How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days Read online

  “That’s not the reason.” Joanna’s brown eyes looked back at her in an accusatory fashion. “It’s that silly business with the cigarettes. If I’d known you’d send me away because of it, I’d never have done it.”

  “Ah, so it’s not your conscience that’s bothering you. It’s what you see as your punishment.”

  At once, Joanna’s face took on a stricken expression. “That’s not true,” she cried. “I do feel badly about it, Edie. I do.”

  “As you should, Joanna,” Mrs. Simmons interjected from her place beside the girl. “Cigarettes are a nasty, most unladylike habit.”

  Joanna paid no heed to that comment, for she knew from long experience that working on the formidable Mrs. Simmons was futile. She kept her gaze fixed on Edie, and beneath her straw boater hat, her big, doe eyes glimmered with tears. “I can’t believe you’re sending me away.”

  Edie’s heart twisted at those words even though she knew quite well she was being manipulated. In every other aspect of her life, she was confident of her decisions, sure of her ground, and not easily governed. But Joanna was her weak spot.

  Mrs. Simmons, thankfully, had the resolve Edie lacked where Joanna was concerned. But during the past year, the girl had become too ungovernable even for that good lady to manage. Numerous times, she had recommended finishing school, and after the incident with the cigarettes, Edie had capitulated at last, much to her sister’s dismay. The four weeks since then had seen Joanna bent on a relentless barrage to wear down her resolve. Fortunately, Willowbank Finishing School for Girls had been willing to accept the Duchess of Margrave’s sister for the very next term. If Joanna’s campaign had lasted much longer, Edie knew she probably would have given in.

  Joanna needed school. She was at an age where she needed the discipline and the stimulation that would come from it. She needed the polish and the chance to make friends. Edie knew all that, but she also knew she would miss her sister terribly. Already, she could feel loneliness closing in.

  “Edie?” Her sister’s voice intruded, tentative, penitent.

  “Hmm?” Edie turned her head, relieved by the distraction, and looked at the girl across from her in the open landau. “Yes, darling?”

  “If I promise never to do anything bad ever again, can I stay?”

  “Joanna, this must stop,” Mrs. Simmons said before Edie could answer. “Your sister has made her decision, I have been engaged for another post, and you have been accepted at Willowbank. That, by the way, is a high compliment to you since Willowbank is a school of great distinction. Mrs. Calloway accepts very few of the girls who apply.”

  Edie forced herself to speak with a lightness she didn’t feel in the least. “And at Willowbank, you’ll be able to paint and study art, which you love more than anything. You’ll make friends and learn all sorts of new things. Why, that clever brain of yours shall be occupied from morning ’til night.”

  “I probably won’t ever know if it’s morning or night,” Joanna grumbled. “The windows there are so tiny, one can hardly see out. And it’s dark and dreary, and when winter comes, it’s sure to be freezing cold. Ugh.”

  “Well, it is a castle,” Edie pointed out. “But don’t you think it’ll be rather fun living in a castle?”

  Joanna was not impressed. She made a face and fell back against her seat with a heavy sigh. “It’ll be like living in the Tower of London. It’s a prison.”

  “Joanna!” Mrs. Simmons’s voice was sharp with rebuke, but Joanna, irrepressible, opened her big eyes wide as she transferred her gaze from Edie to the indomitable, elderly woman seated beside her.

  “What?” she asked with a pretense of injured innocence. “The Tower was a prison, wasn’t it?”

  “It was.” Mrs. Simmons gave a sniff. “And if you keep vexing your sister, she might send you there instead of Willowbank.”

  “If she did, could I enter through Queen Anne’s Gate in a boat?” Joanna’s face brightened at the notion. “That might be good fun.”

  “Until they cut your head off,” Edie put in. “Behave at Willowbank the way you’ve been behaving at home, and I daresay Mrs. Calloway will be tempted to do that very thing.”

