A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)
A Vixen for the Duke: Chapter 7

The Stanton estate was much lovelier than Bridget’s. The Dowager Viscountess liked to live a meagre existence, while the Duke showed his wealth with his opulent home. The manor itself was built in the Greek Revival style, with tall pillars, intricate friezes and lush gardens.

Today was a particularly sunny day. The weather was warming up, and the sun felt pleasantly hot on Harriet’s skin. Further out, Bridget and Lord Murrey were enjoying some banter, obviously entertaining enough to make them both laugh. They set up the bows and targets for some archery. Harriet had never tried her hand at archery. In fact, her father might not have been too pleased to hear she was doing that instead of something he deemed a bit more ladylike. But what was the point of being ladylike, anyway? Being a lady was an act designed to hypnotise men.

“That is a very pretty dress.”

Harriet swivelled, looking down at Daphne, who stood beside her with her arms crossed. She immediately stepped back defensively. “Thank you.”

“Well, just that it would be terrible if it got dirty,” Daphne said. “I would hate for you to get all dirty again.”

Harriet furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do you dislike me?”

Daphne raised her palms as if to say she wasn’t entirely sure. “There is just something about you.”

“Well, you are certainly not the only person who sees me as a target, so perhaps you’re correct,” Harriet said.

Daphne laughed. Harriet expected it to look cruel, but the girl simply looked amused. “I like your honesty. Not everyone is honest with me.”

“You want honesty?”

“I do.”

“Then I think you’re a terrible brat,” Harriet spat.

Daphne laughed again. “I promise to be nice today,” she said, bouncing from foot to foot like she was ready for a race. “I had an eventful morning already.”

“What did you do this time?”

“I rehomed an ant hill.”

Harriet’s features drew back in horror. “To… To where?”

“My cousin’s bed.” Daphne smiled.

Harriet burst out in laughter but quickly pressed a hand to her mouth to contain her giggles. It was a horrible prank, but she would have loved to be present when the Duke discovered his cousin’s efforts. “That is terrible!”

“It was fun, and if I’m being berated for my pranks, then I don’t have to study.”

Harriet looked out, watching her aunt and Lord Murrey with frustration. She was curious about what Daphne thought of the whole arrangement. Perhaps they might replace themselves accidental allies. “What is your opinion of Lady Moore and your—”

“Miss Harriet!” the Duke called out from across the lawn, hurrying towards her. She stopped, taken aback by how good he looked with the sun on his cheeks and the breeze playing with his hair. He was too handsome for his own good.

“Your Grace,” Harriet said, stepping back.

Daphne huffed. “What were you saying?”

Harriet opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off by the Duke. “Daphne, may I have a moment with Miss Harriet?”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, walking away, her eyes set on Lucy.

“What are you doing?” Harriet asked, her nose twitching with frustration. “I was in the middle of a somewhat pleasant conversation.”

Morgan looked over his shoulder to confirm that Daphne was too far away. “She does not yet know that her father is engaged to your aunt.”

“You still haven’t told her?” Harriet asked. “When will you tell her? When my aunt is halfway down the aisle?”

Instead of matching her ire, the Duke simply scoffed lightly and grinned. “She is my cousin. Do you suppose I might know better than you? Or do you possess some clairvoyance that allows you to foresee disaster?”

“I might!”

“Hmm,” he said. “How interesting. What do you see in my future?”

Harriet frowned. “I can see your past even clearer,” she said quietly, biting her tongue lightly.

“And what do you see?”

“Ants,” she whispered.

And with that, Morgan’s face grew red, and Harriet turned on her heels, walking across the lawn with the brevity and freedom of a feather in the wind. “Excuse me, Miss Harriet, that is certainly not funny!” he called out.

Harriet ignored him, but she could hear him running after her.

She drew closer to her aunt. “You have practised a great deal, haven’t you, Auntie?” Harriet asked, referring to the bow and arrow in her aunt’s hand. “You must teach me.”

Bridget smiled. “Do you want to shoot the first arrow?”

“I think that’s a marvellous—”

“Yes!” Harriet said, interrupting Lord Murrey. He was a nuisance, and he was clouding her aunt’s judgement. She wouldn’t stand for it.

Harriet took the bow, and her aunt explained how to position the arrow. With a shaking arm, she tugged back on the string, realising quickly that it was much more difficult than it appeared.

“Now, look where you want the arrow to land,” Bridget said, pointing at the target a good twenty yards away.

Harriet concentrated, squinting. She drew back her arm, but it was hard to keep the arrow steady with all the tension in the bowstring. Just like that, she let go of the bow. The arrow tumbled onto the ground, not even making it past the starting line. “It… It’s broken!” she said.

“It is not broken,” Lord Murrey said. He reached out to take the bow from her, but before he could, Harriet turned and offered it to her aunt.

“Allow me to show you, dear.” Bridget took the bow, positioned the arrow and pulled on the string with ease. “Now, imagine you are the arrow. Imagine you are flying through the air. If you are the arrow, you will hit the target each and every time.” And just like that, she released the bow. The arrow shot through the air.

Bullseye!

Harriet huffed. “You make it look so easy,” she grumbled.

“With practise, anything can be easy,” her aunt said, handing the bow off to Lord Murrey. He positioned himself.

“Aunt Bridget,” Harriet began. She did not even know what she was going to say. Nearly anything would do, so long as Bridget wasn’t giving Lord Murrey any unnecessary attention. “I caught your rabbit trying to escape this morning.”

“It is mating season, and that Edward is desperate. What did you expect, dear?”

“You don’t want any baby rabbits? I imagine they would be so sweet and cuddly.” Harriet swayed on her feet, already overjoyed at the thought of a tiny cotton ball of a rabbit snoozing in her palm.

