A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)
A Vixen for the Duke: Chapter 5

On perhaps any other evening, arriving for dinner with the Dowager Viscountess would have been regarded as a terrible tragedy. Oftentimes, Morgan had found himself feeling a bit like a chaperone while his uncle and Lady Moore spoke at great length about everything and anything, leaving very little room for him to join. They had never done it to purposefully exclude him. The two simply were the best of friends, or, as Morgan was now aware, maybe something more. Any other day, he might have dreaded the prospect of attending dinner, but he was looking forward to a chance to meet Harriet when she wasn’t covered in mud.

He lifted his fist and knocked on the door. Beside him, Oliver readjusted the cuffs of his sleeves and dusted off his waistcoat. He seemed more nervous than he usually was. In a sense, dinner with the Dowager Viscountess was nothing new. A dinner in which the two of them were revealed to the family as being in love with one another was entirely different.

“You look great,” Morgan promised, patting his uncle’s shoulder, and Oliver smiled warmly.

The door opened, revealing one of Lady Moore’s servants, who ushered them into the foyer.

The Dowager Viscountess threw her hands in the air. “I am so glad you both joined us. Will Daphne be coming as well?”

“No, no.” Oliver shook his head. “She’s spending the evening with her governess. I figured she would be happier at home…” he trailed off as Morgan stopped paying attention to the conversation and instead looked at the two women in attendance.

One of the women had long, straight, dark hair and a serious look on her face. Her eyebrows were sharp and straight, but her nose was round and slightly upturned.

Beside her stood Miss Harriet Hale, the woman Morgan had met the day before. He smiled upon seeing her. Harriet looked even more beautiful now that she was cleaned up, but he wasn’t very surprised. Even covered in that much mud the day prior, she had still been extremely beautiful. Her cheeks and round nose were naturally rosy, but they reddened before him. She grimaced lightly.

“Oh, Your Grace,” Lady Moore cooed. “I haven’t properly introduced you to my nieces, Miss Harriet Hale and Miss Lucy Hale.”

The girls curtsied, Lucy looking a great deal more disinterested.

“And this, my dears, is His Grace the Duke of Stanton and Lord Murrey.”

Morgan smiled sheepishly at Harriet. Her nose twitched, and she looked at him as if she was trying to figure out where they stood after their first meeting. “Thank you. I believe I have already met Miss Harriet here.”

“My greatest apologies for my daughter’s behaviour yesterday. That was certainly not the first impression we hoped to make, I’m afraid,” Oliver said.

Harriet opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Bridget waved the group towards her and walked down the hall and into a small dining room. “Yesterday’s problems no longer affect us. Let us enjoy the evening!” She sat at the head of the table, which was perhaps a little untraditional, but she exuded such confidence that it seemed right. Oliver sat beside her. Morgan made his way over to the table and pulled out Harriet’s chair for her.

As everyone else spoke, Harriet looked squarely at the Duke and down at the seat he offered her. “If this is an apology, I am afraid it is unnecessary.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not unnecessary.” He gestured towards the chair again, and she sat, shifting uncomfortably as he pushed her in. He sat beside her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Please do not mention it.” He still felt bad about Daphne’s behaviour, and even though Harriet had said that he didn’t need to make anything up to her, he couldn’t help but feel like he did. And if anything, it was a great excuse to spend a little extra time with a very beautiful woman.

“Are you from London?” Morgan asked as his uncle and Lucy found themselves in a complicated yet spirited debate with the Dowager Viscountess. For the first time since they’d arrived, Lucy seemed to be enjoying herself.

Harriet nodded, leaning back to accommodate the bowl of pheasant soup that was set before her.

“What brings you to the country?”

Harriet turned to look at him, her jaw hanging slightly open as if she was struggling with a response. “Just some… you know… life brings you… places. And so… here I am.” She brought her palms up and smiled as if she has just awoken one day in the country without reason.

Morgan wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Of course.” He nodded. “That’s very specific, thank you.”

Harriet scowled. “Am I to believe you do not know why I’m here in the country?”

“I have not heard a word about you, I am afraid,” he said. “But it certainly sounds like an exciting story.”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled charily. “Incredibly exciting if you enjoy misfortune.”

Before Morgan could respond, his uncle sighed loudly and settled back in his chair, his hands resting on his stomach. He stared at nothing in particular, his eyes out of focus. “Miss Lucy has bested me at the debate.”

“She is very intelligent, make no mistake,” the Dowager Viscountess said.

“What did you think?” Oliver directed the question at Morgan.

“I missed the debate, a turn of events I regret tremendously,” Morgan replied with a slight smile. In truth, he would have preferred talking to Harriet.

