Page 10 of The Duke’s Absolutely Fantastic Fling (The Notorious Briarwoods #15)

P art of being a Briarwood was being seen, and Josephine was quite happy to show off her beautiful young cousin, Phoebe, as they walked along Rotten Row.

Many members of the ton preferred to ride in open carriages and various other vehicles, but Josephine was of no mind to take her ease. No, she needed to walk and walk and walk, and she only hoped that Phoebe was up to the task. She was fairly sure her cousin was, because Phoebe was a country girl.

The young lady had only just come out of the last years of the schoolroom. Soon, Phoebe would have her own Season. She was, like almost all Briarwood young ladies, feisty, fun, and full of mischief, and much like Josephine’s Aunt Perdita, Phoebe adored animals.

Phoebe kept looking wistfully about the park at the horses, as if she longed to go up to each one of them, throw her arms around their necks, and tell them what beautiful boys and girls they were. Such a thing, of course, would be highly frowned upon in the ton.

Not that the Briarwoods cared overly about what was or was not frowned upon. Even so, they couldn’t do everything they wished willy-nilly.

When Phoebe was not looking at the horses, she was eyeing the dogs, as if, once again, she had every intention of going up to them and patting their heads with a coo and a compliment. She had actually already made friends with two Great Danes, one bulldog, and a poodle.

As opposed to the night’s misery, under the light of morning, with her exuberant cousin, Josephine could not stop smiling, thank heavens.

Her grandmother had suggested the walk, and it had been an excellent idea. They had had to take a carriage to the park from Heron House, as Heron House was on the outskirts of the city. They’d been let off at Hyde Park Corner.

There, they had begun promenading in their best morning gowns, with their spencers buttoned and their parasols tucked over their shoulder to shield themselves from the sun. Their bonnets also did an excellent job.

Frankly, sometimes Josephine wished to throw the bonnet off and her parasol down, to tilt her head up and feel the sun upon her face, but that was what the freedom of Heron House was for.

One could not throw their bonnet off or their parasol down in such a public place and not find themselves the subject of the newssheets.

Phoebe had a delightful smattering of freckles across her face, which she seemed slightly concerned about, and so her bonnet was perched in a way that left a good shadow over most of her nose. Phoebe also clutched at her pink parasol, turned it, and then smiled up at Josephine.

“Am I doing well?”

Josephine beamed down at her cousin, who was actually only a few years younger than her herself, and yet they had not been in the schoolroom together for some time. Josephine had been one of the older ones when Phoebe had been racing about.

“In what way do you mean?” Josephine asked.

“Do you think that I shall be good at drawing the admiration of the Season next year?”

“Oh, yes, Phoebe, I do,” Josephine said. “I think everyone will be enamored with you. You are so lovely and you are so kind.”

Phoebe frowned. “I don’t know if I wish to be seen as lovely and kind. I think I would like to be mysterious and alluring.”

“Like in the novels?” Josephine asked, struggling not to laugh. For she knew young ladies often took themselves quite seriously, and she could not bear it if Phoebe thought she was making light of her.

“Well, yes,” Phoebe began, her white gloved hands fidgeting on the barrel of her parasol. “The ladies who are alluring and mysterious seem to have the most exciting and interesting lives.”

“I don’t know,” Josephine observed. “In the novels, they do get kidnapped a lot. All sorts of terrible things happen to them.”

“Yes,” Phoebe said, her eyes suddenly aglow, “but then what magnificent endings!”

At this, Josephine did let out a laugh.

She too had gone through a period when reading those darkly delicious novels had thrilled her to no end, but she did have an understanding that she had no wish for those things in her real life.

The page was a glorious place to explore the rather wild ideas of what could be deemed a romance between a man and a woman.

The truth was, while it was perfectly fine for fantasy, she had no wish to have a man throw her over his shoulder, carry her off, and tell her what to do.

That seemed like a terrible state of affairs.

She had no doubt that the Duke of Rossbrea could do that to her if he wished, but he never would .

He wasn’t that sort of man, and she was deeply grateful for it, because otherwise, will she or nill she, she could find herself up in a castle somewhere in the north of Scotland, unable to escape, or at least that’s how it would play out in a novel.

Luckily, the Briarwoods would never stand for such a thing. The entire castle would be pulled down stone by stone by the uncles and male cousins, as well as some of the aunts and female cousins, to get their kidnapped family member back.

She smiled to herself, amused at the idea.

Phoebe tilted her head to the side. “Whatever are you thinking of?”

“Oh, the tenacity of our family,” she said. “And how nothing ill can truly ever befall us.”

Phoebe frowned. “How is that possible? Don’t you think life is a series of ills and good?”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Josephine said. “But our family always stands up for each other, and if something terrible happens, we’re always there. It is one of the great and wonderful things about the Briarwoods.”

Phoebe nodded. “It’s true. I’m rather sad that that doesn’t seem to be the case in other families. From what I’ve read in the newssheets, many families seem happy to throw their daughters away if the merest hint of scandal occurs. Why, in good heaven, would they do that?”

Josephine pursed her lips, realizing the complexities were hard to explain.

But she had to try. “So many of them are truly obsessed with the way they are perceived by society, and unfortunately, a young lady’s honor is often based off of perception, not reality.

Thank heavens the Briarwoods don’t feel that way. ”

Phoebe let out a relieved sigh. “Our family is unique.”

“That’s correct,” Josephine said with a smile.

“Good morning, ladies,” a voice called from behind them.

At that deep, reverberating voice, a thrill traveled through Josephine.

She turned and looked behind her, half expecting to see the Duke of Rossbrea on a tall stallion charging along the row. But she was mistaken.

