The Duke's Cinderella Bride (3 page)

Not that it particularly mattered what the Duke of Stourbridge made of
her.
He was far, far above her precarious social station, and as such would have no further reason to even notice her existence.

If, that was, for the rest of his stay Jane desisted from falling down the staircase into his arms or attacking him with a parasol!

How could she have been so ungainly, so inelegant, so utterly without grace? Jane wondered as she sat down
shakily on the side of Lady Sulby’s four-poster bed, dropping the shawl and parasol on the bedcover beside her as she put both her hands against her hot and flustered cheeks. The Duke, as had been obvious from that last disdainful glance in her direction, had obviously been wondering the very same thing.

Oh, this was dreadful. Too horrible for words. She just wanted to curl up in a ball of misery in the window-seat in her bedroom and not appear again until that beautiful black carriage, with its ducal crest and its illustrious guest inside, had rolled back down the driveway and disappeared to London, whence it came.

‘Whatever are you doing, Jane?’ A stunned Lady Sulby came to an abrupt halt in the doorway to her bedchamber, and a guilt-stricken Jane rose from her sitting position on the side of her silk-covered bed.

The older woman’s gaze moved critically about the room, a frown marring her brow as she saw the jewellery box on the dressing table. Jane had earlier intended returning it to the still open top drawer, but had totally forgotten to do in the excitement of the Duke’s arrival.

‘Have you been looking at my things?’ Lady Sulby’s demand was sharp as she swiftly crossed the room to lift the lid of the jewellery box and check its contents.

‘No, of course I have not.’ Jane was incredulous at the accusation.

‘Are you sure?’ Lady Sulby glared.

‘Perfectly sure.’ Jane nodded, stunned by her guardian’s suspicions. ‘Clara must have left the box out earlier.’

Lady Sulby gave her another searching glare before replacing the jewellery box in the drawer and closing it abruptly. ‘Where is my shawl, girl? And you have
failed to bring Olivia’s parasol down to her,’ she added accusingly.

‘Which I need if I am to accompany Lady Tillton and Simon Tillton into the rose garden.’ Olivia smiled smugly as she stood in the open doorway.

Jane had not even noticed the younger girl until that moment, and avoided meeting Olivia’s triumphant gaze as she hurriedly handed her the parasol, her own thoughts still preoccupied with Lady Sulby’s earlier sharpness concerning the jewellery box.

Why would Lady Sulby even suspect her of doing such a thing? As far as Jane was aware the box contained only the few costly jewels owned by the Sulby family and several private papers, none of which was of the least interest to Jane.

‘It really is too bad of Lord St Claire not to have accompanied His Grace after all,’ Lady Sulby murmured distractedly once Olivia had departed for her walk in the garden. ‘Especially as it has caused me to rearrange all my dinner arrangements for this evening. Still, the influenza is the influenza. And I do believe that the Duke was rather taken with Olivia himself,’ she added with relish. ‘Now, would
that
not be an advantageous match?’

Jane was sure that she was not expected to make any reply to this statement—that Lady Sulby was merely thinking out loud while she plotted and planned inside her calculating head.

But Jane’s silence on the subject did not mean that she had no thoughts of her own on an imagined match between Olivia and the Duke of Stourbridge. Her main one being that it was ludicrous to even think that a man as haughtily arrogant as the Duke would ever be at
tracted to, let alone enticed into marriage with, the pretty but self-centred Olivia.

‘Why are you still standing there, Jane?’ Lady Sulby demanded waspishly as she finally seemed to notice her again. ‘Can you not see that my nerves are agitated? I shall probably have one of my headaches and be unable to attend my guests at all this evening!’

‘Would you like me to send for Clara?’ Jane offered lightly, knowing that Lady Sulby’s maid, a middle-aged woman who had accompanied Gwendoline Simmons from her father’s home in Great Yarmouth when she had married Sir Barnaby twenty-five years ago, was the only one who could capably deal with Lady Sulby when she was beset by ‘one of her headaches’.

A regular occurrence, as it happened, but usually relieved by a glass or two of Sir Barnaby’s best brandy. For medicinal purposes only, of course, Jane acknowledged with a rueful grimace.

‘I do not know what you can possibly find to smile about, Jane.’ Lady Sulby threw herself down onto the chaise, her hand raised dramatically to her brow as the sun shone in through the window. ‘You would be much better served returning to your room and changing for dinner. You know I cannot abide tardiness, Jane.’

Lady Sulby’s comment on Jane changing for dinner caused her to frown. ‘Did you not tell me earlier that I was to dine belowstairs this evening—?’

