The Duke Who Didn't (Wedgeford Trials, #1)

by Courtney Milan

Was there anything in life more pleasurable than the sensation of striking a dark line through an item on one’s list with a pencil? Yes. There was the visceral sensation of taking out one’s pencil and striking a dark line through the last item on one’s daily list. Finishing a list had an almost talismanic quality, as if the act of turning intentions into words, then words into deeds, carried a subtle magic.

“Very much so. My mother and aunt see her as something like a second daughter, you know. Don’t make me have to pound you into the dust.” “You’ve nothing to worry about there. I vastly prefer my unpounded state.”

“What do you expect?” Jeremy threw his arms out. “I plan to bask in the magnificence of her presence, to whatever degree I am allowed.”

“What, precisely, is the ‘it’ that you are referring to? Describe it with particularity so that we are sure to be talking of the same thing.”

She was going to get her first kiss from an absolute jackass, and she didn’t even regret it.

“My ambitions are lofty,” she said with a frown. “They are not dry.” “Hmm. Not dry. Do you, by any chance, at the moment, find yourself becoming the opposite of dry? Because that would be very interesting.”

“No. They’ll think I’m a lucky man.” Her temper flared. “Oh yes. They’ll think you have excellent luck indeed. They’ll suspect you of lucking me all night long.”

He had stolen her list, which was why he’d intervened so quickly this time. In his defense, he’d been fourteen—an age that had described the number of brain cells he had as well as the number of years he’d spent on the earth. Stealing her list had seemed like a brilliant idea.

“No,” said Mr. Fong. “You will also eat. You are rich, which means you are weak. You do not have the necessary fortitude to go without meals.” “I—that’s—” Jeremy bit his lip. “Really unfair. I’ve skipped meals before, and it only killed me twice.”

“Chloe, my dear, I am half-Chinese. Being wealthy does not stop me from being half-Chinese. My wealthy neighbors will always know that I am half-Chinese. A wife who took their side over mine would be intolerable. I could not live with such a person. A wife who is committed to mild revenge on my behalf, however, who makes the neighbors feel that they have no choice but to treat me with respect? That’s who I want.”

“You must know—I may not be serious about anything, but about you? I am.”

You don’t have to do everything they want you to, she had written in response to one of his complaints. They want to make you English, but you need only be yourself.

“I know.” He grinned at her. “And it’s working. Tell me, Chloe. Can you accept my help and take a rest, or are you too much of a coward?”

“The sound of feathers—quiet, yes, but ascending on wings. Free. Not weighed down by anything that we went through. That’s what she wanted for you.”

“Let me protect you as much as you have protected me. It will not weigh me down to love you. It will set me free.”

“No,” he told her. “If I’m serious, I’m scared. I’m scared because…you’re you. You’re the brightest light I’ve ever met. You’re sweet and perfect and lovely and…” He moved closer to her, holding onto his towel. “And you have this freckle right here.” He reached out one finger to her neck, tapping the little brown spot. “It’s been driving me wild since I was fourteen, Chloe, and if I think about how much I’ve wanted you and how long, and how if I make one wrong move I might lose you altogether… I can’t be serious, Chloe. It’s too much.”

“Here.” She gestured with the cloth. “If you’ll just drop your towel, I can clean you up.” “Look at you,” Jeremy said in awe. “With your full sentences and your conjugated verbs. I am in awe of your cognitive capacity.”

“The truth is,” he told her, “I’m not like you. I don’t make lists. I don’t have rational explanations for everything. If you asked me why I wanted you, I wouldn’t be able to give a carefully thought-out account. I could only say that you make me feel like the home I want to live in.”

“Idiot.” She sniffled. “You’re such an idiot. I can’t believe I’m in love with an idiot.”

She reached out and set her hand against his face. “I did not come all this way to be debauched by a libertine, only to forgo the full experience at the last minute.”

“Listen!” She made an exasperated noise and took hold of his shoulders. “Jeremy, were you under the impression that nobody knew who you were?”

Do you think we spend all our time talking about the Duke of Lansing when you’re not here?”

“There’s nothing terrible about being loved,” she told him. “People liked you. That’s all that happened. You are allowed to have that.”

There’s still a lot we have to go over. But before I let you go for the night, before we both collapse of exhaustion… I love you. I want you. I need you rather desperately. Please tell me you’ll marry me.”

Chloe knew a bit about fear. Fear stemmed from hurt, and he’d hurt her before. Fear was not easy to banish; telling herself she should not feel it was an exercise in futility. It knocked at her door because it knew it could have easy entry. She’d never been able to bar it fully from her life, only to cordon it off with lists and plans.

“Chloe, sweetheart.” Jeremy looked over at her. “Have you considered inquiring about my antecedents before coming to an unwarranted conclusion?”

I’ll leave the odious business of finding some semblance of logic in this all to you. I just get the fun job of adoring you.”

The idea came from here. It was made here. If tea is British, this sauce is British. If this sauce is British, I am British, and my wife is British, and my children will be British. I need not change myself to belong. I already belong; it is the rest of England that is out of step.”

Root out every poisonous vine. He saw it now, in startling clarity. Some of those vines cared for him, but that didn’t make their poison less toxic. He’d made excuse after excuse for his aunt. She loved him. She meant well. She wanted the best for him. None of that mattered.