The Duke's Twin novel Chapter 3

Rebecca Livingston stared at the vast Wiltshire estate as her father's coach rolled to a stop in front of the manor house. It was built with beautiful limestone and had a multitude of windows. Sunlight flashed off the panes, reminding her of light on a lake in the early morning. It was perfect, the sort of place a duchess would expect to live. Not that Rebecca had any intention of becoming a duchess. That was her little sister's future, not hers.

Rebecca missed their home in the country. Three months in London had taken a toll on her. The balls, the dancing, the dinners. There was something terrible about having to be polite and conversational around dozens of men and women she didn't know at all. She wanted peace and quiet, tucked away in a library next to a grand fireplace, reading books on everything from politics and economics to lurid Gothic novels. Or she'd go riding by herself, stopping to stretch out in the fields and gaze at the clouds.

But her mother had dragged her along to every social engagement she could this season, seeking a suitable match for her sister. Lydia had blossomed under the attention, but she was eighteen, and her first Season was a thing to be celebrated.

Rebecca was twenty years old and had ended her third season without hope of finding a match. At least, not one she would consent to. She wasn't the sort to garner admirers. Too quiet, too studious, too...plain.

At first, the whispered words no one thought she heard had wounded her, but now she cared little for the thoughts of others. She simply was herself and found no shame in that. A woman who enjoyed reading and playing the harp. If she found a man worth talking to, conversation came easily, but she wasn't about to waste words on insufferably boring topics such as the weather or what mutual friends were up to in London. If no one could accept her the way she was, then she would go without a husband. It would give her mother hysterics, but Mama would survive. As long as Lydia was well married, that would distract her mother from Rebecca's desire for the freedom to do as she liked.

She cast a glance at Lydia, who was perched on the edge of her seat, blue eyes wide with delight and wonder as she studied the manor. Honey-colored curls bounced against her cheeks as she leaned to better see out the coach window. She was infinitely more accomplished, much to Lydia's own dismay. Rebecca often had to soothe her younger sister's worries because Lydia feared Rebecca felt the sting of their mother's clear preference for Lydia. They had never been the type of sisters to quarrel, though. Rebecca was not jealous of Lydia's beauty, and Lydia certainly wasn't jealous of Rebecca. Rebecca had learned early on that she'd been blessed with a full-hearted sister who was not spoilt or selfish.

"Becca dear, straighten your dress. It's wrinkled," her mother urged in a frantic whisper. Rebecca smoothed her pale-rose gown. Her father was busying himself with his pocket watch, lifting the small gold piece to his ear to listen to its beats. Her mother swept a critical gaze over Rebecca and Lydia, searching for anything else to be improved upon.

"Becca, you must get out first when they open the door. I want you to be ready to catch the train of Lydia's gown in case there are puddles."

"Mama." Lydia's frustrated reply made Rebecca bite her lip to hide a smile. "Stop ordering Becca about."

"She's right, Matilda," their father said absentmindedly. "No ordering the girls about, please."

"Are you all right?" His voice was slightly rough, as though he'd just woken from sleep. The thought of this man in bed asleep made a strange heat curl inside her belly. Dark hair, slightly longer than was fashionable, fell across his eyes. Rebecca fought off the urge to brush the loose hair from his face with her fingertips. His full lips moved as if to speak.

She had never understood when women giggled and whispered in the powder rooms outside the balls about the effects of handsome men. Now she understood all too well. Her head felt hazy, and she wanted to stare at those lips for hours. And they were still moving...

Words. The man was speaking to her. What was he saying? Her mind froze on his face, especially his mouth and eyes, heated with silent laughter. A shadow of a dimple peeked out at the right corner of his smile. She licked her lips, her throat parched.

"What?" she finally gasped.