Page 41 of A Fake Courtship with the Duke
“Thank you,” she repeated, pulling away and gesturing for him to help her put it on. He complied, clasping it around her neck and feeling another rush of glee as she squealed, looking down to see how it looked on her.
“I knew it would be just wonderful,” she said with awe.
Richard nodded once again, noting how lovely the necklace truly was.
“You look beautiful, Sister,” he said.
The moment was sweet and joyous, a temporary respite from the heaviness that had been weighing on him. But as with all good things in his life, the moment was short-lived. His mother, clearly impatiently waiting for the interaction between brother and sister to end, set aside her coffee and looked at Richard with a furrowed brow.
“Richard, the newspaper columns are positively buzzing about your appearance with Miss Huxley last night,” she said. Her tone was clipped, and her eyes blazed with barely contained frustration.
Richard sighed, shrugging as he sat down beside her sister.
“Aren’t they always abuzz with something?” he asked.
His mother’s eyes narrowed, and she shook her head slowly.
“How you could not take things more seriously, I will never understand,” she said. “I’m not sure what your intentions are with this ridiculous display, but I do hope you see reason soon.”
Richard raised an eyebrow, giving his mother a firm, warning gaze.
“Am I doing something illegal or roguish?” he asked. “Have I been found drunk in an alley with my clothing ripped, gotten in deep with gambling sharks or jeopardized a young lady’s reputation?”
His mother clenched her jaw, studying Richard for a moment before shaking her head.
“There are many other ways to induce a scandal,” she said as though issuing a warning. “You’d do well to remember that.”
Richard shrugged again, pretending to care about the food he was putting on his plate.
“I remember how society works, Mother,” he said. “But I do not operate solely according to what society wants.” There was a warning in his words, as well. He was informing his mother thathe would not be dictated to by anyone, and she surely knew that included her.
The dowager duchess stared at her son for a moment, clearly wishing to say more. Eventually, however, she huffed, retrieving her coffee cup.
“Well, Lady Eleanor has been very graceful about this whole ordeal,” she said. “She is very infatuated with you, it seems. Even your recent actions have done nothing to deter her. I hope you will keep that in mind, as well.”
Richard froze. There was nothing graceful about Lady Eleanor, including her dancing. Not compared to Miss Huxley. But he didn’t say those things. He simply looked at his sister, choosing to ignore his mother’s pedantry.
“Happy birthday again, Sister,” he said.
Throughout the rest of the meal, Richard remained silent. He did his best to keep his face relaxed and pleasant as Susan gushed about all the things she wanted to do at Vauxhall Gardens that evening. Their mother indulged her excitement, making casual remarks about suggestions for what she should wear. It occurred to Richard that she would likely be after Susan to marry soon. Likely the only reason she hadn’t focused more on that subject so far was because she was intent on seeing Richard married to Lady Eleanor. But once that happened, or once he had sufficiently tricked everyone into thinking that he intended to marry Miss Huxley, he had no doubt that the dowager duchess would move on to marrying off Susan. Richard sighed heavily at the thought. His sister was so full of life and spirited, much like Miss Huxley herself. It saddened him to think of the pressure she would endure until she married.
As breakfast concluded, the butler entered the breakfast room with Thomas right behind him. Richard shot up from his seat, grateful for the interjection. Thomas politely greeted the dowager and gave Susan a lingering smile as he wished her ahappy birthday. Then, he grinned at Richard, holding up his fencing equipment.
“Care to accept a challenge in fencing?” he asked.
Richard smiled gratefully at his friend.
“I would be delighted,” he said.
Richard hurried upstairs to fetch his own equipment. Then, he met Thomas in the estate’s practice room that was just off the cellar of the mansion. Thomas had already donned his gear, so Richard did the same, grinning at his friend even though he knew Thomas couldn’t see his face through the mask.
“If I win, you buy the next round of drinks at White’s,” he said, issuing the same wager they always had with one another.
Thomas nodded, holding his foil in the ready position.
“You have yourself a deal,” he said.
The men sparred and struck like practiced dancers, slashing their weapons with expert ease and sharp strikes. Richard was typically a skilled fencing opponent. But more than once, Thomas got a good jab at his jacket, straight into the protective plastron. With his usual observant eye, Thomas must have noticed the change in Richard. About twenty minutes into their match, he lowered his foil and raised his mask.
