ONE
“Oh, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in’t!”
-William Shakespeare, The Tempest
Tempest Manning stood at the edge of the ballroom, her mouth agape, hardly able to gain her composure with the man of her every dream, whether awake or in sleep, so near. Never mind that he currently twirled another girl about the ballroom—she’d not fault him for that. After all, he had no idea he and Tempest were destined to be married. But as certainly as the sun rose in the sky, they would be.
Duchess of St. Helens…Her Grace, the Duchess of St. Helens…Tempest Wright, the Duchess of St. Helens…
Whatever way she said it in her mind, it sounded regal and romantic and absolutely perfect. Far better than Tempest Manning, daughter of a poor Shakespearean scholar. Not that she didn’t love and respect her father and his brilliance, but…
She sighed as the duke twirled his partner one last time and then bowed to her, a lock of his dark hair falling over one eye. Then he straightened and headed for the doors that led from the ballroom out to the great hall. This was her moment. Her chance to accidentally bump into him. Her opportunity to make him notice her and, of course, fall madly in love with her.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Tempest turned on her heel, fleeing her spot at the edge of the dance floor and making a beeline for the exit at the other end of the ballroom. She would cut him off somewhere in the corridor, hopefully far from prying eyes. Or perhaps she wanted prying eyes. Especially if they were wont to spread gossip, thereby forcing the duke’s hand. Sure, it sounded somewhat nefarious when one looked at it so plainly, but the fact of the matter was that His Grace and Tempest were meant to be. Like Romeo and Juliet. Antony and Cleopatra. Samson and Delilah. Never mind that not a single one of those relationships ended terribly well. She and the duke would be the exception.
Even if he was angry with her for trapping him or frustrated that he had not been able to choose his own bride, he would surely be over it quickly, for Tempest was quite lovable and most certainly marriageable. If she did say so herself.
She was about to step out into the corridor, and she was going at quite a pace, so when a bony hand grabbed her arm and yanked her backward, she nearly fell onto her bum.
“Where is it you’re going, my dear?”
Blast! “Nowhere, Mama,” Tempest said, trying to keep her heartbeat steady and her tone just as even. “I was merely…taking a stroll.”
“A stroll? At such a pace?” Mama raised a brow, and her grey eyes pierced straight through her. “And…alone?”
Tempest gave a nervous giggle. “Of course not, Mama dearest. I knew you were right behind me.” You always are.
Mama shook her head and then turned her attention to the dance floor. “Is your card not full?”
Tempest took a deep breath in through her nose. There wasn’t a single name on her dance card, and she preferred to keep it that way. She’d turned down every gentleman who’d asked her to stand up with them tonight in favor of tracking the duke’s every move and planning the moment when she’d have him alone.
The look in Mama’s eyes told her she already knew the answer—and why wouldn’t she? She spent every moment looking over Tempest’s shoulder.
“No, it is not,” Tempest replied, feeling the need to stand up straighter and stick her chin into the air. It seemed as if an argument was in the offing.
Then Mama surprised her. She simply closed her eyes and shook her head. Again. “Come along,” she said, looping her arm through Tempest’s. “You shall stand with me while I keep an eye on your sisters.”
Tempest fought the urge to snort. There was little need to watch over Verona—she would sit against the wall all evening, waiting in earnest for the moment she could go home and get back to her books. And Robin was most certainly a lost cause. No man wanted a reckless hoyden for a wife. Although, she supposed one must keep an eye on the girl anyway, so as to keep her from engaging in arm wrestling contests or shooting matches with the few gentlemen who found her boyishness amusing.
Tempest spotted her youngest sister on the other side of the assembly hall, guzzling down a cup of lemonade. Her posture was that of an ill giraffe, and even from across the room, Tempest could see there was a stain on her dress, right in the middle of her rather large breasts. The poor dear. Of all the people to have a large bosom. She complained constantly of how they slowed her down when climbing trees or racing the neighbor boys. Of course, she always won the races anyway, just not by as much as she’d like.
