The Truth About Princesses and Dukes (The Duke Hunters Club) Page 3

The carriage swayed and tilted as it tackled a steep hill, shifting the velvet curtains. Aria moved them aside and peeked out. Sheep and cows dotted the dark green slopes surrounding her, the color striking against the gray sky. True love was the most marvelous thing. She never would have ventured into this most picturesque section of England otherwise.

  “Cows!” Lucy Banks exclaimed, and her freckled nose crinkled. “Look at their spots!”

  Aria smiled at her bridesmaid-to-be.

  “Incredible!” Lucy’s mother cooed, clapping her hands with a vigor normally seen when a new tenor was introduced at the Royal Opera House.

  Lucy’s father didn’t clap and didn’t coo. He kept his face resolutely on his ledger, as if he were sitting in his office in New York City. Lucy and her parents had agreed to come to Staffordshire for the wedding, though Lucy’s younger sister had elected to visit London with a friend. Perhaps Aria hadn’t been here for long, but it was a comfort to learn she had made friends. Lucy was also a foreigner, and Aria and she had soon bonded.

  “The area is beautiful,” Aria’s father agreed, holding Galileo in his arms. Aria beamed. Galileo wagged his tail, and he panted happily.

  Father understood. It would all be fine.

  Lucy scooted to the window and poked her head out. The second coach, filled with servants, was visible as the road curved. Lucy’s auburn curls fluttered in the wind, the force amplified by the carriage’s speed.

  “I assume they don’t have cows like this in New York City?” Father inquired politely.

  “They don’t have much of anything in New York City,” Lucy said miserably and sat back. She shrugged. “Well, some cows, I suppose. But not this kind.”

  Aria’s bodyguard sniffed. This entire journey he’d been consumed with sniffing, as if he were practicing to be a British butler.

  He seemed convinced that Americans were intent on waging war. He must have read too many newspaper stories at an impressionable age about the War of 1812. She was certain Americans weren’t waging battles.

  No, her bodyguard had nothing to fear. Father might be rich, but rural England exuded safety.

  “It is lovely,” Aria mused.

  They must be nearly there. A tall gray castle stood on a hilltop that jutted over the valley, as if it were intent on conquering it.

  “Do you suppose that’s Laventhorpe Castle?” Aria asked.

  “Ah.” Mr. Banks removed his reading spectacles and gazed out for the first time. “Yes, that is indeed Laventhorpe Castle. I saw an illustration of it in one of the books I read on the way to England.”

  Mrs. Banks rolled her eyes. “He read many books.”

  “But this illustration was memorable,” Mr. Banks said.

  “Well done, my dear,” Father said. “They don’t have hills like this near Stockholm.”

  Aria smiled. “I would have married him even if his house had been much less grand, and the landscape less magnificent.”

  “But it is intelligent of you that it did not come to that.” Mr. Banks shot a glance at his daughter. “Lucy, there is much for you to learn from the princess.”

  “We’ll be fortunate if Lucy marries anyone,” Mrs. Banks huffed. “No proposals yet. Not a single one, despite our money. It’s mortifying. I don’t know how we’ll show our face again in North America if she doesn’t have a man on her arm soon.”

  Lucy didn’t reply. No doubt she knew her parents had been expecting her to marry an Englishman of high rank. Unfortunately, most Englishmen of high rank seemed nervous around her.

  Demon nodded approvingly at the castle. “That looks very well protected. No one will be able to climb up that cliff easily.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Aria told her bodyguard.

  “You’re a princess,” Demon reminded her. “There are always assassins.”

  “Well, I doubt any of the people who live here will be very interested in the political situation in either Sweden or India.”

  Her bodyguard frowned, and she sighed.

  “Though, of course, I’m very grateful you’ve kept me alive so far.”

  Demon’s disgruntled look vanished. “You’re very welcome. I have done a good job protecting you.”

  “Most excellent,” she said, still focused on the castle.

  The building was absolutely magnificent. It loomed over the countryside in a majestic manner she immediately adored. Her darling duke had already told her that it had been built centuries before, but she still hadn’t prepared herself for the glorious medieval architecture.

