How to Capture a Duke(3)

"So he lacks a name?" Madeline asked, her voice calm, though her lips  extended upward briefly, before she hastened to sip her tea. "I look  forward to meeting such an extraordinary person."

Fiona averted her eyes. Her gaze fell on the tea caddy. Dust clung to  the mahogany box, and Fiona brushed her finger over the wood. Visitors  were not common at Cloudbridge Castle.

"He is said to espouse all the best possible qualities," Grandmother declared.

"Indeed?" Madeline tilted her head, and for one blissful moment Fiona  thought the woman seemed uneasy. The baroness's eyes soon narrowed. "To  think you met someone here, without any assistance. And how unlikely  that he should be in possession of such apparent brilliance."

"Ah, but you forget that Fiona is brilliant herself." Grandmother's eyes  softened. "I was so concerned about her future and was relieved to find  she was engaged all along."

"Secretly!" Fiona hastened to add. "A secret engagement. In fact, we met in London, during my season."

"Those two weeks?" Madeline's eyebrows pushed up.

"Which was why Fiona was so eager to return home," Grandmother added,  but her voice faltered somewhat, and her gaze rested on Fiona too long.

"I see," Madeline said. "Likely even our grandmother has not had the good fortune of meeting this ideal man."

Fiona coughed now, and this time the cough felt real.                       
       
           



       

"Well I am sure that now all the soldiers are being returned home, you  will have no more need for discretion." Madeline smoothed the folds of  her dress. A ruby ring sparkled from her finger against the green  fabric. "One week. Grandmother will desire the meeting as well. You  wouldn't want her to suspect you invented the man!"

Madeline laughed, and Grandmother joined her after a trace of hesitation that Fiona despised.

Fiona wanted Grandmother to believe what happened three years before  hadn't mattered. She couldn't stand the thought of Grandmother  continuing to worry about her, all the while being visited by doctors  with increasing frequency and expense. "He'll be there!"

"Wonderful." Her cousin rose.

"I only hope he'll be able to make his journey over to Yorkshire safely. Perhaps he'll be delayed-"

"The man's survived the worst war mankind has ever seen," Madeline said. "He'll be fine."

"I'm so happy for you." Grandmother's eyes took on a blissful, dreamy  expression, one Fiona knew well, but which she had seen too little of  ever since the doctors' sober news. It was that expression that kept  Fiona from admitting that she'd lied last year in a foolish attempt to  keep Grandmother from worrying about her future.

Fiona rubbed a hand against her hair, and another curl dropped from her chignon.

"Unless there's a problem." Madeline smirked. "Sometimes when men don't  see their betrothed for long periods of time, they find they do not  anticipate the meeting with the requisite eagerness. Perhaps-"

Fiona's lips settled into a firm line. "The captain is devoted and true.  He is kind and brave and dashing. He is everything a man should be."

Madeline offered her a wobbly smile. "Marvelous."

Fiona raised her chin and struggled to maintain a composed face. She had  no desire to suffer humiliation from the ton, but there was no way in  which she would allow the truth of her behavior to reach her  grandmother. Even if concocting a fiancé might not be specifically  warned against in etiquette books, the consequences of being found out  would be no doubt distressing.

"Then I will leave." Madeline's emerald green skirts swept against the  furniture, and she exited the room with as much determination as she had  entered it. She paused to glance at the ceiling.

Fiona followed her cousin's gaze. Shapely goddesses with white wigs and  scant attire stared at her. No doubt they would think Fiona repugnant as  they perched from their fluffy ivory clouds, their pale, unfreckled  skin raised toward the sun. None of them would invent fiancés.

"Really, you should have this restored. There are many treasures here.  Aunt Lavinia says when-" Her cousin halted and her cheeks pinkened.  "Never mind. I am happy for you."

"Thank you," Fiona squeaked.

Anyway. It would be easy.

All she had to do was find a fiancé.

