin.

“Ask her to dance.”

“Her? Who?” He was looking about.

“ Her. You will make her evening, Ivo. She will go to sleep tonight remembering every moment of the dance, every word you say, every smile you give her.” She knew that, because that was how Olivia had felt the first time Ivo had asked her to dance.

He gave her a dubious look but set off as instructed. Olivia watched as he approached the girl, smiling at the matron and then bowing. There was a brief conversation, and then the older woman nodded regally, as if she was bestowing something very precious upon him, and the girl stood up. She was smiling, blushing, wondering if this was really happening. That the handsomest gentleman in the room—and a duke to boot—was asking her to stand up with him.

Olivia couldn’t help smiling too as the music swelled and the dance began. She might have watched the whole thing, but she was aware of the way in which people gossiped, and her face must be food for plenty of speculation right now. She made her way back to the dowager, and found Adelina and Lexy there with Ivo’s mother. They were making stilted conversation and looked relieved to see her.

When the polite greetings had been made, Adelina leaned in close and said, “Ivo is dancing with a wallflower. Do you see? That is very kind of him.”

“And very unlike him,” Lexy added.

Their mother was quick to her son’s defense. “Nonsense! Ivo was always a kind boy.”

“What if her chaperone decides he is going to marry her?” Adelina asked mischievously.

Her mother’s face changed. “No, he is not marrying her,” she said sharply. “I know her family, and they are as poor as church mice.” Then, remembering the company she was in, “I’m sure he is just being kind.”

There was an awkward silence. Olivia was well aware of how debt-ridden Ivo’s family was, just like hers. Another reason for her to never allow herself to accept a proposal from him, even if he asked her again. Which he wouldn’t. That was over. But it brought up the question of Ivo’s choice of wife. He needed to marry someone wealthy, just as she did.

And yet, as she turned to watch Ivo dance, charming the young girl into conversing with him, Olivia admitted that if matters were different… I do not plan to always be poor.

The dance had finished, and Ivo returned his partner to her chaperone. A glance about the room found his family and Olivia, and he made his way toward them. He had barely reached them when his mother launched into a warning about the wallflower’s lack of fortune.

“Good heavens, Mother, I was dancing with the chit, not marrying her,” he said, with a sideways glance at Olivia.

“Viscount Marchant’s daughter is free,” his mother pointed out. “She has a large dowry. Dance with her, Ivo.”

Ivo sighed. “I have danced with her. She giggles at everything I say, and then I run out of conversation.”

“You should consider the dowry rather than the conversation,” his mother said firmly.

It sounded cold . Olivia wondered if her grandmother’s conversations to her about marriage and money sounded just as cold. More than likely. But then, marriages among members of the ton were business arrangements, something she needed to keep reminding herself.

“I did not reject the Duke of Grantham because of his lack of conversation,” Grandmama jumped in, as if reading Olivia’s mind. “One did what one was told. These young people read too many silly books about love and romance.” She stopped and frowned, no doubt remembering that her own granddaughter-in-law had been the author of just such a book.

Ivo’s mother tried very hard not to smile. Adelina and Lexy exchanged glances. Ivo caught Olivia’s gaze and raised his eyebrow. A friend of his sisters’ had come up to chat with them, and he took the opportunity to lean into Olivia. “How is your brother and his wife?”

“Busy,” Olivia replied. “Grantham keeps him constantly occupied, and Vivienne is in charge of the younger girls, as well as learning to manage such a large house. I do not envy them.”

“Are you not trained in the art of housekeeping? I can imagine you inspecting the furniture for dust and poring over menus.”

Olivia wondered whether she dared to tell him what she really thought about that, but it was Ivo, so she did. “I was never trained in any of the tasks a wife is supposed to be trained in. Most of my time was spent running wild with my sisters, or trying to find ways to entertain them so they would not realize how horrible our lives were. And when I tried to cook, I usually burned whatever it was I was trying to make palatable.”

His eyes had widened. “Good God,” he said quietly, “you put me to shame, Olivia. Are you trying to make me feel guilty? I feel like I should have some dreadful story of my own to share, but the truth is my childhood was quite pleasant. I had my parents and my sisters, who spoiled me terribly, I admit. Which is one of the reasons I plan to do everything in my power to be a good duke and make their lives more comfortable.”

“Ivo, you shouldn’t apologize for—” she began earnestly but was interrupted.

“What are you two whispering about?” Her grandmother’s voice was sharp. “Olivia, here is Mr. Scott come to claim his dance.”

Olivia realized it was true. Mr. Scott was standing, patiently waiting. She apologized as she went to meet him, trying to ignore his woolly eyebrows. He was twenty years her senior, and she suspected he had learned to dance by counting his steps, but then who was she to talk? Her dancing was all very well now, but that had not always been the case. During their last encounter, he had told her about the assemblies he attended in Bristol.

“There is always some amusement or other. London is all very well, but give me Bristol any day,” he had said.

Mr. Scott was the dowager’s latest marital hope for Olivia. He was a shipping company owner, and although he had not a trace of blue blood in him, he was wealthy. That he was a far cry from Prince Nikolai just showed how desperate her grandmother had become.

“He needs a wife.” The dowager seemed to know everything about him. “He isn’t too picky about a dowry. He wants someone pretty and biddable.”

“I doubt that’s me. Everyone knows about—”

“Let him know you are grateful for his attentions. And think about your sisters! He will have wealthy friends. Justina and Roberta can partake of your good fortune and find husbands of their own.”

As she danced and conversed and was as charming as Grandmama wanted her to be, she tried to like Mr. Scott, she really did. And he was pleasant enough, rather grave when stating his opinions, and although he listened to hers politely, Olivia didn’t feel as if he was really listening. She was so much younger than he, so his being dismissive was understandable, she supposed. And there were good points to him. Her grandmother’s plan was a sound one, but when she imagined herself being married to him… She was not filled with elation. Instead, she felt a twisting anxiety in her stomach, a sense that she would be making a terrible mistake if she gave away her life, her future, to a man she could not love.

It was the final straw when he told her he did not really enjoy parties “and the like” and would prefer his wife not to gad about. “Home is where a wife should be,” he told her firmly. “I would expect my dinner on the table at the same time every day.”

Olivia only just managed to bite back her retort, but by then, her mind was made up. She did not care how wealthy Mr. Scott was. She didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t want to marry any of the men who had so far shown an interest in marrying her. And the ones who had had no intention of offering her marriage but seemed to enjoy her company were of no use to her either. She was growing tired of rejecting one suitor, only to have her grandmother bring forth another. Why did the Season have to be all about her marrying? Why couldn’t she just enjoy herself and think about the future later?

The dance finished, and the first thing she did was look about for Ivo. He was standing with his family, watching her with a sympathetic expression. As if he had read exactly what she was thinking and concurred.

As friends, they seemed so perfectly matched. He was not the dangerously reckless duke he used to be. He had changed. When he was with her, he was more cautious—of her feelings and her reputation. Seeing him with his mother and sisters reinforced for her just how much he cared about them, how much he wanted to succeed for their sakes and for the sake of his estate at Whitmont. He did not enjoy lacking a fortune any more than she did, but he was trying to rectify that by buying into Cadieux’s. What was she doing? Marrying a man she did not love for his money and her sisters’ sakes, and hoping she would not be too miserable.

It felt wrong.

But she did not know how to make it right.