Along Came a Duke (3 page)

She dug in her heels and gulped. “Yes.”

He nodded. “And you and your companions have no intention of marrying?”

“I cannot speak for Miss Dale or Miss Hathaway, but I consider myself quite happily situated if I may be so frank.”

Then again, any woman foolish enough to marry a man like this Mr. Preston would most likely find herself abandoned and her heart broken.

And yet . . . for a moment, she wondered how a woman could naysay him, for even her stalwart resolve to send him on his way with a thorough dressing-down began to waver as he came even closer to her—until he stood with his bare chest just a hand's width away from her wide-eyed gaze.

So close she could see the rivulets of moisture running down the muscled expanse before her, nearly feel his pulse as it raced from his heart. He smelled of his labors, of the charcoal in the forge and of something else, something so masculine that it wrestled with Tabitha's better nature and left her bereft of common sense.

It left her wanting to inhale deeply and reach out and touch him, if only because suddenly she had the sense of the ground beneath her shifting.

Then to her horror, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “If I might be so bold, Miss Timmons, what exactly do you know of men's whims or, for that matter, the desire a lady feels?”

The implication of his words hit her with the same force as if he had struck her. Tabitha stumbled back, out of his reach, her cheeks flaming. “Ooooh! How dare you!”

The wretched fellow laughed and turned his back to her, returning to his labors, dismissing her in much the same manner as he had earlier. Halfway back to the forge, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Miss Timmons, if you had ever dared, you wouldn't make such a foolish statement.”

She sucked in a deep breath, her hand resting over her stomach, which seemed to have filled with butterflies. Catching hold of what little bit of composure she still possessed, she let fly with a hot retort.

“There is nothing wrong with a lady who knows her own mind and chooses not to be ruled by a man and his arrogance.”

“You speak your mind quite freely, don't you, Miss Timmons?” Mr. Preston barely looked back as he tossed this question over his shoulder. Yet then he paused and turned. “And do all the young ladies of this town share that trait?”

On either side of her, Daphne and Harriet nodded their heads in sisterly unity.

Lord Roxley began to chuckle, but when he found himself facing three outraged misses, and perhaps knowing that this furious trio would in all likelihood be reporting this encounter to his great-aunt, he coughed and stepped aside, leaving his friend to bear the wrath of their fury all alone.

Preston picked up the bellows and then looked over at them. “Then I would say it isn't the ladies of this village who are cursed, but every man within fifty miles.”

Chapter 2

I
nstead of returning from her Society meeting content enough with her life to endure another week in the vicarage, Tabitha stormed through the door in a mood that defied her uncle's dictums for reserve and order.

In fact, she closed the door with a decided rattle.

Her temper wasn't from the near brawl the Tempest twins had launched over the Midsummer's Eve Ball buntings—truly, lavender or green hardly seemed to matter as much as it had earlier in the day.

Before . . . before . . .

“That . . . that . . . odious, odious man,” she told Mr. Muggins as her dog rushed past her, the exuberant waving of his tail neatly clearing a nearby tabletop of its knickknacks. “Whatever is wrong with speaking one's mind?”

It wasn't as if she didn't have occasion to hear the very same lament—the burden of a spinster niece and her tart manners—from her uncle on a daily basis, but her uncle's ranting she could manage.

From that wretched Mr. Preston? Why, it was unbearable!

Utterly so, if she was being honest. Not only were his mocking glance and smug tones unsettling, but she also had the horrible suspicion that he could see right into her heart and know without a doubt that she was lying.

“Certainly there is nothing wrong in remaining unmarried,” she said to Mr. Muggins.

Especially if it meant not being under the control of such a man. A handsome, overbearing brute like Mr. Preston.

Certainly he was the sort to ruin a lady without any remorse, what with those leonine flashes of power of his, that sharp, piercing gaze and his commanding stance. Why, he could probably convince some unwitting gel that he was a gentleman, perhaps even a baronet.

A baronet, indeed! Now that was funny.

What wasn't amusing was the way his whispered words had left her all ashiver with something that could only be described as “want.”

Want
. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. For what? For Mr. Preston?

Tabitha shook her head. If she had any desire to see that wretched bounder ever again, it would be for one reason and one reason only.

“To give him a piece of my mind,” she told Mr. Muggins. “The wigging I should have given him.”

And she would have, right there and then, if she hadn't been so tongue-tied after he'd made his outlandish remark. “If I had brothers like Harriet,” she explained, “I would have been capable.”

Mr. Muggins tipped his grizzled red head and gazed up at her quizzically.

“Yes, I suppose you are right. I'll never know, for I'm not likely to see the likes of him again,” she conceded. And thank goodness for that small favor.

That should be a comforting thought—never having to see him again, never stand so close to him that she could reach out and touch him, feel that bare chest, the muscled planes, the rigid strength . . .