In four days. In the middle of nowhere.

When no man had ever expressed an interest in her before.

How hard would it be to find a man by Monday? She didn't need to marry  the fellow. In fact, he needn't even attend the ball. He just needed to  prove his existence, a feat that would suffice in impressing the others.  If she only succeeded in introducing somebody to Grandmother, all would  be fine.

Or mostly fine.





Chapter Two




Madeline's coach lurched forward and jostled over the cobblestones. Her  cousin might be flinging herself into a glamorous new life, a  continuation of her glamorous former life, but Fiona had more serious  things to concern herself with.

She sped through the vacant corridors of Cloudbridge Castle. No flowers  were in season to fill the elaborate Chinese vases, and the empty  porcelain and jade sat alone on carved sideboards. Fiona pushed open the  door to her room.

Painted portraits of her ancestors peered at her from gilded frames hung  over long faded wallpaper. Sturdy medieval chests squatted beside  slender-legged French chairs, a haphazard assortment of furniture  unified only in that the pieces were unclaimed from more important  relatives.

Uncle Seymour had taken the longcase clock that had once merrily ticked  across from her bed, citing a sentimental connection to her grandfather  that Fiona could not share, since she had never known him, and a need to  determine the time that Fiona could not grasp, since nothing she did  was of any importance anyway.

Fiona strode past her bed, draped with a stiff canopy, toward the view. A  stack of Loretta Van Lochen books, a recent indulgence, sat on a table  beside her bed. She wished she might lose herself in a story filled with  handsome highwaymen and seductive spies now.                       
       
           



       

She pulled a pamphlet titled Matchmaking for Wallflowers from below the  stack of romances. Her sister had given it to her last year, and Fiona  skimmed the bright pages that showed cheerful women wearing pince-nez  grasping the arms of tall Corinthians. It was unlikely there would be  anything of use, but she flung the pamphlet into her satchel.

She heaved on her woolen cloak. She yanked her sturdiest boots over her  calves and tied the laces with an expertise most women of her class took  pride in lacking. Her lady's maid had long resigned herself to taking  more time assisting Fiona with her special projects than with the  clothes she'd been trained for.

Fiona exited her bedroom and descended the staircase.

Fiona bade a hasty farewell to Grandmother, told her she might spend the  night at her sister's estate, and then departed the manor house before  Grandmother could bombard her with questions. Perhaps Rosamund might  offer her some advice.

She marched toward the stables. The wind slammed against her, and the  thick auburn curls that made even the most somber outfits seem  ridiculous and were impossible to tame spilled from her hood. She nodded  at the groom. "Please prepare Ned."

"But the weather-"

"I'll be fine."

The groom stiffened. "Very well, m'lady. Shall I accompany you?"

She shook her head. She traveled with a knife, and she had little  inclination to force the groom to ride in this weather to preserve her  reputation, when riding with a man might also damage it. "I'll ride  astride."

The groom nodded, accustomed to her eccentricities. She sighed. She  couldn't even present herself as a fine lady to her servants; no wonder  she'd failed so miserably as a debutante.

The wind gathered in more force, thrusting its way through the trees,  tearing any remaining leaves down. Dull orange carpeted the ground, and  the leaves scraped her boots with each new gust.

Fiona shifted her legs, but before she could reconsider, Ned stood  before her. The mare's brown coat gleamed, and she stroked the horse's  face. The groom assisted her onto the saddle.

Fiona gave a curt nod and urged Ned forward.

Harsh wind brushed against her, and her curls toppled from her hat anew.  She pressed her hand against the furry contraption, but the wind  continued to bluster, tearing off her hat. Red locks swirled before her  eyes, and she raked her hand through her hair, conscious of the groom's  eyes still fixed on her. One benefit of having a large estate was that  there were few men to scandalize with her reluctance to ride sidesaddle.  Even Marie Antoinette had at one time favored riding astride, and she  did not have an archaeological site to tend to.