Lord Love a Duke (15 page)

Miranda laughed as she walked away, back
toward the manor. “I will be my most persuasive and attempt to
flatter Jonas into thinking my ideas are his. You worry too much,
Jules. Everything will work out in the end,” she tossed over her
shoulder.

“
It may work out in the
end,” muttered Juliet to herself, “but what will we go through to
get there?
Zut
.”

Juliet turned to the side to sit lengthwise
on the bench, leaning back on her arms and bracing them behind her.
She tilted her head up to the sun, mentally hearing her mother's
chastising for neglecting a bonnet. Hopefully, her mother would not
look for her while she took advantage of the beautiful sunshine
warming her skin. She sat like this, face upturned, in
contemplation, lost in her tumultuous thoughts.

"Lady Juliet, may I join you?" asked the
Duke as he found her in the garden, his shadow falling over her
upturned face, startling her out of her daydreams.

She jumped at the sound of his deep voice,
eyes squinting toward his figure. With his height and breadth
blocking the sun, the light from the rays seemed to radiate from
him. "Saints and sinners, Your Grace! I think you scared at least
one year off my life!” she laughed.

“I sincerely apologize, my lady.” He took a
seat on the empty bench space she freed for his occupation next to
her. Despite the heat of the day, Juliet felt a chill race up her
spine and gave herself a mental shake over the strange reactions
she was continuing to have in the presence of the Duke. He spoke
again and she forced her mind to focus on his words.

“Might I ask a personal question?” At her
tentative nod, he continued. “What soured you so on matrimony?”

“I would not call myself soured, Your Grace.
I prefer to think myself a realist, or possibly even a pragmatist.
My views of matrimony are probably scandalous, even revolutionary,
and so thoroughly unlikely to come to fruition that I simply
resigned myself to a life of happy spinsterhood rather than unhappy
leg-shackling."

His eyebrows raised in mock alarm, a grin
twitching his mouth and causing two dimples to appear. "Scandalous
views, eh? Please enlighten me, my lady."

She pinkened slightly but did not demure.
Having spent more time with the Duke this week than she had in her
entire life, she was still a little unsettled but was slowly
becoming more accustomed to his presence, finding him surprisingly
personable and less intimidating and cold than she previously
thought. "Brace yourself, Your Grace, for some shocking ideas." She
flashed him a saucy smile and sat up straighter on the bench,
titling her chin up in a haughty angle. "I would marry for genuine
feeling of attachment only and not for a title or profitable match
between peers. I would also require my spouse to be faithful, never
tolerating a mistress, as I would likewise never forsake my vows.
These are the two most alarming ideas I can recollect."

The Duke did, indeed, find himself surprised
at the sentimental views held by the independent and intelligent
Lady Juliet Quinn. The practical nature she had shown so often
seemed at odds with such romantic, and some might even say, naïve
views. Strangely, he found himself drawn to her preferences, almost
feeling wistful to share her sublime dreams.

"Your desires are quite idealistic for our
set, my lady, so I find myself understanding why you have foresworn
matrimony. A love match is hard to find in this world, even less so
amongst our Society."

"I am aware, Your Grace, yet I am not so
foolish as to pine for love; just a partnership of contentment and
commonality of purpose and wishes for family and future. And more's
the pity for our unhappily shackled peers, I believe, for I have
observed that those marriages where at least kindness is nurtured
are infinitely happier and more fulfilling, even profitable, for
those involved. The husband and wife are most satisfied, the
resulting children content and cared for, the general mood of the
house most enjoyable. The opposite, the business-arrangement
marriage, is cold, officious, and ordered, at its best. At its
worst, I have seen husbands who rarely see the inside of their own
homes, preferring to while away their time at their clubs and hells
and worse, while the wives exist in a torment of gossip and petty
grievances against their staff and family. It's all so distasteful
and sad; I could not abide it."

