Chapter 2

“Wherein challenges are accepted.”

Ella scowled at her brother. Just because she drove him to distraction didn’t mean everyone else felt the same.

Did it?

“Tommy didn’t mind in the least, did you, Tommy?” she asked, though she felt a stab of doubt now. Her family had always told her what a blessed nuisance she was, and she wondered if perhaps Tommy hadn’t been as pleased by her company as he’d seemed.

Why did people have to be polite all the time? She was never sure what they meant. If he hadn’t wanted her company, he should have said so. He could have sent her back to her sister if he’d felt that way.

“Of course not!” Tommy said, and she let out a breath as he seemed genuine. “I’m sure we’d not have enjoyed the afternoon half so well without you. Would we, Owen?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” his friend replied, giving her a warm smile.

“There, you see?” She folded her arms, glaring at Bertie, who just rolled his eyes at her.

“Congratulations, Rothborn.”

They all looked around to see the imposing and immaculate figure of the Duke of Ranleigh bearing down on them across the yard. Oscar stiffened a little and Ella watched with interest. Oscar hated Ranleigh, though she could never understand why. He seemed an interesting and rather dashing figure.

Ranleigh was watching Oscar, a vaguely amused glint in his dark brown eyes. He was a handsome fellow, though an older man with a sprinkling of grey at the temples. Perhaps in his mid to late thirties he was considered one of the greatest catches still left on the marriage mart. Though, to Ella’s eye, he could never be as handsome as Oscar, who in her opinion surpassed every indicator of masculine beauty by a mile.

Oscar was not quite as tall as Ranleigh but was perhaps a little broader in the shoulder. Ella tried not to stare, but Oscar was well worth looking at. His hair was thick and wavy, a light, golden brown that shone with touches of bronze when the sun caught it. His eyes were a warm reddish hazel with flecks of green and gold.

With a little sigh of despair, Ella realised she’d been in love with Oscar for exactly six years, after hero-worshipping him for even longer before that. What a fool she was. Not that she’d ever said anything or given any sign of her feelings. Nor would she.

When she’d first realised she’d tumbled into love with him, Ella had acted differently, keeping her distance and not bantering with him or giving him a casual hug or touch like she would her brother. But then Bertie had remarked upon it and asked what the matter was. Had they argued? So, she’d done her best to treat Oscar as she always had, despite the pain it sometimes gave her to be so close, and yet so very far.

Ella had lost Oscar before she’d even been born though, as he’d been betrothed to Pearl from the cradle. It was a wretched situation and she hated herself for her feelings. Sometimes she hated Oscar for it too, and Pearl, who seemed not to care a jot for him. Not in the way Ella did. It seemed a cruel hand for fate to deal her, but she knew there was nothing to be done about it. Oscar had his duty and, if she was honest—and Ella was always honest—Pearl would make the perfect duchess for him.

Pearl would make the perfect anything, she thought, with just a little bitterness and a dash of envy.

Ella would have made a disastrous duchess. She’d have caused endless trouble without even trying. It was a gift of sorts, albeit an unwelcome one.

Pearl looked like a swan, sailing through life without ever ruffling a pristine white feather. Ella snorted as she realised she was a duck in comparison, waddling through a muddy puddle and making everyone laugh as she tried to shake the dirt from her feathers.

Fighting her way free of such maudlin self-indulgent musings, Ella returned her attention to the men and the sudden brittle atmosphere that seemed to have descended upon them.

“Virago could beat Miss Skirmish blindfolded and on three legs,” Oscar was saying with disgust.

Ranleigh had implied Oscar had been lucky to win, Ella gathered, and that he’d only done so as Miss Skirmish was indisposed.

Oh, dear.

“It sounds as though a wager is in order then,” Ranleigh said, and that rather sardonic expression that seemed to always lurk in his eyes glinted with challenge.

“As you wish,” Oscar replied, folding his arms. “Name a time and place.”

