A basket of Wishes
By: usagi_serenity_tsukino_hime
Chapter 1
Darien Endymion Shields, the twelfth Duke of Heathcourte, had concluded that there wasn't a female in the world who met the requirements he'd set for the woman who would be his duchess.
"Bloody Hell," he muttered. Swallowing his second glass of brandy, he reached out and stroked his pet cat, Fiore, a sleek Siamese who tolerated no one but Darien.
"What's on the boil?" Darien's cousin, Jadeite Branford, asked, confused by Darien's sudden curse. They'd been discussing Darien's recent purchase of a mine in Egypt, but obviously Darien's thoughts were elsewhere now.
Jadeite pondered the mine a moment longer. Darien had bought it for no other reason other than a passing suspicion that the pits might yield treasure, purchasing it right beneath the nose of a second interested buyer. Not only had the miners discovered emeralds within those dark, damp, Egyptian caverns, but authorities claimed the mine to be one of the richest ever found. Practically overnight, the vast Shields fortune had tripled.
Yes, in many ways Darien led a charmed life, even as a boy. Once, when he and Jadeite were running through a field of wildflowers, Darien had spotted a sprinkling of tiny diamonds within the mass of trodden blossoms. Only Darien Shields could have found jewels scattered amidst a lot of broken weeds. Since then, everything he touched had turned to wealth.
Sipping his own brandy, Jadeite felt the familiar spark of envy flicker through him, but since he bore no ill will toward his cousin he didn't feel a jot of guilt over his bit of jealousy. He'd decided long ago that only a saint of the highest heavenly order could resist coveting the title, riches, and power of the illustrious Duke of Heathcourte.
He leaned forward on the satin settee by the fire. "I've often thought you were born under a lucky star, Darien. You were never even been stung by a wasp, do you remember? Whenever we came upon the vicious creatures, it was almost as if they were blown away from you. Why, even the snakes we found that day near the pavilion slithered out of your way!"
Darien turned a sideways glance toward his cousin, a devil-may-care chap whose thick sandy hair was forever tousled and whose blue eyes, lighter in shade than his, were almost always filled with a mixture of mischief and merriment. A relative from Darien's mother side, Jadeite didn't possess a drop of Shields blood or any other rightful claim to a place among England's peerage, but the unshakable bond between them was something no member of the nobility ever dared to ignore.
Jadeite was the only family Darien had.
"Darien? Do you remember the snakes?"
"Snakes?" Darien frowned. "What the devil are you talking about?"
"I might ask the same of you," Jadeite answered, flashing a lopsided smile. "In fact, I think I did."
Darien reached for a bottle of brandy.
"Women," Jadeite guessed suddenly. "Your lack of a duchess always drives you to drink. One thought of the elusive lady turns you into a regular ale knight." "Jadeite, I am in no mood for any of your cheek. Furthermore, the subject of my love life is not up for discussion."
"The deuce, you say!" Jadeite laughed. "Darien, your love life is the discussion, the most talked about subject in all of England. Why, I even heard it said that the queen herself once wondered why you could not seem to pick a bride from the masses of beauties the season produces year after year."
"Indeed."
"Sapphire Marxton can barely wait for you to wed."
"Sapphire Marxton." Darien said, pondering the disreputable womanizer. "So he desires the chance to seduce my wife, does he?"
"It's his hobby, as you well know. Just last month he succeeded in enticing Lord Villier's new bride into meeting him in the garden during a small gathering that the Dunmores gave. Harold Villier is still none the wiser. Neither is Thacker Ainsbury. Rumor has it that Cherise Ainsbury is still seeing Sapphire whenever possible."
"If Sapphire Marxton dares to look at my wife---"
"Seducing a woman who doesn't exist would be quite a feat."
Darien poured more brandy. Liquor wouldn't get him a bride, but it for damn sure would help him forget he didn't have one.
Accustomed as he was to having everything he desired the moment it occurred to him to want it, he simply could not fathom why the trivial task of choosing a duchess proved so infuriating.
He'd been overtly watching society's marital offerings ever since his twenty-eighth birthday, when he'd first decided the time had come to marry and produce an heir. He was thirty-two now and had yet to encounter a single woman who suited him.
Damn it all, finding the perfect wife should have been as effortless a goal to accomplish as any and all he'd ever undertaken.
And yet...
He shook his head. "Finding a basket of wishes would be far easier," he murmured.
Running his fingers through his wavy hair, he glanced at his surroundings.
The green salon was a lofty room, it's elaborately sculpted ceiling supported by pink marble columns. Four exquisite crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, their sparkles of light dancing upon the silk draperies and magnificent gilt chairs, all of which were a warm shade of moss green.
This room had been his parent's favorite. A pity Their Graces had rarely been home long enough to truly enjoy it, Darien thought.
"You know, Darien," Jadeite said, "you're getting quite the reputation for being a man utterly impossible to please. There are many who say that if the goddess of love and beauty herself appeared before you, you would spurn her." He rose from the settee and joined his cousin in front of the huge window. Careful not to stand too close to Fiore---who was watching him with glacial green eyes full of promise of violence---he helped himself to a glass of Darien's brandy. "People are trying to imagine the woman who will finally appear in your life and win you over. And it's not only your peers who wonder, but your tenants and servants as well."
Darien twirled the stem of his snifter, watching the brandy slosh around the sides of the delicate glass. "I'm glad to hear I've provided everyone with such entertainment."
"Entertainment?" Jadeite smiled wryly. "You don't know the meaning of the word. You have no interest other than those related to the Amberville Estate.
