The Unexpected Duchess (21 page)

Cass took a deep breath. “Perhaps you should see him again. Find out if you get along better next time. That reminds me. You never told me, Lucy, what did the duke say when you told him I was ill?”

Lucy jumped. She pricked her finger with the needle. “Ouch.” She popped the appendage into her mouth to suck on it briefly before saying, “What? I told you.”

Cass shook her head weakly. “You said he gave me his well wishes, but you never said if you thought he believed you about my illness.”

Lucy sat up straight, dropping the detested embroidery into her lap. “I think he believed me.”

Jane gave her a funny look. Lucy still hadn’t had a chance to speak with Jane, and she desperately wanted to. She’d merely whispered to her earlier as they’d entered Cass’s room that she wanted to have a private word at some point. Jane had nodded.

Cass looked hopeful. “Do you really think he did believe you?”

Lucy nodded. It was all she could do with Jane’s assessing gaze on her.

“Did you fight with him again, Lucy?” Cass sighed.

Lucy wanted to sink through the floor. She couldn’t look at Cass. She kept her eyes pinned to the embroidery circle. “No. I. We were quite … civil today.” Heavens, lightning would strike her. She was a harlot. A lying harlot.

“I’m glad to hear that, Lucy,” Cass continued. “Because I was hoping that you would keep him company while I’m ill.”

Lucy’s head snapped up. Her eyes went wide. “Keep him company? What?”

Jane almost hid her smile behind the edge of Wollstonecraft.

Lucy pointed at Jane. “Why can’t Jane do it?”

Jane pulled the book away from her lips. “Don’t look at me. You’re the one who has history with the man. We can’t confuse him by tossing a third lady into the equation.”

Cass leaned back against her pillow and sneezed into her handkerchief. “Lucy, you know he’s used to you.”

Lucy gulped.
You could say that.

“He’s been around you as much as he’s been around me,” Cass continued.

Uh, he’s been a bit more around me, to be honest.

“You two may not be friends, per se, but I think he’d appreciate you keeping him apprised of my condition. We’d talked about going on a picnic. Seeing the ruins. Things like that.”

Lucy tapped on the embroidery frame. “And you can do all those things, Cass. Just as soon as you’re feeling better.”

Cass smoothed a hand over her bed-mussed hair. “It’s most unfortunate that I’ve been taken ill. I feel horribly guilty about it.”

Guilty? Lucy swallowed. She knew all about guilty. “What have you to feel guilty for, Cass?”

Cass shook her head. “The way I treated the duke up till now. I’ve been so rude.”

Lucy leaned forward in her chair and rubbed her hands over her eyes. “No, I was the rude one.”

“But only at my request.” Cass sneezed daintily into her handkerchief.

“It doesn’t matter, Cass. I’m certain he’s pleased that you’re willing to speak with him now,” Lucy replied.

“But I’m worried that he’ll become disinterested,” Cass replied. “Find someone else to court if I’m ill for too long.”

“If he finds someone else to court, he doesn’t deserve you,” Jane added. “Remember, Mary Wollstonecraft said, ‘Women are systematically degraded by receiving the trivial attentions which men think it manly to pay to the sex, when, in fact, men are insultingly supporting their own superiority.’”

Lucy nodded. “Absolutely. Jane’s right. Perhaps it’s better if you let him go.”

“I know. I know,” Cass agreed. “But after the way I’ve treated him, I’d feel so much better if you’d agree to keep him company, Lucy. Please? Besides, it can’t hurt Lord Berkeley to believe he has a bit of competition.”

Lucy glanced at Jane and gave her a pleading look. Lucy couldn’t say yes to this. Couldn’t put herself in the path of more temptation with the duke again. Could she? Was she strong enough?

Jane shrugged. “You might as well agree to it, Luce. Something tells me Cass doesn’t intend to stop until you do.”

“No,” Cass agreed, a smile on her face. “I won’t.”

Lucy nearly whimpered. “Very well, Cass. I’ll keep the duke company for you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Derek was sitting in the study going over ledgers. The accounts for the lands he’d been granted as part of his dukedom were a bloody mess. Someone with absolutely no head for figures had been handling them to date. Derek had already dismissed the steward and hired a new solicitor to help him run things, but he intended to work through every single figure himself. Damn noblemen and their damn unwillingness to manage their own affairs. Why, the last owner had been robbed half blind. But far be it from an aristocrat to actually see to his own business. Derek would see to it, and put it all to rights before he allowed anyone else to so much as touch a page of the ledger.

