The Duke Can Go to the Devil (12 page)

T
he sun shone bright and hot as May, Charity, and Sophie walked along the riverbank, their moods reflective as they followed the same path they had taken the day they met two months earlier.

It was hard to believe so much had happened since then. In fact, it was hard to remember how lonely she had been before they had become friends. She stopped walking, and the others followed suit. “If you two don't promise to write me with frightening frequency, I swear to you I shall hex you both.”

Sophie laughed even as her eyes shimmered with threatening tears. “And if you don't swear to visit us at least once a year, I shall hex you right back. Or at the very least, send copious stern letters, although I have never been very skilled at coming across as stern, in letters or in person, but I shall do my best.”

Shaking her head, May swallowed her friend up in a fierce hug. “I can't believe you are an old married lady now. And a countess, at that! I shall never call you anything but Sophie, no matter how respectable you are.”

She turned to Charity, who was biting her lip against the myriad emotions May could see in those sweet gray
eyes of hers. “And you. Do please hurry up and set your wedding date. I want to be sure I can be there.”

Sighing, Charity shook her head. “It may be some time yet. We are taking things as slowly as Hugh needs. Still, I shall be utterly heartbroken if you are off sailing the world when we finally do marry.”

Sophie linked arms with the both of them. “Which is why I am pinning all my hopes on this trip of yours to Clifton House. I hereby demand that you fall head over heels for the man so that you can marry him and spend your days within carriage-riding distance from us. I am a countess now, so you have to do what I say,” she added with a mischievous grin.

May groaned. “I knew I shouldn't have told you about it. I assure you, it is merely a diversion until my father comes. Since the two of you couldn't see fit to stick around and rescue me from my aunt's company, I had to make do with the next best thing.”

“Oh, pish,” Sophie said, giving May a teasing bump of her hip. “Don't go ruining our fun. Now that we are both settled, we need to live vicariously through your romantic escapades.”

“Sophie!” May couldn't help but laugh. “You are absolutely incorrigible. There are no escapades in my life, romantic or otherwise.”

Charity's copper brows lifted. “Oh? Then why, I wonder, are you suddenly blushing?”

“The heat, of course,” May responded promptly. “Now then, in all seriousness, I love you both to pieces and I am so glad my father left me here for the summer. No matter what I think of your soggy, stuffy little island, I am tremendously glad to have met you both.”

The tears flowed then, and the three of them were
hugging and wishing one another well, demanding again that they write one another often.

Finally, May sighed. “I suppose I need to get back if I'm to meet His Grace's stated time line.” Despite her sadness at leaving her friends, a little spark of excitement flared to life at the thought of the coming fortnight.

Drying her eyes on a dainty lace handkerchief, Charity nodded. “And Grandmama and I need to tour the town house to be certain the servants haven't overlooked anything.”

Sophie nodded as well. “And Evan wants to make it to the estate by dinner, so I'd best be getting back as well.”

Linking arms again, they started back down the trail. “But just so you know,” Sophie said out of the blue several minutes later, “I'm still close enough to make it to the duke's house in less than half a day. If you need anything—
anything
—send word and I shall be there in a trice. All right?”

“Duly noted.” The promise did actually make May feel marginally better. Knowing Radcliffe, she didn't foresee any great dramas occurring under his watch, but it was good to know she wasn't completely without friends.

“Good,” she said with a decisive nod. “Which means I can also be there in a trice should you have need of a special license and vicar. Obviously I know how to procure both.”

Their shared laughter filled the air around them, warming May's heart more effectively than the late-summer sun ever could. “
Don't
get your hopes up.”

By the time May returned to the house, though, anticipation had begun to build low in her stomach and was spreading with each step. She really didn't want to get
her friends excited about something that was never going to lead to matrimony—God knew she'd never cleave herself to a landlocked Englishman—but it would be a lie to say she wasn't looking forward to the trip.

Particularly the lessons she still couldn't believe Radcliffe had agreed to. And if she could loosen him up enough to steal the kiss he had denied her at the concert? That would definitely be something to remember the trip by.

Grinning, she let herself into the house, where servants were rushing this way and that in preparation for their departure. As May walked past the drawing room, her aunt's voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Where have you been, young lady?”

Drawing a long-suffering breath, May backed up a few steps and looked to where Aunt Victoria sat on her favorite chair, already outfitted in her olive green traveling costume. The older woman's mouth pinched as she surveyed May's appearance. “The duke will be here any minute, and you look as though you have been hiking through the hills like a farm girl.”

May glanced down at her rumpled and tearstained morning dress. “What, is the windswept look not as popular here as it is on the islands?” The quip was out before May could think better of it, as usual. It probably wasn't the best way to start a day that would include the two of them being trapped in a carriage for several hours together. Still, she had just said good-bye to her two closest friends and she wasn't in the mood to be criticized.

“Do not make me regret accepting the duke's invitation. It is not too late for me to beg off due to sudden illness.”

As threats went, it was rather toothless. May knew her
aunt well enough to know that she would not risk disappointing the duke.

She forced a contrite smile. “Fear not, I'll be perfectly presentable in no time.”

She started to walk away, but her aunt wasn't finished. “It was against my better judgment to accept in the first place,” she said, her mouth turned down in a frown that seemed more worried than chiding. “If I think for one moment you are making a fool of either yourself or me, I will not hesitate to return home. It's precisely why I insisted we travel in our own carriage.”

Whether May liked it or not, the threat got her attention. Aunt Victoria genuinely believed that May would be an embarrassment to her, which gave a sound thump to her conscience. There was no love lost between them, but she needed to rein in her tongue and show a little restraint when it came to her aunt. Lifting her shoulders, she nodded once and continued up to her chambers to change. This was not an opportunity she was prepared to lose.

