How To Seduce A Duke

Chapter 3

Mary primly folded her hands in her lap and looked around at the five people gazing upon her.

“Father was educated and well mannered. It is not such a leap to imagine him well regarded in London society.” Mary paused then.

No one said a word. She was compelled to explain herself further. “Picturing him as a member of Prinny’s retinue, however, is a lump of information not as easily swallowed, but still not outside the realm of believability.”

“So you do believe.” Elizabeth’s countenance brightened radiantly.

Mary shook her head. “No.”

Anne’s body seemed to stiffen. Her brow furrowed, and whether intentionally or not, she tightened her fingers around Mary’s wrist enough to make it smart. “But you just said-”

“No, I did not.” Frustrated, Mary shook her head. “Even if I take the story of Father’s past as gospel-and I have no reason not to believe what the gentlemen here have shared with us-I have yet to hear anything that would lead me to consider that our blood is the slightest bit blue.”

“That is precisely why I asked the three of you here this day, darling.” Lord Lotharian nodded his head at the other two gentlemen, summoning them. Silently, they came to stand behind the settee where Mary and Anne sat.

“We are convinced of your lineage,” Lord Lotharian said firmly.

“What proof have you?” Mary raised her right eyebrow. “Any at all? My lords, I do not mean to be rude, but this claim you make, if true and bolstered by evidence, would not be inconsequential-our lives would be changed forever. And Lord above, I dare not even consider what stand the Crown would take, though I should think it reasonable to say the position would not be one of support.”

“Mary!” Elizabeth turned away and turned a pleading gaze upon Lord Lotharian. “My lord, please forgive my sister’s brusque words. She is simply overcome.”

Lord Lotharian waved his age-spotted hand in the air dismissively. “Were I in her place, my words would be much the same.” He paused for a moment then and lifted a thick gray eyebrow. “Though, I might have waited for a reply after asking for proof.”

“Is there proof then?” For an instant, Mary almost believed that there might be, for Lord Lotharian seemed quite assured.

She almost believed. Almost. But not entirely.

The idea that she and her sisters were the issue of the Prince of Wales and Mrs. Fitzherbert was more than a bit preposterous. The notion was completely mad.

“The key!” Elizabeth blurted. “The key is the proof!”

Lord Lotharian shook his head slowly.

“But you lured us here by hinting that this”-Elizabeth revealed the brass key-“was the key to more than Papa’s document box.”

“And it may be, but I do not know for certain,” Lotharian admitted. “May I?” He reached out for the key, and Elizabeth handed it to him. “The key has a dual purpose, as I mentioned. Watch.” The tall, lean lord turned the oval grip at the head of the key and removed it, revealing a hexagonal tip. “Your father told me that if anything should happen to him, this hidden key would open the trapdoor.”

“What trapdoor?” Anne demanded. “In our house in Cornwall?”

Lotharian shrugged. “I fear he shared no more with me than I have with you. I got the distinct impression that he was apprehensive about telling me about the key at all. But, yes, I would assume the secret key is for a trapdoor in his country home. I admit, I had held out some hope that you gels would know better what his cryptic words truly meant.”

“We know nothing of any trapdoor.” Mary cast a knowing glance at each of her sisters. “Our trip here is for naught.”

“On the contrary, Miss Royle. We had a very good reason for requesting your presence this day,” Gallantine broke in before Mary could utter another word.

The door from the passage opened then, and a petite, doe-eyed maid entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits.

Given the nature of the preceding conversation, Mary expected that Lotharian would raise his hand to Gallantine and silence him until the privacy of the library was restored.

But he did not.

“Allow me to share another story from our past. Something you three must hear.” He slid his crystal over his lower lip and swallowed a few sips of brandy with an audible gulp. “The year was 1795. A full month had passed since the prince had dispatched your father to Margate to tend to Maria…Mrs. Fitzherbert.”

Mary’s gaze followed the maid as she laid the tea service on the small table before them. She did not speak, nor look directly at anyone, despite the extraordinary tale Lotharian was beginning to share; she merely finished her business and silently left the room.