Ranleigh considered for a moment, a gleam in his eyes as he watched Oscar. “The Craven Stakes, first meeting of the season, next year. I’ll wager two thousand pounds that Miss Skirmish can beat your Virago without breaking a sweat.”

Oscar snorted and held out his hand. “Done. It will be a pleasure to take your money.”

A slow smile dawned over Ranleigh’s face. “We shall see, Rothborn, we shall see. Adieu, my young friends.”

“Pompous ass,” Oscar muttered, glowering at the man’s back as he strode away. “I’ll make him eat his words. See if I don’t.”

Bertie frowned a little and cast Oscar a rather anxious glance. “I don’t know, Oscar. That chestnut is quite something.”

Oscar made a noise of disgust and glowered at her brother. “Oh, hush up, Bertie. I’m celebrating.” He turned to Ella and pointed at her, giving her a severe look. It was as severe as Oscar ever was, at least; there was laughter in his eyes as usual. “You, run along back to your sister or wherever you came from.”

“Oh!” Ella exclaimed, crestfallen. “But Oscar, I want to celebrate too!”

Oscar rolled his eyes at her and pinched her cheek. “Fine, do it with Pearl. We’re not going anywhere we can take a chit like you. Tell her, Bertie.”

Bertie opened his mouth, but Ella glowered in disgust.

“Oh, don’t bother. I know when I’m not wanted. You are going to the Newberry Mansion House ball tomorrow, though?” She cast this question to the assembled company, so it didn’t appear as if she was asking Oscar alone.

Tommy and Owen agreed that they were, and she knew Bertie was. Oscar gave a careless shrug.

“I suppose, if I must. Now run along, Ella, there’s a good girl. I must see to Virago before I get changed.”

Ella sighed, looking up as the earl offered her his arm.

“May I escort you back to the Portland Stand?” he asked, smiling at her.

She took one last look at Oscar and Bertie as they disappeared into the rubbing down house and nodded. “Yes, please, Tommy. I had better face my sister now. At least she can’t lecture me in public.”

***

Guy de Warenne, the Duke of Ranleigh, ran an experienced hand over Miss Skirmish’s pretty fetlock.

“A pity,” he lamented, as the lovely chestnut turned baleful, long-lashed eyes in his direction. “But we did the right thing. She’s a special lady, this one, and I’ll not take any unnecessary risks.”

“Even to shut the mouth of that young whippersnapper, Rothborn?”

Guy looked up at the Earl of Falmouth, who was watching him with amusement in his grey eyes.

“Even for that,” he said, a rueful tone to his voice. “But I shall show him in the spring, Alex, don’t you worry.”

“I never doubted it,” Alex replied, his lips twitching a little. “Though I wonder why you bother.”

Guy shrugged and nodded at his groom to carry on as they left the stable and wandered across the yard, back out among the crowds.

“His father was a dear friend to me when I was little more than a boy, a mentor I suppose you’d say. I’ve wanted to look out for the lad. Sadly, I went about it all wrong and put his bristles up when he was a very young man. Now he thinks I seek to best him at every turn, which is not true.”

“Yet you challenge him with this race?”

Guy grinned at Alex and gave a shrug. “True, but I couldn’t help myself, and I never saw a young man in direr need of being taken down a peg or two.”

Alex snorted and shook his head. “He’s five and twenty. Do you not remember what we were like at that age, believing ourselves invincible?”

“Of course I remember. I’m not in my dotage yet, Alex. It wasn’t so long ago.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through his companion. “I shall have to agree with you seeing as I am a year or two your senior.”

“Three years, Falmouth,” Guy replied with a gleeful note to his voice. “Tell me, how is that lovely young wife of yours? Keeping you on your toes, I hope?”

A warm look entered the man’s eyes and Guy experienced just a little pang of envy.

“Céleste is doing well, and living up to your expectations admirably, I thank you.”

Guy nodded, aware of the reverence in his friend’s voice. “And the children?”

“I am assured that William is the greediest baby that ever lived and his big sister, Marie, dotes on him not at all. He is a usurper in her eyes and she has made her feelings on the matter abundantly clear.”