"With the exception of my need for an heir, I am satisfied with my life exactly as it is."
"You have no life. And if you don't mind my saying---"
"Mind?" Darien set his glass down on a silver tray. "Since when have you cared whether or not I mind your perishing interference? It has become increasingly more apparent that you've damn all else to do. If I weren't so daft as to consider you a friend, I would have you barred from this house so I could enjoy a bit of peace."
Gleefully, Jadeite continued with the dressing-down, an admonishment he gave his cousin at least once a month.
For all the good it did him. "Darien, this place already resembles a mausoleum. If you were to obtain any more peace than you already have, you would be a corpse. And that is the top and bottom of it."
"But I've no doubt you will soon get to the middle."
"Spot on." Jadeite clasped his cousin's broad shoulder. "Dedicated cousin that I am, I have been doing a bit of research on your behalf. Some observing and interrogating, if you will, and I have decided that Edith Hinderwell and Caroline Pilcher would suit you admirably. Caroline stands to inherit her maternal grandmother's fortune you know. No small sum if the hearsay is to be believed."
Darien feigned an expression of excitement. "You don't say? Well, pauper that I am, I imagine I should ask for the lady's hand straightaway. "
"What? Oh. Yes, Caroline's inheritance would be but money for jam to you. But perhaps you could find it in your heart to marry her and give her grandmother's money to me? It's frightfully difficult living on the pittance I make as an investor."
Darien retrieved his brandy, took a sip, and looked at Jadeite over the rim of the glass. Most men could live quite comfortably on the money Jadeite made from his various investments, all of which Darien had advised him to make. Of course, most men did not possess the passion for such an extravagant lifestyle.
But Darien understood that it wasn't greed that caused his cousin's relentless fascination with money and luxurious possessions. Rather, it was the unforgettable memory of a destitute childhood.
"Are you in need of funds, Jadeite?"
Jadeite felt poignant emotion well up in him. But for Darien, he'd still be in Mallencroft plowing the same fields his father had, living in the same crumbling cottage he'd been born in, and wondering day after day if there would be enough food on the table to assuage his hunger.
But Darien had intervened, and Jadeite loved his cousin like a brother. Indeed, there was nothing he wouldn't do or dare to help him find happiness, an emotion that became more alien to Darien with each passing year. "What I need," Jadeite began softly, "is for you to find true contentment you deserve, but so eludes you."
Shifting uneasily, Darien bowed his head and stared at the raspberry colored carpet. He never knew how to respond to Jadeite's affection.
Nor did he know how to express his own. "Might I remind you that you have yet to find wedded bliss, either?"
Jadeite shrugged. "I'm not in your position. I've no important title to bequeath to an heir."
"Borrow mine for a while."
"Would that I could."
Darien smiled. Jadeite had longed for a title for as long as he could remember. Alas, a title was the one thing that Darien was unable to procure for him.
"We wandered from the subject, Darien. Where was I?"
Darien sighed. "Caroline's inheritance."
"Ah, yes. Very well, cousin, you don't need Caroline's inheritance. But what do you think of her personally?"
"She owns a python. Quite the most outlandish choice of pet I have ever heard of."
Jadeite glanced at Fiore. "A python is a much safer pet to own than that hairy ball of evil you have. I shall never forget that time he sprang off the mantel in your office, landed on my chest, and attempted to take a bite out of my Adam's apple. He would have ripped my throat out if I had not dumped that pitcher of water on him. The conceited beast cared more for his wet fur than eating my neck, thank God for that."
"Nevertheless, a cat is a normal pet."
"You once kept a lizard---"
"I did not have the lizard as a pet, but only because my schoolmaster was having me study the creature's eating habits and---"
"You loved that lizard."
"One cannot love a reptile."
"Why ever not?"
"And not only does Caroline own an absurd pet," Darien added, refusing to discuss the possibility of emotional bonding with a lizard, "but she also enjoys riding."
Jadeite clutched at his chest, as if shock had almost stopped his heart. "Riding? Dear God, she should be beheaded for committing such a heinous crime!"
"I do not object to her riding, but I once overheard her say that she has long wanted to know what it would be like to perform equestrian stunts in a circus. Such a longing is completely unorthodox."
"A fact I feel certain she understands. She merely wonders about riding in the circus, can't you understand that? I've always wanted to wrestle a crocodile, but that does not mean I'd jump into a swamp to satisfy my desire."
"Wrestle a crocodile, Jed? Why in God's name---?"
"To see if I'm strong enough to win the match, naturally."
"Naturally." Darien rolled his eyes.
"Perhaps you should renew your courtship with Beryl Chesterton?" Jadeite suggested, tapping his chin. "She's a beautiful woman, and to the best of my knowledge, she doesn't have a pet and has never mentioned the circus. Every time I see her, she asks about you. It's quite obvious that she believes there was more to your relationship with her than you will acknowledge. Do you know that her father confided that she has refused all other suitors, including Lord Diamond Wyndham?"
"Diamond." Darien frowned a frown that nearly knit his eyebrows together as he pondered his only rival, the duke of Bramwell, an avaricious and ruthless man who had done his utmost to finish the destruction of the Amberville estate that Darien's father had begun.
He hadn't succeeded.
And Darien swore that Diamond would never even come close. "Tell me, Jadeite, is that hairy popinjay still out of sorts over the emerald mine."
Jadeite smiled too. "Word has it that when he learned that you'd outbid him, he locked himself in his rooms and didn't come out for a week. He cannot stand the fact that you are the richest nobleman in England and he the second."