“I already made that mistake once,” Bridget said. “I could not, in good conscience, allow Edward to eat his children again.”

Harriet’s mouth dropped open, and she felt ill.

“Is that not the single worst thing you have heard today?”

Harriet started at the sound of the Duke. She turned. His hands were in his pockets as he watched his uncle shoot the arrow. Lord Murrey hit the target but missed the centre by several rings. “She cannot be serious,” she whispered.

“That rabbit is a rake and ne’er-do-well. I cannot say I am surprised,” Morgan said.

Lord Murrey handed off the arrow to his nephew, but before he could get his betrothed’s attention, Harriet put her hand on her aunt’s arm. “Where did you learn archery, Auntie?”

“Lord Murrey suggested it, actually,” Bridget replied.

Harriet felt like she wanted to just shout all her anger away. The hobby that made her aunt so independent and incredible had been suggested to her by him? It was like no one could detect the irony but Harriet. Everyone else had the freedom to live normal lives while she wasted away all by herself.

The Duke took his shot, missing the target by about a dozen yards. Bridget set the bow down and asked, “What do you say, Lord Murrey? How about we let these two collect the arrows while we sit down for some tea?”

“What an excellent idea.” Oliver beamed, smiling mischievously.

Harriet huffed. “They cannot foist that on us.”

“We are young,” Morgan said. “Let’s go.”

Begrudgingly, Harriet followed, hiking up her blue dress just enough so that it wouldn’t drag on the ground.

“You are so transparent,” the Duke said.

Harriet stopped halfway to the target, and so did he. He stood squarely in front of her, his arms crossed. “Go on, then,” she said, pointing her nose up to the sky haughtily.

“Soaking up all of your aunt’s attention is not a detriment to her romance. It merely makes you look childish.”

“Child—” Harriet’s nose burned red. She hated to be called immature. She so often had been, but it couldn’t be true. She was twenty years old and as grown as anyone else. “I am not. I am being mature. Whatever connection they believe they have is misguided. My aunt doesn’t want to remarry.”

The Duke looked across the lawn to where Bridget and Lord Murrey were enjoying tea and laughing while Lucy and Daphne were chatting. “It certainly looks like she wants to be.”

“She does not,” Harriet gritted out. “Ever since my uncle passed away, she has been enjoying the spoils of being a single woman. She hates to be told what to do. She’s so independent and headstrong. She values her time spent in solitude. How could you wish that on your uncle?”

The Duke blinked. He looked at Harriet for just a moment, perhaps thinking over what she just said. “If they were entering a traditional union, then by all means, you are correct,” he relented. “But nothing about their relationship is traditional. Let us let bygones be bygones, hmm?”

Defeated, Harriet kept walking towards the target. She grabbed hold of the arrow with two hands and tugged at it, but it was properly stuck.

“Allow me to help,” Morgan said, reaching out.

His hand brushed against hers, and her heart jolted. He pulled back as if he’d been burnt. Again, Harriet heaved, pulling as hard as she could to dislodge the arrow.

“I am starting to think that you are projecting,” he said.

With one final tug, she pulled the arrow out from the target. Her forehead was shiny with sweat. “Aren’t you?” The Duke didn’t respond, so Harriet looked at him. “You pretend you’re this big, strong man who has a nice house and all his money and his business, but deep down, you’re a bit more feeling than all of that.”

“What are you implying?”

“I am implying that you are happy to see your uncle marrying because you’re a romantic,” she stated. “But I have come to learn that love isn’t that simple. If it looks that easy, it very likely is not.”

The Duke leaned in, his face serious. “What about being a romantic makes me any less strong?” He shook his head. “Just because you have been burnt by love does not now mean that romance no longer exists. My uncle is the most honest and genuine man I know. If he declares himself to be in love, believe it.”

Harriet wasn’t sure how to respond, so she shut her mouth.

“I have no issues with your past. I simply have an issue with your attitude. Do not mistake my kindness for a proposal.” He yanked the other arrow out of the target with ease. Then, he turned and walked past the target, looking for the arrow he overshot.

“I am sorry,” Harriet choked out. “I should not have implied that you are attracted to me. I just feel so angry and I don’t know why. Everything just feels—”

“Why did he do it?”

Harriet paused, her brows furrowing. “What?”

“Why did your betrothed leave you at the altar? Do you know?”

Harriet took a deep breath and allowed the anger to rattle around her chest for a minute. “His longtime friend was carrying his child.”

The Duke’s eyes widened. He had stopped looking for the arrow at this point, as he was frozen in a crouch on the ground.

“Are you going to say something?” The question had come out as a whine, as if she was begging him to kill the silence that suffocated her.

“Was your betrothed, by chance, named Edward?”

Harriet crossed her arms. “Not funny.”

“Ah.” The Duke reached out and picked the arrow up. “I cannot believe that such a thing reflects poorly on you.”

“Of course it does.” Harriet huffed. “If I had been prettier or smarter, or skinnier, then maybe he would have—”

“No,” Morgan cut her off. “He was the one who should have done things differently. You gave him your loyalty, and he gave you nothing. Besides…” He paused, looking a bit uncomfortable as he stood up. “You are beautiful, so you cannot worry about that. You seem intelligent enough to me. Your attitude, however…” He walked away.

Harriet pressed her hand to her cheek. It was red-hot. She felt like she might simply explode right there. It had felt so much like a fairy—

I’m doing it again.

She tamped the feelings down and marched after him. Morgan had only said it to make her feel better, she was sure. Although it was a nice gesture, she wouldn’t let it cloud her judgement, again. Lucy and Bridget had been right about how ridiculous fairytales were. And regardless, here Harriet was, slipping back into old habits.