Page 14 of Duke Most Wicked

“Flanders is like a brother to me—we grew up together and he can’t think of me amorously, nor I of him. And Middleton. Why, he’s fifty if he’s a day!”

“I don’t care whom you’ve chosen for me,” Bernadette announced grandly. “I’ve no intention of marrying until much later in life, if ever. I’m going to be a lady scholar and join the Lady’s Club on the Strand.”

“Miss Beetle.” Westbury turned to Viola. “Have you been filling my sisters’ heads with your bluestocking notions? I know all about your club of bloodthirsty warrior queens.”

“I’d hardly describe our little club as bloodthirsty, Your Grace. We’re a charitable organization. We believe in greater opportunities for females in the spheres of the Arts and Sciences.”

“I want to marry,” Belinda chimed in, “but not until I’ve had my debut at court. I’ve been practicing my presentation for months. I haven’t the slightest hint of wobble.” She performed an adroit curtsy, left knee locked firmly behind her right, with an impeccably smooth descent. “This is to bemyyear. I’m looking forward to at least forty balls, an equal number of parties, thirty dinners, and dozens of breakfasts. Not to mention the riding in Hyde Park, morning calls, and shopping excursions. You simply can’t take the Season away from me.”

“Course he can,” said Betsy. “He’s the duke. He can order us to be married and to cloister ourselves in the countryside and we must comply.” She nodded sharply. “And I heartily approve. I’ve no desire to mince about a dance floor, nor torture the ivories in front of an audience. I suppose I’ll have to marry someday, and one fellow’s interchangeable with another. I’ll manage it so he won’t interfere with my life.”

“Very sensible, Bets,” said the duke. “At leastone of you is taking the news with equanimity. I don’t know why everyone is reacting with such dismay. I’ve saved you all a lot of nonsense and expense. I thought you wanted a husband, Blanche. I seem to recall you saying that your life would end if you hadn’t received a proposal by the end of the Season. Well, I’ve secured you not one, but two. I’m giving you a choice.”

“A choice between two men I don’t love and who have no affection for me.”

“What’s love got to do with it?” The duke accepted another glass of spirits from a footman and drank half the contents in one swallow. “Marriage isn’t about love. It’s a mutually beneficial business contract.”

It wasn’t Viola’s place to comment on the duke’s commandments, but these were her pupils, herfriends. And she’d formed some very strong opinions on the subject of love. She’d witnessed her best friends finding, and being transformed by, true love. Her chance at finding the love of her life was gone and buried. She was resigned to life as a spinster, a caregiver to her father, and a doting aunt to her friends’ offspring.

But the duke’s sisters had every expectation, every right, to find their perfect matches. She couldn’t stand by and watch them be forced into loveless unions by the infuriating man pronouncing his sisters’ fates like some pitiless Greek god.

“Your Grace.” She rose from the piano bench. “Love haseverythingto do with it. Why, a marriage without love is like... it’s like toast without butter. Dry and unpalatable. It’s like dinner withno dessert. Summer with no sunshine. An orchestra with no conductor.” Her words tumbled from her, carrying her across the music room toward the duke. She lifted the roll of sheet music she held, using it to punctuate her point like a conductor’s baton. “Marriage without love is a diminished chord, unresolved and lingering in our minds discordantly. Love is the note our ears long to hear, life’s satisfying resolution.”

The duke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Love spoken with a capitalLand that moony look in your eyes, Miss Beetle, is a sentiment manufactured by poets to sell books of verse. Love is neither necessary, nor advisable, for a marriage that profits both parties.”

“How can you say that?” she protested.

The ladies were staring at Viola and the duke. Viola collected herself and lowered the roll of sheet music. “I only mean to say that love is essential to a harmonious union, Your Grace. And also that... well, just this: love makes life worth living.”

There, she’d said her piece. The duke wasn’t pleased by her outburst. He glowered at her with such ferocity that she retreated backward toward the relative safety of the piano bench.

“You’re so right, Miss Beaton!” Blanche clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Love makes life worth living. And I love Laxton and I’ll die if I can’t have him. I shan’t marry anyone else.” She dissolved into sobs, burying her head in a velvet cushion.

“Now see what you’ve done?” the duke asked Viola.

“WhatI’vedone?” Viola sputtered.

The duke stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, it’s been a very long night and day. I sustained several injuries.” He stabbed the air near the bruises around his eye. “And I signed an agreement to marry. Both activities which require a prolonged period of recuperation. We’ll have ample time for further discussion after I’ve had a nice soak and a long sleep.”

The image of Westbury rising from a soaking tub kidnapped Viola’s mind for a few hot and steamy seconds.

Blanche lifted her tear-stained face. “I don’t want anyone but Laxton.”

The duke’s expression hardened. “I don’t want to hear that name spoken ever again in this house. Is that understood?”

“Butwhy?”

“He’s not worthy of you, and he never will be. You must forget about him. I’ve found two good options and you’re going to choose one of them... and that’s final!” He spun on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Viola and his sisters staring after him.

Birdie was wide-eyed, and the twins had the same expression of astonishment on their faces.

Blanche sniffled and clutched the velvet cushion to her breast.

Only Bernadette seemed unaffected. “That was rather odd,” she said reflectively. “I wonder if he received one too many blows to the head?”

Viola had been wondering the same thing. Sheplaced the sheet music on the pianoforte and went to Blanche. “Hush now.” She patted her shoulder.

“How can he do this to me? I don’t want to marry Flanders or Middleton.”

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