"I've my eye on the vast fruit orchards in Gloucester now," Darien said, still smiling. "They say money doesn't grow on trees, but the saying doesn't apply to these groves. If I know Diamond, he's investigating the same orchards."
"Most likely. Moreover, I imagine he's beside himself wondering if Beryl will ever look at him the way she looks at you. When you were keeping company with her, he was a mass of red-hot rage and cold green jealousy."
Darien sat down in the ladder-back chair next to the window. Staring at the molded ceiling, he summoned Beryl's image to mind. "I've toyed with the idea of marrying her," he allowed himself to admit. "But she...there's something about her. Something...carefully as she tries to hide it, she's of a grasping nature."
"A grasping nature? Do you mean she's interested in your name and estate? I covet your title and fortune, too. Why not cast me aside as well?"
Darien took a while to answer. Not because he did not know what to say, but because it was terribly difficult for him to put his feelings into words. "You may envy me my title and fortune, Jed, but I've no doubt that if I were to lose both tomorrow you would not think less of me."
Jadeite nodded. "True, but only because I know you would somehow earn another title and another fortune."
Unable to help himself, Darien chuckled.
"What is this I hear?" Jadeite asked, cupping his hand over his ear. "Could it actually be that I am being treated to the rare sound of Amberville mirth? A pity I cannot bottle the sound, for I feel sure I could make my own fortune selling it to the multitude of people who do not believe it exists."
"How amusing. You know, I think I heard it said that the queen is in dire need of a court jester. Perhaps you should apply for the position?"
"And neglect my obligation to assist you in finding a duchess? Consider seeing Beryl again."
Darien rubbed his shoulder. "I'll give it some thought, but---"
"And think about Edith Hinderwell, too. She's quiet and docile. I've never seen her do anything odd. She's a plain thing, too. Although her father can afford the very best for her, her gowns are simple, and she wears hardly any jewelry. In my opinion, that indicates that she cares little for material possessions."
"She indulges in superstitious nonsense. Last year at Lord Tremayne's birthday gala, I saw her gazing out the window with such an intense expression on her face that I was certain she was seeing some ghastly occurrence. She informed me that she was merely wishing on stars."
Jadeite moved closer to Darien's chair. "Come now, Darien, there is nothing peculiar about wishing on stars. When we were lads I taught you how to do it, and we wished on dozens of them. We collected four-leafed clovers, put pennies in our shoes, and looked for the end of the rainbow to find the pot of---"
"The stuff of childhood, and no wish I've ever made came true. And if my memory serves me correctly I ceased to believe in such absurdities long before you did."
Jadeite rubbed the bit of stubble on his chin. "Well, actually I haven't quite overcome my belief in wishing on stars. Only last night, I waited for the first star to appear in the sky and wished for a mountain of gold."
Darien stared at his cousin. "You didn't."
Jadeite tipped his glass over his mouth, watched one last drop of brandy fall to his bottom lip, then licked it off. "I did."
"And do you believe that such dreams will come true simply because you wished on a hot ball of gas?"
Such sadness for Darien came over Jadeite at that moment that he had to restrain himself from hugging his cousin. "What I believe is that when one ceases to believe in wishing---"
"One dies. I know your speeches by heart, Jed."
"You may know my speeches by heart, but it is obvious that you have not taken them to heart."
Darien resigned himself to yet another of Jed's incessant lectures, but he couldn't stifle a yawn.
"Bored, cousin? Well, I can certainly understand why. I've stayed here at Heathcourte often enough to memorize your monotonous routine. You awaken at seven, and bathe at seven and a quarter. You dress at precisely ten until eight, and breakfast at eight-thirty. You're in your office by nine on the dot, and---"
"You---" "On Monday evenings your cook knows that the main course is to be leg of mutton with oysters. On Tuesdays your dinner is always sirloin of beef, served only after you have finished your partridge soup, of course. Wednesdays are lobster nights, Thursdays---"
"What in God's name is wrong with dining upon certain foods on certain evenings? The meals are all quite to my liking, and I see no reason why---"
"And you want a wife similar to your weekly food calendar. You objected to the women I mentioned because they all want, do, or have something you consider unconventional. In a word, your duchess must be boring."
Darien bristled. "I hardly think that a wife who is simple in character is boring."
"You want a woman as indifferent to the spice of life as you are," Jadeite continued heedlessly. "Who not only follows your dry-as-dust routine, but who embraces the ho-hum rhythm of the Shields household. And she'll place little importance on your name and wealth. Rather, she will devote her every waking moment to you and your children, possessing no other interests whatsoever. She'll---"
"Damn it all, Jadei---"
"I know why you desire such a wife."
"And why wouldn't you?" Darien snapped. "You know everything else about me, do you not?"
Jadeite marched toward the fireplace. There he picked up a gold oval frame that contained a painted miniature of the former duke and duchess of Heathcourte.
"Damien and Terra Shields," he said, holding the frame high in the air. "Terra's love of exotic adventure is still mentioned every now and again among older members of the ton. They say Damien indulged Terra's every whim and took her to climb snowy mountain peaks halfway around the world. He granted her wishes to ride elephants through snake-infested jungles, hunt for long-lost buried treasure on eerie deserted islands, and sample live termites on a stick with savages who wore shrunken heads around their necks and slivers of bone through their nostrils."
"I am well aware of the details concerning my parents' travels---"
"No Darien, you are not. Nor is anyone else. Your mother and father traveled so frequently that they had little time to describe their grand adventures to anyone, including you. They were gone for months at a time, and when they returned they stayed home but for a short while before leaving on yet another bizarre venture."
