A Duke for the Wallflower's Revenge
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Casey Dubose
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Chapter One
In some ways, it was as good a day to be ruined as any other.
The summer sky was hazy and blue overhead as Eliza strolled along the footpath, keeping an eye on Aunt Mary and her group of friends as they clustered together off to the side of the Serpentine’s footbridge. Mrs Forsyth had just welcomed her first grandchild into the family, and she was regaling the other ladies with tales of the infant’s peerless beauty, appetite and ability to sleep.
Eliza marched along, carefully staying to one side of the path before she reached a slight bend. At that point she reversed direction, nodded politely to a pair of promenading young ladies as they passed her, and began walking back the way she had come.
By now, after nearly six full Seasons on the marriage mart, the rules of proper behaviour no longer required her conscious consideration: she was to stay within Aunt Mary’s sight at all times. She was not to be too friendly towards any particular gentleman, but neither could she act too frostily. Her bonnet—several years old now—was tied firmly beneath her chin, her crocheted gloves matched the fawn colour of her walking dress, and Eliza knew that she presented a perfectly respectable, perfectly dull façade of spinsterhood to the world.
On the banks of the Serpentine—which was low, for it hadn’t rained in more than a month—two young children were playing with a ball and a small brownish dog, all of whom were watched over by a tidy, aproned nursemaid. The little girl, her face creased in an expression of glee, picked up the ball and lobbed it directly towards the water.
The dog sprinted after it into the reeds, barking madly, as the little boy pronounced, ‘I could have thrown it further.’
Eliza stopped in the shade of a broad English oak to watch the drama unfold. The nursemaid had hardly begun her prodigious scolding when the dog shot back out of the reeds, covered in water and mud, with the ball firmly clenched in its wickedly grinning jaws.
‘Tipton, no!’ said the nursemaid, but it was too late.
The terrier dropped the ball at the little girl’s feet, grinned in pride, then shook slimy water and riverbank mud all over the three of them.
Eliza grinned, watching as the little girl immediately picked up the filthy ball and hurled it off again, despite the fact that her nursemaid was already towing her and her brother off in the opposite direction. It was a stiflingly hot summer’s day—why shouldn’t the children be allowed to get a little damp?
Before she could cross the path to re-join Aunt Mary and her cohort, someone grabbed Eliza’s arm and yanked her backwards into the shadows of the trees. She stumbled a little over the roots and rocks that pushed the ground up in furrows.
‘Let me go—’ she began, but she was spun around and pushed back against the tree.
‘Hello, sweet,’ said the Earl of Abberly, sliding his hand down to grip Eliza’s wrist as she tried to tug away.
He was tall and thin, with the kind of pale and mottled complexion that hinted at an over-indulgence in drink and a lack of brisk walks in the afternoon sun. His eyes, a nondescript blue, were quite small and set slightly too far apart, giving observers the uncanny impression of an avaricious frog.
‘Unhand me, Lord Abberly,’ said Eliza, attempting to shake him off. Again.
In the past weeks he seemed to turn up everywhere she went, watching her with calculating eyes and treating her as if her non-compliance was simply a fly to be swatted.
‘Come on, Miss Hawkins,’ he said, stepping closer and forcing Eliza to lean back against the bark of the tree to avoid his breath. ‘You’ve been on the shelf quite long enough. It’s time for you to accept your role—and me.’
‘I don’t know how many times you must hear this,’ said Eliza, pitching her voice low to keep from attracting the attention of passers-by. ‘But I have no interest in marrying you. Ask someone else.’
Anyone else—it wasn’t as though the matchmaking mamas of the ton wouldn’t accept a belted earl into the family, even if he was lacking for coin.
If she could just get back on to the path and over to Aunt Mary she could pretend this had never happened, and no one would be any the wiser. If she stayed against this tree with him much longer somebody would be bound to notice. There was no true privacy in Hyde Park, especially during the fashionable hour. Then again—that was quite likely Abberly’s plan.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ Abberly asked. ‘I’m an earl and accepted in every drawing room in London. I’m trusted by the Prince Regent. You’d be lucky to have me,’ he said, and then leaned in and tried to kiss her.
Eliza didn’t think. She didn’t try to rationalise her choice, or talk herself into suffering his kiss so she could quietly return to her aunt. Eliza merely reacted. She twisted her face to one side, so that Abberly’s lips landed awkwardly along her jaw, and as he leaned back to try to kiss her again she raised her right hand and slapped his face with all the force she could muster.
He released her as his hand flew up to cradle his cheek, clearly shocked by her actions and the force of her blow. But, despite the fact that he’d finally let go of her wrist, Eliza couldn’t run back to the safety of the footpath and Aunt Mary’s skirts. The sharp crack of Eliza’s palm against Lord Abberly’s face had drawn the attention of a group of passing noblewomen, and now more and more people were stopping to gawk.
‘You’ll regret doing that,’ Abberly snapped, his beady eyes glittering as he took another step back from Eliza.
