An Apple Pie for a Duke Page 6

  13.

  Halfmoon Street, one hour later

  “I believe you're safely in the nursery! Instead you're reading hair-raising adventure novels with Lizzy. In the stable! How did you get hold of that shameful scribbling anyway?”

  He wants to marry me. But he doesn't want to get married. He said so, I heard it myself!

  “I suppose you found it somewhere in the house. I guess it was a gift by some old hag from the village. --- My, my. I thought I'd arranged it all myself, shoving you into his carriage. I thought I'd reeled in the greatest catch of the century. No! Far from it! My sheltered daughter did it all by herself masquerading and behaving like a slattern! I still can't believe it. We're very lucky the duke is a man of peculiar tastes, my dear. I don't think anybody else would have married you.”

  He wants to marry me? But he doesn't want to get married!

  “What happened in that carriage?”

  He said: “I don't have the slightest intention of getting married.”

  “Never mind. I'd hoped to comprise him into marrying you anyway. He's the most handsome man in England, vastly rich and cultivated. He owns a beautiful castle in Italy where I plan to move once you father is no more.”

  Maybe he's playing a trick on me to punish me for my terrible behaviour in the carriage.

  “When he stormed into the bookshop that day I thought it was a gift from heaven! I couldn't have known you'd already volunteered to be his slave and he only came in to claim you...”

  “Mother,” Gigi cried for the umpteenth time. “I didn't know he was there!”

  “One must always expect the unexpected, child, always! --- To swear on Mr. Wimple's life. Shame on you! The poor beast. As if he weren't afflicted enough by his digestion! --- It doesn’t matter. His Grace hasn't proposed yet. He might be heading for a ship to cross the channel this very instant. Why have you never told us you'd seen the duke at Hayford? I would've arranged for you to meet him much earlier. We've been wasting precious time!”

  The door opened and Gigi's father entered the drawing room.

  Hard on his heels came, as always, Mr. Wimple.

  The enormous basset hound waddled over to Lady Cartwright. She hoisted him onto the divan with some travail. “Nobody is going to murder you, my love,” she purred. “If that duke-man isn't nice to you, we'll murder him.”

  General Cartwright kissed his wife on the cheek. “Good afternoon my flower. What's with a duke? Have we captured some poor blighter already?”

  “Yes, indeed. The Duke of Surrey at that! But your daughter did it all by herself. I can't claim any of the glory. Such a shame. I only have one daughter! There won't be another chance! Well, perhaps I did contribute a little.”

  “Really? Eugenia? A duke? How did the child accomplish such a masterpiece?”

  Maybe he really does want to marry me.

  Lady Cartwright sighed and gave a detailed report of the recent events.

  “Assailed her in a bookshop?” General Cartwright lightened his pipe. “You base your endeavours on shaky grounds, my love.”

  “Oh, but I'd seen how smitten he was. I knew I had only to mention Lady Winston's ball and he'd be there. To my own disgrace, I grabbed the wrong book and handed him The Birds of Cheltenham Gardens. I had several sleepless nights over it. I feared he might take Eugenia for a lack wit. That book is revolting!”

  If he doesn't want to marry me, I'm going to die. But if he really wants to marry me, I'm also going to die. I'm dead already. Farewell, world.

  “I saw a copy of that novel just the other day in a gutter near St. James' Park, in case you're interested,” Gigi's father grumbled.

  “No, I'm not,” Lady Cartwright frowned. “Thank the Almighty his horse liked the apple pie. What would we've done otherwise?”

  “Don't tell me you had a hand in that too,” the general implored.

  “No. But I wish I had!”

  14.

  Bond Street, the next morning

  Dominic and Lackerby saw heavily armed guards as they entered Monsieur Duval's boutique for handmade jewellery. That was only necessary considering the values stored within.

  The famous goldsmith Claude Duval had left France after the Revolution since, for reasons well known, there were few necks left for his jewels to adorn.

  For many years now, his establishment had been counted among the most renowned in England.