"Why do you do this, Jed?" Darien demanded. "I'm convinced that you lie abed at night with paper and pencil, jotting down all the many ways you can succeed in rousing my temper."
Jadeite shrugged. "A frightening task, but someone has to do it." He placed the frame back on the mantel and, with his hands clasped behind is back, he paced around the room. "Terra's incessant craving to see the world made your own world a very lonely one. Her obsession with the unusual---which was what compelled her to make her wild excursions---gave you an intense need for the conventional. And her adoration of your father's riches made you suspicious of anyone the least bit curious over your wealth."
Jadeite stopped beside the sofa, picked up a pillow, and ran his thumb over the swirling embroidery. "Rebellion, that's what has driven you to become the man you are," he said softly. "Your life now is much like a revolt against uncomfortable memories. After all, a lad who is made to eat peas when he doesn't like peas is going to be a man who will never allow a pea in his house."
"Peas? That is the most absurd---"
"Perhaps, but it describes what's happened to you." With a flick of his wrist, Jadeite tossed the embroidered pillow back on the settee. "Don't you see, Darien? Everything you do is in direct defiance of something you were forced to bear as a lad."
"You have said outside of enough, Jed." Darien rose from his chair.
Noticing the expression on Darien's face, Jadeite realized it was not his cousin he was seeing, but the forbidding duke, a man whose cool demeanor veiled a volatile temper.
And a gravely wounded heart. "Darien---"
"No more!"
"Ever the bitter duke, eh? What do you have for breakfast in the mornings? A jug of vinegar?"
"Kerosene," came Darien's quick reply.
"I'd suggest you try lemon juice every now and again, but such a change might pull you from the culinary rut you're in." Pulling at his shirt cuffs, Jadeite headed for the door. "I know how bereft you will feel over the loss of my captivating company, but I must make my leave. The weather's set is fair, and I'm off to the Thirlway picnic. Lord and Lady Thirlway so enjoy entertaining outside in autumn. Oh, and if I'm not mistaken, there is a cemetery not far from the Thirlway estate. Perhaps I'll find you a wife there."
Darien smiled. "I'll speak to the queen. I'm sure that if I recommend you, she'll hire you as her court jester."
Laughing, Jadeite executed a low, sweeping bow. "Good day, Your Grace. I leave you with your friends, Monotony, Dreary and Boredom. And good day to you too, Fiore," he said to the cat. "I leave you with your friends, Vile, Hateful, and Wicked."
When his cousin was gone, Darien stared at the empty threshold for a moment, and then slowly moved his gaze to the gold frame on the fireplace mantel.
His parents' likenesses looked back at him. Both were dressed in the garb of Mexico, Damien wearing a sombrero, and Terra wearing a gaily embroidered white peasant blouse. Both were smiling, obviously enjoying themselves immensely.
Darien remembered their trip to Mexico. He'd been seven then. Maybe eight. His mother had actually been given permission to fight a bull in Mexico City, a favor granted after his father had bribed the authorities with a veritable fortune, Darien wanted to know everything about bullfighting when his parents returned from the trip.
But Terra had been too busy talking Damien into the next journey---a trip to some tropical island whose name now escaped Darien. There, she'd walked on hot coals with the natives and had had her nose pierced. From then on, she'd worn a ruby in her left nostril.
Darien never did hear about the bullfighting.
A sigh gathered in his chest. He left the room, sent orders for his stallion, Hades, to be saddled, and was ready to ride before the stable lads brought his horse around to the manor house. After ten minutes, he was too impatient to wait any longer and stalked out of his palatial home toward the barns. A cold November wind blasted into him, ruffling his hair and the colorful mass of pansies that bloomed along the edges of the pebbled trail that led to the stables. His boots scraped through the glistening white stones, the sound grating in his ears.
Swiping at the red and yellow leaves that blew into his face and settled on his shoulders, he didn't notice the small wooden cart of pumpkins blocking his path, and walked straight into it. The vivid orange fruit tumbled to the ground, creating a course of obstacles that further tested his patience.
When he finally arrived at the barn, he saw that the groom had yet to complete the task of readying the coal-black stallion.
"Sorry, Yer Gr-Grace," Hopkins said, his stuttering made worse by the duke's intimidating bearing. "He's---he's a b-bit skit-skittish t-today. It's the snap in the air, I vow." Quickly he finished tightening the saddle girth, then handed the gleaming reins to the duke.
As Darien slowly worked Hades into a pounding gallop through the countryside, he pondered his cousin's description of the future duchess of Heathcourte.
Jadeite had not been far off the mark.
But there was one little vow Darien had made concerning his bride, one that Jadeite had failed to discern.
Darien's lips narrowed into a tight line as he dwelled on the memory of his father. Before Damien Shields' marriage to Terra, he'd been one of the most powerful men in all of Europe, concentrating intently on the Shields holdings and fortune. But marriage had changed everything. So in love with Terra had Damien been, he'd ignored all responsibility to the family name.
And then Terra had died.
But even after the exotic trips and squandering of money had stopped, Damien had continued to ignore his estate and his heir. Engulfed by sorrow, he'd locked himself away from the entire world and had followed Terra to the grave seven years later.
Darien gripped the reins so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Grief had eventually killed his sire, first in mind, then in body. And love had been the reason for such profound and fatal anguish. Of those things, Darien was certain.
And so, whoever his very ordinary and unassuming wife would be, Darien had sworn not to love her.
