The Runaway Duchess (7 page)

And
then, only where no one could see or hear her, did she finally allow herself to
cry.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As
the date of the wedding drew closer and closer, Charlotte’s spirits plummeted
lower and lower. She moved listlessly through the house, refusing any and all
callers with the exception of Dianna. Her best friend made it a point to visit
every day, plying Charlotte with pastries to get her to eat for her appetite
had waned as well.

“You
are wasting away to nothing,” Dianna observed one afternoon while the two women
enjoyed a stroll around the gardens behind Charlotte’s town house.

It
was uncharacteristically warm for early May and they both had shed their hats
and shawls in favor of soaking in some of the rarely seen sun.

Pausing
to nudge at an emerging tulip with the toe of her shoe, Charlotte sighed.
“Every time I try to eat I think of
him
” – she was refusing the say the
duke’s name – “and I lose my appetite. The wedding is in eight days. How did it
get here so fast?”

“I
do not have the vaguest notion.” Dianna fluffed a hand through her newly shorn
blond curls and frowned. “But there is still time. We will think of something.
We
will
,” she insisted when Charlotte looked at her dubiously. “I am
sure of it.”

Dianna
was the only person Charlotte had confided in about the betrothal contract. Her
friend had been suitably outraged on her behalf, but so far had been unable to
come up with a single legitimate idea to free Charlotte from it.

When
it came right down to it she could always refuse to go – even a duke could not
get away with dragging his fiancée screaming down the church aisle – but then
she would have to suffer the guilt of knowing she had cost her mother
everything, not to mention finding a place to live and a means to support
herself.

Stopping
in front of a shyly blossoming cherry tree, she plucked one of the small pink
buds and tucked it absently behind her ear. “I met someone,” she said slowly,
staring off across low stone wall that divided the Vanderley’s small courtyard
from their neighbor’s. “At the Haversham ball,” she clarified when Dianna
looked at her blankly. “A man.”

She
had been debating for quite some time whether to share her secret encounter
with Gavin or not. Since their kiss he had lingered in the back of her mind, a
painfully constant reminder of what she was giving up by becoming a duchess.
Not Gavin
specifically
, of course, but it was what he represented that
she would miss.

Heart
stopping passion. Pulse quickening desire. All consuming love. Did she not
deserve those things? Not because she was a lady, but because she was a woman.
A woman who wanted to feel a man’s hand run across her flesh. A woman who
wanted the pressure of a man’s body on top of her own. A woman who wanted to
know what it was like to desire and be desired in return.

“You
met a man?” Dianna clapped both hands over her mouth and released an
ear-splitting squeal. “Who? Where? Why? Oh, tell me everything!” Her breathless
enthusiasm was not out of the ordinary.

Since
they were children Dianna had always lived vicariously through Charlotte, having never possessed the temerity to speak up for herself, let alone kiss a
stranger in a dark study. She was the epitome of a gently raised lady, always
saying the right thing – which was often nothing at all – and never doing
anything that would be considered untoward.

Sweeping
her skirts to the side, she perched on the edge of a stone fountain that sat
unused in the middle of the yard and clapped her hands together. “Everything,”
she repeated firmly, her blue eyes sparkling. “At once.”

Charlotte
sat beside her and began to absently swing her legs to and fro. “After my first
dance at the ball I could not stand the stares and the whispers, so I left. The
engagement announcement had just been printed the day before.”

“I
remember.”

“And
so it was all anyone was talking about. Or at least it seemed that way. I
retreated to a study. It was dark, and I thought at first I was alone, but
someone was already in the room. A
male
someone,” she said after a quick
peek at the solarium doors to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

“This
is quite scandalous,” Dianna decided. “Do go on. Did he see you?”

“He
not only saw me, he accused me of tracking him down on purpose for the sake of
ruining myself and trapping him into marriage!” Charlotte’s face grew warm as
she recalled the way Gavin had stared at her, his gray eyes lingering on every
inch of her exposed flesh. Wolf eyes, she thought now. Watchful and cunning and
just a little wicked. “Apparently women do that quite often.”

Dianna
released a quiet
hum
of agreement before she asked, “Well, who was he? A
duke? An earl?”

“No.”
Charlotte shook her head. “And no. He did not have a title at all, actually.”

“No
title? Was he a servant? Oh Charlotte, you did not have a moment of passion
with a
servant
, did you?”

Charlotte
wondered if her cheeks were as red as they felt. “How do you know we had a
moment of… of passion?”

“Please.”
Dianna rolled her eyes. “It is written all over your face.”

