A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)
A Vixen for the Duke: Chapter 11

“My dress is prettier than yours,” Daphne boasted, holding the box proudly in her arms. It was tied up with a lovely lavender ribbon, the same colour as the dress she decided on.

“We must agree to disagree.” Harriet beamed. “I feel like a princess in mine.”

The modiste’s was on a quiet corner of the town centre. From the outside, it didn’t look anything like the high-end dressmakers of London. Harriet had wondered if the dresses would be as fashionable as the ones back home. While her father was old-fashioned, Harriet’s mother had kept the girls up to date with the newest fashions and styles, especially during the Season.

Inside the store, sample dresses lined the walls and perfectly hugged the plush curves of the dress forms. There were fabrics of nearly every colour arranged on the wall in rainbow order. Harriet was pleasantly surprised with the designs. In fact, this modiste seemed like the best-kept secret outside of London. Much to her chagrin, the prices reflected the quality, but Morgan had paid for her new dress without question.

Harriet had originally sought to have the dress that was damaged remade, but after speaking with the modiste, she had decided on a lovely coral dress. It had beautiful pearl beading all around the high waistline and the closures on the back.

Daphne paraded down the street, her head held higher than heaven above. “You know, Miss Lucy told me that purple is the colour of queens. That is why I chose this one.”

“I never thought about that,” Harriet drawled.

Lucy cleared her throat. “If I may.” She butted her head in between Harriet and Daphne. “Long ago, actually, purple dye could only be afforded by those of great wealth.”

“Why?” Daphne’s mouth hung open. She was intrigued yet bored all at once.

Lucy raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised that the eleven-year-old wanted to hear more. “There was King of Macedon. A man named Alexander the Great. He had… Uhm, okay, we must start a little earlier. I will have to tell you about the Achaemenid Empire. You know what Mesopotamia is, right?”

Daphne shook her head.

“Oh my, you have much to learn,” Lucy said.

Harriet could not be more bored by the history lesson, although it seemed Daphne was interested. There were many more interesting things to focus on, such as Morgan. He was walking only a few paces ahead of the group, just enough that Harriet could enjoy the view without being noticed. It was admittedly very gallant of him to be so adamant about replacing her dress. The modiste had to make a few alterations to Harriet’s dress before it would fit her perfectly, so she would need to wait a few days before she got to see her new coral dress in all of its splendour.

Morgan swivelled his head, grinning at something behind Harriet before he caught her looking at him. He stopped walking long enough for her to catch up to him.

“What is so humorous, Your Grace?”

He laughed lightly. “I suppose it’s rather funny that two weeks ago, Daphne had relocated an ant hill into my bedchamber to avoid her lessons, and now she is willingly talking about the silk road with your sister.”

“Perhaps the difference is a teacher who is passionate about the topic,” Harriet said. “My parents never prioritised academics with my sisters and me. They were keen on nurturing us so that one day we may in turn nurture our own families. But our Lucy is enraptured by all the things that we weren’t expected to know and bored by all the things we were expected to know.”

Morgan smiled. “Your sister is admirable, although I imagine she would not care what I think. It was her who said that all men, in some way, are fools?”

Harriet suppressed an amused smile. “Correct.”

“Credit where credit is due, she is undoubtedly onto something.”

“It is very mature of you to say so,” Harriet teased.

“Miss Harriet?”

Harriet and Morgan looked up to see a man walking the opposite way down the same sidewalk. Harriet started, her heart dropping into the pit of her stomach. “Lord Blackwell.”

The last time she’d seen Lord Blackwell was at a garden party that she had attended with her family weeks before the wedding. He had known Jeremy his entire life. The two were like brothers. Despite their bond, Lord Blackwell had never approved of Jeremy’s betrothal. Harriet had endured much disdain and overheard whispers when he had been around.

Lord Blackwell ran his hand over his head, ruffling his golden hair. He glanced briefly at Morgan before he looked back at Harriet. “Out here in the country, are you?”

“Lady Moore has been a gracious host to my sister and me.” Harriet nodded, gesturing forward towards her aunt Bridget, who was some distance ahead with Lord Murrey. They were stuck in their own world, completely unaware that the rest of the group had been stopped.

Lord Blackwell glanced at Lucy briefly. “She needn’t come to the country,” he said. “It was very kind of her to come out here, seeing as the scandal could affect her chances of securing a respectful husband.”

“My sister’s choices—”

“I don’t believe we have been acquainted.” Morgan stepped between her and Lord Blackwell. Harriet sighed, feeling relieved that she wouldn’t have to endure the humiliation of allowing this man to question her and her sister. Lord Blackwell knew that if she dared to stand up for herself and her sister, he could shame her family twofold with rumours of her insolence. “The Duke of Stanton. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”

“It is comforting to know that Miss Harriet’s family is gracious enough to support her during such a time.” Lord Blackwell smiled, but his eyes remained unchanged, glinting with contempt.

