My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) (17 page)

“I couldn’t agree more, Lady Amelia. But I’m afraid the world does not work that way.”

Amelia sighed. She was tired of bandying words. This wager was ridiculous. It held no benefit for him. “Did you create this bet to help my brother? You must know in your heart of hearts I won’t change, and therefore know you will have aligned yourself to be able to pay off his debts without him feeling he borrowed it.”

“Clever, but not true,” he said, yet she saw him stiffen. She was right! She knew she was. Gratitude flooded her.

“You are lying. Why don’t you want people to know you have a good heart?”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the tick of the longcase clock, until the duke, who had been frowning ferociously, grumbled, “I do not have a good heart. I’m so certain that you will change and I will end up married to you, that when your brother insisted the terms of the wager be written out to include that I will not be able to give him so much as a pence if I win, I immediately agreed. Because I realized I could get around his terms by giving the money to you. Then you, in turn, could help him. See how deceitful I am? I will do anything to get what I want, and your brother is so honorable he would never consider I’d circumvent the terms he dictated.”

She smiled smugly. “I told you, you had a good heart.”

He simply gaped at her, then slowly ran a finger back and forth across the golden stubble on his jaw, saying nothing. As the moment stretched on, Amelia’s thoughts raced. Had she gone too far? She prayed she had not. If she’d ruined her chance to help Philip and Mother, Amelia would beg the duke to reconsider. He stood, placed both palms on the table, and leaned so close that when she breathed in, all she could smell was him―a faint scent of earthy maleness mixed with the tang of fresh grass and clean air.

His gaze captured hers so she felt no more than a prisoner to his will. “You tricked me.”

She nodded.

“You knew you’d participate all along?”

“Of course,” she replied sweetly. “I’m in no danger of changing, and I will rescue my family from financial disaster.”

The duke nodded, causing a lock of his golden hair to fall over the right side of his forehead. He reached up and pushed it back off his face. Amelia sat, spellbound, watching the way his body moved with effortlessness and grace. He laid his hand open-palmed on the table. “I’ve been duped by a woman before, but I must say, this is the first time the woman had good intentions and was trying to help someone else.”

“I’m sorry I tricked you, but I had to know the whole truth.” She scrutinized him. Had he just flinched at that statement? “There isn’t anything else I should know is there?”

His gaze locked with hers, making her heart flutter oddly.

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Anything that would change the outcome of the bet?”

“No. There’s nothing you should know will change the outcome of my wager with your brother.”

His confirmation sounded true but carefully worded. Perhaps, he was simply hiding some other secrets of his past. She wasn’t going to try to force the man to tell her anything else and risk him deciding helping Philip was more trouble than it was worth. Plus, she felt sorry for him. It was sad that he was so sure a woman could be swayed from the man she loved by title and money.

Amelia rubbed her sweaty palms against her dress and stood. His Grace straightened to his full height and looked down at her. The power he exuded made her feel safe, and she tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “I daresay it will take quite a bit of your blunt to set my brother’s affairs to rights.”

He offered a devilish smile. “I’m not concerned. I’d rather spend my fortune helping a man I admire than wasting it on the worthless pastimes I have been.”

A lump of gratitude lodged in her throat, but she swallowed it and spoke. “Shall we begin our lessons today? Will you stay here for a bit or shall we figure out a mutual place to meet? How will this work? Will I―”

Chuckling, he held up his palms. “I don’t know. Let me speak to your brother about the details. In the meantime, why don’t you go rest a bit?” He frowned and brushed a hand across her forehead, making her jerk back in response.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone serious. “Your face is flushed, your eyes a bit glazed, and your forehead hot. Do you feel unwell?”

She did feel tired, but who wouldn’t after the morning and early afternoon she had experienced. “I’m a bit fatigued. Perhaps I’ll go lie down. When my mother returns we will have to speak to her about the wager and get her agreement.”

“Of course,” he said, pressing a firm, warm hand to her back and waving her forward through the doorway and toward the stairs. It was strange how his touch caused her pulse to skip a beat. Charles had never put his hand on her back to lead her from a room. She was sure if he had, her heart would have raced uncontrollably.

She paused at the steps and turned to him. Her head was rather light, but after a second, it passed. “I will never forget the kindness you have shown by creating this wager to help my brother, and I vow to repay your kindness.”

“Really?” He quirked both eyebrows. “How do you plan to repay this so-called kindness?”

“It’s my secret,” Amelia said and turned away to ascend the stairs so he would not witness her silly grin. If he could transform her, then she could transform him. He would make her passably pretty, and she would show him that all women were not coldhearted schemers. He would give her the chance to obtain her dreams, and she would teach him how to trust women so he could love and be loved.

Amelia headed straight to her room, her head spinning as she walked. By the time she lay down, she could hardly keep her eyes open. As she rested on the bed, her body becoming heavier, she imagined herself married to Charles and then on a whim she replaced Charles with the duke. Oddly, the thought did not totally disturb her, and the fact that it did not bothered her. She squeezed her eyes, counted to one hundred, and slowly forgot everything.

Amelia woke to absolute darkness. For a moment, confusion swarmed her. It had been early in the afternoon when she had lain down to take her nap.
Good heavens!
She blinked and sat up with a groan. She had slept the entire day away, and a fat lot of good it had done her. Her head ached worse than ever and―she sniffed, or rather she tried to―but her nose was so congested she could barely take in any air.

Muttering, she swung her legs over the bed and padded over to her looking glass, instantly wishing she had not bothered. Her hair was an absolute disaster. It hung wildly around her face and over her shoulders. She reached for a brush to try to set it to order, but the moment the bristles touched her skin she winced. Her head ached so badly her scalp hurt!

