An Apple Pie for a Duke Page 3

  “I did, didn't I?” Dominic gazed out of the window.

  “Yes.”

  “What am I to do?”

  “Forget her. You shouldn't be in dabbling with innocent girls.” Darlington handed him a glass.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are haughty, arrogant, impulsive, reckless, and moody. To be frank, you're quite abominable.”

  “Why on earth are you my friend?” Dominic asked waspishly.

  “Because you're rich.”

  “Good point.”

  “You know the most beautiful women.”

  “True.”

  “And... You’re rich.”

  “Amen.” They cheered.

  But as they drove towards the palace, Dominic made a resolution.

  The next time he, Dominic St. Yves, the Duke of Surrey, Marquis of Thorne, Earl of Surrington et cetera et cetera, met Miss Eugenia Cartwright, he would know how to behave himself.

  He would be ducal. He would be regal. He would be perfect!

  5.

  London, ten hours later

  The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens! Why, oh why did my mother have to give him that book, of all things? He must think I'm deficient! He must think I'm duller than stone! And him so utterly perfect and marvellous... with his shining dark hair and his fiery eyes and his splendid form! His skin, so smooth and so flawless! Oh, and his mouth, ye Angels, his mouth is phenomenally beautiful, as beautiful as his nose! His chin so ideally made, like the statue of a roman god... and how tall he must be! Very... Very, very tall! And very strong... And his voice and his speech, so sharp, so clear, so male! But... BUT! The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens! THE BLOODY BIRDS OF CHELTENHAM GARDENS!!! I hope he'll not read that literary abomination, but of course he will, he'll have to check if it's proper for his sister, and when he does, he'll think I am stupid! And I am! Why couldn't I say something clever? He'll think that I actually LIKE stories of dull young girls befriending birds and feeding them crumbs! Didn't I say I'd been delighted? Why didn't he shoot me in the head?

  Gigi had been rolling around in her bed for the past eight hours. On the way home she had been crying her eyes out while her aunt had kept on shrieking “That dreadful man, that dreadful man!”

  “We're lucky your father isn't here, Darling,” was all her mother had managed to say. “We're lucky your father isn't here.”

  When finally in bed, Gigi had imagined with inexhaustible creativity how the Duke of Surrey would be reading The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens.

  Perhaps, he had begun reading it right away, perched on his phaeton, driving through the streets of London at neck-breaking speed, standing up, one hand holding the reins, the other hand holding the book.

  Or, he had waited until he had gotten to his undoubtedly elegant house at... well, wherever dukes lived... He had sat down at an exquisite tea table surrounded by footmen in gold livery; he had opened the book and choked on his tea. If he drank tea at all. No, that was not attractive; he probably drank something much stronger. Brandy. Certainly brandy... and he sniffed from a diamond-encrusted sniff-box.

  In yet another version of her fantasy he smoked the most expensive tobacco from an extremely long pipe in the boudoir of some exotic princess who most certainly was his lover.

  But all these colourful visions had one thing in common.

  He read the first few paragraphs and came to the conclusion that Miss Eugenia Cartwright, in the unlikely case he remembered her name, was utterly dull and as stupid as an ox.

  “Sh’ caaahnt p’ss’bly b’cme th’ditchiss ‘f Srry,” he would snarl and sniff some more.

  I'm doomed! I'm dooohoooohoooooomed! But why do I even care? He’s the most aristocratic arse to have ever walked the British Isles. I could never like him. ‘Ts ‘M’pssbl’!

  Gigi felt more tears rolling down her cheeks.

  When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of Dominic St. Yves feeding the birds at Hyde Park, wearing a light-blue dress. She kept wondering why he had not chosen a yellow one.

  He should wear yellow with such a complexion.

  At last, she drifted into darkness.

  She awoke the next morning with a feeling of dread and never wanted to set foot outside her aunt's house again. By then, everybody in town knew of her deficiency, for sure! Men would be roaring with laughter over breakfast, reading of her love for The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens in the newspapers. Mothers would warn their children about her. “Do not talk to Miss Cartwright. She's not right in the head.”

