Any Duchess Will Do (26 page)
“Guess again.”
“Well, I know you don’t mean to marry her.” Delacre laughed. “That would be rich. I can see the scandal sheets now: ‘the Barmaid Duchess.’ ”
They locked swords. Griff flexed his arm, pushing the crossed blades forward until one edge lodged against Del’s throat.
“I think the papers will carry a different story tomorrow. One about the late Lord Delacre.”
He mustered all the strength in his arm and prepared to flex.
“Griff! Griff, no!”
P
auline skittered to a halt in the doorway, having hastily dressed in yesterday’s discarded frock. “Don’t do this,” she called. “He’s your oldest friend. You don’t want to hurt him.”
“Oh, I want to hurt him,” Griff said evenly. “I want, very much, to hurt him.”
Fair enough. She couldn’t deny that after hearing his cruel words, watching Lord Delacre squirm conveyed a particular sort of pleasure. But it had to stop there.
“Griff, please.” In cautious steps, she approached the men. “His life isn’t worth one-tenth of yours. Your mother is in the house somewhere. You don’t want her to see this. And if nothing else moves you, think of the servants. There would be a horrific mess.”
“Do you hear that, Del? That’s the lowly barmaid pleading for your life. The woman you insulted, begging me to spare your loathsome skin. I think you ought to thank her.” Through gritted teeth, he added, “Now.”
Delacre nervously cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“ ‘Thank you, Miss Simms,’ ” Griff demanded. “And make me believe it.”
“Thank you, Miss Simms. I owe you my loathsome skin.”
Griff inhaled through his nose. Then slowly exhaled. After a long moment, he shoved away, and both swords clattered to the floor.
Delacre slumped to the ground with relief.
Pauline felt like doing the same.
“When next you see her,” Griff said, giving Delacre a light kick in the ribs, “you will greet her with respect and address her by her rightful name. As her grace, the Duchess of Halford.”
Now Pauline’s knees truly buckled. “What?”
“What?” Delacre echoed. “Halford, we had a pact.”
“For God’s sake. Leave off about the stupid pact. We were nineteen. At that age, we thought midnight grouse hunts were a grand idea, too.”
Griff crossed to Pauline and took her hands in his. “I can’t let you leave today.”
She shook her head with vigor. “No, no. Griff, I can’t stay. My sister. I promised her.”
“I’ll take care of her,” he promised. “I’ll take care of you both. Always. From this moment on you will never need to work again. Never need to be anxious or fearful. I will take care of everything.”
Oh, Lord.
“But you must stay with me and see this through. If you retreat today, the gossips will claim their victory.” His thumb caressed her hand. “We can have a future together, but we must seize it now. We can be married today.”
“
Today?
Are you mad?”
“Not at all. There are only a few men in England who could procure a special license on such short notice. I’m one of them. We’ll marry today, and tonight you’ll appear in public as the Duchess of Halford. No one will dare to cut you, just on the basis of a rumor in the scandal sheets. You’re beautiful and gracious and clever, and you have that whole silly etiquette book memorized. We’ll show them all tonight. You can do this.”
She wanted to believe him. She did. But how could she, when she could see very well the reaction of his own supposed best friend?
“She will never be one of us,” Delacre said. “Not even if you marry her. You know it, too, Halford. Be honest with yourself, and with her. The gossip will be savage. You will lose almost all of your social connections.” He struggled to his feet. “It gives me no pleasure to say this. But I’m trying to be your friend.”
“You are not my friend,” Griff grated out. “Get the hell out. And pray I don’t send my second with a challenge tonight.”
“I
am
your second,” Delacre said as he left the room. “You don’t have anyone else.”
See?
she wanted to exclaim. It was happening already. Perhaps Delacre wasn’t much of a loss, but there would be others. She didn’t want to see Griff estranged from
all
his friends.
As for her, there was no question. She must go home, tonight. If she didn’t come back as promised, Daniela would feel betrayed and abandoned. Pauline couldn’t live with herself then. She’d sworn to never make her sister feel that way again.
She had to end this now. In no uncertain terms.
The duchess entered then, dressed in a quiet gray silk enlivened by a collar of sapphires and diamonds. “What on earth is going on?” she demanded, her keen gaze sweeping the room. “Griffin, explain this commotion.”
“Delacre’s a jackass. And I’m in love with Pauline.”