  Her heart pounded. Soon, she would be at the castle. Soon, she would be reacquainted with the duke. Soon, she would be engaged.

  “One day, I want to be as happy as you,” Lucy mused, turning her freckled face to Aria.

  Aria smiled. “It is a feat I did not even expect for myself.”

  When a matchmaker had contacted her a few months ago to see if she might be interested in being a potential match for the Duke of Hammett, she’d agreed half-heartedly. An uncomfortable boat ride ended with her plunged in the River Avon, a thankfully narrow, albeit still wet, section. It had made her doubtful of the prospect of marriage at all.

  And yet, her dearest darling Duke of Framingham had changed all her misconceptions. He’d pushed away her misgivings. She hadn’t realized she would love him when she first met him, but by the time he’d sent Aria a letter asking her to marry him, she’d been certain.

  Finally, the carriage stopped before a line of servants bedecked in wigs and breeches. They stood rigidly, as if their presence were as old and established as that of Laventhorpe Castle’s pillars.

  Aria knew she should feel nervous, but only a wave of happiness moved through her. The castle’s exterior was more wonderful than she’d imagined, and she eyed the old-fashioned battlements with glee. A stone chapel stood near the castle. Tomorrow, Dudley and she would marry there. She forced herself not to leap from the carriage before the other passengers had descended.

  Finally, she exited the carriage and stared at darling Dudley. His hair might be speckled with gray, and his chin might be on the verge of growing an unnecessary addition, but it didn’t matter. His eyes didn’t crinkle or shimmer, but that wasn’t in his nature. He was solemn and serious, but she knew the passion and curiosity inside him.

  Happiness flitted through Aria. Life was soon going to become very wonderful.

  “Sweetheart,” she murmured and fell into a deep curtsy.

  RUPERT STOOD WITH THE servants and watched two glossy black coaches rumble over the gravel road, turn past the fountain, and finally stop. His heartbeat quickened. He glanced at his cousin, but Dudley’s expression was calm; apparently, he was confident in their love.

  The driver of the first coach, clothed in blue-and-yellow livery that matched the feathers on the horses’ headpieces, stepped from the carriage. He nodded to them, then opened the door to the carriage. A tall, blond-haired man in his forties stepped from the carriage, followed by a young red-haired woman, and an older couple. Finally, a tall, dark-haired woman descended the steps, and Rupert’s heart stopped.

  This must be the princess. She was beautiful. There was no other manner in which to describe her. She was tall and slender. Her golden skin glowed against her yellow afternoon dress. Coils of thick dark hair peaked from her bonnet. Her face was exquisite: full lips, a perfectly straight nose, and an oval face. Artists would be upset when they saw her, realizing their masterpieces were ineffective displays of beauty. What was a Venus stepping from seashells in comparison?

  Rupert’s chest tightened, and an odd longing surged through him.

  In the moment after that, Dudley marched forward. He swept into a bow. It was not a terribly deep bow, and Rupert sighed that his cousin’s arthritis would plague him at this moment.

  “Welcome to Laventhorpe Castle. I’m certain the princess and her father are most tired,” the duke said sternly. “I shall send food to your rooms tonight.”

  A flicker of confusio
n ran in the princess’s eyes, but then she smiled. “It is kind of you to want us to rest.”

  “Bleary-eyed people make imperfect guests,” the duke said, before howling into laughter.

  The others joined him after a startled moment, and Rupert slinked away.

  Perhaps he was wrong to be worried. He didn’t know the princess. She would become the new Duchess of Framingham. She might find it amusing that he considered his role so important in her husband’s courtship of her.

  Rupert didn’t want to be subjected to thousands of awkward dinners and picnics whenever he saw the duke again. His cottage was on the duke’s estate. He didn’t want to attract more of his cousin’s anger than usual. Not when his cousin controlled so much of Rupert’s debt. Not when his cousin had met the princess before and had formed an understanding. Not when his cousin was suffering from arthritis and had simply been overwhelmed at the thought of writing the princess.