  Joanna’s expression turned sulky, but she couldn’t seem to think of a clever reply to that, so she lapsed into silence—­plotting, Edie had no doubt, yet another argument for why boarding school was a bad idea.

  The girl was understandably apprehensive about going. Their mother had died when Joanna was only eight. Daddy, occupied with business affairs in New York, had found leaving Joanna in Edie’s care upon her marriage the best thing for everyone, and the sisters had seldom been separated. But Edie knew she couldn’t keep Joanna tethered to her side forever, as much as she wished she could.

  She studied her beloved sister across the carriage, noting the girl’s beautiful face with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was thankful the physical flaws that had so plagued her own youth would never torment her sister. Joanna’s nose was aquiline rather than pug, with nary a freckle in sight. Her hair was auburn without a hint of carrot. And her figure, though slim, was already much more rounded than Edie’s would ever be. She was also, thankfully, not quite so tall as her elder sister.

  But though Edie was happy to see Joanna blossoming into the beauty she had never been, it also made Edie more determined than ever to guard and protect the girl, to make sure that what had happened to her at Saratoga never, ever happened to her baby sister.

  She knew that at Willowbank, Joanna would be safe and protected and fully chaperoned, but nonetheless, she desperately wanted to turn the carriage around, and when the vehicle slowed, it almost seemed as if Fate were granting her that wish.

  “Whoa,” her driver said from the box above, pulling hard on the reins and bringing the carriage to a snail’s pace.

  “What is it, Roberts?” Edie asked, straightening in her seat. “Why did you slow down?”

  “Sheep ahead of us, Your Grace. Quite a lot of them.”

  “Sheep?” Curling her gloved fingers over the top of the carriage door, she half rose from her seat and eyed the mass of sheep in the road ahead with both relief and dismay. Guided by a pair of men on horseback and a group of dogs, they were headed in the same direction as the carriage, moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. “Will it make much of a delay?” she asked, sinking back in her seat.

  The young man twisted his head, looking over his shoulder at her. “I’m afraid so, Your Grace. At least twenty minutes, I’d say. Perhaps longer.”

  “Goody!” Joanna bounded gleefully in her seat. “We shall miss the train.”

  Edie glanced at the watch pinned to the lapel of her blue serge tailor-­made, and confirmed that was a definite possibility. She leaned sideways, craning her neck to see past the horses, then she glanced up at her driver again. “Couldn’t you just nudge the carriage forward?” she asked, feeling a bit desperate. “Surely the sheep will move out of the way rather than be run over by the horses?”

  Roberts gave her a wry look. “That would be supposing the sheep had room to move over, Your Grace. They’re massed together pretty tight, and with the hill on the right and the ha-­ha on the left, they’ve nowhere to go but straight down the lane.”

  “So until we reach the road that turns to Clyffeton, we’ll be moving as slowly as this?”

  Roberts’s confirming nod was apologetic. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry.”

  “Ha!” Joanna cried, triumphant. “And there won’t be another train until tomorrow.”

  Another day of being worked on by her sister? Edie leaned back against the leather seat with a groan. She was doomed.

  The carriage moved forward at a crawl while Mrs. Simmons sat in impeccably ladylike silence, Joanna smiled with barely restrained triumph, and Edie tried to brace herself for another twenty-­four hours of her sister’s attempting to weaken her resolve.

  H
alf an hour went by before they were able to turn from the lane and leave the sheep behind, and though Roberts made up some of the lost time by speeding up the pace of the carriage, the train coming from Norwich was already huffing clouds of steam as it readied itself to pull out of Clyffeton’s tiny station.

  Roberts had barely brought the carriage to a halt before Edie was out of the vehicle and racing toward the station. “Bring the luggage, Roberts, would you?” she called over her shoulder as she ran up the steps and opened the door. Without waiting for an answer, she went inside, passed through the small, empty station building, and emerged out the opposite side onto the platform. It, too, was empty, save one man who leaned back against the pillar behind him in a careless pose, hat pulled low. Surrounded by stacks of luggage, he seemed to have no inclination to board the train, and Edie could only presume he had just disembarked and was now waiting for a carrage to be procured for him.