By: usagi_serenity_tsukino_hime
Chapter 1
Darien Endymion Shields, the twelfth Duke of Heathcourte, had concluded that there wasn't a female in the world who met the requirements he'd set for the woman who would be his duchess.
"Bloody Hell," he muttered. Swallowing his second glass of brandy, he reached out and stroked his pet cat, Fiore, a sleek Siamese who tolerated no one but Darien.
"What's on the boil?" Darien's cousin, Jadeite Branford, asked, confused by Darien's sudden curse. They'd been discussing Darien's recent purchase of a mine in Egypt, but obviously Darien's thoughts were elsewhere now.
Jadeite pondered the mine a moment longer. Darien had bought it for no other reason other than a passing suspicion that the pits might yield treasure, purchasing it right beneath the nose of a second interested buyer. Not only had the miners discovered emeralds within those dark, damp, Egyptian caverns, but authorities claimed the mine to be one of the richest ever found. Practically overnight, the vast Shields fortune had tripled.
Yes, in many ways Darien led a charmed life, even as a boy. Once, when he and Jadeite were running through a field of wildflowers, Darien had spotted a sprinkling of tiny diamonds within the mass of trodden blossoms. Only Darien Shields could have found jewels scattered amidst a lot of broken weeds. Since then, everything he touched had turned to wealth.
Sipping his own brandy, Jadeite felt the familiar spark of envy flicker through him, but since he bore no ill will toward his cousin he didn't feel a jot of guilt over his bit of jealousy. He'd decided long ago that only a saint of the highest heavenly order could resist coveting the title, riches, and power of the illustrious Duke of Heathcourte.
He leaned forward on the satin settee by the fire. "I've often thought you were born under a lucky star, Darien. You were never even been stung by a wasp, do you remember? Whenever we came upon the vicious creatures, it was almost as if they were blown away from you. Why, even the snakes we found that day near the pavilion slithered out of your way!"
Darien turned a sideways glance toward his cousin, a devil-may-care chap whose thick sandy hair was forever tousled and whose blue eyes, lighter in shade than his, were almost always filled with a mixture of mischief and merriment. A relative from Darien's mother side, Jadeite didn't possess a drop of Shields blood or any other rightful claim to a place among England's peerage, but the unshakable bond between them was something no member of the nobility ever dared to ignore.
Jadeite was the only family Darien had.
"Darien? Do you remember the snakes?"
"Snakes?" Darien frowned. "What the devil are you talking about?"
"I might ask the same of you," Jadeite answered, flashing a lopsided smile. "In fact, I think I did."
Darien reached for a bottle of brandy.
"Women," Jadeite guessed suddenly. "Your lack of a duchess always drives you to drink. One thought of the elusive lady turns you into a regular ale knight." "Jadeite, I am in no mood for any of your cheek. Furthermore, the subject of my love life is not up for discussion."
"The deuce, you say!" Jadeite laughed. "Darien, your love life is the discussion, the most talked about subject in all of England. Why, I even heard it said that the queen herself once wondered why you could not seem to pick a bride from the masses of beauties the season produces year after year."
"Indeed."
"Sapphire Marxton can barely wait for you to wed."
"Sapphire Marxton." Darien said, pondering the disreputable womanizer. "So he desires the chance to seduce my wife, does he?"
"It's his hobby, as you well know. Just last month he succeeded in enticing Lord Villier's new bride into meeting him in the garden during a small gathering that the Dunmores gave. Harold Villier is still none the wiser. Neither is Thacker Ainsbury. Rumor has it that Cherise Ainsbury is still seeing Sapphire whenever possible."
"If Sapphire Marxton dares to look at my wife---"
"Seducing a woman who doesn't exist would be quite a feat."
Darien poured more brandy. Liquor wouldn't get him a bride, but it for damn sure would help him forget he didn't have one.
Accustomed as he was to having everything he desired the moment it occurred to him to want it, he simply could not fathom why the trivial task of choosing a duchess proved so infuriating.
He'd been overtly watching society's marital offerings ever since his twenty-eighth birthday, when he'd first decided the time had come to marry and produce an heir. He was thirty-two now and had yet to encounter a single woman who suited him.
Damn it all, finding the perfect wife should have been as effortless a goal to accomplish as any and all he'd ever undertaken.
And yet...
He shook his head. "Finding a basket of wishes would be far easier," he murmured.
Running his fingers through his wavy hair, he glanced at his surroundings.
The green salon was a lofty room, it's elaborately sculpted ceiling supported by pink marble columns. Four exquisite crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, their sparkles of light dancing upon the silk draperies and magnificent gilt chairs, all of which were a warm shade of moss green.
This room had been his parent's favorite. A pity Their Graces had rarely been home long enough to truly enjoy it, Darien thought.
"You know, Darien," Jadeite said, "you're getting quite the reputation for being a man utterly impossible to please. There are many who say that if the goddess of love and beauty herself appeared before you, you would spurn her." He rose from the settee and joined his cousin in front of the huge window. Careful not to stand too close to Fiore---who was watching him with glacial green eyes full of promise of violence---he helped himself to a glass of Darien's brandy. "People are trying to imagine the woman who will finally appear in your life and win you over. And it's not only your peers who wonder, but your tenants and servants as well."
Darien twirled the stem of his snifter, watching the brandy slosh around the sides of the delicate glass. "I'm glad to hear I've provided everyone with such entertainment."
"Entertainment?" Jadeite smiled wryly. "You don't know the meaning of the word. You have no interest other than those related to the Amberville Estate.
