Four Nights With the Duke Page 7

  Surprisingly, Chuffy came to her defense. “You should be ashamed of yerself, Leo,” he told the duke. “You were not exactly the catch of the season yourself, you know. I never did figure out how you talked that lovely lady into accepting you, what with all those bastards of yours. Nearly a dozen of ’em, wasn’t it?”

  Villiers’s countenance had eased. “Only half a dozen. And now I have one legitimate son as well.”

  “Am I supposed to congratulate you on sowing seed in your own field?” Chuffy demanded. “You’re not one to call the kettle black, or however that goes.” He took a step closer to Mia, like an unsteady knight in tarnished armor. “Now I ain’t going to stand for any more gibble-gabbling around like a bunch of old women.”

  The Duke of Villiers nodded and said, “Chuffy, you’ve made me feel ashamed of myself.” He looked at Mia and said, “I’m sorry that you were made uncomfortable, Miss Carrington. I have known His Grace since he was a small boy, and the circumstances of his betrothal are not what I hoped for him.”

  Mia took a breath. “I apologize for those circumstances,” she said, and she meant it.

  The duke waited, as if for Mia to change her mind, simply because a duke—another duke—didn’t approve of blackmail. But she couldn’t. Charlie’s welfare was paramount, and far more important than the Duke of Villiers’s opinion.

  “I understand why this gal wants my nephew,” Chuffy announced. “She has good taste. The boy speaks any number of languages word for word without so much as a book in the room—”

  “No, I don’t,” Vander said quietly.

  “He’s not the best looking,” Chuffy said, ignoring his nephew entirely. “But he is a duke, and comes with a title. The problem is that he’s a great quarreler.”

  Mia could see that Vander was growing angry.

  “Not like his father, though. My brother—God rest his soul—couldn’t keep his temper. But that was the fault of his brains and not he. He was a great eater of beef, and I believe it did harm to his wit.” He paused and looked expectantly at Mia.

  She nodded. Was she supposed to play name-that-quotation? She recognized the text, but it wasn’t an appropriate moment to be bandying about Shakespeare.

  “The lad has an excellent head of hair, though,” Chuffy said.

  That wasn’t Shakespeare; it was simply a statement of fact. Vander had a wonderfully thick head of hair.

  “I think that we might as well sit down,” Vander said, impatience darkening his voice. “Miss Carrington and I are to marry within the hour, but the vicar seems to have gone missing. He left to prepare the chapel. It has seen little use in recent years,” he explained to Mia.

  She was just grateful not to find herself in the local church, St. Ninian’s, reliving the Great Jilting. She felt distinctly nauseated. She could hardly believe that she was blackmailing a man into marriage. She didn’t want to meet the eyes of his uncle, or think seriously about what it meant for Vander.

  The door opened and Nottle reappeared. “Mr. Tobias and Lady Xenobia India Dautry,” he announced.

  Mia’s heart sank. Apparently, Vander had invited his friend Thorn, one of the witnesses to the horrible poetry reading years ago.

  “Why not invite the whole countryside?” Chuffy demanded. “Here, you, Nottle: this is all hugger-mugger. Where’s the champagne? Your master is getting leg-shackled!”

  The butler’s mouth tightened to a thin line. Vander’s chin jerked, and Nottle withdrew, Chuffy trotting after him with a wave in the direction of Dautry and his wife.

  Mia felt dizzy watching the Duke of Villiers greet his son and daughter-in-law. What on earth was she doing standing in a room with people this distinguished and beautiful?

  Thorn Dautry and Lady Xenobia were remarkably well suited. It hardly needed to be said that they were as decorated as a pair of maypoles, and as tall, too. The kind of people who made her feel like a grubby mushroom.

  “Have you invited any other guests?” Mia asked Vander in a low voice.

  “Why do you ask?” It was astonishing how clearly his eyes expressed anger, while his words were perfectly civil. “Don’t you wish to celebrate this happy occasion, my dear?”

  Of course he was angry. She knew that, and acknowledged that he had a right to be. She just hadn’t realized what it would be like to stand next to a huge man practically vibrating with rage.

