The Unexpected Duchess (10 page)

Lucy seemed intent on convincing him that Lady Cassandra was in love with another man. He understood that. And it didn’t bother him. Whoever this chap was, he was either unable or unwilling to offer for the girl—and so much the better for Derek. Marriage, like any other major life decision, was best made with facts and a rational head. All love did was complicate things. Cassandra might believe she was in love with this man, but he obviously wasn’t a viable marriage partner. And as long as Cassandra did her duty after their marriage and provided Derek with a legitimate son, he didn’t much care whom she chose to spend time with. As long as she was discreet, of course.

Why was Lucy so invested in her friend’s marriage prospects? Perhaps it was because Cassandra had asked her to help. Cassandra didn’t seem as if she had much of a stomach for being forthright. He’d thought that’s what he wanted in a mate but he had to admit it was a bit frustrating. Lucy, on the other hand, was as forthright as she could be. Or perhaps she merely enjoyed ripping her friend’s suitors to shreds with her daggerlike tongue. Regardless of her reasons or her intentions, Derek wasn’t about to let Lucy dissuade him. He’d received a letter today from Swift informing him that his condition was worsening. Derek had wanted to punch his fist through a wall when he’d had to write back to his dying friend and say that he wasn’t yet betrothed to Cassandra.

He wasn’t. Yet. But he would be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Derek ripped open the letter that sat on the top of the stack of correspondence the butler had just delivered on a silver tray. A silver tray? Really? Would Derek ever get used to having his mail delivered that way? Wellington himself had given him the referral for the butler. Hughes was his name. The man had been nothing but exceedingly proper since Derek had hired him. The butler had seen to the hiring of the rest of the household staff and the furnishing of the fine town house, all in an effort to make the residence fit for a duke. Yes, everything was quite proper and in order. Only Derek felt like a counterfeit.

He sliced open the letter with the opener and ripped out the sheaves. Collin had only been gone a few days but he’d already sent a letter. Derek could only hope it contained good news.

Your Grace,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve got quite a good lead on the last known location of our group. It’s a small town in France. I’ll be traveling there over the next few days and hope to send good news once I find them. I visited Swift in Brussels. He’s not good, Derek. Not at all. He asked if you’ve become betrothed to Lady Cassandra yet. I told him you are in the process of doing just that. I didn’t tell him that Swifdon, Rafe, and Adam are missing. No use upsetting the man on his deathbed. Look for another letter soon.

Yours,

Collin

Derek crumpled the letter in his fist. He’d written Wellington and once again nearly begged the man to allow him to leave and help search for the others. The result had been the same as before. A decidedly pleasant yet solid no. Derek was needed here, should find a wife, settle down. Wasn’t Lady Cassandra Monroe a fine choice?

He’d nearly groaned in frustration, but orders were orders. Every military man knew that. All Derek could do was sit here and wait for Collin’s news. His brother would keep him informed. He could count on him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Despite the impropriety, Lucy hurried straight into Cass’s bedchamber the next morning. Lucy hadn’t even stopped to remove her gloves or her bonnet, just made her way directly up the staircase and into her friend’s room. She flew over to the bed and stroked Cass’s hair. “What is it, dear? What’s happened?”

Cass was lying prostrate on the bed, one arm flung over her eyes, tears streaming down the sides of her face, sobbing as if her heart were broken.

Lucy had no clue what was wrong. She’d only received a note from Cass’s mother an hour ago saying she must come immediately, that Cass was inconsolable.

Lucy sat next to her friend and rubbed Cass’s arms. “The duke, he didn’t say anything or do anything—?”

Cass turned toward her and blinked at her. Her pretty blue eyes were bloodshot and overflowing with tears. She blew intermittently into a handkerchief that was wadded up in her fist. She shook her head. “No, no. It’s nothing to do with the duke.”

Lucy expelled her breath. She should have known better. The duke wouldn’t be the one to make Cass cry like this. It made no sense. Lucy had been too preoccupied with the duke lately to remember the usual source of Cass’s distress.

She put a hand on Cass’s shoulder and searched her face. “It’s not … Oh, heavens, Cass.” Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. Pure terror streaked through her chest. “It’s Julian, isn’t it?”

