The Scandalous Love of a Duke (31 page)

She stared at him, wondering if it had been ghosts haunting him last night, and this evening. His grandfather had been a hurricane force in Ashford. She supposed growing up as his heir would have been difficult.

She moved closer to John, not asking any questions, but just letting him speak.

John jogged downstairs thinking of Katherine, whom he’d left in the care of her maid, dressing. She’d been smiling. She’d seemed happy.

They’d been married almost a week now and he’d not let her down in any way since the third day of their marriage. Things were settling into a normal way of life he’d never thought himself capable of.

In the day he went about his business, be it personal, parliamentary or state, and in the evening when he returned home Katherine was here.

He looked forward to the evenings, to her warm welcome, her bright voice, and her smile.

She was rubbing off on him too. He smiled more frequently and laughed in her company. He’d even found himself laughing in a conversation in White’s yesterday. The twins, his Harding cousins from his father’s family, who’d no previous acquaintance with Katherine, called her his current hobby because John spoke of things she’d said and done so much in male company. That pleased him. It was true. She was never far from his conscious thoughts and always in his subconscious.

After their first ill-fated attempt at socialising, John had prescribed a thorough dose of their own company until Katherine had had chance to settle into her new life.

In the evening he closeted her away while his parents and Mary went out.

He’d told her the stories of his sketchbooks and one evening he’d taken up pencil and paper and drawn her in several poses. But the honeymoon period had to end sometime. He couldn’t keep hiding her away. He’d obligations to his title. Tonight was going to be the night they ventured out again.

He had an invitation to the influential Devonshire ball. At least it would be no shock to Katherine now.

She’d endured a week of acerbic observations, as the women of his society had called here to pry and prise information from her. They wanted to know her past. The question seemed to be on the lips of every man who sat in the House of Lords, as well as that of their wives and daughters, and beyond. He’d been asked countless times for her family name and urged to tell where he’d found her. He’d given no answers. He didn’t intend to. Let them salivate over the mystery and never know.

John strolled into the breakfast room smiling, happy himself, but immediately he entered, Edward stood. John’s smile fell.
God, what is it now?
His father’s face was grim.

Edward picked up the folded paper and held it out. “John. You may want to read this in the library.”

“What?”

“Come,” Edward gripped John’s arm and turned him about, handing him the paper. “Page four.”

Frowning, John opened it and turned the pages as they walked across the hall.

“This paragraph,” Edward stated, pointing to a published letter as they stepped into the library. Edward closed the door behind them as John read.

The letter was from an anonymous writer, denouncing the new Duchess of P as a commoner, a
natural
– which inferred illegitimate – dairymaid’s daughter. The author claimed to know both parties intimately and could attest to the truth of this statement.

John just stared at it. He knew the author.
Wareham
.
The bastard
.

The man had been silent as the grave since his disappearance, but now this.
Damn!
Why had he had to strike at Katherine?

John folded the paper again and looked at his father. There was nothing John could do. It was the truth.

“Your Grace,” Finch knocked.

“Come!”

The door opened and Finch appeared bearing a letter. “The Devonshire’s footman delivered this a moment ago, Your Grace.”

“That was quick,” Edward said dryly.

John took it and broke the seal. It was what Edward expected. “Katherine is uninvited yet I am still welcome. Devonshire is petitioning me to vote with him on a bill he’s presenting in the House of Lords, so of course he does not wish to offend me, but asks that I understand the sensibilities of his wife.”

“And so,” Edward stated, “do you intend to give in, or do you intend to fight?”

But it was not about what he wanted. It was Katherine who would be hurt. “Is she strong enough?” Edward asked.

“I think so.”

“Of course if you do not fight it, the longer term hurt will be worse, there is the child too, John. You say Devonshire wants your vote, how badly?”

“There is considerable risk his bill will not pass, many are publicly against it. He’s charming us all to get it through.”

“If you took Katherine do you think he would turn you away?”