A quick glance down at her own unsoiled dress and small, pert breasts, made Tempest wonder, once again, how she could be related to her sisters. They were all different as night and day. Yet, there was no one on earth Tempest would defend more fiercely than the two of them. Oh, and Bianca, of course, but she was the eldest and long gone from the house. Though in looks and personality, she was the closest to Tempest.
“How will I ever get your sisters married off?” Mama muttered, clearly observing the disaster that was Robin.
“Oh, Mama,” she returned. “You mustn’t worry so. I’m certain Verona will find a nice boy in the village who appreciates how learned she is, and Robin…well, even if she doesn’t marry, I’m certain she will somehow turn the world upside down.”
“And you?”
I’d be halfway to the altar by now if you hadn’t stopped me. “What about me?”
“Denying gentlemen the right to dance with you is not going to win you any points on the marriage mart, my dear.”
“Yes, well, there is nothing wrong with being discerning. I’ll not dance with every Thomas, Richard or Harrison who comes my way.” There was only one Harrison she wished to dance with.
“Then with whom will you dance?”
Tempest shrugged. “I will know when the right one comes along.”
Mama shook her head again. She always did when Tempest turned romantic, which was rather ironic since she herself had married Papa for love. There wasn’t much else to marry him for, unless she was so very impressed with his knowledge of The Bard. Which she wasn’t. As a matter of fact, she rolled her eyes every time he quoted one of Shakespeare’s plays or sonnets. It was a wonder her eyes hadn’t rolled completely out of her head by now, for Papa rarely opened his mouth without a quote coming out.
“Why, ’tis a happy thing/To be the father unto many daughters.”
Speak of the Devil…
“Papa, you know that’s not how it goes,” Tempest said, as her father came up beside her, and Mama rolled her eyes again, this time with a rather loud sigh.
Papa shrugged as he always did when Tempest corrected him. “’Tis my privilege to take liberties with Mr. Shakespeare’s words.”
“Perhaps he is spinning in his grave right now,” Tempest pressed.
“’Tis a chance I’m forced to take, since I was blessed with daughters and not sons.”
Mama shifted. It always made her uncomfortable to speak of her inability to give Papa a son. Not that he cared. He loved his four daughters fiercely, as well as his wife. It was his decree, after a difficult confinement with Robin, that Mama would not bear another child. It was rather romantic, if you asked Tempest.
“I see your sister is making quite a splash in the ballroom this evening.”
“If you’re speaking of the splash of lemonade across her dress, then yes, you are correct.”
Papa laughed. He found Robin amusing, much to Mama’s chagrin. Mama would prefer her youngest to behave with decorum and propriety, but Papa wouldn’t change a single thing about her. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t change a thing about any of his girls. It was a lovely thing to know one’s father cared for them just as they were.
Tempest tucked her hand into the crook of Papa’s elbow. “She is lucky to have such a father,” she said to him, but the twinkle in his sky blue eyes told her he knew she meant she too was lucky. “Now, I’m afraid I must excuse myself to the ladies retiring room.”
Mama didn’t hesitate. “I shall join you,” she said, turning in tandem with Tempest.
“Be not so hasty, my lovely,” Papa said, cutting her off and taking her by the hand. “You’ve yet to dance with me tonight, and I’ll not leave here until you do.”
“Oh, heavens, Marvin,” Mama said, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. “I’m too old to dance.”
She said this every time, and Papa always replied, “Yet you’re even more beautiful than the first time I danced with you all those years ago.”
Of course, Mama couldn’t resist his charms, and off they went onto the dance floor, giving Tempest the perfect opening to make her escape.
~*~
Harrison Wright, the Duke of St. Helens, could not stand a single moment longer in the company of his overbearing mother. She meant well, he knew that. But damn and blast, he wouldn’t be forced into marriage with some dim-witted ninny just because she came from a prestigious family. Truth be told, he wouldn’t be forced into marriage at all—dim-witted ninny or otherwise.
