What to Do with a Duke (13 page)

Miss Hutting sucked in her breath. “Anne! Your father's a baron. You have no need to live in the Spinster House.”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Miss Davenport said, her eyes narrowing. She looked fully as determined to win the position as Miss Hutting and Miss Wilkinson.

—from Isabelle Dorring's diary

 

 

The duke left as soon as he'd answered Anne's questions. Of course it also came out that Cat and Jane were interested in the position as well.

“I don't understand why you girls don't want to marry,” Miss Gertrude said as she watched the duke depart. “Men can be quite, er,
entertaining
.”

Cat would swear the duke suddenly picked up his pace, darting through the door and out of sight.

“
You
aren't married.” Anne sounded uncharacteristically mulish.

Why did Anne want to live in the Spinster House? She'd never said anything about wishing to be a spinster before.

Well, yes, she'd never said anything about wanting to marry, either. In fact, she'd been rather reluctant to attend many of the
ton
parties she'd been invited to. But she was a baron's daughter, for goodness' sakes. Of course she would marry and marry well.
She
wouldn't be stuck in Loves Bridge for the rest of her life, producing baby after squalling baby, hearing the same gossip, seeing the same people, doing the same thing day after day after day until she died and got buried next to all her ancestors.

“I may not have a man in my life at the moment,” Gertrude said, “but—”

“But I think we had better get on with planning the fair,” Viola Latham said quickly. “Malcolm won't be quiet forever.” To underline her point, Malcolm began to fuss, likely the result of a surreptitious poke administered by his mother. “He's teething, you know.”

Malcolm had been teething for the last two months—as long as they'd been having meetings. He'd yet to produce a single tooth, but he could be counted on to provide a well-timed squawk when the discussion meandered too far afield.

Gertrude sniffed and gave Cat a pointed look. “We'd be much further along if everyone had arrived on time.”

Everyone turned to look at her, varying degrees of speculation in their gazes.

“I was just helping His Grace put up the Spinster House notices. He didn't know where best to post them.”

“How very kind of you,” Viola said, exchanging an annoyingly speaking look with Helena Simmons.

“Yes. You've certainly taken the duke under your wing,” Helena said. Helena's husband and Cat's sister Tory's husband were brothers, and Helena and Tory were as thick as inkle-weavers. “I understand you also helped the poor fellow find Mr. Wilkinson's office the other day.”

“Yes, she did.” Jane's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I was there, of course. I saw them, and I'd say they were on very good terms.”

“You'll also recall I had almost convinced the duke to give me the keys to the Spinster House.” Good Lord, what was the matter with these women? They knew she had no interest in marriage.

Gertrude snickered. “I didn't know you were so clever, lulling the fellow into thinking you're no threat to his comfortable bachelor existence.”

“I'm not a threat.”

Cordelia ignored her. “When are you going to let him know he'd better make room for you at the castle”—she winked—“and in his bed?”

“Just don't venture into any bushes with him,” Gertrude said. “Make him wait for his fun until he's paid for it with a wedding ring.”

“This duke is not about to follow in his ancestor's footsteps.”

The Boltwoods exchanged a glance. “Tell that to Miss Rathbone.”

She didn't want to know.

“And I would never allow the man—any man—such liberties.”

Nothing would have happened.

“I assure you I'm no threat to the duke's unmarried state.” She shouldn't have to justify her actions, but perhaps that would stop this ridiculous speculation. “My father told me to help the man find Mr. Wilkinson's office when he stopped by the vicarage for directions. And I just happened to encounter him this morning. It would have been rude not to offer my assistance.”

Helena chuckled. “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'”

Cat looked at Malcolm.
Squawk, why don't you?

Malcolm smiled at her around the fingers he was contentedly sucking. There would be no help from that quarter.

“
Could
we get on with planning the fair?”

Viola raised a brow at Cat's rather desperate tone, but did take pity on her. “Of course. Just before you arrived, Miss Cordelia suggested we include a treasure hunt this year.”

Cordelia suggested they include a treasure hunt every year, and every year Miss Gertrude was the only other committee member to support the notion. Everyone knew the sisters only wanted an invitation to snoop through people's houses.

“Yes.” Cordelia grinned at Cat. “And since you are so, ahem,
friendly
with the duke, you can persuade him to include the castle in the hunt!”

“I. Am. Not. Friendly. With. The. Bloody.
Duke!
”

The ladies inhaled sharply.

She must
not
lose her temper. “Pardon me.” She turned toward Cordelia. “You know Mr. Emmett will give you a tour anytime you like and let you poke your nose into every blast—I mean every
last
cabinet and corner.”

Gertrude elbowed her sister. “Shows great passion, eh? The duke is a lucky man.”

“No need to get snappish, Miss Hutting,” Cordelia said.

Deep breath. “Even if I was interested in marriage,
which I am not
”—another deep breath—“the duke would not wed me. Remember the curse.”

Helena laughed. “Nobody believes in the curse anymore.”

“The duke does.”

Viola's eyebrows went up. “Oh? So you're familiar with the duke's thoughts on the matter, are you, Cat?” She looked at Helena. “Perhaps there
is
something between them.”

“There is
nothing
between us.” How could she convince them? She looked around the room—oh, right. “Jane knows the duke believes in the curse, too. It was quite clear when we were in her brother's office discussing how the Spinster House opening needed to be announced. Isn't that right, Jane?”

Jane was too honest to lie. “He did seem very anxious to follow the rules precisely.”

“See?” Cat let out a long breath. “Now let's drop this foolish subject and—”

“The curse didn't keep his father from marrying Clara O'Reilly,” Gertrude said.