"With the exception of my need for an heir, I am satisfied with my life exactly as it is."
"You have no life. And if you don't mind my saying---"
"Mind?" Darien set his glass down on a silver tray. "Since when have you cared whether or not I mind your perishing interference? It has become increasingly more apparent that you've damn all else to do. If I weren't so daft as to consider you a friend, I would have you barred from this house so I could enjoy a bit of peace."
Gleefully, Jadeite continued with the dressing-down, an admonishment he gave his cousin at least once a month.
For all the good it did him. "Darien, this place already resembles a mausoleum. If you were to obtain any more peace than you already have, you would be a corpse. And that is the top and bottom of it."
"But I've no doubt you will soon get to the middle."
"Spot on." Jadeite clasped his cousin's broad shoulder. "Dedicated cousin that I am, I have been doing a bit of research on your behalf. Some observing and interrogating, if you will, and I have decided that Edith Hinderwell and Caroline Pilcher would suit you admirably. Caroline stands to inherit her maternal grandmother's fortune you know. No small sum if the hearsay is to be believed."
Darien feigned an expression of excitement. "You don't say? Well, pauper that I am, I imagine I should ask for the lady's hand straightaway. "
"What? Oh. Yes, Caroline's inheritance would be but money for jam to you. But perhaps you could find it in your heart to marry her and give her grandmother's money to me? It's frightfully difficult living on the pittance I make as an investor."
Darien retrieved his brandy, took a sip, and looked at Jadeite over the rim of the glass. Most men could live quite comfortably on the money Jadeite made from his various investments, all of which Darien had advised him to make. Of course, most men did not possess the passion for such an extravagant lifestyle.
But Darien understood that it wasn't greed that caused his cousin's relentless fascination with money and luxurious possessions. Rather, it was the unforgettable memory of a destitute childhood.
"Are you in need of funds, Jadeite?"
Jadeite felt poignant emotion well up in him. But for Darien, he'd still be in Mallencroft plowing the same fields his father had, living in the same crumbling cottage he'd been born in, and wondering day after day if there would be enough food on the table to assuage his hunger.
But Darien had intervened, and Jadeite loved his cousin like a brother. Indeed, there was nothing he wouldn't do or dare to help him find happiness, an emotion that became more alien to Darien with each passing year. "What I need," Jadeite began softly, "is for you to find true contentment you deserve, but so eludes you."
Shifting uneasily, Darien bowed his head and stared at the raspberry colored carpet. He never knew how to respond to Jadeite's affection.
Nor did he know how to express his own. "Might I remind you that you have yet to find wedded bliss, either?"
Jadeite shrugged. "I'm not in your position. I've no important title to bequeath to an heir."
"Borrow mine for a while."
"Would that I could."
Darien smiled. Jadeite had longed for a title for as long as he could remember. Alas, a title was the one thing that Darien was unable to procure for him.
"We wandered from the subject, Darien. Where was I?"
Darien sighed. "Caroline's inheritance."
"Ah, yes. Very well, cousin, you don't need Caroline's inheritance. But what do you think of her personally?"
"She owns a python. Quite the most outlandish choice of pet I have ever heard of."
Jadeite glanced at Fiore. "A python is a much safer pet to own than that hairy ball of evil you have. I shall never forget that time he sprang off the mantel in your office, landed on my chest, and attempted to take a bite out of my Adam's apple. He would have ripped my throat out if I had not dumped that pitcher of water on him. The conceited beast cared more for his wet fur than eating my neck, thank God for that."
"Nevertheless, a cat is a normal pet."
"You once kept a lizard---"
"I did not have the lizard as a pet, but only because my schoolmaster was having me study the creature's eating habits and---"
"You loved that lizard."
"One cannot love a reptile."
"Why ever not?"
"And not only does Caroline own an absurd pet," Darien added, refusing to discuss the possibility of emotional bonding with a lizard, "but she also enjoys riding."
Jadeite clutched at his chest, as if shock had almost stopped his heart. "Riding? Dear God, she should be beheaded for committing such a heinous crime!"
"I do not object to her riding, but I once overheard her say that she has long wanted to know what it would be like to perform equestrian stunts in a circus. Such a longing is completely unorthodox."
"A fact I feel certain she understands. She merely wonders about riding in the circus, can't you understand that? I've always wanted to wrestle a crocodile, but that does not mean I'd jump into a swamp to satisfy my desire."
"Wrestle a crocodile, Jed? Why in God's name---?"
"To see if I'm strong enough to win the match, naturally."
"Naturally." Darien rolled his eyes.
"Perhaps you should renew your courtship with Beryl Chesterton?" Jadeite suggested, tapping his chin. "She's a beautiful woman, and to the best of my knowledge, she doesn't have a pet and has never mentioned the circus. Every time I see her, she asks about you. It's quite obvious that she believes there was more to your relationship with her than you will acknowledge. Do you know that her father confided that she has refused all other suitors, including Lord Diamond Wyndham?"
"Diamond." Darien frowned a frown that nearly knit his eyebrows together as he pondered his only rival, the duke of Bramwell, an avaricious and ruthless man who had done his utmost to finish the destruction of the Amberville estate that Darien's father had begun.
He hadn't succeeded.
And Darien swore that Diamond would never even come close. "Tell me, Jadeite, is that hairy popinjay still out of sorts over the emerald mine."
Jadeite smiled too. "Word has it that when he learned that you'd outbid him, he locked himself in his rooms and didn't come out for a week. He cannot stand the fact that you are the richest nobleman in England and he the second."
