Chapter 2
His Grace Alexander Borland, seventh Duke of Nottingvale, stalked from room to room, ensuring everything was in order. The month-long Christmastide party was an annual tradition, and this year it had to be perfect.
It was already a disaster.
A sudden snowstorm had halted all travel for the past fortnight, reducing Alexander’s party from four weeks to two. He himself had only arrived that morning, just in time to have a hurried meeting with business partners for a project they’d intended to complete last week, only for—
“Guests are arriving,” announced Oswald, the butler.
There was no need to adjust postures. Oswald was perpetually stoic and ramrod-straight. Respectable and proper at all times, just as Alexander liked.
The butler opened the door and the first team of liveried footmen rushed out into the cold, ready to bring in heavy trunks and hand guests down from carriages with all of the elegance and efficiency they deserved.
But they weren’t the first to arrive.
Alexander’s new business partners, Calvin and Jonathan, were staying through the grand Twelfth Night gala.
Alexander had no idea where they were at this moment, which was just as well, because he did not have time to make dozens of introductions on top of ensuring the perfection of every detail of his party.
The almost perfection.
As a consequence of the inconvenient snowstorm, the arrival of Alexander’s mother, the Duchess of Nottingvale, was also delayed.
No gentleman could host a house party on his own. A hostess must always play the lead role. As an impeccably dignified matriarch, his mother was perfect for the part.
In the meantime, Alexander’s younger sister Lady Isabelle would have to do.
Belle was... no longer completely respectable.
While Alexander had spent the past fortnight burrowing north from London to distant Cressmouth, his sister Belle had apparently spent the past weeks in the arms of Alexander’s business partner Calvin, resulting in their betrothal.
Alexander’s surprise at his sister’s impending marriage to a tailor would be nothing compared to the duchess’s reaction once Mother arrived.
Belle had fallen in love, not that romance would sway the matriarch’s opinion.
Alexander was dependable. He had never been in love, nor would he allow emotion to overtake him. A duke was logical, unemotional, and above all things: proper.
There were rules.
Alexander followed them.
Strict adherence to expectations and station was the only way to ensure one’s life unfolded with clockwork precision.
“Any further instructions, Your Grace?” asked a footman.
“Be ready,” Alexander replied.
The kitchen had been instructed to avoid strawberries, due to one of the guests’ adverse reactions to the fruit.
The maids had replaced another guest’s feather pillows with soft wool stuffing, once Alexander learned downy feathers made her sneeze.
He kept detailed notes so that returning guests’ experiences would be even better than the previous year.
He didn’t want his party to be good.
He needed it to be flawless.
This was the day before Christmas Eve. His friends were entrusting Alexander with their Yuletide. He wanted them all to have the best holiday possible.
“Here they come, Your Grace,” said the butler.
Alexander’s sister Belle joined him in greeting the guests.
He positioned himself a respectable distance from the open door and greeted each guest as they entered the cottage, before handing them off to a footman or maid to show them to their guest chambers.
Alexander had assigned rooms with the same care he devoted to every aspect of his life. Windows with morning light for the early risers. Snorers grouped as far as possible from light sleepers. Extra blankets and fully stocked fireplaces for everyone.
Locals began to fill the parlor as well, partaking of the strawberry-less refreshments and chatting with old friends they hadn’t seen since Alexander’s previous Christmastide party.
At a break in the tide, he turned to his sister. “As soon as Mother arrives, you can relax.”
“Can I?” she said doubtfully, but her eyes twinkled with merriment.
Excellent point.
“As soon as Mother arrives, you can hide,” he corrected. “I’ve given you and Calvin adjoining rooms on the opposite side of the house as hers. This is your Yuletide, too. I want you to enjoy it.”
She gave him an arch look. “Will you enjoy it?”
“It’s not my duty to make merry,” he reminded her firmly. “It’s my duty to ensure everyone else does.”
She didn’t look convinced. “When was the last time you enjoyed anything, even when other people’s happiness wasn’t riding on the outcome?”
“It’s not my purpose to—”
“You’re a duke, not a gear in a pocket watch. You can change the pace once in a while. Not everything has to be controlled down to the second.”
It was Alexander’s turn to look appalled.
Belle burst out laughing. “I suppose that snowstorm had you in a tizzy.”
“Dukes don’t tizzy,” he informed her.
