The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior (28 page)

“Rose won't go if you're not there. And I want her there to see me—see me doing something good. This is important to me. To us.” He spoke in a low tone, one that traveled sneakily up her spine and settled somewhere in her chest.

Right where that treacherous, damaged heart was.

“I know Rose can't understand why I can't be there,” she said, “but you can. You know what will happen.”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and huffed a breath out, as though keeping himself from saying something that would— Well, she had no idea what it would do, just that for some reason he wasn't saying it.

“You know yourself just how entitled the people in ‘my world,' as you put it, are. They won't notice you. You can come just when I speak to the guests, and then leave when I'm done speaking. I just need to make sure Rose is all right.”

She felt herself wavering, even though she knew it was a terrible idea. How could he even tamper with Rose's future like that?

He was even more arrogant than she realized, and she'd realized he was quite arrogant already.

It was good, then, that this would be the only thing.

Had she really just decided? She thought about it, and knew she had. Even though she was cursing herself for knowing she would give in to his request.

But if it was the only way for his daughter to see her father do something right in public—ironic though the whole thing was—she would have to do it. Later on he'd have a new governess, one who would be reputation-free, would likely not need to be clothed, or questioned, or—or kissed.

Or caressed.

Or anything else at all like that. He would have a wife, a proper lady wife, who would be able to touch that glorious chest, feel the muscles tremble under her fingers, make him lose his control and rake her fingers through his hair, down his back, and—

“I'll do it,” she said, before she could think anything more detrimental to her current tenuous hold on not being entirely miserable. Partially miserable was a goal, at least.

A person should always have goals.

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “I promised Rose you would, and I couldn't bear the thought of going back and having to tell her you couldn't.” He rubbed his hand against his cheek, just as Lily had been imagining herself doing.

“I will send a carriage for you at one o'clock, you can wait inside until it is time for me to speak.
I'll send John Footman to fetch you, and then you can leave right afterward.”

It sounded as though he'd thought of her objections and was trying to answer them as best he could. As though he wanted to do the right thing, but there were two right things here—Rose seeing him, and her escorting Rose—and the two were contradictory and couldn't possibly coexist.

Could they? She could wear a large bonnet and borrow one of her friends' cloaks, not that his world had memorized her clothing, but at least there was less of a chance she'd be recognized. And thus far the only person who'd—

“One more thing,” she said in as casual a way as possible. “Will Mr. Smithfield's sisters be there? His brothers-in-law?”

His gaze seemed to see right through her, but he just shook his head. “Not that I know of, it is a very limited guest list.”

“Ah.” Relief coursed through her, only to be subsumed in another wave of panic. “You are getting a replacement? This is only for tomorrow?”

An odd look passed over his features, so quickly she might have thought she'd imagined it. “I will not be needing you as a governess any longer after tomorrow,” he said. “I promise.”

She exhaled. “Well. Then, thank you. I will see you tomorrow.”

She watched as he donned his hat and did up his coat, those long, elegant fingers she'd grown to love working the buttons with an alluring dexterity.

Unless she was just reading into that, and he had normal fingers doing normal things.

He touched his hat and offered a slight bow. “Thank you again. Rose will be thrilled you can attend.”

And walked out before she could say anything.

Dukes always get the last word
.

—T
HE
D
UKE
'
S
G
UIDE
TO
C
ORRECT
B
EHAVIOR

H
e'd done it. He'd gone there, he hadn't blurted out what he intended to do, he had been himself, or the himself he was as much as he possibly could.

Seeing her had shaken him. He'd seen her everywhere he looked, since she left—was it only a week ago?—but seeing her in reality drove home just how much he wanted her. How much he needed her.

How much he loved her.

And that was why it was worth anything to him to have her again. For real, not just under the guise of returning borrowed clothing, or instructions in manners or accounts—although perhaps he could use her skills in that regard, since he was doing an awful job of it by himself.

“Your Grace, welcome back.” Thompson had been even more rigid since Lily had left so abruptly. Even he had been affected by her.

And Rose. She was resilient, certainly, but she kept talking about “Miss Lily this,” and “Miss
Lily that,” underscoring just how much the child missed her, whether she knew it herself or not.

He hadn't bothered to find another governess. And he wouldn't, not right away, not without knowing if everything—that everything—would be all right. He couldn't dare think it wouldn't be.

“Tea in the library,” Marcus ordered as he handed the butler his hat and coat, still damp from the rain.

“Very good, Your Grace,” Thompson replied.

Marcus walked to the library—their library—and hesitated for a moment before entering.

It was the same room as it had been before, but it just wasn't.

He'd spent every evening in here since she left, staying up way later than he should, knowing that unless he were totally and utterly exhausted he would lie awake for hours, thinking about what they'd done in his bed. What he wanted to do to her.

It wasn't fair that he had been shown how it could be, how it should be, only to have it taken away. And he knew it wouldn't be the same with anyone else.

Not that he wanted anyone else.