Winding her arms around herself, Tabitha shivered. Oh, heavens, she must be imagining things. He hadn't been
that
handsome. No man was. He'd simply left her overcome by his . . . rudeness.

“Yes, that was what it was,” she told Mr. Muggins. “He was ever so ill-mannered.”

But there was little time to debate this lie, as the heavy steps of the housekeeper came down the hall.

“Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Oaks declared as she bustled into the room. The large, sharp-eyed woman had arrived with Tabitha's aunt and uncle, and, like her master and mistress, found Kempton without any charm and the old vicarage a terrible trial. “I thought I heard the front door close.” The lady's brows arched in condemnation of such uncharacteristic violence in the vicarage. “Just as well I did hear you come in, the vicar has been in quite a state since
I
had to go fetch the post for him,” she said, frowning darkly because that was one of Tabitha's many tasks.

Woe be it for her aunt or uncle to have trotted themselves up to the post office.

Mrs. Oaks glanced at Tabitha's flattened hat and discarded gloves, clucking her tongue. “Reverend Timmons said I was to send you to the parlor the moment you returned. Now that I've gone and told you, best not tarry.”

Against her better sense, Tabitha asked, “Whatever is this about?”

“How am I to know?” the lady huffed as she waded her way around the furniture and went to straighten up the toppled knickknacks. “I don't pry, nor do I gossip, but it can't be favorable. Never heard any good tidings come from one of those London thieves.” The brows arched again.

“Thieves?”

Mrs. Oaks heaved a great sigh and then went on to elaborate, clearly exasperated that Tabitha hadn't more information to add. “Solicitors. From London.”

Lawyers? Tabitha paused and then recalled that her uncle had been receiving sporadic letters from a London solicitor over the past few months—though she hadn't given it much regard, for it could hardly concern her.

Yet now it seemed it did.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The housekeeper clucked her tongue again and shooed her toward the hall.

“Yes. Indeed,” Tabitha agreed as she smoothed down her skirt and took a deep breath. “I'd best see to this.” Hurrying down the hall, she stopped before the parlor door for just a moment to compose herself, shaking off any last vestiges of Mr. Preston and his debatable charms before she rapped on the panel. “Uncle, I have returned from the Society meeting.”

“Come in, come in, dear girl,” he replied.

Dear girl?
Tabitha drew back from these cheerful tones. Oh, good heavens, this couldn't bode well in the least.

And her fears were not abated when she pushed the door open to find—to her dismay—not only her uncle but her aunt as well, sitting on the settee, the tea tray set before them and both of them wearing wide, uncharacteristic smiles on their faces.

Well, Aunt Allegra's lips were
almost
tipped into a real smile. As near as Tabitha had ever seen the lady manage.

Suddenly she felt like a canary with a broken wing left in the barn with a clowder of hungry cats.

Uncle Bernard waved Tabitha inside and toward an empty chair. “There you are, our dearest niece. We have been waiting most anxiously for your return.”

“I told you, Bernard, we should have sent the carriage to fetch her home,” Aunt Allegra said. “She looks completely parched.” At this her aunt busied herself with filling a teacup for Tabitha and handing it over to her.

“Is there something wrong?” Tabitha asked, her hands trembling as she held the good china, which, up until this moment, she'd only been allowed to wash.

Her aunt and uncle shared a glance, then Uncle Bernard set down his teacup and began shuffling through a collection of papers scattered beside the tea tray. Having made his selection from amongst the notes, he said quite bluntly, “I fear I have bad news,” at which he held up one letter and, reaching for another, continued by saying, “and some rather shocking news. Which do you prefer?”

With the afternoon she'd had, Tabitha didn't find either one preferable. But apparently “neither” wasn't a choice. “Perhaps I should fetch you more tea,” she suggested, starting to rise.

“Heavens, Bernard, you've frightened the poor child,” her aunt chided, once again smiling at Tabitha. Well, nearly smiling.

Her uncle nodded in concession, for the only person he deferred to was his wife. Then again, according to family rumor, he had only married the former Lady Allegra Ackland because she had come with a tidy income, so necessary to the third son of a baronet with few prospects. “It is my sad duty to inform you that your mother's brother, Winston Ludlow, has died.”

Uncle Winston? Why, his name was barely spoken in this house, and certainly not by her father's relations.

Her mother's brother had been dead set against his sister's marriage to the second son of a baronet, whose slim prospects had risen no higher than the vicarage in Kempton. Having had his heart (and business dealings) set on his beautiful sister marrying well, Winston had abandoned her and England altogether for his holdings in the West Indies when Miss Clarissa Ludlow married the Reverend Archibald Timmons.

“Oh, dear! How very sad,” she managed, digging in the pocket of her gown for a handkerchief which she truly didn't need. All she'd ever known of her uncle was what could be discerned in the miniature of him that had been her mother's. And now that handsome, smiling fellow, the one at whom her father had clucked his tongue in censure on more than one occasion, was gone, never to be known in person.

