A Wicked Duke's Prize: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  “You really shouldn’t discount the idea that you might come to like him,” Tabitha returned.

  “You sound like my father, now,” Rebecca replied. “The utterly horrific thought that I could find happiness with just anyone! Ridiculous.”

  Downstairs, there was a flurry of activity. Rebecca swept to the window, which overlooked the long, curving driveway that led from the gate to the mansion. There, a carriage yanked up, then halted outside the carriage house. Rebecca yearned to remain in the window, to stare down at the men and decide, from there, whether or not she would continue on with this wretched affair. But Tabitha wouldn’t allow it. She gripped her wrist and dragged her along, towards the hallway. Rebecca moaned, annoyed. “You’re wretched, Tabitha… Really you are.”

  “You must have lunch with him at least,” Tabitha said, flashing a mischievous grin. “I’ll be right there beside you, ensuring you don’t put your foot in your mouth.”

  “And if I do?” Rebecca asked.

  “I’ll do my best to save the situation,” Tabitha said. “You know that I’m quite good at that. Diffusing the reckless energy you spew into any sort of –”

  They had arrived at the top of the staircase, overlooking the foyer. Rebecca was overcome with immense panic. She shot toward Tabitha, squeezing her hand as the butler opened the door. There, standing in the doorway, were two men – one an older, shorter version of the other.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the butler, Max, said, cutting back and bowing low. “Welcome to the Frampton estate.”

  As the men entered, Rebecca achieved a better view of the younger, her apparent fiancé, Mr. Owen Crauford. He was entirely too handsome, it seemed. Black, wind-swept curls, his eyebrows thick and low over his eyes, his cheekbones high and his sideburns thick, also black. His eyes flashed about, seemingly volatile, and his shoulders were broad, muscular.

  He wore an immaculate suit. Rebecca attempted to squash her very initial thought: that this man was, perhaps, one of the more handsome ones she’d ever seen. Certainly, he had much better looks than any of the other creatures her father had paired her with previously.

  This didn’t mean that she wished to marry him.

  Tabitha squeezed Rebecca’s hand, there at the top of the steps, and gave her yet another mischievous glance. Rebecca rolled her eyes, even as Tabitha whispered, “My goodness, he’s handsome.”

  Mr. Frampton appeared in the foyer, shouting the first words of greeting. “Good afternoon, Neil. And you must be Owen…” He shook the men’s hands and beamed, looking more boyish and brighter than Rebecca had seen in years. “I trust your journey was without trouble?”

  “Quite pleasant,” Neil Crauford returned.

  Owen didn’t say anything. Yet again, his eyes flashed about, until they landed upon Rebecca, there at the top of the staircase. Rebecca expected his expression to change, to soften, upon her appearance. But instead, it seemed to grow sharper, angrier. His left hand drew a fist. Her heart thudded with sudden panic.

  “Where is that daughter of mine?” her father said, his voice boisterous. He ducked around to see Rebecca and Tabitha, then beamed and beckoned for them. “There you are. Tabitha, I didn’t realise you would be joining us. Quite pleasant news, truly. Please. Come along.”

  The girls swept down the staircase, all the while Rebecca’s eyes connecting with Owen’s. It felt like a staring contest, as though whoever dropped first would be deemed the less powerful. Rebecca would never allow for such a description of herself. She set her jaw and formed no smile. When she reached Owen, she curtsied slightly, and he bowed.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, her voice low.

  “Quite,” Owen replied.

  This, in and of itself, was a strange response. It seemed heavy with sarcasm, as though he wished to be anywhere else. Every other suitor her father had paired her with had been head-over-heels at this point, from the moment their eyes had found hers, they’d nearly fallen over themselves to please her. Owen, it seemed, wanted to rush out through the door, stamp his feet, and banish her from his life forever.

  Rebecca was puzzled. This was, of course, how she’d assumed she would react to her newfound suitor. To find it mirrored like this was strange. The air felt chilled.

  She felt it sound, reasonable that she wouldn’t wish to marry him. But why on earth wouldn’t he wish to marry her? She hadn’t done anything. Her freedom had been bought, passed over the gambling table.

  A moment of silence passed. It seemed that everyone waited for the two suitors to find common ground, a kind of topic. But both kept their lips pressed tightly shut.

  Tabitha, ever-anxious, turned swiftly toward her friend’s father and said, “I do hope you have enough for me? It’s quite all right if you’d like me to depart.”

  “Don’t be silly, Tabitha,” Rebecca said, her eyes still upon Owen. “We always have enough to go around.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course,” her father said hurriedly. His hands fluttered anxiously, like little birds. “Shall we gather in the dining room, then? I believe Molly has prepared lamb…”

  Together, the five of them marched down the hall. This was the first reprieve Rebecca had from Owen’s ominous eyes. She allowed Owen to go ahead of her, then gave panicked eyes to Tabitha. Tabitha, in turn, mouthed, What is wrong with him? It seemed equally puzzling to both of them. Bridget adjusted her curls, wondering if, at age twenty-three, she’d long run out of her good looks. Perhaps her father was correct in his initial assessment. She needed to be paired off immediately, before anything slipped even more.

