Page 29 of A Duke in Autumn

Just like her life.

She was beginning to doubt that she would ever marry, would ever find the sort of love that her sister and her brother had each found.

In Bath, for a few short weeks, she had felt different… but now… now, she doubted that her life would ever change. At that thought, a vision of the Duke of Oakthorpe’s face rose in her mind, and it was as if she could hear his voice, speaking directly to her - ‘nothing will change - not unless you are brave enough to do something different - dare to grasp what you want’.

She felt herself respond, just as if he had been there, beside her – a surge of annoyance, of rebellion against the words. Yet… they held truth. If she simply did as she had always done, then nothing would change, and her life would go on as it had – an empty parade of perfect behaviour, with little pleasure in it. So, if she allowed that those words were true, what might she do, differently? If he were here, what might he dare her to do? For that matter, what did she want – for she could not grasp it, if she did not know what it was.

Half an hour later, she had searched her thoughts, and found herself disappointingly lacking in any grand desires. Which fact annoyed her, excessively. She rose, her fingers automatically smoothing her skirts, and stopped. Her skirts… That was something she wanted – to be able to sketch her gown designs whenever she wanted, openly, without her mother’s disapproval, and the ‘rules’ of what a young lady should do, stopping her.

Suddenly determined, she hurried from the room, and up to her bedchambers. There, she pulled the folder of sketches out of her drawers, and gathered it up, with her pencils and the stack of blank pages awaiting new drawings. Heart pounding, she carried the bundle back down to the parlour, and curled back onto the windowseat.

Eugenia spread the sketches around her, and considered them, before selecting a new clean sheet of paper and beginning to draw. All the while, her mouth felt dry, and her heart raced – what would she do, the first time that someone came into the room, and saw her? Fear, and the habit of hiding this ‘inappropriate’ activity fought with her new found determination to bring change to her life.

But as the new design began to appear on the page, as her mind became more engaged with shape and style, other thoughts slipped into her mind – memories of the way that it had felt, to wear the sapphire gown to the Ball in Bath, of the expression on Oakthorpe’s face when he had seen her wearing it, of that kiss… Would he like this design, she wondered? How would he react if he saw her wearing this? What colour would he suggest that it be made in? If he were to commission another gown for her, would he choose this new design, or one of the others which lay scattered around her?

The pencil stopped moving. Carefully, she set the sketch and the pencil aside, and stared out of the window again. For the last half hour, even while drawing, she had thought of nothing but Oakthorpe. He filled her thoughts, and she wanted him to. She wanted him. The realisation shocked her to the core, as the act of thinking something so scandalous as ‘if he commissioned another gown for me’ had not.

She wanted him. She cared for him – far more than she had ever cared for any man. Perhaps… this was what love felt like? What might have happened, if she had not fled from his kiss? That thought heated her entire body. She shook her head, feeling on the edge of tears. For she had fled, and sealed her fate in the process. He had gone home.

She would not see him again, almost certainly. He would go to London in the spring, and marry some newly out girl, a diamond of the first water, no doubt. He had probably forgotten all about her by now – she had simply been someone to tease whilst he had been in Bath, and in need of amusement. Even that kiss had most likely simply been done just to see how she would react, rather from any actual affection for her.

But, whilst he had been amusing himself, she had been, she recognised now, falling in love with him, one teasing sparkle of his eyes at a time. She drew herself up. She would not cry, she would not allow this to stop her from making the changes she had decided on. At least, if she changed, if she ever saw him again, she might meet his eyes and know that she had taken the first dare that he had ever made of her, acted, and succeeded.

