Awakening The Duchess

‘Of course, I can marry at any time I want,’ Oliver said, refilling everyone’s champagne glasses. ‘But if I marry before I’m thirty-five I lose my title, as will my wife, and of course we’ll have no money. And, as I’ve never actually had to work for a living, I’m not sure how I’d make any more.’ He looked over at Arabella and gave a mock frown. ‘What do people actually do when they have to work for a living?’

She smiled as if he had asked a delightfully absurd question, raised her shoulders and shook her head. ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ she said, ‘because my father can see now that there’s no point us getting married after all. Can’t you, Father?’

She glanced at her father, who was looking from one to the other, his brow deeply furrowed. He slowly flicked the side of his champagne glass as he silently contemplated this development for a moment. ‘I suppose an engagement to a duke isn’t to be sneered at,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s still an engagement to a member of the aristocracy. Even if it does last seven years.’

He looked up at the pair of them. His wolf-like smile returned and Arabella’s stomach fluttered with unease.

‘Right, that’s settled,’ he announced decisively. ‘We’ll hold the engagement party next weekend. We’ll announce your engagement in all the relevant newspapers, both here and in New York, and in seven years you’ll be married, and my daughter will be the Duchess of Somerfeld.’

Arabella’s smile died and her shoulders slumped. She wasn’t going to get her victory after all. Her father still expected her to get married, eventually.

But what had she expected?

The last time she had fought her father about a man it had been over that treacherous Arnold Emerson. Her father had insisted that Arnold was just after her money, but Arabella was certain that the charming, handsome actor was in love with her, just as she was in love with him.

But she had been so wrong.

All it had taken for her father to prove his point was for him to offer Arnold a substantial amount of money to take his amorous attentions elsewhere. He had immediately disappeared, out of Arabella’s life, without even saying goodbye.

It had been devastating and humiliating and had shaken her faith in men and her own judgement.

But this time it was different.

She might know little about men, and she might have got it so wrong with Arnold Emerson, but even she could see that Oliver Huntsbury was not the man for her. Yes, he was stunningly good looking, with a devilish smile that could turn a woman to jelly, but he was an obvious womaniser. Not the sort of man any right-thinking woman would ever consider marrying.

But then he didn’t want to marry her just as much as she didn’t want to marry him. This time she had an ally in her fight against her father.

She looked down at her champagne glass and chewed the edge of her bottom lip. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad. She was going to have to get engaged, yes. But a seven-year engagement was better than a marriage. And seven years was a long time. Her father would not want to stay in England that long. And with her father safely back in America and out of her life she would have seven years to dedicate to furthering her acting career. Seven years of glorious freedom, with only the easily duped Aunt Prudence as chaperon. And seven years for her and the Duke to think of a way out of this marriage.

No, it wasn’t a complete victory, but they had won a decisive first battle.

Arabella raised her head, smiled and reached out her hand towards her father. ‘All right, Father. The Duke and I will become engaged, we’ll marry in seven years, and in exchange you’ll follow through on your promise and save the Limelight Theatre. And that is the best deal you’re going to get.’

Her father eyed her for a second, then took her hand and gave it a firm shake. And with that handshake Arabella sealed her fate as a woman engaged to be married.

Chapter Four

His mission accomplished, Arabella’s father spotted a business acquaintance across the room and departed, but not before reminding her new fiancé about the stiff penalties and the social disgrace imposed on men guilty of breach of promise. Her father was making sure the Duke knew that if he tried to get out of this engagement, he would suffer dire consequences.

But at least the theatre would be saved. When it came to business transactions, her father had a reputation for always keeping his word. And that was exactly what her marriage was, a business transaction.

She looked over at Oliver and sent him a doleful smile. Her new fiancé was as equally opposed to the sham engagement as she was. That had to be some consolation to being sold off by her father. Didn’t it?

He refilled their champagne glasses just as the supper her father had ordered for eight people arrived. The waiters lay tray after tray on the table, until it was laden with silver trays overflowing with oysters, cheeses, thinly cut cold meats, truffles and foie gras.

Arabella looked at the feast and sighed. Her fellow actors were staying in a boarding house close to the theatre and would be dining on thin soup and rough bread. Despite such humble fare and their dingy living quarters, she would much rather be with them, enjoying the camaraderie and excitement that always ensued after a night’s performance, than sitting in this grand restaurant surrounded by London’s most fashionable society.

‘Don’t worry, Arabella, it’s an engagement in name only,’ he said, misinterpreting her sigh.

She shook her head and sighed again. ‘I know. I know. My father won’t be able to stay away from his bank for much longer. He’ll return to America and then you’ll be free.’