“Well,” the duchess said after a moment’s pause. “I already knew both of those things. Neither quite explains the state of my salon.”
Griff’s eyes never left Pauline’s. “I’m going to marry her.”
“No, your grace,” Pauline countered. “He’s not.”
The duchess arched a brow. “Does that mean I cast the deciding vote?”
“No,” Griff and Pauline said in unison.
She seemed unconvinced. “We’ll see.”
Pauline drew him aside and whispered, “Griff, this just can’t happen.”
“Why can’t it?”
“How many times must I point out the obvious? You are a duke. I am a serving girl.”
“You won’t be a serving girl tonight. You will be a duchess. A beautiful, poised woman who can hold her head high anywhere. And I will be the proudest man alive to stand at your side.”
“But what pride will
I
have, when I’m pretending to be someone I’m not?”
“I’m not asking you to pretend.”
“Yes, you are.” Her voice faltered. “You told me I wasn’t a ‘someone’ to you. You called me perfect, said you wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? You don’t mean to stand before all of London’s Quality and tell them you’re in love with
me
. A serving girl with a coarse, yeoman farmer for a father and a simple-minded sister. Do you?”
He didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.
“No. You want to dress me up in a fine gown, throw your name over me like a cloak, and pretend this barmaid everyone’s gossiping about just doesn’t exist. As if you’re ashamed of me.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t hide the truth of who I am.”
“I am asking you to
live
the truth of who you are. The full truth.” His tone was impatient now. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a mild shake. “There is so much more to you than a common serving girl, Pauline. Inside you, there’s a remarkable woman who soaked up poetry and squirreled away etiquette lessons, turned cruelty into dreams and plans—because she knew she was meant for better things. I saw that woman the first day we met. I don’t know why you won’t let the world see her, too.”
“You would chastise
me
for hiding secrets? For not living the truth? You, with that locked room upstairs?”
The color drained from his face. He darted a gaze at his mother, then lowered his voice. “This has nothing to do with—”
“Of course it does.” She retreated a step. “You’re asking me to trust you’ll love me openly. That you’ll never be embarrassed or resentful of my origins, my family. How can I believe those promises when you won’t tell your own mother about her?”
The duchess stepped forward. “Griffin, who is she talking about?”
“No one.”
Pauline gasped in shock. “You would
deny
her? She’s not even a ‘someone,’ but a ‘no one’?”
He drilled her with a fierce look. “You gave me your word. You promised. Stop this now, Pauline. Or I can never trust you again.”
She felt a twinge of guilt. She
had
given her word, and she knew she was pushing him toward a dangerous edge. But someone had to. After today she’d never have another chance.
“You never told a soul she existed, Griff. Then she died, and your heart splintered into a thousand pieces, and still you didn’t say a word. How am I to believe that you’ll protect me and my sister? How am I to trust that Daniela won’t be hidden away in some locked, shameful room?”
“How dare you suggest that I’m ashamed of her.”
“Prove you aren’t, then! For God’s sake. Love shouldn’t be a secret. You gave her a name, and you can’t even use it.”
His eyes flashed.
“Did you love her?”
“You know I did. I do.”
She raised her voice. “Then say her name.”
“Mary.”
His angry shout echoed through the room.
Pauline went very still, absorbing the quiet swell of his fury. She knew he would never forgive her for this. But at least, at long last, he might be able to heal.
“Her name was Mary,” he said. “Mary Annabel York. Born the fourteenth day of last October, died the following week. She lived all of six days, and I loved her more than my own life.” He turned away from her, leveling a small table with a single, savage kick. “God damn it.”
“Oh.” The duchess pressed a hand to her mouth.
Pauline rushed to her side, afraid the older woman might swoon. She helped her to the nearest chair. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
She said it over and over again. Words of regret, apology, condolence. But she knew they couldn’t be enough.
“I’m sorry. But I’ve come to care so deeply for you both, and I can see plainly how you love each other. How you’re hurting each other, too. Please. You can hate me forever, but talk to each other.”
Griff stared out the window, emotionless. “I’ll call for the coach to be readied. You can leave within the hour.”
“I didn’t want it to end this way. I hoped we could part as—”
“As friends?” He tapped one finger against the window glass. “If you don’t believe that I’d change anything, give up everything, move heaven and earth to keep someone I love, even if it’s only been a week . . . ? Then you don’t know me at all.” He fixed her with eyes gone cold. “It seems I was wrong about you, too.”