Tabitha looked up at Uncle Bernard and Aunt Allegra, who were both still smiling.

And while she wouldn't expect a grand show of sympathy from the pair before her, whyever did they both continue to smile over this news?

“There now,” Aunt Allegra said, brushing crumbs from her lap. “That untidy business is over with. Now tell her the good news, Bernard.”

Uncle Bernard cleared his throat and read in his most nasal vicar voice, “According to Mr. Pennyman, of the offices of Kimball, Dunnington, and Pennyman, your uncle has left you the entirety of his estate.” He paused and glanced up at her. “It seems you are an heiress of some worth.”

Aunt Allegra burst into happy tears. “Our dearest girl an heiress! What this will mean for all of us!”

“An heiress?” Tabitha whispered. Suddenly the room grew far too close and she had, for the second time this day, the sense that someone was tugging at the carpet beneath her feet.

“Well, yes. But that is hardly surprising, with your mother gone and you the only family Ludlow had left,” her uncle was saying. “Death has its way of taking and at the same time giving—both to the deserved and the undeserved.”

She had no doubt in which of those categories her aunt and uncle considered her, but suddenly her heart fluttered with a rare freedom.

An heiress.
No longer would she be at her aunt and uncle's beck and call. As an heiress, she wouldn't have to reside on their bitterly doled-out charity.

She rose, biting her lip as she stood there considering what needed to be done next. Suddenly she was back in control of her life. “I will need a mourning gown. I haven't anything that will be proper—”

“That is not necessary—” her aunt said, sharing another quick glance with her husband, then waving Tabitha to sit back down.

“Whyever not?” Tabitha asked. Certainly this news had taken some time to reach England and then wind its way to Kempton, but . . . “He was my uncle, and a proper observation—”

“Your aunt is correct. The time for mourning is over. Besides, there are more pressing matters that need to be settled.”

Tabitha stilled. “More pressing? How so?” Why, Harriet had inherited a modest sum from a maiden aunt not two years ago and the solicitor had merely sent along the money in a letter. Nothing to be settled or sorted out, just a neatly conveyed inheritance.

Certainly an entire estate would be a more complicated affair, but it could hardly—

“Your uncle had grave concerns about turning over his vast fortune to a young lady with no experience in the world.”

“A most thoughtful concern,” her aunt added.

“Precisely,” Uncle Bernard agreed. “Which, I daresay, is a sentiment I can commend him for.”

Tabitha sniffed at such a notion. Unable to manage her own affairs, indeed! Her uncle ought to take a look at the household accounts and parish records. It wasn't his smudged and lazy tallies that were to be found in the ledgers.

“Mr. Pennyman, of the offices of Kimball, Dunnington, and Pennyman,” her uncle intoned, “as well as I and my esteemed brother and the head of our family, Sir Mauris, are of the opinion that before the will be made public, certain provisions needed to be handled. Discreetly.”

“For which you should be most grateful,” Aunt Allegra told her. “A young lady with a fortune is subject to all sorts of untoward attentions by the worst sort of vagrants.”

Why was it that Tabitha instantly thought of Preston?

She shook off the image of that handsome rogue and focused on what her uncle was saying. “I hardly think I will be of much interest to any man.”

“You needn't worry on that account!” Uncle Bernard burst out laughing. “My dear, you will be married before Midsummer's Eve.”

“A summer bride,” her aunt enthused.

Tabitha glanced at both of them. “However is that possible?”

Her uncle, no longer smiling, having taken off his glasses and characteristically frowning at her, said, “Your uncle's will only allows you to inherit if you are married.” He studied his spectacles for a moment more before he began to clean them. “The entire inheritance is void if you are not wed before your twenty-fifth year to—”

The words echoed past her, each one banging into the other until it was naught but a cacophony.
Married. Twenty-fifth year
.

Twenty-fifth year? Tabitha froze. “But that's only—”

“Yes, a little over a month's time.”

“Then the money is lost,” Tabitha said, throwing up her hands. “However am I to find a husband in so short a time? There's not even enough weeks left to read the banns properly, let alone find a suitable
parti
.”

“Not in the least,” Aunt Allegra told her, smiling anew. “It has all been arranged.”

If Tabitha thought her life had been turned upside down by her encounter with Mr. Preston, she suddenly realized she was about to be overturned yet again.

“Whatever do you mean, Aunt Allegra?” Tabitha glanced at her uncle. “Sir?”

“All is not lost, my dear,” Uncle Bernard said with a renewed cheer. “Your Uncle Winston was kind enough to also bequeath you a husband.”

“W
hat the devil is all this I've been hearing all over Town?” Lord Henry Seldon asked, standing before the bottle-covered table at White's where his nephew, Christopher Seldon, the Duke of Preston, and the duke's rapscallion friend, the Earl of Roxley, were holding court.