Page 3 of The Duke's Twin
Rebecca missed their home in the country. Three months in London had taken a toll on her. The balls, the dancing, the dinners. There was something terrible about having to be polite and conversational around dozens of men and women she didn’t know at all. She wanted peace and quiet, tucked away in a library next to a grand fireplace, reading books on everything from politics and economics to lurid Gothic novels. Or she’d go riding by herself, stopping to stretch out in the fields and gaze at the clouds.
But her mother had dragged her along to every social engagement she could this season, seeking a suitable match for her sister. Lydia had blossomed under the attention, but she was eighteen, and her first Season was a thing to be celebrated.
Rebecca was twenty years old and had ended her third season without hope of finding a match. At least, not one she would consent to. She wasn’t the sort to garner admirers. Too quiet, too studious, too…plain.
At first, the whispered words no one thought she heard had wounded her, but now she cared little for the thoughts of others. She simply was herself and found no shame in that. A woman who enjoyed reading and playing the harp. If she found a man worth talking to, conversation came easily, but she wasn’t about to waste words on insufferably boring topics such as the weather or what mutual friends were up to in London. If no one could accept her the way she was, then she would go without a husband. It would give her mother hysterics, but Mama would survive. As long as Lydia was well married, that would distract her mother from Rebecca’s desire for the freedom to do as she liked.
She cast a glance at Lydia, who was perched on the edge of her seat, blue eyes wide with delight and wonder as she studied the manor. Honey-colored curls bounced against her cheeks as she leaned to better see out the coach window. She was infinitely more accomplished, much to Lydia’s own dismay. Rebecca often had to soothe her younger sister’s worries because Lydia feared Rebecca felt the sting of their mother’s clear preference for Lydia. They had never been the type of sisters to quarrel, though. Rebecca was not jealous of Lydia’s beauty, and Lydia certainly wasn’t jealous of Rebecca. Rebecca had learned early on that she’d been blessed with a full-hearted sister who was not spoilt or selfish.
“Becca dear, straighten your dress. It’s wrinkled,” her mother urged in a frantic whisper. Rebecca smoothed her pale-rose gown. Her father was busying himself with his pocket watch, lifting the small gold piece to his ear to listen to its beats. Her mother swept a critical gaze over Rebecca and Lydia, searching for anything else to be improved upon.
“Becca, you must get out first when they open the door. I want you to be ready to catch the train of Lydia’s gown in case there are puddles.”
“Mama.” Lydia’s frustrated reply made Rebecca bite her lip to hide a smile. “Stop ordering Becca about.”
“She’s right, Matilda,” their father said absentmindedly. “No ordering the girls about, please.”
Their mother snorted and frowned. “Ladies, focus,” their mother reminded them. “Husbands are afoot, and it is our duty to catch them.”
Fighting off a wave of giggles, Rebecca struggled to maintain her composure. Whenever their mother talked of finding husbands, it sounded more like she was a deer stalker deep in the woods, a rifle resting in the crook of her arm as she tracked a prize buck.
A footman dressed in the blue-and-gold livery of the Duke of Wiltshire opened the coach door and waited to assist Rebecca out.
She took the footman’s offered hand and rose to her feet. When she was nearly out of the coach, she saw the footman’s gaze drift behind her and fix on Lydia. The young servant’s steady hand went limp as he all but released Rebecca in his eagerness to assist Lydia from the coach next.
Rebecca’s boots shifted on the coach’s foldout step, and she stumbled forward, cursing. Her arms flailed and the world spun in a dizzy circle before she was caught and rescued from an ungraceful tumble into the dirt.
A pair of strong arms locked around her body. She blinked in shock as the most handsome man she’d ever seen helped set her right on her feet. Patrician features and sun-kissed skin accompanied by cinnamon-brown eyes that watched her beneath long dark lashes. He looked over her form boldly, and her breath caught in her throat as she tried desperately to fill her lungs with air.
“Are you all right?” His voice was slightly rough, as though he’d just woken from sleep. The thought of this man in bed asleep made a strange heat curl inside her belly. Dark hair, slightly longer than was fashionable, fell across his eyes. Rebecca fought off the urge to brush the loose hair from his face with her fingertips. His full lips moved as if to speak.
She had never understood when women giggled and whispered in the powder rooms outside the balls about the effects of handsome men. Now she understood all too well. Her head felt hazy, and she wanted to stare at those lips for hours. And they were still moving…
Words. The man was speaking to her. What was he saying? Her mind froze on his face, especially his mouth and eyes, heated with silent laughter. A shadow of a dimple peeked out at the right corner of his smile. She licked her lips, her throat parched.
“What?” she finally gasped.
“Are you all right? No twisted ankle?” There was something that seemed to amuse him about that last question—not that Rebecca could fathom why.
“I’m fine. My sister—”
“Good heavens, Rebecca, release the poor man!” her mother’s breathless voice cut in. Rebecca let go of the gorgeous gentleman, and he of her.
Something in her chest tightened painfully, so much so that she dragged in a harsh breath as she stepped back from him. For the first time in her life, she was filled with a sense of hunger. And the object of her sudden desire could not be more poorly timed. This man must be the handsome Duke of Wiltshire everyone had spoken of last week.
And yet she knew this man would take one look at Lydia and never glance Rebecca’s way again. She wasn’t jealous of her sister. Lydia was beautiful, intelligent, and kind, and she deserved nothing less than a handsome duke to love and cherish her. Rebecca would never be so lucky.
He’s not for you. He belongs to Lydia,the little voice in the back of her head whispered darkly.
Perhaps she was alittlejealous.
Only fortune hunters wooed plain ladies like her, and she’d had her fill of those in the last three years. Now she realized just how much she wanted someone—wantedhim—to look at her the way so many men looked at her sister.
Her mother stepped up beside her daughters, dipping into a curtsy, the gray feather on her turban wilting as though bowing in the man’s presence.
Rebecca nearly laughed. She adored her mother, but honestly, the woman could drive her to exasperation with her constant desire to ingratiate herself to others. Still, watching her mother relieved some of the pang of longing she felt, but it wasn’t fully erased. She did her best to keep her gaze downcast. It would only hurt to keep staring at the man who would most likely fall hopelessly in love with her little sister.
“Your Grace, it is such a pleasure to be here,” her father said, coming out of the carriage. “We thank you most graciously for your invitation.” He bowed to the handsome lord, and Rebecca dipped into an immediate curtsy alongside her mother and sister.