She set the brush down with a sigh. Their houseguest would just have to suffer her bedraggled appearance tonight. A warm sensation filled her chest at the thought of the duke and how he had orchestrated the entire wager simply to help Philip. The man had a good heart whether he believed it or not, and she was supremely glad she had thought of a way to pay back his generosity.

She glanced at the longcase clock with a frown. Six in the evening. Surely her mother was home from her carriage ride and visit to Lord Huntington’s sister by now? Though, Mother could talk for hours, once she got started.

Tugging on her gown and giving her pitiful appearance one last glance, Amelia forced herself to quit her bedchamber and head to her mother’s. After knocking on the door and getting no response as usual, Amelia cracked the door open, and peered into the empty bedchamber, glad to see her mother was not lying in bed. Excellent. Even if Amelia did not like Lord Huntington, she was glad his calling on Mother had gotten her out of bed.

Amelia moved toward the stairs to go in search of her mother. She sighed as she descended the stairs and then hesitated when a sharp pain jabbed her temple. Her stomach rolled in protest. Goodness, she’d not eaten all day. Perhaps she ought to grab a slice of bread before finding her mother and talking with her. Yes, that was the best course. Turning toward the kitchen, Amelia hurried her steps. As she neared the room, she frowned at the unexpected sounds of clattering pans and― Was that
humming
? She quickened her step, a smile tugging at her lips. Was Mother actually cooking dinner? Joy and relief filled her, but when she pushed through the kitchen door, she paused at the sight of a rather rotund but seemingly cheerful woman stirring a pot.

The woman stopped mid-stir, withdrew the spoon, and set it down. She faced Amelia and curtsied. “Good evening, my lady. You must be Lady Amelia.”

“Yes, I am,” she said coming to stand in front of the woman. “Who might you be? Did my mother hire you?” Amelia could scarcely believe Philip would let them spend money on an interim cook or that her mother had rallied herself enough to take such an interest in helping to run the household, but surely both things had occurred. Happiness bubbled in her. Perhaps things would be all right after all.

The woman shoved a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear and smoothed her hands over her starched white apron. “Yes, my lady. I met her several hours ago along with Lord Harthorne and the Duke of Aversley. After your mother approved of my qualifications, your brother arranged for me to work here for the next week.”

“That’s splendid,” Amelia cried out, thrilled she would no longer have to eat eggs for every meal and that they could afford to pay another servant. Perhaps they were not as purse-pinched as she had previously thought. “What are you cooking?” Amelia took a deep breath and caught a whiff and her mouth immediately started to water.

Cook grinned. “Goose and braised ham for the meat. Peas and asparagus as sides. Turtle soup to start. But my specialty”―the woman waved Amelia over to the oven―“is pastries.” The cook opened the oven door, and Amelia inhaled the delicious aroma of baking sweet treats.

“Apple tarts?” she asked hopefully.

The cook nodded. “Especially for you.”

“Did my mother tell you they were my favorite?”

“No, my lady. Actually, it was the Duke of Aversley who mentioned it.”

“That’s odd,” Amelia mumbled. His Grace had no way of knowing apple tarts were her favorite, nor was it his place to recommend to the cook to make special dishes for her. It would look particularly odd if he went around doing such things and people assumed they held a tendre for each other only then for her to become betrothed to Charles. She was going to have to set the duke straight on a few boundaries of this wager.

“I look forward to dinner,” Amelia said, grabbing a piece of bread off the counter and departing to find her mother.

 Amelia headed to the drawing room, and grinned at the sight of her mother sitting on the settee, still dressed in her frothy gown. She looked very fresh, except for the dark circles under her eyes. With a swift look around the room to ensure they were alone, Amelia strode over to the settee and returned Mother’s wan smile as she sat. She grasped her mother’s hand and was baffled when her mother flinched at the touch. “Is everything all right?”

“Certainly. Why do you ask?”

“You seem a bit nervous.”

“Not at all,” Mother assured, though the wringing of her hands was rather the opposite of reassuring.

They had always been able to speak openly to each other, but something seemed to have changed in her mother. Amelia chose her words with care. “I’m glad to see you are feeling well enough to go out for rides and visits and join us for supper. How was your time with Lord Huntington and his sister?”

“Lovely,” her mother replied, her voice somewhat strained.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Amelia. These questions are tiresome, though. There is no need to be concerned about me. I haven’t even had one drop of laudanum today.”

Amelia pressed her lips together on pointing out that she had smelled laudanum on her mother earlier. Instead she said, “I was pleasantly surprised to find you and Philip decided we could hire a temporary cook until Uriah’s return.”

Her mother tugged her hand away. “The duke insisted on the cook. His Grace was adamant that you have proper meals to ensure you look your best when you go off to London next week. The cook is only here until we all leave for Town, thanks to the duke’s generosity.”

“Mother, do you mean to say they already spoke to you about the arrangement and you have given your consent?”

“Certainly,” her mother said, patting Amelia’s hand. “I jumped at the suggestion, truth be known. I have been desperately trying to find a way to get you out of the house and wed as soon as possible, and I had almost given up hope until this solution fell into my lap. His Grace must be rather bored indeed to take an interest in remaking you.”

Amelia let the comment about the duke go unremarked upon. It was the furthest thing from the truth to say His Grace’s interest in her was born from boredom, but perhaps it was better to let her mother think so. If she explained the duke had concocted the whole plan to ensure he could help Philip out of debt, Mother might let the secret out while under the influence of her laudanum.