Any Duchess Will Do (27 page)

Griff.

He strode toward her, wearing an immaculate black tailcoat and carrying a wicked gleam in his eye. So assured, so handsome.

Oh, the flutterings. She had flutterings all through her. They were so strong, they just about carried her away.

“I didn’t think you’d attend,” she breathed. “I was hoping, of course. I just wanted to see you again. To tell you I’m sorry, and that you were right. I was afraid. I’m
still
afraid, to be honest. I don’t think I can do this at all. But if you—”

He didn’t let her finish. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She was seized by a pulse of pure terror. It didn’t matter to her if the rest of the gathering scorned her. But if even Griff would cast her out . . .

He didn’t cast her out.

He took her by the hand.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, more gently this time. “The most beautiful woman in the room does not belong in the corner with the potted palms. Come out from there. Or else Flora did all this for nothing.”

She pulled up short and stared at him. “
You.
It was you. You sent Flora. And the gown. You didn’t sack her at all.”

A little smile played about his lips. “You wouldn’t have come if I’d
asked
.”

Of all the tricks. She couldn’t believe it. “I thought you were furious with me.”

“I
was
furious with you. For about . . . ten minutes. Perhaps a full quarter hour. Then I came to my senses.” He tugged her forward. “Come. We have a bargain to complete. There’s someone to whom you should be properly introduced.”

Not the Prince Regent,
she prayed.

Worse.

He steered her straight toward the Haughfells. All three of them—mother and daughters—were united by the grim sets of their mouths and their refusal to even look at Pauline.

What was Griff playing at now?

“Lady Haughfell.” He bowed. “What a happy coincidence. I know you’ve been longing to further your acquaintance with Miss Simms. And here she is.”

Sheer horror flickered across the matron’s powdered face. “I do not think—”

“But this is ideal. What better time or place? In fact”—he took a dance card and its small attached pencil from the older Miss Haughfell’s hand—“let me write down the key details. Just so there can be no question in the scandal sheets tomorrow. Miss Simms hails from Spindle Cove, a charming village in Sussex. Her father is a farmer, with thirty acres and some livestock.”

As Pauline looked on in amazement, he narrated the entire tale for them. His mother’s kidnapping ploy, their arrival in Spindle Cove. Pauline’s appearance in the Bull and Blossom—sugar-dusted and muddied. His visit to her family’s cottage and their eventual bargain. He spared no detail, but told the story plainly and with good humor. Occasionally, he noted an important fact on the dance card:

Bull and Blossom.

Thirty acres.

One thousand pounds.

“You see,” he said, “I brought Miss Simms to London to thwart my mother’s matchmaking schemes. She was supposed to be a laughable failure. A hilarious joke.”

One of the Misses Haughfells began to giggle. Her mother smacked her wrist with a folded fan.

“No, no,” Griff said. “Do laugh, please. It’s most amusing. A barmaid, receiving duchess lessons. Can you imagine? The best part was the diction training. My mother was forever drilling Miss Simms on her H’s.”

“Is that so?” Lady Haughfell arched a brow. “I don’t suppose she made much progress.”

“Oh, but she did. Show them, Miss Simms.”

Pauline smiled. “
H
ideous.
H
am-faced.
H
ag.” She looked to Griff. “There. How was that?”

“Brilliant.” He beamed at her.

“Write it down?”

“Of course.” As he scribbled the epithets on Miss Haughfell’s dance card, he went on talking. “But you haven’t heard the funniest bit, Lady Haughfell. See, I thought I was playing a trick on my mother—and all London—but it turns out, the joke was on me.”

The matron stiffened. “Because you have lost what remained of your family’s honor and society’s good opinion?”

“No. Because I fell desperately in love with this barmaid and now cannot imagine happiness without her.” He looked up and shrugged. “Whoops.”

All three Haughfells stared at him in mute, slack-jawed horror. Pauline wished she could have a miniature of their expressions to keep in a drawer forever and pull out on dull, rainy days.

Griff sharpened the pencil stub with his thumbnail. “Let’s make sure to have that down. It’s important.” He spoke the words slowly as he inscribed them. “Desperately . . . in . . . love.”

“Don’t forget the ‘whoops,’ ” Pauline said, looking over his shoulder. “That was the best part.”

“Yes.” He looked up, and his dark gaze caught hers. “So it was.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, utterly absorbed in affection and silent laughter.

The moment was perfect.
He
was perfect. Teasing, wonderful man.

“Is that a waltz they’re playing?” Griff suddenly asked. He stared at the marked-up card in his hand before handing it back. “Pity your card is full, Miss Haughfell. I suppose I’ll dance with Miss Simms instead.”

