Fortune Favors the Duke Read online

  “Always pushing. But I must say, it really is part of your charm,” her grandmother replied, sipping her tea.

  “I find that hard to believe.” Catherine lifted her own teacup.

  Her grandmother lowered her chin. “Many may say such a thing, but in your case, it is unfortunately the truth.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  “Yes. Because then you won’t outgrow it.” She gave a slow, disappointed shake to her head, but the corners of her mouth curved in slight amusement.

  “And you say this from experience, no doubt,” Catherine remarked from just over her teacup as she took a sip.

  “Love, where do you think you come by it? Your father? God rest his soul, a more circumspect man never walked the earth.” She gave a slight heavenward squint.

  “Papa was the most genuine person I know.”

  “This is true, but the poor man couldn’t understand sarcasm unless it was written in Greek.”

  “At least he was intelligent.”

  “No arguing there. But I rather think you inherited the best qualities of both your parents. You’re brilliant like your father. I’m not sure what I’d do if you weren’t inclined toward mathematics. Those ledgers would certainly be the death of me! And your mother, well…she was the beauty, inside and out.”

  “And you, of course.”

  “Of course.” Lady Greatheart gestured with a flick of her wrist. “Now, what are we doing today? I’m tired of holing up in this estate mourning. I know he was a great man, ducky, but you’re young. You have many days ahead of you…and as it turns out, I don’t, and I’d like to spend them somewhere other than inside these walls.” She sent a dirty look to the nearest wall.

  Catherine smirked, then gave in to a small snicker. It was freeing to laugh. There had been little of it since the accident. By now, she should have been married for nearly six months and bearing the title of duchess. But fate had a different plan and nearly shattered her heart in the process.

  And the price paid by the families that mourned had been great, was still great. Hadn’t she suffered her own share of loss though? She understood better than most the price of moving on without those one loved. At a young age, pneumonia had stolen her mother, only to have her father follow her soon after. Her grandmother said it had been a broken heart that took his life, and Catherine had no reason to think otherwise. It had been a love match of the sincerest variety between the two of them. She had hoped that the match between her and the duke would produce the same kind of relationship.

  Her thoughts wandered to Avery, the late duke. So much had been lost that night. Friendship, shared interests, and so many opportunities. Even as she thought the last word, it shamed her because of how it sounded mercenary in intent. But that wasn’t the case; her heart had been fully invested with Avery. They had made plans—such plans! As a duchess, her potential to help others would be near limitless. Funding orphanages, assisting the poor, sponsoring the arts…just to name a few. And all of it was reduced to the ashes left by the fire that consumed both her betrothed and the dreams they’d shared. What little she was able to do now was small in comparison to their grand plans. Yet losing Avery… That was by far the most painful.

  Catherine didn’t delude herself into thinking there was an abundance of forward-thinking men like him, men who would appreciate a woman’s keen mind for mathematics and investment. A woman who would appreciate business ventures more than needlepoint. Avery was a rare find, and her heart had immediately known he was her match, but it was for naught. To have everything one ever wanted right at the tip of one’s fingers, only to realize it was only ashes. As the gray cinders sifted through, all that was left were a stained heart and hands. Shoulders caving slightly, she released her pent-up frustration.

  “Lost in your thoughts again? Someone should give you a map,” her grandmother badgered.

  “As if you never woolgather,” Catherine replied good-naturedly. Through all the loss she had suffered, her grandmother had been there—her pillar, her rock, her constancy and comic relief. There wasn’t a more blunt, cheeky, or brazen woman in the ton, and Catherine loved her more than anyone else in the world.

  “I’m old. People expect it. Besides”—she set her teacup down with a dainty clink—“I look aloof and thoughtful when I woolgather.” She offered a proud sniff.

  “I see,” Catherine remarked with humor.

  “Now then, what shall we do today?” The elderly woman leaned forward with a sparkle of mischief in her gray eyes. “And if you mention anything about ledgers or a new investment opportunity you read about, I’ll simply ignore you till you come up with a sensible answer,” Lady Greatheart said with a defiant lift of her chin.

