How To Seduce A Duke

Chapter 18

When Mary descended the staircase very early the next morning, she had no intention of sitting down to breakfast with her sisters.

She had a mission. Arguably the most important of her life.

Nevertheless, she had planned to quickly stop by the dining room. She needed a swipe of butter. The stubborn wedding ring still would not slide off her swollen finger.

The sun had risen only an hour past, time enough for Mary to see to her morning ministrations and dress. Even with Cherie’s nimble fingers assisting, she’d taken much longer than usual to prepare her toilette.

Her hair had to be perfect, her clothing neatly ironed. She’d fastened a triple strand of creamy pearls, a gift from her father long ago, around her neck.

It was important to her that she look her best when she pressed the wedding ring back into Rogan’s hand. Because her true purpose for seeing Rogan was not to return his property but to confess the depth of her feelings for him.

To tell him that she loved him.

She trembled just considering that moment. What would she do and say if he did not reply in the manner she hoped?

Lud, what if he just said “Thank you” and nothing more?

Either way, she had to return the ring. If she was lucky, she would soon see the ring on her finger again when he admitted his love for her.

If not…well, the ring had never truly been hers anyway.

Because of the early hour, and her sisters’ late night, Mary did not peek into the dining room before entering for a bit of butter. This proved to be a mistake.

“There you are!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She leapt from her chair and rushed over to Mary. “Mrs. Polkshank told us you had come home.”

“And that you practically collapsed last night.” Anne had a concerned look in her eyes when she hugged Mary.

Mary drew a deep breath and expelled it.

She had hoped to avoid telling her sisters until after she’d called on Rogan that the wedding had been naught but a hoax.

She had her mission to perform first, after all, and she knew any mention of that would not sit well with her sisters, or rather one sister in particular. A young lady visiting a bachelor, well, it was simply against the rules of propriety, as Anne certainly would remind her.

“I must tell you something. Something horrid,” Mary began.

Before she could say another word, Elizabeth interrupted her. “That the wedding was a sham arranged by Lotharian?”

Mary was dumbfounded. “W-why, yes. How did you know?”

“Lady Upperton told us everything,” Elizabeth admitted. “She is furious with Lotharian.”

“She thought she recognized the vicar during the ceremony, then belatedly realized that she knew him from one of Lady Carsington’s faro parties,” Anne added. “When she approached Lotharian about it, he confessed his scheme, though he still believed it had been the right thing to do.”

“He said that had he not acted quickly…” Elizabeth paused, her gaze tracking the slow progress of the butler as he headed toward Mary with a large tea tray mounded with cards and the Morning Post. “As I was saying…had he not acted quickly, you and the duke would never realize that you belonged together.”

“Your Grace,” MacTavish said, “some cards have arrived for you.”

“Please, just set them on the table if you will.” Just then, it struck Mary just how the butler had addressed her. “MacTavish, why did you address me as ‘Your Grace’?”

Anne narrowed her eyes at him. “Were you perhaps listening to our conversation?”

The butler shook his head. “No, miss. I happened to notice the on-dit column in the newspaper this morning.” He opened the newspaper and tapped a column on the front page. “There it is.”

Elizabeth snatched up the newspaper and read the heavily inked head of the column. “Miss Royle Weds Duke in Surprise Ceremony.” She looked up at Mary. “Was there…perhaps another surprise ceremony?”

Mary shook her head slowly, then sank down into the nearest chair at the table.

Anne slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, no. Mary, your name will be ruined once it is known that the wedding was false. Our names will be ruined. No one will desire a connection to the Royle family!”

Just then, there was a hard knock upon the front door.

The sisters exchanged a circle of worried glances, then as one, they called out to the butler, who had already disappeared into the passage headed for the entry hall. “Don’t answer it!”

“Too late,” came Rogan’s rich voice from the doorway of the dining room.

Mary looked up at him in disbelief. “Rogan.”

“May we speak privately?” he asked. In his hand was a copy of the Gazette.