“At the time,” Lotharian noted, his thick eyebrows twitching excitedly, “it was rumored Mrs. Fitzherbert had fallen ill after the prince had abruptly severed their union and agreed to marry Princess Caroline.”

Mary found herself holding her breath, waiting for the piece of the story that would prove the story naught but a fantasy.

She slid a glance at Anne, the more even-minded of her sisters. But even she was staring moon-eyed at Lotharian, much as she had done when Papa had read them faery stories when they were children.

Lotharian continued the tale, pausing only for a breath or another sip of brandy. “It was clear to all of us that George still cared deeply for Maria, his wife of the heart-that’s what he oft called her, you know-so it did not seem out of character for the prince to send his trusted personal physician, your father, to tend to her.”

Lilywhite nodded his head vigorously. “But a month was a damned long while for your father to be out of Town without so much as sending a letter to anyone. Not like him in the least. I began to wonder if something was wrong. Finally, I decided to send a missive to Margate, the house in the country to which Mrs. Fitzherbert had retired, to inquire about his plans to return to London.”

Gallantine nodded his auburn-wigged head in agreement. “Your father always was the responsible sort. We knew something was not as it should be.”

Lilywhite slapped his hand to his thigh. “Well, you can imagine my surprise when the letter was returned, unopened. We soon learned that your father was no longer at Margate. Hadn’t been for weeks. He had, in fact, retired to his family cottage in Cornwall and had expressed to no one any intent to return to London-ever.”

“Bah, there could be many reasons he retired to Cornwall.” Mary twisted her wrist and wrenched it from Anne’s painful grasp. She rubbed it as she shuffled through her mind for the correct words. “The most likely being that Mrs. Frasier, the housekeeper, found a basket of three babies on the doorstep and he needed to attend to them…or us, rather.”

Lotharian’s wild eyebrows arched, giving Mary the impression of a frost-covered grassy hillock. “My, my. Is that what you were told?”

“Yes, it was. It was never a secret in our house.” Mary peered through narrowed eyes at each of the three gentlemen in turn. “And you all must admit that the idea of some pinch-penny country unfortunate leaving her babies on the doorstep to be taken in by someone more able to care for them is far more likely.”

Gallantine nodded his head. “She has you there, Lotharian.” He headed for the tantalus. “More brandy, anyone?” His offer was greeted by the other two gentlemen raising their empty glasses in the air.

Clutching the decanter in his delicate, long-fingered hands, Gallantine crossed back to his friends and filled their crystal goblets half full.

“My thanks, old chap.” Lotharian tilted the short-stemmed goblet to his lips and drank deeply. When he finished, he dabbed his lips together, then ran his tongue over his lips, as if ensuring he recovered every last drop.

He looked pointedly at Mary. “Oh yes, I do agree. The abandoned babies story is infinitely believable-but sadly, that retelling of your delivery into your father’s care is far from the truth.” He tapped his hand twice upon his knee for emphasis.

Elizabeth reached out and laid her hand atop Lord Lotharian’s. “Then will you share the true story?” She shot an uneasy glance at Mary, then added, “The true story…as you know it, my lord.”

“Oh, do allow me.” Lilywhite circled around from behind the settee, catching up a small cherrywood chair near the hearth as he moved closer to the sisters. “It’s such a dramatic tale, and I vow neither of you gents will do it justice.”

He slowly lowered himself into the chair, sucked in a deep breath, and glanced at Lotharian as if first seeking permission to speak.

Only when the taller lord nodded his consent did Lilywhite begin.

“With no explanation for Royle’s disappearance, Lord Upperton, God rest his soul, Lady Upperton, and the three of us decided we had no recourse but to venture to lower Cornwall ourselves and learn the fate of our friend.”

“And what did you learn, my lord?” Anne’s fingers absently clutched her skirts, wrinkling them for certain.