A knock at the door made him glance up. “Come in.”

Hughes stood there, his back ramrod-straight as usual. “Your Grace, you have a visitor.”

A visitor? Was it Lucy? Somehow he doubted it, but just the thought of having her in his house again made him shift uncomfortably in his suddenly too-tight breeches. “Who is it, Hughes?”

“A Lord Berkeley, Your Grace. He asks for a moment of your time.”

Derek tossed his quill atop the ledger and sat back in his chair, clasping both hands behind his head. Berkeley? What the devil? That made no sense at all. “Is he alone, Hughes?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Show him in.”

Derek narrowed his eyes on the far wall of his study. What could Berkeley possibly want with him?

Hughes returned in a mere minute with the man in question. After ushering him into the study, the butler pulled the door shut.

Berkeley bowed to Derek. “Your Grace, thank you for seeing me.”

“Come in, Berkeley. Have a seat.”

Berkeley made his way over to Derek’s desk and sat in one of the two large leather chairs in front of it. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Derek stood and strolled over to the sideboard where he splashed a bit of brandy into a glass. “Care for a drink, Berkeley?”

“No, thank you, Your Grace. I don’t consume spirits stronger than a bit of wine.”

Derek arched a brow at the sideboard at that news. “You don’t mind if I have a brandy, do you?”

“Not at all.”

Good. He could tell he was going to need it. He swiped the glass from the tabletop, tossed a bit of wine into another glass for Berkeley, handed it to him, and crossed back over to his desk where he took a seat. “Tell me, Berkeley. What brings you here?”

Setting his wine glass aside, Lord Berkeley moved forward on the edge of the chair and placed his folded hands on top of the desk. “I wanted to … to ask you f … or a f … favor, Your Grace.”

Derek took a drink. “A favor?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It’s involving Lady Lucy Upton.”

Derek breathed in deeply through both nostrils. “Lady Lucy? What about her?”

“Well, Your Grace.” Berkeley straightened his cravat. “I am … you c … could say that I am quite interested in c … courting Lady Lucy.”

Derek narrowed his eyes on him. Where exactly was he going with this? “Go on.”

“I’d like v … very much to c … court her formally, Your Grace, and I … I n … need your help. If you’re w … willing to give it, that is.”

Derek downed the entire contents of his glass in one swallow. “You want my help courting Lucy?” Blast, he’d just made a mistake hadn’t he? He shouldn’t be calling her Lucy in front of Berkeley.

“Y … yes, Y … Your Grace.”

Derek eyed the younger man carefully. Seemed Berkeley had a bit of a speech impediment. It must have been difficult for him to come here and ask for his help.

“What exactly do you think I can do to help you?” Derek asked.

“Lady L … Lucy, she seems quite taken w … with your p … penchant for w … wit, Your Grace.”

Derek furrowed his brow. “She does?”

“Y … yes, Y … Your Grace. She’s mentioned it to me m … more than once. H … how you and s … she banter.”

Derek arched a brow. “She has?”

“Y … yes, Y … Your Grace.”

The man was going to have to stop calling him “Your Grace”; it was just too excruciating to listen to, poor devil. “That still doesn’t answer how you think I may be of help to you, Berkeley.”

Lord Berkeley pulled his hands back into his lap and stared down at them. “I was h … hoping, Y … Your Grace, that y … you w … would h … help me say the things I cannot say. That y … you w … would agree to write a letter to Lady Lucy. As if it were from me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Derek took a deep breath before he knocked on the door of Upton’s town house the next morning. His meeting with Berkeley continued to play through his head. In the end he’d agreed to help the man. Perhaps he felt sorry for the poor bloke, perhaps he was in a good mood, or perhaps he’d decided that encouraging Lucy’s courtship by another man was exactly the sort of thing he should do to rid himself of his constant thoughts of her.

