The Third Duke's the Charm (19 page)

The duchess bellowed, “Jennings! I need a footman and my maid. Right now!”

Moments later she found herself lying on a divan, a basin at hand, and incredibly enough, the formidable Duchess of Eddington herself pressing a cool cloth to her head. “Tell me, child, what makes you think it will pass quickly? Has this happened to you before?”

“A few times,” she admitted, opening her eyes, grateful the room no longer swam and the sudden attack of nausea was already fading.

“It could simply be the effect of Stockton’s disappearance.” The duchess looked thoughtful, speculation in her eyes. “Unless, of course, it is possible it is something else. If that is the case, it will truly complicate everything. I have a question and you might find it intrusive, but an honest answer will help decide what course we need to follow. Tell me, were you and Stockton indiscreet?”

Chapter T
wenty

Something wet licked his cheek. His dog, Lucien imagined in a haze, not allowed on his bed but clandestinely let into his room anyway. What was his name? Dodger? Yes, that was it, with a pointed nose and liver spots and endearing brown eyes.

A hand shook his shoulder.

The brown eyes belonged to a man he’d never seen, bending over him.

He didn’t want to lift his head. It would take entirely too much effort, and besides, he really missed his old spaniel and though part of his brain told him that the pup had been dead and gone for almost twenty years, another part wanted to stay immersed in the dream.

There was sand in his mouth. He raised his head to blink at the blazing sun, sputtering a little, realizing with a growing awareness he was sprawled on his stomach, soaking wet, and had no idea how he’d gotten in such a state.

In a haze he lifted to one elbow, groaned, and was aware the person who had shaken him awake said something else in a language he didn’t understand.

Perfect
.

Lucien did his best to struggle to his knees but it didn’t work. His body felt battered and given the rocky shore, it wasn’t a great surprise. Vaguely he recalled Artemis, that bloody Madison, and then had a recollection of jumping out the window before his demise was defined by his kidnappers.

At the moment, he was about to die of thirst, which was becoming annoyingly familiar. “Water,” he managed to croak.

“Qué?”

What the hell kind of an answer was that?
“Water,” he repeated.

The man, wide-shouldered and dark-haired, frowned and shook his head.

With effort, Lucien lifted his hand and mimicked the act of drinking.

“
Sí, sí
.” His savior—if that label was accurate, which remained to be seen—smiled and scrambled to his feet. And left him there, the waves lapping at his sodden clothes, his sprawled body lax and unwilling to move in the surf, until he realized that the tide must be going out for the water was receding. Besides his parched throat he was fairly sure he had some significant bruises because he ached all over, and his shirt was in shreds. When he lifted a hand to wipe at some of the sand on his face, he noticed it was bloody.

All in all that wasn’t ideal, but then again, he was alive. The last thing he really remembered was being caught by the current and swept out around the curve of the headland, wondering if drowning was better than being shot. How he
hadn’t
drowned, he wasn’t sure, but it appeared as he tried to take in his surroundings that he had washed up on shore.

He feebly crawled up a few feet to get out of the lapping waves, his raging thirst pure torture. Provided his dark-haired friend returned with some water, he might even live to see another day. Nothing appeared to be broken, and while weak and disoriented, at least he wasn’t in that stinking ship or disgusting cell.

With a prayer of thanks, he lifted his face to the sun.

***

For the first time in their lives they were at odds.

Well, not the first. There had been plenty of quarrels, but those childish spats were quite different from this argument, and Charles was not sure exactly what to do.

“I’m leaving,” Vivian said quietly. Noticeably pale, her lustrous dark hair contained only by a simple ribbon so some errant strands emphasized the alabaster hue of her face where they curled against her cheek, she was calm but stubborn. “Your father invited me and I am going. He is right, you know, Charles. There is nothing I can do here and I loathe London anyway. My mother can bemoan all she wants that it looks like I am running away, but I don’t care what people think. I never have all that much and you know that. If I did, I would have married long ago.”