He led her to the center of the ballroom and slid one arm about her torso, fitting his hand between her shoulder blades. Together, they joined the waltz.

Almost immediately, other couples began to disappear. One by one, at first. Then two or three at the same time. And the more alone they grew, the less self-conscious she became. Soon it felt positively magical. Here they were, dancing under the full weight of society’s disapproval. And it felt as though the orchestra and canopied ballroom and general resplendence of the setting had all been arranged just for the two of them.

“I suppose I’ve fulfilled my end of the agreement,” she said. “I’m not going to be the toast of London tonight, nor any night.”

“No. You won’t.”

With that, she thought surely Griff would put a stop to the dance, but he didn’t. He just twirled her into turn after turn.

“I think we’ve done enough,” she whispered. “I’m a confirmed disaster.”

“Oh, yes. A comprehensive catastrophe. A beautiful, perfect failure.” He pulled back to regard her. “And I could not be more proud.”

His words settled as warmly as a hug. They both knew she could never have sustained any pretense at gentle breeding. Families like the Haughfells would not have been fooled. Instead, he’d embraced Pauline for her true self—publicly and completely, in a manner that ensured they’d never accept her at all.

But by letting her fail, he’d made her a success. At long last, she was a triumph. The serving girl who’d conquered not society, but its most recalcitrant duke. A huntress, draped in the elusive white tiger’s pelt.

Just for tonight.

He swept her with an adoring look. “Radiant. Just as you were that first day.”

She laughed. “I am sure I look nothing like I did that first day.”

“You do. You sparkled.”

“That was the sugar.”

“I’m not convinced. I think it was just you.” His voice softened to a caress. “It was always you.”

A lump stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard.

Out of the corner of her eye, Pauline spied a few of the Prince Regent’s hussars conferring in the corner, hands on their sabers. If they didn’t leave the dance floor soon, armed guards might chase them from it.
That
would be a night to remember.

“We’re down to minutes, I think.”

“So let’s make them count,” Griff said. “Here I am, a duke. Waltzing with a serving girl. Holding her improperly close, for everyone to see.” He shivered for effect. “What’s that I feel? Could it be the social fabric unraveling?”

Her mouth twisted as she tried not to smile. “It’s probably just the gout. I’ve heard dukes are gouty.”

“Well, I’ve heard serving girls taste like ripe berries.” He touched his lips to hers.

She gasped. “Griff.”

“There. Now I’ve kissed you, in front of everyone. Shocking. And look, I’m going to do it again.”

He stopped dancing and used those strong arms to pull her close, and claimed her mouth in a passionate kiss.

When they parted, he wore a sly, roguish smile. “What would Mrs. Worthington say?”

She didn’t know about Mrs. Worthington, but somewhere a clock began to chime the hour. Pauline’s heartbeat stuttered.

The mail coach.

“I have to leave,” she said. “I must go, or I’ll never make it home in time.” She tugged out of his embrace. “I’m sorry. I promised my sister. You promised her, too.”

She dashed away from him, streaking out of the ballroom, back through the crowded antechambers, to the portico and down the stairs—just as fast as her slippers would carry her.

“Wait.” He called to her from the top of the stairs.

“Don’t,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t make it harder, Griff.”

“Pauline, you can’t leave yet. Not like this.”

She tried to hurry but his footfalls outpaced hers easily. These stupid heeled slippers. When she tripped again, she kicked one off and threw it over her shoulder.

He dodged the flying slipper and caught her by the arm. “Wait.”

“Just let me go.”

“I’m not trying to stop you,” he said.

All the fight went out of her. She blinked at him. “You’re not?”

“No. I’m not.” His expression turned serious. “You need to go. Go home to your sister and open that circulating library. It’s your dream, and you’ve earned it. As for me . . . I have some work to do, too. I think it’s time I lived up to the vaunted Halford legacy.”

“Truly?”

He nodded, solemn. “To start, I’m going to be a man of my word. I promised to have you home by Saturday, and so I will.”

This was it, Pauline realized. He was truly letting her go. She would return to Spindle Cove and be a shopkeeper, and he would become a respectable duke. They would be further apart than ever.

Oh, God. They might never meet again.

“I have my carriage and fastest team waiting to see you home. But first there’s something I owe you.” He rummaged in his pocket.

The thought of him paying her made her stomach turn. The words spilled from her lips. “I can’t. I can’t take your money.”

“But we agreed.”

“I know. But that was before, and now . . .” She shuddered, thinking of Delacre and his five-pound note. “It would make me feel cheap. I just can’t.”