Cass’s sad little nod and accompanying sob confirmed what Lucy already knew. It
was
Julian.

“Is he…?” Lucy swallowed the painful lump in her throat. She couldn’t force the word
dead
past her lips.

Cass shook her head rapidly this time. “No. He’s alive. For now. But he’s—” She sobbed again and pressed the handkerchief to her eyes. “Oh, Lucy, he’s dying.”

“No,” Lucy whispered.

Cass nodded, the handkerchief now pressed to her nose. “I received a letter from cousin Penelope today. Julian is in a makeshift Belgian hospital. He was gravely wounded in battle.”

Lucy closed her eyes, desperately searching for the words that would serve to comfort her friend. The news wasn’t quite as dire as she’d expected. Julian was still alive. That was something, but the fact that he was about to die was barely better. “Oh, Cass. I’m so sorry.”

Cass hung her head. “I just cannot stand to think about him dying all alone.”

Tears filled Lucy’s eyes. “He’s not alone. He’s got doctors and I’m certain there are women there, tending to him as if he were their own.”

“But he doesn’t have anyone who loves him,” Cass sobbed.

Lucy swallowed back her own tears. Crying would not help Cass a bit and might just make her more sad. No, Lucy had to be strong. “What about Penelope? Did she say she might try to get there before … the end?”

Cass shook her head rapidly. “No. Nothing like that. I do not think she means to go.”

“What exactly did she say?’

Cass looked a bit embarrassed. “She said, ‘Whom shall I marry now? I’ve been waiting for Julian for years. I’m on the shelf.’”

Lucy furrowed her brow. Now,
that
was poor form indeed. Though it was in keeping with what she knew of Penelope. Cass’s cousin did seem the sort who would be more interested in her own marital prospects or lack thereof than the death of her poor betrothed.

“Oh, Lucy, Julian is so brave and wonderful. He didn’t deserve this. And I … I never had a chance to tell him…” Her voice trailed off into a series of tiny sobs. Lucy put her arm around her.

“Cass.” Lucy squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “You must try. He may still be alive. Write to Julian immediately. Tell him how you feel about him. How much you love him. Let him go to his grave knowing how much he means to you.”

Cass dabbed at her dripping eyes. “I want to, Lucy. Heavens knows I do. I cannot tell you how much. But I…” She sucked in her breath and shook her head again. “I don’t know.”

Lucy kept her tight grip on her friend’s shoulder. “Why not, Cass? What harm will it do now? You cannot want him to die without knowing how you feel.”

Cass blew daintily into the kerchief. Lucy smiled slightly. Even in the depths of her sorrow, her friend was demure and lovely. Lucy would look like a drowned cat if she cried that hard and would be blowing her nose with a Christmas goose’s honk.

Cass drew a deep breath. “For one thing I’ve no idea how bad he is. Apparently, he told Pen that he doesn’t expect to live, but the doctors have no way of knowing how long it will be. Oh, Lucy, what if he’s already dead?”

Lucy pulled her arm away and turned to face Cass, sitting up on her knees and facing her imploringly. “You don’t know that. Not yet. He may be dead but he may well be alive and live for some time, long enough to receive your letter. Don’t you see? You must try.”

Cass trembled. Her face fell. She appeared to consider it for a moment. “Do you truly think he would want to hear this on his deathbed?”

Lucy pulled her hands back and rubbed them distractedly up and down her arms, trying to think of some way to convince Cass of the importance of this decision. “He may, Cass. He may love you as much as you love him. He’s written to you for years, has he not?”

Cass plucked at the handkerchief that now rested in her lap. “There never has been any talk of love in our letters. And I haven’t received a letter from him myself in some time, not since before the battle. He wrote to Pen, not me. That says something.”

Lucy searched her friend’s face. “There may not have been talk of love between you, yet. But what if he’s thinking the same thing you are, Cass? You
must
tell him. Take it from me. I never got to say good-bye to the one person who meant the most to me before he died.”

Cass bit her lip. She was obviously considering it. Lucy seized the moment to spring from the bed and rush over to the writing table, where she plucked up two sheets of parchment and a quill. She hurried back over to Cass, but not before scooping up a large book to use as a writing surface. “Here, use this. Write to him. Tell him.”

Cass opened her mouth, obviously to protest.

