Once Upon a Duke Read online

  Noelle’s breath caught. Silkridge was right. The townsfolk had been focused on Mr. Marlowe’s rapidly worsening condition. In a matter of weeks, their founder had gone from a robust, jovial man to a slot in the castle mausoleum. She froze.

  Had anyone thought to inform his grandson? Was the only information he ever received about his own grandfather the snippets he gleaned from a nonsense quarterly journal? Worse, was the real reason Silkridge had not been present for his grandfather’s final days because he had not known anything was amiss until the summons arrived for the reading of the will? Horror gripped her.

  “You didn’t know,” she whispered.

  His expression shuttered, but he did not pretend to misunderstand. “I would not have come anyway.”

  A week ago, she would have believed that. Today, she was not so sure. Silkridge’s strong sense of duty would have won out over past slights. Mr. Marlowe had to know that. Her heart clenched.

  The oversight was no accident. A man who would force the Cressmouth Chronicle on his grandson and mention every villager by name in his will would not have left a task as obvious as informing his grandson of his ill health to chance.

  Whatever rift had come between them, she could no longer presume Silkridge shouldered the blame. If the duke had not been informed of his grandfather’s condition, it was because Mr. Marlowe had planned it that way. Despite how his grandson might feel.

  She swallowed. “Your grandfather should have—”

  “He’s gone,” the duke interrupted. “Let’s neither beatify nor vilify him. We know what kind of man he was.”

  Noelle was no longer certain she knew what kind of man Mr. Marlowe had been.

  This town had been here for her, if not from the moment of her birth than at least ever since her basket was discovered on the castle steps. Silkridge could not say the same. The town had not been there for him any more than his own grandfather had. An eight-page circular four times a year was not the same as having a family.

  She suddenly wished she could change that for him. Undo years of estrangement and give him not only a grandfather but an entire town. If he could understand why she felt as she did about Cressmouth, perhaps he would have learned to feel the same.

  But that ship had sailed.

  No. It had never existed. The past was immutable. Perhaps the duke had strong reasons not to wish to stick around in the present. She straightened her shoulders. All she could do was keep her distance. Protect her heart however she could.

  Footsteps sounded on the landing.

  She and Silkridge broke their silent gaze and turned their heads toward the open doorway.

  “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.” A footman stood at the ready. “The aviary is complete. Mr. Fawkes sent me to inform you that the item you requested has been placed inside, per your wishes.”

  Noelle’s stomach sank. The aviary was done; the partridge delivered. There was nothing left to detain the duke from leaving. He could be gone within the hour.

  “Just a moment.” Silkridge turned to Noelle, his expression inscrutable. “Since you love to organize events, can you arrange for a bottle of champagne and as many witnesses as necessary to be present outside the aviary at noon tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow. He was giving her twenty-four hours to accomplish a task that could be completed in less than one. She swallowed. Perhaps the extra day was for them.

  “As you please,” she said quickly. “How many witnesses? The will specified a minimum of four.”

  His gaze lowered for a moment before he responded. “The entire town is welcome to attend.”

  She glanced up sharply from the notes she was writing. “You’re making the official inauguration a community event?”

  He raised a brow. “Did you think I would not?”

  “I was positive you would not,” she admitted. “Your grandfather’s will and testament specifically stated that you are not required to do so. You’ve no particular affinity for the project. I would have assumed you’d rather finish the task with as little fuss as possible in order to be on your way more swiftly.”

  “And you would be right,” he said. “But the town would prefer to be present. The aviary does not belong to me, but to Cressmouth. Perhaps I’ll even get a mention in the next circular.”

  The corner of his mouth gave a self-deprecating quirk.

  Noelle did not smile. She couldn’t. Her heart was beating too rapidly at the sweetness of the gesture. He was doing the opposite of what he wished to do for the benefit of her town. Or possibly… for her.

  “Very well,” Silkridge said to the footman. “That will be all.”