‘Have you not been listening to a word I said, girl?’ Lady Sulby’s voice had once again risen shrilly, and she glared across at Jane, not even her faded beauty visible in her displeasure. ‘The Duke has arrived without his brother, leaving me with only thirteen to sit down to
dinner. A possibility I cannot even contemplate.’ She shuddered. ‘So you will have to join us. Which will make an imbalance of men to ladies. It will not do, of course, but it will have to suffice until our other guests arrive tomorrow.’

Jane’s own face had lost all colour as the full import of Lady Sulby’s complaints became clear. ‘You are saying, ma’am, that because Lord St Claire is indisposed you wish me to make up the numbers for dinner this evening?’

‘Yes, yes—of course I am saying that.’ The older woman glared at her frowningly. ‘Whatever is the matter with you, girl?’

Jane swallowed hard at the mere thought of finding herself seated at the same dinner table as the formidable Duke of Stourbridge, sure that after their disastrous meeting on the stairs earlier it was probably his fervent wish never to set eyes on her again!

As Lady Sulby had already remarked, it really would not do.

‘I am sure I do not have anything suitable to wear—’

‘Nonsense, girl.’ A flush coloured Lady Sulby’s plump and powdered cheeks as she bristled at this continued resistance to her new arrangements. ‘What of that yellow gown of mine that Clara altered to fit you? That will do perfectly well, I am sure,’ Lady Sulby announced imperiously.

Jane’s heart sank as she thought of the deep yellow gown that Lady Gwendoline had decided did not suit her after all, and which had been altered to fit Jane instead.

‘I really would not feel comfortable amongst your titled guests—’

‘I am not concerned with
your
comfort!’ Lady Sulby’s face became even more flushed as her agitatation rose. ‘You will do as you are told, Jane, and join us downstairs for dinner. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, Lady Sulby.’ Jane felt nauseous.

‘Good. Now, send Clara to me.’ Lady Sulby lowered herself down onto the cushions once again, her eyes closing. ‘And tell her I am in need of one of her physics,’ she added weakly, as Jane moved obediently to the door.

Jane waited until she was outside in the hallway before giving in to the despair she felt just at the thought of going down to dinner wearing that horrible yellow gown. Of the arrogantly disdainful but devastatingly handsome Duke of Stourbridge seeing her in that bilious yellow gown.

‘I
s this some new sort of party game? Or is it just that you are contemplating what singular delights you might have in store for me later this evening?’ Hawk mused derisively to the woman standing—hiding?—behind the potted plant at his side. ‘Perhaps you intend spilling a glass of wine over me during dinner? Or maybe hot tea later in the evening would be more to your liking? Yes, I am sure that hot tea would cause much more discomfort than a mere glass of wine. That potted plant really is an insufficient hiding place, you know,’ Hawk added, when his quarry made no response to any of his mocking barbs.

His humour had not been improved when he’d come downstairs to the drawing room some minutes ago, to meet and mingle with his fellow house guests before dinner. His bath water had been hot, but of insufficient quantity for his needs, and his valet, Dolton, was no happier with his present location than Hawk. In his agitation he had actually caused the Duke’s chin to bleed
whilst shaving him, an event that had never happened before in all his long service.

But Hawk had found his darkly brooding mood lightening somewhat a few minutes later when, while in polite conversation with Lady Ambridge, an elderly if outspoken lady he was long acquainted with, he had spotted what appeared to be an almost ghostly yellow being flitting from behind one oversized plant pot to another. He had assumed it was in an effort not to be noticed, but it had actually achieved the opposite.

It was testament to how bored Hawk already was by the conversation of his fellow guests that he had actually excused himself from Lady Ambridge’s company to stroll across the room and stand beside the plant at that moment hiding the elusive creature.

A single glance behind the terracotta pot had shown her to be the earlier perpetrator of the painful bump in his chest followed by the even more painful dig in his stomach with a parasol. Hawk’s surprise that she was not a maid after all but was obviously a fellow guest was completely overshadowed by the strangeness of her behaviour since entering the drawing room.

He was also, Hawk realised with not a little surprise, more than curious to know the reason for it. ‘You may as well come out from behind there, you know,’ he advised, even as he continued to gaze disdainfully out at the room rather than at her, impeccable in his black evening clothes.

This time, at least, he did receive an agitated reply. ‘I really would rather not!’

Hawk felt compelled to point out the obvious. ‘You are only drawing attention to yourself by not doing so.’

‘I believe you are the one drawing attention to us both by talking to me!’ Her voice was sharp with indignation.

He probably was, Hawk acknowledged ruefully. The fact that he was the highest-ranking person in the room, and so obviously the biggest feather in Lady Gwendoline Sulby’s social cap, also meant that he was attracting many sidelong glances from his fellow guests while they pretended to be in conversation with each other.

