Beauty and the Duke Page 3

  Theirs had been a secret courtship, precipitated by her, ended by him, a fleeting interlude in her life that had managed to imprint itself on her memory with an impunity that had shaped her relationship with men in her life since.

  Christine had always wondered in the deepest recesses of her mind if Erik had chosen her cousin Charlotte because he’d thought her more beautiful, less willful. Or because Charlotte’s dowry would add massive wealth to his holdings. The Sommers family had certainly misjudged the profitability of the land that came with Charlotte, just as they misjudged the young duke of Sedgwick. To this day, Charlotte’s father, Christine’s uncle, still contested the agreement that gave Sedgwick the York land in exchange for a mere two-week marriage to his daughter. Her uncle still harbored the hope that at the very least, Sedgwick would go to the gallows for the murder of his second wife, of less than a year, after she vanished. That had been seven years ago. Christine knew he’d had a daughter by his second wife.

  Christine did not know if all the gossip about Erik was true. Through the years, she’d learned to dismiss the scandal rags.

  But strangely…that night as she lay awake in bed staring at the plaster ceiling, instead of thinking about Joseph and Amelia on their way to Gretna Green and feeling sorry for herself, she was thinking about the man who had long ago introduced her to more than her first tempestuous kiss.

  It bothered her that Erik was still as handsome, just as perilous as he had always been.

  He had a little more silver at his temple. But she doubted little else had changed. She would wager he was still prideful, stubborn, and determined to have the world served to him on his own terms. Now, after ten years, Erik Boughton, the devil Duke of Sedgwick, had returned to London, almost on her doorstep, and Christine found herself wondering why.

  Chapter 2

  Christine awoke as the sunlight burned away the darkness and the birds commenced their happy chatter. Dozens of happy birds lived in the trees outside her window. Where was her cat when she needed him? No pillow over her head could snuff out the din of cheerful chirping.

  With a groan, she finally turned and peered over her shoulder at the clock across the room. She kicked off the eiderdown. Not because it was time to be out of bed but because she had forgotten to wind the clock again. She was usually ever so sensible about such things. Punctuality was a virtue. She washed and dressed before her maid arrived, and hurried downstairs.

  Great Auntie Sophie was already at the table, bent over the morning broadsheet, poring over every word in the society columns. No frivolous periodical, newspaper, or book in all London went unread in the Sommers household.

  Lady Sophia was Christine’s paternal grandmother’s sister, and had been living at Sommershorn Abbey for as long as Christine remembered. She was a brilliant archeologist, the first in the family. Christine loved no one more, but she and Aunt Sophie could not be more different in character.

  While Christine maintained a dutiful, sensible approach to life, her aunt smoked and drank and scandalized proper society at every opportunity. It wasn’t that Christine was an angel or had never lied, but Aunt Sophie never lost her fear of the fight and remained proud of her sedition. Even this morning, her rouged cheeks and scarlet gown shouted defiance.

  “Good morning, Aunt Sophie.”

  “Morning, dear.” Aunt Sophie spoke, looking up as Christine kissed the proffered withered cheek.

  She walked to the breakfront and poured coffee from the silver service Mrs. Samuels set out every morning. “You look very bright this morning.”

  “And you look as if you are attending a funeral. Who died this time?”

  Christine stirred cream into her coffee. Other than the return of an old love and all her dreams passing into an ignoble demise, nothing in her life had changed from yesterday. “I am teaching classes this afternoon.”

  “That explains the somber look. Try to be tolerant of them, dear. The girls at this school truly do look up to you. You are a wonderful mother figure to them.”

  Aunt Sophie made her feel like a white-haired crone. She set down her spoon.

  “Why are you teaching today?”

  “Amelia and Mr. Darlington have left Sommershorn Abbey,” she said without turning. “They eloped.”

  A tiny gasp came from Sophie’s throat. Little could shock Aunt Sophie. “Mr. Darlington and Amelia?”