  Once in the dining room, Molly bustled in. She seemed anxious, reflecting precisely what Rebecca felt. “Good afternoon,” she said, stuttering a bit. Around her, other maids collected, placing large platters of steaming food before them. Rebecca couldn't have imagined herself to be less hungry.

  She gaped at the meat, wondering how she could sit there, whilst her father and Owen’s father went over the terms of her entire future. She blinked back up at Owen, who still seemed settled in his own rage. Would she really be required to live out the rest of her days with him? She couldn’t envision it.

  Everyone had full plates. Tabitha swept her curls behind her ears and gave Rebecca a curious glance.

  “What a wonderful thing it is,” Mr. Frampton began, “To have us all here today. Finally. It’s been quite a road, hasn’t it, Rebecca?”

  Rebecca didn’t answer.

  “Quite,” Mr. Crauford said. “On the way here, I spoke with Owen a great deal about your clear accomplishments, Kenneth. It will be a remarkable thing, connecting our family with yours. As you know, we come from several generations of wealth, of title.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Frampton said. “I know this to be an ideal match. Rebecca knows it, as well. Don’t you, my dear?”

  Rebecca kept her eyes to her meal.

  “I never imagined I’d convince Owen to settle,” Mr. Crauford continued. “He’s been remarkably individualistic over the years. Of course, it’s one thing in your early 20s. I’m sure you have clear memories of your earlier years, Kenneth.”

  “Of course,” her father chimed in. “Goodness, the sorts of stories I collected prior to my own engagement. Now that my wife is gone – God rest her soul – I have nothing but memories. Memories of raising our three daughters together.”

  “And you mentioned your other two daughters are already wed?” Mr. Crauford asked.

  “Yes, indeed. It was a simple affair for them,” her father said. “They joined society, courted, and promptly married. In fact, I’m already a grandfather to three – two boys and one girl. We even have another on the way, if you can believe it. Everyone lives quite close, which, I suppose, would be our goodwill in this case, as well.”

  Still Owen didn’t speak. Rebecca glared at him, thinking that, if anything, she could match his clear disinterest in her with her own vitriol.

  Lunch carried on in much the same way. When it was clear that neither Rebecca or Owen was
keen on conversation, both Mr. Crauford and her father turned questions to Tabitha, who answered dutifully. Her answers did, in turn, enrage Rebecca. She told them that she had had an arranged marriage, that she and her husband were quite happy – in what she termed the honeymoon phase.

  Rebecca balked at this, yearning to answer with her own perception of the situation, that Tabitha wasn’t in love with him, that she never would be, that she’d only followed instructions in order to ensure she didn’t cause anyone too much strife. Rebecca had never counted herself to be this sort of creature.

  Finally, Owen spoke, directing his attention to Tabitha.

  “You’ve been married to someone you didn’t know, then?” he said. “How did you initially find them, on that very first day?”

  Every muscle on Rebecca’s body grew tense, panicked. This, of course, was a reflection of Owen’s current analysis of her.

  Tabitha blushed, seemingly anxious that Owen directed words at her and not Rebecca, as of yet.

  “I found him to be quite handsome, dashing, even,” she said, her voice growing quieter. “I couldn’t have envisioned myself to find a better man by myself. I was grateful to my parents for taking it upon themselves.”

  “You were thankful that they didn’t allow you to think for yourself?” Owen demanded. He leaned a bit tighter over the table, his eyes now bright, animalistic.

  Tabitha’s cheeks seemed impossibly red, now. “I don’t – I don’t suppose it was entirely like that.”

  Rebecca’s stomach stirred with anger. She felt that only she was allowed such thoughts regarding Tabitha’s engagement and subsequent marriage to Anthony, for whom she hadn’t a single care in the world.

  “Tabitha is quite happy, as she’s said several times,” she chimed in.

  Owen directed his attention back toward her. For the first time, he spoke to her and her alone. “So, it seems that this sort of arrangement is perfect for you. If you perceive Tabitha’s to be so fruitful.”

  Rebecca’s nostrils flared. She dropped her fork to her plate with a clank. “I wouldn’t say that, precisely.”

  “Then what would you say?” Owen demanded.

  “I would say that different situations fit different sorts of people,” she returned.

  “And what sort of person are you?” Owen asked.

  “Shall we have a bit of dessert, then?” her father asked, his voice booming over the rest of them. “I feel a bit peckish for something sweet.”

  Rebecca recognised her father’s assertion that she shouldn’t push this subject further. Mr. Crauford beamed at her, as the plates were taken away. Rebecca felt she’d never been on such display in her life. It was the absence of conversation between herself and Owen, she assumed, that crafted such a strange dynamic.

