Eva Shepherd - Beguiling The Duke

It seemed she might have to work a bit harder to shock Lord Ashton, but the Dowager was going to be easy prey.

It was time to have some fun.

‘Pleased to meet you, Your Grace.’ She reached down, grabbed the Dowager’s hand and pumped it in a manly handshake.

Those invisible strings gave her mouth a firm tug. The frown won, and the Dowager’s nostrils flared as if she could smell something unpleasant.

Rosie bit the inside of her upper lip to stop herself from laughing as the Dowager finally forced her lips into a smile, her face contorting as if she were undergoing a painful dental procedure.

‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss van Haven,’ the Dowager replied, trying discreetly to rub the hand that Rosie had just crushed.

Rosie controlled the giggle bubbling up inside her. ‘I’m really sorry about nearly breaking your vase—but it looks like it’s a really old one, so perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered.’

All three turned and looked at the offending porcelain ornament, now safely restored to its pedestal.

‘Yes, it is rather old...’ The Dowager sniffed. ‘Ming Dynasty, I believe.’

A small giggle escaped Rosie’s lips before she had a chance to stop it. ‘Oh, as old as that? Well, then, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d broken it. It would have given you a good excuse to replace it with something nice and new.’

The Dowager’s eyes grew wide, her tight lips compressed further, and she signalled to a footman to remove the vase, as if concerned that Rosie was about to commit a wanton act of vandalism.

They waited in silence as the footman gently picked up the vase and carried it reverently away in his gloved hands. When he’d safely left the room the Dowager exhaled slowly.

‘I’m afraid you’ve arrived a little earlier than we were expecting, Miss van Haven. We usually greet our guests formally at the entrance,’ the Dowager said.

‘Oh, I like to take people by surprise. You never know what mischievous acts you’ll catch them in.’ Rosie winked at the Dowager and received a wide-eyed look of disapproval in response.

‘Yes, quite...’ she said, flustered.

Rosie looked over at the Duke, hoping to see an equally disapproving look. Instead he stared back at her with unflinching dark eyes, neither smiling nor frowning. Rosie’s grin died on her lips and heat rushed to her cheeks.

What was happening? She never blushed. And she shouldn’t be blushing now. She had to remain in character if she was to convince this man that she was a most unsuitable duchess. Just because he was sublimely handsome it did not mean she should let him unnerve her. She had to remember who he was and what he wanted to do. He wanted to marry Arabella to get his hands on her father’s money.

‘I imagine there’s been a lot of mischief in these halls,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light-hearted to disguise the disquiet the Duke was arousing deep inside her. ‘I’m sure those ancestors could tell a tale or two.’ She threw her arms up in the air and gestured wildly to the paintings lining the wall.

The Dowager took a step back to avoid Rosie’s flying arms, while the Duke continued to stare down at her, his face implacable. She lowered her arms. It seemed that bad behaviour wasn’t going to upset his demeanour. She would have to try another means of attack.

‘Judging by all those portraits, your family has been wealthy for many generations. I suppose you realise that my father was born in poverty? His father was a miner, and his father’s father was a mule driver.’

Let’s see how the snobby aristocrats react to that!

The Duke nodded slowly. ‘Yes, your father’s history is well-documented. And he is to be commended for rising so quickly from such humble beginnings to become one of the wealthiest men in America. He’s obviously an enterprising man and clearly believes in hard work.’

Rosie fought not to grimace. Was nothing going to annoy this man? Surely he couldn’t be that rare entity, a member of the British aristocracy who wasn’t a snob? Or was he just blinded by the thought of Arabella’s substantial dowry?

‘You’re right. He does believe in hard work—in earning money rather than expecting a hand-out.’

Hopefully this Duke wouldn’t be able to miss her thinly veiled disapproval at his plans to marry Arabella for her money.

‘Another thoroughly commendable trait.’

Damn. Either he didn’t understand that he had just been insulted, or he didn’t care.

‘It’s a shame your father couldn’t accompany you this weekend,’ the Dowager said. ‘I was looking forward to meeting him in person.’

‘No, he’s too busy back in America.’

Making the money you’re so desperate for .

‘But meeting me is just like meeting him. I’m a chip off the old block, as they say.’

‘Do they? How delightful...’ the Dowager said through pinched lips.

Rosie supressed a smile at the Dowager’s discomfort. A seed of doubt had definitely been planted in her mind after Rosie’s entrance and behaviour. Now all she had to do was water that seed with continued bad behaviour and watch it grow until the FitzRoys realised they couldn’t possibly countenance this marriage and sent her on her way.

Alexander almost felt sorry for his mother. This peculiar American woman was most definitely not what she had expected—of that there could be no doubt. But it seemed the thought of Mr van Haven’s vast fortune was enough for her to swallow her astonishment and put on a brave face.

With forced politeness his mother led Miss van Haven back down the entrance hall she had just danced up, pausing at each painting and explaining which ancestor it depicted and what great exploit each was famous for.

It was fortunate for his mother that paintings of his father and his grandfather did not adorn the hall. He suspected even she would have had trouble finding anything with which to commend those two reprobates, and Miss van Haven’s term ‘mischievous’ was far too tame to describe the damage that those two men had done to the family and to the estate.

Following the two women, Alexander had the opportunity to observe this odd American. His mother had been right about one thing: she certainly was attractive. With her raven-black hair and sparkling blue eyes she was nothing less than radiant. Nor could he deny that her creamy skin with the hint of blush on her cheeks gave her a delicate beauty. And that slightly upturned nose was rather appealing.

His mother was possibly right that she could play the banjo and recite long passages of Shakespeare—although he had no desire to discover whether either of those claims were true or not. But he suspected that nothing else about this young woman was what his mother had hoped for in a future daughter-in-law.

As his mother continued her boastful monologue Miss van Haven nodded furiously, perhaps unaware that her hat had become dislodged as she had flung herself down the hall. It was now sitting at a precarious angle, causing her to look like a very pretty pantomime clown.

Alexander suspected a clown was also not what his mother had had in mind for the next Duchess of Knightsbrook.

Despite her feigned politeness, his mother couldn’t stop herself from shooting nervous glances in Miss van Haven’s direction. She was no doubt worried that the young lady would suddenly break into a polka, trip over one of the Queen Anne chairs, or send some other priceless antique flying.

There was no question that her performance had certainly been unexpected—but it was quite obviously just that: a performance. While her grandfather might have been a miner, and his father a mule driver, she had been raised among America’s wealthiest elite. The rules of etiquette and manners were just as strict in New York society as they were in England. And men like her father, who were newly wealthy, tended to follow those rules even more rigidly than those who had been born to wealth.