He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘It might not be ideal, but I think a long engagement of convenience is going to suit us both very well. So, drink up, eat up, we might as well celebrate. Even if all we’re celebrating is freeing you from your father’s matchmaking for the next seven years and saving me from being hanged, drawn and quartered by Lord Buffoon and his band of baboons.’

Arabella smiled at his deliberate mispronunciation. ‘In that case, here’s to long engagements.’ They clinked glasses and she sipped her champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose.

Lowering her glass, she gave him a considered glance. ‘I take it you don’t really have to wait until you’re thirty-five before you can marry?’

He gave her a conspiratorial wink, forcing Arabella to use all her acting skills to stop her heart from fluttering and cheeks from burning.

‘I became the Duke of Somerfeld two years ago on the death of my father and nothing can take that away from me. I’m the Duke until I die, but we don’t need to tell your father that.’

‘No, if he did find out your death would be the least of your problems. He can be somewhat ruthless when he’s crossed.’

They both looked across the busy restaurant to where her father was sitting, now deeply engrossed in conversation, presumably making yet another deal. His daughter’s future marriage settled, he had swiftly moved on to further business.

‘Don’t worry, Arabella, with both of us against him, your father doesn’t stand a chance.’

His words held a note of reassurance. He might be going along with the engagement to save his own hide, but it was nice to have an ally, someone who also wanted to defeat her father.

Arabella raised her glass again in toast. ‘To victory over my father.’

‘To us.’ He clinked his crystal champagne flute against hers.

‘So, if we’re going to be engaged for the next seven years, perhaps we need to know a bit more about each other,’ Arabella said. ‘All I know about you is your name and that Lord Bufford wants to tear you limb from limb.’

He rubbed his hand slowly around the back of his neck. ‘You obviously haven’t been in England very long if you haven’t heard the scandals associated with the Huntsbury family and the Duke of Somerfeld. And I suspect if your father knew he wouldn’t be quite so enthusiastic to be joined to our family.’

‘Huntsbury? Yes, I have heard something about them.’ Arabella furrowed her brow and tried to recall where she had heard that name before. Hadn’t the other actresses been gossiping about someone called Huntsbury? Their conversation suddenly jumped into her mind and her hands shot to her mouth as she recalled all the sordid details.

‘I take it you know after all,’ he said.

Arabella gulped and nodded. The actresses had described in explicit detail how Marcus Huntsbury, the former Duke of Somerfeld, had died in the arms of his mistress. And not just one mistress. The rumours were that he’d had a heart attack while he was attempting a particularly strenuous sexual pose involving himself and four women, in a large four-poster bed. A bed that had reportedly been designed specially so he could conduct his own personal orgies.

The actresses had found it particularly amusing as both of them had taken part in the Duke’s bedroom athletics in the past. They were just surprised he’d only had four women in his bed that night, as the bed had been designed for eight.

Arabella took another sip of her champagne to try to drive that image out of her mind.

‘I don’t think...’ she coughed again ‘... I don’t think even that would deter my father. He doesn’t care who I marry, or what scandals surround the family, as long as I get a title.’

‘It seems we both have fathers who care only for getting what they want and don’t consider who suffers as a result.’

Arabella nodded her agreement and they each sank into their own thoughts.

The restaurant started to fill up with more diners, many of whom were in high spirits, talking loudly and laughing boisterously. The Savoy was a popular venue for a late supper and many of the revellers would have come from the opera, the various playhouses and the array of illicit gambling houses in the neighbouring areas.

She spotted W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan enter, surrounded by a group of actors. The famous theatrical duo’s comic operettas were performed in the adjoining theatre and they could often be seen in the restaurant. It was one of Arabella’s most cherished dreams that she might one day appear in a Gilbert and Sullivan production. Certainly a more cherished dream than being married would ever be.

The group included numerous attractive young actresses and Arabella couldn’t help but notice that several looked in Oliver’s direction as they passed their table. Nor could she ignore the number of women throughout the restaurant who were smiling, nodding and even winking at her new fiancé.

Lady Bufford and Lucy Baker quite plainly weren’t the only very good friends of the Duke of Somerfeld. But why should Arabella care? She had no illusions about the sort of man he was. He was most decidedly a lady’s man, just like his father. But wasn’t that all for the good? He would be less likely to interfere in Arabella’s life if he was off chasing other women and she could get on with doing what she wanted to do, which was pursue her acting career.

Yes, it was definitely all for the best.

Another attractive woman passed the table and smiled suggestively at Oliver. Despite her resolve to not care, Arabella couldn’t stop herself from frowning at the woman and she received a little, knowing laugh in return.

‘Another one of your good friends, I take it,’ she said, annoyed at the prissy sound of her own voice.

He shrugged apologetically. ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that.’

‘So how many of these good friends have you actually had and how many have you got at the moment?’

He turned in his seat to face her. ‘Is that going to be a problem, Arabella?’