  “I had imagined that we would have a private ceremony,” she said, not entirely in command of her voice.

  “Private? Why on earth would we do that?” Vander turned and gave Thorn one of those brusque clasps that men give each other. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Dautry said, his voice clipped.

  At least her heroine in Love Conquers All was saved from the guillotine before she was actually threatened by the blade. Mia had the wild sensation that the blade was flashing down toward her neck.

  Too late she realized that she should have insisted Vander read the letter detailing the short term of their marriage.

  Vander’s hand slipped under her arm. “Miss Carrington, you will remember Mr. Dautry, though you may not have met his wife, Lady Xenobia India. They are close friends of mine.”

  Thorn Dautry was homicidal. With one glance she realized that his wife felt the same way.

  When she had made the desperate decision to blackmail Vander into marrying her, she hadn’t envisioned the clear-eyed contempt she now saw in Lady Xenobia’s eyes. After the briefest possible greeting, the lady turned away as if Mia were no more than an impudent scullery maid.

  Mia had heard that Lady Xenobia could reorganize a household within two days, and now she knew how she did it; the lady probably just glanced at the servants who were pilfering the brandy, and they confessed on the spot.

  Dautry was escorting his wife over to the sofa with the kind of solicitude that suggested she was carrying a child. Vander followed, leading Mia over to sit beside Lady Xenobia, even though anyone could guess that she would prefer to sit anywhere else. In the corner, for example.

  At that moment, Chuffy barged back through the door, followed by Nottle, who carried a tray laden with champagne glasses and a bottle. His lordship held two more bottles, one in each fist. “Here we are,” he bawled. “This party is so gloomy I expect to be measuring my poor nevvy for a grave, not a marriage bed!”

  Vander headed over to his uncle, probably hoping to prop him up before he and the champagne smashed to the ground.

  “He’s drowned in drink,” Lady Xenobia observed, not bothering to whisper.

  Chuffy was the only person who’d demonstrated any kindness, so Mia felt she should defend him. She cleared her throat. “Sir Cuthbert seems to be making excellent sense to me.”

  Lady Xenobia turned and looked down at her, as a queen might look at an errant chambermaid. “Only a fool finds a drunken man sensible,” she said.

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Mia said haltingly.

  Her ladyship raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t?”

  “There’s no need to be angry.”

  That was a mistake. She knew it the moment that Lady Xenobia’s smile deepened rather than slipped, which was a most disconcerting skill. “I am watching a dear friend caught in the coils of a shamming woman waving a letter that she likely had made up in a back alley,” the lady said with ferocious, if quiet, eloquence. “We need not discuss the ethics of blackmail. But who’s to say that Vander’s father actually wrote that letter?”

  “He did indeed write it.” Honesty compelled Mia to add, “although he was likely already mad. I am sorry for causing you distress.”

  Lady Xenobia paused for a second, reached forward and put her hand over Mia’s. “Please don’t do this,” she whispered.

  Vander was on his way back to them, but Lady Xenobia waved him away. Perversely, Mia felt as if he were deserting her.

  “I lose my temper far too easily,” the lady was saying. “But you see, Vander is a true friend to me. We che
rish him deeply. He deserves to choose his own wife, Miss Carrington. A wife who is suitable for him. Please.”

  “I well understand your concern for His Grace,” she said, trying not to think about her unsuitability, “and I respect your good wishes for him. I assure you that there will still be time for the duke to find a lady who is deserving of him. We shan’t be married long, and he’s still quite a young man.”

  “What?”

  Before Mia could answer, Chuffy swooped down and sat himself between them. He had a glass of champagne that he handed to Mia, and a bottle that he was drinking from.

  “I thought I’d better rescue you,” he whispered loudly, and turning to the group at large, “There’s no music at this party.”

  “That’s because it’s not a party,” Vander said, coming around the settee. Lady Xenobia hopped up and swept her husband away to the other side of the room. Maybe she would be more polite now she knew the temporary nature of the union she and her husband were supposed to witness.