  But, much to her surprise, nobody seemed to care about her when she eventually did leave the house. In the end, the older women had succeeded in forcing her out and made her join them on their morning walk in Green Park.

  Still, every second Gigi expected the Duke of Surrey to materialise in front of her, majestically seated atop his majestic black stallion, pointing his long, elegant finger at her. “Yerrs, thersh’s, th’ignor’nt wench!”

  Yet, the Duke of Surrey was nowhere to be seen.

  He had gone back to the country, Gigi supposed.

  Perhaps he had gone to Paris or even to the West Indies.

  I'll never see him again, ever! Nothing good ever happens to me!

  Gigi knew her thoughts were ungrateful considering her extraordinarily comfortable life but she felt she had the right to pity herself. Just a little bit.

  Later that same day, though, something good did happen to Gigi.

  She made a friend.

  6.

  London, while Miss Eugenia Cartwright was dreaming

  Dominic left court sometime around midnight. His carriage raced outrageously fast through the London streets. Dominic hardly noticed. He was beyond drunk.

  But something kept pushing him into the side. Something that simply would not go away.

  He finally reached into his pocket and found a rectangular object.

  What on earth...?

  Then he remembered. It was that wretched book! He wrestled it out of his coat.

  The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens. An educational libretto for young ladies.

  Hear hear. If Lady Cartwright only knew...

  He threw it out of the window.

  7.

  Surrey, a few days later

  Dominic St. Yves was in a wretched mood.

  He kicked Coeur de Lion into the sides to make the magnificent horse run faster. He would not lose this race to Lackerby, not on his life.

  Dominic never lost at anything – not his most popular trait – but he did not care about being popular. He cared about winning.

  Coeur de Lion was a horse without equal, but strong and wilful. Only the best horsemen in England could reign such a forceful animal as the duke's black stallion. Of course, the duke counted himself among them and justly so.

  He was, indeed, the first to arrive at the meeting point, leaving Viscount Lackerby far behind. Lackerby, an excellent horseman himself, rode up on his light-footed thoroughbred mare that had given her best to compete with Coeur de Lion. But Dominic had calculated his horse's strength better than Lackerby had. The mare was wet with sweat and her pumping nostrils proved that she was thoroughly out of breath.

  “She's a good girl,” Dominic granted.

  “Yes, yes.” Lackerby grinned, although his attractive face showed signs of strain. “She's a fighter, but against your black monster, there's nought to be done.”

  Dominic chuckled but he did not feel merry.

  He felt angry. Angry with himself for being out of control. Angry with the world for testing him so.

  Nothing he did was without an ulterior motive anymore.

  He had asked Lackerby to ride with him because he liked Lackerby, yes; he had done so ever since they had been at Eton together. They often went to the races together. They frequented the same clubs and they even had certain female friends in common. Lackerby was a wealthy man, if only a Viscount. He was one of the few who could afford to share Dominic's exquisite tastes.

  Yet... on this grey Engl
ish morning, Dominic had not asked Lackerby out for sport. It was only a ruse. No. He had other motives.

  Some years ago, Lackerby had been fighting in the war against Napoleon. Later, his older brother had died of a fever, so Lackerby had inherited the title. Still. He had been to France and Flanders under General Cartwright's command.

  In the past Dominic had never wanted to hear the wartime stories, they made him feel secretly ashamed of himself for not having participated. Of course, a Duke of Surrey with no heir could not risk his life in battle as much as he would have wanted to.

  “Didn't you bring her from Brussels as a filly?” Dominic started his inquiry.

  “This mare?” Lackerby frowned. “'Course not, Surrey, she's hardly five years of age. Surely, you must've seen that!”

  “Really...?” Dominic tried a different approach. “Thought I'd heard something like it. Must've mixed it up. Heard about some general of yours being quite the enthusiast for thoroughbreds...”