Heat shot to her cheeks. ‘No, no, of course not,’ she stammered. ‘I’m merely making conversation. It’s got nothing to do with me. You can have hundreds of good friends if you like. I don’t care.’

He continued to stare at her, his brows drawn together, and despite her attempt to act nonchalantly her cheeks burned hotter under his questioning gaze. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. So why did a little stabbing pain strike her in the middle of her chest every time a woman smiled in Oliver’s direction?

‘You do realise this engagement is just one of convenience for both of us, don’t you, Arabella?’

‘Of course I do,’ she shot back, her voice rising. ‘I don’t want to be engaged to anyone, least of all you, and I certainly don’t want to be married. Yes, this suits us both. As you said, it saves you from a beating and it saves me from my father’s incessant matchmaking.’

‘And we’ll both be free to pursue our interests, free from the other’s interference?’

Arabella nodded and looked around the room at all the beautiful women. Her stomach clenched at the thought of Oliver pursuing his interests with his numerous very good friends. There would be other women in his life, women who he would take in his arms and kiss the way he had kissed her in the dressing room. Women with whom he presumably did more than just kiss, if the reaction of Lord Bufford was anything to go by.

She lightly touched her lips, remembering that kiss. After such a kiss she could see why so many women fell under his spell. It had been a kiss that had caused her to forget herself, to abandon all reserve, to want more, so much more.

She gazed back at him and he smiled. Even that wicked smile was enough to make her go all weak inside. When he smiled all she could see were those sparkling brown eyes, eyes that reminded her of rich brown chocolate, warm, inviting and satisfying, and those smiling lips, soft lips that had felt so good on hers, that had tasted so delicious.

A stray blond curl had fallen over his forehead and Arabella had to resist the temptation to sweep it back, and then, perhaps, to linger, her hands running through his thick hair, just the way they had when he had kissed her.

Yes, she could see why so many women fell for him.

She sat up straighter in her chair and looked back out at the crowded room. But she was not like most women. She had ambitions that did not include a man. And she had been badly burnt once. She wasn’t about to be burnt again.

No, it did not matter to her, one jot, if other women were vying for his attention. They might be engaged, but she had only just met this man. He meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

And she was determined to let him know that this was the case. ‘So if I don’t give a fig about you and all your friends, which I don’t, can I also assume you won’t do anything to interfere with my career on the stage?’

‘That goes without saying,’ he replied.

Arabella didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. Did that mean he didn’t care one way or another what she did? That he didn’t care about her at all? Again, that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Of course it was. ‘Right, that’s settled.’

Another pretty woman passed the table and this one had the audacity to slip Oliver a note. It was outrageous. He was sitting at a table with another woman. Surely that should mean something. Surely other women should keep their distance, even if just for this one night.

But it was apparent that there were so many women in Oliver’s life that none was accorded any special treatment. They presumably all knew very well what he was like and accepted him that way. It seemed a title was not the only thing he had inherited from the previous Duke of Somerfeld.

Oliver stared down at the note as if it were an unpleasant stain on the otherwise pristine white tablecloth. Normally a note from Lady Ambrose would be most welcome. It was presumably a reminder that he been invited to one of her notorious parties. Parties that never failed to provide him with an enjoyable diversion. Parties full of women who had no objection to the way he lived his life, who actively encouraged his more libertine ways.

But tonight, he was strangely embarrassed by its arrival.

He slipped the note into his pocket in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner. Out of sight, out of mind. But the disapproving look on Arabella’s face showed clearly that it was not out of her mind.

For the first time in his life he almost felt the need to apologise for the way he lived. He was tempted to try to explain to Arabella that no one was ever hurt by his behaviour, at least no women. How their husbands felt was their own concern.

Most of those husbands had married women for their dowries, or for their social connections, and as long as they were discreet, they didn’t care what their wives got up to and with whom. And, once freed of the constraints of society and marriage, his mistresses certainly liked to get up to a lot.

Even Lord Bufford was only annoyed because his wife’s behaviour had been openly discussed at his club. He felt no jealousy about his wife having a lover, only rage that others had found out about it.

But why did Oliver feel the need to explain his lifestyle now? He had never felt the need to do that before.

Perhaps it was that kiss, which was still lingering on his lips, or the memory of the warmth of Arabella’s body so close to his? Perhaps it was her enticing smile, or was it simply that she was not the sort of woman he usually associated with? Whatever it was, something was causing him a degree of discomfort.

It must be simply that she was so different from the women he usually associated with.

He fingered the note in his pocket, reminding himself of why he did not get involved with women like Arabella van Haven, no matter how enticing their kisses.

Oliver’s father might not have cared about the damage he did in his headlong pursuit of hedonistic pleasure, but in one regard Oliver knew they were different. His father had seduced every pretty woman who came his way. He cared little if he broke hearts or ruined reputations, as long as he was getting what he wanted.