John held his father’s gaze. It was too hard to know for certain, yet there was a possibility Devonshire may feel too uncomfortable if she were there in person. It was a risk, but if they won this first battle the new war to have her fully accepted might be half won before it even really began. “Possibly not.”

“Discuss it with her. She is the one who should decide. In the meantime I’ll have your mother send word to your aunts. If the family arrive en masse it will be harder for the Devonshires to make a scene.”

John nodded.
Hell
. Katherine would not welcome this. She did not need this pressure now, but the thought of Katherine not being accepted was untenable.

He thanked Edward, and still holding the paper, headed back upstairs.

She was in her dressing room, sitting before the mirror, while Esther pinned up her hair.

She looked a perfect picture as she turned and half of it tumbled back down onto one shoulder.

When he commissioned an artist to portray her, perhaps he’d have her painted like this, half his Duchess, half his wife.

He bid Esther leave and Katherine’s blue eyes widened.

As soon as Esther had gone, Katherine stood and said, “What is it?”

He took her hand and led her into the sitting room, then bid her take a seat.

She did not. “Just tell me what is wrong,” she pressed, as he opened the paper, and folded it back.

He gave it to her. “There.”

She read the words he pointed out in silence, her colour blanching. He could have protected her from this but somehow he knew she wouldn’t thank him for it.

When her eyes lifted back to him, he passed her the Duke of Devonshire’s letter. She read that in silence, too, then she took a deep breath. “So,” she stated, looking back up, “I am not going.” She gave him the letter back. “Never mind, his wife is as a supercilious cow.”

He laughed. He wanted to hug her. His father had asked if she was strong enough. Of course she was. Yet the members of the false and fickle society he belonged to had long memories when they wished. What Edward had said was true. If unchallenged, this behaviour could affect their unborn child and others Katherine conceived. It needed to be quashed now.

“I wish to take you anyway. If you’ll brave it?”

“What if they won’t let me in?”

He shrugged. “They may not. The only way we will know is if we try.”

“And if they do not?” Now she showed her insecurity. He lifted his hands and she slipped into his arms.

“Then we’ll both come home without making a fuss, but we will have made our point.”

“This is important to you, isn’t it?” The vibration of her voice seeped through his morning coat. Trust Katherine to think of him above herself.

He kissed her temple. “It is, yes. I have state duties to fulfil which will be hard to do if society rejects you, and it will affect our children too, Katherine. I want to fight. If Devonshire lets you in, it will set precedents for others.” Of course, the same applied if Devonshire did not. “I want you accepted. Do you agree?”

She nodded against his chest as he stroked her hair. No matter her initial condemnation, he knew she was terrified.

~

Katherine held the firm muscle of John’s arm through the fabric of his evening coat as they queued, awaiting an introduction to the Devonshires, gradually moving up the stairs.

“Set your smile and keep it.” John’s voice carried a little.

“That is easy for you,” she whispered back. “Sadly not for me.”

John’s Uncle Richard and his Aunt Penny stood behind them, and beyond them were all John’s influential aunts and uncles. The family was showing its solidarity.

Katherine felt guilty for marrying him, she did not even know if his family approved of the match. They surely could not.

The autumn night was chill and the fires in the huge hall in which the stairs were set had not chased the cold away. Katherine shivered. They climbed another two steps and John’s fingers covered hers on his arm.

They moved another step. The door to the grand hall was only feet away. Her heart was pounding. She prayed she would not faint. Then they were there. The Duke looked his discontent, while the Duchess of Devonshire’s cold accusing gaze passed to Katherine then lifted to John. Katherine felt John’s Uncle Richard, the Duke of Arundel, step closer behind her.

“Devonshire,” John stated to the Duke, who was the first in line. John held forth his hand.

The Duke hesitated.

Katherine gave a shallow curtsy regardless, still gripping John’s arm.

The Duke looked at his wife, then back at John and then over Katherine’s shoulder at John’s Uncle and his other family beyond.

Her fate and that of their children hovered on the brink. In or out. Katherine could feel the moments ticking by, even though she could hear no clock.