  “Ol' Carty, you mean?” Lackerby smirked. “Man had an eye for a horse, I tell you. Eye for a woman too. Wife's an absolute stunner, you wouldn't believe it... he's quite an old boar, he is. Made hundreds of thousands of pounds in the war. All booty. But an eye for a horse he has. Would keep all the good ones to him self. I believe he breeds them somewhere in the remote provinces nowadays. Why? Want to get in touch? Bet ol' Carty owns some nice mares who wouldn't mind to have a filly sired by your Lion...”

  “Perchance... I've been looking for a worthy partner... for my horse,” Dominic stated, pretending a certain disinterest. “What's he like that ol' Carty. Nice enough fellow?”

  Lackerby laughed. “Who? General Cartwright?” He laughed even more.

  “Was it such a funny question?”

  Lackerby drew a deep breath and smiled confidently. “No, no. He's quite alright. A little rough around the edges as these military types tend to be, but if you know how to take them, like I do, you're getting along just fine. Never had any trouble with Ol' Carty, not me --- but I have to tell you about this redhead I met, a new dancer at the opera, marvellous creature! Not as beautiful as Ol' Carty's wife. Now that's a different story...”

  Dominic saw no reason to push Lackerby any further. Obviously, Darlington had mixed something up when had told the duke how Lackerby had always spoken so fearfully of Gigi's father.

  Gigi.

  Tonight, he would see her again.

  For the first time in his life he would go to a ball for debutantes.

  He had instructed his valet Markston to lay out his finest suit, hat, handcuffs and other manly ornaments.

  Never had a duke looked more ducal than he would at Lady Winston's insipid ball!

  Eugenia simply had to faint into his arms upon seeing him in all his manly splendour.

  He pictured her sighing, falling! He would carry her across the dance-floor, out into his waiting carriage, drawn by eight black horses.

  Lackerby had not noticed his companion's dreamy expression and proceeded to chatter about Lady Cartwright's beauty. “That wife's a stunner. Some countess she was, but don't ask me names...”

  ***

  They reached London in the early afternoon.

  Dominic's heart beat violently as he ran up the stairs into his dressing chamber.

  A bath. He needed a bath!

  He rang bells and shouted through the house until the servants brought the tub and filled it with hot water. After he had stewed for almost an hour, he shouted again.

  This time, Markston showed up with a razor and a few other devices for grooming His Grace's most eminent person.

  At six o'clock, Dominic's preparations were completed.

  He critically inspected himself in the looking glass and found faults beyond counting. Markston did his best to remedy these and by seven, the duke could not think of anything else to be improved.

  He helped himself to one or two, maybe three glasses of brandy and shouted for the carriage.

  On his way to Lady Winston's he strengthened his ducal resolve. He sat up straight. He practiced his manliest voice and his most charming smile.

  The carriage briefly stopped to pick up Darlington at his Mayfair residence.

  “Surrey, you blind me!” Darlington exclaimed.

  “Shut your mouth or I'll do it for you,” Dominic growled. “Do I look alright?”

  “You could look like an old divan, Surrey, nobody would mind! You're Surrey, ‘fter’ll!”

  Dominic nodded and meditatively repeated to himself that he, indeed, was Surrey.

  At Lady Winston's house Dominic languorously wafted past the footman at the door who was left standing there with his mouth hanging open.

  “He’s Surrey,” Darlington explained laconically.

  Inside, Dominic instantly began to browse through the crowd like a panther would browse through the jungle, stalking its prey. He saw several familiar faces but he could not be bothered to greet anybody. As always, Darlington was in charge of being polite to other people.

  Dominic did not even notice the outcries of surprise at his arrival, the exclamations of delight by mothers and daughters alike, the whispered “Surreys” and “dukes” behind his back.

  Finally he spotted Lady Cartwright and Lady Tarly deep in conversation with another lady of whose identity Dominic was ignorant and intended to remain so.

  Luckily, they were standing next to a wide column so Dominic positioned himself behind it to eavesdrop.

