What the Groom Wants (5 page)

The elder Mr. Pelley inclined his head deeply. “Of course, your grace. You can rely on us. We will see to it immediately. But if I may be so bold…”

Privately, Radley thought the man had been nothing but bold, but he didn’t quibble. He simply raised his eyebrows as he might to an arrogant sailor who still needed to learn his place. Sadly, he had the distinct impression that
he
was the one who had the most to learn.

“Yes, your grace. As I was saying, Lady Eleanor is a beauty of the first order. We believe she should be your highest priority.”

Radley frowned. “Is she ill? In trouble?”

“Goodness, no!” gasped the younger Mr. Pelley. Then he flushed a bright red. “That is to say, the lady is all that is to be desired. And she would be an excellent choice for duchess.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Duchess. As in
his
duchess. “You want me to wed this woman?”

Mr. Pelley, the elder, beamed as if he were a rather slow student who had just grasped his sums. “The line has been all but decimated. You cannot imagine our terror these last weeks at the idea that you might have been lost at sea.”

“Yes, I’m sure that would have put you in quite the quandary,” Radley drawled, but his sarcasm was lost on the two men.

“But as you are not lost and are, in fact, a healthy man, it is incumbent upon you to see to the continuation of such a distinguished and lofty title. You have responsibilities now, your grace. The first of which is to secure an heir. Lady Eleanor is not only well suited to the task, but she can also guide you in your new role.” The elder Pelley finished his words with a smug nod, while the younger one added in a hushed tone.

“Please understand that my grandfather would push Lady Eleanor on you simply because of her heritage, but I, myself, have had time to speak with the lady. She is elegance personified. Beautiful, poised, extremely intelligent, and with a generous heart. She is a lady of old, who guides with the most tender of touches and inspires the darkest heart to glory.”

Radley stared. “Good God, you’ve composed poetry for her, haven’t you?”

The boy’s face heated so much it was a wonder he didn’t incinerate right there. “Lady Eleanor inspires many—”

“With her beauty and virtue. Yes, yes.”

Again, the elder bowed his head. “If I may, your grace—”

“No, you may not,” Radley abruptly snapped. “Let me understand this. The entire ducal line has been decimated, the village wiped out. There is still sickness in the area, and my guess is that the crops have been completely ignored while this plague went through—”

“Yes, your—”

“But in all this horror and devastation, your concern isn’t for how the survivors will be fed throughout the winter, how the dead can be grieved or the land managed, but for the lady you have selected to get my heir.”

The younger man opened his mouth to say something. Probably defend the paragon Lady Eleanor, but his grandfather silenced him with a touch on the arm. Then the man turned rather pitying eyes on Radley and spoke with soothing accents that were completely infuriating.

“I realize the behaviors of the aristocracy must seem strange to you, but I assure you, the Chase and Pelley solicitors have guided generations of dukes. You can rely on our advice to be sound no matter how strange it might seem. In fact—”

“So you were the solicitors who advised my great-grandfather to cut off his youngest son. Over a matter of a stolen horse, I believe.”

“The boy wasn’t disinherited. Otherwise, we would not be here today. And it was the boy’s choice in a wife.”

Radley all but itched to hear the solicitors’ version of the story. He’d been reared on his mother’s endless tirades about the ridiculous action. By her account, the old duke had been senile and stubborn, a bad combination.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the moment to listen to a recounting of an old argument, especially as everyone involved was now dead. What he had to think about right away was his mother. He now understood about the new clothing, new tea set, new… everything. If what these men said was true—and he was beginning to think it might be—then she had probably gone on a spending spree. What if there wasn’t any money behind the title? What if this was an elaborate joke? He knew she was standing in the kitchen hanging onto every word. In her mind, he was probably already wedded and bedded with this Lady Eleanor. She’d always been obsessed with the mores of the upper crust, and she would leap upon the chance to marry him into the aristocracy. It was all too much, and he feared for his mother’s sanity, not to mention his own peace of mind.

Then over everything came one loud and particular concern. It was a ridiculous thought, especially given the magnitude of what had just happened. But he couldn’t shake the thought, nor could he just ignore it. It was simply this: assuming this wasn’t a bad joke, what would happen to his captaincy? And without the captaincy, how would he convince Wendy to marry him?

He supposed a dukedom might have some influence, but he wasn’t entirely sure that would be a good thing in her mind. She might now believe him to be above her touch, even though they shared their childhood. Besides, she was the owner of a successful business. Could a duchess still work as a seamstress? He rather guessed she could not.

And why was he thinking about Wendy when people were dying in some northern village that he’d never even heard of before?

“Your grace, if I might—”

“Get out,” he snapped.