“Everything. We arrived unannounced, late one night, but Royle welcomed us inside the cottage and offered us brandy. He was clearly distraught with our sudden appearance. I remember hearing it in the low tone of his voice and seeing it in his eyes-the way they kept darting toward the staircase every minute or so. Most certainly, we could not have known that there were three babies, the three of you, sleeping soundly inside one of the upper bedchambers. He obviously meant to keep it a secret. But his nerves grew ever more shredded as the minutes passed, and he turned to the brandy again and again.”

“Oh, good heavens, Lilywhite.” Lotharian threw back his head in clear frustration. “You are taking far too long with the telling!” Lotharian returned Elizabeth’s gloved hand to her own knee, then he rose and moved to the hearth, leaning an elbow upon the white-veined green marble. “Get on with it, man.”

Lilywhite began speaking very quickly, as though, Mary decided, if he were to pause, Lotharian would seize the story for his own. “Within an hour, the brandy had loosened his tongue, and Royle, the man who raised you, revealed a series of events like no other.” He cast a wary glance at Lotharian.

“Good God, man, go on.” Lotharian lifted his goblet to his mouth but did not drink. Mary could see he was peering intently at her over the lip of the crystal. He was watching for her reaction, waiting for it.

Lilywhite took another deep, calming breath before speaking again. The story was certainly about to take a dramatic turn.

“He told us that Prinny had called upon him late one eve, demanding he hurry to Margate to tend to his wife. Yes, he used that term-his wife. Your father was given no indication of what necessitated his urgent dispatch to Margate, but he left at once. When he arrived, he found Mrs. Fitzherbert, barely coherent, and in the midst of a difficult birth.”

Lilywhite feigned a cough, raised his goblet, and gestured for Gallantine to refill it, which he begrudgingly did.

The portly Old Rake tilted the glass to his mouth and gulped down its contents completely, cuing Mary to gird herself for more.

“Her confinement was a surprise to Royle, since the prince had not mentioned it to him. But her condition was not as jolting as what he saw next.”

“What did he see? Tell us, please,” Elizabeth pleaded.

Lilywhite’s eyes widened. The tension in the library grew very heavy. “In the shadows of the room stood Lady Jersey-and Queen Charlotte.”

“The queen?” Elizabeth’s feet tapped excitedly on the carpet.

“Indeed. In fact, when your father inquired about Mrs. Fitzherbert’s altered faculties, it was the queen herself who confessed that Mrs. Fitzherbert had dosed herself with a goodly amount of laudanum at first pain and that she had been unable to stop her. Royle lifted her lids, and indeed her pupils were black and large, but when he asked for the bottle of laudanum she had used, hoping to ascertain how much she had taken, it was not produced.”

Anne’s brow wrinkled with concern. “Someone else drugged her?”

Lilywhite sighed and shrugged. “Royle suspected as much but was in no position to question the queen’s account. Two long hours later, though Mrs. Fitzherbert was barely conscious, she delivered three stillborn babies.”

“Stillborn?” Elizabeth gasped for air, as if it seemed her faery tale dream of being a princess had just been torn away from her. “Then…then we could not be those babies.”

“That’s enough, Lilywhite. I shall finish.” Lotharian strode back to the settee and slowly, in three attempts, managed to kneel on one bony knee before Elizabeth.

“Dear, they appeared stillborn, but your father, even though known as London’s finest physician, was not permitted to examine the babies, even for a moment. He begged for a chance to revive them, but the queen would not hear of it. She proclaimed the children dead. If they were not yet, they soon would be, and that was the way it must be.”

Anne cupped her hand to her mouth. There were tears in her eyes.

“Though she expected Royle to follow her edict, she took no responsibility for it,” Gallantine broke in. “Instead, she tasked Royle with penning a missive to the prince, informing him that Mrs. Fitzherbert would soon be well and would harbor no traces of her earlier illness.”