She picked up the paper and pencil and went back to drawing, even as her heart slowly shattered inside her.

~~~~~

“I do so dislike winter! Apart from the few days around Christmas, there is absolutely nothing to keep anyone entertained! At least, come early Spring, there is the Season to look forward to, with Balls, and soirees, and… the attention of gentlemen.”

Lady Amelia Waterstone simpered, glancing at Morris under lowered, fluttering lashes. It was quite obvious that she expected him to say something gallant, about providing her the attention of at least one gentleman, now. He was not going to fall in with her manipulative hopes, no matter how much his mother might wish him to.

“What is it that the Vicar always used to say? Ah yes – that it is good for our soul to develop patience, especially with regard to the things that we most desire. So, my Lady, you must regard the winter as an opportunity to enhance your soul, it seems.”

Lady Amelia blinked rapidly, her mouth falling slightly open in surprise, and Morris was hard put not to laugh. His mother glared at him, then took a sip of her wine before speaking.

“I am sure that Lady Amelia’s soul is well cared for, Oakthorpe. Surely you can forgive a young lady for looking forward to the Season, and some excitement – as well as the opportunity to find a husband.”

There was a distinct emphasis on that last word, and, again, Morris had to almost bite his tongue to stifle his laughter – if he allowed that laughter out, he would never hear the end of it! Beside him, Lady Joanna Gallasteen made a small noise and he turned to her, raising an enquiring eyebrow. She met his eyes for a moment, then fluttered her eyelashes.

“Your Grace, I must admit that I also look forward to the Season. But… I am also wise enough to hope that I might find a man who appreciates me enough to offer for me, well before then.”

Again, the implication was obvious. These young women were so utterly certain that, because they were pretty, young, and of good breeding, any man would flatter them, and potentially want to marry them. It apparently had never occurred to them that he might find them less than appealing, less than perfect, less than even slightly interesting. They considered themselves worthy of being his Duchess, and therefore thought that he would see them that way too.

It grated on him. They treated him as if they were, just by existing, entitled to his attention, as if nothing else was required for them to be worth him spending his life with. He watched, sidelong, as Lady Joanna selected the wrong piece of cutlery, and then spilled some of her food onto the tablecloth. He snapped his eyes away.

These women were far from perfect. Far from suited to be his Duchess, in any way. At the thought of perfection, Lady Eugenia’s image rose in his mind. Such a contrast to these women who sat at his dinner table – she was perfect, at least in her presentation to the world – she had put a life’s effort into being able to be perfect, without ever, as far as he could tell, assuming that her existence was enough to garner attention.

She had, in his opinion, rather overdone her obsession with perfection – but he could not disdain her for having the self-awareness to make the effort. And, he realised, most importantly for him, she had never assumed that she was automatically entitled to his attention, simply because she was in the same room as he was, simply because she was well-born.

Her conservative ‘good-girl’ manner may have annoyed him, until he realised how much character and fire was hidden beneath the surface, but now, given the contrast with the ladies beside him… now, he realised just how much he liked her, in part, at least, because she had never treated him with the expectation of anything at all.

Chapter Fourteen

As he had expected, his mother had given him the benefit of her sharp-edged opinion, immediately that the ladies and their parents had departed after the dinner party. It had been no different from other occasions when she had expounded on his need to marry, but this time, it had grated even more. Grated, because, now he was looking at it clearly, he realised that his mother shared the shallow and foolish expectation that the young ladies did – that, just because they were pretty, well-dowried, well-bred and available, he should find that enough to make them acceptable, as a potential wife.

He had almost snapped at her, then ungracefully taken himself to bed, leaving her standing, rather shocked, in the parlour. That night, he had dreamed of Lady Eugenia, his mind replaying the first moments of that kiss, at the Assembly Rooms, and also the scene at the stream, where her scandalously revealed legs had heated him through on sight. He woke feeling less than rested, with her yet at the surface of his mind. His thoughts of the previous night came back to him, as Sutton dressed him for the day.

She was, indeed, very different from any other young woman of the ton that he had ever met. As he breakfasted, his Aunt’s words also came back to him – words which had suggested that Lady Bellinghaugh thought him enamoured of Lady Eugenia, and approved. After his reactions to Ladies Amelia and Joanna the previous night, he began to understand how, perhaps, his Aunt might have come to that conclusion.