Page 1 of A Fake Courtship with the Duke
Prologue
Anne Huxley nervously clutched a flute of champagne, nursing it gently to make it last as long as possible to prevent the need to fetch another and risk drawing attention to herself. The grand ballroom of her family’s estate was alive with cheery music, graceful dancers, and animated conversations all around her. The crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the glossy wood floor, making the purple line patterns arranged on the dance floor in such a way as to help guide the dancers shimmer like thin, regal pools.
The pale lavender walls of the ballroom added to the sense of royalty to the room, and the pink swags that curved between the pillars that separated the musician’s gallery and the refreshment setup on opposite sides of the room from the dance floor and mingling circle just outside the dancing area. Both areas were lit by their own smaller chandeliers, showcasing the crisp black and white suits of the orchestra members and the champagne flutes, wine glasses and array of cheeses, bread, fruit and cakes, respectively.
The orchestra's latest cotillion filled the air and several couples displayed perfect grace as they performed the dance. Laughter blended seamlessly with the music, creating a cheerful, lighthearted atmosphere. Yet, amidst the splendor and grandeur of the party, Anne Huxley felt anything but at ease. She noticed with chagrin that her glass was nearly empty, and she would have to weave her way through clusters of party guests to get another. And in her bright yellow gown that her mother, the viscountess of Huxley, had insisted she wear, she was sure to draw eyes right to her. Especially the eyes of her distant cousin, who had been relentlessly pursuing her all evening.
Her jade green eyes darted around the room, searching for Albert Harrow. Her distant cousin was a man whose ambition far outweighed his charm. On that evening, he was also fueled by the spirits being served at the party, which made him even bolder in his advances toward her. The hungry gleam in his eyes was impossible to miss, and his endless chasing and sloppy attempts at trapping her in conversation all evening had left Anne on edge.
Shuddering at the idea of having to dance with her distasteful cousin, Anne decided she would take a chance on slipping over to the refreshment tables. She ducked into the crowd as though she was heading for the entryway to the ballroom, intending to slip around the crowd and sneak up to the tables from behind them. There, she could hide behind one of the pillars and maintain a vantage point that would allow her to keep an eye out for the insufferable man.
She was just about to round the first pillar that stood between the refreshment tables and the dance floor, just paces from the outermost dancers, when a figure bumped into her. She had her eyes on the ground, but she recognized the deep purple breeches and matching boots immediately.
“Pardon me, Albert,” she mumbled, hoping he was at last too inebriated to stop her from getting away.
She was terribly mistaken. He reached out and took her hand, a gentlemanly gesture in itself, but his grip spoke of his determination to not release her.
“Anne, my beloved,” he drawled, the alcohol on his breath seeping into the air and nearly choking Anne. “Where have you been hiding? I’ve been looking for you.”
Anne lifted her gaze, carefully avoiding her cousin’s, pretending to be searching for someone.
“I need to speak to Mother,” she said quickly, attempting to sound as though it was an urgent matter.
Albert pretended as though she hadn’t spoken. He raised her hand to his lips, planting a kiss across her knuckles. Even with her gloves, she could feel the drool he left in the wake of his sloppy kiss, and her stomach churned.
“I must insist that you dance with me before the evening ends,” he said. “In fact, I would have no complaints if you should decide to dance the final waltz with me.”
Anne’s stomach flipped again, and she feared that her champagne would end up all over the front of her cousin’s coat. Being fifteen years her senior, his hair was graying at the temples and in streaks all over what remained of his black hair. But that wasn’t what repulsed her. He was looking at her like a lion might look at a gazelle before pouncing to gain its meal. She shook her head, trying to free herself from Albert’s sickening grasp.
“I really must find Mother,” she said, glancing around wildly for any sign of the viscountess. She knew that, if her mother knew her cousin was trying to engage her, the viscountess would encourage it. But if she could get away before her cousin realized she was lying, it wouldn’t matter. She would flee and hide in the gardens if she had to. Anything to get away from her horrid cousin.
Filled with desperation, she made a hasty move to escape Albert. She thought that if she could just disappear into the clusters of guests surrounding them, he would be too alcohol influenced to be able to follow her. It was a good plan, until the long, flowing train of her ballgown got caught under the feet of her drunken cousin. She didn’t realize the problem until she tripped and began falling, face first, into a tall, stand supporting a large tray that was filled with crystal champagne flutes.