Lucy pressed the quill into her friend’s hand. “No, Cass. No excuses. Do it. You must.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Mountebanks’ dinner party was abuzz with music, laughter, and talking. Course after course of fine fare was served
à la russe
, and Lucy found herself making awkward conversation with Lord Kramer to her right and Lord Pembroke to her left while giving Jane and Garrett long-suffering looks. Those two were seated next to each other and appeared to be happily engaged in their usual playful ribbing. Lucy envied them. Even the sharp barbs and verbal jabs they were no doubt trading would be preferable to the excruciatingly dull conversation about the weather that she was trapped in with Lord Pembroke. Just how many words might one use to adequately describe fog? Surely they were coming to the end of a finite list?

After dinner, the ladies played cards in one of the Mountebanks’ salons while waiting for the gentlemen to join them.

“I’m worried about Cass,” Lucy whispered to Jane, who’d joined her in the middle of the room during a break in the play.

“I am, too,” Jane whispered back. “She refused to come with you tonight?”

“Yes. All she can think about is Julian. She’s distraught.”

“It’s just so terribly sad,” Jane replied. “And Penelope’s hideous behavior can’t have been easy for her to bear.”

“You know Cass. She thinks the best of everyone. She excused Penelope’s behavior saying she must be in shock or denial.”

“Or Penelope is just awful,” Jane replied, waggling her eyebrows over her spectacles.

Lady Mountebank called for the ladies to take their seats for the next round of cards.

Jane’s gaze darted to the doorway. “Now’s my chance. You don’t happen to know where Lord Mountebank’s library is, do you?”

Lucy arched a brow. Jane took off in search of the library at every event they attended.

“What?” Jane asked with an innocent shrug. “Even if the supply is rubbish, it’s bound to be more fun picking through Lord Mountebank’s moldering books than trying to explain to Lady Horton why she must always follow suit in whist.”

Lucy laughed. “There I cannot argue.” She kept her eyes trained on the ladies seated around her own game of whist and the swift hand of Lady Crandall, who had been known to slip an extra ace from her reticule and blame it on her old age and senility.

As if reading Lucy’s mind, Jane tilted her head toward Lady Crandall. “I, for one, cannot wait until I can act as batty as Lady C without the whole of London thinking I’m too young for it. I’d put a turban on my head and bump people with my cane now if I thought for a moment I could get away with it. Why, I might even consider acquiring a parrot.”

Lucy snorted. She opened her mouth to say something equally saucy just as the doors to the salon opened and the gentlemen strolled in.

“Ooh, I must go.” Jane scooted toward the doors. The gentlemen’s entrance caused just the distraction she needed to slip unnoticed from the room.

The men spread through the room, and Lucy was all too aware of the Duke of Claringdon’s presence. He sauntered in wearing a claret-colored dinner jacket, dark gray trousers, and a perfectly tied white cravat. He looked good. Too good. Garrett wasn’t far behind him.

As her cousin strolled up, he and Jane exchanged exasperated glances. When he reached Lucy, he turned around, watching Jane leave. “She’s off to the library, isn’t she?” He sighed.

“But of course,” Lucy replied with a laugh.

Garrett shook his head. “Predictable.”

“I wish you and Jane would stop your constant bickering. You might consider giving her a chance. She’s been an excellent friend to me.”

Garrett’s face reflected his skepticism as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m not the one who’s not giving someone a chance. She’s been rude to me from the moment we met. And I don’t particularly care for being treated like an idiot. You’re famous for your sharp tongue but as far as I’m concerned, the sharpness of your tongue doesn’t compare to the scimitar behind Miss Lowndes’s teeth.”

“Jane’s really quite nice once you’re on her good side.”

Garrett wrinkled his brow. “Good side? I’ve seen no evidence that such a side exists. And if it does, it wouldn’t appear until after she finishes lecturing you on the proper care and feeding of thoroughbreds and then telling you the exact dimensions of Stonehenge and then enumerating the many virtues of repealing the Corn Laws.”

Lucy shrugged. “She’s intelligent and well read. That shouldn’t intimidate you in the least.”

“Intimidate me, nothing,” Garrett shot back. “I simply prefer my conversations to be with ladies who don’t insist upon ripping me to pieces with their tongues.”