"I've my eye on the vast fruit orchards in Gloucester now," Darien said, still smiling. "They say money doesn't grow on trees, but the saying doesn't apply to these groves. If I know Diamond, he's investigating the same orchards."
"Most likely. Moreover, I imagine he's beside himself wondering if Beryl will ever look at him the way she looks at you. When you were keeping company with her, he was a mass of red-hot rage and cold green jealousy."
Darien sat down in the ladder-back chair next to the window. Staring at the molded ceiling, he summoned Beryl's image to mind. "I've toyed with the idea of marrying her," he allowed himself to admit. "But she...there's something about her. Something...carefully as she tries to hide it, she's of a grasping nature."
"A grasping nature? Do you mean she's interested in your name and estate? I covet your title and fortune, too. Why not cast me aside as well?"
Darien took a while to answer. Not because he did not know what to say, but because it was terribly difficult for him to put his feelings into words. "You may envy me my title and fortune, Jed, but I've no doubt that if I were to lose both tomorrow you would not think less of me."
Jadeite nodded. "True, but only because I know you would somehow earn another title and another fortune."
Unable to help himself, Darien chuckled.
"What is this I hear?" Jadeite asked, cupping his hand over his ear. "Could it actually be that I am being treated to the rare sound of Amberville mirth? A pity I cannot bottle the sound, for I feel sure I could make my own fortune selling it to the multitude of people who do not believe it exists."
"How amusing. You know, I think I heard it said that the queen is in dire need of a court jester. Perhaps you should apply for the position?"
"And neglect my obligation to assist you in finding a duchess? Consider seeing Beryl again."
Darien rubbed his shoulder. "I'll give it some thought, but---"
"And think about Edith Hinderwell, too. She's quiet and docile. I've never seen her do anything odd. She's a plain thing, too. Although her father can afford the very best for her, her gowns are simple, and she wears hardly any jewelry. In my opinion, that indicates that she cares little for material possessions."
"She indulges in superstitious nonsense. Last year at Lord Tremayne's birthday gala, I saw her gazing out the window with such an intense expression on her face that I was certain she was seeing some ghastly occurrence. She informed me that she was merely wishing on stars."
Jadeite moved closer to Darien's chair. "Come now, Darien, there is nothing peculiar about wishing on stars. When we were lads I taught you how to do it, and we wished on dozens of them. We collected four-leafed clovers, put pennies in our shoes, and looked for the end of the rainbow to find the pot of---"
"The stuff of childhood, and no wish I've ever made came true. And if my memory serves me correctly I ceased to believe in such absurdities long before you did."
Jadeite rubbed the bit of stubble on his chin. "Well, actually I haven't quite overcome my belief in wishing on stars. Only last night, I waited for the first star to appear in the sky and wished for a mountain of gold."
Darien stared at his cousin. "You didn't."
Jadeite tipped his glass over his mouth, watched one last drop of brandy fall to his bottom lip, then licked it off. "I did."
"And do you believe that such dreams will come true simply because you wished on a hot ball of gas?"
Such sadness for Darien came over Jadeite at that moment that he had to restrain himself from hugging his cousin. "What I believe is that when one ceases to believe in wishing---"
"One dies. I know your speeches by heart, Jed."
"You may know my speeches by heart, but it is obvious that you have not taken them to heart."
Darien resigned himself to yet another of Jed's incessant lectures, but he couldn't stifle a yawn.
"Bored, cousin? Well, I can certainly understand why. I've stayed here at Heathcourte often enough to memorize your monotonous routine. You awaken at seven, and bathe at seven and a quarter. You dress at precisely ten until eight, and breakfast at eight-thirty. You're in your office by nine on the dot, and---"
"You---" "On Monday evenings your cook knows that the main course is to be leg of mutton with oysters. On Tuesdays your dinner is always sirloin of beef, served only after you have finished your partridge soup, of course. Wednesdays are lobster nights, Thursdays---"
"What in God's name is wrong with dining upon certain foods on certain evenings? The meals are all quite to my liking, and I see no reason why---"
"And you want a wife similar to your weekly food calendar. You objected to the women I mentioned because they all want, do, or have something you consider unconventional. In a word, your duchess must be boring."
Darien bristled. "I hardly think that a wife who is simple in character is boring."
"You want a woman as indifferent to the spice of life as you are," Jadeite continued heedlessly. "Who not only follows your dry-as-dust routine, but who embraces the ho-hum rhythm of the Shields household. And she'll place little importance on your name and wealth. Rather, she will devote her every waking moment to you and your children, possessing no other interests whatsoever. She'll---"
"Damn it all, Jadei---"
"I know why you desire such a wife."
"And why wouldn't you?" Darien snapped. "You know everything else about me, do you not?"
Jadeite marched toward the fireplace. There he picked up a gold oval frame that contained a painted miniature of the former duke and duchess of Heathcourte.
"Damien and Terra Shields," he said, holding the frame high in the air. "Terra's love of exotic adventure is still mentioned every now and again among older members of the ton. They say Damien indulged Terra's every whim and took her to climb snowy mountain peaks halfway around the world. He granted her wishes to ride elephants through snake-infested jungles, hunt for long-lost buried treasure on eerie deserted islands, and sample live termites on a stick with savages who wore shrunken heads around their necks and slivers of bone through their nostrils."
"I am well aware of the details concerning my parents' travels---"
"No Darien, you are not. Nor is anyone else. Your mother and father traveled so frequently that they had little time to describe their grand adventures to anyone, including you. They were gone for months at a time, and when they returned they stayed home but for a short while before leaving on yet another bizarre venture."