Guy smiled, remembering the sight of the tiny blonde child wrapping the forbidding looking man at his side around her tiny thumb with amusement.

“Ah, domestic bliss. I never believed you would succumb to it.”

“Nor I.” Alex looked quite disgustingly pleased with himself.

They walked on a little further, skirting the milling crowds, before Guy turned to him once more. “I take it you’ll be wagering on the outcome of my bet with Rothborn?”

“Naturally,” the earl replied, a smile lingering over a mouth that to most people looked cruel and uncompromising. “I shall even enter it into the book at White’s.”

Alex tipped his hat and bade Guy a good day, and Guy did not miss the fact that his friend hadn’t reveal which way he would be betting. The devil.

***

“…quite outrageous. I don’t know what you’ll do next….”

Ella allowed her mind to drift as Pearl continued to scold her. She wondered if Oscar would dance tonight. He seldom did, much to Pearl’s irritation. Oscar despised balls and dancing, and only appeared at all if he had no choice. Ella didn’t blame him. Dancing was fine, but given the chance to spend an evening with Oscar playing cards or talking, or… or anything at all….

Stop it, Ella, she scolded herself. Not yours. He’s not yours.

“As if disappearing at Newmarket weren’t bad enough, I half expected someone to tell me they had found your body in a ditch….”

Ella rolled her eyes to the heavens, though she took care not to let her sister see. Pearl had worked herself up for this one and she knew better than to make things worse.

“If father had an ounce of sense he’d send you away to stay with Aunt Hermione until you’ve learned manners befitting your station. I’ve told him so….”

Ella gritted her teeth. She well knew that Pearl would get her out of the house if she could. Aunt Hermione was the worst fate that Ella could imagine being inflicted on anyone. A crotchety old woman with a moustache and the temper of an aggravated wasp, she was not an easy companion. Young people were too loud, too fidgety, and had no respect for their elders. To say she despised Ella wouldn’t have come close to her true feelings. Even perfect Pearl didn’t escape Hermione’s critical gaze. It was the only positive thing Ella could think to say about her.

“You ought not be allowed to attend tonight after your shocking behaviour,” Pearl continued, her tone full of self-righteous indignation. “How you twisted papa around your finger is beyond me. I tell you now, though, embarrass me tonight and I shall make you pay.”

Ella blanched a little at that. Pearl didn’t make such threats lightly. Ella had been on the receiving end of her sister’s retribution too often not to take note.

“I won’t,” she said in a hurry, praying she’d be able to keep her promise. Ella had made promises too often in the past, only to discover them impossible to keep. Not that she went looking for trouble exactly, but somehow she seemed to find it, or it found her. She wasn’t certain which.

“I’ll be the model of propriety, Pearl. You have my word.”

Pearl cast her a frigid look of disgust which chilled Ella to the bone as the carriage rocked to a stop, and then it vanished into a sweet smile as the footman opened the door for her.

Ella wondered how she managed it. Pearl in public was quite a different creature to the Pearl that Ella saw in private. Public Pearl glowed with warmth and beauty and a quiet, elegant poise that Ella could never hope to emulate. Pearl in private held about as much warmth as the marble statue of Venus that was the centrepiece of her father’s impressive gallery at their home, Atterbury Hall.

Ella sighed and tried not to trip on her skirts as she stepped down in her lovely sister’s wake. Having managed that much, her hopes lifted that perhaps she’d get through the evening unscathed.

***

Oscar resisted the urge to tug at his cravat. He knew it was immaculate, but the blasted thing seemed to strangle him tonight. God, he hated these affairs. The only reason they were anything like bearable was the fact everyone knew he was spoken for. The only obvious benefit of his engagement was that he escaped the worst of the marriage hungry young women and their mothers.