“Her…illness? Oh my word, she meant-the babies.” Elizabeth’s jewel-green eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Lotharian gazed down at the Turkish carpet for several seconds before continuing. “Then, at the queen’s direction, Lady Jersey wrapped the bluish babies in her own shawl and deposited the still bodies in a lidded basket, which she hurriedly pushed into your father’s arms. He was to remove the bodies to the country, bury them, and never tell of their existence. Ever. The future of the Prince of Wales depended on it.”

“But the babies weren’t dead,” Gallantine added excitedly. “Not yet.”

“Devil take you, Gallantine. You are ruining the drama of the story!” Lilywhite balled his hand into a chubby fist and thumped it on his own knee.

Lotharian extended his arm backwards toward Lilywhite and snapped his fingers. “Assistance, please.”

“Oh, certainly.” Lilywhite helped Lotharian stand. When the tall gentleman sat down in Lilywhite’s chair, Lilywhite was left standing, mouth agape.

“Do stand at the opposite end of the settee, my friend, so I may see the gels’ lovely faces as I put a period to the story of their birth and second chance at life.”

Gallantine grumbled but did as Lotharian, the obvious commander of the Old Rakes, had asked.

“Royle was nothing if not loyal to the Crown, and so he left Margate to do as the queen had commanded. But as the carriage rolled off into the night, he heard a weak mewl coming from inside the basket.”

“The babies!” The tears in Anne’s eyes breached her lashes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Yes,” Lotharian told her. “Royle lifted the lid to see three sets of blinking eyes peering up at him. He ripped open his shirt and held the three shivering babes to his bare chest for warmth, then wrapped his coat around them all. They were not dead, but if he returned the infants to Margate, and the queen, he was certain they would not survive the night.”

Gallantine clutched his brandy crystal tightly in his hands, as though gathering up his courage, as he usurped the role of historian. “Your father knew what must be done, so he whisked the babies to his family’s cottage, where he immediately engaged two wet nurses.” He smiled at each of the women. “And, well, you know the rest of the story. He raised them as his own into three fine young ladies.”

“In the morning, Royle-likely after realizing the danger of what he had opened himself and the babies to by sharing the story-recanted everything. Blamed it on the brandy and his penchant for storytelling,” Lilywhite sighed. “But we had only to look in his eyes to know his poignant words the night before had been the truth. So then, when he asked us that if anything were to happen to him, we would see to your future, we vowed we would.”

“And so we shall.” Gallantine swallowed the last few drops of his brandy and settled the goblet on the tea table. “So we shall.”

Lord Lotharian leaned forward, took Mary’s hand in his, and curled his fingers around it. “And there you have it, Miss Royle, the true story of your birth.”

Mary felt numb.

No, it is impossible. The story cannot be true. It cannot!

It is far too outlandish. Far too grand.

And yet, she had to admit to herself, there was a part of her that did believe.

Wanted to believe.

Oh, not the bit about being daughters of the prince.

From everything she’d heard, Prinny was a spoiled, loathsome oaf, and good heavens, being found to be his child would be naught but an embarrassment to her-even if the same could hardly be said for her sisters.

No, the part Mary longed to believe was her father’s heroic actions-even when it meant refusing to do as the queen commanded. Saving the babies, despite the very real threat of reprisal from the Crown, was in precise keeping with the character of her father. He was exactly the sort who would do whatever he could to save innocent lives.

As Mary sat silently, considering these amazing revelations, she belatedly noticed that her sisters had her pinned with expectant gazes.

“So, what say you, Mary?” Anne seemed very impatient with her for some reason.

Had she missed a bit of conversation while mulling over her thoughts?

“I can see that you are still not fully convinced.” Lord Lotharian pressed down on the chair’s wooden arms and hoisted himself up from its seat. “No matter.”

The tall lean gentleman returned to his place beside the hearth and gestured for the other two elderly gentlemen to join him.

For nearly a full minute, the Royle sisters sat quietly, their ears straining to overhear the low buzz of conversation taking place before the mantel.

To her surprise, Mary caught her name mentioned, twice, but she could not understand any other part of what seemed to her to be a most serious conversation. At last the three old rakes rejoined the sisters.

