Page 1 of The Duke’s Christmas Rejection

Chapter 1

Cynthia

“If I see you put one more bit of fruit into that mouth of yours, missy, I’m going in after it.” Glancing up at the cook, I can’t help the small grin that crosses my face.

She stands there, stern, yet a tiny smile teases the edges of her lips as she frowns at the triplets hovering over the counter. We are supposed to make the batter for the Twelfth Night cake; however, we all have been indulging far too much in the consumption of the small morsels of dried fruit.

Reaching over, I wait until the cook turns her face before snagging a plump currant and shoving it past my lips. The trio giggle, hiding their own morsels before sliding them into their mouths. Their lips stained a bright purple, they proceed to make the most horrendous faces at her.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that. You keep eating, and there will be none left for the cake. How will you explain that to your guests?”

“Well,” Penelope mutters around her treat. “I would say to ask Cynthia. She is, after all, part of that exhaustive guest list.”

All eyes turn to me, putting me squarely in the spotlight—a place I so loath to be. Narrowing my eyes, I glare at my long-time friend before sticking my tongue out in the most unladylike manner. Whatever would my mama say?

“Feel free to leave me out of the discussion,” I retort, shaking my head. “I’m not held in such high esteem as to warrant such special treatment.”

“Nonsense,” Sophia chimes in as she and Georgiana step over to me, arms crossed. “As our friend, you are a most welcomed guest. Anyone to say otherwise is a fool.”

“Exactly.” Penelope nods, snatching another piece of fruit. This time, however, it’s one of the dried sultanas.

“You will be the death of me, girl,” the cook cries, swatting her hand. “We don’t have many of these left, and I refuse to serve a lackluster cake to the newly appointed duke.”

The room goes silent for a moment as the triplets take their place near the batter once more. Though tonight is all about celebration and making merry, there’s still no denying the true reason we’re all here. His Grace, the Duke of Norhaven, though the triplets insist on informally calling him Charles, is set to arrive at any moment, allowing us the honor of welcoming him in his new role.

My heart flutters as I conjure up an image of his face. Though it’s been a good year or so since I’ve seen him, I’ve never been able to put him out of my mind. It’s inappropriate, to be sure, but growing up as friends with his sisters has offered a perfect opportunity to study him from afar.

That is, however, in the brief moments when he was home. The stories he told of far-off places such as India were always dazzling and full of intrigue. My heart pounded every time he opened his mouth. Or was it that he was speaking with such passion that did it?

Groaning to myself, I force my mind to stop wandering and back onto the task at hand. Though I’ve never spoken to anyone of the feelings that tear at my heart and beat at my breasts, they’re there all the same. But he has always been this older, unattainable paragon that I put on a pedestal, just waiting for the day when he’ll finally notice me as something other than an extra sister that drives him mad.

Sure, he’s indulgent enough, playful enough, but nothing that I can cling to and hope for. Knowing him and his steadfast penchant for honor, he’s never allowed himself to even entertain the idea of mating me. Perhaps once he sees me as the adult omega I now am, he’ll be willing to at least consider the idea of marriage. Though deep inside, I know it’s far beyond foolish to get my hopes up.

If only I could have had my coming out the moment I turned eighteen. I might have already caught the eye of a willing Alpha and driven this infatuation out of my mind. But as it is, my mind has been allowed to wander, to hope, and to dream. What is truly in my heart of hearts is to be mated to the Duke of Norhaven. No other Alpha, at least that I have seen, will be able to measure up.

To blazes with Mama’s views on things. I don’t care what the Ton thinks; there should be another way. But, as with tradition, Mama won’t even allow me the option of having my coming out until I’m right at the cusp of my heat, and so far, there’s no sign of that happening.

What can be so terribly broken in me that I don’t have the scent of an omega that is of age? No matter what I’ve tried, I still smell like a child. At least, that’s how the other Alphas act around me. I know so little about how any of this works, and Mama is as tight-lipped as ever.

A heavy sigh drifts through my lips as I look over at the cook bustling about, paying no mind to the tormenting thoughts rioting through my brain. I’m so desperate to have a house of my own, to have a family, but how am I to catch the eye of the duke, or any Alpha for that matter, if Mama keeps me away from the Ton? It makes absolutely no sense.

That’s why tonight is so important. She won’t be here to interfere, to keep the other Alphas of the various families from seeing me. Deep in thought, I grab another piece of fruit, not realizing that I also grabbed a sultana with it. And so quickly after the cook had her little speech.

Guilt slams into me as the sweet flavor assaults my tongue. The triplets, however, simply cover their mouths and titter as they plop more of the dried fruit into the batter. Before I can apologize, Penelope winks at me and shakes her head.

“How shall we make this Twelfth Night cake?” she calls out, drawing any attention off of me. “I propose instead of a bean and pea, we place in two beans. Won’t that be a lark?”

The cook harrumphs as she shakes out her apron. “Two beans? Who ever heard of such foolishness?”

“Think about it!” Penelope continues, impassioned. “When one male gets the bean and the female gets the bean, it would be so amusing. Besides, isn’t that what Twelfth Night is all about? Frivolity and fun?”

“That it is, miss, but remember, as the firstborn daughter of a duke, you have more responsibility. What would the others think? It is your duty as mistress of this household to retain some standards.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch as Penelope slumps forward, blocking herself from the cook’s view as she mimics her. Things to be done in secret so no one sees or knows. Unfortunately, I understand that concept just as well as they do. As the only daughter to a baron, and an omega on top of that, I have to be sacrosanct in everything.

“This line of conversation is boring. I say let us change the subject to something far more fun.” Turning, she spears me with a conspiratorial grin. “Do you have your eye on anyone tonight? I shall not allow you to go through the night without having at least one dance.”

“Oh yes,” Sophie chimes in, laughing and clapping her hands. “Our Cynthia does the quadrille quite nicely, does she not? Oh, oh. And you must have her sing and play the pianoforte for the guests. That will get them in the jolliest of moods!”