Page 19 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke
Duncan took the glass and downed half. “I will not deny it; Ihavemissed you all. Who would not miss the friends who have abandoned you?”
“Come now,” Lionel protested. “We have not abandoned you.”
“I saw you four times last year,” Duncan replied with a raised eyebrow. “What is that if not abandonment?”
Edmund smiled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “When you have convinced some poor lady to marry you, you will understand. It is not that we want to spend less time with you, my good man, it is that there is less time to spend with friends. I swear, once you have a child, life moves at ten times the pace.”
“And I would not exchange it for anything,” Lionel interjected, his eyes shining with love for the wife who was miles away in London. “The two of you really should hurry up and find yourselves a wife. It is… remarkable. It is the best gift in the world.”
Vincent nearly spat out the mouthful of brandy he had just sipped. “Iam in no hurry,” he said, dabbing his mouth. “Sometimes, I think I will not bother at all. When you have been surrounded by women your entire life, there is less inclination to bring a new one into your home, by choice. No offence to you,Lionel, but I plan to enjoy some peace before I even consider taking a wife.”
Lionel frowned, apparently forgetting that there was a time, not too long ago, when he had been equally averse to the idea of marriage. Then again, maybe that was the reason why he was so determined to get everyone else to marry—becausehismind had been changed, his friends’ minds could be changed too.
“I suppose I can understand that,” Lionel said with a shrug. “But what of you, Lockie? Surely, you cannot continue being a libertine forever?”
Edmund sat back in his chair. “Speaking of which, where did you disappear to?”
“Disappear? I do not know what you mean,” Duncan replied, putting on an expression that was the very picture of innocence.
There was no way that his friends could have seen him slip out of the ballroom to sneak to the library. Indeed, he had not even known they were there until two minutes ago.
“I saw you head out into the gardens,” Edmund replied. “I was coming over to greet you, then off you went, slinking out like a fox on his way to the henhouse.”
Duncan pulled what he trusted was a confused face and drank the rest of his brandy to buy himself a moment. “I did what everyone does when they venture outside during a ball—I took insome fresh air, wandered awhile, and did my very best to see if there was anything scandalous afoot.”
“Was there?” Vincent asked, pouring more for the quartet.
“Alas not,” Duncan replied. “Perhaps, it is a dull ball after all.”
Though I have had at least one thrill…It would take him a while to forget the sight of Valeria in that gown, the blaze of her auburn hair, the moonlight gleam of her pale skin, the hitch of her breath as she looked into his eyes. Even now, he wondered what she would have done if he had kissed her; rather, how badly his cheek would be stinging, and how long the handprint would last.
He had not enjoyed himself so much in ages.
“You still have not answered my question,” Lionel pointed out. “When are you going to settle, Lockie?”
Vincent snorted. “I reckon around the time that the sun starts rising from the west and setting in the east.”
“No, no, I think when pigs start flying,” Edmund remarked. “I have been keeping watch. As of now, I have seen only birds, but who knows?”
Duncan smiled, shaking his head. “I do not know why Vincent is given leniency from your teasing because he grew up surrounded by women. Should that not, in truth, make it easierfor him to find a wife? There is nothing a woman likes so much as a man who is familiar with women and all their odd habits.”
“A fair point.” Edmund grinned, relaxing. “In all seriousness, Lockie, it is as much a matter of legacy as finding happiness. It is on your shoulders to secure the future of your title and name. As Duke of Thornhill, it is your duty.”
There was a stillness in their corner of the smoking room, the four men holding a weighted silence for a moment. They knew what Duncan had endured, they knew his situation, they knew that he was not alone because he had chosen to be.
“It is harder to do,” Duncan broke the silence, a wry smile upon his lips, “when the duty was never supposed to be yours.”
Lionel sighed, the way a wearied father might. “Perhaps, old boy, but even second sons have families.”
“Indeed,” Vincent agreed, “being a second son is not an immediate initiation into perpetual bachelorhood. They marry, they have children, they do—I hear—go on to live very happy and fulfilled lives. The duty would still be there, even if the situation was different.”
Duncan laughed, groaning as he tilted his head up to the ceiling. “You are supposed to offer sympathy!” he protested, forcing amusement into his voice. “What is the purpose of a dead brother, a dead family, if I cannot have pity whenever I please? It is supposed to get meoutof things, not add more urgency.”
Edmund chuckled, the sound faintly sad. “Of course, you shall always have our sympathy.”
“I sense a caveat,” Duncan replied, his eyebrow raised.
“You are a duke, Lockie,” Edmund said. “You need a duchess at some point. A lady born to be one who can, at the very least, rein you into some form of seriousness. I realize that ‘rake’ and ‘duke’ share two letters, but it is high time you exchanged one fully for the other.”