Her happy countenance had turned dour and
the usual vivacity in her eyes had dimmed to dullness. He was lost
to turn away from the bleakness he saw in her expression. Jonas
picked up her hand in his. “But what of the things you would miss,
even in a marriage that was more contract than companionship. You
will forgo children, a life-mate, a household to run, even a
lover?”

She blushed at his forthright question as
she felt his light touch on her hand searing a path up her entire
arm. She did not avert her gaze. “I believe I can enjoy my
brothers' children as my own, truly spoiling them rotten in the
process and influencing them abominably with my eccentric ways, no
doubt. And I will eventually run my own house, though on a much
smaller scale than if I were to marry. As for a life mate and, er,
the rest,” she stammered and blushed over the words but continued
bravely and soberly on, “I suppose I will never know what I have
missed.”

"So, rather than risk a life of possible
discontent you would deny yourself a chance at – how did you term
it – 'genuine attachment?'" he asked softly. His fingers now
lightly traced circle patterns on the palm of her hand without his
notice as he stared into her eyes.

He watched a myriad of emotions flit across
her face as she contemplated his questions for several breaths. She
stared at her hand held in his, mesmerized by his action. She
smiled a little half-smile but he noticed the gesture did not reach
her beautiful metallic-colored eyes. Instead, they revealed sadness
and a touch of wistfulness. "When the risk is a life of mediocrity
and unfulfilled dreams, possibly even bitterness and resentment, I
believe I would, Your Grace." She tugged to get her hand back, but
Jonas held tight to his prize. A look of startled bewilderment
flitted across her face.

He paused, turning her hand over to place a
kiss in her already sensitive palm, his lips warm and lingering
just a bit too long. He wondered if she were as affected by his
touch as he was by hers. He slid a finger up to rest lightly on her
wrist and felt the throbbing of her pulse, questioning silently if
she was simply nervous. He decided to press the issue at hand.
"But, as Robert Burns so eloquently put it, 'Had we never lov'd sae
kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met – or never parted
– we had ne'er been broken hearted.' All is not guaranteed in love,
but it could be considered worth the risks."

Her eyes widened in surprise of his
recitation of the Scotsman's lovely poetry as her pulse still
galloped madly from his kiss. Why on earth was Miranda's brother
kissing her?
And who knew a kiss on the wrist could feel so
wanton
, she thought. She then smiled pensively, nodding her
head as she contemplated the poetic verse he quoted. "But at least
to have love, at some point, for however long Providence sees fit
to allow it, seems better to me than to have lived my whole life
pledged to another and doomed to exist in its absence. Even dear
Mr. Burns wrote, 'How fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in
love am I; And I will love thee still, my dear, Til all the seas
gang dry.'" She sighed deeply and looked fully at his face. She
unconsciously brought her other hand up to lie on the back of his
hand that held hers. She lightly traced a path over the backs of
his fingers. "That is the only way I would marry. For love. And
love til all the seas ran dry." She gave a sudden shake to clear
her head, breaking the spell the Duke had woven as she dropped her
hand with a shocked expression. “I suppose I should call myself a
'romantic pragmatist.' I have fanciful notions of love and dreams,
but pragmatically know they will likely never be realized.” She
jerked her hand free of his and slid to the very edge of the bench
to put some distance between them.

Jonas felt the overwhelming urge to gather
her in his arms and tell her not to forsake her dreams or feel
doomed to a singular existence. He wanted to make fanciful
declarations and promises. He suddenly realized he longed to give
her all her dreams, be the fulfillment of her desires. These
realizations gave him a clarity of thought that had long been
absent in his life, since before assuming his title. His feelings
brought both peace to his heart and turbidity to his mind. He
considered himself a man afraid of little, but these new thoughts
and emotions scared him to the soles of his boots. Was this love,
this all-consuming feeling to wrap another up and promise to
cherish and protect them no matter the cost? Was it love to want to
erase the sadness so she would only show him smiles? He felt a
strange and unfamiliar weight on his chest to say something –
anything – that would make her smile, turn to him, and see in him
the answer to her heart's desires. His mind and heart warred as he
struggled for words in his confusion.