As the Duke of Stourbridge, he was used to such attention, of course, and had learnt over the years to ignore it. Obviously his quarry did not have that social advantage.

“Perhaps if you were to explain to me why it is you feel the need to hide behind a succession of inadequate potted plants…?”

‘Would you just go away and leave me alone? If you please, Your Grace,’ she added with guilty breathlessness, as she obviously remembered exactly who she was talking to, and in what way.

For some inexplicable reason Hawk had the sudden urge to laugh.

And, as he rarely found occasion to smile nowadays, let alone laugh with a woman, he noted it with surprise. Women, those most predatory of beasts, as he had found during the ten years since he had inherited the title of Duke following the death of both his parents in a carriage accident, were no laughing matter.

He sighed. ‘You really cannot hide away all evening, you know.’

‘I can try!’

‘Why would you want to?’ His curiosity was definitely piqued.

‘How can you possibly ask that?’

His brows rose. ‘Perhaps because it seems a reasonable question in the circumstances?’

‘The gown,’ she answered tragically. ‘Surely you have noticed the gown?’

Well, yes, it would be difficult
not
to notice such a violent yellow creation, when all the older ladies present were wearing pastels and Miss Olivia Sulby virginal white. The colour really was most unbecoming with the vivid red of this girl’s hair, but…

‘Please do go away, Your Grace!’

‘I am afraid I really cannot.’

‘Why not?’

Hawk, having no intention of admitting to an interest he himself found unprecedented, chanced another glance at her. That gown was most unattractive against the red of her hair and the current flush to her cheeks, and the matching yellow ribbon threaded through those vibrant locks only added to the jarring discord.

‘Did your modiste not tell you how ill yellow would suit your—er—particular colouring when you ordered the gown?’

‘It was not I who ordered the gown but Lady Sulby.’ She sounded irritated that he had not realised as much. ‘I am sure that any modiste worthy of that name would have the good sense never to dress any of her red-haired patrons in yellow, giving the poor woman the appearance of a huge piece of fruit. Unappetising fruit, at that!’

This time Hawk was totally unable to contain his short bark of laughter, causing the heads of those fellow guests closest to him to turn even more curious glances his way.

Jane, aware of the curious glances of the other Sulby guests, really did wish that the Duke would go away.

The gown, when she had put it on, had looked even worse than she had imagined it would, and the yellow ribbon Lady Sulby had provided to dress her hair only added to the calamity.

But Jane had known that Lady Sulby would only make her life more unbearable than usual if she did not go down to dinner as instructed, and so she really had had no choice but to don the hated gown and ribbon and enter the drawing room—before trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible by moving from the shelter of one potted plant to another, hoping that when she actually sat down at the dinner table the gown would not be as visible.

But she hadn’t taken into account the unwanted curiosity and attention of the Duke of Stourbridge. And his laughter, at her expense, was doubly cruel in the circumstances.

‘You really should come out, you know,’ he drawled. ‘I am sure that there cannot now be a person present who has not taken note of my conversation with a very colourful potted plant!’

Jane’s mouth firmed as she accepted the truth of the Duke’s words, knowing he had been the focus of all eyes for the last five minutes or so as he apparently engaged in conversation—and laughter—with a huge pot of foliage. But it really was too bad of him to have drawn attention to her in this way when she had so wanted to just fade into the woodwork. Not an easy task, admittedly, when wearing this bilious-coloured gown, but she might just have succeeded until it was actually time to go in to dinner if not for the obvious attentions of the Duke of Stourbridge.

In the circumstances she had little choice but to acknowledge and comply with his advice, stepping out from behind the potted plant and then feeling indignant all over again as the Duke made no effort to hide the wince that appeared on his arrogantly handsome face as he slowly took in her appearance—from the yellow ribbon adorning her red hair to the lacy frill draping over her slippers.

‘Dear, dear, it is worse even than I thought.’ He grimaced.

‘You are being most unkind, Your Grace.’ Her cheeks had become even redder in her indignation.

He gave an arrogant inclination of his head. ‘I am afraid that I am.’

Jane’s eyes widened at the admission. ‘You do not even apologise for being so?’

‘What would be the point?’ He shrugged those powerful shoulders in the black, expertly tailored evening jacket that somehow emphasised the width of his shoulders and the lean power of his body. ‘I am afraid you also have me at something of a disadvantage…?’

Jane drew in an agitated breath. ‘On the contrary, Your Grace. I am sure that any disadvantage must be mine!’