Which was precisely why, as soon as he was able to disentangle himself from the dim-witted ninny he had been forced to dance with, he made a beeline for the ballroom exit. He didn’t know where he was going, neither did he care. He just wanted to get away. Away from Mother, away from the ninnies, away, away, away.
His shoes clicked along the marble floors of the corridor, but once he was a safe distance from the ballroom, he leaned his back up against the cool stone wall and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d done it. He’d escaped. Too bad he couldn’t escape for good, but it would be badly done to leave his mother behind without telling her. With any luck, she would tire soon and he’d be able to take her home and then be left to his own devices. Perhaps he’d go to the club, enjoy the company of his male comrades. Or maybe a trip to see Edith. He much preferred the earthy smell of a woman who had been treading the boards all evening to that of a debutante bathed in perfume. At the very least, she didn’t smell of marriage-mindedness, and that was of utmost importance.
Harrison pushed off the wall with a loud sigh, knowing he couldn’t stay there forever, hiding away from his mother. Which, when one thought about it, seemed awfully childish. He set his feet back in the direction of the ballroom, praying fervently that his mother would be ready to go home upon his return. As he approached the first set of doors, he made the decision to take the long way around so that he might reenter at the furthest possible point of entry. That was his plan anyway. Unfortunately, some black-haired chit came barreling out the doorway, nearly bowling him over when she ran smack into his chest. The force of their collision knocked her back a step or two. He felt, of course, obligated to keep her from falling to her bum.
However, due to another bout of misfortune, he missed her arm by a hairsbreadth, and she careened to the marble floor.
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “I am so very sorry!”
Harrison looked down to see her legs, clad in white stockings, on display for him and any passersby to admire. Damn and blast, this wouldn’t appear proper should anyone come upon them.
He shook his head and turned away. “Your dress, madam,” he said, clearing the desire from his throat, for what man wouldn’t be aroused by the sight of a young maiden’s exposed legs?
“Goodness,” the woman said. “How very humiliating.” Though if Harrison hadn’t known better, he might say she didn’t sound humiliated in the least.
“No need to be embarrassed,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the grey, stone wall.
“You may turn around now.”
He did, only to find the young lady with the wild, black hair still lying stretched out on the floor. Her legs were covered now, but that did little to ease his lust. Especially when she looked at him with those piercing grey eyes. Or were they green? It was hard to tell in the soft glow of the candlelit corridor, but…
Damn and blast, what the devil did it matter what color her blasted eyes were? He had to get her up off the floor and away from him as soon as possible, before they were discovered here, alone.
He reached his hand down and she placed her petite fingers against his. He ignored the jolt he felt at her touch. It was merely the after-effects—or continued effects—of seeing her exposed legs, nothing more. He hauled her up gently, knowing that if he used too much force, she’d smack into him again, and the last thing he wanted was to be caught with an eligible young lady in his arms.
Of course, that didn’t stop her from pretending he’d used too much force. She gave a little hop and pitched herself forward, forcing him to catch her. In his arms. Cunning little wench.
“Thank you,” she breathed as he set her away from his person. And then he took two steps back, just to be safe.
“I would have been quite the cad to leave you lying there,” he said, not wanting to give her the wrong impression of their encounter.
She blinked several times, as if his words had smarted. He was a cad in actuality, and she’d be better off leaving him be.
“Well, thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said again. “And forgive me for causing you delay. I’m certain your wife is waiting eagerly for your return.”
Cunning little wench indeed. He narrowed his eyes on her, but he’d not give her the satisfaction of playing her game. “Indeed, I’m sure she is.”
The girl’s grey-green eyes widened in surprise. A-ha! She was a temptress of the worst sort. She probably knew exactly who he was—she’d probably even orchestrated this little rendezvous. She wouldn’t be the first chit to do something like this. Harrison needed to get out of there as quickly as possible before he found himself leg-shackled to the little shrew.