“Well,
he was not a servant. But we did have a moment of passion.” Charlotte grinned
when Dianna shrieked yet again.

“Tell
me his name right now!”

“Mr.
Graystone. Mr. Gavin Graystone. What?” she asked when Dianna’s jaw dropped.
“Why do you look like that? Have you heard of him?”

“I
do not know how you
haven’t
heard of him.”

“I’ve
been a bit preoccupied,” Charlotte reminded her. 

“I
suppose being forced into marriage against your will is as good excuse as any,”
Dianna allowed. Standing gracefully, she began to saunter – Dianna never paced
– back and forth in front of the fountain. “Last month I had tea at Lady
Miranda’s house. Now, you know I never repeat gossip—”

“Never,”
Charlotte said dryly.

“—but
she spoke at quite some length about a certain Mr. Graystone. Apparently no one
had heard of him up until six months ago, and then he was everywhere. He
purchased the Shire House on Bleaker Street, you know.”

“The
one facing the park?” Charlotte’s eyebrows rose.

“Precisely.
And the one next to it as well. The word is he intends to combine them, which
would give him one of the largest mansions in all of London.”

Charlotte
could not quite contain her surprise. Who knew Gavin possessed such wealth?
Why, it would have been difficult for a
duke
to undertake a renovation
of such magnitude and expense, let alone a commoner. Although it certainly
explained his initial suspicion of her. He thought she was after his money!

“No
one knows exactly where he comes by his fortune. Ill means, I would assume.”
Dianna’s lips pursed. She, like the rest of the
ton
, was naturally wary
of anyone who worked for their money. Amidst the nobility it simply was not
done, which meant the more wealth Gavin accrued, the more apparent he made it
to everyone that he was not of their lineage, nor of their blood.

Charlotte
did not agree with Dianna’s way of thinking, but she had always been very
careful not to impress her radical ideas upon her friend. Dianna was always
unfailingly polite to the lower class, but she did not believe them to be her
equals as Charlotte did. Which was why Charlotte was shocked down to her very
core when Dianna grabbed both her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“I’ve
got it! Oh Charlotte, I know how to rescue you from the duke! It’s a perfect
plan.”

Having
schemed enough in her youth to know no plan was ever perfect, Charlotte
narrowed her eyes and tried to withdraw her hands from Dianna’s grip, but her
friend held fast. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Graystone, does
it?”

“This
has
everything
to do with him!” Dianna cried, nearly bouncing up and
down with excitement. “He is your solution. Don’t you see?”

What
Charlotte
saw
was more trouble than she needed. “No,” she said
emphatically, shaking her head from side to side. “No, no—”

“If
you ruin yourself with Mr. Graystone, the duke will have to withdraw his offer
for marriage! Mr. Graystone will be forced to marry you instead, and his money
will save your mother from financial disaster!”

“—no,”
Charlotte finished weakly.

Oh
dear.

Had
Gavin known his future was being plotted out without his knowledge, he could
have been infuriated. As it happened he was already quite angry, although it
was for a different reason entirely.

“I
have given you three months, Newmore. Your loan has come due,” he said,
speaking through clenched teeth to a tall, heavyset man who sat opposite him
behind an enormous mahogany desk that could have paid off the debt owed three
times over. That was the crutch of the nobility, however: they would take the
shirt off their back before they gave up their possessions, for heaven forbid
anyone visiting their home guess they were in financial straights.

Lord
Newmore straightened in his chair and slapped his hands on the desk. His gold
signet ring caught the late afternoon sun flickering in through one of the
windows, drawing Gavin’s eye. Newmore’s lip curled in disgust beneath his salt
and pepper moustache.

“Don’t
have one of these, do you boy?” he asked, holding up his hand. “Do you know
why? Because you are not one of us,” he sneered when Gavin remained silent.
“You might wear fancy clothes and buy fancy houses, but your blood is as
tainted and impure as it was the day you were born. You think you can come in
here and bully me? You are nothing more than an insolent mongrel scavenging for
scraps. A half breed –
MMPH
!” The rest of Lord Newmore’s words came out
gargled, for it was quite difficult to speak clearly when one had a hand
wrapped around one’s throat.

Papers
flew in the air as Gavin launched himself across the desk, knocking over a vase
in the process. It shattered on the floor and Newmore’s eyes widened in horror.

“That
w-was a Clifton!” he wheezed.

Gavin’s
grip tightened. “Two days, Newmore,” he said, his tone deceptively calm. “Two
days to send what is owed to me or I will come back here and I will break more
than a vase. Are we clear?”