The man reared back, his mouth gaping open. “Now, see here—”

Radley focused on the man with all his considerable frustration. He didn’t know if this was a joke or a bizarre reality, but either way the man could not speak to him that way. He could not wax indignant, nor could he dare to look at him with such condescension in Radley’s own home.

“I said, get out. Now.
If
this is indeed truth, then I shall visit you on the morrow. And we shall see if the current Duke of Bucklynde will retain your services.”

“Retain! Morrow!” the elder man sputtered.

It was the younger Pelley who had the sense to quiet his outraged grandsire. “Of course, your grace. I’m sure this has been unsettling.”

“But—” continued the elder.

“When you are ready, we are willing to assist you.”

Radley was on the verge of telling them to go to the devil. But that, of course, was not appropriate, nor fair. They’d merely been delivering the news. They were not the cause of this total disruption to his life or his plans.

He didn’t bother seeing the men out. His mother was there to do that, with all her murmured promise to help her son through this awkward transition. Radley blocked her words from his thoughts lest he become furious with her.

Then ten minutes later, he pushed up from the chair. “I’m going to… the ship.” He’d almost said
my
ship, but that hadn’t been true even before the damned solicitors had delivered their news.

“But Radley! You have to—”

“Mother, I have to finish one life before I can start the next.”

He hadn’t accepted the reality of a new life, but whatever the future held, he still had responsibilities to Mr. Knopp. He would finish those first, then turn his face to whatever was in store in the future.

“And then,” he added in words too low for his mother to hear, “I’m going to get right, stinking drunk.”

“Wake up! Yer late for watch!”

Radley sat bolt upright in his bunk and nearly knocked his head on the low wood paneling. He almost wished he had when his stomach roiled from the motion and his head pounded as if he had brained himself. Meanwhile, the bellowing continued, making everything worse with each syllable.

“Told you that would wake ’im. Come on lad, I’m over here. Cast up your accounts, and let’s get on with business.”

He cracked an eye, his legs already over the edge of the bunk. He was late for watch. He had to get moving.

Except… what watch? He focused as best he could, seeing two men before him. The first was his employer, Mr. Knopp, holding out a bucket.

His stomach heaved, but he didn’t blow, though it was a near thing. Instead, he shifted his attention to the second fellow. A workingman, by the looks of him, with a pleasant expression and a tankard of what had to be hot coffee. Radley lurched for that and nearly missed. It was only the other man’s swift reflexes that had him pressing the drink into his shaking fingers rather than spilling the precious brew all over the deck.

Then he took a long pull. The brew was scalding hot, but he barely noticed in the general misery of his brain and body. Lord, what had he done last night?

“Got yourself good and pissed last night, mate,” said Mr. Knopp jovially. Radley winced at the loud tone, but knew better than to speak. Nothing like adding to a sailor’s misery the morning after to set a captain to whistling. And even if Mr. Knopp hadn’t sailed in over a decade, there were still things that the man enjoyed.

Obviously.

Radley finished the coffee and mutely held out the tankard for more. The captain filled it from his flask and pressed it back at Radley, all but forcing him to drink. He swallowed greedily then nearly lost his stomach.

Water!

“Blahhhg,” he said on a choke. He wanted coffee. And failing that—ale.

“Quit yer moaning,” Mr. Knopp replied, his voice echoing loudly in Radley’s head. “Be grateful it’s not worse. When I found you last night, you were well on yer way to being fleeced blind by three whores. Course there wasn’t much left of you after you’d been buying everyone drinks for half the night. If you were still under my employ, I’d set you to scrubbing the deck with your tongue.”

His mouth could hardly taste worse. Then his mind caught up to what the man had said.
If
you
were
still
under
my
employ.

“I’m sacked?”

“Sweet God, no,” answered the man. “But I can’t have a duke sailing the open seas. Besides the obvious danger, every pirate on earth would want to capture you for ransom. Then where would my goods and my ships be but at the bottom of the ocean, thanks to your damned title?”

Radley only heard every third word, but the meaning was clear. It hadn’t been a dream. He was really a duke.

Except, he couldn’t be. He hadn’t the first clue about how to be a nob.

“Sir,” he said when Knopp paused to take a breath, “why are you here?”

The man snorted. “Well, I had to check on you, didn’t I? After what you were blubbering last night, I had to settle you in yer bunk then go find him.” He jerked his head to the right where the other man flashed him a warm grin. “This here’s my son-in-law,” he said, though he flashed the man a dark look. “Not that I got to celebrate anything, mind you. Up and gets a special license. Barely had time to show up in our Sunday best. Not the way to wed, if you ask me.”

The man in question gave his father-in-law a sad shrug. “We are throwing a ball, and you and your lady wife can dance to your heart’s content.”

“Harumph,” he said. “Backwards. That’s how you nobs do things: backwards.”

He focused on Radley. “And now you’re one of them, so I brought him here to help.”