Lotharian smiled at each young lady in turn, then fixed his eyes upon Mary. “We shall begin with you, my dear, if that is acceptable.”

What is this?

“Er…begin what with me, my lord?”

“Why, see to your future, gel. Promised Royle, I did, and despite my reputation…in other areas, I assure you, I always keep my word.”

My future? No, no, no-

Lord Lotharian took Mary’s gloved hand and drew her up from the settee. “Mrs. Upperton has seen to the preparations. Everything should have been delivered to your lodgings by now.”

His eyes twinkled excitedly, making Mary wonder exactly what sort of readying Mrs. Upperton had done.

“My town carriage will fetch you and your sisters from Berkeley Square at nine o’clock this eve for Lady Brower’s rout-where you and your sisters will be launched into London society.”

Good heavens. Mary’s tongue felt thick in her mouth, but she somehow managed to lace together a few words of protest. “My lords, you are very kind, but we are not acquainted with Lady Brower.”

Lord Lotharian waved his free hand dismissively. “My darling, you know no one in London. So you must trust my guidance.”

He gestured to her sisters, then patted Mary’s hand and led her to the turning bookcase. “Your father bequeathed each of you a reasonable portion and sizeable dowry. You have the gentlemen of the Old Rakes of Marylebone to see to the rest. Yes, Miss Royle, by season’s end, as your guardian I vow to see you properly matched to a gentleman of supreme standing. Then Lilywhite and Gallantine shall do the same for each of your sisters. Such a diverting challenge this will be for us all.”

“Are you referring to finding matches for the gels, Lotharian?” Gallantine busied himself by making minute adjustments in the position of his wig.

To Mary, he seemed more than a little ill at ease at the moment.

“Or…perhaps you are referring to proving the gels’ lineage?” Gallantine asked. “For you have yet to mention the latter, and I daresay that task will be far more of a challenge to accomplish.”

For the briefest instant, worry cinched Lotharian’s ample brows, but in the next, his expression relaxed and his characteristic rakish grin made its appearance on his lips.

“Why, both, my man! For the only way to secure the Royle sisters’ futures is to secure their past as well.”

“Did you hear, sisters? They mean to help us-in all things!” Elizabeth, unable to restrain her excitement, let forth a high-pitched giggle before stifling it by clapping her hand to her mouth.

Lotharian chuckled softly, then set himself to the task of turning the bookcase, opening it wider.

Taking this as a cue to leave, Mary made to step into the secret passage, but the ancient rake held her firmly in place for a moment more.

“I do not jest, Miss Royle,” he told her with all seriousness. “There will be no settling for a simple mister or even a sir for you.”

Once again, Mary did not know how to respond.

Certainly, she didn’t need anyone’s help selecting a husband. She was more than capable of managing her own life. Why, she had already set her cap for a very worthy man-and a titled war hero at that.

She was about to admit as much when she happened to glance at her two sisters.

If there was even a chance that the Old Rakes of Marylebone could see to her sisters’ marital futures, well, she would have to go along with the plan, at least for a while.

It was true that Anne’s and Elizabeth’s charms were many, but they were completely distracted by this tale of the blue-blooded babes.

Unlike she herself, they lacked the focus needed to set their futures on the proper path-by finding husbands.

Because of this, Lady Upperton’s guidance and direction in making proper matches was truly a godsend.

Why, with Lady Upperton as their sponsor, surely their minds would be too occupied with the hunt for husbands to allow them to waste their time and meager resources investigating the farcical tale of their supposed royal birth.

Lotharian raised a brow. “Do you doubt my connections, miss?”

“Oh, no, my lord,” Mary blurted.

“Very well then. We shall focus our matchmaking attentions on dukes, marquises and earls…though we might consider a viscount or even a baron-but only if the family is very old and prominent.”

Mary squinted at him. “Why is a title so important?”

“Why indeed,” he said, winking at her playfully as he released her to follow her sisters into the hollow blackness behind the bookcase, “because, my dear, you are the daughter of the future king of England.”