“Their accommodations are not surprising, considering that they are cut of the same cloth,” Morgan said.

“We are of one mind.”

“Then I must also assume that you hold Miss Harriet in the highest of regards. If it pleases you to speak of her, then might you tell all of London how taken I am with her?” Morgan smirked. “It is always proper to add some truth into the rumour mill.”

“You are aware of the scandal, then?”

“Even this far from London, Lord Northwick’s indiscretions have been the subject of much discussion.”

Lord Blackwell huffed, shaking off his discomfort with a brusque laugh. “Lord Northwick is most honourable.”

“A man of honour keeps his word. Is that not true, Lord Blackwell?”

“It—” Lord Blackwell exhaled heavily through his nose and shifted on his feet. “Absolutely, Your Grace. If I have said otherwise, then know that such words were misinterpreted.”

Morgan extended his hand, and Lord Blackwell accepted it. But before the man could break the handshake, Morgan firmly grasped him by the elbow and squeezed his hand. “I assure you that I thought no such thing. Only a knave would question Miss Harriet’s scruples.” With that, he let go of him.

Lord Blackwell quickly tipped his hat and bowed. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Harriet.”

“Likewise, Lord Blackwell.” Harriet smiled, watching him hurry away in the other direction slightly hunched, like a foolish puppy with his tail tucked between his legs. She looked up at Morgan.

“I would believe him to be the most repugnant man to walk the earth if not for my knowledge of Lord Northwick,” he mumbled and continued walking.

Harriet fell into stride beside him. Her breath was still caught in her throat, unable to come out. Morgan had not only acted chivalrous in her defence but had spoken praises that she hardly deserved. The way he spoke of her made her feel weak in the knees. She repeated his words in her head, hoping that she may never forget them.

“I am so sorry, Harriet. I meant to help, but perhaps you would have preferred to handle such a matter yourself,” he said.

Lucy groaned. “What a useless rat!” She caught up with Harriet while Daphne followed close behind. “You handled that with a grace that I do not possess, Harriet. I would have said words the likes of which he has never heard muttered from a woman’s mouth.”

“Then I consider him fortunate.” Harriet laughed, trying her hardest to brush off the encounter.

Morgan’s words had meant the world to her, but once again, being subject to the sort of talk that might be spreading around London was enough to leave her with a sour taste in her mouth. She had wondered—if she had had the courage to ask—what Lord Blackwell would fault her for. If being left at the altar was avoidable, then what must she have done to prevent it?

“Cousin?” Daphne asked, leaning forward so that she could see Morgan. Her mouth was scrunched up with annoyance. “Just this morning, you told me that lying was wrong.”

Morgan ran his hand through his hair and tugged at the brown locks. “I—”

“Allow me,” Harriet offered, her hand lightly touching his elbow. She wasn’t sure why she did it. It was an affectionate gesture, but she hadn’t realised until that very moment that she wished to protect him with the same fierceness that he had just protected her with. “Usually, lying is a beastly habit, but in this very specific case, His Grace’s lies were a kindness that I do not deserve. As unfortunate as it is, Lady Daphne, sometimes, one must fight the wickedness of injustice with lesser injustices.”

“I do enjoy the moral debate of whether the ends can truly justify the means,” Lucy mused.

“A white lie is not worthy of such debates.” Harriet looked down the street, but by this point, her aunt and Oliver were several minutes ahead of them, completely unaware that they had left the group behind.

“Miss Lucy, will you tell me more?” Daphne asked.

“Oh, yes, where did I leave off?”

Daphne smiled. “The busyington Empire,” she declared with confidence.

“Oh yes, the Byzantine Empire,” Lucy corrected. “Byzantine.”

“That’s what I said.”

While the two discussed history, Harriet looked up at Morgan. “You have shown such kindness to me today,” she said. “You have made up for your transgressions tenfold. I hope that I may do the same regarding mine.”

Morgan squinted in the sunlight. He held up his hand to protect his eyes from the high midday sun that poked over the rooftops of the shops and glared at him. “Between you and me, I am not sure if I lied.”

“Oh,” Harriet sighed, her fingertips tingling as if she’d fallen asleep on top of them. She stopped in her tracks, and Morgan stilled beside her. Daphne and Lucy continued on, unaware.

Her eyes met with his. He took a deep breath and stood assuredly as if he meant what he’d said. Harriet couldn’t hold his gaze. Her eyes flickered away to the ground, and her cheeks reddened.

As much as she believed herself to be falling in love, she also knew that she didn’t even know what love was. She couldn’t set herself up for pain just because one handsome man had shown her affection. She had to keep a level head. If not, she might end up just as hurt as Jeremy had made her. Perhaps even worse.

“Between you and me,” Harriet repeated softly.