The Wicked Duke (17 page)

He acted like a man who had successfully completed a duty that had weighed on him. Marianne had to admit that he had reason to be confident of how it would turn out in the end. She would seek Mama's advice, but she knew, and Aylesbury knew, what any mother would say.
He is a duke, Marianne. A duke.

M
ama threw up her hands and looked to heaven for patience. “Are you mad? Are you so conceited that you think you will do better? As if there even is better! So perverse that you prefer obscurity and poverty to being raised up and living in untold wealth?”

Marianne had finally told Mama about the proposal. Partly she did want Mama's advice, but partly she only wanted to stop Mama from asking what had happened when Aylesbury had her alone.

To say her mother was aghast that she had put off the duke was putting a fine point to it. If Mama had her way, they would march to his house forthwith so she could accept, gratefully and contritely, and pray he did not hold her reluctance against her.

“I am not perverse, thank you. I just needed to think about a few things.”

“Are you done thinking yet? Two days now you have thought, daughter. A man like this does not take well any rejection, let alone one that drags out. Certainly not one from such as you, who should be dancing, not pondering whatever makes you frown like this.”

She could not explain the way this marriage would betray Nora, and leave her alone and vulnerable. Mama would never accept that as a reason.

Nor could she explain that she had doubts about Aylesbury's character. Not only because of Uncle Horace's story about Nora's illness. There was that matter about his brother. It seemed everyone was talking about it here in London. Even the dressmakers had commented to each other on it. He had admitted not liking his brother at all, and resenting him for his scar and other things. Would it have taken much for him to do something violent, in a fit of anger?

Her heart rebelled at believing that, but she had debated it a lot the last two days. She had seen the best side of him, most likely. If they were married, would there be other sides she found far less appealing?

“Have you filled your head with dreams of a love match?” Mama asked. “If so, I must remind you that marriages among the best people are not decided that way.”

“We are not the best people.
You
had a love match. And if it is not a love match, it makes even less sense. Why would a duke
, a duke
, want to marry me, Mama? Do you not find it at all unbelievable?”

Mama looked at her with some sympathy. “Oh, dear. I have been remiss in your education. I am so sorry, my dear. Listen to me now, while I speak of indelicate things. Some men—not your father, my dear, but many others—do not marry for love so much as—how do I say this?—the desire to share a bed with a specific woman.”

Marianne wanted to laugh. She managed not to with effort. “Mama. Is there anything about Aylesbury that makes you think his experience regarding women and beds is not vast? I daresay he has had, and will continue to have, many women who are far more beautiful than I am. To suggest he proposed because he could not resist taking me to bed—”

“Really, daughter, you do not have to be crude.”

“I am sorry. However, that notion is as unbelievable as any of the other explanations.”

Just then a footman arrived to say that Sir Horace would like a word with the ladies in the study. Marianne and her mother climbed the stairs to find him.

Uncle Horace had not left town the day after the dinner as he had planned. Marianne assumed her mother had informed him about the duke's unexpected, and inappropriate, request to speak to her alone. Uncle Horace had been waiting, to learn what had occurred, while Mama tried to wheedle it out.

As soon as they entered the study, Marianne knew that her uncle had decided to wait no longer.

“I have been patient.” He sat behind a desk, as if he conducted business or study here. Only the desk in this house he had let was bare and the shelves vacant. “I want
you to now confide in me what the duke said to you while he had you alone. Normally such a request for privacy with an unmarried woman is only made for the most serious of reasons, Marianne.”

She told him. With each of her words a new spark of glee entered his eyes. He kept looking to Mama with a cunning, bemused expression, as if asking her,
Can you believe this? The duke has probably gone mad, but with luck we will get the knot tied before that is obvious
.

“I assume you accepted,” he said when she had finished. “I can see how he may have wanted to keep it a secret for a few days, while he arranges how to announce it, and informs the king's people before it becomes common talk. Dukes do not marry willy-nilly, of course.”

Mama glanced askance at Marianne. Marianne looked out the window.

“You did accept, of course.” Uncle Horace said it as a certainty, but an unfortunate inflection made it almost a question. A question that hung in the study. Strong emotions began charging the air.

“Tell him,” Mama said.

“I did not accept, Uncle. I said I needed to think about it.”

His cheeks sunk. His eyes widened. His pale skin started getting red.
“Think about it?”
he boomed.
“You told a duke you wanted to think about whether he is worth marrying?”

“Sir Horace,” Mama began in a soothing tone.

“Leave us,” he commanded her. “
Leave.
I will talk to my niece alone, and make sure she and I have a right understanding.”

Mama left. Uncle Horace stood. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “See what you have done, you ungrateful wretch. I am halfway to death.” He breathed deeply again, deliberately. He seemed to calm.

He looked at her. “You will marry him. If he will still have you, that is. You will marry him, and bring renown to your family.”

“Nora—”

“If you do not marry him, she will be sent away, so do not sacrifice yourself for her. And if you do not marry him, you and your mother are dead to me. Expect nothing from me, not a shilling. If you will not be a duchess, you will be a beggar.”

He meant it. She could tell he did. In his cold fury he did not exaggerate.

She stood, so she would not feel so small in front of him.

“He took advantage of your own daughter,” she said desperately. “Ruined her, as you said yourself. How could you want to be tied to him so closely now?”

“Because it is all I will ever get. There are all kinds of ways to pay for one's sins.”

“I am your niece. The daughter of your brother. Aylesbury may be a murderer. Would you have me marry him, if there is a chance of that?”