Oliver laughed, his hand pressed to his stomach. “As long as you weren’t thinking about business,” he said before regarding the rest of the group. “He has been business motivated since he was a teenager. When he was eighteen, I remember he came to his father and me with this idea about—”

Morgan interrupted his uncle before he could tell the group about one of his lofty business ideas from childhood. “Don’t make me sound so severe, Uncle. I love business, but I can be very social as well. Company has been scarce this far away from the city, so I appreciate an introduction to some new faces.” He smiled warmly at Lucy and Harriet.

“Fine.” Oliver sighed dramatically. “How are you doing, Miss Harriet?” he asked.

Harriet paused, her face blanching slightly before she looked down at her soup. She had been hoping that this far out in the country, the scandals she had endured in London would not follow her. For a short time, she had believed that she could start over and make a life for herself, alone. “I am quite content this evening, thank you.”

“Your aunt shared the reason for your visit,” Oliver said. “I wish you were here on a more joyous occasion.”

Harriet’s cheeks grew red, and she looked out of the corner of her eye at Morgan, who was already looking at her with curiosity. She snapped her head back, staring at the spread of food on the table. She smiled, her lips tight and her brows flat with annoyance. “Of course.” She smiled. “Me too. I hate to dwell on such things, however. I feel my time spent here with my aunt might prove beneficial. She is very wise. Sometimes a little cruel, but—”

Bridget snorted in amusement. “We must fight the storm before we learn to weather it.”

Oliver smiled. “What an excellent adage,” he mused. “You are so wise.”

Harriet heard a scoff of amusement from beside her. She turned to look at the Duke, but he simply offered her a smile. Every time he smiled at her, the feeling was contagious. He seemed to have a good nature about him, and yet he was still sharp, angular and handsome. But Bridget had already made a good point. Harriet might not be so taken by his smile if he wasn’t so attractive. She looked away.

While the other guests spoke, the Duke leaned a bit closer to Harriet. His voice dropped down to a whisper. “Has she roped you into taking care of the chickens?”

Harriet turned her head and narrowed her eyes. She was having trouble getting a good read on him. It seemed hard to concentrate when his wavy brown hair and dark eyes were so enjoyable to look at. “She has.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly as if to say he wasn’t that surprised. “She’s always been so insistent on doing that herself. I almost had one of my servants come over and do it for her, but to no avail. She is a stubborn woman.”

“It seems foolish to me,” Harriet said, glancing at her aunt to make sure she hadn’t heard her. “Why should I be working if I do not have to?”

“Enjoy it while you can, I suppose. I imagine it will not be too long before you are married,” he said.

Harriet’s expression dropped. “Why would you say that?”

“Is that not the case?”

“It is not,” she murmured, looking back at the main course of chicken over a green salad.

“Soon enough, I am sure.”

Harriet nodded. His words hurt because she assumed he meant them, but if he knew the truth about her, he would likely keep his distance. She had already been made a fool of once. The thought that someone might avoid her as if she had the plague was more insulting than she could take.

She started at the sound of Oliver clearing his throat. The guests went quiet and looked at him. He glanced at Bridget, and she smiled. “Would you like to say it?” he asked her.

She smiled. “Lord Murrey has asked me to be his wife,” she said matter-of-factly.

Harriet’s stomach dropped. She scrunched her face up in confusion. Her aunt? Her happily widowed aunt who was so very skeptical of men? She could hardly believe her ears.

Bridget was supposed to teach Harriet how to be a self-sufficient woman. She had promised Harriet that she didn’t need a husband. Yet, this whole time, she’d been engaged. Morgan clapped and offered his congratulations.

“When did this happen?” Harriet asked.

“We have been keeping this rather quiet until we felt certain,” Oliver explained. “It felt like tonight was the perfect opportunity to share.”

Harriet was quick to respond. “Does Lady Daphne know?”

“Not yet,” Oliver replied. “I think it might be difficult for her to hear, but I’ve been speaking to her about the possibility that I might remarry.”

“I think she will be delighted when she finds out how often she can see the rabbits!” Bridget laughed, her eyes crinkling up with joy.

“She deserves to know,” Harriet pointed out.

“What do you know of child-rearing?” Morgan asked.

“No—” Harriet frowned. “I just wonder if this is such a good idea. You know, seeing as you value your solitude,” she said to her aunt.

“I enjoy my solitude, but I have enjoyed time spent with Lord Murrey just as much,” Bridget stated.

“Hmm.” Harriet swallowed hard, and that hollow feeling grew.

Her aunt had known what it was like to be her, only now, she was all alone again. If Bridget really thought that a man could not make a woman happy, then she wouldn’t have needed to marry. Harriet had never expected her aunt to lie so easily.