  Catherine replied with amusement, “But that’s ever so much more interesting than the color of the season. And I do have some interesting information—”

  “Tut-tut-tut. I said no. And I give you far more freedom than a young lady should have in all those areas. Heaven help me.”

  “It’s served you well. Because of my ‘freedom,’ as you put it, the estate has grown.”

  At this, her grandmother gave her a withering glare. “I’m aware, as you remind me every time I tell you to do something more sensible—as per our current situation.” She gave a flick of her wrist to prove her point.

  Catherine decided to capitulate. “Shopping? It’s been a while since we’ve visited Bond Street,” she offered.

  “Brilliant. I need a new pair of gloves. Mine seem worn.” Her grandmother lifted a perfectly white and delicately gloved hand in the air, frowning as she studied it.

  “Nearly threadbare,” Catherine said with a cheeky tone.

  “I’m glad you agree. We should also stop at the modiste and see about some new dresses for you.” Her grandmother paused, then softened her voice. “The season will be here before you know it, ducky. And while you might not be ready now, I do believe that you shouldn’t put off moving forward.”

  Catherine nodded, her eyes downcast as she absorbed her grandmother’s meaning. The marriage mart, another season…the courting, the flirting. She wasn’t sure she could do it. But she didn’t have to…yet. It was another four months away. Perhaps by then? She wasn’t against the idea of love; the problem was all the unknowns. What if she’d already found her match, and there was no one else for her? What if no one ever measured up? How could she promise to honor another when she constantly compared him to a ghost? It wasn’t fair to him or to her.

  But she couldn’t very well sit in her house for the rest of her life, avoiding potential suitors.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you, ducky. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.”

  “No, you weren’t. You’re being sensible. And I understand that,” Catherine added quickly, wanting to put her dear grandmother’s fears to rest. “It’s just… What if I already had my chance at love? What if I have to settle? I don’t want to, and that sounds terribly selfish. Also”—Catherine peeked up at her grandmother’s dear face, encouraged by the lack of judgment on her expression—“it’s so much bloody work, Grandma!”

  At this, her grandmother burst into a fit of hilarity. “Good mercy, child, you sound older than me!”

  “Do you deny it, though?” Catherine asked with a lilt to her tone, entertained at her grandmother’s amusement.

  “No. You’re right, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard a lady your age mention it, let alone realize it!” Lady Greatheart replied with mirth.

  “It is! The flirting, the pandering, the waltzing, the guessing…good Lord.” Catherine reclined in her chair, her tone exasperated.

  Lady Greatheart lifted a hand to still her granddaughter’s words. “The romance, the potential, the what-if, and the flirting with forever, my dear. Look at the beauty rather than the price.”

  Catherine bit her lip, nodding once. “You are, of course, correct.”

  “As usual.”

  Catherine added, “And humble.”

  “Always.”

  “Are you quite finished?”

  “Not nearly, but I’ll let you continue.” Her grandmother gave a flourish of her hand.

  “How kind,” Catherine replied with a smirk. “You win. I’ll look at the beauty of the process rather than the effort required. And when…when the time comes, I’ll put forth an effort. But since that day is not today, we should most certainly have a lovely day outside of these walls.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly, my dear. I’ll have the carriage ready in half an hour.”

  The fresh breeze cleared the sooty air of Bond Street as Catherine and her grandmother leisurely shopped. They visited the Emporium for Ladies, purchasing several hand creams and a vial of rosewater, and looked in at a milliner’s. The day was lovely, even with the chill of the late February air, and seemed to call out to the London ton, which meant that several inquiring stares followed Catherine and Lady Greatheart’s movements.

  “Ignore them, ducky,” her grandmother whispered as they strolled in front of a shop.

  In the reflection of the window, Catherine watched as a young couple eyed them in passing, then murmured soon after. Heat swelled in her cheeks. Were they questioning her mourning for her fiancé? It had been six months. Her bravery melted like sugar in hot tea, and more than anything, she wished to be home. But as another lady happened by, offering a wave, Catherine’s resolve strengthened. She wouldn’t let them dictate her future…or her feelings. It was idiotic, really, to live and die by their opinion when it was as fickle as the London rain.

