The Duke Is Mine

Olivia nodded. That was true enough.

Georgiana’s mouth curled in a naughty smile that Olivia had never, ever, seen on her sister’s face. “This is terrible of me, Olivia, but did you look closely at him when he came out of the rain?”

“No,” Olivia said, mendaciously.

“He—his breeches were wet and—oh Olivia, I think I have an idea why Juliet Fallesbury called her footman Longfellow!”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?” Olivia said, laughing. “Did you hit your head last night, Georgie? Are you feeling yourself?”

“I’m absolutely fine and actually, I feel happier than I have in years. The only thing that’s worrying me is you.”

“Me?” Olivia frowned at her. “I wasn’t so impolite to Sconce. I merely teased him. I honestly don’t think he gave it a second thought.” Thank goodness her sister had no knowledge of that kiss.

“No, no, you and Rupert! I actually couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking about how wonderful the duke is, and the way he smiled at me—he didn’t look bored once, Olivia, not once—and then I remembered that you had to marry Rupert, and it broke my heart.”

“Ah well,” Olivia said, summoning up a jaunty tone. “You know I could never rub along with someone like the duke. I would die from pure ennui if he launched into a display of mathematical brilliance.”

“He’s a genius,” Georgiana said with conviction. “Anyone could see that. He’s a genius, and at the same time, he’s not peculiar or crazed in the head.”

“Amazing, given that his mother wrote the Almighty Mirror.”

“You must stop making fun of the dowager’s book. What if you accidentally mock the title in her presence?”

“I expect that she would survive the shock.”

“Please,” Georgiana pleaded, “please, Olivia. This is my chance. Mother said that she was quite certain the dowager intends to select her son’s bride. She heard it from one of Lady Cecily’s bosom friends. You mustn’t insult Her Grace in any way, or she might overlook me for that honor.”

“She couldn’t,” Olivia said with conviction.

“I want . . . I truly want to marry Sconce.” Georgiana said it on a near whisper. “I know that’s a terribly unladylike thing to say, but it’s true. When he appeared out of the darkness to rescue us last night, it felt like the moment in a book when the hero appears. And then he spoke. His voice is so deep—steady and true—that I realized that he really was the prince in a fairy tale. Do you know what I mean?”

Yes, Olivia thought. Yes, I know exactly what you mean.

But there was absolutely no point to thinking such a thing, let alone voicing it.

“Princes have never appealed to me,” she said instead. “Though I will admit that that type of man does seem oddly given to permitting his mother to choose his wife. If he doesn’t select her on the basis of something as idiotic as her footwear. If the duke were really a hero, he would have saddled a white horse rather than running out in the rain looking like a butcher’s boy. All those little details are very important when it comes to literature.”

Georgiana groaned. “Stop jesting for a moment, Olivia! I always thought there was no prince for me. I just couldn’t imagine him.”

“What about the white horse?” Olivia inquired.

Her sister swatted her. “Be serious. What I’m saying is that I want to marry the duke. The way I’ve never wanted anything before.”

“Then you shall have him,” Olivia said, swinging her legs out of bed. The whole conversation was making her feel rather odd. Of course she had no claim on the duke. That kiss meant nothing. Nothing! He was always meant to be Georgiana’s husband.

She walked over to the dressing table and pushed back her heavy mop of hair. “All that rain last night made my dress turn transparent, and I looked as if I were completely naked. You should have seen the mortified look the butler gave me. When my coat slipped, he got a direct eyeful. I thought he was going to faint.”

“Then he was foolish,” Georgiana said loyally. “I’m sure you look as lovely naked as you do dressed.”

“Better,” Olivia said consideringly. “Although I’m hoping that the new gowns will make a difference in that respect. I didn’t order a single gown that caught up under my breasts and billowed out at my waist. The style works only for women whose hips don’t match their breasts, whereas it makes me resemble a milk cow.”

“Gentlemen like a bovine air,” Georgiana pointed out.

“You did hit your head,” Olivia said, laughing. “That was a joke, Georgie! A proper joke.”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “Hardly. What will you wear to luncheon? It’s so warm that we’re eating on the terrace.”

“Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought that the dowager ever countenanced irregular eating habits. You see, Georgie, I am already learning to appreciate her.”

“You must, if she’s to be my mother-in-law.” Georgiana hopped off the bed. “Do you think it’s possible? The maid told me last night that Lady Althea Renwitt is in residence. What if the duke has already fixed his interest? Althea is an aristocrat. I don’t suppose you remember her?”

“Not in the slightest. Is she one of the new flock on the market this year?”

“Yes. She’s got the most beautiful eyes,” Georgiana said, sinking into a chair. “And pretty hair, the color of buttercups. But she’s a little . . . well, silly. I’m not sure that I can picture the duke with her.”

“Silly, is she? Then she won’t care for His Soberness.”

“I have no doubt but that Althea would be happy to be a duchess even if Sconce were as crazy as a bedbug—which he’s not.”

“Room for only one bedbug-brained duke in this kingdom,” Olivia said cheerfully, “and I’ve already got the monopoly on him. How do you suppose Rupert is doing in Portugal, by the way? He must have gone ashore by now.”

Georgiana waved her hand dismissively. “I expect he’s missing Lucy, but fine otherwise.”

“Which reminds me that I’d better ring for Norah. It’s surprisingly difficult to take care of a dog. It seems as if she’s always having to go out, or eat, or be given her bath.”

“Olivia!” Georgiana said impatiently. “This is not the moment to talk about you or your dog. Do you think the dowager has already made up her mind to choose Althea? Her name sounds appropriate for a duchess.”

“I think it sounds like some odd sort of digestive. Drink Althea for your bowels! Lady Cecily would love it. Do you suppose, Georgie, that her ladyship is perfectly unconscious of how odd it is for a woman with the surname Bumtrinket to be constantly talking about her digestion?”

“Only you would notice such a thing. It certainly never occurred to me.”

“The duke noticed as well. I saw a gleam in his eye that might have been a guffaw in a man who knew how to laugh.”

“My point is that the dowager duchess will certainly look for birth along with elegance. I do hope that she hasn’t already decided for Althea. Or even worse, perhaps Althea has already caught the duke’s fancy,” Georgiana fretted. “She’s very sweet.”