No Other Duke But You--A Playful Brides Novel Read online

  By God, Delilah would show her mother. She would prove to her that she wasn’t the lost cause Mother thought. Besides, who better to make the match of the Season than she herself? She was a matchmaker, wasn’t she?

  “You’d do well to remember that Clarence Hilton is the heir to an earldom,” Mother intoned.

  “I’m well aware.” Delilah tried and failed to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “Don’t be impertinent. You truly believe you can secure an offer from someone with better connections than that?”

  Delilah raised her chin and met Mother’s glare. She would die trying. Because her mother had just issued a challenge of sorts, and unfortunately, Delilah—emotional, too-loud, eccentric Delilah—had never been able to pass up a challenge.

  Besides, her odds of success had to be better than average. Her best friend, Thomas, was always talking about odds. Numbers leaning this way or that. He put great stock in them. Delilah rarely gave odds much thought, but now she had to believe they were in her favor. After all, Delilah had the infamous Duchess of Claringdon, Lucy Hunt, in her corner, and that woman was undisputedly the best matchmaker in the land. “Yes,” she declared. “I believe I can.”

  “Fine.” Mother paused in the doorway and turned to regard her daughter, a hint of disdain in her forced smile. “Do you have anyone in mind? Any prospects?”

  Delilah straightened her shoulders. Her mother’s lack of faith in her hurt, but it also made her resolute. Her birthday was the twenty-first of July. She had just over a month to accomplish her goal. Her perhaps overly lofty goal.

  “Yes, in fact.” Delilah stood from her seat and met her mother’s stare with her own highly determined smile. “I intend to secure an offer from the Duke of Branville.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thomas Hobbs, the Duke of Huntley, eyed his older sister, who perched across from him in his study. He sat behind the large mahogany desk, while Lavinia remained seated primly on the edge of the chair in front of it. She looked innocent enough, and she was certainly well-dressed, but the greater the distance between them, the better. Lavinia was more like a wasp than a woman. But she was his sister, and he loved her as one must love family.

  He was also responsible for her. Their father had died a decade ago. At the tender age of eighteen, Thomas had been forced to leave school and take up the daunting role of duke. He’d done his best to be worthy of the title. While his friends were off drinking, studying, and cavorting, Thomas had to learn how to run his vast estate and keep his tenants happy. He’d managed not only to keep his holdings running smoothly, but he’d increased his tenants’ profits threefold.

  In addition to his duty to his acreage, he’d had to watch over his mother and his unwed eldest sister. He’d taken care of his mother and provided Lavinia a generous allowance each month, with which to buy whatever clothing or fripperies she wanted. His family and the dukedom were the most important things in Thomas’s life. He’d vowed never to let anyone important to him down. Lavinia included.

  He eyed her carefully. “What did you want to speak with me about?”

  Lavinia rarely spoke to him, and he had to admit he was somewhat intrigued as to what she wanted.

  A scrawny, one-eyed cat jumped to the desktop and Lavinia gasped. “What in heaven’s name is that thing?” She pushed herself back in her seat to put distance between herself and the animal.

  Thomas stood and scooped the cat into his arms. He carefully let the cat down in the corridor outside the study and closed the door. Then he turned and made his way back to his desk. “That is Hercules.”

  “You own a cat?” Lavinia’s voice dripped skepticism.

  “No. I have agreed to house a cat for Delilah, who found it outside the mews near her town house badly injured by another cat. Hence its solitary eye.”

  “Why doesn’t Delilah keep the cat at her house?” Lavinia asked, her nose still pinched.

  “Her mother doesn’t allow animals inside.”

  “I don’t blame her. It could be flea-bitten.”

  “It most certainly was flea-bitten,” Thomas confirmed. “But Delilah gave it a bath and assures me it’s perfectly clean now.”

  “The things you allow that girl to talk you into,” Lavinia sneered.

  A grin spread across his face. “You don’t know the half of it. In addition to that cat, there is a three-legged dog living in the stables at Huntley Park, and a one-eared rabbit upstairs in the servants’ quarters. All courtesy of Delilah’s big heart.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Lavinia intoned. “A one-eared rabbit?”

