Chapter 5 #2
Alexander was not used to being the Good One in the family. He and his sister had always both been Good Ones.
Belle had followed the rules just as carefully as he had.
Almost as carefully.
Very well, it appeared that what his sister had carefully accomplished was to hide her rule-breaking from others.
He’d always known Belle was a gifted artist, but he had not known she’d taken a post as an advertisement illustrator under a male pseudonym.
Mother still did not know.
Belle wasn’t drawing announcements for Kew Gardens anymore. She was now the artist responsible for painting the fashion plates that would become aquatints in Alexander’s new venture. “Fit for a Duke” was a collection of men’s apparel, to be sold via catalogue.
He was not involved in any aspect of the trade, of course. He was the titular duke, and the primary investor. He provided a lump sum and would later reap the reward of interest returned, as was proper.
Belle had betrothed herself with the tailor.
This was... not proper, and the reason their mother was more fearful than ever that Alexander might make an inappropriate match. Any misstep could ruin the family beyond repair.
It wasn’t as if Belle’s “flagrant disregard” for the unblemished reputations of her family was contagious, for heaven’s sake.
Alexander knew the rules. Unlike Miss Finch, he did not break them.
He made them into a game.
As a young boy, rule-following had been stifling, boring business. So he’d assigned points to each Do and Do Not, commensurate with his desire to do the opposite. The more he longed to bend a rule, the more points he earned for following it.
His running score was in the millions.
Mother’s eyes flashed up at him. “You must choose wisely, Vale.”
“I know.” He let out a slow sigh. “I know.”
Happiness had naught to do with the matter.
He must content himself with “winning” the game. The satisfaction of having successfully followed the rules, exceeded his mother’s high expectations, and made a decision that would reflect favorably on the dukedom for generations to come.
His family—existing and future—depended on him.
“You’re a good man, Vale,” his mother said. “If your father could see you now...”
He nodded stiffly.
Father had taught his only son to follow in his footsteps from the moment Alexander could toddle. Expectations for a future duke had been drilled into him from birth.
Alexander was raised in his father’s image because that was how his own father had been raised. He came from a long line of exemplary dukes, and was expected to continue the tradition with his own heirs.
It was his duty.
For all thirty of Alexander’s years, he strove to live up to his father’s example. To be the sort of duke that would have made his father proud.
He would not stop now.
He would never stop doing everything in his power to be the best man, duke, and future husband and father he could be.
One day, his children would be emulating him.
As well as their mother.
“I’ll choose a duchess by Twelfth Night,” he promised his mother. “Someone worthy of the title.”
She gave a sharp nod. “See that you do.”
The moment she strode away, Alexander’s sister Belle sneaked up from behind and grabbed hold of his arm.
“You know why Mother marched over here, don’t you? She saw you whispering with Cynthia Louise. Excellent work flying right past me in the ‘unacceptable match’ race.” Belle cackled. “I love it. Cynthia Louise is everything I never dreamt you’d choose.”
“I didn’t choose her,” he said stiffly. “She’s helping me choose someone else.”
“Mm-hm,” said Belle. “Mayhap Mother believes that.”
“I cannot make impulsive choices,” he told her in exasperation. “The dukedom is on my shoulders. I cannot besmirch—”
“If this is about Father,” Belle interrupted, “he’d be proud of you because you’re a decent person, not because you wear the right fashions.”
“It’s not the clothes,” Alexander said. “It’s what’s inside of them. Me. Father isn’t here anymore… but you are. Mother is. My future heirs will be. I have to think about them.”
“Can you think about making them with a wife you like?”
Alexander hadn’t thought about that, to be honest.
His personal preferences had never entered into the decision-making process.
Perhaps there was a middle ground.
He would choose someone respectable and proper, as his mother and forefathers expected.
And he would try to make certain that person was someone he liked.
Surely it was possible.
He enjoyed his conversations with Miss Finch, and she wouldn’t do at all. Conversations with the right person could only be better.
“Here she comes,” Belle whispered. “Lure her in.”
