Forever Your Duke (12 Dukes of Christmas #12) - Erica Ridley
Chapter 1
December 1814
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As her cousin’s carriage rounded another hairpin turn up the snow-covered mountain, Miss Cynthia Louise Finch did her best to keep the playing cards and gambling chips from sliding off the squab in front of them.
Gertie flashed out an arm to block her puppy from tumbling off of the seat beside her. Her other hand gripped two playing cards tight enough to dent the stiff paper.
“Are two Jacks good enough?” she asked in a tiny, hesitant voice.
They had been playing vingt-et-un for the entire hour’s ride north from Houville. So far, Gertie was afraid of winning, losing, and wagering.
“Two Jacks are wonderful,” Cynthia Louise assured her cousin for the third time since she’d dealt the cards. “Remember, you’re not supposed to let me know that you have two Jacks. I can see them from here, and even if I couldn’t, you’ve dented the bottoms in such a way that I’ll be able to recognize those cards as Jacks in all future deals.”
Gertie lay the Jacks face-up on her primrose velvet pelisse and attempted to smooth the crinkles from the cards.
“Face-down,” Cynthia whispered.
Gertie flipped the cards over. “You already knew I had two Jacks.”
“I didn’t know it was the Jack of Diamonds and Jack of Clubs,” Cynthia pointed out.
Gertie looked horrified. “You didn’t say suit mattered!”
“It doesn’t matter in vingt-et-un,” Cynthia tried to explain. “But if we were playing whist or—”
The terrified look in Gertie’s eyes indicated she’d throw herself from the moving carriage before attempting something as complex and ruinous as whist.
“Try to remember,” Cynthia said gently. “It’s a good habit never to show your cards.”
“It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless.” Gertie threw her wrinkled cards atop the deck and dropped her last remaining buttons onto the wagering pile in defeat. “How can Father expect me to win a duke if I can’t even manage vingt-et-un?”
“You’re a sweet, beautiful, well-bred young lady,” Cynthia answered. “And if for some reason that isn’t enough, you also have me. I am the wild card who will help you win Nottingvale’s favor.”
Gertie’s delicate face lost some of its pallor, and she gave a tremulous smile. “You can do anything. That’s why Father sent you with me.”
This was partly true.
Cynthia liked to believe she could do almost anything—which was what made her a terrible choice in chaperone. She was more likely to play skittles at the Frost Fair as to stay home embroidering handkerchiefs.
According to anyone who had ever read a scandal column, Cynthia’s irrepressible hoydenish ways were the reason she was destined to remain a spinster for the rest of her days.
To her uncle the earl, Cynthia’s spinsterness was what recommended her most as chaperone. At the ungodly advanced age of thirty, she wouldn’t be attracting the Duke of Nottingvale’s romantic attentions.
Because she was the sole unmarried adult female in the extended family, Cynthia was also the only woman with no other responsibilities during the festive season.
As a native of the closest village to Cressmouth, Cynthia had attended the Duke of Nottingvale’s annual Christmastide party for years.
This year, His Grace intended to select a bride from his Yuletide guests.
Cynthia’s role was to make certain that bride was Gertie.
“But, Cynthia Louise...” Gertie whispered. “What if he hates me?”
“He won’t hate you. No one hates you.” Cynthia tucked the cards back into their box. “No one knows you, darling. You don’t talk to anyone. You’re going to have to speak to Nottingvale on occasion so that he notices you’re there.”
Gertie looked as though Cynthia had just suggested performing a naked trapeze act at the circus.
“I can’t talk to him. I can’t talk to anyone. I never know what to say.” Gertie pulled Max onto her lap and gripped him tight. “Can’t you do the talking for me? You always know what to do.”
“I rarely know what to do,” Cynthia corrected. “I just pick something and do it.”
“Yes.” Gertie’s eyes shone as if Cynthia had just confessed to dark magic. “You weren’t the least bit shy when you begged cousin Olaf to show you how to use his skis.”
Cynthia scooped the gambling buttons back into their bag. “I’m not certain that skis—”
“You weren’t timid at all when those fops challenged you to a bout of fencing,” Gertie continued.
“You definitely shouldn’t copy that,” Cynthia said firmly. “Fops can be dangerous.”
“And I’ve never seen anything so brave as the time you climbed up the tallest tree in Hyde Park to rescue a little girl’s kite,” Gertie finished dreamily. “I can’t even climb a small tree.”
“You’re not supposed to