A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)
A Vixen for the Duke: Chapter 6

“His Grace couldn’t stay away from you. I think if I died right on his lap, he wouldn’t have noticed on account of you. Disgusting,” Lucy sneered, pulling the brush through her hair. The snaps and pops of her hair breaking made Harriet cringe but seemed to have little to no effect on Lucy.

“You spent most of the night talking to Lord Murrey. You never gave him much of a chance,” Harriet said, sitting criss-cross on the bed.

“Lord Murrey likes a debate, and I have nothing else to do in this house since all of my books were taken away!”

“I told His Grace about why I left London. Any interest he had in me is surely shattered,” Harriet said. “You know how I got all muddied in the rain yesterday?”

Lucy giggled. “How could I forget? It was quite a sight.”

“Well,” Harriet began slowly, “he offered to help me up and replace my damaged clothing, and he allowed me to take his coat. That is… I mean, that is a romantic gesture, right?”

Lucy groaned. She dropped the brush on the vanity and turned on the bench to face her sister. “You have to be joking.”

Harriet’s face soured, her mouth scrunched as if she had bitten into a lemon.

“Have you formed an attachment with him?”

“Isn’t that—” Harriet exhaled. She didn’t know what love was anymore. Her aunt had made an excellent point the other day. If a man whom Harriet didn’t care for pursued her the way that Jeremy had, she would have found the behaviour unsettling. So, if showering one with flowers or returning their glass slipper wasn’t love or romance, then what was? “I do not know. Maybe.”

“No,” Lucy said plainly. “You feel for him because he offered you a coat after his cousin behaved poorly? The gesture is not romantic. He is trying to save face with you after you saw what an unforgivable twirp his cousin is.”

“No, I…” Harriet bit her lip. “You are right. I cannot possibly.”

“So, what if he’s handsome?” Lucy muttered. “There are plenty of handsome men in the world, and unfortunately, they coast by with nary a care for anyone else.”

“You think he does not care?”

Lucy sighed. “What did he say when you revealed the nature of your visit to the country?”

Harriet wrung her hands as a way to channel her nervous energy. “He got quiet. He apologised for asking.”

“Yes, well, he was sorry he found out, not sorry he asked. Men are simple creatures.” Lucy paused. “I mean to say, the entire lot of them are stupid in some form or fashion.”

Harriet sighed, feeling like she was lying face down in the wreckage of her emotions. She was more confused than ever. Was she only holding onto the Duke because he had treated her with kindness? She hated to think she was a slave for the affections of men.

“And can you expect him to so simply believe that you had scandalised yourself?” Lucy seemed a bit heated. She picked the hairbrush back up and combed through her dark tresses with vigour. “As if it was your fault that Lord Northwick was producing heirs without you! Why must that be your fault? Absolutely boils my blood.”

Harriet nodded, but she would be lying if she agreed anymore with Lucy. Wasn’t it her fault? Could she have done more for Jeremy? Could she have been more soft-spoken and gentle?

She scrunched up her nose and pulled the blankets up so that just her head was poking out. “I cannot believe our aunt is marrying. After she told me how independent she was and how there was so much joy in being a spinster.”

“Oh, Harriet, it is not that simple. She really likes Lord Murrey.”

“I thought such romance would make you gag.”

Lucy shook her head. “If a man can match a lady’s wit and intelligence, then he is a suitable match,” she said. “But as I said, most men are fools.” She paused, her index finger on her lower lip. “Correction. All men, in some form or fashion.”

“You cannot make such a generalisation!”

“I did, I have, and I will,” Lucy said, smiling with pride. “I should be lucky to find a man intelligent enough to mentally spar with me.”

Harriet huffed, turning over in her bed. No one agreed with her, and all she had to look forward to was a life completely isolated. One day, everyone she knew would be married off and too busy for her. They would have children of their own and a nice estate with a garden. So many things that she dreamed of were no longer within reach. And that stung her the most.

“You realise I would not care for you so deeply if I did not do my due diligence?” Morgan glanced at his uncle, who was halfway through a novel, his body sunk into the couch.

Oliver glanced up at him. “Hmm?”

Morgan smiled lightly. His uncle had always been nose-deep in a book. “Are you certain that your love match is a good idea?”

Oliver sighed, placing his book down and looking back at his nephew. “In what manner?”

“In every manner possible. Will you be able to tolerate her strangeness? Do you want to live the same lifestyle as her?” Morgan set aside the letter he was writing and scooted back, the dining chair sliding across the floor and making a terrible noise. “She is so independent, and you are so caring. Do you think—”

“No.” Oliver shook his head. “She is strong. She knows what she wants, and she takes it. She isn’t strange, she just sees the world differently. And the things I have learned from her have opened my eyes. I am certain.”

Morgan wished that he could love someone as much as his uncle claimed to love the Dowager Viscountess. Maybe, one day, he too could feel a love that strong, but for right now, here he was, pouring himself into his business ventures. Maybe during the next season, he would find himself a wife, but he wasn’t ready to look yet. There was still much work to be done.

“I worry,” Morgan began softly. “After Aunt Louisa passed away, you were so devastated.”

All Oliver could do was nod. His lips drew into a thin line.

“Sometimes, I wondered if you would ever recover from the grief,” Morgan added.

“I did, though,” Oliver said. “Stronger than ever. Louisa told me to pursue my happiness and to pursue Daphne’s happiness. I am doing that.”

Morgan nodded. He pulled the letter in front of him once more and kept writing. His uncle seemed certain, and it truly was time for something great to happen to him. He deserved it after all the strife he’d faced. “As long as you’re happy, Uncle, I am just as happy.”

Oliver picked up his book, a barely apparent smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you for understanding. I hope you look for your happiness just as I have.”

Morgan started at the image that flashed in his mind. He hadn’t thought much of Harriet since the night they had gone to the dinner, so why was she on his mind now? As beautiful as she was, she carried a great scandal on her back. As much as Morgan had enjoyed her company, it seemed like perhaps getting too involved with her could potentially affect not only his business but his uncle and his cousin. He wanted Daphne to enjoy a bright future. If Harriet was any obstacle to that, he would have to get over his initial interest. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remain interested for too much longer.

“Uncle?” Morgan turned, his head tilted inquisitively.

“Yes?”

“How long have you loved her?”

Oliver shook his head. “I can hardly remember when it started. It all happened so slowly, and then one night, realisation dawned on me like a hammer to my heart,” he explained.

“Do you not think that is an ill-advised reason to marry someone? She comes with quirks. She is viewed as obtuse by our inner circle. Does that not scare you?” After Morgan had spoken the words, it had occurred to him that he was no longer speaking about Lady Moore.

“Logic is not love. There are no intelligent choices when it comes to the heart. To lose love because of prejudice is foolish. We are all humans, and we all come with eccentricities and flaws, so why allow them to get in the way?”

Morgan nodded, but the words got him no closer to a conclusion.

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