He wanted her. And he would get her. He was, as she was so fond of pointing out, a duke after all.

Even though that meant nothing when it came to the society of the heart.

He really and truly had to admit he was a bad poet. And what was worse, if she were here, he would find himself spouting his bad poetry to her, just to see her face crinkle up in amusement
or have her raise her brow in a mockingly derisive way.

He hoped he'd have that chance.

Thompson returned with the tea just as he was about to be concerned he was growing maudlin.

“If that will be all, Your Grace?” Thompson bowed his head just barely.

I am trying to get her back, Marcus wanted to shout. Only shouting at him, if momentarily satisfying, would do nothing more than bother both of them.

“That is all. Thank you,” he said, leaning forward to pour his tea, hoping it would be the last night he'd have to drink it alone.

“I
think she should wear the blue gown,” Annabelle said, swatting Caroline's hand away.

Lily knew it had been a mistake to ask her friends to help her get ready, but what else was she to do? It wasn't as though she could dress herself, with shaky hands and distracted mind and butterflies in the stomach.

And once she'd told them, they wouldn't have listened if she wanted to be by herself anyway. Annabelle had to work through every possible ramification of what might happen, including the possibility of Lily discovering she was the long-lost heir to a remote German princedom, the only person who could accurately answer a riddle to receive a vast treasure, and that she could make plants bloom simply by walking by them.

Or all three.

Caroline merely snorted.

“It doesn't matter what I will be wearing,” she said. “I am only coming out during the duke's speech, to ensure Rose can see and that she doesn't get lost. Then I will be on my way home.” She frowned. “You two will be at the House of Commons today?”

Annabelle opened her mouth, but Caroline dug an elbow into her side. “Yes, we will. Thank you for finishing the flyers,” she said. “What time is the carriage arriving?”

As though Annabelle hadn't mentioned it at least ten times during the past twenty minutes. “One o'clock.”

“Of course,” Caroline said. “We will be off just after you leave.”

At last, after several more meandering conversations led by Annabelle, Lily was dressed—despite her own protests—in one of the prettier day gowns the duke had purchased for her. Caroline had done her hair up and Annabelle loaned her a bonnet, one that was attractive but still somewhat hid her face.

Lily gathered herself and glanced at the clock. Five minutes to one. She hugged her friends, took a deep breath and walked outside.

“M
iss Lily! Miss Lily!” Rose came bounding up to her, dressed in the most beautiful frock Lily had ever seen, one that likely cost as much as her annual salary. Her previous annual salary, that is.

The duke walked up behind his daughter,
dressed more faultlessly than she had ever seen—from perfectly tied, straight, and white cravat, to elegant, well-fitting coat, to his sleek, clinging trousers, down to immaculate shoes, which would likely lose their pristine look within two minutes of walking around a garden—a garden full of dirt, of all things.

He must have shaved recently, since he had barely any stubble. Lily was selfishly glad no other young lady could see him in all his gloriousness with the addition of that stubble, which made part of her melt inside, now that she knew what it felt like under her hand.

“Miss Lily.” Even his voice sounded formal and correct.

“Your Grace.” She curtsied as she took Rose's hand. “When are you speaking?”

He drew a watch out of his waistcoat. “Five minutes, I believe. You will bring Rose up, close enough to hear?” He sounded anxious, and she felt herself soften at the reminder of how much he loved Rose.
Enough of that, Lil,
she warned herself. After today, she would never see them again.

And then she felt the tears start to well up.
Don't think about that now, either,
she chided herself.

So many things not to think of. What could she think of instead? How lovely the day was, how the rain from the previous evening had gone away, leaving a bright freshness to the air that could only augur spring. That the garden was truly lovely, with shaded areas and small benches placed precisely beside well-tended paths.

That the Queen was sitting on one of those small benches.

The Queen. As in, the queen Queen.

Oh, dear. Had she been worried about someone recognizing her before? Now she was terrified.

“Miss Lily, it is time. Could you escort Miss Rose up to the front?” His dark eyes met hers, nothing in them indicating he was aware of the abject fear and terror she was feeling.

So much for his being her true love, or whatever perversely romantic thing she'd concocted in her brain back when she was in the process of falling in love with him.

“Did you see the Queen?” Her voice wasn't a voice so much as a strangled hiss.

He took a nonchalant look toward the ruler of the entire kingdom and shrugged. “Yes, there was a rumor that she would be in attendance. Her Majesty is a great lover of nature.”

He did not seem perturbed by her presence at all. Of course not, she reminded herself for perhaps the thousandth time, he was a duke. A duke was as close to royalty as a nonroyal person could get.

Whereas she—she was as close to a fallen woman as a nonfallen woman could get.

“Rose, Miss Lily?” The duke's imperious autocratic tone brought her back to the present. Where she was still on the verge of falling. “This way,” he said, turning to stride toward a section where she saw a group of nonfallen women. There was a cluster of chairs, and a pretty young woman sat in one, a smile on her face as she beheld the duke.

