My Fair Princess (25 page)

“And it truly doesn't bother you?” Gillian sounded so incredulous that he couldn't help feeling a tad annoyed. Did she really believe he would renege on his promise to her? The wary expression in her eyes said that she did. His irritation quickly faded, replaced by the urge to pull her into his arms.

Gillian obviously didn't think she was good enough for a respectable man, much less a duke. And that infuriated him. Like anyone, she had her faults, but she had more character and honor than most of the
ton,
including those with the most sterling of reputations. Charles now knew that she loved deeply, with a fierce loyalty that made a mockery of social niceties and empty courtesies. She was intelligent, brave, and possessed of a passion that could enthrall a man for a lifetime. When compared to all that, neither her impetuous nature nor her unfortunate family history mattered very much.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, letting a thumb stroke along her collarbone. Her dark eyes went wide with surprise. “No,” he said, “I truly don't care what anyone thinks about us.”

She stared for a few seconds before scrunching up her nose at him. “It's your funeral,” she said, affecting a casual tone.

Despite her offhanded response, she looked shyly pleased. Perhaps Elizabeth was correct after all; perhaps Gillian was falling in love with him. It would certainly make life easier. All he then had to do was convince her that his intentions were true and plan from there. If all went well, by this time next week they could be announcing the first set of banns in this very church. It made sense that they marry quietly, before they returned to London. That would certainly be preferable to the sort of extravagant display his mother and sisters would want at Leverton House in London or at the old family pile in Wiltshire.

Charles wanted to spare Gillian the fuss and gossip that would surely attend a more public celebration. Besides, a small, quiet affair meant the two of them could spend more time together, a prospect that grew more appealing to him with every passing day.

Satisfied that he'd got it all sorted, he tucked Gillian's hand through his arm and led her from the churchyard. A quick glance confirmed that the squire's wife was avidly watching them. Soon, the entire village and half the county would realize that the Duke of Leverton was formally courting Miss Gillian Dryden in an exceedingly staid and proper fashion.

Smiling at the few locals who'd lingered to chat in the churchyard, he led Gillian out to the lane. They set out at a brisk pace. Even though the sun was shining, a cool wind blew off the Channel. At this rate, summer would be over before spring had a chance to fully establish itself, which probably meant a poor season for crops. Charles strongly suspected he would have to take steps to alleviate the impact of a bad harvest on his tenants, and he made a mental note to discuss the issue with Scunthorpe.

When Gillian drew her hand away, he realized he'd been letting his mind wander. Elizabeth was right—he was making a sad hash of things, and he needed to do better.

He took her tightly gloved hand and once more placed it on his arm. She glanced up at him, and the look in her eyes suggested she'd been a thousand miles away too. Charles was tempted to laugh at how inept they both were when it came to flirtation and courtship.

“You're looking most fetching today, Gillian,” he said. “My compliments on your excellent taste.”

In fact, she was positively lovely in her burgundy-red walking gown, with its trim-fitting bodice and gently flared skirts. Her simple straw bonnet framed her face, emphasizing her high cheekbones and amber-colored eyes. He'd come to like her narrow, straight brows very much, because they gave her a serious, almost scholarly aspect, comically at odds with her high-spirited nature. Gillian was a challenge and a mystery wrapped up in a vibrant, beautiful package. Charles found himself looking forward to the day when he could fully begin to solve that mystery, and claim Gillian as his own.

Her brows snapped together in a scowl. “Never mind that nonsense. I'm not Miss Meadows. You don't have to pay me silly compliments or act like a man-milliner, even if you are supposed to be courting me.”

Man-milliner?
The women in his family were certainly doing a bang-up job of deflating any notions of consequence on his part. Still, he thought he detected a jealous note in her voice, which was encouraging.

“I
am
courting you,” he said. “I would also like to note that I was not flirting with Miss Meadows.”

“Really? That's certainly how it appeared. If I didn't know better, sir, I would think you are indeed a confirmed flirt.”

“You do know me better,” he said, pulling her a little closer. Still, he couldn't resist testing the waters a bit. “Besides, I can't help it if women find me moderately attractive.”

She let out a hoot. “Attractive? That's a laugh. Women swarm you like flies on a honeypot, and you know it.”

“Thank you for placing that remarkably unappealing image in my mind.”

“Although I suppose your title and your wealth are probably more of an incentive,” she added. “A handsome face and an athletic form are all very well, but most girls on the marriage mart seem willing to forgo those qualities for a title and money.” She cast him a critical look. “You could be as ugly as Hades, and I'd wager you'd still get legions of girls hanging all over you.”

“Gillian, I do believe you will get along exceedingly well with my mother and my sisters. They, too, like to puncture any sense of self-importance I might be foolish enough to harbor.”

She let out a little snicker. A moment later, however, she went back to looking troubled.

He drew her to a halt in the middle of the quiet country lane, taking both her hands between his. Aside from the birds darting amongst the hedgerows, they were alone. “Sweetheart, I wish you would tell me what worries you,” he said in a quiet voice.

Something vulnerable flashed through her gaze, tugging hard on his heart. She looked down at their joined hands, frowning as if their very existence puzzled her.

“You're not afraid to tell me, are you?” he asked. “You have no need to be.”

Gillian glanced up. “Don't be silly. You know I'm not afraid of anything.” Then she paused, grimacing. “That's not quite true. I'm afraid I'm never going to see home again.”

“Ah, Sicily.”

“I cannot pretend I don't miss it. I still long to be there again.”

“Then you shall, after we're married. We can go on a tour of the Continent.”

