The Third Duke's the Charm (8 page)

“My dear, that means nothing. Age is just a number. You are an innocent.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

To his satisfaction, she took off her hat entirely, the ribbons trailing carelessly on the ground as it hung from her hand, her expression a mixture of curiosity and frank interest. She had fine eyebrows, gracefully curved, and those long, lush lashes over her verdant eyes . . .

“Charles is the scandalous one,” she admitted. “He admires you. More than I think you know. Part of his occasionally outré behavior I suspect is because you set a very high standard and following in your wake seems impossible to him. So instead he treats life in a very lighthearted fashion.”

“He certainly does.” He was not sure at the moment how he felt about his younger brother. One part of him wanted to beat him senseless. Not so much for betraying Vivian—because she’d admitted she’d encouraged it—but for even considering it in the first place. Once their engagement had been agreed upon, why the devil had Charles even told her about his infatuation with the vicar’s daughter?

Another part wanted to thank him. If Charles hadn’t admitted his yearning, Lucien wouldn’t even now be walking with her in the park.

“There is a great more substance to Charles than the world sees.”

“I would very much like to agree with you but the attention he draws to himself with his exploits makes my father positively fume. I am not angelic by any means, but I prefer my personal life should not be of interest to anyone but myself.”

“Apparently you haven’t studied plants closely enough.”

He’d studied them quite a lot actually, given his father was an amateur botanist of some renown, but trust her to bring her hobby into any discussion. “Haven’t I? I am dying to hear how the subject ties into our current conversation.”

“When you walk through a garden, my lord, what flowers do you notice the most?”

He had to admit he had no idea what direction the conversation was going, but he was both amused and fascinated by it. “I’m sure I don’t know. I have always been much more interested in the practical applications of farming than gardens. My fascination with plants is more on an economic level, since I attend to my father’s business affairs on the country estates, as well as the farms I own on my estates.”

She wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “It isn’t a practical question, it is an intellectual one. Think about it. Picture yourself in a garden of blooming flowers. What draws your eye?”

To humor her, he complied. “Blood red roses, I would guess. Or perhaps a vivid yellow tulip, depending on the season.”

“That is my very point.”

“Forgive my obtuseness, but I still fail to see it.”

She glanced away for a moment and there was a hint of color in her cheeks. “You are an attractive man who surrounds himself usually with beautiful women. Of course what you do draws interest. People in general admire beauty, and they are drawn to it. Perhaps you don’t wish for people to talk about you, but they do anyway. Charles always mentioned when you had a new paramour.”

Nonplussed—and that almost never happened to him—he gazed at her averted profile. He’d never been complimented in such an artless way, nor had it occurred to him that his younger brother would discuss his affairs with Vivian.

“I
always
surround myself with beautiful women,” he corrected softly. “Just to clarify in case you were excluding present company.”

Chapter Eigh
t

Cheynes Hall, the seat of the Duke of Sanford, was a magnificent sight: the venerable walls touched gold in the late afternoon sun, the grand façade softened by the gleam off the rows of windows, a series of fountains punctuating the steps leading to the main entrance. Two wings extended backward, her handsome husband had told her casually, as if everyone was used to such grandeur, so that almost every bedroom had a view of the gardens, which were considered to be some of the most spectacular in England.

The carriage rolled to a halt, and Charles turned to Louisa with what she knew was intended to be a reassuring smile. The journey had been longer than anticipated due to the sodden roads up north, but at least now the sun was shining.

They were both travel weary, and though he didn’t show it, surely he had to be nervous at his reception. Her grave sin was marrying without her father’s permission or approval, but least she had married the son of a duke. Charles, on the other hand, had severed an agreement between the duke and his best friend and. to compound that, wed a woman who was far beneath him in social standing.

Reclined on the opposite seat, his legs casually extended, he said calmly, “It was certainly the best journey of my life, but it is good to be home.”

That is, if it still
was
his home.

“I do not know about you, my love, but I could use a hot cup of tea,” he added, running his fingers through his dark hair.

She had gotten quieter and quieter the closer they’d come, and she merely nodded. Maybe she was more practical than he was, but she had to wonder if he wasn’t being far too optimistic about his—their—reception.

The door opened and a young footman dressed in the duke’s livery stepped back to let him exit. “Lord Charles. It is good to see you.”

“Good afternoon, Henry.” He clambered out and reached into the vehicle to assist her to alight. “It is nice to be out of that blasted carriage. Scotland is a fair piece from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

The frank referral to their elopement was startling but he was probably used to the servants knowing everything. His arrival with his bride would no doubt cause another wave of whispers. As Louisa had been raised in the village, she knew some of the staff personally, and her change in status to daughter-in-law of the august duke would no doubt be awkward.

Wonderful
.