The other man extended his hand. “Lord Crowle, your grace. But you can call me Grant.”

Radley released a low moan of despair at the title, which only made the man grin.

“Yes, you’ve stepped in it, to be sure.”

Mr. Knopp nodded his agreement. “And there’s no denying that your life is upside down now. You’re a sailor through and through, but now you’ll learn how to sail the sheep.”

Both younger men winced, but it was Lord Crowle who spoke. “It’s not so bad once you get the hang of it. But he’s right. You aren’t going to be a sailor anymore.”

Radley’s chest tightened, which set his head to pounding. Not a sailor anymore? Good God, that was the only thing he knew. The only thing he
loved.
Meanwhile, Mr. Knopp rocked back on his heels.

“Damned shame, too. I was going to give you the run of this boat. See what you could make of it and let you cut a name as a captain.” He sighed. “Now I’ll have to give it to someone who doesn’t love her like you do.”

Radley spoke, his words coming out in a harsh whisper. “Don’t do that yet, sir. Not yet. There still may be a way. She needs repairs still. I could—”

“No, lad, you can’t. And you won’t be able to. I’m sure it feels like I’m cutting the heart out of you, but it’s the way things are. Many a man would be celebrating the windfall that’s hit you. The Duke of Bucklynde. God, who’d have believed it?”

Not him. Not yet. He couldn’t—Mr. Knopp gave a rough grunt, still managing to sound affectionate. “I’ll get you more coffee and let the two of you get acquainted. Mind you, he’s not so bad as nobs go, and he’ll teach you how to do things backwards like them.” He snorted as he headed for the door. “Just mind you don’t forget how to do things the right way too.”

Then the man disappeared. He wasn’t as lithe as he’d once been, and Radley heard him grunt as he climbed the ladder. And then Radley was sitting in his misery with a gentleman who couldn’t stop grinning.

“What’s made you so happy?” he snapped.

“Oh, don’t be pissing in my direction. I’ve got a lovely wife who makes me grin like this every damn day, so don’t take it personally.” Then his expression sobered. “How much have you learned? About your responsibilities, the state of the tenants?” He leaned forward. “Do you even know what crops you grow?”

Radley let his head drop. He didn’t know any of those things, beyond the barest. “I know they want me to marry Lady Eleanor.”

Lord Crowle grunted as he dropped onto the bunk beside Radley. “She’s not so bad, as uptight shrews go. She had no use for me, of course, but as the feeling was mutual, I didn’t really care.” Then at Radley’s sideways look, the man shrugged. “I’ve been a scapegrace and an idiot for most of my life. All the smart women avoided me, and Lady Eleanor is no fool.”

“I’m not marrying her,” he said, the words sounding more churlish than powerful. Damn, his head hurt.

“There you go,” the man enthused. “Set down the law right away. Only way to handle those solicitor types. Course, the minute you poke your head into society, you’ll be swarmed by every marriageable woman looking to be a duchess. And that’s not even counting the other women.”

“Other women?”

“In the mood for a mistress? Or a dozen?”

“No!” Then he groaned at the way the word exploded in his head.

Crowle laughed and clapped him on the shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to avoid them. You’ll get the hang of it right quick. It’s the estate, though, that you have to worry about. Don’t know anything about how the Duke of Bucklynde was situated, but I do know that with all the sickness and the like, the land has been neglected. And winter’s coming on.”

“I know,” he said miserably. “They told me they’d hired a steward.”

“Well, there are stewards, and then there are stewards. My brother’s the best there is and he’d be able to advise you better than I, but I know the basics. I can help you get started.”

Radley lifted his head, squinting past the pain to inspect the happy-go-lucky nob. “What’s your game?”

The man nodded his approval. “That’s the way of it! Question everybody right now because everyone is going to nibble as much of you as they can get. Well, everyone except me. I’m here trying to make nice with my new father-in-law. He’s right that I did things backwards with his daughter. So when he asks me to help a sailor suddenly turned duke…” He spread his arms wide. “I’m here with alacrity to render aid.”

Knopp’s voice boomed as he stepped into the cabin. “And not laugh too hard at his discomfort. Man’s lost the sea, you know. All but drowned myself in drink when I had to give it up.” He thunked his thigh right above his knee. “Couldn’t walk the rigging anymore. Saddest day of my life.”

Radley groaned as his chest tightened to an unbearable pain. Was he really done? Would he never sail again?

“There, there. Have some more—”

Too late. Radley was retching up everything he’d consumed in the last twenty-four hours. If only he could get rid of the events of the last day as easily.

***

“If you break that, I’ll box your ears before you can draw breath to scream!”

Wendy winced as her mother screeched at Freddie. He was only one of three men sent to cart all their worldly goods to their new rooms, but he was the most ham-fisted. He blushed a bright red at her remarks—especially as the other men snickered—but then he focused on hefting her mother’s prized possession out the door. It was her treadle wheel for spinning, and it was as large as her mother’s short five-foot frame.