Reeling backward, she fled the parlor. Then she turned and ran down the corridor, headed for the entrance hall.
“Pauline,” the duchess called after her. “Wait.”
She only ran faster. What more could be said? Nothing would change.
When she reached the front door, she wrenched it open and darted through.
Outside, a crowd greeted her with a roar.
Good heavens. The square was jammed with carriages and people, all of them thronged about the steps of Halford House, craning their necks for a look.
A look at
her
, apparently. Lord Delacre hadn’t been exaggerating. The word was all over London, and now all of London had converged on the duke’s front step.
“There she is! That’s her!”
“Miss Simms!” a man shouted. “Is it true you’re a barmaid?”
“Five pounds for an interview for the
Prattler
!”
Pauline cowered in the doorway. She couldn’t go back inside and face Griff again. But this crowd churned with enough curiosity and excitement to pulverize her. Even if she managed to escape these people, where would she go? She had no money. No possessions, save the clothes on her back.
She wasn’t even wearing shoes.
“Pauline!” A familiar voice filtered through the din. “Pauline! It’s me, Susanna.”
Her heart leaped. Shading her brow with both hands, she scanned the crowd until she saw a friendly wave from a gloved hand, and a halo of red hair.
A friend.
As Pauline pushed toward her, people grabbed at her disheveled clothing and jostled for a glimpse of her face. She felt buffeted about like a cork.
At last she and Susanna made their way to each other. “Oh, Lady Rycliff. I can’t . . . I don’t know how to—” Overwhelmed, she clapped a hand to her mouth.
Susanna folded her in a protective hug. “It’s all right, dear. It’s all right. You’re coming home with me.”
E
nsconced at Rycliff House, safely away from the crowds, Lady Rycliff—who now insisted Pauline call her Susanna—poured another cup of tea. “What a week you’ve had, dear.”
Pauline watched the fragrant liquid filling her porcelain cup. Lady Rycliff serving
her
tea. The world had turned upside down.
“It has been eventful.” And the story had taken the better part of two hours to relate, from the first tossing of clayed sugar to the cold, bitter end.
Of course, she hadn’t told
everything
. She left out the amorous details. And Griff deserved his privacy where Mary Annabel was concerned. She’d never tell another soul about that.
“I knew Halford was a villain.” Lady Payne—who insisted Pauline call her Minerva—plucked a biscuit from the tray and took a vengeful bite.
“You’re mistaken,” Pauline said. “He’s a good man. The best kind of man.”
And she’d hurt him. Whenever Pauline closed her eyes, she saw his angry, betrayed expression. The image was stamped into her memory, embossed in guilt. Perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed, but she’d been so concerned for him . . .
And so afraid.
Griff was right. She’d been so very afraid for herself.
“Did he truly propose marriage?” Lady Rycliff asked.
Pauline nodded.
“And you refused?”
She nodded again. “You must think me a fool.”
“You are not a fool.” Susanna reached to squeeze her hand.
No. Pauline supposed she wasn’t. In truth, she was a coward. She’d panicked and pushed him away.
His suggestions had been such madness. The two of them, marry? Her, become a true duchess? An elegant lady, admired by the London elite?
It just couldn’t be. The crowd outside Halford House knew the truth. She could still feel them tugging at her clothing, shouting in her ears.
Griff could claim not to care about gossip—but that was easy for a duke to say. He’d never been the object of mockery and scorn. He didn’t know how it felt to be at the bottom of the pecking order, and if Pauline tried to live in his world, that was exactly where she’d be. Always. Even if she could withstand a lifetime of snide remarks and subtle cruelty, she couldn’t expose Daniela to that treatment.
“You were right to refuse him,” Minerva said. “But we can’t let it end this way.”
We?
Why should either of these ladies care how her week ended? Pauline felt lucky enough that they’d offered her a place to gather herself and help finding transportation back to Spindle Cove.
“This ball tonight,” Minerva said, adjusting her spectacles. “You must go.”
“Why would I do that? I doubt the duke will attend.”
“Even if he doesn’t attend. Go for yourself. Just to let those gossips see you, undefeated and proud. Simply to prove you can.”
To prove you can.
But could she, really?
Pauline shook her head. In Spindle Cove she’d half listened as Minerva Highwood lectured the other ladies on the most impossible topics—vast underwater caves and giant prehistoric lizards. This latest suggestion seemed no different.