“No, indeed it didn't.” Cordelia sighed. “That courtship—if one could call it a courtship—was almost painful to watch.”

Gertrude nodded. “The duke—this duke's father—was so very handsome. He could have had anyone he wanted—except Clara. She wouldn't let him under her skirts without a ring on her finger.”

“He tried,” Cordelia said. “He gave her lavish gifts.”

“Which she refused.”

“And he invited her to glittering parties at the castle.”

“Which she would not attend.”

“Finally he was so mad for her that he showed up for Sunday service.” Cordelia laughed. “We all thought the poor vicar was going to faint.”

“And do you remember, Cordelia? As soon as the vicar said the final blessing, the men—and some of the women—rushed out to change their bets to favor marriage over a slip on the shoulder.”

“So you see,” Cordelia said, leaning over to poke Cat's arm. “Play your cards right, my dear, and you could be a duchess.”

Cat jerked back out of Cordelia's reach. “You can't think . . . I would never . . .” How horrible to lure a man into marriage in any situation, but especially if he thought he'd die as a result. “I don't want to be a duchess. I don't want to be a wife.”

“But would you mind being a widow?” Gertrude asked.

Malcolm started wailing. Thank God.

“We'll have to continue the meeting next week. Perhaps we can be more productive then.” Viola had to shout to make herself heard over Malcolm. “And this time, everyone, please try to be prompt.” She looked directly at Cat.

Cat nodded. She didn't have time to argue the matter. She had to get to Anne.

“You don't really mean to apply for the Spinster House position, do you?” Jane was asking Anne when Cat reached them.

“I certainly do.” Anne started for the door.

“But why?” That was what puzzled—and, all right, infuriated—Cat. “You don't need the Spinster House.”

Anne glared at her. “Yes, I do.”

“But your father's a baron,” Jane said as they went outside.

“A baron—yes. And a beef-witted, beetle-headed, coxcomb.” Anne's voice was suddenly high and thin. She sniffed and blinked rapidly.

Oh, dear. Anne was going to start crying, and she never cried. Something must be seriously amiss.

Gertrude Boltwood's voice preceded her as she pushed open the inn door. It would be fatal if she and her sister saw Anne on the verge of tears.

“Come on.” Cat grabbed Anne's arm, and she and Jane towed her down the street.

“Oh, lud,” Jane said, glancing back. “The Boltwoods are coming this way.”

“Let's go to the willow,” Cat said. Anne was still fighting tears. She needed to unburden herself, and the willow was where they had always gone to share secrets.

They turned the corner and hurried down the narrow lane, over the stile at the stone fence, along the edge of Farmer Linden's field—observed by a few placid cows and a sprinkling of sheep—and across the wooden bridge to the willow. Cat pulled Anne down to sit next to her on a bench someone had placed under the willow's drooping branches ages ago, and Jane sat on Anne's other side. The stream burbled comfortingly near their feet.

“All right, Anne,” Cat said. “Tell us everything.”

Anne fished her handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose. “You already know Papa dragged me off to Viscount Banningly's house party.”

“Yes,” Cat and Jane said in unison.

Anne had complained bitterly about it for weeks beforehand. On her twenty-sixth birthday several months ago, the baron had suddenly decided Anne was in danger of remaining permanently on the shelf. He'd started pushing her to attend
ton
house parties, and when he discovered she'd been spending more time reading in the library than trying to charm eligible men, he started attending with her.

Anne sniffed and then gave up and blew her nose again. “Lud, how I hate those things. The men are dead bores. All they talk about are horses and hunting, and if they have a title or money—and most have at least one of those—they are even more insufferable, expecting you to bat your eyes and sigh and admire them. Faugh!” She pushed her hair out of her face and scowled. “And they look you over as if they're at Tattersall's and you're a horse they're considering buying.”

“That sounds dreadful,” Cat said. But Anne had been to many parties over the years and had never come home in such a state. “Did one of them ask your father for your hand, then?”

“No.” Anne's mouth tightened. “It's far, far worse than that.”

“Good God!” Jane paled. “Never say someone . . . Surely your father being there would have kept anyone from . . .” Jane put a comforting hand on Anne's arm. “Did some dastard try to take your virtue?”

“Good God, no!” Anne shook off Jane's hold. “Of course not. I'd like to see any man try. The fellow wouldn't be able to sit a horse for many days afterward.”

Jane scowled at Anne. “Then what is the problem?”

“Papa!” Anne started crying again. “He's a randy old goat who, at fifty, fancies himself a lusty lad of twenty.”

“Oh.” Cat stared at Jane. Jane's mouth was hanging open as wide as Cat's must be. “But I thought he'd been seeing the Widow Conklin for that sort of thing.”

The widow was an accommodating woman of indeterminate age who lived on the edge of Loves Bridge. She'd moved into her little cottage before Cat was born and had become very popular with the local men. It was doubtful that there had ever been a Mr. Conklin, but as the widow was pleasant and polite and never put herself forward—
and
refused to entertain married men without their wives' permission—the village women accepted her without much complaint.

“He had been,” Anne said, “but now he's decided he's in l-love. He wants to remarry.”

“I see.” Jane looked at Cat for help.

What was she to say? Neither she nor Jane had experience with this. Cat's parents were still married, of course, and Jane's parents had perished in a carriage accident when Jane was young.

“Perhaps your father wants a companion for his old age, Anne,” Cat said. “He must be lonely.”

Anne's mother had died at the end of Anne's first Season, almost ten years ago, so one might wonder why the baron suddenly felt the need for a wife.

There was no comprehending the male mind.