He tipped his head with a curt, “Good evening,” and then went on his way, back to the safety of the ballroom.
Duchess of St. Helens…Her Grace, the Duchess of St. Helens…Tempest Wright, the Duchess of St. Helens…
Whatever way she said it in her mind, it sounded regal and romantic and absolutely perfect. Far better than Tempest Manning, daughter of a poor Shakespearean scholar. Not that she didn’t love and respect her father and his brilliance, but…
She sighed as the duke twirled his partner one last time and then bowed to her, a lock of his dark hair falling over one eye. Then he straightened and headed for the doors that led from the ballroom out to the great hall. This was her moment. Her chance to accidentally bump into him. Her opportunity to make him notice her and, of course, fall madly in love with her.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Tempest turned on her heel, fleeing her spot at the edge of the dance floor and making a beeline for the exit at the other end of the ballroom. She would cut him off somewhere in the corridor, hopefully far from prying eyes. Or perhaps she wanted prying eyes. Especially if they were wont to spread gossip, thereby forcing the duke’s hand. Sure, it sounded somewhat nefarious when one looked at it so plainly, but the fact of the matter was that His Grace and Tempest were meant to be. Like Romeo and Juliet. Antony and Cleopatra. Samson and Delilah. Never mind that not a single one of those relationships ended terribly well. She and the duke would be the exception.
Even if he was angry with her for trapping him or frustrated that he had not been able to choose his own bride, he would surely be over it quickly, for Tempest was quite lovable and most certainly marriageable. If she did say so herself.
She was about to step out into the corridor, and she was going at quite a pace, so when a bony hand grabbed her arm and yanked her backward, she nearly fell onto her bum.
“Where is it you’re going, my dear?”
Blast! “Nowhere, Mama,” Tempest said, trying to keep her heartbeat steady and her tone just as even. “I was merely…taking a stroll.”
“A stroll? At such a pace?” Mama raised a brow, and her grey eyes pierced straight through her. “And…alone?”
Tempest gave a nervous giggle. “Of course not, Mama dearest. I knew you were right behind me.” You always are.
Mama shook her head and then turned her attention to the dance floor. “Is your card not full?”
Tempest took a deep breath in through her nose. There wasn’t a single name on her dance card, and she preferred to keep it that way. She’d turned down every gentleman who’d asked her to stand up with them tonight in favor of tracking the duke’s every move and planning the moment when she’d have him alone.
The look in Mama’s eyes told her she already knew the answer—and why wouldn’t she? She spent every moment looking over Tempest’s shoulder.
“No, it is not,” Tempest replied, feeling the need to stand up straighter and stick her chin into the air. It seemed as if an argument was in the offing.
Then Mama surprised her. She simply closed her eyes and shook her head. Again. “Come along,” she said, looping her arm through Tempest’s. “You shall stand with me while I keep an eye on your sisters.”
Tempest fought the urge to snort. There was little need to watch over Verona—she would sit against the wall all evening, waiting in earnest for the moment she could go home and get back to her books. And Robin was most certainly a lost cause. No man wanted a reckless hoyden for a wife. Although, she supposed one must keep an eye on the girl anyway, so as to keep her from engaging in arm wrestling contests or shooting matches with the few gentlemen who found her boyishness amusing.
Tempest spotted her youngest sister on the other side of the assembly hall, guzzling down a cup of lemonade. Her posture was that of an ill giraffe, and even from across the room, Tempest could see there was a stain on her dress, right in the middle of her rather large breasts. The poor dear. Of all the people to have a large bosom. She complained constantly of how they slowed her down when climbing trees or racing the neighbor boys. Of course, she always won the races anyway, just not by as much as she’d like.