Oliver had definitely inherited his father’s love of women, the more the merrier, but he ensured he only got involved with women who were as equally carefree as him. And that was obviously not Arabella.

She was sweet and innocent. She deserved to be with a decent man, not a man like him who shunned commitment with every fibre of his being. She might claim to not want to marry, and that was possibly true, but it was obvious from the way Arabella had scowled every time another woman tried to catch his eye, that she couldn’t cope with a man she had to share. And he had never been a one-woman man. Never would be. That was why he only associated with women like Lady Bufford, Lucy Baker, Lady Ambrose, and all the other women who wanted to have fun with no strings attached.

But he would honour his promise to be engaged to her for the foreseeable future. While there were probably easier ways of getting out of a beating from Lord Bufford’s baboons, and better ways of saving Lady Bufford’s reputation, what was done was done and he would stand by it.

If nothing else, it would save this lovely young woman from being pushed around by her odious father, a man who obviously saw her as nothing more than a pawn in his power game. It would free her up to be an actress, and a fine actress she was, indeed, if tonight’s performance was anything to go by.

He smiled in memory of how she looked on stage. ‘What is it you love so much about acting?’ He wanted to know, but also wanted to move on to safer ground than his own reprobate behaviour.

Her pouting lips instantly turned into a smile and her blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He gazed into those eyes, trying to determine what colour they really were. Blue didn’t do them justice. Sapphire, perhaps, or aquamarine, or the blue of the sky on a warm summer’s day. He wished he had the soul of a poet so he could describe them properly and not see them simply as beautiful blue eyes.

But whatever colour they were, they had him captivated.

‘Oh, everything. I love absolutely everything about acting and the theatre. I love the smell of the greasepaint when we put on our make-up. I love the sound of the audience laughing or gasping at what they’ve seen on stage. I love the camaraderie of the cast. And most of all I love the applause at the end. There’s nothing like it. It’s like being wrapped in loving arms, being told how much all your hard work is appreciated. It’s just wonderful.’

She continued to beam and he couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t sadness behind that smile. He looked over at her father, now writing out some plan on the linen tablecloth as the man next to him looked on with undivided interest. It was unlikely she had received much love from that mercenary man, a man who treated her like another commodity to be bought and sold. And she had said her mother had died when she was young. It was no wonder she craved the love and adoration that she would get from an audience.

He placed his hand over hers and lightly patted it as an unfamiliar emotion engulfed him. What was it? Was it the need to protect her from men like her father, to comfort her for the pain she had suffered, or even to provide her with the love she had missed out on?

He quickly withdrew his hand from hers as if it were on fire. Whatever strange emotion he was feeling, he should not be feeling it for a woman like Arabella. There was nothing he could offer her.

He poured himself another glass of champagne. Despite that kiss, she was an innocent and he needed to keep that foremost in his mind at all times. She did not need a man like him in her life.

He cursed himself for remembering their kiss. The scorching intensity of it had been so unexpected. She had been kissing a stranger, but had responded as if they were passionate lovers, desperate for each other. She might be an innocent, but it had definitely ignited a fire inside her, one that had almost engulfed both of them.

It was only the knowledge that they were in a room full of people that had stopped him from fanning the flame and seeing just how hot it would burn.

There could be no doubting that there was a passionate side to this young woman just waiting to be set loose, a passionate nature ripe for exploration.

He knocked back the glass of champagne in one quaff, horrified that he had allowed his mind to stray in that direction. Wasn’t that just the sort of thing his father would think? Didn’t his father look at every woman and see her as yet more prey waiting to be seduced? But he was not like that. He would never be like that. And he would not be like that with Arabella.

The sooner their engagement was signed, sealed and delivered and they could go their separate ways, the better. Only then would he be safe from these inappropriate desires and only then would Arabella be safe from him.

Chapter Five

Arabella was under no illusions. It was only because of her father’s manoeuvring that Oliver was still sitting at this table with her and not off pursuing one of the other women in the restaurant. He had not chosen to be with her, he had been forced to be with her against his will.

And he had made it clear to her that he expected to be free to pursue any woman he wanted, even though they were to be engaged to be married.

She shrugged and took another sip of her cold champagne. He had every right to chase any woman he wanted to and she had no right to try to stop him. And she would not try to stop him. She would abide by their agreement. It was the very least she could do. After all, she should be grateful to him. He did not have to agree to become engaged to her. He could have made his escape and left her to her fate. She knew her father well. Her fate was sealed. He would move heaven and earth to ensure she married a man with a title. She had much to thank Oliver for. It was also down to his quick thinking that she would not have to face the prospect of a forced marriage for seven more years.