If Lucy married Berkeley, this entire twisted mess he’d got himself into might resolve itself and everyone would be happy. At least that’s what he’d told himself when he’d heard himself say yes and then plucked out a piece of parchment and scribbled down notes based on the things Berkeley told him he would like to say. The man may have attended Oxford, but apparently he couldn’t string together a witty line when it came to wooing a lady of his choosing. Poor bastard.

Regardless of why he’d agreed to it, Derek had finished the letter while Berkeley waited and sent the man off with the thing, all the while calling himself seven kinds of fool. And now he was standing here, with a fistful of flowers for Lady Cassandra, ready to knock on the door and get his own courtship back to rights.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

The door swung open. Upton’s butler ushered him into the drawing room. Derek presented the flowers, asking the man to deliver them to Lady Cassandra’s sickroom.

The butler showed him into the nearest drawing room where Derek paced, waiting for a note of reply. Flowers had been a good idea, hadn’t they? Ladies were in favor of flowers, were they not? His mother had always smiled brightly on the few occasions his father had presented her with a bouquet.

Lucy came tripping into the room, a wide smile on her face, intently reading a letter she held in her hands.

She glanced up and jumped. “Der … Your Grace?” The letter dropped from her fingers. She quickly bent down to retrieve the sheets of parchment that had scattered across the floor. Derek strode over to assist her.

He picked up one of the pages. Just as he’d suspected, it was the letter he’d written for Berkeley. Hmm. It had made her smile. That was something. Better than flowers?

She’d gathered the rest of the papers and he handed her the other. “Am I interrupting anything?” she asked in a shaky voice he’d never heard from her before.

“No. Not at all. I just sent some flowers up to Lady Cassandra and I was hoping—”

The butler returned just then and presented Derek with a folded crisp white note sitting upon a silver tray. “From Lady Cassandra,” the butler intoned.

Derek plucked the note from the tray, unfolded it, and read it while the butler took his leave.

“What does Cass say?” Lucy asked, hugging her letter to her chest and biting her lip in a most fetching display.

“She says the flowers are lovely and she regrets being unable to accompany me today. We’d planned a picnic.”

“Oh, yes. That’s really too bad.” Lucy buried her face back in her letter and turned as if to leave, but Derek’s next words stopped her.

“She also says she’s asked
you
to keep me company while she is ill.”

Lucy froze. She slowly turned around, the hand that held the letter falling to her side. “Yes. Yes. That’s right. She did.”

He gave her a sidewise smile. “She says that you agreed. Though I must say I find it difficult to believe.”

Lucy barely met his eyes. “I’d do anything for Cass.”

“Anything like going on a picnic with me?”

Lucy blinked. She pointed at herself with her free hand. “You want
me
to go on the picnic with
you
?”

Derek folded his hands behind his back and braced his booted feet apart. “The food has all been prepared and the basket packed. It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

Lucy nodded. “I am a bit peckish.”

He grinned. “So, what do you say?”

She winced a bit as if the words pained her. “Very well, Your Grace. I’ll go on a picnic with you.”

*   *   *

They assembled their little feast near a garden just south of the Upper Crescent. It was an idyllic scene, with sweeping views of the hillsides beyond town and the sweet smell of summer flowers wafting toward them. Two of the duke’s footmen readily rolled out blankets, unpacked the meal, and poured two glasses of sweet red wine before taking themselves off a considerable distance to allow the pair their privacy.

Lucy took a deep breath. After a bit of a rocky start in the drawing room, it was surprisingly not awkward between them today. It was almost as if nothing untoward had happened. Almost. For when she closed her eyes, she pictured Derek on top of her, making her feel things she’d never felt before. She closed her eyes and shook her head. No reason in the world to remember all that. She must act as if that had never happened.

In the end, she’d decided to go with him. A picnic was quite safe and public. There was little chance of them repeating their licentious behavior on a grassy knoll in the middle of town. What harm was there in filling in for Cass today?

“Thank you for agreeing to accompany me.” Derek took a sip of wine. He’d leaned back, bracing himself on one wrist. He looked so charming and boyish. She longed to reach out and brush away the bit of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead.

She smiled at his words. He was being nice and accommodating. Most out of character. Why? “Thank you for asking. And I believe that’s the most pleasant thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He laughed. “That makes two of us. I think that’s the most pleasant thing you’ve ever said to me.”