  Rupert returned to his cottage. Being anything but happy for his cousin would be ridiculous.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next day Rupert still lacked the appropriate happiness his cousin’s upcoming nuptials warranted. Dudley needed to be as devoted as he’d declared he was when he’d first asked Rupert to assist him with his correspondence.

  Rupert paced his cottage, then left abruptly. He marched past the gardeners, then knocked on the door of Laventhorpe Castle.

  Barnes opened the door and glared.

  Even though Rupert had visited the castle nearly every day for the past several weeks, Barnes continued to bestow a regal stare, as if Rupert were some riff-raff who’d accidentally ended up at the finest estate in Staffordshire and had possessed such little knowledge that he’d wandered up to the main door instead of the servants’ entrance. Doubtless, Barnes thought he should have avoided venturing past the hedges bordering the estate entirely.

  “Mr. Andrews.” Barnes sneered.

  “I would like to see my cousin.”

  “The duke is dressing,” the butler said. “It will take some time.”

  “Then I’ll visit him in his rooms,” Rupert said and proceeded up the grand staircase.

  Barnes could act intimidating, but that didn’t mean Rupert had to succumb to intimidation. Rupert strode past the familiar sideboards and vases, gilt mirrors and decorative boxes, gathered from two centuries of lavish wealth.

  Finally, Rupert knocked on his cousin’s door.

  “Enter,” Dudley’s voice boomed, and Rupert stepped into the room.

  Dudley’s valet was fussing with his cousin’s cravat.

  “Ah, Rupert.” His cousin nodded to him absentmindedly, and the duke’s valet focused his attention on the duke’s cuff links. “Have you met the bride and her family?”

  “No. I mean—I saw them.”

  “From a distance.” His cousin smiled. “You always were shy.”

  “I trust you had a pleasant visit with her party yesterday?”

  “Ah.” The duke shrugged. “I wouldn’t characterize it as pleasant. It is rather dull to have many people exclaim about the beauty of one’s abode.” The duke shot Rupert a condescending glance. “You wouldn’t understand. You only have a cottage.”

  Rupert bristled, but resisted the temptation to saunter off. “How was your meeting with the princess? Was it everything you expected?”

  The duke shrugged. “She was a bit dusty, but one does rather expect that. One rather hopes for dust-free guests, but it is mostly a wish in vain.”

  Carriage wheels crunched over the gravel, temporarily masking the sound of water gushing from the fountain, and the duke frowned. “I thought all the guests had arrived yesterday.”

  “Everyone wants to celebrate your wedding.” Rupert forced a cheerful smile on his face.

  The duke’s eyes narrowed, and he strode toward the window. The duke’s valet let out a yelp as the cuff link fell to the herringbone floor and he dived to the ground.

  Rupert bent down to help him, but was interrupted by the duke’s sudden shriek.

  “Damnation!” the duke roared. “Damnation.”

  Rupert gave a tentative glance at the valet who focused on his search for the missing cuff link. Finally, the valet’s expression eased, and he held up the cuff link triumphantly. “I found it.”

  “Not that, you idiot.” The duke glared. “You think I need money? I’m a duke, for god’s sake, and my new bride is very, very, very wealthy. You should see those jewels she wore! One of those gems alone...”

  A carriage door slammed, and the duke scurried to the window. His face reddened, and even though Dudley eschewed boxing, his hand formed fists. “Blast! That’s her. Double blast!”

  Rupert blinked at the duke’s sudden tirade of dishonorable expressions.

  Rupert and the valet exchanged baffled glances.

  “Who is it?” Rupert asked finally.

  “Greta!”

  Puzzlement must have shone on Rupert’s face, for the duke sighed. “You must know Greta van Konigsberg.”

  Rupert shook his head.

  “Greatest opera singer in the world?” the duke bellowed, then gave an exasperated huff. “Clearly, you’re a plebeian.”

  “I have heard of her,” Rupert said.

  Rupert had always been too careful with his money to enjoy going to the opera, which for aristocrats mostly involved dressing in splendid attire and sneaking glances at the royal box.

  “Is she playing at the wedding?” Rupert asked.