“Mm-hm. You probably stalked out-of-doors and commanded the snow to stop falling in that imperious all-things-must-go-according-to-plan way you have.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It stopped snowing, did it not?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t pull your hair out in panic.” She tilted her head. “Never mind. You would never allow a hair on your head to be out of place, no matter the wind’s wishes. You’d command the clouds if you could.”
“You’re hilarious,” he told her. “No one has ever had a wittier sister. Your jests warm my heart.”
“You don’t let anything near your heart,” she said. “You’re too busy being perfect to enjoy your own parties. You could be replaced with an automaton and I’d be the only one to notice.”
That was hardly fair.
“You used to be straitlaced too,” he reminded her.
“And look how much better my life is now,” Belle shot back. “Particularly compared to yours.” She crooked her elbows at ninety-degree angles and made stiff, choppy motions whilst speaking in monotone. “‘I am a clockwork duke. Tick tock, I love rules.’”
Alexander lifted his nose.
Life would be easier if everyone followed rules.
He was grateful to have them. Rules let him know what to do and what to expect. Rules were what guided him when he’d inherited the title as an adolescent. He’d felt lost without his father, but the rules had given him a path to follow to succeed.
What Alexander wanted to do didn’t signify in the least. A duke did what must be done, and refrained from all activities not befitting his station.
Especially a respectable duke on the hunt for an equally proper bride.
He was glad that his sister had found love, but there would be scandal when the gossips heard the news. Any latitude Alexander might have had before was now gone. It was up to him to salvage the family’s reputation.
With luck, it would all be over soon.
He and Belle turned back to the doorway as a new wave of guests splashed inside.
This would be the biggest crush yet. With Alexander’s permission, his mother had let it be known that her son was finally seeking a duchess.
Hopeful young misses flooded his cottage. They might be in competition with each other, but Alexander knew his own behavior was now under a microscope as well.
Not only did mothers and chaperones want their charges to make a splendid match... Those spurned would be happy to spread gossip of any of the duke’s faults.
His duty was not to have any.
He and his party must be perfect.
“Of course,” his sister assured a highly respected society matron, all traces of her earlier irreverence gone. “I would be honored to show you and your daughter to your chambers. Follow me, please.”
Alexander was glad for Belle’s presence.
She was a meddlesome sister, but a wonderful hostess. For all her teasing, she would help ensure no unwelcome surprises happened to—
Miss Cynthia Louise Finch stood on his front step, holding a mongrel puppy aloft to his impressively stoic butler.
His heart stopped, then raced faster.
Miss Finch was the opposite of proper.
She was a firework in a box of candles.
Everything about her was significantly more than necessary. She had two names when one would suffice. She brought a dog to a house party. She was tall, with abundant curves. She had apple cheeks and plump rosy lips and big blue eyes.
Her excessiveness ought to be overwhelming, but instead made him feel as though he stood dizzyingly close to a statue of a Grecian goddess come to life.
“Is that a dog?” called out one of the locals.
“It is. Meet Max!” She swept into the room brandishing the wiggling puppy in front of her chest, passing the mongrel off to the first taker.
It was not at all how a proper young lady would enter the home of a duke—or anywhere.
It was not done.
Which made it classic Cynthia Louise Finch.
“Who wants to go ice racing later?” she asked her friends at the refreshment table.
“Do you mean ice skating?” asked one.
“She means ice racing,” said another. “I lost ten quid to her last December.”
Miss Finch laughed in delight. “Want to lose another ten?”
Had the audacious hoyden failed to notice his receiving party of one?
He hoped she hadn’t glimpsed the Duke of Nottingvale ducking ignominiously into the closest shadow rather than greet Miss Cynthia Louise without the protective buffer of his sister at his side.
Belle was the reason Miss Finch was here.
Belle had been bashful during her come-out. Her first season had not gone as planned. At the time, Miss Finch was on her sixth unsuccessful season. She’d been extraordinarily kind to Belle, and earned a lifelong friend in the process.
And by extension, an open invitation to Alexander’s famous Christmastide house parties. How he had railed against the suggestion!
Alexander had been certain Miss Finch would not get on with any of his guests.
He had been wrong.
She lived an hour away in Houville. Miss Finch visited Cressmouth so often, she’d been on a first-name basis with every soul in the village long before Alexander ever built his cottage.