A quick glance down at her own unsoiled dress and small, pert breasts, made Tempest wonder, once again, how she could be related to her sisters. They were all different as night and day. Yet, there was no one on earth Tempest would defend more fiercely than the two of them. Oh, and Bianca, of course, but she was the eldest and long gone from the house. Though in looks and personality, she was the closest to Tempest.
“How will I ever get your sisters married off?” Mama muttered, clearly observing the disaster that was Robin.
“Oh, Mama,” she returned. “You mustn’t worry so. I’m certain Verona will find a nice boy in the village who appreciates how learned she is, and Robin…well, even if she doesn’t marry, I’m certain she will somehow turn the world upside down.”
“And you?”
I’d be halfway to the altar by now if you hadn’t stopped me. “What about me?”
“Denying gentlemen the right to dance with you is not going to win you any points on the marriage mart, my dear.”
“Yes, well, there is nothing wrong with being discerning. I’ll not dance with every Thomas, Richard or Harrison who comes my way.” There was only one Harrison she wished to dance with.
“Then with whom will you dance?”
Tempest shrugged. “I will know when the right one comes along.”
Mama shook her head again. She always did when Tempest turned romantic, which was rather ironic since she herself had married Papa for love. There wasn’t much else to marry him for, unless she was so very impressed with his knowledge of The Bard. Which she wasn’t. As a matter of fact, she rolled her eyes every time he quoted one of Shakespeare’s plays or sonnets. It was a wonder her eyes hadn’t rolled completely out of her head by now, for Papa rarely opened his mouth without a quote coming out.
“Why, ’tis a happy thing/To be the father unto many daughters.”
Speak of the Devil…
“Papa, you know that’s not how it goes,” Tempest said, as her father came up beside her, and Mama rolled her eyes again, this time with a rather loud sigh.
Papa shrugged as he always did when Tempest corrected him. “’Tis my privilege to take liberties with Mr. Shakespeare’s words.”
“Perhaps he is spinning in his grave right now,” Tempest pressed.
“’Tis a chance I’m forced to take, since I was blessed with daughters and not sons.”
Mama shifted. It always made her uncomfortable to speak of her inability to give Papa a son. Not that he cared. He loved his four daughters fiercely, as well as his wife. It was his decree, after a difficult confinement with Robin, that Mama would not bear another child. It was rather romantic, if you asked Tempest.
“I see your sister is making quite a splash in the ballroom this evening.”
“If you’re speaking of the splash of lemonade across her dress, then yes, you are correct.”
Papa laughed. He found Robin amusing, much to Mama’s chagrin. Mama would prefer her youngest to behave with decorum and propriety, but Papa wouldn’t change a single thing about her. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t change a thing about any of his girls. It was a lovely thing to know one’s father cared for them just as they were.
Tempest tucked her hand into the crook of Papa’s elbow. “She is lucky to have such a father,” she said to him, but the twinkle in his sky blue eyes told her he knew she meant she too was lucky. “Now, I’m afraid I must excuse myself to the ladies retiring room.”
Mama didn’t hesitate. “I shall join you,” she said, turning in tandem with Tempest.
“Be not so hasty, my lovely,” Papa said, cutting her off and taking her by the hand. “You’ve yet to dance with me tonight, and I’ll not leave here until you do.”
“Oh, heavens, Marvin,” Mama said, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. “I’m too old to dance.”
She said this every time, and Papa always replied, “Yet you’re even more beautiful than the first time I danced with you all those years ago.”
Of course, Mama couldn’t resist his charms, and off they went onto the dance floor, giving Tempest the perfect opening to make her escape.
~*~
Harrison Wright, the Duke of St. Helens, could not stand a single moment longer in the company of his overbearing mother. She meant well, he knew that. But damn and blast, he wouldn’t be forced into marriage with some dim-witted ninny just because she came from a prestigious family. Truth be told, he wouldn’t be forced into marriage at all—dim-witted ninny or otherwise.