She let out an exasperated sigh and tried to tug her hands away. He let go of one but held on to the other as he started to walk. She gave another halfhearted tug, but then fell into step beside him, with her hand tucked securely into his. For a minute or so they strolled in silence. Charles let the contentment of the moment settle over him, half amazed at how much he could enjoy so simple a pleasure as walking down a country lane with a pretty girl by his side.

At least when that pretty girl was Gillian.

Still, he could practically feel her seething with questions and worries. “My dear girl, if you are harboring any doubts about my intentions, please share them with me,” he finally said. “All of them.”

“It's just that I'm afraid I'll never be what you want me to be,” she burst out. “No matter how many dancing masters you hire or how many etiquette lessons you give me.”

“I thought you weren't afraid of anything?” he teased.

She shot him an irate glare. “I wish you wouldn't be so annoying. It quite makes me want to box your ears.”

“Since that is a rather terrifying prospect, I will endeavor to answer your question in a serious fashion.”

“That would be helpful, since the only reason I can think of for your wanting to marry me doesn't reflect very well on either of us. It's not necessary for you to salvage my honor, you know.”

“Your honor is well worth protecting, I assure you.” He cut off her protest. “But that's not the only reason, or even the primary reason.”

“I don't follow,” she said in a cautious tone. “What other reason could there be?”

“Gillian, do you truly think I would have touched you if I hadn't already made a decision to marry you? What kind of cad do you take me for?”

Her mouth opened, shut, then opened again. Clearly, that notion hadn't even occurred to her. She peered up at him, apparently perplexed. “I suppose I want to believe that, but . . .”

“But you don't?”

Her simple shrug was sufficient response.

Since neither his kindness nor his display of affection was having any impact, it was time to take another tack. “Gillian, you're aware of the kind of man I'm reputed to be.”

“Of course. You're a high stickler with an impeccable reputation.”

He couldn't help wincing. She made him sound priggish, at best. “I didn't always have such a staid reputation. Not when I was young.”

She smiled at that. “Kicked over the traces, did you? I wish I could have seen that.”

“By your standards, I was probably a dullard. After all, I was the only son of the highest of sticklers and heir to a dukedom. I was made aware from an early age what I owed the title and my family name. Scandal of any kind was anathema to my father.”

“He sounds almost as bad as my grandfather,” she said, giving his hand a sympathetic squeeze.

“They were friends and shared a similar world view.”

She scrunched up her nose. “How unfortunate for us then. Did you ever stand up to him?”

“Just once—when I asked Lady Letitia to marry me.”

“She is very dashing, I'll admit, but she comes from a very respectable family, does she not? You could hardly have known at the time that she would behave so badly toward you.”

He nodded. “Letitia's family is distinguished, and her mother was close to mine. Her dowry was good, and she was considered a fine catch on the marriage mart. On the surface, it seemed like a good match.”

“So why didn't your father approve of her?”

“He considered her
fast,
and much too unreliable to be the Duchess of Leverton. But while her behavior could occasionally veer toward the outrageous, most people saw her as I did—as a vivacious, beautiful, and accomplished young woman with a great deal of charm.”

“Well, she is certainly that.”

“You're being very kind,” he said.

“Really, I'm just trying to be fair. After all, I do know what it's like to be on the receiving end of scurrilous gossip.”

“Yes, but in your case, it's completely unwarranted.”

She flinched. He glanced down, surprised to see her mouth pursed tight, as if in pain. “Is this conversation distressing you? Should I stop?”

Gillian flashed him a bright, rather artificial smile. “Not in the slightest. Please continue, sir. I'm all ears.”

“Very well. Despite my father's reservations, I was determined to marry Letitia. For once, I did not capitulate to his demands. Since I had always been a very biddable child, he couldn't understand my defiance. Needless to say, he was furious with me.”

“You must have loved her very much,” Gillian said in a soft voice.

“I thought so at the time, but I realize now that it was simply youthful infatuation. There were dozens of callow youths who were head over heels for Letitia. You could have lined us up and picked us off with buckshot.”

“But she chose you.”

“As you pointed out, I am a duke.”

She gave him an enchanting half smile. “No false modesty, if you please. What happened next?”

“I eventually wore my father down, which surprised both of us. My mother, of course, took my side, as did my older sister.”

“Not Lady Filby?”

“No. She never liked Letitia. Sadly, I considered Elizabeth little more than a chit of a girl at the time, whose opinion mattered little.”

“I hope you learned your lesson,” she said. “I like your sister very much.”

“I have learned my lesson. Later, I came to realize that Elizabeth was and is an excellent judge of character. She approves of you, by the way, very much.”

Gillian blushed, which Charles also found enchanting. “That's nice of her. So, you wore your father down . . .”

“Yes. He was getting older and was not in the best of health. Now I think he was too sick to carry on fighting with me.” Charles had little doubt that the conflict between them had injured his father's already weak heart.

“That's unfortunate,” she said. “But he must have been pleased when you broke things off with her.”

“He would have been, but for the fact that her lover decided to blackmail my family when I tried to break things off.”

She choked out a gasp. “You must be joking. Stratton tried to blackmail you?”

“Stratton
did
blackmail me and my father,” Charles said in a grim voice.

“But you didn't do anything wrong,” she said, sounding bewildered. “They did.”

“Stratton threatened to embellish the details—which were bad enough—and kick up a huge scandal. My father couldn't bear the notion of sordid gossip attached to our name. And Letitia's parents were devastated as well. They begged us not to disgrace her. It was a bloody complicated mess, and as ugly as you can imagine.”

Gillian's eyes flashed sparks of fury. “Now I wish I'd punched Stratton instead of that other fellow. I take it your father paid up?”

“He did.”

She squeezed his hand. “I'm so, so sorry, Charles, but it wasn't your fault. You mustn't ever think it was. They took advantage of you, the both of them.”