Page 8 of The Duke's Twin
“Certainly not. He sounds like a good man, Lydia.” Rebecca was relieved to see that her sister seemed genuinely attracted to the duke’s brother. It made her feel less guilty if the duke did indeed find her more interesting than Lydia.
“Are we agreed, then? You must not hide yourself from Lord Wiltshire, and I shall see if Mr. Beresford is for me.” Lydia waited for Rebecca to nod and then hugged her. Together, they left the dining room.
They found their mother seated in the drawing room, a needlepoint hoop resting in her lap. “Your father is outside watching Wiltshire and his brother play shuttlecock. We are to join them now that you’ve finished breakfast. I convinced the gentlemen to take you down to the lake to paint this afternoon.” She raised her teacup smugly. “Things are going quite well, Lydia. Unless I am mistaken, Wiltshire will surely propose to you by the end of the week.”
Lydia shot Becca a glance and shook her head before Rebecca could tell their mother that Lydia was more interested in Mr. Beresford.
Rebecca’s heart sank. Painting. Shedespisedpainting, largely because she was quite wretched at it. It was, however, a perfect choice to show off Lydia’s talents, which was no doubt her mother’s intention. When the duke saw how dreadfully Rebecca painted, he might cringe or laugh at her, and she didn’t think she could bear either response.
“Mama, couldn’t we do something else?” Lydia voiced the question Rebecca was unable to ask.
“It’s fine,” she whispered to her sister. Resisting their mother’s schemes never ended well.
“See?” their mother said, dusting crumbs from her hands. “It’s settled. Now eat quickly. There are husbands to catch!”
Lydia rolled her eyes, and Rebecca stifled a laugh. Their mother was like a compass pointing toward eligible bachelors rather than north.
After breakfast they joined the men outside. Both Wiltshire and Mr. Beresford were dashing about the bright-green lawn, rackets in hand as they battled each other in badminton. It amazed Rebecca that the two tall, muscled gentlemen could take such a delicate little shuttlecock and turn it into a deadly missile. Whenever one brother scored against the other, they exchanged a boast or retort that made her laugh.
After studying the duke and his brother closely, she catalogued more ways in which they were different. Miles was perhaps half an inch taller, his face slightly leaner, and he moved with more precision and focus. The duke, however, had a natural rolling gait and a relaxed leonine grace to his movements that fascinated her. He seemed entirely at home in his body, and for some reason that made her flush with wild, uncontrollable thoughts.
She pressed the back of her hand to her face, feeling the heat beneath her skin as she watched the duke remove his coat and toss it down. His white shirtsleeves billowed in the breeze, and she could just see the hint of his muscled arms where the sunlight shone through the thin fabric.
“Game!” cried Mr. Beresford, leaning over, hands on his knees as he panted for breath. “Well done, sir.”
Wiltshire shot a triumphant glance at his brother, that wicked smile on display again, but it was touched with a gentleness this time, which surprised her. It was clear now how close the two were, how much they enjoyed one another’s company.
Just as Lydia and I feel about each other.
For a moment she entertained the daydream of being married to Wiltshire and Lydia being married to Beresford, and how they might spend much of their time together. They would live close by and never be parted for long. It was something she would give almost anything to have, a life close to her beloved sister. But it was a dream. Wiltshire was not for her. Yet her sister had dared her to be bold and brave, to be herself.
The duke sauntered over the women like a proud and conquering warrior, taking the empty chair next to Rebecca. He rolled his racket handle along the length of his lean thigh, watching her through hooded eyes.
“Do you play, Miss Livingston?” She could have sworn she saw him wink.
“I do…as well as any lady, I suppose.”
“Excellent. We shall play while Miles takes your sister to the far side of the lake.”
Lydia joined them as Mr. Beresford handed over his racket. Rebecca’s father looped their mother’s arm through his, a delighted grin on his face as he escorted their mother away toward from the lake, no doubt to allow love to blossom away from prying eyes.
Mr. Beresford turned to Lydia. “I’ve set up your easel by the lake, Miss Lydia. It would be my honor to take you there.”
His face, so full of hope and excitement, made Rebecca’s throat tighten. The man seemed to be truly enchanted by Lydia.Good. Their mother had said Mr. Beresford had a wealthy estate, Beresford House, the next bit of land to the east. And if what her sister had said of him was true, they would make a good match. Their mother would have preferred she marry the duke—or, more to the point, the title that came with him—but that didn’t matter, at least not to Lydia.
“It seems we are alone, Miss Livingston,” said Wiltshire. “Are you prepared to face your doom upon the court?” A wolfish grin crossed his lips as he pointed his racket toward the lawn.
An impish desire to play and tease him back took over, and, remembering her sister’s dare, she gave in, relishing in the freedom that came with just being herself.
“My doom? You will be begging for mercy in a few minutes, Your Grace.” She raised her chin in defiance as she strode across the grass.
“Then come and fight me, little amazon.” He took up his position, shuttlecock in hand. He continued to smile even as he fired the shuttlecock at her like a bullet.
She squealed and jumped, but not fast enough. It smacked her in the bottom as she tried to flee. A flicker of anger shot through her, along with something hotter and darker. She shoved the feeling aside and retrieved the feathered ball. She tossed it aloft and then whacked it hard in his direction. He leapt aside with a none-too-graceful shout.
“So much for civilized sportsmanship,” said the duke.
She giggled. “I thought you wished to have a challenge.”