  “That’s right, dear. Keep your chin up.” Her grandmother offered a proud pat to her hand. “Now, what do you think of the gloves in this shop?”

  Catherine followed her into the entrance, thankful to be out of the prying view of those on the s
treet. Her grandmother inspected several pairs of gloves, her dainty fingers running over the kid leather.

  The proprietress continued to display varieties, and Catherine watched as Lady Greatheart dismissed options, one after another, unsatisfied with the quality, the stitching, or something else equally invisible to Catherine’s eye.

  “These.” Her grandmother pointed to a pair and gave a direct nod. In short work, they were wrapped up. Catherine dispatched the box to their waiting footman as they exited the shop, then carried on down the street.

  “I always forget how fiddly you are with your gloves,” Catherine badgered.

  “It’s the first thing a gentleman touches, dear. It’s wise to pay attention to details such as these.” She lifted her fingers, waggling them in her gloves.

  “Ah, is that how you snared Grandfather? Your soft gloved hands?”

  At this, her grandmother lowered her tone as if imparting a secret. “No, but it didn’t hurt, I’ll tell you that.” She hid a smirk behind her hand. “Here’s the modiste. We should get a head start. Don’t want all the good colors and fabrics already spoken for.”

  The bell tinkled as they entered the shop. “May I help you?” the assistant asked, coming to stand before them.

  “Yes, do you have the new fashion plates from Paris? And what are the upcoming colors?”

  The lady nodded. “Yes, my lady. Come with me, if you please.” She led them to a back room with soft seating, curtains, and mirrors lining the walls. A red-carpeted stool occupied the middle, where ladies would stand and wait for their new dresses to be fitted.

  “This year, blossom will be the most requested. I happen to have several shades of its rich rosy pink, if you wish to take a look?”

  “Of course,” Catherine replied, earning an approving nod from her grandmother.

  As the lady left to retrieve the fabric samples, her grandmother leaned over to Catherine. “Such a color will be stunning on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  After paging through the fashion book and selecting several bolts of material, they ordered a new wardrobe for the upcoming season. It seemed forever away; yet it would take time to create the types of masterpieces Grandmother had insisted they purchase.

  “Apparently, gloves alone won’t do the trick for gentlemen?” Catherine remarked as they left the shop, choosing levity even when it still felt like sheer willpower rather than actual emotion.

  “Like I said, gloves are the first thing a gentleman touches, but your gown? That’s the first thing they see. Keep up, ducky. I’m giving you pearls of wisdom here.” Her grandmother elbowed her gently. “Now, are you finished shopping or do you wish for a change of scenery?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired.” Catherine narrowed her eyes.

  “I never admit defeat, love. You know this.”

  “Just making sure.”

  An exasperated expression formed on her grandmother’s face. “How about we have the carriage take us to Hyde Park? It’s about the fashionable hour and, love, with all the necks craning to see you, it would be best to just give them an eyeful and then be done with it. Don’t you think?”

  “No,” Catherine replied. “But yes.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “Might as well get it over and done with.” Catherine grimaced.

  “The sooner the better,” her grandmother intoned as they found their carriage and were assisted in by the footman.

  Hyde Park wasn’t far from Bond Street, but the congestion of carriage traffic made it seem much farther. After they arrived, Catherine alighted from the carriage and noted that the weather was holding up. One could never guess with London weather. One moment it could be beautifully sunny, only to have the heavens open the next. The sun broke through the trees, adding warmth, and Catherine stepped forward, waiting for her grandmother.

  “It’s certainly a busy day today,” Lady Greatheart commented, noticing the activity surrounding the park. Rotten Row had quite the congregation of horses milling about and racing by turns. The path that led to the Serpentine was dotted with ladies and gentlemen walking leisurely, and several squirrels raced across the open grass from one tree to the next.

