How to Marry a Duke by Harvey Alyxandra

Author:Harvey, Alyxandra
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2022-07-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The village of Perchance-By-The-Sea was as picturesque as they came. It had winding cobbled streets, a handful of quaint shops selling sweets, ribbons, and other finery, and houses with white curtains and cheerful flowers in pots by the front door. It smelled of salt and was lulled by the sounds of the ocean.

It was also overrun with unmarried ladies of good birth.

In other words, a nightmare.

When Dougal shifted uncomfortably, Meg sent him a sympathetic smile over her strawberry ice. It was cold and sweet and delicious, and she could have immediately eaten two more. If there’d been any left. Some villages specialized in traveling book libraries, or fishing nets, or baked apples.

Perchance-By-The-Sea currently specialized in ladies eating ices.

Meg might have thought herself in London at Gunter’s with the most fashionable set stopping for a treat. There were bonnets, there were ribbons and lace, smiles and sidelong glances. Fluttering eyelashes.

And virtually no ices left to be had.

And with garden tours no longer allowed, the ladies clustered around, turned in Dougal’s direction as though he were the sun to their sunflowers.

“It’s not usually like this,” Dougal muttered, looking both bemused and embarrassed. Adorable. “This is a little town with seashell art and a single bathing machine to rent.”

“And a single duke under royal decree to marry,” she reminded him. As if he needed reminding. As if she did. The bright day dimmed a little. Which, again, was ridiculous. Nothing had changed. Even if the strawberry ice turned to dust in her mouth and she put the cup down, unfinished. Get ahold of yourself, Meg.

“I’m just going to pop in here for a moment,” she said brightly, motioning to the dressmaker’s shop.

“Are you abandoning me on the field of battle?” Dougal asked, as the ladies began to press closer.

“Bloody right,” she shot back, but she wasn’t really abandoning him. She just needed a moment to put herself to rights again. She didn’t want him to see her reaction, her utterly absurd distress. She needed to be quiet, practical Meg again. Not whatever this version was, who wanted to gnash her teeth and throw ices at perfectly pleasant women. Who wanted to lick strawberry ice off of Dougal’s lower lip.

Clearly the cold sea water had disordered her. No wonder people thought it was dangerous.

The bloody riddle wasn’t helping either. But at least it was a suitable distraction.

Miss Chan’s Haberdashery was cozy and neat and soothing. There were more seashells than the usual shops Meg had been in, but it had the same smell: dust, candle smoke, linen. She took a deep breath, calmed herself. Glass cases displayed pins and brooches and carved pearl buttons. Ribbons dangled from ceiling latticework and bolts of fabric lined the walls of the back room, with an abundance of painted silk. There were tiny paintings of ships and anchors and gulls, and yet more ships cradled cleverly inside of bottles. Seashells, and more seashells.

She wished again that Dahlia’s riddle had involved something a little less ubiquitous in a seaside town.

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