  “She's exquisite. Exquisite. She'll find a husband in no time,” the unknown lady babbled.

  “Quite.” Lady Cartwright agreed without appearing to actually do so.

  “Oh, but little Flora Parker will have a hard time. She is pretty, yes, nice blue eyes, dark curls, but tiny! I hear her character is not the best either.”

  Lady Tarly fanned herself energetically. “Yes, Delilah, it is as you say! But Mary's daughter seems to find her remarkable. They've been inseparable since our picnic at Windsor three days ago. They pay long visits to one another and neglect everything else in the world.”

  The woman named Delilah arched her brow. “Mary, Mary. Now your daughter is by far the best looking girl this season but she's not fetching! She's pushing the young men away. She is scaring them off! Nobody can actually be as bored as she pretends to be. Instead of plotting mischief with Miss Parker she should be dancing and smiling. Nobody wants a grumpy wife. Well, it's not as if you needed the money, from what I hear you husband has prospered---”

  “We're doing perfectly fine, thank you Delilah,” Lady Cartwright interrupted with an insincere smile.

  “Cartwright is coming to London,” Lady Tarly informed the other woman.

  “Oh, is he?” Delilah was evidently not sure what emotion to convey.

  “Yes,” Lady Cartwright smiled. “His letter reached me this morning. We're expecting him and Mr. Wimple on the morrow. Mr. Wimple's in an awful temper when Eugenia isn't around. My husband couldn't endure it anymore and decided to take him to London. Sometimes I think Mr. Wimple's master in my house.... Nevertheless, it'll be a wonderful surprise for my daughter. She's been mourning Mr. Wimple's absence ever since we left Yorkshire.”

  Mr. Wimple! Again, this Mr. Wimple. I'm going to drown Mr. Wimple in the Thames! She swore on his life that she'd marry ME if I ever proposed, but she won't even have to make the sacrifice because that fine Mr. Wimple will be in the ground already!

  Dominic stepped away from the column to recover from an overwhelming feeling of jealousy. He took a glass of champagne from a tray and gulped it down. Three brandies had not been enough to mellow him. At least not enough to endure a laudatio on Mr. Wimple.

  He scanned the guests. Eugenia Cartwright was nowhere to be seen.

  It was sheer luck when he eventually discovered her. In fact, somebody else had spotted her before him. Several somebodies. At one point, Dominic noticed that rather a lot of young men were conspicuously gazing out onto the lit terrace, all of them focussing on the same spot. Dominic,
like all men in love with a woman, believed that all other men were in love with that same woman, too.

  It was only logical to him that these lechers were staring at his beloved Gigi.

  He advanced towards a window and found he was right.

  Gigi the pirate was sitting in an alcove, surrounded by flowers. There was some other girl with her whom Dominic did not trouble himself to look at.

  He had eyes only for her.

  She was even more supreme, more divine, more everything than before!

  How could this ball take place around her, when all mankind should do was praise her?

  Dominic checked himself.

  He had sworn he would behave properly, no extravagant displays of drama were asked for, only calculation. He had always been able to keep a cool head in the most difficult situations and now this ability was needed more than anything.

  The duke straightened himself once more and surveyed the ballroom.

  How could he create a chance meeting with his adored Miss Cartwright? She would have to get out of that alcove sooner or later, would she not?

  Yes, I'll stand over there by the door to the garden, looking into another direction. Once she comes back in again, I will, quite by accident, collide with her and she'll faint and I'll carry her into my carriage... which is only drawn by four horses today and none of them black. Never mind. I shall devour and punish her naked body for the rest of time in my dark and gloomy castle at, err, Grosvenor Square...

  Dominic carefully manoeuvred himself to his strategic post.

  Immediately women, young and old, were pushing towards him. Suddenly there were only women within a radius of thirty feet, arching their necks, lifting their cleavages, fluttering their lashes and smiling, smiling, smiling.

  It was at times like these Dominic was most grateful to be the Duke of Surrey.

  Nobody dared to address him, not even people to whom he had been introduced.