“I can’t attend the ball tonight,” she said. “I wouldn’t even know where to go, or how to get there. I haven’t anything to wear.”
“Leave all that to us,” Minerva said, tapping Susanna on the arm. “We’ll handle the arrangements. You need only supply the courage. Spindle Cove ladies band together.”
“I’m not a lady, my lady.”
“We would stand by you even if you were a serving girl,” Susanna said. “But I believe you’ve always been something more.”
Pauline warmed a little. She
did
have more inside of her, and maybe Griff wasn’t the only one to notice. To be sure, she wasn’t up to the standards of Lady Haughfell and her set, and she certainly was no duchess. But neither were Susanna or Minerva, or any of the other ladies who sought refuge in Spindle Cove.
She belonged there. Her heart expanded with a sense of certainty. She knew her right place in the world. She was going to have her cozy, welcoming, wonderful-smelling library, and it would be a home for any girl who needed it.
And she would have her sister—the one person who loved her wholly, without shame or reservation. That was something even the fourth-largest fortune in England couldn’t buy.
“I want to go home,” she said. “As soon as it can be managed.”
“Go to the ball first,” Minerva urged.
Pauline shook her head. “I must be back in Spindle Cove tomorrow. I promised my sister.”
“You can do both. The mail coach is the fastest way home, and it doesn’t leave London until after midnight. Isn’t that right, Susanna?”
“I suppose,” Lady Rycliff replied. “Pauline, if you wanted to attend the ball for an hour or two, we could still have you to the mail coach in time.”
Pauline hesitated.
“My lady?” A housemaid entered the room, looking apologetic. “I beg your pardon, but there’s someone here for Miss Simms.”
Pauline’s heart fluttered. “If it’s the duke, I . . .”
The maid looked confused. “I didn’t see any duke, ma’am. It’s a lady caller. She’s brought a good many parcels, too.”
A young woman entered the sitting room, laden with a tower of boxes. Pauline couldn’t even see her face for all the packages.
“Miss Simms, it’s m-me.”
She rose to her feet. “Flora? What are you doing here?” She helped unload the parcels from the maid’s arms.
Once unburdened, Flora dropped her gaze. “They’ve s-sacked me.”
“
Sacked
you? Oh, no.”
“It’s what I deserved. Her grace let me go without a reference, and I haven’t any way to find a new p-post. I thought, perhaps if I readied you for the ball tonight—so’s everyone was dazzled by your beauty, and it made it to the papers—maybe someone would hire me anyhow.” She grabbed Pauline’s arm. “Please, Miss Simms. It’s you who’d be d-doing me a favor.”
“Flora, I’d like to help. But I don’t know. Perhaps you could dress Lady Rycliff or Lady Payne.”
Flora shook her head. “It has to be you. I want to see you do this, Miss Simms. You worked so hard all week. We all d-did. And then there’s this. It was made for you. It won’t fit anyone else.”
From the largest box, she withdrew a breathtaking flash of silver.
Oh goodness.
The gown seemed to be at least three-fourths skirt. The bodice was small and tight, boned for stiffness and fitted with the shortest puffs of sleeves. The skirts were a cloud. A great shimmering, airy, fluffy cloud of tulle overlaying satin. Little sparkling things were affixed to the tulle by the thousands. It truly was a thing of wonder.
“Oh, Pauline,” Susanna said. “If any man can look at you in that and not simply fall to his knees before you . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“He’ll eat his own hat.” Minerva clapped with glee. “Do it. Do it for every young woman who ever felt scorned or overlooked. This is your chance, Pauline.”
Pauline ran a touch over the beautiful silver fabric, spangled with seed pearls and tiny crystals. She didn’t
need
to prove her worth to anyone. She didn’t
need
a lavish wardrobe or the wealth that accompanied the title of duchess.
But she needed to wear this gown, just this once. It was made for her. Literally.
“Very well,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“One question,” said Susanna. “Do we tell the men about this?”
“No,” said Minerva stoutly. “Colin will steal all the credit. This is going to be
our
grand success. We’ll show everyone what Spindle Cove ladies can do.”
Pauline wasn’t so certain about that “success” part. She still doubted that she could ever blend in at such an event.
But after tonight, she could go home with her pride. No one could say she wasn’t brave enough to try.
“C
orinthian.” As the carriage rolled up before the Prince Regent’s grand residence, the word just rolled from her tongue.