He thought about that, for about ten seconds. “It is not known what happened that night. I would not deprive you of this chance on the basis of open questions.”

“But I am not sure that I want this.”

His eyebrows met over his glare. “Then allow me to
say that differently. I will not allow you to deprive
us
of this chance. I speak for myself, your mother, my daughter, and all the generations to follow. Make yourself sure, soon. I am going to write and ask him to call this evening. You will give him your answer then.”

He turned his back on her. Close to tears, she ran from the study, and up to her chamber. Her mother was waiting for her there, and not to comfort her.

*   *   *

T
he sons of dukes do not expect to be put off when they propose marriage to a woman. Dukes themselves certainly do not. Therefore, a good deal of annoyance, justified to his mind, had accumulated by the time Lance received a note from Radley, asking him to call in the evening.

He went, not convinced that Marianne would accept his offer when he got there. Since he did not like being uncertain about much of anything, let alone this, his mood had not improved by the time he arrived.

The whole family, even Nora, waited for him in the drawing room. After greetings, Sir Horace smiled broadly. “My niece has something to say to you. Don't you, Marianne?”

Lance had no intention of doing this with an audience. Since Marianne was not smiling, there was no guarantee how it would go. “Leave us. I will speak with her alone.”

Surprised by the summary dismissal, Sir Horace herded the others out of the drawing room. Lance closed the doors
behind them. No doubt Sir Horace and Mrs. Radley would not go far from its other side.

He returned to Marianne. He sat and took her hand. “Did he beat you?”

She smiled then. Finally. “I am too old to beat. He would not dare anyway.”

“So he knows how hard you can punch, then?”

She even laughed a little at that. Then she looked down at her hand, nestled between his. “It was kind of you to make a little joke. That helped. Are you always kind?”

It was a fair question under the circumstances. “No. I will try to be, but I can make no promises.”

“My uncle plans to take advantage of you if we marry. Will you not find that a nuisance?”

“All of my life, people have done that. I am skilled at making sure I give no advantage unless I choose to.”

She nodded. “Will you mind if I still see my cousin Nora?”

“Why should I mind?”

She gave him an odd look.

“Do you have any other questions, Marianne?”

“I want you to tell me just how bad you have been. I think it odd that everyone knows things I do not.”

“Since I was perhaps fifteen years of age, I have sometimes—no, I have often—found myself in trouble, often situations of my own making. Fights. Duels. That sort of thing.”

“Drunkenness?”

“That, too, at times.”

“Indiscriminate fornication?” She blushed at that question, as well she might.

“
Indiscriminate
is perhaps too strong a word.” He searched for a better one, but found himself at a loss.

“Did you ever kill a man in a duel?”

“I did not.” This felt too much like being led through a confession.

“Do you expect to continue finding yourself in such situations in the future?”

“I cannot promise I will not. It seems to be in my nature. Do you have any other questions?”

“Just one. Forgive me, but I must ask it.”

“You are forgiven in advance, whatever it is.”

She avoided his gaze for a long pause. Then a bit of determination entered her eyes. “Did you kill your brother?”

He had hoped she did not need to ask. That was probably an unrealistic expectation. Their knowledge of each other had been brief, and not very deep.

“No.”

She believed him, apparently. Her expression lightened and the sun entered her mood and her eyes. “Then I accept your offer, if it still stands. I will marry you.”

He stood and leaned over her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “I will call your uncle and mother in, and we will tell them. We will also arrange for the wedding. I would prefer one very soon, if you do not mind.”

He walked toward the doors.

“His name is Vincent,” she said to his back. “The
officer. My old friend. He is Nora's brother by their mother's first marriage.”

Truly an old friend, then. She did not have to explain Vincent now, but he was glad she did. Jealousy was a new emotion for him, and he had not been spared its insidious gnawing since he saw her with that blond naval officer in the park.

“You must introduce him to me someday.” With that, he strode forward and opened the doors abruptly. Mrs. Radley and Sir Horace almost fell into his arms as their ears lost the support to which they had been pressed.

*   *   *

W
hen he left Radley's house, Lance found himself ill inclined to return to his home. He therefore went instead to a different house.

“I am glad you have not yet retired,” he said when he entered the library.

“It is only ten o'clock,” Gareth said.

“Yes, well, what with your marriage and such . . .” Lance threw himself into an upholstered chair. “Is Eva about?”

“She
has
retired. Her condition requires rest.” Gareth rose and went to the decanters. He returned with two glasses.

“Whiskey, thank God,” Lance said after a sip. “I was about to demand it, so you did not hand me sherry or some other sweet nonsense.”

“I thought whiskey would be appropriate.” He sat down again.

Lance looked at the account books and correspondence littering the floor near Gareth's chair. “I have interrupted you.”

“For which I thank you. If this is a simple visit, I am glad to have your company. If it is something more, I am flattered.”

Lance stared into his glass. “The oddest thing just happened, and I thought I should share it with someone. I became engaged to Miss Radley.”

Gareth merely smiled, angelically. “I am doubly flattered now.”

“Is that all you have to say? No exclamations of shock? No hooded glances of disapproval?”

“She seems a fine woman. Why should I be shocked? As for approval, I am the last person whose approval you need.”

Lance relaxed in the chair. “I knew you would react thus. It is why I am here. If I had gone to Ives, he would have bored me with a long explanation about how this is not necessary, how we would do this or that to fix everything, how I need only be patient, et cetera, et cetera.” He took a long swallow of the spirits. “I always said Ives could talk with the best of them.”