Mary set her palms on the surface of the table and pushed up. “We can talk in the parlor.” She glanced up into his warm brown eyes as she passed him, gesturing for him to follow. “This way, please.”

Rogan thrummed his fingers atop the folded newspaper he’d balanced atop his knee. “Mary, I don’t know how anyone learned of the ceremony at the Argyle Rooms. But there is nothing we can do about the column now. By now, everyone of consequence has read of our wedding.”

Frustrated, he leaned his head backward, but the settee had been constructed with tiny misses in mind and was consequently too short for him. This only added to his annoyance.

“We could ask for a retraction.”

“That would only bring more scrutiny and interest in our situation.” He leaned across to Mary and took her hand. “No, I fear we have but one course to avoid the ruin of both our family names-we must marry.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I am sorry, but we must, and we must do so quickly and quietly.”

Mary’s eyes were as round and golden as the sun as she stared up at him. She nodded dutifully. “If there…is nothing else we can do.”

Suddenly, Rogan’s heart felt very heavy. He had hoped she would be somehow happier about the prospect of sharing their lives together. “There is nothing else,” he finally replied.

“Very well.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Was his offer so terrible that it made her cry? Rogan swallowed hard and came quickly to his feet. “I shall instruct my solicitor to go to Doctor’s Commons and secure another special license the very instant the archbishop’s office opens on Monday morning. Meanwhile, I shall find a minister. Do you have a preference?”

She smiled meekly. “Anyone but Mr. Archer will do.” Then, as if something had just broached her mind, she took hold of the wedding ring on her left hand and tried desperately to twist it off. “It won’t come off. I’m sorry, Rogan, but I’ve tried, but now my finger is swollen. It is as if it wants to remain there forever.”

“And so it shall,” Rogan replied softly. “I shall send the carriage at three this afternoon. Is that sufficient time for you?”

Mary rose and followed him toward the passage. “Time enough for what?”

“Why, to pack your belongings.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked, her eyes growing wider.

“Until we are truly married, if our families’ names are to be spared, we must give all appearances that we already are husband and wife.”

Then, so there would be no misunderstandings, Rogan spoke very plainly to her. “Mary, you must remove yourself to my house. Into my bedchamber.”

“Your bedchamber!” she sputtered and slapped her palm to her forehead. “You are not serious.”

“Servants talk, and since we do not know the source of the column’s information, we cannot afford to take any unnecessary chances.”

Mary just stared at him.

“So, three o’clock then?”

“Y-yes.” Mary rubbed her fingers to her temples. “I will be ready.”

A harsh sun beat down on London, sending crowds to Hyde Park to sit beneath the trees near the Serpentine and savor what breezes were to be had.

On most any other day at three o’clock, this is where Mary would have been.

But not today.

Today she sat beside the braced-open parlor windows fanning herself as she awaited Rogan’s carriage to take her, and what few belongings she owned, to Portman Square.

Cherie plumped a pillow and eased it behind Aunt Prudence’s back, then she removed the empty cordial glass from her hand. She started to leave the room, then seemed to change her mind, for she rushed over to Mary and squeezed her hand. The young maid’s eyes were threaded with red, as though she’d been crying.

“Do not be sad, Cherie. We shall see each other quite often, I promise.” Mary set her fan in her lap and patted the top of the maid’s hand.

Cherie shook her head frantically. She poked her chest with her index finger.

“I-I do not understand. What are you trying to tell me?”

The maid slipped her hand away. She rushed from the room, then returned two minutes later and handed Mary a scrap of foolscap with something written on it.

Mary held it to the light shining through the window.

Lord Lotharian sent me to watch over you.

What was this? Mary turned her gaze upon Cherie.

“You were sent here to spy on me…and my sisters, for Lotharian?”

“I told you she was a spy,” Mrs. Polkshank said as she entered the parlor and settled a tea tray on the table beside Aunt Prudence. “Ask if she’s French. I bet she is.”

“Mrs. Polkshank, please summon my sisters,” Mary said. “I should like to speak with Cherie privately, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, Miss Royle.” Mrs. Polkshank walked into the passage, glancing over her shoulder as she moved.