“C-crystal,”
Newmore choked out.

“Excellent.”
Gavin opened his hand, and the lord sagged in his chair, his face a rather
alarming shade of purple above the crisp white collar of his cravat. Picking up
his jacket and tossing it negligently over one shoulder, Gavin strolled out of
the study without a backwards glance.

Shire
House was only a few blocks away and as the skies were clear and the weather
crisp, he waved his carriage on. He sank into deep thought as he walked, his
head echoing with the things Newmore had said. The man may have been a pansy
livered muckworm, but he was still right on all accounts.

No
matter how much money Gavin made, he would always feel second class to those
born above him on the social ladder. He could not escape his past. He wore it
like a brand on his forehead, for despite his endless voice lessons and
expensive carriages and tailored clothes it took only one whisper, one sideways
glance, one smirk, and he felt as he had all those years go standing over his
mother’s bed: worthless.

Cupping
his jaw, he rubbed at the dark shadow of scruff he had not shaved since
yesterday morning. Perhaps there
was
one thing that would gain him the
respect of his peers. One thing he had once thought to avoid at all costs, but
he was weary of feeling as though he did not belong, weary of the gossip and
the stares, weary of lurking on the edges of the
ton
like a beggar,
staring hungrily through the window at something he could see but never have.

What
he needed was a wife, but not just any wife. She would have to be a lady from a
well to do family. A lady the
ton
knew and admired.  A lady that
would make him the envy of every man. A lady with hair the color of fire and
eyes that burned like the setting sun.

A
lady just like Charlotte Vanderley.     

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I
feel like a peacock.” Jutting out her chin, Charlotte glared sullenly at her
reflection in the gilt framed mirror above her dresser. For the past two hours
she had been sitting in the same chair in her bedroom while Tabitha fixed her
hair into an elaborate tower of curls that would compliment her fanciful
Georgian gown, and her patience was finally wearing thin.

Surprisingly,
it had been Dianna’s idea to attend the masquerade ball held yearly at the
renowned Devonshire Estate. It was an illicit affair, filled with drinking and
gambling and other acts of sin usually denied to women of their station, but
for one night a year, as long as the faces of everyone in attendance remained
suitably covered, the
ton
chose to look the other way.

“You
look beautiful,” Dianna said from behind her. “Now hold still, this feather is
not sticking like it should. Tabitha, what if we used hot wax to secure it?”

Charlotte
instantly ducked her head to the side, no small feat given the current weight
of her hair. “Don’t you dare,” she warned in an ominous tone. Obediently the
maid set down the beeswax candle she had picked up from the dresser and resumed
attempting to pin in the final white feather by less destructive means.
Charlotte rolled her aching shoulders and sighed. “Remind me why we are doing
this again?”

Dianna’s
grin in the mirror was unmistakably mischievous. “Because your Mr. Graystone
will be there, and it will be a splendid opportunity to woo him.”

“Firstly”
– Charlotte held up one finger – “he is not
my
Mr. Graystone. Secondly,
who said he will be there?”

“Lady
Miranda.”

“Lady
Miranda seems to know a great deal about Mr. Graystone.” Not that she cared. Of
course not. After all, she hardly knew the man. They had only spoken for a few
minutes… and shared the most passionate kiss of her life.

“Yes.”
Dianna’s head bobbed up and down like a sparrow’s. “I do believe she has set
her cap for him. Quite a few women have, it sees. He is not titled, everyone
knows that, but he is quite wealthy and undeniably handsome. Why, if not for
Lord Radnor, I might set a cap for him myself.”

Dianna
had been engaged to Lord Miles Radnor, Earl of Winfield, since the age of
seven. It was a family match, made before such arrangements fell out of favor.
There was no wedding date set, as Lord Radnor was traveling abroad – had been
traveling for the past ten years, give or take – and it was a topic Dianna
rarely, if ever, discussed.

“I
thought you said I should marry Mr. Graystone,” Charlotte pointed out, doing
her best not to scowl. She wasn’t jealous. That would be absurd.

“And
I still do. But you can hardly expect the man to wait around forever, and let
us not forget
your
impending nuptials.”

As
if she could. Wincing slightly when Tabitha yanked at a particularly stubborn
curl, she said, “I still do not see how marrying Mr. Graystone will solve all
of my problems.”

Dianna
sighed. “As I have already explained a hundred times, the only way to escape
marrying Crane is to marry someone else. No other lord would dare go against a
duke, but Mr. Graystone would not care about that since he is as common as they
come. He is also quite rich, which means he will be able to pay off your
mother’s debts and you will be free of Crane once and for all.”

