Never Charm a Duke (Spinster Sisterhood #3)

Chapter 1

She shouldn’t feel alone. Her sister, Iris, was right there. Across the table from her. Sipping her tea. Giving heart eyes to Tristan.

But it wasn’t just the three of them. Lucy was also here. Across the very same table from her. Nibbling on a biscuit. Also giving heart eyes, though not to Tristan. The recipient of her amorous gaze was Damien.

In love with the love around her, Violet’s heart swelled at all the smittenness in the air. It wasn’t that she felt like a fifth wheel. After all, Mirabelle was also having tea with them.

Albeit a little distractedly. Violet thought perhaps the manageress was sneaking page reads every time she dropped her gaze toward her pocket, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Tea was lovely, Mirabelle.” Iris rose to her feet, followed quickly by Tristan. “We really must be off.”

Violet waited for her sister to finish that statement explaining where she really must be off to, but disappointment settled in the silence.

“Yes,” Tristan cleared his throat, “we must be…off.”

Ah, yes. The ever elusive off. Wherever that was, Violet should like to join. Perhaps they’d invite her. Nope. The wink he just sent Iris told Violet everything she needed to know. And off was not a place she would be invited to.

“Wonderful tea. Just wonderful.” Lucy was on her feet. “We must do this again sometime.” As if the ladies hadn’t been accustomed to doing this every day since arriving in Kisswick.

“Quite soon,” Damien added unnecessarily. The hand on the small of Lucy’s back was a dead giveaway. No winks required. Violet read the messages loudly and clearly. Like a beacon pointed straight into her eye.

All the couples were leaving her to have tea on her own. Well, with a sneaky bookreader. So not entirely alone. All would be well.

“It was a lovely afternoon. I think I shall spend some time writing the landlord again about painting this house. He still hasn’t replied.”

So much for company. And then before Violet could even find her footing, the couples were out the door and Mirabelle was behind hers. Silence loomed unwelcome in the Greene House parlor.

This whole Greene House decision was supposed to have been a spinster sisterhood. And the first—well, the second and third—spinsters to arrive had already been claimed. Fallen good and hard into love. True love.

Violet could not complain. Nor did she resent them in the slightest. She only wanted the best for them. But seeing as how she was now alone, she needed to find some company to keep—

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Bolting to the door like it was the last droplets of water in a desert, Violet barely refrained from flinging the door wide open and off its hinges.

And she was far too relieved to be even mildly disappointed to see the all too solemn and very familiar face of Alexander Devereaux, Duke of Aylesford, on her front stoop.

“Sorry I’m late—”

She grabbed him by the sleeve, yanking him in for tea.

“Please,” she gestured a touch too wildly, “have a seat.”

His suspicious eyes under furrowed brows couldn’t have dotted more slowly across the room. “Where is everyon—”

“Shall I pour?” He was about to leave, and she had to stop him.

She couldn’t bear the idea of spending the afternoon alone.

Some company, any company, would do. Over the years, Alex and her had spent countless hours together.

Mostly among Iris and Tristan, but still.

They were friends. As much as one could be friends with a tortured soul who gave away nothing of his life or personhood to her.

But still, surely he would be a gentleman and take her up on her offer.

“I’m quite busy…” His words faded on a stifled yawn.

“You poor man. You haven’t slept again, have you?” This time she gripped his arm tightly with both hands and led him to sit down. By God, he was strong. Unmovable.

“Violet,” he grumbled in the same tone he always used on her. Decidedly aggrieved.

“Don’t be so miffed. It’s only tea.”

“Yes. It’s only tea. I can join you another day—”

“Wait.” She needed to think quickly. Didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. “I need your help.”

His brows further entangled themselves while his lips grew terse.

“I do.” She nodded, mostly to buy herself time to think of a reasonable explanation to keep him here.

“I’m sure Mirabelle can have a tea party with you.” She ignored his emphasis on the patronizing use of the word party.

Mirabelle. The letter. The landlord. That’s it.

Alexander was already on his feet heading toward the front door. Obviously with nearly two decades of friendship between them, he was overly comfortable waiving several formalities.

Desperation clawed through her. She needed to stop him.

Hands weren’t going to work this time. On impulse, she threw her body in front of him to stop his departure.

The second her breasts rubbed against his chest, she realized her miscalculation in distance.

But she ignored it. She had much more important matters to resolve.

Taking advantage of his momentarily distractedness, she corralled him toward her room. Her hands loosely on his forearms were somehow now able to direct him.

“I just need your help with something. Please, Alexander.” Magically, he stumbled along with her.

It wasn’t until she had fully walked him backward through her door jam that he returned to his senses. He took a quick glance at his surroundings and threw her a look, the likes of which a parent would toss to their child who had suggested travel to the moon was possible.

“You need my help? In your bedroom?”

“Yes, in fact. I have a plan.”

“When do you ever have a plan, Vi?” Sometimes when he used that familiar nickname, she felt all warm and cozy inside, but not when he tagged it on the end of something like that.

No, that desultory jab would not do. “Just last summer, I planned for Sa—”

“Other than matchmaking.”

“Well, there was the time…and…last fall when…” Whew! She blew the hair upward off her forehead. “Irregardless—”

“Regardless.”

Regardless of what? She waited for him to finish.

When he didn’t, she continued undeterred.

“As I was saying. I have a plan. Yes. Other than matchmaking, though should Mirabelle fall helplessly in love with the man I have set aside for her, I shall not stop her.” Her hands cradled against her chest, her lids closed softly.

Alex’s perturbed—and one might say, overexaggerated—sigh pulled her out of her woolgathering.

“I don’t have time for this jibberish.” He rubbed his eyes with the large pads of his palms. She hazarded a guess that the motion was due to equal parts irritation and exhaustion.

She stepped closer and put her hand on his forearm, but he quickly shook it off. “Please, Alex. Help me write this letter.” And she even batted her lashes at him, though she knew it would have no effect. And then she added on an extraneous, “Please.” Though she knew that too would have no effect.

Alas, she was proved mistaken. Thankfully.

With a ragged grumble, he motioned toward her desk. “What are we writing?”

“An excellent question.” One she would have an answer to momentarily.