Suddenly Mary realized she had seen Cherie once before. “Zeus! You served tea the day my sisters and I visited the Old Rakes Club.”

Cherie nodded, then lowered her gaze to the floor.

“And you have been reporting to Lotharian all of this time?”

The maid shook her head furiously. She raised a single finger in the air.

“Once. You reported to him once.” Mary nodded thoughtfully. “One time. What did you tell him?”

Cherie slowly reached out her finger and touched the wedding ring Rogan had given Mary, then she lifted that hand and placed it atop Mary’s heart.

“You told him…that I loved the duke?” Cherie didn’t truly answer, but Mary could see it on her face.

This was how Lotharian knew her feelings. Likely how he read the true nature of people as well. He spied.

He was a gambler, gamester, and a good one, apparently. He knew that to win, one must leave as little to chance as possible.

The elfish little maid suddenly grew very still, as though she had heard something.

And then Mary heard it too. She turned her notice toward the passage. One of her sisters was descending the stairs.

Mary turned back to Cherie. “That’s all you told him?”

Cherie mouthed word “yes.”

“Do you wish to stay on here, with my sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Then this must remain between us. And you must promise to never again share what goes on in this house with anyone. Do you understand?”

Cherie nodded and smiled, then hurried through the parlor door.

Just then, Mary noticed that Aunt Prudence was peering at her through half-open eyes.

“Aunt Prudence, were you listening to me?”

“You would be surprised at how much I hear when others think me asleep.” The old woman smiled mischievously. “But do not fret, Mary. I am inclined to forget whatever secrets I uncover before I next blink. So carry on.”

The moment Elizabeth entered the room, Aunt Prudence snapped her lids closed again, but her smile lingered.

Elizabeth was carrying a valise filled with Mary’s dressing table articles. She set it down beside the lone chest Mary was to take with her to her soon-to-be-husband’s home.

“I cannot believe you are really leaving us,” Elizabeth said as she crossed the room to Mary and took her hand. “How will we get along without you?”

Mary forced a small laugh. “Dear, you won’t have to get along without me. We can visit each other every day if you like.”

“Promise you will. I daresay Anne will spend every penny set aside for our household account within one month. Two at the most.”

Mary’s laugh was genuine this time. “Mrs. Polkshank is very thrifty, so I seriously doubt you will have anything to fret over.”

“When is the wedding? Have you heard anything more?”

“No, and I doubt I shall until the special license has been secured.” Mary squeezed Elizabeth’s hand as she folded her fan in her lap. “But I promise you, Sister, you will be the very first to know.”

Mary released Elizabeth’s hand as a soft, humid breeze blew through the window. Mary leaned against the chair back and closed her eyes as it blew across her cheeks. “Were I at home this night, I swear I would sleep in the courtyard for the cool night air.”

“Instead, you will be sleeping with a duke,” Anne said from the parlor doorway.

Mary’s eyelids snapped open and she sat up. “There is naught I can do about that, Anne. Would you prefer it if I stayed here and risked word slipping out that Blackstone and I were never legally wed?”

“No. I know you were only thinking of me and Elizabeth when you agreed to the duke’s solution.” Anne lowered her gaze to the Turkish carpet. “I hope you can forgive me. I just cannot stop fretting over the fact that you will no longer be here.”

“Oh, Anne. It was bound to happen someday. It just happened that circumstances required that it be today.”

The clop of horses’ hooves echoed against the row of houses as Rogan’s gleaming town carriage entered Berkeley Square and drew to a halt before the Royle sisters’ home.

Mary peered out the window, and with a sigh came to her feet. Her stomach was tied in tight knots as she saw Rogan and a footman walk up the short steps to the house. The door knocker sounded, setting Mary into panicky motion, hurrying past both her sisters to the door.

Mary opened the door for Rogan and the footman, then immediately turned back to her sisters and hugged them both. “Every day. Remember, we can see each other every single day.”