He was striding quite quickly, with his duster coat flying out behind him, his top hat perched gently on his head, and a wide smile parting his extremely tempting lips.

“Good morning,” she replied with an incline of her head, which caused the feather upon her bonnet to kiss her cheek. “You’re not out for a ride? I would’ve rather thought so.”

“I do like to ride,” he said easily, “but I think walking is excellent exercise, and I was told that you are not overly fond of horses.”

Phoebe let out a bleat of sadness. “It’s true. She does not like them. Horses, in my opinion, are superior to people, but Josephine had a bad experience.”

“And thank you, Phoebe,” Josephine cut in swiftly. She was rather bemused by the way Phoebe was quite ready to tell the Duke of Rossbrea about her history with equine disasters.

“Ooh,” the Duke of Rossbrea said, “I should like to hear all about it, Lady Phoebe.”

Phoebe waggled her brows. “Well, you see—”

“That’s quite all right,” Josephine rushed. “We do not need to hear embarrassing stories about me in the middle of Hyde Park, along Rotten Row.”

“Isn’t that the best time for it?” the duke asked, teasing.

She gave him a narrow stare. “Only if you wish me to ignore you for the rest of your stay here in London.”

“Well, I can’t have that,” he said dramatically, “when you are essentially the reason that I have come.”

Phoebe’s eyes rounded. “Is she?”

“She is,” the duke replied with a cheeky grin.

“You have made a very sensible choice,” Phoebe said with a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone. “Josephine is an excellent young lady, and any man who has her shall be happy to the very end of his days.”

“Thank you for seconding my good opinions,” the Duke of Rossbrea said, lifting his dove-gray gloved hand to the brim of his hat in salute. “I did think it was an excellent choice too. Now, you must help me to convince the lady that I am the best choice for her.”

Phoebe cocked her head to the side. “Whyever wouldn’t you be? You’re a duke, you’re handsome, and you are nice.”

Rossbrea grinned. “There you have it, Miss Josephine. I’m a duke, I’m handsome, and I’m nice. What else could a lady hope for? And with such a testimonial from Lady Phoebe here, what could get in the way of our immediate marriage?”

She scowled at him, but not seriously. For she enjoyed their merry banter. “Are you going to be like this the whole summer?”

“No,” he assured, “because I don’t wish to draw your wrath every time I see you. Now, would you consider taking my arm?”

Josephine looked at him carefully. “If I do, everyone will know that you’re courting me.”

“Is that so very terrible? After all, a duke’s attention is a good thing.”

“Is it?” she said. “And when we part?”

“Why would we part?” he asked quite confidently. “I am standing here today as certain as I was yesterday of what I wish, and I shall be just as certain at the end of the Season.”

“Even so,” she said.

And then she hesitated.

She was a Briarwood, not some wilting miss afraid of her own shadow. She’d offered him an affair, and she was hesitating to take his arm? Ridiculous.

Slowly, she slipped her arm into the crook of his and let her hand rest on his forearm. It was perfectly acceptable. Ladies did so all the time to prevent being tripped upon or stumbling. It was silly, of course. Ladies were exceptionally capable, but gentlemen did like to feel needed in such ways.

Now, the feel of his muscled physique under her hand, despite the layers of clothes between them, was undeniably a pleasure.

As they promenaded along, Phoebe chatted away, telling of all the things that she was particularly excited to do, the ices she would eat, the bookstores she would visit, the plays she would see.

And the Duke of Rossbrea listened quite intently, then suddenly said, “Would you be so kind as to invite me to most of those things?”

Phoebe blinked. “Truly?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to be very, very busy this Season?”

“Well, I could be,” he said, though he didn’t look particularly excited about it. “But the truth is, I’m not actually overly fond of London, and perhaps someone who likes it might be able to convince me that it is tolerable.”

“More than tolerable!” Phoebe declared. “One can never grow bored with it! Or so Samuel Johnson says, though I have not quoted him directly.”

He laughed. “And Samuel Johnson certainly cannot be wrong.”

Phoebe beamed. “Exactly. I’m glad you’re easily persuaded.”

“Oh, I have not been persuaded yet,” he replied, gazing down at Josephine. “You shall have to show me. And hopefully Josephine can keep us company.”

Josephine let out an exasperated sigh, but she was actually also quite impressed. What a smart thing to do, to get to know each other with Phoebe about, to keep it relaxed and to not be in permanent view of the ton.

Josephine lifted her gaze to the duke’s and said, “That sounds like a perfectly wonderful Season. Far better than prancing about like a horse in its livery.”

“Good. Then I say we do sweets first. Don’t you, Phoebe?”

Phoebe beamed, clearly feeling like the luckiest young lady alive to be in the company of a duke who was also quite pleasant. “Oh, and we must have cake. I like cake.”

The duke laughed. “A wise woman likes cake. Do you like cake, Josephine?”

For some, inexplicable reason, from the deep rumble of his voice, she found her cheeks heating. “I do.”

“What kind?” he asked.

“The kind with fruit in it,” she replied, arching a brow.

“Ooh,” he said, “a woman after my own heart.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Was she a woman after his heart? It had never been her direct intention, but she realized, yes, she had been. Did she have it already? Quite possibly.

The idea sent a warm feeling through all of her, but then she thought of the nighttime and the terrible trembling and the shaking of her body.

The warning.

Surely that’s what it was—a warning that he was to be avoided. But then why did she feel so good in his company? It didn’t seem right or fair. She sucked in a breath, as if she was about to tell him no, but then Phoebe gave her such a look of longing that she could not stop herself.

“Right. Your Grace,” Josephine said boldly, “I feel cake is in order.”