  “Yes.” Thomas sighed. “But something tells me my little menagerie of misfits is not what you’ve come to speak to me about today.”

  “You’re right.” Lavinia smoothed a finger over one dark eyebrow. “What I’ve come to discuss is quite simple, really.” She lifted her chin. “I want to marry.”

  Thomas blinked. Surely, he’d heard her incorrectly. Lavinia had stopped searching for a husband long ago. They’d all assumed she was a confirmed spinster. He tilted his head to the side. “Marry?”

  Her face remained blank. “That’s correct.”

  Blast it. He had heard her correctly.

  Lavinia barely shrugged one silk-encased shoulder. “It’s your duty to find me a husband, Thomas. I’d like it to happen by the end of the Season.”

  “This Season?” Thomas tried to keep his face blank, but no doubt Lavinia could see the skepticism that was certain to be there. She was correct. He did have a duty to his sister, but he’d always assumed she would simply remain under his care indefinitely.

  “That’s right.” Lavinia’s lips tightened into a prune-like bunch. “I’ve waited long enough. It’s high time I marry.”

  It was beyond high time. At thirty-two, Lavinia was five years older than Thomas, and firmly and solidly on the shelf. She’d had had a debut many years ago and had nearly been married to Thomas’s good friend, Lord Owen Monroe. But his other sister, Alexandra, had been madly in love with Monroe for years, and had eventually convinced both Owen’s parents and their parents to allow the match. Even though Lavinia hadn’t given a toss about Owen, she had flown into a rage, as usual, and spent the next several years doing as she pleased. Thomas suspected the worry over Lavinia’s behavior had led, at least in part, to the heart condition that had taken their father’s life several years later.

  In the years since he’d become duke, this was the first time Thomas had ever had a discussion with Lavinia about taking a husband. He’d merely assumed, as they all had, that she was completely … well, unmarriageable. His sister was beautiful, educated, and poised. But she had an adder’s tongue and the disposition to match. The woman was a shrew, plain and simple.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m not certain I—”

  Lavinia held up a hand. “If you’re about to refuse me, I suggest you rethink your words. We both know that I was Father’s favorite. He would want this for me. I’ve been in mourning, perhaps longer than I should have been, but now I want a husband, and I intend to have one.”

  She was blaming her lack of a husband on her mourning? Convenient. Lavinia always got what Lavinia wanted. Or, more correctly, what she demanded. But she also knew exactly what to say to Thomas to affect him. Lavinia had been Father’s favorite. And Thomas had been his least favorite. Or, more correctly, Thomas and his father had fought at nearly every opportunity. Including the last time Thomas ever saw him alive. Lavinia may have contributed to his father’s heart problem, but Thomas had put the nail in the man’s coffin, a fact he’d had to live with for the last decade, a fact he would carry with him the rest of his life.

  Thomas tapped his fingers along the desktop in front of him. “Do you … have anyone in mind?”

  Her face registered no emotion. She waved a hand in the air. “I assume you’ll be able to come up with someone adequate.”

  Thomas racked his brain. None of the gentlemen of his acquaintance would be interested in Lavinia,
and he frankly wouldn’t wish his awful sister on any of them. The odds of Lavinia finding a husband calculated themselves inside his brain. Not favorable. Not at all. “I’m sorry, Lavinia, it’s just that I … had assumed you were no longer interested in marriage.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “I may no longer be a lass of eighteen, but I’m still a member of one of the best families in London, and I expect you will provide me with a sizable dowry. One that will attract the sort of suitor I deserve.”

  Deserve? Thomas wasn’t certain who she deserved. Or who deserved her. But she was correct about her dowry. If he raised it a bit, the odds of her finding a husband would increase. He might have to raise it substantially, he thought with a grimace.

  “What else do I have?” Her voice took on a weepy quality, and she produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes in an attempt to convince him she was crying. “Alexandra is already married. I expect you’ll marry eventually, and when you do, I cannot imagine your new duchess will be pleased to have your elder sister lingering about the house.”