Morgan raised his glass. “To the happy couple!”

The dinner passed at a snail’s pace, and Harriet kept her mouth shut for the rest of it. The Duke seemed to offer her less attention.

Now, she sat at the pianoforte at her aunt’s insistence. She began to play. Perhaps music was the only thing she was accomplished at, but when she thought about it, she realised that she had dreaded every time she had been encouraged to play. Her mother had encouraged her to like music, her father encouraged her to enjoy his business, and her sisters each had their own hobbies, but Harriet had none of her own. It became clear to her at that moment that she had spent so long allowing others to decide who she was.

Harriet’s hands raced over the keys quickly. She’d memorised so many songs by heart that she no longer needed to watch her fingers on the keys. The house was warm and cosy. The walls were the colour of oxblood, and the couches were cream-coloured. The floors were a dark wood that looked dusty yet inviting all at once.

On one couch, Bridget and Lord Murrey sat looking all moony-eyed for each other, while Lucy sat on the other couch looking like she was about to drift off to sleep. In the arch that led to the foyer, the Duke leaned against the wall, watching Harriet. His eyes were piercing as if he were looking right through her. As handsome as he was, he seemed a bit aloof towards her, while he was warm towards everyone else in the room.

As Harriet finished the song, she slowly let her fingers run over the keys. She stood up, expecting applause, but none arrived. Her aunt and Lord Murrey were so immersed in each other that they hadn’t realised she’d finished, and Lucy was sleeping.

She walked around the pianoforte and nudged her sister awake. “Wake up!” she whispered. “Go play the pianoforte!”

“Do I have to?” Lucy rubbed her face with her hand as if she could wipe the sleep off.

“Yes,” Harriet hissed sharply.

Lucy begrudgingly stepped towards the pianoforte and looked at the sheet music for something she could read. She wasn’t naturally gifted at the piano, but her ears seemed to deceive her. She tended to think she was much better than she was. The first notes were clumsy, and Harriet dropped down onto the couch.

The Duke sat beside her. “How do you like wagers?” he asked.

“I think gambling is a rotten habit,” Harriet said.

“Mhm, yes, it can be. But isn’t it thrilling when you win?”

Harriet pressed her tongue against her cheek and looked at him. He was looking at her intently, studying her. It was strange to think that he found her so interesting, when most of her life, she’d been an open book. “Yes.”

“All right,” he said, sighing as if he were just getting comfortable.

He smiled at her briefly, and her heart fluttered. In her head, Harriet nearly screamed for it to stop. God, she wanted to touch his hair. It looked so soft.

He took a deep breath. “If I can guess why you’re staying here, then you have to give me one good reason why my uncle and Lady Moore should not get married.”

She squinted. “What shall I win?”

“Well, what do you want?”

You.

Oh goodness, no, Harriet couldn’t say that. She didn’t know him. She was romanticising, yet again.

Once he finds out. He won’t give you another thought once he finds out.

She considered the question, her eyebrows furrowed. “I want you to no longer pursue my past.”

“Agreed.” He nodded. For a few minutes, they sat listening to the music, and Harriet assumed that he’d lost interest. Then, he took a deep breath. “You lost a love, did you not?”

Harriet turned to him. “You have to be more specific, Your Grace.”

“You called off your engagement.”

She shook her head. Her heart felt a little lighter, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. “Why do you think that it was my choice?”

He shrugged. “You have just… an air about you? I get a sense you do not intend on settling for less than what you deserve. And any man who left you would be a fool.”

The pang of his words was sharp and pointed. The Duke saw a strong and confident woman, but the truth was that Harriet was weak and codependent. Even now, she was hanging onto her aunt and sister like they were the only lifeboats in a sea designed to swallow her.

“I was the one who was left. At the altar. I wasted four years on someone who ran away with another woman. How pathetic, right?”

Morgan went quiet, leaning back in his chair and processing what she said with a stoic face. He was difficult to read. His disposition had proven to be capricious. Happy at one time and guarded at another. “That is unfortunate,” he said quietly.

“You lost the wager. I should not have told you.”

“But you did. And I could infer why the announcement tonight upset you, but I will not push any further.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, folding her arms over her chest.

For a moment, she imagined they were wings that she could hide inside of indefinitely. Most birds had wings to fly, but Harriet hated heights, and at this point, she hated pushing herself. Birds, by most accounts, were annoying and loud. Chickens were the worst of the bunch. When she’d gone out to collect the eggs that morning, one of the hens had followed her and pecked at her feet.

But maybe she needed to be more like a bird. She had flown too close to the sun and got scorched. But even on the worst of days, birds would always fly again.

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