  Foreign, she thought at once, but she passed him by without a second glance or another thought as a man she recognized as the stationmaster stepped down from the train. “Mr Wetherby?”

  “Your Grace.” He straightened to respectful attention at once. “How may I be of ser­vice?”

  “My sister and her governess are to take this train, but we are terribly late. Could you perhaps persuade the conductor to delay departure another minute or two so that they have time to board?”

  “I will try, Your Grace, but it can be dangerous to delay a train. I will see what I can do.” The stationmaster bowed with a tug of his cap and bustled off to once again board the train and find the conductor. Edie glanced back over her shoulder, but the others had not yet followed her to the platform, and because she did not want to think about her sister’s impending departure, she occupied her mind by giving the stranger nearby a more thorough study.

  Definitely foreign, she decided, although she didn’t know quite why he gave her that impression. He was dressed for the country in well-­cut, typical English tweeds, but nonetheless, there was something un-­English about him. Perhaps it was his negligent pose, or the way his brown felt hat was pulled sleepily over his eyes. Or perhaps it was the mahogany-­and-­ivory walking stick in his hand, or the worn portmanteau of crocodile leather by his feet, or the brass-­studded black trunks stacked nearby. Or perhaps it was merely the steam from the train that swirled around him like mist. But something about the man spoke of exotic places far away from this sleepy little corner of England.

  Clyffeton was a picturesque village on the Norfolk coast at the top of the Wash, and a place of strategic importance when Vikings were plundering England’s coastline, but nowadays it was nothing more than a sleepy bywater. Even its boast of having a ducal seat couldn’t save it from being quaint, insular, and hopelessly old-­fashioned. Here, a stranger stuck out like a pair of red knickers on a vicar’s washing line. Within an hour, the village would be buzzing like bees about this new arrival. Within two, his bona fides would be established, his background unearthed, his intentions known. By teatime, her maid would probably be able to tell her all about him.

  “You stopped it from leaving.”

  Joanna’s voice, dismayed and accusatory, interrupted her speculations, and Edie turned, the stranger again forgotten. “Of course,” she answered , pasting on a smile for her sister’s benefit. “It’s a wonderful thing to be a duchess. They delay trains for me.”

  “Of course they do,” Joanna muttered in disgust. “I should have known they would.”

  Mrs. Simmons came bustling up, gesturing to the two men behind her whose arms were loaded with luggage. “I’ve secured a porter to assist Roberts with the trunks.” She lifted the pair of tickets in her black-­gloved hand. “Best we go aboard and not keep the train waiting any longer.”

  “All right, then.” Joanna lifted her chin, trying to put on an indifferent air about it all. “I suppose I have to go since you’re both so determined.”

  Beneath the nonchalance, there was fear. Edie sensed it, and though it tore at her heart, she could not give in to it. Desperate, she turned to the governess. “Watch over her. See that she’s settled in and has everything she needs before . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “Before you leave her.”

  The governess gave a nod. “Of course I will, Your Grace. Come, Joanna.”

  The girl’s face twisted, broke up. Her defiance crumbled. “Edie, don’t make me go!”

  Mrs. Simmons’s brisk voice intervened. “None of this, now, Joanna. You are the sister of a duchess, and a young lady of good society. Behave accordingly.”

  Joanna didn’t seem inclined to behave like a lady. She wrapped her arms around Edie, clinging to her like a barnacle. “Don’t send me away.”

  “Hush, now.” She rubbed her sister’s back, striving to keep her own emotions in control as Joanna gave a sob against her shoulder. “They’ll take good care of you at Willowbank.”

  “Not as good as you.”

  Edie gently began to pull back, and though it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, she extricated herself from her sister’s embrace. “Go on, now. Be brave, my darling. And I shall see you at Christmas.”