“What is it, Pauline?”
“Those columns on the portico. They’re Corinthian.”
Amazing. This week in London had taught her the strangest things. What an odd assortment of lessons she would bring home with her.
She still hadn’t learned how to hide her anxiety, however. It helped that Susanna and Minerva were clearly nervous, too.
“We’re not much good with balls, either,” Minerva confided. “Perhaps we should have warned you beforehand.”
“It’s all right,” said Susanna. “We’ll all go in as a group.”
As they made their way into the entrance hall, Susanna—the tallest of them—craned her neck to look over the crowd.
“Oh, drat,” she said. “They’re checking names against a list.”
That wasn’t good news. Pauline knew she’d been on the list earlier that week. But today’s gossip had no doubt removed her from it. Or perhaps moved her to another list—one written in red and headed with the words,
Not to be admitted under any circumstance.
“You could give another name,” Minerva suggested. “You could be me. I don’t mind. Everyone will just assume I’ve removed my spectacles for once and undergone a thrilling transformation.”
“No.” Pauline smiled. “It’s kind of you, but I can’t. I must be here as myself or not at all.”
When the crowd shifted, she quietly remained in place and let her friends drift away. If this evening proceeded as disastrously as she suspected it might, she didn’t want Lady Rycliff and Lady Payne to be tainted by association. They’d brought her this far, but she must face the rest on her own.
Surely there was another way into the ballroom. There must be a smaller passageway for the staff. She was a servant; she could find it.
After a few moments’ surreptitious investigation, she turned down a narrow corridor. She passed near a clashing, steamy din that must have been the palace kitchen. When she spied a footman returning with a tray of empty glasses, she knew she needed to proceed in the direction he’d come.
Pauline traversed a passageway with stairs. At the top, she listened for the sounds of chatter and music. Turning toward the noise, she rounded a corner . . .
And reeled to a halt when she nearly collided with a finely dressed man.
“I’m sorry,” she started to apologize. “I—”
When she swept a look from his boots to his face, she gasped.
Oh, bollocks.
Fitted tailcoat. White gloves. An angry red line running down his left cheek.
“Lord Delacre.”
Griff had been right—that wound would probably leave a scar. Not a disfiguring one. Just a thin, indelible reminder.
Good.
“I knew I saw you here,” he said.
“Please excuse me.”
When she tried to move past him, he grabbed her arm. “I won’t let you do this. I’ve known Halford all his life, and I know what’s best for him even when he doesn’t.”
Her heart jumped. Did that mean Griff was here?
She pulled against Delacre’s grasp. “Let me go.”
Delacre didn’t frighten her—but he was a man, much larger and more powerful than she. Moreover, this was his native environment. His friends at this event numbered in the hundreds. She could count hers on one hand and still have a good many fingers left over.
She was outsized, outranked, outclassed. And unless she figured out a way around him, she would remain outside that ballroom forever.
“Is it money you want?” He released her arm and slid a bank note from his breast pocket. She could just make out the writing on it.
Five pounds.
He waved it at her. “Take it, then. And use the servants’ exit. This isn’t the place for you.”
That’s not for you, girl.
Her cheeks burned. With those words, he wasn’t Delacre anymore. He was every book that had ever been ripped from her hand. Every door that had ever been slammed on her.
She wanted to fight back, throw something. Spit in his face.
But this situation called for a different sort of phlegm.
She pulled her spine straight, lifted her chin and fixed him with a cool, direct look. “Go to
h
ell.”
While he stood sputtering, she dashed past him and rejoined the crowd near the ballroom entry. Before she could lose her nerve, she cut ahead of the queue of waiting guests. Impolite, perhaps. But the gossips already knew her to be a serving girl—it wasn’t as though they could think much worse of her.
She gave her name to the majordomo, and he announced, “Miss Simms of Sussex.”
The ballroom went utterly silent, except for the thunder of her heart. Her hands trembled at her sides.
Breathe
, she told herself.
And then:
Go.
She let that transparent cord at her navel pull her forward, guiding her as she descended the small flight of stairs. As she walked, her gown caught the light of hundreds of candles and lamps, sending arrows of light in every direction.
Once she reached the bottom of the staircase, she sought refuge behind a cluster of potted palms and scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Where were Minerva and Susanna? She knew she’d resolved to go this alone, but she didn’t feel so brave anymore.
And then—