He rubbed his cheek once more, and then he smiled—and despite the summer heat, she felt a chill shiver down her spine.
‘We would have gone unnoticed if you’d just been quiet. So I suppose this works well for me.’
Eliza couldn’t bring herself to have regrets—not just yet. After six Seasons of patience and acceptance and good behaviour, Eliza’s patience had finally snapped—although unfortunately she’d caused this scene in the most public venue available. Half of London was out and about, and stopping to act as witnesses to this little scene.
Eliza wiped her gloved hands over her skirts, as though that simple act could scrub away the last few minutes.
After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Lady Berkley stepped forward, the feathers on her hat trembling with curiosity. ‘Lord Abberly,’ she said, pitching her voice like an actor trying to reach the back seats of a theatre, ‘are you all right?’
Eliza felt the muscles of her jaw go slack. ‘Is he all right?’ she asked, unable to stop herself. ‘He’s the one who accosted me.’
He’d planned this. And they were checking on him.
‘You struck him,’ said Lady Berkley slowly, as though she were explaining something to a very small child.
She had struck him—and she would like to do it again. ‘He grabbed my arm,’ said Eliza, knowing that nothing she said could save the situation. It wouldn’t help, but this time, for once in her life, she wouldn’t go home and brood over all the things she might have said. ‘And he dragged me off the path and into the trees with him.’
Her wrist still bore the red imprint of his fingers, where he’d tightened his grip as she’d tried to tug away. But it was incredibly stupid of her to be saying all this, and she knew it. She was publicly confirming her own ruination: nobody could possibly spin a tale to save her now. But none of this was fair. She was the one who had been grabbed. She was the one to extract herself from the situation. And they asked if Abberly was all right.
There was a stirring in the crowd, and Eliza’s Aunt Mary pushed through to the front of the gathered spectators. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, looking from Abberly to Eliza to Lady Berkley and back again. Her round face was flushed and she radiated the kind of terrified worry unique to the mothers of adult children whom they could no longer protect.
For a long moment nobody spoke. Aunt Mary was well-liked among her peers, despite her poor fortune and low title. She was a kind and quiet woman who was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear. Society’s benevolent toleration had thus far been extended to Eliza, but she suspected that this incident in the trees would bring their tolerance to an end. It would be impolite to condemn Eliza publicly, but nobody was willing to condemn the Earl of Abberly, either.
‘Lord Abberly grabbed me, Aunt,’ said Eliza, impressed by how steady her voice was. ‘These other people watched as I extricated myself.’
Aunt Mary’s flushed face went white. Eliza was more than ruined now. She hadn’t only been alone with a gentleman, she’d also publicly scorned Polite Society. This was the moment in which she should appeal to the group’s charity—there was no real love for Abberly among the ton—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not after she’d been ignored and scorned and teased by them for the past six years.
If Eliza had to swallow any more of her pride she’d die choking on it.
‘Eliza...’ said Aunt Mary, her face ashen.
The crowd seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see if an apology would be forthcoming.
‘Come on, Aunt Mary,’ said Eliza, walking to her side with a deliberately measured pace. ‘I believe I’ve had my fill of fresh air.’
Eliza looped her arm through her aunt’s and steered the other woman towards home.
Low, busy murmurs erupted behind her, and Eliza took one small comfort in her act of defiance: she’d turned her back on the ton before they could turn their backs on her.
As she and Aunt Mary walked along the wide footpath back towards Berkeley Square, she caught sight of a tall gentleman standing beside his horse, just off the path. He seemed to be lazily checking his horse’s front hoof for debris, but his attention was firmly on Eliza. As she drew closer she recognised him as the Duke of Vane. He was well built, with dark hair and eyes, though none of his handsome features could reflect the state of his reputation.
The Duke of Vane was living proof that there were no rules for a person’s honour. Honour was whatever Society decided to make it, and there were very different standards for men and women, rich and poor, native-born and immigrant. A high-born man could do whatever he wished, and he would still always—always—be accepted in the arms of Society.
Eliza had been grabbed in broad daylight, in the middle of Hyde Park, and this was very likely the last time she’d see it for a long while.
As she and Aunt Mary passed by the Duke, he gave her a lazy perusal, his dark eyes moving slowly over her old bonnet to her perfectly practical walking dress and back up again. Eliza knew what he would see: a not so young, unmarried woman with a dearth of suitors and an overabundance of flesh.
When the Duke caught her eye she ripped her gaze from him and stuck her nose in the air, focusing on the gate ahead as if it was the entrance to heaven, guarded by St Peter himself.
Eliza heard someone chuckle behind her—that horrible duke, probably. That was all right—let him laugh. For the first time in her life, Eliza had truly stood up for herself. She wouldn’t go home filled with shame and regret and too many finger cakes this afternoon...oh, no. Besides, she’d need to get used to the laughing. She had a feeling she would be hearing a lot of it.