  “That’s forever away.” Joanna wiped at her face and turned angrily away to follow the governess onto the train. She boarded without a backward glance, but it wasn’t more than a moment later before she was sliding down the first window and sticking her head out. “Can’t you come visit me before Christmas?” she asked, folding her arms atop the open window as Mrs. Simmons continued on toward their seats farther down the car.

  “We’ll see. I want you to settle in without any distraction from me, but we’ll see. In the meantime, write to me and tell me everything. Who you meet and what your schoolmistresses are like, and all about your lessons.”

  “It would serve you right if I don’t send you a single letter.” Joanna scowled, her face still damp with tears. “I shan’t write a word. I’ll keep you in suspense all year long, wondering what I’m doing. No, wait,” she amended. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll misbehave. I’ll smoke cigarettes again. I’ll cause so much havoc, they’ll expel me and send me home.”

  “And here I thought you’d want a season in London when you turn eighteen,” Edie retorted, her voice shaking with the effort not to break into tears herself. “If you’re expelled from Willowbank, the only season you’ll get will be a place far more remote than Kent. I’ll send you to some convent in Ireland.”

  “Empty threat,” Joanna muttered, wiping at her face. “We’re not Catholic. And besides, knowing you, I doubt I’ll ever have a season. It’d be too much for your nerves.”

  “You’ll have a season.” Even as she gave the assurance, she found the idea of safeguarding her sister by putting her in a convent far more appealing. “If you manage to behave yourself.”

  Joanna sniffed. “I knew you weren’t above blackmail.”

  The whistle blew, signaling that the train was about to pull out, and as her sister stretched out her hand, Edie reached up to give it a quick squeeze. “Be good, my darling, and please, for once in your life, do what you’re told. I shall see you at Christmas. Maybe before.”

  She knew she ought to stay until the train was gone, but another moment, and she’d fall apart. So she smiled one last time, waved brightly to her sister, and turned to leave before she could start bawling like a baby.

  Her escape, however, proved very short-­lived. As she started back across the platform, the voice of the stranger calling her name stopped her in her tracks.

  “Hullo, Edie.”

  Even her beloved sister was momentarily forgotten as she turned to the man on the platform. Strangers did not speak to duchesses, and Edie had been a duchess long enough to be astonished by the fact that this one had spoken to her. And when he pushed back his hat to reveal his eyes—­beautiful, brilliant gray eyes that seemed to see straight into her, her astonishment deepened i
nto shock. This man was no foreign stranger.

  This man was her husband.

  “Stuart?” His name was a startled cry torn from her throat, but he didn’t seem to notice that in it was none of the joy a reunion between husband and wife ought to convey. He doffed the hat and inclined his head a bit though it was hardly a bow, for he didn’t bother to straighten away from the pillar, and that almost impudent gesture only served to confirm the ghastly truth that her husband was here, a mere half dozen feet from her, and not the thousands of miles away he was supposed to be.

  Good manners dictated a greeting of some sort beyond that mere cry of his name, but though she opened her mouth, no words came out. Unable to speak, Edie could only stare at the man she’d married five years ago and hadn’t seen since.

  Africa, she appreciated at once, was a hard land. That fact was evident in every aspect of his appearance. It was in his tanned skin, in the faint creases that edged his eyes and his mouth, and in the sun-­torched glints of gold and amber in his dark brown hair. It was in the lean planes of his face and in the long, strong lines of his body. It was in the exotic walking stick in his hand and in his keen, watchful eyes.

  During the years of his absence, she’d wondered on occasion what Africa was like. Now she knew, for in the man before her she could see many aspects of that particular continent—­its harsh climate, its nomadic nature, its wild, adventurous spirit, and the uncompromising toll it took on those who were merely human.

  Gone was the carefree, handsome young man who’d blithely married a girl he didn’t even know, left that girl in charge of his entire retinue of estates, and gone off for parts unknown with happy insouciance. Returning in his place was someone completely different, someone so different that she’d passed right by him without so much as a glimmer of recognition. Never would she have thought five years could change a man so much.