Then there was his family. Lucien would accept their marriage, Charles had told her, of that he had no doubt. Under his sophisticated exterior, his older brother was much more sentimental than what he allowed the world to see, and part of that included a fierce loyalty to family. Charles claimed he had turned to him often for advice as he came of age, and Lucien had helped him out of more than one scrape in the past.

He hadn’t elaborated on what he expected from his father.

Louisa’s hand trembled slightly in his as they went up the steps. “It looks enormous enough from afar, but I had no idea it was quite so . . . imposing.” It was true. The sheer size of the structure, not to mention the park surrounding it, was daunting.

He shrugged. “It’s ridiculously large, I agree. My ancestors believed in grandeur, apparently, but when it comes down to it, darling, it is just a house.”

She laughed. It wasn’t much, a small, choked sound, but it was better than the silence as they’d rolled up the drive. “No, Charles, the vicarage with its six rooms and tiny garden is a house. This is quite different. I realize we are man and wife, but you are going to have to remember that we will never be able to change that you are the son of a duke, and I am essentially a country girl.”

“Might I argue that you are better read than many of the coy young ladies in London’s elite circles?”

She was well educated, for while he was austere and rigid, her father had insisted his three daughters be taught at least the basics of reading and mathematics. Louisa had excelled at both, but at that moment the door opened and his father’s butler stood there, so she didn’t comment on how much the compliment touched her.

Was it her imagination or was there a second of hesitation before the elderly man stepped aside to allow them entry into the main foyer?

“Lord Charles.”

“Mandrake, this is my wife, Louisa.”

“A pleasure, madam.” Ageless except for the perceptible whitening of his hair, and frigidly proper, he inclined his head.

As she was barely nineteen, she was quite startled by the form of address. “I . . . well. Thank you.” The stammer was partly due to his autocratic bearing, and partly to the staggering impression made by the entrance to the hall.

It was overwhelming.

Huge arched ceilings were punctuated by Grecian pillars that led along what seemed like an endless array of doors. The floor was polished marble in an intricate inlaid design, and the frescoes on the walls depicted scenes from mythology, including Athena on horseback, bow drawn, and closest to where they stood, Neptune rising from the sea with his trident.

“My apartments are in the left wing.” Her husband took her elbow, cupping it in his hand. “Let’s go get settled and then I’ll see my father.”

“His Grace is in the conservatory at this time,” Mandrake intoned.

“Of course,” Charles replied, his voice holding a hint of sardonic amusement.

“Shall I tell him you’ve arrived?”

“What is best, the element of surprise or advance warning?” Charles asked with a hint of humor. “You’ve known my father far longer than I have. Do what you think would be best for a favorable outcome to the conversation we are about to have.”

There was a moment of consideration before the butler replied, “I think I might let you surprise him with your safe return, my lord.”

Louisa could guess that translated to the very real possibility his father might refuse to see him if his arrival was announced. “Very well.” Charles just looked bland. “I respect your opinion. I’ll seek him out myself in a few minutes.”

“You see,” Louisa said with a hint of reproof as he led her toward the dual staircase that led to the family apartments, “he is going to disdain me.”

“If he is going to disdain anyone, it will be me. My father is a hard man at times, but he is a fair one. He doesn’t know you, Lou, therefore he couldn’t possibly dislike you, and besides, the severed engagement with Vivian is the worst of it. All ducal wrath will be directed at me.”

Perhaps he was right, but that hardly eased her current state of anxiety. Love was not a simple equation. Idealistic poets might laud it as purely romantic and uplifting—and that was true—but in reality, it was a complication with far-reaching effects. Their marriage hadn’t just affected their lives, but those of others as well.

And she would have to face not just the illustrious Duke of Sanford, but Vivian Lacrosse one day.

***

His suite consisted of a sitting room, a dressing room, and a large bedroom with windows overlooking the gardens, which under the expert supervision of his father were a glorious mixture of greenery and flowers. There was a connecting door to a smaller bedroom, and though perhaps Louisa would like her own room, for now she seemed overwhelmed enough; besides, Charles liked sleeping with her curled up next to him.

She looked rather small and slender in the middle of the room, her dress simple and extremely modest, the fawn color not at all what any fashionable lady would choose, but her beauty still glowed, the fairness of her skin and pale color of her hair enchanting. Gray eyes glimmered as he moved to take her in his arms. Charles kissed her gently and then with more urgency, like a lover. Like a husband who adored his wife.

When he lifted his head, he smiled ruefully. “I would like nothing more than to carry you to my bed—our bed—and demonstrate my passion for you, but at the moment, I think it best to go see my father. Shall I have hot water and some refreshments sent up?” He pointed at the bell pull by the bed. “If you require anything else, you only have to ask. Someone will come at once.”

“Just like the vicarage.” Her voice was tremulous but at least it held a hint of humor. Her arms tightened around his neck for a moment as if she wished to cling to him, but then slid free and she stepped back. “I’ll be fine. Go see where you stand. At the worst of it, he will just toss us out, so I suppose the opportunity to bathe and have a cup of tea would be nice in the meantime.”