  Thomas settled back in his chair and watched her. He didn’t believe for a moment she was truly upset, but she made a good point. Perhaps Lavinia was right. Perhaps it would help both of them to see her married.

  The handkerchief quickly fell away from her face. “I expect to have an arrangement by the end of the Season.” She stood and made her way to the door. “I’m depending upon you, Thomas.” She turned back slowly with a snide smile on her face. Her false tears had quickly dried. “If you fail, I can make your life quite unpleasant.”

  Thomas shook his head. Of course, she had to end with a threat. Typical of Lavinia. “Have a lovely day, sister dear.”

  She exited the room without sparing him another look. Thomas leaned back in his chair, ran a hand through his hair, and groaned. Damn. He hadn’t seen this coming. Lavinia wanted a husband? How the hell was he supposed to make that happen? He’d spent the last decade of his life figuring out things he knew little about and mastering them, but becoming a matchmaker just might well be beyond his skills.

  When he’d taken on the role of duke, his entire life had changed. He’d gone from a carefree young marquess attending Oxford, to a man with a slew of important and varied responsibilities. He hadn’t thought he could do it. Not at first. But he’d studied and learned and made every effort to become the man his father would have wanted him to become. A man his mother and sisters could be proud of. Not that Lavinia was proud. But Al was. And so was Mother. His carefree days were cut short, and the load of responsibility was placed heavily upon him, and he’d managed it all, while being loyal to his friends, like his good friend, Will.

  He and Will had grown up together. Spent their childhoods together. Will had been the stable boy on Thomas’s father’s estate. After the former duke died, Thomas had promoted his friend to the role of his valet. Will was a questionable-at-best valet, but Thomas didn’t care. Will had been teased unmercifully in his youth for his stuttering problem, and he and Thomas had got into more than one fistfight with other boys over it. Thomas had never let Will fight alone. The difference in their stations didn’t matter to him and never had.

  Thomas Hobbs was loyal and dutiful if he was anything, and if his sister wanted a husband, he would do his damnedest to find her one.

  As luck would have it, his closest friend happened to be a matchmaker. Delilah would know what to do. He’d call upon her for assistance. He would ask Delilah to find a husband for Lavinia. It might be the most difficult match she’d ever make, but if anyone could do it, it was she.

  Of course, it would open the door for Delilah and her friend Lucy to ask him for the thousandth time why he refused to take a wife. But he would simply continue to put them off. For Thomas had a very good reason for pretending not to be interested in marriage. A very good reason indeed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Delilah flew into Lucy Hunt’s library. The large room was lined with its requisite bookshelves, but it was also cluttered with the items they’d been collecting all summer for the set of their performance. The tree, moss, and donkey ears Delilah had contributed sat on a table near the center of the room, along with a host of similar things.

  Cassandra Swift, the Countess of Swifdon—one of Lucy’s closest friends—sat in the corner, painting a large tree on a swath of fabric. With her honey-blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes, Cass was a beautiful artist and had been commissioned to paint the sets for their production. Delilah’s cousin by marriage, Danielle Cavendish, occupied another corner, where she and a team of maids had been tasked with sewing all of the costumes.

  In addition to Derek Hunt, some of their other friends were there, including Lord Owen Monroe, Cass’s husband, Julian, the Earl of Swifdon, and Lucy’s cousin, Garrett, the Earl of Upbridge. The men were busy carrying in additional items needed for the play.

  “Delilah, there you are.” Lucy floated over to greet her. The duchess was gorgeous and diminutive with black curly hair and two different colored eyes, one hazel, the other blue. She twirled in a circle, her green skirts flaring around her ankles. “It’s coming together nicely, don’t you think?”

  Delilah nodded and glanced around at the chaos. “Yes, what else do we need?”

  Lucy tapped a finger against her cheek. “A lantern, a bush, a scroll, and a toy dog, if we can get one.”

  Delilah raised one finger in the air. “I think I can get a stuffed dog.”