  “The museum appointed him to lead the expedition to Perth next month. He’ll be gone for years.” Christine slid her finger around the smooth cup rim. “Amelia will make him a good assistant.”

  “Oh, my. Oh, dear.”

  “This is an opportunity for Mr. Darlington.”

  “What about the projects the two of you were working on together?”

  “We have had no projects since his return from Edinburgh. With Papa gone, there is nothing I can offer him here at Sommershorn. The historical and archaeological societies denied every application I submitted. The museum was my last chance to prove I could undertake an expedition. They chose him.” She was thoughtful as she turned and sipped from her cup. “Do you ever regret not marrying and having children?”

  “Regret is as useless as a three-wheeled cart on a bumpy road. Never go through your life regretting anything, dear.”

  Sunlight spilled through the windows behind Lady Sophia and warmed the air. The green walls topped with classical frieze matched the room’s enormous fireplace and served as a background for the many antiquities the family had collected during years of traveling abroad. Christine always found as much comfort and inspiration in this room as she did in Sophie’s sage advice.

  “I see Lord Sedgwick attended the gala,” Sophie said.

  Christine stiffened. Aunt Sophie had to go and bring up the inevitable. “If you are wondering if we spoke, the answer is yes,” she replied, dumping another hefty spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “He attended with his sister.”

  “His grace is courting the ton for another bride, who will give him an heir. They claim no proud papa is standing in line to wed his daughter to him.”

  “Truly, Sophie,” Christine said quietly. “You are as bad as the rest. It is no wonder he chooses to remain in Scotland, the way people treat him here. Besides, he doesn’t need an heir. He has a daughter. Scottish law allows a daughter to inherit.”

  “His duchy is an English patent, dear. Not Scots.”

  “Oh.”

  Aunt Sophie studied Christine, then returned her attention to the paper. She chuckled. “Your uncle must be apoplectic. My sister’s side of the family never did have the sense of an acorn, which is why they are now poor.”

  Christine carried her cup to the window and stared outside at the azaleas. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. “C. A. Sommers won the Fossil Society’s award last night,” she said after a moment, changing the topic.

  “I never doubted that outcome for a moment,” Sophie said.

  Christine turned. “I wish you could have been there.”

  Sophie looked up, her blue eyes blinking. “What would I do at a function where I would be required to be nice to those bloodsucking windbags you want to impress? You had Amelia and Mr. Darlington to accompany you. I’m just sorry Bingham, the old blatherskite, chose him over you to lead the Perth expedition. Joseph was always a better geologist than a paleontologist.”

  Christine pulled out the chair next to Sophie’s and sat. “Oh, Sophie.” Passion infused her voice. “What I wouldn’t give to make an earth-shattering discovery. A discovery so magnificent…” Setting her coffee cup on the table, she focused on Aunt Sophie’s kind face. “The entire world would be forced to admit that what I have to offer is important.”

  “Is that what is truly bothering you, dear?”

  Of course it was. Didn’t Sophie understand her better than anyone? “I want to be like you, Sophie. Free of the ton’s prying eyes and suffocating rules. I want to seize the moment. I want to be taken seriously.”

  Sophie patted Christine’s hand.
“One day, you will show every stodgy scholar in Britain a thing or two about the female intellect, dear. But you must carefully plan and be patient about these things. Something always comes up, and when it does, then you seize the moment.”

  “Patience.” Christine sat back in her chair. “How can I be patient when the entire world is passing me by? I should be the one going to Perth.”

  “But you are not, dear. The museum trustees did not choose you. Mr. Darlington did not choose you.”

  Christine picked up a folded serviette from the table, snapped it open and dabbed the corner of each eye. “This house will not be the same without Amelia. I shall miss her laughter most, I think.”

  “If it is any consolation, I am still here,” Sophie pointed out.

  “Thank you, Aunt Sophie. You have always been dependable in that way.” She smiled. “Perhaps we could spend more time together now that Amelia isn’t here.”