  The duke snorted. “I should make her do that.” He raised the window, then poked his head out. “Go away!”

  “I will not,” a female voice shouted back.

  Her soprano voice was loud, and it was easy to imagine her voice filling Covent Garden.

  The duke drew back suddenly. “Never get into an argument with an opera singer. Take my word for it. Their vocal cords and diaphragm make an appalling combination.” He shook his head mournfully, then pointed at his valet. “Bring her in here before the princess and her entourage spot her. They’re going on a damned tour of the castle.”

  “You want me to bring this—er—guest into your personal room?” the valet asked incredulously.

  “Yes! You going deaf?”

  “N-no,” the valet stammered, then scrambled from the room.

  The duke paced the room. “Damned opera singers. What is she doing here?”

  An uncomfortable feeling settled in Rupert’s stomach, and his heart hurt. He wrapped his arms about each other and held them against his chest, as if that could protect him from the pain raging inside.

  It hadn’t.

  It was all so laughable and pitiful.

  Aria was perfect. And now she was marrying someone who didn’t adore her, who wouldn’t cherish her. Aria wouldn’t lead the life she desired.

  “You don’t love her,” Rupert said.

  His cousin furrowed his brow. “When did you get so romantic? What does love have to do with this marriage?”

  Loud voices sounded downstairs.

  “Blast,” the duke said, then hurried from the room.

  “Shall I accompany you?” Rupert asked.

  “I am perfectly capable of going downstairs on my own,” the duke said.

  Right.

  Rupert flushed, then sat awkwardly on a striped satin bench.

  Just what had his cousin involved himself with?

  Footsteps sounded on the steps, then the duke entered the room. His hand was clasped about the wrist of a pretty blond woman with a generously curved body.

  “What are you doing here?” the duke growled and pushed the woman onto the bed. Her blonde hair toppled down becomingly by the force of his movement.

  She arched her torso up, straining slightly as she sank into the bed chords. “You’re getting married to some princess.”

  She spat the last word out as if it were an insult.

  The duke’s face reddened. “Perhaps.”

  Miss van Konigsberg scrambled up from the bed. “You promised y
ou would marry me.”

  The duke shifted his legs over the floorboards. “Did I?”

  “You did.” She leaped toward him and pummeled her fists against his chest. “You promised.”

  “Er—right.” The duke managed to look guilty, a feat that Rupert had assumed was impossible. The duke took Miss van Konigsberg’s hands in his. “I swear to you, we will still marry.”

  Rupert blinked. Did the duke mean to break off his engagement with the princess? That seemed doubtful, given the fact the princess was here with her entourage and that the wedding was scheduled for this evening. Since the princess had traveled a long time, the duke had opted for delaying the wedding from its customary morning schedule to later in the day.

  “You’re engaged to someone else,” Miss van Konigsberg scoffed. “After everything you promised. You know I’m with child.”

  Rupert’s jaw fell. The duke had a pregnant mistress?

  Still. The duke had committed himself to marrying.

  Rupert prepared himself for the duke to sneer and snarl. He prepared for the duke to say that an opera singer could never expect to marry a duke. He prepared himself for the duke to insult her. He even prepared to comfort Miss van Konigsberg and to lead her back to her carriage.

  None of those things happened.

  Instead, the duke pulled Miss van Konigsberg toward him. “My dearest darling, I promise you, I am doing this for us, and I will marry you soon.”

  She eyed him with suspicion. Rupert didn’t blame her; he was doing the same.

  “I love you.” The duke’s voice emanated tenderness, and if the duke hadn’t had his betrothed in another section of his castle, the action would almost have been romantic.

  As it was, Rupert’s stomach turned. He wanted to flee this room, but his feet may as well have turned to lead.

  “I won’t be your mistress anymore.” Miss van Konigsberg raised her chin. “I have morals.”

  “And I made promises,” the duke replied. “But when this is finished, I’ll be an even wealthier man, my dear.”

  “You already have a castle.”

  “Castles require maintenance.” He tilted his head. “And I have a feeling you would like to redecorate this place. We can cover the ballroom with gold leaf.”