  “Well, my boy, you are in luck: I can provide the music. What is love? ’tis not hereafter,” Chuffy caroled, or perhaps warbled was a better word for it. “Come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth’s a stuff will not endure.”

  He leaned toward Mia, lips puckered.

  Vander’s hand shot out. He pulled her to her feet and back against his chest before she could stop him. “Miss Carrington is not for kissing, Uncle.”

  Chuffy blinked up at them. “Are you older than sweet-and-twenty?” he asked Mia.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling very old-maid-ish.

  “Well, then, I wasn’t offering to kiss you,” he pointed out.

  “Shall we join the vicar in the chapel?” Mia asked desperately. She longed to have this ghastly morning behind her so she could head back to her own house. Charlie might be anxious. She had never left him overnight; she was always there to greet him in the morning.

  “Are you in a hurry?” Vander asked.

  She stepped back, away from him. “Yes,” she said baldly. She wanted to get away from these people, all of whom loved Vander—which was nice for him—but reminded her that she had no one who cared for her, other than Charlie. “Your Grace, surely you don’t want to make this occasion more emotional that it already is?”

  “O, stay and hear, your true love’s coming,” Chuffy sang. “‘Coming’? Did you hear that? People think ol’ Shakespeare was stodgy but we know different, aye?” He staggered to his feet and upended his bottle over Mia’s glass, but nothing came out.

  He swiveled and glared at Vander. “It’s a poor house that doesn’t have a drop of champagne for a bride on her wedding day.”

  “Someone must have drunk it,” Vander said.

  “Coming after wedding, you see,” Chuffy cooed.

  “Miss Carrington, you’re biting your lip again.” Vander bent closer. “It turns your lips a very appealing color. Some women would do it for that very reason.”

  She scowled at him.

  “I gather you weren’t trying to entice your soon-to-be spouse,” he said wryly, turning to his guests. “Shall we adjourn to the chapel? The bride is eager to be married.”

  Eager to be married? That did it. It topped the humiliation of her poetry, of being jilted, of being disdained by Vander’s friends.

  Welcome, Mia thought grimly, to the Twelfth Circle of Hell.

  Chapter Eight

  NOTES ON BEQUEST

  Count Frederic wealthy beyond wildest dreams—begs Flora to give up Mr. Mortimer’s bequest. “Buy a nosegay for my buttonhole, my darling. No man except myself shall give you aught. Not even from beyond the grave!”

  ~ Flora fears to trust him. (avoid ‘Flora fears’)

  “If you have no confidence in me, we are not destined to wed,” Frederic exclaimed, his blue eyes bright with betrayal. “How can I take a woman as my countess who trusts loves me not?”

  Then he jilts her—after making her give up her inheritance. (Perfidious! Devilish! I like it!)

  The vicar was clearly unhappy, likely for any number of reasons. “Who stands for this woman?” he demanded.

  Vander was proud to see that Mia didn’t flinch. She regarded the vicar steadily, folded her hands, and said, “My closest living relative is eight years old.”

  Chuffy tottered forward. “She has me. I’m it. I mean, I’ll be her kinsman and walk her where she has to go. Up the aisle, is it?”

  The vicar regarded him with distaste. “Sir Cuthbert, how come you with this lethargy so early in the day?”

  “Is it early?” Chuffy asked, with perfect surprise.

  “I believe we should begin the ceremony,” Vander stated.

  They waited while the vicar fussed about with his missal, and Vander started thinking about the way his father used to rant. His mother would listen, or pretend to, but then she turned to another man whenever she could.

  Thinking about his parents’ wretched union, he looked down at Mia with a genuine smile. Her head was bent, and morning sunlight streaming through the chapel’s east window turned her hair to honey and gold.

  A few days earlier he never would have imagined it, but he was coming to understand that this marriage really was the best of all worlds: She was desperately in love and wouldn’t turn aside from him. He was emotionally untouched and need not be concerned about becoming besotted by a woman.

  As if sensing his gaze, Mia looked up at him. True, he had promised her only four nights a year together. But he might not mind giving her more.