“Well. You must take this much, at least.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and placed it in her hand. He folded her fingers over it, still breathing hard. “For Daniela. I don’t have a penny.”

Oh, Griff.

“I expect great things of you, Pauline.” He touched her cheek. “Do me a favor and expect the same of me? Lord knows, no one else will.”

As he retreated back into his glittering, aristocratic world, she opened her fingers and stared at the golden sovereign on her palm.

Dukes and their problems.

Chapter Twenty-six

G
riff watched his mother closely as she turned in place, taking in the walls painted with incongruous rainbows and frolicking Arabian colts.

“I did want to tell you.” He took a seat on a wooden stool draped with a Holland cloth. “I just didn’t know how. She was gone so quickly, and then afterward . . .”

His voice trailed off, and the duchess raised a hand in a firm, silent gesture, letting him know further words were unnecessary. She was no stranger to quiet suffering, holding her aristocratic grace through all manner of trials. He knew this news would hurt her deeply—it was why he hadn’t wanted to tell her. But she
was
the duchess. If he knew his mother, she would cling to her composure. Bear up under the weight and never crack.

Perhaps he didn’t know his mother at all.

She turned to him with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Griffin. I’ve been so worried for you. I knew you were hurting, and I knew the cause must be something horrible. You’ve
looked
horrible.”

Griff rubbed his face with both hands.

“No, I mean it. Just perfectly wretched.”

He made a gesture of helplessness. “My apologies.”

She sighed. “I was so hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Stay right there.”

She left, and returned within a minute, approaching him where he sat in the center of the room.

From beneath her arm, his mother unfurled the ugliest, most malformed knitted muffler he’d ever seen. She wrapped it once, twice, thrice about his neck.

It was the tightest, warmest hug he’d ever received.

He stared up at her, bewildered. “Where did this come from?”

“The knitting? Or the affection it represents? I’d rather not talk about the knitting. As for the love . . . it’s always been here. Even when we haven’t discussed it.”

He rose to his feet and kissed her on the cheek. “I know.”

For so many years now they’d been all the family each other had. He suspected they’d avoided admitting how much they meant to each other, for the simple fear of acknowledging how close they were to being alone.

She touched one of her cool, papery hands to his face. “My darling boy. I’m so sorry.”

“How did you bear it?” he asked. “How did you bear this three times?”

“Not as bravely as you have. And never alone.” She looked around at the painted walls. “The loss was keen. In my heart, I have a room something like this for each of them. But even in the darkest hours, your father and I took comfort in each other. And in you.”

“In me? God. I never felt good enough to be one son. Let alone take the place of four.”

“I hate that you felt that way. Looking back, we should have been more nurturing. But we were so afraid of coddling you, when we knew the strong man you’d need to become. Left to my own devices, I could have hugged you to my bosom and held you there until your sixteenth birthday.”

“Well.” His mouth pulled to the side. “I suppose I’m glad you resisted that urge.”

She patted his cheek. “Griffin, I’ve always looked at you and seen a generous, good-hearted man. I’ve merely grown impatient waiting for you to see the same.”

“I wanted to be better for her.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “I didn’t hide all this because I was ashamed of Mary Annabel. I was only ashamed of myself, my dissolute life. I’d resolved to make myself a better man. I didn’t want anyone to look at my daughter and see one of my mistakes.”

Mistakes he kept right on making, it seemed.

“She was right,” he said. “Pauline was right about our chances, but she had the blame laid wrong. If society won’t accept her, it’s not her fault. It’s mine. A stodgy, boring sort of nobleman might fall in love with a commoner, and society would give her the benefit of the doubt. An even chance to prove herself, at least. But with my sordid history, people will always assume she’s just a debauched duke’s latest, greatest scandal. She deserves better than that. I want better
for
her.”

“It’s not too late,” his mother said. “Let her come here. Not just for a week, but months. You can take your place in Lords, and we’ll introduce her to society slowly next year. You’ll see, people will eventually—”

“No. No, that’s just it. She doesn’t want this life, and I don’t blame her. I don’t even want it, but I know it’s my duty now.” He sighed. “There may never be a ninth Duke of Halford, but I want the eighth to be remembered well. For my daughter’s sake.”

“And what about Pauline?”

Pauline, Pauline, Pauline.
She’d been gone from his life a matter of hours, and he already missed her so acutely. He would spend his life digging out from landslides.

“I just want all her dreams to come true.”

H
ad the cottage always been this small?

Pauline stood in the lane, just staring. Uncertain how to approach her own home. Major the guard goose came honking toward her, alerting those within the house.