  “What a remarkable woman you are. I’m thrilled to have you as my future daughter-in-law,” Mr. Crauford said. “I can’t envision a better future for my son. And truly, that’s the conversation your father and I had on the night we met. My, it seems like ages ago. How swiftly things have fallen into place…”

  “We couldn’t be luckier,” her father replied. “Perhaps we should have a toast?” He lifted his glass of wine into the air. Others followed suit – except for Rebecca and Owen, who both kept their arms crossed over their chests.

  “Come now, Rebecca,” her father coaxed. “I don’t imagine that we can toast to your future without your assistance.”

  “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to wish for my own goodwill, Father,” Rebecca returned, her words cold. “It seems almost selfish for me to waste such a toast on myself.” She lifted her glass and turned it toward Tabitha, then said, “May Tabitha have continued peace and prosperity with her outlandishly fruitful arranged marriage.”

  Tabitha gave her a look that only Rebecca could fully translate. She was enraged, or at least, as enraged as someone like Tabitha could become. Rebecca felt a pang of guilt, yet nothing too formidable. After all, this was her life her father was in the midst of ruining. Tabitha had already successfully ruined hers.

  “Yes,” Owen boomed suddenly, surprising Rebecca so that she nearly tumbled out of her chair. He lifted his glass towards Tabitha and said, “It seems to me that you’ve mastered the world of arranged marriages, of set-upon decisions made by people who shouldn’t have any say in what you do with the time you’ve been given on this earth. I wish to toast you, Tabitha.”

  Tabitha balked. She dropped her glass to the table and mimed Rebecca and Owen’s previous pose, drawing her arms over her chest. Neither Mr. Crauford nor Mr. Frampton knew quite what to do next. Mr. Frampton cleared his throat, seemingly deciding it was up to him to fix this, as they sat there in his own dining room.

  “Shall we twist it a bit more, then?” he said, sounding flustered.

  “I suppose so,” Mr. Crauford replied.

  “Perhaps we should then toast all unions, young and old – from yours with your dear wife, Mr. Crauford, to mine with my dearly departed wife, to Tabitha and Anthony, and yes, of course, to our newest members in the married fold – Rebecca and Owen!”

  Neither Rebecca nor Owen seemed to know how to yank out from under this umbrella-toast. Owen’s eyes flashed as he rolled them. Rebecca felt, if only for a moment, that they shared a private joke, a joined annoyance toward the fathers they couldn’t change.

  Dessert arrived. Mr. Frampton and Mr. Crauford struggled to shift the conversation. At once, it seemed that Mr. Frampton pointed to Mr. Crauford’s recent struggles at the gambling table. Mr. Crauford hurriedly switched the conversation, which led to Owen grunting something under his breath. Rebecca marvelled at the general dismay of the situation, the darkness that seemed to cloud over the table. She cast her eyes to Tabitha, hoping for some sort of assuring smile, but Tabitha just stared down at her pudding, seemingly lost in thought. Rebecca stirred in self-hatred. If she was really to be married to this wretched, arrogant and wildly handsome Owen Crauford, she needed to uphold her oldest and dearest friendship. With Tabitha by her side, could anything really be so dreadful?

  As Owen and Neil Crauford gathered in the foyer to say goodbye, there was another brief discussion about the upcoming months. Potential dates, engagement parties, family dinners. It all sounded so foreign in Rebecca’s ears. However, so close to saying goodbye to them, she felt a manic smile draw between her cheeks.

  Finally, they bid their final adieus, and the Craufords sauntered back to their carriage. The door clicked closed behind them. Rebecca and Tabitha stood near the window as her father rounded toward them, glowering.

  “Rebecca Frampton. I don’t suppose that was your version of being welcoming…” he stuttered, his eyes widening. “That man! The man that’s only just left our foyer! He’s to be your husband. And you treated him as though he…”

  “Father, it’s not as though he treated me any differently,” Rebecca returned, arching her brow.

  Mr. Frampton sputtered and smacked his palms across his thighs. He turned to Tabitha and said, “What have I done incorrectly, Tabitha? Why is it that you were content to follow your parents’ wishes, whilst my daughter continually rejects mine?”

  Tabitha’s chin wiggled a bit. Her eyes glowed, as though she’d been pushed to the brink of exhaustion. Rebecca snaked her fingers through Tabitha’s and tugged at her.

  “I think we’ve given you enough of our time, Father,” Rebecca said, arching her brow. “Thank you again for uniting me with such a garrulous and cheerful young man. I look forward to the future. A future of prosperity, of happiness, of…”

  “Just go,” her father boomed. He spun back towards the far end of the house, where he turned into his study and slammed the door closed.

  Rebecca and Tabitha stood, eyes wide, hands still laced together. The silence that followed after Mr. Frampton’s slammed door made Rebecca’s ears ring. Feelings of guilt, of fear, swept through her skull, filled her throat, made her eyes fill with tears. She squeezed Tabitha’s hand harder, and Tabitha squee
zed back.