It
did in fact make a great deal of sense, which Charlotte was loath to admit. If
it were up to her she would not marry any man; unfortunately she did not seem
to be in a position where that was a possibility. “How do I know Mr. Graystone
would have any interest in marrying me?”

Dianna
lowered the smudge of kohl she was using to darken her eyes. “That is why we
are attending the masquerade. So you can flirt with him outrageously and gain
his attention.”

“But
we do not even have a proper chaperone,” Charlotte protested. She was reaching
for excuses now, and even Tabitha knew it if her raised eyebrow was any
indication. Charlotte’s fingers twisted anxiously in her lap.

For
the first time in her entire life she was truly apprehensive about something,
and she wasn’t certain how to handle it. Usually she acted first and considered
the consequences later. It was Dianna who questioned everything; Dianna who
talked her down when she wanted to do something impulsive. Now Dianna was
urging her to commit the most reckless act of her life and she was balking.

It
was almost embarrassing.

“No
one has a proper chaperone, which is the entire point of the ball,” Dianna
said.

“But
my mother—”

“Believes
you are staying with me for the night so we can go to the dress maker’s first
thing in the morning, just as my mother believes I am staying with you. Rivers
has sworn not to breathe a word, and he will pick us up and drop us off as
though we truly were staying at each other’s houses.” Dianna wrapped her
fingers around Charlotte’s shoulder and squeezed. “If you truly do not want to
go, then we will not go. But this is your one chance, Char. Your
only
chance.
You will be getting married at the end of the week no matter what you do. Why
not choose the groom?”

Why
not indeed?

“All
right,” she said reluctantly. “The masquerade it is.”

Dianna
met her gaze in the mirror and grinned. “This is going to work splendidly.
You’ll see.”

That
was exactly what Charlotte was afraid of.

“I
think this may have been a very bad idea.” Her face white as a sheet beneath her
ornate gold and blue mask, Dianna tugged desperately at Charlotte’s arm and
pulled her into the bushes. “I think we should leave.”

A
steady stream of guests – all dressed in glittering costumes with demi masks to
disguise their faces – sauntered past them, their voices raised to be heard
over the steady stream of music pouring through the open French doors of the
Devonshire Estate.

In
every visible direction the masquerade was well underway. The front steps
spilled directly into the main ballroom which was already near to bursting at
the seams. Through a second set of doors a rambling garden aglow with torches
provided a bit of privacy for those couples wishing to take a respite from
dancing. Overhead balconies were being utilized as well, and as the two friends
cowered in the bushes a woman’s pink handkerchief came spinning down in lazy
circles to land in a pool of silk at their feet.

Charlotte
bent to pick up the discarded handkerchief, but Dianna pulled her upright with
a soft murmur of dismay.

“Did
you hear what I said? I… I have changed my mind. This is a bad idea. A very bad
idea. We need to leave at once.”

The
air itself thrummed with excited, and inside her chest Charlotte’s heart
pounded with a delicious mixture of nerves, anticipation, and exhilaration.

“Stop
it,” she hissed. “You are the one who wanted to come in the first place! Now we
are here, and we are not leaving.”
At least not until I see Gavin
, she
added silently. Her pulse quickened at the mere thought of him, and she
wondered how he would be dressed tonight. Would she be able to recognize him?
Better yet, would
he
recognize
her
?

Her
costume was deceptively simple. It had, in fact, once belonged to her
grandmother and Tabitha had only to make a few alternations for it to fit
Charlotte’s body like a glove. It was a traditional Georgian gown, tight above
the waist and through the elbow length sleeves before spilling out in a wide
hoop skirt supported by an old fashioned wood pannier. The fabric was silk and
dyed a dark, sumptuous shade of plum with white lace trim.

Her
hair, piled high above her head in a tangle of elaborately styled curls, was
powdered white and filled with feathers and ribbons and heaven knew what else.
The combined weight of it all was already straining Charlotte’s neck, and she
could not imagine how women had once dressed in such a fashion on a daily
basis. It was little wonder simplistic hairstyles and free flowing empire waist
gowns were now all the rage.

A
black mask outlined with sparkling amethysts completed the costume. It left
only her eyes and the lower half of her face visible, giving her a demure air
of mystery that fit perfectly with the night’s festivities.

Dianna,
on the other hand, had been uncharacteristically daring with her costume. She
was dressed as Helen of Troy, and her white dress was most definitely inspired
by the Greek gods of old.