  “Wait.” Noelle winced. Had she just contradicted a duke in front of a servant? She would apologize later. She put the finishing touches on the announcement she had been drafting and ran over to the footman. “Please see that this gets copied and posted throughout town by the end of the day. Put it next to the bills for tonight’s play.”

  The footman accepted the papers and headed off with alacrity.

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the duke’s desk and nearly jumped out of her skin to discover he was right behind her. Her pulse quickened.

  He offered her his elbow. “Shall we visit the recently remodeled aviary?”

  “As you wish,” she stammered and somehow managed to curl her shaking fingers about his arm. She did her best to ignore how good the warm strength of his muscles felt beneath her palm.

  Silkridge led her down the stairs and through the castle not as if they were en route to visit a partridge, but rather off to attend the finest ball in all the land.

  Noelle could not help but wonder what it would be like if that were really true. If at the end of the stroll they did not enter an aviary, but an enormous ballroom filled with dancers and chandeliers and an orchestra. It would be magical.

  Cressmouth had no shortage of assemblies, where someone or other would take a turn at the harpsichord, but it must be nothing like London.

  Nothing like arriving on the arm of the Duke of Silkridge.

  Even if it would only be for one night.

  The thought caused her heart to contract. If she could have one night with him, a night of joy and love and magic where anything at all was possible, would she take it? Even if she knew it would all disappear by morning? Knowing she could have him no other way would make it very, very tempting. Who could blame her for seizing onto a moment’s happiness, especially if a single moment was all she could get?

  She tightened her grip on his arm and thanked the heavens that she would not be put to such a test. One stolen kiss would have to be enough.

  When they reached the aviary, Mr. Fawkes stood at the entrance to greet them with flushed cheeks and the triumphant smile. “The finishing touch has just been delivered.”

  He swept open the door.

  The aviary was as gorgeous as Noelle remembered. Tall and arching, paneled with angular glass windows that the workers had done a wonderful job of cleaning. Every surface shined to perfection.

  Growing up through the dirt floor were dozens of bushes and trees, selected to correspond with the various types of birds Mr. Marlowe had outlined in his notes. They had been watered and trimmed into a true sight to behold.

  All that was missing was the bird.

  She frowned. Although she knew the aviary contained nothing more than a single partridge, the vast space seemed inordinately quiet and still.

  “Do you see it?” she whispered, searching branches for a hint of feathers.

  “I had no idea partridges were so good at camouflage,” the duke murmured back. He turned around. “Fuzzy Wig, where is the partridge?”

  “Your Grace walked right past it,” Mr. Fawkes chortled. He pointed to a small tree that had not yet been planted.

  A tree containing no birds at all.

  The uneasy feeling in Noelle’s stomach matched the expression on Silkridge’s face.

  He stepped forward. “That’s not a bird.”

 
“Of course not.” Mr. Fawkes puffed up his chest proudly. “It’s a pear tree, just like you asked.”

  “Not ‘pear tree.’” The duke reached for Mr. Fawkes’s ear trumpet. “I said…”

  Rather than place the horn to Mr. Fawkes’s ear, the duke handed it back to the old clerk without another word and turned to face Noelle with a desperate expression.

  “Pear trees are… tastier than porridge?” she offered weakly.

  Silkridge threw up his hands in exasperation. “I shall never escape this town.”

  His words were a knife in her gut. The duke might want to kiss her, but he didn’t want to stay.

  “Is something wrong?” Mr. Fawkes asked nervously.

  “Thank you for your service,” Silkridge shouted into the old clerk’s ear trumpet. “The castle wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  Mr. Fawkes beamed at the duke and patted him on the shoulder. “Anytime you need me, lad. I am at your beck and call.”

  The duke managed to wait until Mr. Fawkes exited the aviary before letting out a long slow breath.