  A knock on the front door signaled an end to their tête-à-tête. Sophie patted Christine’s cheek. “That would be wonderful, dear. We can share a spot of tea later this week.”

  A footman entered the dining room and announced that Lady Bosworth’s carriage and party had arrived.

  “I am off to the races, dear.”

  “I thought you didn’t like Lady Bosworth.”

  “Pish-posh.” Aunt Sophie tugged on her gloves. “That was yesterday. She has apologized for whatever it was she did that caused the tiff. At my age, it is never wise to hold grudges for too long. You will understand soon enough, dear.”

  Aunt Sophie hurried out of the room, leaving Christine alone with her thoughts and listening as the horses and carriage pulled away from the drive. At sixty-eight, Aunt Sophie showed a remarkable lack of regret for any of the choices she had made in life. She was who she was and to the devil with anyone who found exception to her character.

  Her cat meowed at her feet. Christine looked down. Beast, her fat tabby, rubbed against her legs. She lifted the large tomcat onto her lap. He began to purr against her hand, his front paws kneading her arm. She’d found him years ago, after the poor thing had been run over by a beer wagon, and she had nursed him back to health. He had one golden eye and parts of his body were missing fur, but to her, he was a beautiful cat.

  Nuzzling his head, she picked a piece of cheese off Aunt Sophie’s plate and rewarded him for his affection. “You know who loves you best, don’t you?” she cooed.

  But after a while Beast abandoned her for the outdoors, where an abundance of mice awaited the patient hunter and he could be king of his world.

  Christine made her way through the empty and hallowed corridor of the school where the young women who attended learned about something more than manners, etiquette, and needlepoint. Many of the students here were younger daughters of genteel landowners, bereft of the needed dowry to marry well. They would never see a Season in London. But for most of the sixteen girls enrolled at Sommershorn Abbey and for the three teachers, former students who spent the year living among the girls, the experience this school provided gave them the means to better their lives.

  Christine picked up her pace and felt a pin drop from her tightly wound chignon. It fell to the wooden floor with a soft click, but she couldn’t stop to find where it had fallen. Already she was late.

  She paused outside the classroom. It would not do to allow the girls to see her harried, especially when she preached the importance of self-respect and control. She opened the door. The girls were congregating around the desk, clearly not expecting to see Christine. They straightened guiltily, their excited chatter coming to an abrupt end as if someone had doused them with ice water. Each of them scattered to take her place behind her wooden desk.

  “Miss Amelia has left us,” Christine explained when she had their attention again. She walked across the room to stand behind Amelia’s disorganized desk. “I will be taking over her classes until the end of the session this week.”

  The girls looked at each other and giggled. Dolly, a lanky seventeen-year-old with a mop of red curls spoke first. “Did she and Mr. Darlington really elope?”

  Startled, Christine looked at the girls, their expressions intent as they awaited her reply. “Did Miss Amelia inform you of her plans?”

  The girls grew more excited and animated. “Not in so many words, Miss Christine,” Dolly replied, clearly the class spokesperson. She was the oldest.

  “It’s the magic ring what done it,” the school’s newest acquisition blurted. Babs was the fifteen-year-old granddaughter of Aunt Sophia’s whist partner.

  “Two months ago she made a wish that Mr. Darlington would marry her,” another girl replied to a chorus of animated gibberish.

  “ ’Tis true, Miss Christine,” Dolly said with heartfelt passion.

  “What is true?”

  Dolly stepped forward. “This morning we found the ring on her desk. It must have finally come off her finger yesterday. The ring is truly magic. She wanted to wed Mr. Darlington. And now she is wed.”

  Christine held out her hand. Dolly dutifully dropped a band of silver into her palm. Christine had in fact seen this ring on Amelia’s hand.

  “There is no such thing as magic.”

  “But there is, Miss Christine,” Dolly insisted. “Miss Amelia proved it. She wanted Mr. Darlington to fall in love with her and he did.”