  The boudoir where Monsieur Duval welcomed his customers was large and elegantly styled in red velvet and gold. Necklaces, bracelets and earrings were placed almost negligently throughout the room as if forgotten.

  “We're only trinkets,” the jewels seemed to whisper, “just take us along, it doesn't matter. You can afford it.”

  You don't fool me, you shiny little seductresses.

  Dominic knew, as did every gentleman in London, that a piece of jewellery at Monsieur Duval would cost him at least a thousand pounds.

  Lackerby, untroubled by the surroundings, kept elaborating on his newest conquest – the red-haired opera dancer bearing the promising name of Desirée.

  “You should see the way she moves her hips, Surrey, it's hypnotic! She could make millions with it. In that state of trance I'd give her all my money and yours as well, if she only consented to move her hips on top of me.”

  “Oh, shut up, Lacks. Help me find something suitable for my bride. If she'll have me.”

  I’m doubting it.

  “Come on, Surrey, she's not going to say no, whoever she is. You're making quite the secret of it, by the by. I wonder why, actually? She ugly?”

  “No, she's the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  “Aren't they always?”

  Apart from Surrey and Lackerby there was only one more customer in the boudoir.

  That other customer was lounging comfortably on a vast couch, with his back towards the two lords. Oddly, he wore a tricorn.

  Dominic smiled to himself. He thought it quite droll that a tricorn would be present when he bought his first gift for Gigi the pirate.

  “It'll have to be something unique, Lacks. Something truly beautiful. This is cheap rubbish. She'd throw it into my face.”

  No, she'd probably strangle me with it.

  “Quite a demanding young lady, your future wife. Are you quite sure about her?”

  “Yes. Shut up and look.”

  Nothing Dominic had seen so far had pleased him. Duval would have to bring out his hidden treasure boxes with the more expensive pieces; in fact, Duval was at that very moment busy presenting a collier of emeralds and diamonds to the man wearing the tricorn from just such a box.

  That would be more to my taste.

  “Look at that!” Lackerby lifted a necklace of sinfully red rubies, surrounded by smaller stones of black jet. “It looks exactly like the nightgown Desirée wore last night, I'm going to buy it for her and the her hips will---”

  “LACKERBY!” A voice filled the boudoir with the sound of rolling thunder.

  Lackerby was at once pale as a sheet. No, he was green!

  “Still spending all your money on harlots,” the voice rumbled on.

  Lackerby began to stutter. “N-no, S-Sir, the, la-la-la-dy is just a f-riend.”

  “Aren't they always?”

  It was the man on the couch!

  “Sir,” Dominic said crisply. “It is particularly discourteous to address a gentleman without facing him. Whatever business you have with the Viscount should at least be worth a proper greeting.”

  The man laughed throatily. Then he got up and turned.

  It's a giant!

  The man was almost seven feet tall. His shoulders were broader than those of an ox and an enormous white beard covered his face.

  It's Jupiter!

  All the while Lackerby stood unmoving by Dominic's side.

  “Well, boy, here I stand, looking at you.” The giant stepped out from behind the couch. He carried an uncanny iron walking stick, which he surely did not need to keep him on his feet.


  Is that a skull on the pommel?

  “Pardon me, Sir, but I don't think we've been introduced and I dislike your manner of speaking,” Dominic insisted coldly. No matter how intimidating that man was, he did not fear him. He was Surrey.

  “Do you, boy? --- Eh, Lackerby? Shouldn't you also be getting married like your foppish friend here? Could do you a hell of a lot of good, m'lad!”

  “I must ask you, Sir, to stop insulting the Viscount and myself.”

  “Must you, pretty boy?” Jupiter's bright eyes were flashing.

  It's not to be tolerated. I am Surrey!

  “Sir, I'm the Duke of Surrey. If you would kindly give me your name. My seconds will arrange a meeting.”

  “No, S-Surrey, d-d-don't!”