  “Where do you wish to go?” Catherine asked.

  “Anywhere but here.” Lady Greatheart started off toward the Serpentine’s path.

  At least one of them was decisive. As they meandered down the path, they gave a nod or smile to each person they passed. Most of them were familiar faces, and few seemed judgmental; mostly, the expressions were of pity—which almost seemed worse.

  They were rounding a corner when Catherine’s breath rushed from her. Coming around the bend was a tall gentleman, which wasn’t startling in and of itself, but it was his expression.

  Those eyes.

  She knew those eyes.

  And judging by the way the gentleman froze nearly midstep, he recognized her as well.

  “Lady Catherine,” he greeted her softly after a lingering pause. He bowed gracefully, taking a full appraisal of her as he did so.

  “Quinton… Y-your Grace.” Her voice failed her. It was astoundingly difficult, calling him by the title that had belonged to his brother. They were familiar enough; hadn’t they almost been family? Surely she should have called him by his first name alone, yet she hesitated and added the title. After all, that familial connection had ended.

  His expression clouded, shoulders stiffened, and instinctively she understood how the use of the title must hurt him. Hadn’t he lost even more than she? She’d known Avery for a few months, while Quinton had known him lifelong.

  He seemed to pause, debating. He took a step closer and spoke. “Please continue to call me Quin. Our association is such that surely it can be possible for you to do so, and I would so much prefer it.”

  A wave of relief washed over her. “Quin it is.”

  “Thank you.” His eyes shifted to her grandmother. “My apologies, Lady Greatheart.”

  “No need.” Sunlight flashed bright on her glove when she held up a hand as he rose from his bow. “How are you, Quinton?” Lady Greatheart asked, her kind eyes full of sympathy. “It’s been an age, and I really must call on your mother as well. It’s been too long.”

  “As well as can be expected,” Quin answered, his attention shifting to Catherine. His expression was inquiring, but he didn’t voice the words.

  Catherine appreciated his restraint. How many had asked her the same question? How many times had she outright lied, or tried to avoid the question? More than she could count. And it was certainly the same for him.

  “It’s a lovely day, is it not?” she chimed in, neatly changing the subject.

  His expression shifted to relief. “It’s truly glorious. All the rain seemed eternal.”

  “Indeed,” Catherine agreed, followed by a somewhat awkward pause.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Quin said after a moment longer.

  “Of course. And please give my regards to your mother,” Lady Greatheart instructed.

  “I will indeed,” he said. “Lady Catherine.” He nodded to her.

  “Quin,” Catherine answered softly and then watched as he passed, leaving them halted on the path.

  “Well, that was interesting.” Her grandmother broke the silence after a moment.

  “Yes. It certainly was.”

  “Quin, hmm?” her grandmother remarked as they started down the path once more.

  Catherine wasn’t sure if her grandmother was asking or just talking to herself, so she waited, studying her face.

  “I think it’s time we called on Her Grace the Duchess of Wesley.” Her grandmother nodded once for emphasis.

  Catherine frowned. “Of course, but…why now?”

  But her grandmother had picked up her stride, and if she’d heard the question, she’d chosen not to answer.

  Which made Catherine suspicious.

  Her dear grandmother was a lot of things, but secretive wasn’t one of them. She’d let her keep her thoughts to herself for the moment, for certainly, soon they would overflow in one way or another.

  Three

  Quin didn’t remember the rest of the walk in Hyde Park nor the drive home, his thoughts focused on Lady Catherine. The quiet tick of the clock in his study kept time as his thoughts kept him company, yet he gave his head a decisive shake as his focus landed on the stacks of ledgers that lined the mahogany desk, all awaiting his perusal. Missives from his steward, party invitations, and legal documents all vied for his attention as he continued to transition from professor to duke. He missed the study, the expression in students’ eyes when they understood a portion of history or economics that they hadn’t known before. The reward of knowledge and growth were like air to him. Yet responsibility was vastly more important and the family legacy now weighed upon his shoulders. He withdrew the ink and began to work.