With a grunt of amusement, he noticed Ranleigh giving an enthusiastic mother a look of cool disinterest as she thrust her mortified looking daughter under his nose. The young woman was wearing a monstrously ugly dress, covered entirely in flounces and bows. Oscar wasn’t sure which of them was the most appalled, Ranleigh or the girl. It wasn’t the mother.

That was the trouble with having a title; it was like waving a juicy carrot in a room full of half-starved rabbits. For a moment he entertained himself by imagining the assembled company with fluffy tails and ears. It was easier with some than others. The poor girl under Ranleigh’s icy gaze made a rather perfect example with her excess of white frills. She almost bounced in her eagerness to escape him too. Oscar chuckled.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Oscar looked around to see Bertie watching him with curiosity.

“Don’t be an ass. How long before we can leave?”

Bertie sighed and shook his head. “You must dance with Pearl, old man. Hell to pay if you don’t.”

“I know, I know,” Oscar muttered, irritated. As if he didn’t know his duty. He looked across the crowded ballroom to his intended and tried to muster enthusiasm for the idea.

What was wrong with him? She was astonishingly lovely, and the eyes of every man in the room were drawn to her as if by some irresistible pull. He should chomp at the bit to take her in his arms, and yet….

He’d asked if he might kiss her once or twice. Each time Pearl had lifted her head and stood motionless, and despite her beauty he’d felt like he was kissing a statue. That neither of them had been moved was obvious. It had felt like a duty and he was daunted that she’d found no pleasure in it at all. He’d never had a problem getting women to respond to him before. Did she dread their marriage as much as he did?

Oscar had tried to ask her once, to determine if she wanted this arrangement they’d been forced into without their consent. She’d just stared at him, a quizzical look in her blue eyes.

You say the strangest things, Oscar.

Oscar sighed. He didn’t doubt she wanted the title, she’d been born to the role, but did she want him? A frown marred his brow as he watched her talking to a group of her contemporaries, elegant young ladies all from good families. Would one of them have been his choice if he’d had one? Who would she have chosen? Not him, he felt certain.

“Hello.”

A familiar voice pierced his thoughts and he looked down to see Ella had tracked him down.

“Evening, Bug,” he said, using the nickname he and her brother had foisted on her some ten or more years ago. He smiled as he noticed the pins were falling from her hair, one heavy tress all askew. His fingers itched to put it right but he stilled them.

“Are you going to dance with Pearl?” she demanded, looking as fed-up as he felt. Her heavy eyebrows were drawn together, giving her a mutinous look.

A tut of irritation escaped him. “Did she send you over to ask?”

“Yes, so don’t eat me. It’s not my fault.”

She crossed her arms and glowered at the floor, and Oscar sighed.

“Yes, yes, I will… later,” he added, not liking the sensation of being harried, even though it was nothing out of the ordinary. His face softened as he looked upon Ella and realised she was out of sorts. He’d noticed that more often of late. Bubbly Ella who was never downhearted seemed ever more unhappy.

That anxious feeling tugged at his heart again.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, the words brusque even though he was concerned. It annoyed him that he must worry for Ella too. He couldn’t even free himself of a marriage he didn’t want, so how could he possibly help Ella?

Ella shrugged, her shoulders slumping, the picture of dejection. He smiled despite himself, as she looked like she wanted to be as far from this blasted ballroom as he did. She’d probably much prefer to be at home playing cards. She was devilish good at piquet and always beat him.

“I suppose Pearl tore you off a strip for disappearing yesterday?” he asked, softening his tone now.

He could just imagine what Pearl had said to her. Not that he’d ever seen Pearl in a temper; it was hard to believe she ever raised her voice. Ella, however, had put him straight on that fact many years ago. He’d also seen the bruises and pinch marks if her sister had really been in a fury.

Pearl was not all she seemed to be.

The look Ella returned was eloquent.

“Well, what did you expect, Bug?” He gave a despairing sigh and tugged at one of her curls. “If you will behave like a hoyden, you can expect to take the consequences.”

“And so I have,” she retorted indignantly. “It doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it, any more than you have to enjoy this.”