  “Quiet, Lackerby!” Jupiter had gotten so close that he could reach out and pat Lackerby on the shoulder. “Let your little friend and myself get the matter straight.”

  The giant's eyes turned into slits. “Well, well, dukey. You want satisfaction? You of all people want satisfaction from ME? I'd shoot you without even looking up from my newspaper, sweet dandy boy.” The huge creature was towering over Dominic. It was a situation he had never experienced before.

  “I've never missed a shot!” Dominic spat. He was seriously annoyed by now. How could this maniac ruin this most special day?

  “Hmm, hmm, hmm.” The man smiled and now it was Dominic who was being patted. It almost threw him to the ground. “You know, I'd really love to duel myself with you, Surrey... But what would my poor wife say?”

  “I believe she might call herself a widow, Sir.”

  “Oh, she's been there, done that. She wouldn't allow it to happen for a second time. No... What I meant is this. My wife would never forgive me if I shot you.”

  Dominic had a suspicion. He stiffened.

  “Sir, perhaps this is a mere misunderstanding. I'm not acquainted with your wife. I'm not in the habit of frequenting married women. I may not be an ascetic but I'm not fishing in other men's ponds.”

  “On the contrary, Sir. You know my wife, and I know it for a fact. She'd throw me out of my own house if I shot you. Oh, and my poor child! The poor little creature! The darling girl! What would she say if I shot her, how shall I put it, fiancé? After you ambushed her in a hayloft, attacked her in a bookshop and abducted her from a ball? How could she ever forgive her old papa?”

  Roaring laughter exploded from Jupiter's mouth. His entire body was shaken by spasms of mirth. Finally, he took Dominic's hand and shook it.

  “Your Grace, you've proven to be a courageous man. I give you my blessing. I want loads of grandchildren and by tomorrow. I'm an old man, you see, I may have little time remaining.”

  He winked merrily.

  “Ah yes, one more thing before I go. If you make my little girl unhappy, I'll break your neck. And if for whatever reason you won't show up at our London residence this afternoon, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you. Did I make myself clear?”

  He winked and smiled again.

  Dominic blushed like a schoolboy. He was still thinking of something suitable to say when their attention was drawn elsewhere.

  Monsieur Duval, who had watched the entire scene silently from behind the couch, collapsed and fell to the ground.

  Weak nerves? Poor chap must've been worried he'd have a dead duke on his hands.

  The general turned and drew his eyebrows together. “Mr. Wimple!”

  Mr. Wimple? At last! Now, let's take a good look at you, Mr. Wimple, before I snuff you out.

  Dominic heard a loud thumping noise coming from the couch. Shortly afterwards he saw what had to be the fattest dog in the world. The huge basset hound came jovially trotting towards them, wagging its tail.

  General Cartwright pointed his walking stick at the animal. “Mr. Wimple, have you eaten the biscuits Monsieur Duval has so graciously offered to me? You know what they do to your bowels.”

  Mr. Wimple averted his eyes.

  Lackerby suddenly swayed. “W-what's that s-smell?”

  “Gentlemen!” The general covered his face with a handkerchief. “There's only one thing I can say to you except good luck. RUN!”

  15.

  Halfmoon Street, later that day

  She bit her lip.

  She tapped her feet.

  She stretched.

  She hugged herself.

  She sang.

  She got up.

  She sat down.

  She got up again and walked around the room.

  He's not coming. He's not coming. He's not coming.

  The door opened and her heart stopped.

  It was a footman carrying a tray.

  “Get out!” Gigi fumed.

  The man bowed and retreated.

  How can he be so calm? I may or may not get engaged to the most perfect man in the world today... if he hasn't fled to the West Indies.

  The door opened again.

  Lady Cartwright looked in.

  “Are you alright in there, Eugenia?”

  “No, I'm not! Leave me alone!”

  Lady Cartwright nervously blinked and closed the door again.

  It's four o'clock already. He's not coming.

  Footsteps. But the feet walked past the door.

  Frustrated, Gigi threw herself onto the couch and groaned aloud.

  The door opened.