The Duke glanced back at his wife and then once more at John. “Your Grace.”

He accepted John’s hand and Katherine felt relief crumble her determination like a wall falling. She clung to John.

John passed the Duke and bowed to the Duchess.

She visibly bristled while Devonshire clasped Katherine’s hand for an instant and bowed over it.

Afterwards, Katherine bobbed the slightest curtsy at the Duchess, who did not respond, and then John swept Katherine away over the threshold and across the ballroom.

Her heart was pounding.

John smiled in a self-congratulating way.

His Uncle Richard caught them up and set a hand on John’s shoulder, then whispered something to John’s ear.

When they entered the ballroom, immediately whispers passed about the room in a wave, but no one turned their backs. Katherine understood, from what John had said earlier, this was due to the Devonshires’ assumed acceptance. If people cut her now it would insult their hosts too.

The first notes of a waltz reached above the gossip and John walked on towards the centre of the room, claiming the ground they’d won.

She’d never danced with him.

Her heart was still racing and she felt a little lightheaded and faint as he made the frame of the dance and his expression was set as she faced him. It gave her no comfort at all. She felt isolated by it. He was in his ducal persona once more, shutting out the opinions of the room. Only it also meant he was shutting out her and she’d grown unused to it. Over the past week he’d been himself at home, not the duke. He’d told her story after story of his adventures abroad. He’d been considerate and attentive, even amidst his family. He’d been open, never blank and cold. She’d convinced herself he’d changed.

He had not changed.

As they began to move, she watched his face. Was who he was with her an act – if outside of the house he was still like this? Which was his façade? Which the lie? But of course this was the lie; this hard shell he set about him.

His hand at her back and hers on his shoulder, he held her gently, but formally, as her gaze turned to their audience, the people standing at the edge of the room, darting from one group of people who were staring, to another.

“Ignore them,” John commanded.

Her heart raced. “I am not like you, I cannot,” she answered, meeting his diamond-hard gaze.

Despite her discomfort, his appearance affected her. She loved this man, with his chiselled features, his pale all-absorbing eyes, and her fingers itched to run through his jet-black hair. She wished they were at home in bed.

A smile hovered at the corner of his lips suddenly, but he didn’t let it take.

Was it just for show or was it real?

“Letting people think they affect you only encourages their vindictiveness, Katherine. They are like vultures pecking at a corpse if you show weakness.” It was for show then.

“I don’t understand this world.”

“Who does? Not I, nor them. The biggest mockery of it is that behind closed doors many of them behave without restraint. The Oxfords, the Devonshires, Melbourne, they all have illegitimacy in their lines. It’s an open secret everyone ignores. And two generations ago, the Devonshires’ great-grandmother travelled with what they deemed ‘
The mist
’, a profligate pack of children, the family’s by-blows, delivered of their servants and paramours. Yet
they
hold up their heads and condemn you, the two-faced—”

“John,” she whispered, pleading his silence.

“I’m sure the moral of the story is clear. It has something to do with planks and specks,” John finished, turning her past a group of whispering matrons with a flourish, his cold gaze casting condemnation.

“You scare me, like this.”

His gaze came back to hers. “I am trying to scare
them
.”

“Well I wish you would not. I wish you would simply be yourself.” Why must he be such a paradox?

His gaze narrowed. “As I said, Katherine, let them know you’re vulnerable and they’ll be picking over your bones in seconds.”

“So, what does that matter? You said you do not care for their good opinion.”

“I do not care for it but there are occasions on which I need it. But what I care for least is for them to know me at all. So no, I will not be
myself
, as you put it. Let them think what they like but they’ll not challenge me nor denounce you because I will not give them ground.” The muscle in his shoulder and his hand tensed more as he spoke and he spun her more aggressively into the next turn.

“Are we arguing, John? I feel as though I am dancing on a battleground, with hostilities from all sides.”

The tension ebbed from him instantly. “You know how to play me, don’t you. Perhaps it’s you I should fear. Very well, if you do not wish me glaring at them, we will have to take another tack and make friends.”