  His eyes drifted lower, to the way her breasts swelled against the tired fabric of her gown. She needed better clothing; she had to dress like a duchess, rather than a governess.

  Then India’s gown caught his attention. Her breasts were on display, albeit in a fashionable manner, and he wouldn’t care for Mia’s to be exposed.

  “Why are you smiling?” his wife-to-be whispered.

  Surprised, he dropped the smile. “Perhaps I’m happy to be getting married.”

  “There’s no need to mock me!”

  Chuffy bustled up. “You stand over there, Vander.” He gestured toward the altar. “I’ll bring my girl into the chapel from the courtyard, and you pretend that you haven’t seen her this morning. That’s important, you know. Not seeing the bride before getting married.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Mia’s arm and dragged her straight out of the chapel.

  Thorn broke into a crack of laughter. “Shall I stand beside you?” he asked Vander.

  A sudden memory of Thorn’s wedding shot into Vander’s head. They had married in St. Paul’s. The cathedral was filled to the dome with members of polite society, eager to witness a marquess’ daughter marry a bastard, albeit a duke’s bastard.

  He had stood beside Thorn at the front of the church, watching as India walked toward them, her happiness shining from her face. She didn’t take her eyes from Thorn, even for a moment.

  “Yes,” he said abruptly. He turned to the Duke of Villiers. “If you would join me as well, I should be honored.”

  “You’re like a son to me,” the duke said, touching Vander’s arm. “Between us, Thorn and I will work out this mess. I promise you.”

  “I will stand next to Miss Carrington,” India said grimly.

  Vander nodded. “Thank you.”

  Chuffy poked his head into the chapel and shouted, “Shall I bring in the bride now?”

  The vicar sniffed and turned to face the back of the church. Vander moved to the side, Thorn’s presence warm at his shoulder.

  Chuffy started down the aisle with his arm through Mia’s. He was stepping high, apparently aiming for a ceremonial effect. Halfway up the aisle he missed his step and lurched sideways, pulling Mia with him.

  India gasped. Luckily Chuffy managed to catch himself on a pew and proceed.

  “By God and all the saints at the back door of Purgatory, there was a moment when I thought I might shipwreck us both,” he said cheerfully, when they arrived at the chancel r
ailing and he handed Mia over to Vander. “Losing my balance as I grow older.”

  “I would remind you, Sir Cuthbert, not to take the Lord’s name in vain in his own house!” the vicar snapped.

  Chuffy gave him a magnificent scowl. “Does thou think that because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?”

  At this pronouncement, Mia gave a charming giggle. Vander was still trying to untangle his uncle’s speech—what had cakes and ale to do with anything?—and India was frowning in confusion. But Chuffy and Mia were smiling at each other, and he was patting her arm.

  “That one worked, didn’t it, my dear?” he said. “Hit that one on the nail head.”

  Vander raised an eyebrow.

  “Sir Cuthbert is quoting from Twelfth Night,” Mia explained. “He’s been doing it on and off all morning.”

  “He has?” That was from India, apparently as surprised by this information as Vander.

  The vicar cleared his throat. Even he seemed amused, if reluctantly. “I could take that reference in offense, Sir Cuthbert. But you must cease your ‘disorders,’ so that I can get on to the business of marrying His Grace to Miss Carrington.”

  “Right!” Chuffy agreed. “Time to tie the knot.”

  The vicar launched into the text. Clearly, he had grasped that the marriage he was solemnizing had little to do with love or, for that matter, sanctity.

  Vander allowed the words to flow over him while he thought about his wife-to-be. Mia knew her Shakespeare. Chuffy liked her. His uncle was an old drunkard, but of everyone in Vander’s family, he’d been most like a parent. Vander had loved him when he was a boy, and he still did.

  When it came time for Vander to say his vows, he felt an unanticipated peacefulness. He’d been coerced into this marriage, and likely he’d never be able to entirely forgive Mia.

  But he was gaining a wife who would always be true to him. That thought raised a primitive feeling in his chest, a possessive streak that he’d probably developed the moment his mother had first brought another man into the house.