  Gigi jumped up.

  He. He. HE came in.

  Mr. Wimple was comfortably lounging in the duke's arms. The duke himself did not look quite so comfortable, whether from nervousness or from strain – Mr. Wimple weighed at least 70 pounds – Gigi could not tell.

  “I have a hostage,” the duke said under his breath. “But from what I witnessed this morning it's far more likely he'll kill us than the other way around. Therefore I---”

  “Yes, I will!” Gigi cried.

  “What?”

  “I will marry you!”

  “Oh,” the duke looked puzzled. “That was quick.”

  Mr Wimple lifted his head and licked His Graces gracious chin.

  “I have no patience for such things,” Gigi panted. “I just thought I'd say it so I wouldn't have to wait before you asked me because why else would you have come and since you already know that--- what--- how I--- well, I guessed it would be the easiest way to get it over with.”

  Keep breathing, Eugenia Cartwright, keep breathing.

  “I'm not fainting,” she declared jubilantly to the room.

  “No... Would--- why would you want it to be over quickly?”

  Mr. Wimple yawned and licked the duke again.

  “Pardon me.” Dominic St. Yves turned around and walked towards the door.

  Oh no! He's leaving! I've chased him off! I'm such a stupid, hysterical cow!

  The duke opened the door, set Mr. Wimple down in the corridor and came back in again.

  Eugenia was supporting herself on the couch's armrest in order to remain standing. Her knees were about to give way.

  Dominic St. Yves was glowering darkly at her from the other side of the drawing room.

  “You are the strangest girl I ever met.”

  “I couldn't say, Your Grace,” Gigi mumbled, looking at her feet.

  “Stop calling me that!”

  He rushed towards her and drew her into his arms.

  “You're driving me mad, Eugenia Cartwright!”

  “That's good, I guess?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  His lips pressed down on hers. She threw her arms around him and gave herself up to him, to his longing kiss, to the feeling of his lean, strong body against hers. It made her want to scream! How could anything be as good as he?

  When she finally drew away her whole body was on fire.

  “I have to warn you. I'm a bluestocking,” she said out of breath.

  He smiled. “I don't care what colour your stockings are as long as you let me take them off.”

  He kissed her again. And again. Their tongues, their bodies, everything
seemed to melt into one as they stood there by the couch, embracing and forgetting the world around them.

  “Is it over yet?” Lady Cartwright asked through a half opened door. “May we come in?”

  “Yes, you may,” Dominic said and reluctantly let go of Gigi.

  “Thank Goodness!”

  Lady Cartwright and General Cartwright came rushing in and rapidly closed the door behind them. Both were pressing handkerchiefs to their faces. Lady Cartwright marched to a window, opened it and both Gigi's parents leaned out, drawing deep breaths.

  “So, when will you be married?” Lady Cartwright asked from the window.

  “As soon as possible,” Gigi insisted.

  I won't let him get away now.

  “And when is that?” The general asked turning towards the couple.

  Dominic, my Dominic, my future husband, His Grace the Duke of Surrey, most attractive and most dangerous, most manly and most perfect man in England, looked down at her.

  “Really? I mean, you are young, shouldn't you at least enjoy the rest of the season before---”

  “No, don't make me wait,” Gigi whispered. “You're a duke, you must have a special license. I want you to marry me right now.”

  I'm going to explode if I can't have him tonight.

  Dominic stared at her in bedazzlement.

  “Today?” he asked softly, the implications of her words slowly dawning on him.

  “TODAY?” Lady Cartwright gasped.

  “Well,” the general cleared his throat. “Your mother and I don't think this has to be rushed, you've only just---”

  “Wonderful!” Lady Cartwright cried. “Of course they can be married right away, he has a special license! He's a duke! We’ll have the maids pack up her things and she'll be at Grosvenor Square by tonight.”

  “Oh!” General Cartwright drew out his pipe. “If that's so... would you mind, Sir?”

  The duke was still looking only at her. Longingly. Hungrily.