It
draped across one shoulder, leaving the other scandalously bare. Her dance
slippers, mask, and jewelry were all gold. She had purchased a wig that very
morning to disguise her short mop of curls, and the new hair tumbled over her
shoulders in waves, giving the costume one last finishing touch of sensuality.

“I
should have brought a cloak to wear,” Dianna moaned as she did her best to
cover her wantonly exposed flesh with her hands while simultaneously shrinking
further into the bushes. “What was I thinking? I am going to be ruined. Someone
is going to recognize me and I will be irreparably ruined.”

“You
are not going to be ruined.” Charlotte’s eyes rolled behind her mask. “No one
will recognize you.”

“Are
you certain?”

“Positive.”
And she was. Why, if she didn’t know for a fact that it was Dianna beneath the
gold demi mask she would have looked right past her own best friend. “You look
beautiful. Radiant, even. Now come along. I’m not going to find my new future
husband hiding in the bushes.”

“No,
I suppose not.” Dragging her heels only a little bit, Dianna allowed Charlotte
to pull her out of the bushes and onto the path where they were quickly swept
up in the crush of bodies fighting to make their way inside. The moment they
were through the towering entryway both women stopped and stared, identical
expressions of shock and amazement lighting their faces as they took in their
new surroundings.

Men
and women swirled in every direction, their fanciful costumes glittering
beneath ornate chandeliers swathed in ivory silk. A lively waltz floated on the
air, coaxing the crowd forward into the massive ballroom. Cigar smoke billowed
up from beneath one closed door; high pitched giggles from another. Champagne
flowed freely and tables weighed down by every delectable treat imaginable ran
the length of one entire wall. A fountain – a
fountain
! – had been
dragged into the middle of the ballroom and sprayed impressive jets of water
high into the air, showering those who ventured close enough in a cooling mist.
It was, Charlotte thought as she spun in a slow, wide-eyed circle, almost
otherworldly.

“It
is unbelievable,” Dianna said in awe.

“Do
you still want to leave?”

Her
bare shoulder lifted and fell in a quick shrug. “We are here, aren’t we?”

Charlotte
grinned. “We are.”

Linking
their arms tightly together at the elbow, the two friends made their way
further inside, fighting for room to move in the sea of costumes. Dianna was forced
to stop short to keep from running over a ghost, while a woman dressed as a
swan complete with a feathered headdress was jostled hard into Charlotte’s
right side. For a fleeting moment their eyes met, the swan winked, and
Charlotte stifled a snort of surprised laughter.

“What
is it?’ Equal parts nervous and excited, Dianna craned her neck around to
glance behind them, but the swan had disappeared.

“Lady
Haversham,” Charlotte explained.

Dianna’s
face paled beneath her mask. “Can you imagine what she would say if she saw us
here? She is a patroness of Almack’s! We would never be invited again.”

“Oh,
I think we would.” Leaning in close, Charlotte whispered what she had seen, and
Dianna visibly relaxed. If Lady Antonia Haversham, renowned for her social etiquette,
was in attendance, then the rumors were true: for tonight all bets were off,
and the strict rules of the
ton
that governed their every step did not
apply. They were free, as free as they had ever been before, and it felt
wonderfully liberating.

“What
should we do first?” Still holding fast to Dianna’s arm, Charlotte sidestepped
a tottering clown, ducked under the arm of a goat, and narrowly avoided being
run over by a man dressed as a horse. He raised his flute of champagne, neighed
at them, and stumbled off.

“Dance?”
Dianna suggested breathlessly.

“Dance,”
Charlotte agreed.

The
next hour passed in a blur of changing faces and colorful costumes. Charlotte
could not say for certain who even one of her dance partners had been, and she
knew no one had recognized her either, for not a single question about her
engagement or impending wedding was asked. Somewhere during the organized chaos
she lost sight of Dianna, but she wasn’t worried. Quite the contrary. She was
glad that for once her friend had stepped beyond her comfort level and was
enjoying herself for a change. This was precisely what Dianna needed: to loosen
up and enjoy her life without all the seriousness she imposed upon herself on a
daily basis.

“Might
I cut in?” a husky voice asked.

Turning,
a smile already in place, Charlotte froze when she saw who had spoken. It was
him
.
Oh, he wore a costume like the rest, but she would recognize those piercing
gray eyes anywhere. He was dressed all in black, from the hat tipped rakishly
over one eye to a pair of gleaming riding boots that reached all the way up to
his muscular thighs. Thighs that happened to be – not that she was looking –
dressed in the most form fitting breeches Charlotte had ever seen.

“Or
not,” Gavin said, one eyebrow rising above his mask.