  Noelle felt for him. The old clerk’s ruined hearing had failed the duke not once but twice. Both times, Silkridge had been a remarkably good sport. She doubted his grandfather would have handled the situation with such grace. Silkridge was a good man.

  She, on the other hand, was far less noble. A tiny part of her was glad that Mr. Fawkes had failed to deliver as promised. His mistake had given her a reprieve from the duke’s inevitable departure. She could keep him a little while longer. This was a blessing.

  The duke swung his frustrated gaze from the pear tree to her. “Recall the announcements before they’re posted. We will have to cancel the christening.”

  “Or,” she said gently. “You could let me handle this.”

  He stared glumly at the spindly branches devoid of fruit before him. “By tomorrow?”

  Her stomach twisted. She might have considered the mix-up a dream come true, but to Silkridge it was a nightmare. He would rather be anywhere else but Cressmouth. He would leave within the hour if he could. She would do well not to forget that.

  “I told you,” she reminded him. “I know a partridge expert.”

  He slid her a look out of the corner of his eye. “Why would any town have a partridge expert?”

  “Bird expert,” Noelle amended. “Virginia loves animals. She can solve this.”

  “Can she?” His voice was doubtful. “Doesn’t her cat love birds?”

  “Not one whit,” Noelle answered with forced cheer. “Don’t worry. Virginia keeps everything in its place. She’ll know right where to find a spare partridge.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  Noelle could not quite bring herself to say you’re welcome. She was ushering Silkridge out the door when all she wanted was for him to stay.

  For the first time in her life, she wished she weren’t so deuced efficient.

  “This is our last night,” the duke said as if reading her mind.

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  He nodded slowly. “Then I accept your help under one condition.”

  She frowned. Surely he wouldn’t ask her to move the event up even sooner. “What condition?”

  His voice grew husky. “Allow me to escort you to tonight’s play.”

  She stared at him, her voice faint even to her own ears. “Tonight’s play?”

  “The Winter’s Tale,” he said. “Didn’t you say it was your favorite?”

  “I said it was in an amphitheater,” she reminded him. “The outdoor kind.”

  “It will be worth it,” he said softly, his blue eyes locked on hers.

  Her heart leapt. Perhaps he was changing his mind about her. Perhaps she could even change his mind about Cressmouth.

  “On one condition,” she said, and bit her lip.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Name it.”

  “Let me give you a tour of the town first,” she said impulsively. “Show you everything the Cressmouth Chronicle cannot begin to cover.”

  He glanced over his shoulder as the wind whistled against the aviary’s many panes of glass. “Right now?”

  “One couldn’t ask for a bluer sky,” she said. “We can take a picnic lunch. Fruit and meats and cheeses.”

  His expression was skeptical. “A picnic lunch in the back of a carriage?”

  “In the back of a sleigh,” she corrected. “Cressmouth is made for sledding. Besides, how can you see the town if you keep yourself sequestered inside somewhere?”

  His gaze was unreadable. She had asked for too much. He was going to say no.

  “I hope it’s a sleigh with a roof,” he muttered.

  “No roof,” she chirped. “I need to fetch my coat from my chamber.”

  He proffered his elbow. “Shall I summon a maid?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “It’s faster if I do it myself.”

  He led her toward the stairs. “Then I shall do the same. My room is down the corridor.”

  She knew. It was all she could think about. But how did he know? Her heart pumped faster. Did he lie awake at night thinking of her doing the same at the other end of the corridor?

  “I won’t be but a moment,” he promised as he left her by her door to go and fetch his own great coat and top hat.

  She hurried into her room and slid on her warmest pelisse, her kid gloves, her prettiest scarf, her thickest muff, her winter bonnet. After a moment’s hesitation, she also retrieved a second scarf. One she had just finished last evening.

  When she stepped out in the hall, the duke was already outside her door. She waited until they were outside in the back of the horse-drawn sleigh with a picnic basket between them before handing him the scarf.