“Pauline?” Her mother’s face appeared in the window. “Pauline, is that you?”

She dashed a tear from her eye. “Yes, Mum. It’s me. I’m home.”

Later, up in the sleeping loft, Pauline and Daniela hugged and cried. Then they brushed and plaited one another’s hair and laid out their Sunday dresses for the next morning.

As always, Griff’s sovereign went straight in the collection box.

During the church service, Pauline could feel all the curiosity of Spindle Cove focused on her. She knew she’d have to answer a great many questions, but she just wasn’t ready yet.

And even though she managed to delay her first trip to the All Things shop for another several days, she still wasn’t prepared to answer them.

Sally Bright pounced on her the moment she walked through the door. Aside from being her oldest and dearest friend, Sally was the most inquisitive, gossipy person in Spindle Cove. Pauline knew the curiosity must be gnawing at her friend with a hundred teeth.

“You”—she lifted and waved a stack of newspapers—“have so much explaining to do! Did you really attend a ball? Make a duke fall madly in love with you?”

“Sally, I don’t wish to speak of it yet. I just can’t. It’s all too . . .” Her voice broke.

Sally didn’t press for more. She hurried out from behind the counter and wrapped Pauline in a tight hug. “There there. We’ll have years to talk it over, won’t we?”

Pauline nodded. “Sadly, I think we will.”

She’d been harboring the absurd hope that Griff would come chasing after her, perhaps show up at the farm cottage some morning, unshaven and smelling of cologne. But as the days passed, her hope seemed more and more like a fanciful dream. That wasn’t the fairy tale he’d promised her.

“I have some news that will cheer you,” Sally said.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“It’s nasty old Mrs. Whittlecombe. She’s moving to Dorset to live with her nephew.”

“Truly? That is good news, I suppose. For everyone but the nephew. I thought she’d never leave that tumbledown old place.”

Sally shrugged. “Well, she did. And cleared out of the neighborhood quickly, too. Now I’m stuck with a half-dozen bottles of her noxious ‘health tonic.’ I don’t suppose anyone else is going to want it.” Her eyebrows lifted. “And there’s something else. Something for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Come see.”

Sally pulled her over to the storeroom. On the floor in the center sat an immense wooden crate, labeled with Pauline’s name.

“A man delivered it special yesterday,” she said. “It didn’t come through the regular post. But he told me it wasn’t to go to your cottage, ever. I must wait until Miss Simms came to the shop, and I couldn’t speak a word of it to anyone. It was all just painfully mysterious.” She gave Pauline’s arm an impatient shake. “Can’t we open it now? It’s heavy as anything. I’m dying to know what’s inside.
Dying
.”

Pauline nodded. “Of course.”

Sally gave a little cheer of excitement. With the help of a slender crowbar, she pried the top from the crate and sifted through a top layer of straw.

“Oh,” she said flatly. “Well, that’s disappointing. I hope you didn’t have your hopes too high. It’s only books.” She lifted a red-bound volume off the top and peered into the crate. “Yes. Books, all the way down.”

“Let me see,” Pauline said, snatching the book from Sally’s hand.

She ran a palm over the fresh red Morocco binding, brushing aside a blade of straw so she could read the cover:
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure: The Life and Adventures of Fanny Hill.

“Who’s this Mrs. Radcliffe person?” Sally lifted a handful of books from the crate. “She wrote a great many books.”

“Be careful with them, please.” Pauline went to her side and began to sort through the volumes. Radcliffe, Johnson, Wollstonecraft, Fielding, Defoe. All the books on the list that Griff had dictated that day in Snidling’s bookshop.

He’d remembered. And he’d known not to send them to her home, for fear her father would pitch them all into the fire. She lifted the book to her nose and inhaled that aroma deeply—her second favorite smell—before setting it aside to look at the rest.

Halfway through the crate, she found a small volume not bound in red Morocco, but instead covered in the softest, most impractical fawn-hued leather.
Collected Poems of William Blake.

Tears welled in her eyes as she opened the cover. Inside, right on the exquisite marble endpaper, there was affixed a bookplate with a stamp.

F
ROM THE LIBRARY OF
M
ISS
P
AULINE
S
IMMS

“Oh, Griff.”

This crate wasn’t merely stuffed with books. It was full of meaning. Messages too complicated to explain and too risky to send in a letter.

He knew her, this crate of books said. He knew her to the deepest, most hidden places of her soul. He respected her as a person, with thoughts and dreams and desires.

He loved her. He truly did.

And most poignant of all, this crate of books held one clear, undeniable message:

Goodbye.