Which was precisely why, as soon as he was able to disentangle himself from the dim-witted ninny he had been forced to dance with, he made a beeline for the ballroom exit. He didn’t know where he was going, neither did he care. He just wanted to get away. Away from Mother, away from the ninnies, away, away, away.
His shoes clicked along the marble floors of the corridor, but once he was a safe distance from the ballroom, he leaned his back up against the cool stone wall and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d done it. He’d escaped. Too bad he couldn’t escape for good, but it would be badly done to leave his mother behind without telling her. With any luck, she would tire soon and he’d be able to take her home and then be left to his own devices. Perhaps he’d go to the club, enjoy the company of his male comrades. Or maybe a trip to see Edith. He much preferred the earthy smell of a woman who had been treading the boards all evening to that of a debutante bathed in perfume. At the very least, she didn’t smell of marriage-mindedness, and that was of utmost importance.
Harrison pushed off the wall with a loud sigh, knowing he couldn’t stay there forever, hiding away from his mother. Which, when one thought about it, seemed awfully childish. He set his feet back in the direction of the ballroom, praying fervently that his mother would be ready to go home upon his return. As he approached the first set of doors, he made the decision to take the long way around so that he might reenter at the furthest possible point of entry. That was his plan anyway. Unfortunately, some black-haired chit came barreling out the doorway, nearly bowling him over when she ran smack into his chest. The force of their collision knocked her back a step or two. He felt, of course, obligated to keep her from falling to her bum.
However, due to another bout of misfortune, he missed her arm by a hairsbreadth, and she careened to the marble floor.
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “I am so very sorry!”
Harrison looked down to see her legs, clad in white stockings, on display for him and any passersby to admire. Damn and blast, this wouldn’t appear proper should anyone come upon them.
He shook his head and turned away. “Your dress, madam,” he said, clearing the desire from his throat, for what man wouldn’t be aroused by the sight of a young maiden’s exposed legs?
“Goodness,” the woman said. “How very humiliating.” Though if Harrison hadn’t known better, he might say she didn’t sound humiliated in the least.
“No need to be embarrassed,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the grey, stone wall.
“You may turn around now.”
He did, only to find the young lady with the wild, black hair still lying stretched out on the floor. Her legs were covered now, but that did little to ease his lust. Especially when she looked at him with those piercing grey eyes. Or were they green? It was hard to tell in the soft glow of the candlelit corridor, but…
Damn and blast, what the devil did it matter what color her blasted eyes were? He had to get her up off the floor and away from him as soon as possible, before they were discovered here, alone.
He reached his hand down and she placed her petite fingers against his. He ignored the jolt he felt at her touch. It was merely the after-effects—or continued effects—of seeing her exposed legs, nothing more. He hauled her up gently, knowing that if he used too much force, she’d smack into him again, and the last thing he wanted was to be caught with an eligible young lady in his arms.
Of course, that didn’t stop her from pretending he’d used too much force. She gave a little hop and pitched herself forward, forcing him to catch her. In his arms. Cunning little wench.
“Thank you,” she breathed as he set her away from his person. And then he took two steps back, just to be safe.
“I would have been quite the cad to leave you lying there,” he said, not wanting to give her the wrong impression of their encounter.
She blinked several times, as if his words had smarted. He was a cad in actuality, and she’d be better off leaving him be.
“Well, thank you for coming to my rescue,” she said again. “And forgive me for causing you delay. I’m certain your wife is waiting eagerly for your return.”
Cunning little wench indeed. He narrowed his eyes on her, but he’d not give her the satisfaction of playing her game. “Indeed, I’m sure she is.”
The girl’s grey-green eyes widened in surprise. A-ha! She was a temptress of the worst sort. She probably knew exactly who he was—she’d probably even orchestrated this little rendezvous. She wouldn’t be the first chit to do something like this. Harrison needed to get out of there as quickly as possible before he found himself leg-shackled to the little shrew.
He tipped his head with a curt, “Good evening,” and then went on his way, back to the safety of the ballroom.