Alexander scowled at his sister, but she was already retreating into the crowd and therefore missed his irritated expression entirely.
A duke didn’t need to lure anyone. One mention of Alexander’s intent to take a bride, and the walls fairly shook from the effort of containing the plethora of contenders.
Not that Miss Finch was interested in being a contender, he was forced to admit.
If he wanted her to be—which he did not—his sister was probably right.
He’d have to lure her in.
“I’m going to lock Max in my bedchamber.” Miss Finch motioned in the general direction. “Walk with me?”
Of course not.
That would be highly improper.
“I’ll accompany you as far as the corridor,” he said.
A dreadful idea, but no harm would come of it.
This was his house. He could stroll any corridor he pleased.
She was a spinster. A chaperone. She was here to keep nubile nymphs out of his arms, not to tempt his self-control herself.
There was absolutely no danger of anything untoward occurring.
Nothing at all.
“Your party is an unequivocal success,” she said the moment the roar of the crowd was behind them. “But are you having any fun?”
“Dukes don’t have fun,” he explained to her. “Dukes have duty.”
She made a face. “If I were a duke, I’d have nothing but fun.”
“That’s why there’s a patriarchy,” he muttered. “Someone has to manage things.”
“I manage to have fun,” she said with an unrepentant grin. “I brought skis. Do you want to try them?”
“I can’t leave the party.” He stared at her. “It’s my party.”
“Pah. I sneak out of parties like this all of the time. There are too many planned activities for anyone to notice. One summer, on a tour of Lord—” She broke off, her eyes widening. “Are you saying you would play at skis with me... if it weren’t your party?”
“No skis,” he said firmly. “No risking my life until there’s an heir, and even then it’s an irresponsible idea.”
“Irresponsible but fun,” she said. “You keep missing the point.”
“Not everything is fun. What if I broke my leg?”
“I broke mine twice.” Her eyes took on a far-off sparkle. “Eventually, I flew over that crevice.”
“You jumped across a wide crevice?” he said in horror. “On skis?”
She nodded. “Fell into, twice. Soared across, once. Indubitably worth it. I won an astronomical wager.”
“You’re a madwoman,” he informed her.
Part of him wished he’d been there to see her win the bet.
“One moment...” She and Max slipped into her guest chamber.
She closed the door behind them.
He tensed.
From the corridor, all Alexander could hear was what sounded like his very expensive furniture scraping across his equally expensive floors, followed by excited yips from the puppy, and a peal of laughter from Miss Finch.
She was out of breath and disheveled when she slipped back out of the door and closed it tight behind her.
“There,” she said, the word husky and breathless. “What now?”
Now, Alexander was going to shove his hands behind his back and perform any magic necessary to keep himself from kissing her.
She grinned at him. “Cat got your tongue?”
There were many, many things Alexander would like to do with his tongue, none of which were appropriate thoughts toward Miss Finch.
He turned from her, heroically, all of the game-points in the world raining down around him in celebration of his stoic ducal restraint.
“I’m teasing,” she said, and nudged at his arm the way she liked to do when she was poking verbally at him.
It might have resulted in nothing more than that, except Alexander had chosen that exact moment to start walking away from her. His stride bent his arm at such an angle that instead of nudging him with her knuckles, her fingers tangled with his.
They were now holding hands.
In the middle of his guest corridor.
“Er,” Alexander said.
He should have let go of her hand by now.
He was going to.
Any second.
Miss Finch looked just as discombobulated. She had frozen still, which was the opposite of her natural state of human hurricane. Color rose up her cheeks.
They were very nice cheeks. They led the eye to her plump, kissable lips.
Which had parted, either in anticipation of the kiss that hung in the air between them, or because she too struggled for air.
He dropped her hand.
“My apologies,” he said gruffly.
She touched her fingers to her mouth, and then to her chest. “None needed.”
“I should not have touched you.” Why was he going on about this?
She nodded. “I should not have let you.”
“Then we understand each other,” he said.
He understood very, very well.
Under no circumstances could they be alone together again.
Especially if it might lead to fun.