“And we must, for we have yet to locate Lady Jersey,” Elizabeth reminded Mary, as if this might be just the incentive to lure her home again. “We must confront her about the Kashmir shawl.”

“Lady Jersey?” Rogan asked.

Heat rushed into Mary’s cheeks as her gaze met his. “I told you, it matters naught.”

“It does!” Elizabeth countered. “The Kashmir shawl Lotharian held in the Turkish room belonged to Lady Jersey. We are sure of it, for she is wearing it in her portrait hanging in the Harrington gallery.”

Rogan blinked in surprise. “I remember that painting. I must admit, this mystery of yours, Mary, is quite intriguing.” Rogan’s tone was firm and even, not mocking at all. “Are you certain that the shawl you possess is the very same one?”

Mary drew a breath, punctuated by several tiny gasps. Too much was happening now. She did not wish to discuss this with Rogan, with anyone, just now. “I believe so.”

“It is.” Anne’s conviction was clear; Mary only wished she could share her sister’s unflinching belief. “There is no need to conceal anything from Blackstone any longer. He is to be your husband.”

Rogan flashed a pleased smile in Anne’s direction. “Thank you, Miss Anne.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “But remember, for all of our sakes”-he glanced at the footman removing Mary’s chest from the parlor-“we are already married.”

The duke snared Mary’s gaze and gestured toward the door. She kissed Aunt Prudence on her cheek, and each of her sisters. Then, with Rogan’s hand guiding her at the elbow, she slowly turned and walked through the door to the carriage.

When the carriage arrived in Portman Square a few minutes later, Mary glimpsed Quinn through that cabin window, caning his way down the front steps to an awaiting carriage.

A liveried footman hoisted a heavy portmanteau to a muscular coachman standing atop the conveyance to receive it.

Mary turned around in her seat to face Rogan. “Where is he going?”

Rogan leaned forward and peered out the window as the town carriage rolled to a slow stop before the house. He did not reply to Mary but rather flung open the door and stepped down into the road.

“What the hell, Quinn?” Mary overheard Rogan shout as she took the footman’s hand and descended the carriage steps to the ground.

Quinn leaned on his cane and rested his other hand on Rogan’s shoulder. “To the country. Thought I would stay there for few days to allow you…and the duchess…time to settle in.”

“You need not leave,” Rogan said, though to Mary’s ear, not too convincingly.

“Ah, but I do. Thought it high time I explore my new property. Survey the land…perhaps see what needs to be done in preparation to make the house suitable for a family.”

“Are you saying that you and Lady Tidwell-” A single brow lifted as Rogan smiled knowingly at his brother.

“Not yet. But I feel the time will come soon. Might as well be prepared, eh?”

Quinn lifted his hand from Rogan’s shoulder and walked to Mary. “Sister,” he bowed neatly to her, then pecked her on the cheek.

Mary leaned forward to do the same. “You do realize we are not truly married yet,” she whispered in his ear.

“Rogan explained everything this morning,” he told her quietly. “I am sorry about the announcement in the Gazette.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She leveled her mouth to his ear. “I am not opposed to marrying because I love your brother, and maybe someday he will love me too.”

A sudden blush crested her cheeks. She didn’t know what had come over her, or why she needed to admit her feelings for Rogan to someone, but she could not help herself.

Quinn’s eyes sparkled, and he turned around to look at Rogan, his white teeth gleaming.

“What are you two going on about?” Rogan blinked in bafflement.

Mary’s stomach tensed then and did not relax until Quinn grinned and waved a cane at Rogan as he started to climb up into the carriage.

“I shall see you Wednesday morning,” Quinn called out to his brother.

Then the footman closed the door and Mary watched the carriage wheels roll forward until the vehicle was no longer in sight.

Rogan waggled his brows at Mary. “Shall we go inside, my darling?”

A smile flickered on her lips as she took his arm and walked up the three steps to the threshold.

The footman passed by and opened the door for them.

Rogan paused and glanced her way most mischievously, then he suddenly scooped her up in his arms and stepped into the house.

“Welcome to your new home, my duchess.”