He wasn’t sure where he stood either, so while Charles wanted to promise that ejection from the premises wasn’t imminent, he couldn’t swear to it. Compared to Lucien he was the scapegrace son and his elopement was hardly going improve matters.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he said quietly. “Do not worry, for however this turns out, we will have each other, and that is the vow we made when we embarked on this journey.”

That said, he left the room and found Mandrake still in the main hall. He asked for a maid, hot water, and a tea cart to be sent upstairs, and then went down the long hallway that led to both the back terrace and the conservatory.

His father, of course, was among his cyclamens, the plants brought back from a trip to Greece and carefully cultivated despite that they didn’t usually grow in rainy England, either due to temperature or soil. Charles wasn’t sure which. What he did know was that his father had deciphered the problem because the delicate flowers were beautiful. He cleared his throat as a means of announcing his presence.

Wearing the apron he used in the greenhouse, his father didn’t even glance up. “Yes, Mandrake, what is it?”

“
It
happens to be me.”

The sound of his voice brought his father’s head around, and the cold stare leveled in his direction was not precisely welcoming. “Ah, I see you are back from your misadventure.”

After all, he’d braced himself for the disapproval. “That is not how I would refer to my marriage.”

“I should hope not, or you are less intelligent than I thought, and I would hope I would never have bred a stupid son.”

That stung, but then again to a certain extent, he deserved it.
He
did. Louisa didn’t. “I didn’t tell you about Louisa because I was sure you wouldn’t approve and would object to us seeing each other.”

“That is absolutely correct. You see, you are not stupid after all. A relief.”

Charles set his jaw. “Your sarcasm, sir, is not appreciated.”

“Your disrespect was not appreciated either.” His father snapped back, setting aside a trowel he’d been using to delicately adjust the soil around his beloved plants. It clattered on the bench, the sound loud in the otherwise serene surroundings.

It wasn’t like the confrontation was a particular surprise. Charles took in a breath. “I love her.”

“Perhaps you think you do. But you were not the one who had to explain the circumstances to Sir Edwin, nor were you the one to face a wrathful vicar over his daughter’s abduction.”

“I hardly abducted her.”

“Did you or did you not take a young woman to Scotland?”

“I did.”

“And wed her without her father’s permission?”

“Yes, but she was willing.”

“Was she?”

“You know me better than that, Father.”

It took a moment, but his father nodded grudgingly. “If I didn’t have influence, you might be having this conversation with a magistrate. The vicar referred to you as that ‘profligate rogue and vile seducer.’ I came to your defense, though I am not sure you deserve it.”

There was an implied question in that statement. “I did
not
seduce her beforehand. And of course she was willing.” Charles found the fecund scent of damp dirt stifling and made a frustrated gesture with his hand. “Ask her. She’s upstairs now. Petrified you will shun her since she isn’t handpicked by you to be my wife, but my own choice.”

“If you are referring to your engagement to Vivian, I think you need to keep in mind that her father and I merely suggested it. You were not bludgeoned into accepting. The two of you are quite fond of each other, or so I’ve always thought. I doubt she is very fond of you right now, but luckily, she is a lady and seemed to accept your treasonous act with equanimity.”

Since a considerable amount of pressure had been put on both him and Vivian to agree to the marriage, that wasn’t quite accurate. But it was true; they had been more cajoled than forced, and once they’d both thought about it, considering their long-standing friendship, agreed. Charles had actually thought about offering for her anyway, independent of his father’s influence, just to help her misery over being forced into another season. Had it not been for meeting Louisa and falling in love with her at a dizzying pace, he imagined they would have got along quite amiably as husband and wife as they always had as friends.

Out of loyalty to Vivian, he couldn’t defend himself and reveal that she’d not only known of the elopement, but had actually suggested it. Her mother would be outraged. Instead he said as evenly as possible, “Trust me to make my amends with Viv. We’ve quarreled before and it never lasts long. It isn’t as if I broke her heart. Our feelings for each other are not based on romantic interest but friendship. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that she wants me to be happy. I hope I can say the same of you.”

His father’s dark brows arched and he jerked off his gardening gloves, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief as he began to cough. When he spoke again his voice was raspy. “Practicality and romanticism don’t often walk the same path, Charles. I am undecided as of yet what the consequences will be for your impulsive behavior. Luckily for you, Lucien stepped into the breach, so while I am still angry, at least I am not at odds with an affronted Sir Edwin.”

Charles could have pointed out that he was a grown man, and whatever the consequences his father favored, it didn’t matter, for he had wedded and bedded Louisa, and the marriage was irrevocable. However, it was unwise to argue with a man that wielded so much power, not just as a father, but as a peer of the realm. And the latter part of that statement had him slightly bewildered.

“Lucien stepped into the breach with Sir Edwin?”