*   *   *

Nervousness was not an emotion William was accustomed to. He generally went through life with the sureness that came from knowing one's place at the top of the social ladder.

Yet that's exactly what he was feeling as they turned the final corner on the road to Clifton House. He slowed his horse and maneuvered to the side of the carriage where he knew Miss Bradford sat. She readily opened the window and smiled up at him, her brilliant blue eyes glittering beautifully in the afternoon sun. “Am I to assume we are almost there?”

“Less than a quarter mile to go. Would you like to walk the rest of the way, or would you prefer to ride?”

“I would gladly pay you to get out of this carriage right now,” she replied, earning a pained sound from Lady Stanwix.

William smiled. Exactly what he thought she would say. He nodded and called to the coachman, who promptly pulled back on the reins. Dismounting, he tied Gray to the back of the carriage and hurried around to assist Miss Bradford to the ground. He gestured for them to go ahead, and within moments they were alone.

He drew a deep, contented breath as he looked around the familiar oaks and neatly trimmed hedges that lined the lane. “I confess, nothing is ever so great as the feeling of returning home. How are you faring?”

Her pretty blue traveling costume was slightly the worse for wear, and she gave the skirts a good shake before smoothing a hand over her hair. “Anything disparaging that I ever said about you, I take it all back. Any man who would rescue me from the clutches of The Warden has my undying admiration.”

His eyes widened. “The
Warden
? A little dramatic, don't you think?”

She shrugged, not at all concerned. “Perhaps, but it suits both her personality and my mood. It's a shame Lady Radcliffe went on ahead of us. I would have been better off sharing her carriage.”

William didn't comment. She would form her own opinion of Vivian over the next fortnight. A small bur of worry slid between his ribs. He hoped Vivian would behave when she saw the children later that evening. She was never cruel to them, merely indifferent, but he wasn't sure one was necessarily worse than the other.

Setting aside his worry for the time being, he extended his arm to Miss Bradford. “Shall we continue? I
imagine you're anxious to rest up after such a long journey.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “That was little more than a jaunt. If you wish to speak of long journeys, I'm more than happy to tell you all about sailing halfway across the world.”

They fell into step with each other as they walked along the lane. Pride welled within him as they approached the point where the manor would come into view. For the second time that day, a hint of nervousness tightened his chest. “I will leave the world travel to you, as I am absolutely content right here in Codford. In fact,” he said, gesturing ahead as the trees gave way to the full glory of the house and grounds, “I give you my home, Clifton House.”

Miss Bradford followed his direction and gazed out over the view. He'd been gone only a short while, but the scene was enough to make his chest ache. The grounds were meticulously groomed, the huge gates impressive, the house absolutely majestic. The afternoon sun reflected gloriously off the gold leaf sashes of all one hundred windows lining the west-facing facade, making the whole house shimmer. The grand fountain that was centered before the house sparkled as well, the water shooting up two stories into the air before cascading back to its huge oval pool.

Exhaling with pleasure, he turned to see her reaction, to observe the moment when he finally impressed her. But her face wasn't lit with awe or wonder. She didn't even look mildly impressed. What he saw in her expression was a blow to his pride: She was indifferent.

“It's big,” she said, stating the obvious.

Big?
That's all she could say about his ancestral home, the single most celebrated privately owned residence in
all of the country? About the building that was an architectural wonder, updated with the very latest in modern conveniences and the envy of all who saw it?

“Yes, it is big,” he replied, his words clipped. “One hundred and eleven rooms, to be exact.”

She turned to him, one blond brow arched high. “I had no idea you had so many family members. Christmases must be chaos at your house.”

First she was indifferent, and now she was offering sarcasm? His eyes narrowed slightly as he pinned her with a chilly stare. “Do you think to insult me, Miss Bradford?”

“Not
you
,” she replied, extending an arm toward the house. “But I have to wonder, what on earth is the point of a house this size? What does one do with all those rooms? And please tell me I am imagining that your windows are lined with gold.”

He clenched his jaw, glaring at her and her impertinence. “Gold leafing is extremely durable and is a practical solution to weatherproofing so many windows. As for the size, the majority of the rooms are for guests, should a house party or ball be thrown. Social functions are expected of a duke.”

“Are they? You don't strike me as the type to host house parties and balls. When was the last time you held one?”

Why did he suddenly feel the need to defend his own estate? The house—as well as all his other homes—constituted both his birthright and his legacy. The wealth of his family reflected centuries of good stewardship and good favor from half a dozen monarchs.

Refusing to be bated into defensiveness, he turned and stalked forward, uncaring if she followed or not. If she wished to tag along, that was her prerogative. After
a moment, the quickening tap of her half boots on the packed earth indicated her choice.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice more long-suffering than sincere. “I just have never seen anything so overtly grandiose. I can't seem to fathom why a single person would need so much.”

“Tell me, Miss Bradford. In all of your travels, where was it that you learned to insult your host's home? India? China, perhaps?”

She slowed to a stop, and he swung around to face her. She actually looked a little guilty. “You're right of course. It's never acceptable.”

He was just about to thank her when she said, “But in my defense—”

“Oh no,” he said, holding up a hand. “You don't get to qualify bad behavior. Either you offer an apology for being wrong, or you keep your tongue behind your teeth.”

Her eyes narrowed as her fists went to her side. “Did you just tell me to close my mouth?”

He crossed his arms. “I'd rather you apologize, but I'd accept the other as well.”

She opened her mouth, tilted her head, then decisively closed it. Smiling mirthlessly, she started walking again, her pace just this side of trotting. He started after her, his long strides closing the distance between them as he shook his head all the while. “Stubborn to a fault. Very well. I could certainly use a quiet walk on a lovely summer day.”