  “Perfect, dear,” Lucy replied with a smile and a nod.

  Delilah narrowed her eyes in thought. “A real one wouldn’t be acceptable, would it?”

  “I don’t think so, dear. Seems like that might quickly turn into trouble.”

  “You have a point. I’ve been hiding everything in my bedchamber all summer,” Delilah said with a smile. “Mother never comes to visit me in my bedchamber. J’adore the privacy, of course, but I do think if I were hiding an actual dog in there, she might find out.”

  At mention of Delilah’s mother, Lucy rolled her unusually colored eyes. “Yes, well, I just came from the meeting of the Royal Society for the Humane Treatment of Animals, and Lady Rothwell was delighted when I told her the sets for the play were nearly complete. Step lively, boys,” Lucy said to the men, “there are still many things in the carriages.”

  Owen and Julian shuffled out again. Derek stopped to give his wife a welcoming kiss on top of the head before following them.

  Lucy wandered over to the moss that Garrett had left on the table. “We’ll need more of this. I want the stage to look like a real forest in the middle of the night.”

  “Yes,” Delilah agreed. “There’s not much sense in doing it if we don’t do it correctly.”

  Letting the paper moss float back to the table, Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “I’ve had to keep the children away from the fairy wings for days. Mary and Ralph insist they want to be in the play.”

  Delilah clapped her hands together. “You should let them, Lucy. No doubt they’d be excellent and have so much fun.”

  “Yes, but, they’re only five and six years old. I seriously doubt they’ll be able to remain awake all evening. Otherwise, I would allow them to.”

  Delilah laughed. “I suppose a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a bit much for small children.”

  Lucy reached up to push away one dark curl from her forehead. “I’d love to cast Cass’s daughter in it since she’s older, but it seems the girl has no interest in performing. She’s shy like her mother, the dear.”

  Lucy glanced over to Cass, who remained painting in the corner. Cass turned to them with a smile. “I’d much rather be painting than acting. And Bella would be a bundle of nerves on a stage.”

  “We know, dear,” Lucy replied, smiling back. “We know. She’s a gorgeous child, however, and quite as kind and lovely as her mother. Don’t worry. We’ll cast someone else as the last fairy.”

  “That reminds me.” Delilah marched over to the desk in the corner
by the window and picked up a board with a list tacked to it. “Let’s go over the cast again. We only have a few small parts that still need to be filled and not much time to fill them.”

  “Very well.” Lucy strolled over to the window and looked out at the men unloading more of the decorations from the carriage.

  Meanwhile, Delilah held a quill against the paper. “You and Derek are Titania and Oberon, of course.”

  Lucy clasped her hands together. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to dress like a fairy princess. One has so little opportunity to dress like a fairy princess in life,” she finished with a sigh.

  Delilah tapped the end of the quill against her lips. “I quite agree. It’s a situation of which full advantage must be taken.”

  Lucy came to stand next to Delilah and peered over her shoulder at the list. “Julian is Duke Theseus,” she said. “Alex was supposed to be Hippolyta, but now that she’s told us she’s with child, we must find someone else for that part.”

  “Cousin Rafe is Nick Bottom,” Delilah added. “And Jane is Hermia.”

  Lucy nodded. “Garrett is Lysander. You are Helena.”

  A smile spread across Delilah’s face. “That leaves Thomas as Demetrius.”

  “I still say I should have been cast as Puck.” Thomas strolled into the room carrying an armful of paper leaves. Delilah glanced over at him and laughed. Thomas was tall and slim with dark hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in the simple, unfrumpy way of his: dark gray trousers, a sapphire overcoat, a white waistcoat with a white shirt, and a cravat tied in a highly questionable manner. His polished black boots completed his ensemble.

  They’d met at a ball when Delilah was thirteen and Thomas was seventeen and had been thick as thieves ever since. Delilah, who had been too young to be there in the first place, had snuck inside and said something cynical about Lady Hammock’s turban. When Thomas made a similar comment, she asked him to sit next to her, and they’d spent the remainder of the ball talking and laughing uproariously together.