“Mind the top, ya dolt! And that crockery—”

“Mama, stop!” Wendy took a breath, her nerves frazzled and her head pounding. She hated leaving their home, dreaded where they were going, and most of all, ached for some nameless something that would make this fear go away. It was foolish dreaming, but she wanted it. And that want made the present all the more difficult. As did her mother’s incessant screaming. “Mama, everyone’s staring. Let’s just get this done without all the noise.”

“Noise?” her mother snapped. “I’ll not be run out of my home all silent-like as if I were ashamed. We’re good tenants, you and me. They’ve no cause—”

“I know,” she said. The unfairness of this had been her mother’s only conversation since they’d been told to leave. “I know, Mama. But if you could just let the men work—”

“And break my crockery! Well, I never!”

Wendy started to argue, but then thought better of it. Her mother was expressing her own fears in the only way she knew how: by complaining at the top of her lungs. She wouldn’t stop until everything was resolved.

She leaned against the wall, her hand shoved deep into her pocket where she toyed with a scrap of paper. It had one sentence on it plus the date: Lady Ottwell sucked Lord Northcott’s cock at the Westfall Ball. It was the only secret she’d gleaned from her time at the vingt-e-un table last night, and she’d scribbled it down this morning. A pitiful secret and one likely known by half the
ton
after last night. Lord Northcott had been crowing about the lady’s technique to anyone who would hear. But it was what she’d learned, and so she’d scribbled it down as she did all the tidbits she’d gleaned over the years. After they were settled, she’d add this to her other written notes.

Meanwhile, she stared bleakly at the scene before her. She watched Freddie grab a basket of her clothing. She had precious few dresses, and when the sleeve of one dragged over the side nearly to the ground, she should have leaped forward to save the gown from dirt. She didn’t. Suddenly, she was too tired. So she watched with dull eyes, her mind too weary to think. And, in that moment of exhaustion, a familiar voice startled her.

“My goodness, Wind! You aren’t one to let the work go begging, are you?”

Radley. So he hadn’t forgotten his promise to let her stay with his mother. Lord, how her heart just stuttered when she thought of him now. Of his laugh. Of their kiss. But before she could enjoy the rush of feeling from those memories, the other one intruded. The one where he was no longer just a sailor on leave, but a man with a title.

She closed her eyes, doing her best to hide the pain. They might have shared a kiss. They might have made a go of it. But now, the distance between them was too great. So she straightened off the wall, smoothing her skirt in self-conscious movements. Then she turned to face the new Duke of Bucklynde with poise and dignity.

Sadly, her mother did not have the same reserve. Wendy had barely turned when suddenly her mother clapped her hands in delight. Then she squealed loud enough for the neighborhood to know that a duke had come to call.

“Oo-ee! Look at you. Come to see us just like you promised. Little Radley, now a duke! And ’oo is this fine gentleman with you?”

Wendy had been looking at Radley, at his broad shoulders, tanned face, and bloodshot eyes. He looked weary, and her mother’s squeal had him wincing. She recognized the symptoms. He’d likely gotten drunk last night and was suffering for it this morning. She wanted to think ill of him, but really, who wouldn’t celebrate becoming a duke? It was all the neighborhood could talk about, and many a man had celebrated on his behalf.

But at her mother’s words, Wendy turned her attention to the man beside Radley. “Mama, this is Lord Crowle. He has just married Lady Irene.”

“Blimey! Lord Crowle, pleasure to meet you, it is. I’ve ’eard so much about you from my Wendy. Says you’re a right fine gent.”

“A pleasure madame,” said Lord Crowle as he bowed, his manner neither mocking nor dismissive. It was one of the things Wendy most liked about the man: he treated every person with equal parts charm and respect. That he was bowing so politely now set her mother to giggling.

“Look at us, Wendy dear, getting visited by an earl and a duke. And me, in this ratty old gown.” She slapped angrily at the dirt on her skirt. It was, in truth, one of her best gowns. No fool, her mother had known that the whole neighborhood would be around to see them thrown out. So she had dressed as well as she could without looking ridiculous.

“You look lovely, Mrs. Drew,” said Radley. He bowed rather awkwardly over her hand, but his eyes were on Wendy, narrowing in concern. “I know it’s hard to leave a home,” he began, but Wendy waved him off.

“I don’t mind leaving here,” she said. “One set of rooms is as good as another.” She was making the best of a bad business. It hurt to leave her home, even a set of rooms that she’d barely seen, except to sleep. “I’m afraid I left things rather at odds with my mother yesterday,” he said as he eyed the cart. “You do have a rather lot of things, don’t you? But I can run ahead—”