  “Put this on,” she ordered. “Cressmouth won’t seem near as cold if you are properly dressed.”

  “It never seems cold when I’m near you,” he replied softly.

  The back of her neck heated with pleasure.

  He wound the scarf about his neck and opened the picnic basket. “Tell me absolutely everything about this ghastly village while I gorge myself on fruit and cheese and pretend that I’m listening.”

  She looked over at him sharply, but his eyes were full of laughter.

  “Beast,” she chastised him. She motioned for the driver to begin a sedate pace.

  She and Silkridge enjoyed a leisurely picnic as they wound through the snow-covered streets. The sky was clear, the breeze pleasantly crisp. It was a glorious Cressmouth winter day, perfect for snuggling. Thank heavens there was a picnic basket between them.

  Laughing with Silkridge in the back of a sleigh was far more perilous than Noelle had anticipated. She had cared for him once before. Her heart remembered the sensation like putting on warm woolen mittens. If she did not guard herself…

  “And there’s the smithy,” she announced breathlessly, forcing herself to focus on the promised tour and not to give over to emotion. “The French family who owns it knows everything about blacksmithing and carriages. The Duke of Azureford swears by their craftsmanship.”

  “He would,” Silkridge said. “Azureford is always nattering on about winning phaeton races.”

  Noelle grinned as they rounded another corner. “All this open land belongs to Olive Harper, who breeds racehorses. She has several phenomenal stallions absolutely everyone is after, and won’t sell no matter how high an offer she receives.”

  “I know,” Silkridge said. “Her family’s stud farm is infamous throughout England. If I have to sit through one more aside in the House of Lords for peers of the realm to discuss horseflesh instead of policy…”

  “Do you want to listen to the tour or to give it?” she teased him. But she enjoyed hearing stories about Cressmouth’s influence on London, rather than the other way around.

  He waved his hand. “Continue, continue.”

  Over the next hour and a half, she managed to point out the majority of the town’s sights and people. That was, between nibbles of foo
d, and giggles at the duke’s constant interruptions.

  Everyone they passed called out cheery greetings, and although the duke made certain to mutter humbug under his breath each time, Noelle was increasingly convinced he did so for her benefit rather than his.

  By the time they arrived at the amphitheater, being with him felt as natural as the afternoon sun. When they took a seat near the center facing the stage, it was all she could do not to nestle her head on his shoulder and curl into his warmth.

  The heated glances he had been sending when he thought she didn’t notice indicated he was feeling much the same.

  “Is being a counting house clerk what you want from your life?” he asked suddenly, his eyes searching.

  “I’m good at it,” she said simply. “It’s important.”

  “To you or to Cressmouth?” he asked.

  She frowned. “It’s the same thing.”

  “It is not the same.” His expression was intense. “You should not focus on Cressmouth to the exclusion of your own life.”

  “I don’t mind,” she assured him. Cressmouth was her family, her home. She wouldn’t abandon their needs in favor of her own. “I don’t need both.”

  The duke’s gaze did not waver. “I think you should be able to have it all.”

  He made her want it all.

  In that moment, Noelle realized the horrible truth. It was too late for shields. Allowing him back into her heart wasn’t the problem.

  He had never left.

  Chapter 8

  A fortnight ago, Benjamin would have laughed at anyone who suggested he would someday voluntarily spend several hours outside in the winter cold away from all his responsibilities, away from London. Even this afternoon when he had offered to escort Noelle to the play, he hadn’t known it would become one of the most enjoyable days of his life.

  How he wished he could wrap his arm about her and pull her close. Unfortunately, just like the ride in the open sleigh, they were much too visible.

  Although they had arrived at the amphitheater an hour early, eager spectators had already begun to fill the long, curved rows. Snow had been cleared from the stone benches and the sky was a brilliant blue. He could not deny it. If one were to be forced to watch an outdoor play, in the middle of winter, one could not ask for finer weather.