Oscar nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing?” he asked, and even he couldn’t decipher the slightly aggravated edge to his words. “I’m told you’re in need of a husband.”

There was a glower in her eyes now and he had to smother a bark of laughter at her obvious disgust. He had to admit to a little relief that she viewed the idea in the same light as he did.

“Oh, Lord, Oscar, don’t you start. You know as well as I do that there isn’t a man here I could stand, nor one who could stand me.”

She stared around the room and Oscar followed her gaze, knowing her words were nothing but the truth. He watched as she shrugged and pasted a smile to her face.

“It’s hopeless. I shall be an eccentric old lady and keep cats.”

Perhaps she might have fooled someone who didn’t know her as well as Oscar, but he could see through her with ease. There was anxiety there, and a depth of sadness that he couldn’t account for. Perhaps she really did believe that was her fate.

“Don’t be a gudgeon. You’ll fall in love and be swept off your feet by some young buck before we know it.”

The words stuck in his throat, likely because he knew he didn’t believe it either.

“No,” she said, the word stark and honest as she shook her head. “I won’t.”

Oscar frowned. Once again that odd, daunting sensation rose in his chest. It was most unsettling, but then he cared deeply for Ella. She was as much his sister as Bertie’s. The idea of her being alone and unhappy made him worry for her.

“You can’t believe you’ll live like that, Ella. You’d be lonely,” he said, a prickle of unease over his neck at the real possibility she could end her days in such a way. Not Ella. It would be a crime.

“Of course not.” Her tone was brisk and no nonsense as she rolled her eyes at him. “I shall travel and see the world and by the time I return you and Pearl will have a score of children and I shall be an indulgent aunt. There will be plenty to occupy me.”

Oscar opened his mouth to object, but before he could she tugged at his arm. “Oh, do go and dance, Oscar. I promised I’d not embarrass her tonight, but she’ll blame me if you don’t do as she asks.”

He looked over at his wife-to-be, seeing her watching him with a sweet smile at her lips. It was strange how she was always so placid and smiling in his presence and yet no one could make him feel more on edge. Best get his duty done then.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I have to, so do you.”

“Not on your life,” Ella retorted and scurried away before he could find her a partner.

Oscar strode across the ballroom and greeted Pearl. She curtsied to him and Oscar could not help but admire the swanlike elegance of her neck and the enticing expanse of décolletage as she dipped down.

“You’re looking lovely tonight, Pearl,” he said, giving her his hand and leading her onto the dance floor.

“Why, thank you, your grace,” she said, inclining her head a little.

He grimaced, wondering if she used that term purely to rattle him.

“My name is Oscar; I believe I’ve mentioned that.” His words were a little terse and he saw a flash of something in her eyes for just a moment, but she returned that placid smile once more.

“You are a duke. Such things deserve respect, even from your intimate circle.”

Oscar frowned. He wondered if she would cry out oh, your grace, when he made love to her. His imagination failed him as he tried to conjure an image of the woman in his arms in such an abandoned position.

“But I don’t like you calling me, your grace,” he persisted, wondering why he was feeling so bloody-minded tonight.

“Very well,” she replied, a flash of something that might have been laughter in her eyes. “Rothborn.”

Oscar gritted his teeth. Hell’s bells, he wanted a drink.

From across the dance floor he glimpsed Ella, sitting with the wallflowers and doing her best to keep her arms and legs in something close to an elegant position. After a moment or two she gave up and slumped in her seat, looking fed up. As he turned Pearl through the dance and back again, he saw Ella sigh and stretch out her legs… and a passing gentleman trip over her foot.

Ella leapt to her feet, scarlet with mortification as she apologised. Whoever the fellow was gave a stiff reply and hurried away. Poor Bug. She looked around, clearly hoping Pearl hadn’t seen her. Oscar raised an eyebrow as their gazes met and Ella pressed a finger to her lips, casting a pleading expression his way.

Oscar smothered a laugh and winked at her, before returning his attention to the dance.