  Christine took a seat at the desk and peered sternly over the rim of her spectacles at each of the girls. “Have you considered that he fell in love with her because she was worthy of his affection?”

  From the blank response on their young faces, they had not considered the possibility. Christine turned the ring into the light, noting an odd Celtic inscription carved within the band. Chance not. Win not. The ring itself was made of braided antique silver laced with something black.

  “Where did she get this?”

  “Lady Sophia gave it to Babs last year and said it was a special ring just for special girls,” Dolly said. “If a person puts it on then what she wants most in the world will make itself known all within five minutes. Babs really wanted to come to this school. When she put the ring on, she asked her papa if she could attend Sommershorn Abbey this year and he said yes. Isn’t that so, Babs?”

  The girl in question nodded vigorously. Christine shook her head and tried not to make light of the girl’s supposed miracle.

  “Oh, but ’tis true. He’d been adamantly against the school, Miss Christine,” Dolly insisted. “Only when Babs came here did the ring come off. Then six months ago, Sally put on the ring. Didn’t you, Sal?”

  The young blond girl in a black-and-white pinafore beside her nodded. “Papa was going to betroth me to that lecherous Viscount Alton. A letter arrived calling me home. But when I arrived, Lord Alton had run off with my older sister. Then Miss Amelia put on the ring. We were in your office upstairs, standing beside your desk when Mr. Darlington arrived just then, back from Edinburgh. He’d come to see you, but when he glimpsed Miss Amelia”—Dolly clutched her fist to her chest—“we all knew it was she he would pick.”

  For a moment, the words almost made Christine look away. Of course, Joseph had come to Christine’s office first. But she had been in the “dead room” that day cleaning up a fossil. She looked at her young protégés. “This is exactly the kind of balderdash that gives women a bad name.”

  Dolly lifted her chin. “You are always about facts and truths, Miss Christine. What if something else does exist that cannot be explained by physical evidence? Isn’t it our responsibility to explore these possibilities as well? What if we want to believe in something more?”

  Christine looked at the girls and felt a strange kinship to each of them. All of them in some way stood outside society. “You cannot wish your problems away,” she quietly said. “Your destiny is not inscribed in the stars. There is no such thing as magic or fairy tales…or curses…or mystical phenomenon. This is only a ring.”

  None of them looked convinced.

  “Would
it satisfy you if I put it on? Would you then be convinced that everything that has happened thus far has a clear and logical explanation and there is no such thing as magic to grant you something that you are not willing to earn for yourself?” She turned in the chair and found the regulator clock on the wall. “Five minutes, you say.”

  The girls nodded and pushed close to the desk. Christine peered at each face. “All right. In five minutes, you will all forget this ring and allow me to get to the business of teaching you something important. Are we in agreement?”

  “Yes, Miss Christine,” they all answered in unison.

  “Very well.” She looked down at the ring, felt a strange tingle in her palm just then, and hesitated. The sliver warmed her flesh, an odd sensation. She attributed the sudden flush of heat to everyone standing too close.

  “Perhaps you should all find your seats first,” Christine suggested.

  After they did as she asked, then watched her expectantly, Christine slid the band onto her right ring finger and held up her hand.

  “Five minutes,” she said.

  She folded her hands in front of her and waited for the clock to tick away five minutes.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Her senses picked up each second. The birds outside the window suddenly sounded too loud. She could hear the rush of blood in her ears. Then her breathing calmed and she felt a strange sort of euphoria fall over her. When she looked at the clock again, three minutes had passed.

  “What did you wish for?” Dolly asked.

  “I thought the ring is supposed to know what it is I want above all else,” Christine pointed out. “The ring is omniscient, is it not?”

  Since none of them knew what omniscient meant, they did not disagree. At the four-minute mark, the girls’ expressions began to fall. Christine hated to crush them with facts, but it was best they learned the hard truth of life now. The clock continued to tick away the seconds, and Christine was impatient to remove the ring. Whatever she wanted most in the world had best make an appearance in the next thirty seconds, because the ring was about to come off.