Juliet grew uncomfortable at his silence and
felt the urge to fill the void or flee his presence. "You see, Your
Grace, I have thoroughly flummoxed you. It is no wonder I have
survived two seasons without a betrothal, in spite of several
proposals and my mother's aching disappointment. But I cannot trade
her happiness for mine, and thankfully I am certain she will never
ask it of me. Truthfully, I am a terrible coward. I am afraid to
love for fear that once I have tasted of it I will never be content
to live without it. That is what I could not suffer; to know what
love is and lose it." Juliet abruptly stood and stretched her mouth
into a pale semblance of a grin, desperate to return to some sense
of normality between them. "Let us not be so maudlin, Your Grace,
and pray do not fear that Miranda feels as I, nor would I ever
attempt to sway her feelings. She is infinitely more realistic and
does honestly desire a good match. Her only impediment to matrimony
is her 'list of attributes' that her prospective groom must possess
and the fact that she wants to wait another year." She gave him
another searching look then dropped a brief curtsy. “Everyone will
be gathering for the strawberry picnic, Your Grace. Please excuse
me,” she added and left him in the garden as she made for the
house.

Jonas was left to his own swirling thoughts.
He watched her exit the garden, her gown skimming her shapely form,
her skirts lightly swishing in rhythm to the gentle sway of her
hips. He shook his head and glanced at the rosebush with its
vibrant red blooms near the bench, and laughed out loud, a deep,
rich sound.

“'O my luve is like a red, red rose, That's
newly sprung in June: O my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly played in tune.'” he quoted aloud to himself. If
fair Juliet would be won by love, the Duke began to marvel that he
felt himself the man for that task.

The Duchess of Dorset determined the day of
picnicking and picking strawberries would be the perfect
opportunity to pair her daughter with not one but two potential
husbands, the Earl of Dartmouth and Viscount Torrington. Both men
were young and handsome, the former a charming and presumed rake,
the latter a friendly and respectable titled pauper. Both men met
the main criteria for Miranda's mother in that they were in want of
a wife. Since Juliet made her plans to avoid matrimony abundantly
clear, the Duchess allowed that she was a safe and ideal companion
for the day.

Miranda met Juliet outside her room as she
finished tying the ribbons of her bonnet. Where Juliet was tall
with dark hair, Miranda was as petite as her mother, with curly
blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. Her heart-shaped face featured a
slightly snubbed nose dusted with a sprinkling of pale freckles.
The dimples she shared with her brother were a near constant
fixture on her cheeks, although their absence was noted now as
Miranda frowned at the sight of her friend.

“Honestly, Jules, how can we be wearing the
same pink color and muslin fabric and you look beautiful while I
feel like a faded washout? I loath pastels! I may change my mind to
marry sooner just so I may wear more variety of colors.” While
Miranda's dress showed scalloped sleeves and embroidered rosettes
in aubergine across the bodice and hem, Juliet's featured a dark
pink sash tied under the bodice of her gown and smaller but
identically-colored ribbons tied into tiny bows around the hems of
her sleeves and skirt.

“Trust me, dearest, you never look like a
washout when standing near me. I am the Amazon while you are the
perfectly proportioned lady, with your face ringed in curls and
your pretty pouty lips. You are the quintessential English Rose,
your every aspect the height of fashion.” Juliet puckered her lips
in an affectation of a pout that likened her countenance more to a
fish and made both ladies dissolve in gales of laughter. Miranda
grabbed her friend's arm and they began to descend the staircase as
she explained away Juliet's comparison with ease.

“Your height allows you to look all the
average men nearly in the eye while the really interesting men –
the scoundrels, rakes, and ne'er do wells – are all the perfect
height for you to fit your head to their shoulders should you see
the need to swoon.” Miranda gave a longing sigh. “My height puts me
looking squarely into the buttons on their waistcoats, or I may
gaze longingly at the intricate knots of their cravats. They could
rest their elbows on my head as a support. And my family would say
my lips look pouty because I am often to be found practicing,” she
added with a bemused chuckle.