Was this whom he had chosen to marry? This perfectly fine young lady with lovely clothes, a nice smile, and a trim figure?

There was nothing about the woman with which she could find fault. That might be the worst part of it all—she couldn't even hate her, this proper young lady who was entirely suitable. She just wasn't her.

An older thin woman stood and greeted the duke, then gestured for him to move to the front, where Lily assumed the patrons were sitting. She saw, then, Mr. Smithfield standing in the back row, smiling as he caught her eye.

Did he wink at her as well?

That was odd.

She couldn't think about that either, since the duke had moved in front of the gathering and begun to speak. His low, resonant voice wrapped itself around her body and made her want him all over.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming this afternoon. We are all very pleased to announce the opening of the Gardens. We hope that this public area will provide a place for people to come enjoy the bounty of nature, even within an area as built up as London. People, no matter if they are dukes, chimney sweeps, or queens,” and at this he bowed at Victoria, “deserve a place to come and find respite. Some greenery amidst the gray.”

He paused, and a few people began to clap, thinking the speech was over.

“But,” he said, sweeping his hands out in a
broad gesture, “more than that, it is a place where things live. Where things thrive. And that, more than anything, is what spoke to me, what persuaded me to become a patron of this fine undertaking.”

Murmurs of accord, and even—did she hear it?—some comments on how remarkably handsome he was, standing in front of everyone, with all his height and looks and impressive nose and delicious voice and intense dukeliness.

Although that last could have been just her.

“Recently, I have been lucky enough to have undergone some changes in my life. I know that many of you know that I have just recently, and unexpectedly, come into my title. But that is not the luckiest thing.” He gazed out into the crowd and found where Lily and Rose stood. “I have been lucky enough to find my daughter,” at which a gasp rose from the crowd, “and she is the reason I wanted to support a place where things could not only live, but thrive. And be loved. As I love her.”

Lily's heart was in her throat as she waited for someone to yell something, to say anything that would hurt Rose. No wonder he wanted her there—he needed to ensure that Rose was protected, but also so Rose could hear him say he wanted her, as he had never been wanted himself.

A pause, then a few people started to clap, joined by at least half more of the crowd. Not a complete approbation, but at least a mild tolerance. Lily let out a sigh of relief.

But he wasn't finished. “And someone else has entered my life as well.”

Her spine tingled.

“She originally arrived to teach my daughter the names of flowers, such as we might find in this garden, and manners, and how to draw, but she's taught us so much more. Taught me so much more. This woman, this lady, is all that is intelligent, and refined, and polite, and I know that it might not accord with convention for me to have fallen in love with her”—at which point there was a crowdwide gasp, and then chattering, as everyone asked their neighbor who he could possibly be talking about—“but she has shown me how to live and thrive, and I cannot possibly live—or live happily—without her.”

Startled cries from the crowd, while Queen Victoria seemed to almost smile. Marcus met Lily's gaze and his lips lifted in a slight wry curl, as though he knew she wanted to shout at him to stop but didn't dare.

“And when I had the chance to say something to her, I was tongue-tied. I was unable to say what I was feeling, and for that, I have the most profound regret. I am hoping I can say some of what I feel for her now, but I want to spend the rest of my life telling her what I feel, each and every day, until the end. And even that won't be enough.” He straightened and looked directly at her, and Lily caught the shift as people turned to stare at the woman who was the object of the duke's affection.

“Lily,” he said, “what is your damn last name? I don't remember.”

“Russell,” Lily replied.

“Lily Russell, I know you think we will not suit,
for reasons that aren't important. Here is why we will suit. These are the only reasons you should consider. You are the only person I wish to kiss first thing in the morning and the last thing at night, and all the times in between. You are the person I first think of when I wish to share a sorrow or a joy. You are everything I would hope for in a wife, a duchess, and most importantly, as a mother to my daughter. You are the only one I wish to live with and for, for the rest of my life.”

He stepped forward, into the standing crowd, which parted for him as he made his way to her. When he stood just in front of her, he lowered himself to one knee. “Dearest Lily, in front of all these people, I want to tell you how much I love you. How much I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

Lily froze, her hand going to her mouth in shock. The other hand still held Rose's, and she felt a tug on her fingers, then glanced down at the little girl.

“Answer the duke,” Rose urged, then smiled. “He loves you, he told me.”

Lily looked back at him, on his knee, thought about how his trousers were likely getting dirty, and how the crowd of his peers were probably wondering who she was, and that her past made her even more unsuitable than just not being one of them, and that maybe someone had recognized her and was spreading the story now.

But—did it matter?

Well, it did, of course it did, for all the reasons she'd left in the first place. But he had said it, in
front of everyone. Did it matter now? Perhaps that was the right question.

“Can you give me an answer, Lily? Because my knees are starting to ache,” he said in a return to that arrogant tone she had grown to love.

As she had grown to love all of him.