"Why do you do this, Jed?" Darien demanded. "I'm convinced that you lie abed at night with paper and pencil, jotting down all the many ways you can succeed in rousing my temper."
Jadeite shrugged. "A frightening task, but someone has to do it." He placed the frame back on the mantel and, with his hands clasped behind is back, he paced around the room. "Terra's incessant craving to see the world made your own world a very lonely one. Her obsession with the unusual---which was what compelled her to make her wild excursions---gave you an intense need for the conventional. And her adoration of your father's riches made you suspicious of anyone the least bit curious over your wealth."
Jadeite stopped beside the sofa, picked up a pillow, and ran his thumb over the swirling embroidery. "Rebellion, that's what has driven you to become the man you are," he said softly. "Your life now is much like a revolt against uncomfortable memories. After all, a lad who is made to eat peas when he doesn't like peas is going to be a man who will never allow a pea in his house."
"Peas? That is the most absurd---"
"Perhaps, but it describes what's happened to you." With a flick of his wrist, Jadeite tossed the embroidered pillow back on the settee. "Don't you see, Darien? Everything you do is in direct defiance of something you were forced to bear as a lad."
"You have said outside of enough, Jed." Darien rose from his chair.
Noticing the expression on Darien's face, Jadeite realized it was not his cousin he was seeing, but the forbidding duke, a man whose cool demeanor veiled a volatile temper.
And a gravely wounded heart. "Darien---"
"No more!"
"Ever the bitter duke, eh? What do you have for breakfast in the mornings? A jug of vinegar?"
"Kerosene," came Darien's quick reply.
"I'd suggest you try lemon juice every now and again, but such a change might pull you from the culinary rut you're in." Pulling at his shirt cuffs, Jadeite headed for the door. "I know how bereft you will feel over the loss of my captivating company, but I must make my leave. The weather's set is fair, and I'm off to the Thirlway picnic. Lord and Lady Thirlway so enjoy entertaining outside in autumn. Oh, and if I'm not mistaken, there is a cemetery not far from the Thirlway estate. Perhaps I'll find you a wife there."
Darien smiled. "I'll speak to the queen. I'm sure that if I recommend you, she'll hire you as her court jester."
Laughing, Jadeite executed a low, sweeping bow. "Good day, Your Grace. I leave you with your friends, Monotony, Dreary and Boredom. And good day to you too, Fiore," he said to the cat. "I leave you with your friends, Vile, Hateful, and Wicked."
When his cousin was gone, Darien stared at the empty threshold for a moment, and then slowly moved his gaze to the gold frame on the fireplace mantel.
His parents' likenesses looked back at him. Both were dressed in the garb of Mexico, Damien wearing a sombrero, and Terra wearing a gaily embroidered white peasant blouse. Both were smiling, obviously enjoying themselves immensely.
Darien remembered their trip to Mexico. He'd been seven then. Maybe eight. His mother had actually been given permission to fight a bull in Mexico City, a favor granted after his father had bribed the authorities with a veritable fortune, Darien wanted to know everything about bullfighting when his parents returned from the trip.
But Terra had been too busy talking Damien into the next journey---a trip to some tropical island whose name now escaped Darien. There, she'd walked on hot coals with the natives and had had her nose pierced. From then on, she'd worn a ruby in her left nostril.
Darien never did hear about the bullfighting.
A sigh gathered in his chest. He left the room, sent orders for his stallion, Hades, to be saddled, and was ready to ride before the stable lads brought his horse around to the manor house. After ten minutes, he was too impatient to wait any longer and stalked out of his palatial home toward the barns. A cold November wind blasted into him, ruffling his hair and the colorful mass of pansies that bloomed along the edges of the pebbled trail that led to the stables. His boots scraped through the glistening white stones, the sound grating in his ears.
Swiping at the red and yellow leaves that blew into his face and settled on his shoulders, he didn't notice the small wooden cart of pumpkins blocking his path, and walked straight into it. The vivid orange fruit tumbled to the ground, creating a course of obstacles that further tested his patience.
When he finally arrived at the barn, he saw that the groom had yet to complete the task of readying the coal-black stallion.
"Sorry, Yer Gr-Grace," Hopkins said, his stuttering made worse by the duke's intimidating bearing. "He's---he's a b-bit skit-skittish t-today. It's the snap in the air, I vow." Quickly he finished tightening the saddle girth, then handed the gleaming reins to the duke.
As Darien slowly worked Hades into a pounding gallop through the countryside, he pondered his cousin's description of the future duchess of Heathcourte.
Jadeite had not been far off the mark.
But there was one little vow Darien had made concerning his bride, one that Jadeite had failed to discern.
Darien's lips narrowed into a tight line as he dwelled on the memory of his father. Before Damien Shields' marriage to Terra, he'd been one of the most powerful men in all of Europe, concentrating intently on the Shields holdings and fortune. But marriage had changed everything. So in love with Terra had Damien been, he'd ignored all responsibility to the family name.
And then Terra had died.
But even after the exotic trips and squandering of money had stopped, Damien had continued to ignore his estate and his heir. Engulfed by sorrow, he'd locked himself away from the entire world and had followed Terra to the grave seven years later.
Darien gripped the reins so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Grief had eventually killed his sire, first in mind, then in body. And love had been the reason for such profound and fatal anguish. Of those things, Darien was certain.
And so, whoever his very ordinary and unassuming wife would be, Darien had sworn not to love her.