Hawk’s gaze was drawn briefly to the swelling of creamy breasts against the low bodice of her gown—enticingly full breasts, considering her otherwise slender appearance—before his narrowed gaze returned to her face. Like her colouring and her figure, it was not fashionably pretty. But the deep green of her eyes, surrounded by thick, dark lashes, was nonetheless arresting. Her nose was small, and covered lightly with the freckles that might be expected with such vibrant
colouring, and her mouth was perhaps a little too wide—although the lips were full and sensuous above a pointedly determined chin.

No, he acknowledged, she did not possess the sweetly blonde beauty that was currently fashionable—the same sweetly blonde beauty he found so unappealing in Olivia Sulby!—but this young lady’s colouring and bone structure were such that she would remain beautiful even in much older years.

All of which Hawk noted in a matter of seconds, which was surprising in itself.

Women, to the Duke of Stourbridge, had become merely a convenience—something to be enjoyed during the few hours of leisure that he allowed himself away from his ducal duties.

His alliance with the Countess of Morefield had been brief and physically unsatisfactory, and had only served to convince Hawk that the demands a mistress made on his time were invariably unworthy of the effort expended in acquiring that mistress.

Surprisingly, Hawk recognised that this young woman—for she was much younger than the women he usually took as mistress—if dressed and coiffured properly, could, in the right circumstances, be worthy of his attention.

Except that he still had no idea who or what she was. She was several years older than those ‘simpering misses’ of which Olivia Sulby was such a prime example. But, from the way Lady Sulby had spoken to her earlier, she did appear to be part of the Sulby household. Although in what capacity Hawk could not guess. Olivia Sulby, as he already knew, was an only child, so
this interestingly forthright creature could not be Sir Barnaby’s daughter.

Perhaps Lady Sulby’s daughter from a previous marriage? His hostess had certainly spoken to her sharply enough for such a relationship to exist, although Hawk could see absolutely no resemblance between the plump, faded beauty of Lady Sulby and the strikingly beautiful redhead standing before him.

But if she was a young, unmarried lady of quality Hawk knew he could not take her as mistress—no matter what his unexpected interest. That he had even been thinking of doing so was reason enough for him to maintain a distance between them. And sooner rather than later.

Before he could effect a gracious withdrawal, a flustered and obviously disapproving Lady Sulby bustled over to join them. ‘I see you have met my husband’s ward, Jane Smith, Your Grace. Dear Jane came to us from a distant relative of Sir Barnaby’s. An impoverished parson of a country parish,’ she added dismissively, shooting a censorious glance at the object of her monologue, a hard glitter in her eyes. ‘You look very well in that gown, Jane.’

Hawk’s brows rose at the insincerity behind the compliment even as he shared a look of sceptisism with the young lady he now knew as Jane Smith. Jane Smith? The blandness of the name did not suit this vibrant young woman in the least.

‘Miss Smith.’ He bowed formally. ‘Might I be permitted to escort Sir Barnaby’s ward in to dinner, Lady Sulby?’ he offered, as the dinner bell sounded.

As hostess, Lady Sulby naturally would have
expected this privilege to be her own, for some inexplicable reason—despite his earlier decision to distance himself from Jane Smith—Hawk now felt a need to thwart his hostess.

Maybe because she had—deliberately?—drawn attention to the gown that was making Jane so unhappy. Or maybe because of the way she had spoken so condescendingly of Jane’s impoverished father. Whatever the reason, Hawk found himself unwilling to suffer Lady Sulby’s singularly ingratiating attentions even for the short time it would take to escort her to the dining room.

Although the stricken look on Jane Smith’s face as she became the open focus of the angrily hard glitter of Lady Sulby’s gaze told him that it had perhaps been unwise on his part to show such a preference.

A realisation that was immediately confirmed by Jane Smith. ‘Really, Your Grace, you must not.’

Hawk gave her a hard, searching glance, noting the slight pallor to her cheeks and the look almost of desperation now in those deep green eyes. Jane Smith, unlike almost every other woman of Hawk’s acquaintance, most definitely did
not
want the Duke of Stourbridge to single her out for such attention. In fact, those green eyes were silently pleading with him not to do so.

‘In that case…Lady Sulby?’ He held out his arm, the polite smile on his lips not reaching the icy hardness of his eyes.

His hostess seemed almost to have to drag her attention away from Jane Smith before turning an ingratiating smile in his general direction. ‘Certainly, Your Grace.’ She placed her possessively grasping hand on
his arm before sweeping regally through the room ahead of her other guests.

Jane stood back and watched them, her heart beating erratically in her chest, having easily recognised the look of promised retribution in Lady Sulby’s gaze before she had turned and graciously accepted the Duke’s arm.