With a loud crash, the stand, the tray and the flutes fell to the ground. The shattering crystal echoed all throughout the ballroom, even over the sounds of the orchestra’s music. Theentire ballroom froze as though under a magic spell. All eyes focused on Anne and the mess at her feet, and she wished with everything in her that she could melt into the spilled champagne and broken glass that lay on the floor.
She stood, frozen in horror, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She wanted to close her eyes to block out the mess she had made, but even her eyelids were stuck. It seemed that the only thing that was capable of moving was her heart, which was pounding faster than a racing horse. And the murmurs of the guests around her that began as she tried to catch her breath did nothing to alleviate her distress.
“More of her scandalous tendencies,” she heard one woman say in a tone that did little to make her think it was meant to be unheard by her.
“How shameful for her family,” whispered a man who was just out of her line of sight to her right.
Tears stung Anne’s eyes, yet not a single one of them fell. She was surprised that her cousin hadn’t said a word to her in the minutes since the flutes smashed to the ground. Then, another voice rang out, not trying at all to be hushed.
“No wonder she remains unwed after two seasons,” a woman with a high-pitched voice said. It was a familiar voice, but Anne couldn’t bring herself to lift her head to match the face to the voice.Won’t the floor open up and swallow me to remove me from this nightmare?She pleaded helplessly.
Naturally, no such rescue came. From the edge of her vision, she watched as her cousin, despite his previous state of inebriation, managed to slip away through the crowd, completely unnoticed in the wake of the incident that had drawn everyone’s attention to her. A sob lodged itself in her throat, and she wished in a desperate moment that she could call to him, even though she could barely tolerate the sight of him. But he vanished before she could find her voice, leaving her all alonein the mess she’d made. The whispers were turning into louder, clearer admonishments and exclamations of disdain, and the room suddenly seemed too small for Anne to breathe.
Abandoning any remaining semblance of decorum, Anne turned on her heel and made a dash for the ballroom entryway. She had the presence enough of mind to gather her skirts before she took off running, thus eliminating any further trip hazard. She moved just fast enough to stun the gawking crowd, and no one tried to stop her. She succeeded in exiting the ballroom, turning blindly down the hallway that would eventually take her to the common area of her family’s townhouse. She had no destination in mind, she only meant to flee the judgmental crowd of party guests. She had just gotten out of earshot of the ballroom when she began to sob, her vision blinded by hot tears.
She ran until she reached the servant’s entrance that led to the gardens at the side of her family’s home. She burst through the door, falling to her hands and knees onto the cool, damp grass. She cried for several moments, gripping onto the grass as though hanging on for dear life. Even though she knew it was impossible, she thought she could still feel eyes boring into her. The sensation became so overwhelming that after another couple of minutes of sobbing, she had to pull herself off the ground and weave her way through the maze of hedges and rose bushes that led to the center of the gardens.
Once she was far enough away from the townhouse to shake the feeling of all those eyes on her, she finally slowed her pace. She wiped furiously at the tears streaming down her cheeks, then pressed her face into a nearby hedge full of soft, cold green leaves. The coolness of the plant offered her a miniscule comfort, and it allowed her the chance to catch her breath. She knew she would have to face her family soon enough about how horribly she had embarrassed them. But right that moment, she didn’tcare. In fact, if she was lucky, they would never force her to attend another social event ever again.
As she was dabbing at the last of her tears with the hem of her outer skirt, she heard a muffled cry. She held her breath, trying to identify the sound and the direction from whence it came. When she heard it again, she turned to her left, tiptoeing down the narrow path between a long row of hedges identical to the one in which she had planted her face moments before. As she walked, she noticed that the cry sounded closer, so she slowed her pace.
It took her three turns through the strategically placed rose bushes to finally locate the source of the sound. It took her a minute and some careful maneuvering to see what produced such a tiny cry. But at last, in a small sliver of crescent moonlight that shone directly beneath a bush of orange roses, she spotted a tiny, trembling bundle of dirt matted, ginger colored fur.
A little kitten, no older than three or four weeks coiled its little body, rocking sideways in a clumsy attempt to lash out at Anne. She gasped softly, the condition of the small feline melting her heart and filling her with a sudden, overwhelming sensation of protectiveness. She reached down, carefully scooping up the tiny, frail bundle of dirty fur. The kitten hissed almost inaudibly, swiping at her with a paw that was barely as big as one of Anne’s fingers.