The disagreement was no doubt brought on by high-strung nerves. Both of them were on edge, uncertain, their plans for the future changed without their consent. What a time for Louisa to be thrust into the social limelight alone, without a single female friend when he’d promised her Vivian’s support. Curious “friends” were calling every day in the guise of sympathetic support, and someone had to receive them. If Vivian left, the task would fall to Louisa and he knew the very idea of it distressed his wife more than she would admit.

Yet he could understand Vivian’s decision. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “I’m being selfish again, Viv, hoping you would stay.”

She looked at him, her green eyes direct. “I’m being selfish, too, for leaving you to deal with the disaster alone. The dukedom, Lucien’s affairs . . . it cannot be easy.”

“No. It isn’t. And my father won’t talk to me. He’d rather retire to the country with you.”

“He doesn’t understand how to talk to you.”

That made a bleak smile come to his lips. “He never has. And never have we needed to talk more than right now.”

“I know. In his defense it has never made such a difference before this, and he isn’t interested in learning new lessons at the moment.”

Because of the illness
. Charles had already gathered that his father was having difficulty accepting that his wealth, prominence, and power could not triumph over the disease insidiously taking his life, so with true ducal disdain, he preferred to pretend it wasn’t happening.

So, she was right. Vivian was frequently right because her vision wasn’t clouded by aspirations or prejudice. Charles dropped into a chair and briefly closed his eyes. “He and I got on well enough before this with the unspoken understanding that we are just two very different people. But who would ever have thought this would happen? You and I became engaged, then I eloped, then Lucien proposed to you, and then he disappeared . . . what the devil is going on? When we were children it was all so simple.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She sighed. It was a dreary afternoon and her features were shadowed. “We thought every happening quite catastrophic then, too. I realize you want me to stay to help manage the situation, but shouldn’t you face that it isn’t manageable? Why don’t you send Louisa with us and simply have Lucien’s secretary tell anyone who calls that you are not available?”

The suggestion made him go still. She made it sound so reasonable . . . and damn it, maybe it was. Then he shook his head. “She and my father—”

“She and I could keep each other company. The unexpected turn of events will make social situations difficult to handle for someone inexperienced with the sometimes malicious curiosity of the
ton
and I don’t have the impression she is enamored of London.”

He was well aware his wife was intimidated by her new role in life, and neither of them had counted on this twist of fate that might suddenly make her a duchess.

“Don’t be so damned sensible,” he said harshly and without apology for his language. “Bloody hell, Viv, why don’t you all abandon me?”

There was one consolation in having good friends: they didn’t mind a sulky moment or two. She laughed softly. They were sitting in the conservatory, of course, in her father’s London house, and she wore a gown with smattering of dirt on the sleeves, the scent of vegetation heavy in the air. “Aren’t I supposed to be the abandoned one?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said heavily, taking a moment to register how his remark sounded. “Lucien would not do this to you. Do you have any idea how worried I am?”

“Lucien would
not
do this to me,” she repeated in a subdued voice. “I kept telling myself that, over and over. At first, I admit I wasn’t sure. In some ways I know him only half as well as I know you, and in others I know him much better. The day of our wedding was interminable, but as each minute passed, I realized that if there is one trait I know he doesn’t possess, it is cowardice. If he didn’t wish to marry me, he would have said so, not run away.” She took in a deep breath. “It was one of the worst moments of my entire life when I came to the conclusion he had not deserted me.”

Such a typical Vivian-like statement, Charles thought. Logical almost to a fault.

Then she burst into tears.

It wasn’t like her.

Paralyzed, Charles couldn’t move for a moment.

He’d seen her in many situations where she might have wept: tossed from her pony when they were so much younger and other childhood mishaps, suffering social slights because she refused to conform to the ideal society had of a fashionable young lady, criticized by her mother . . . Vivian did
not
cry.

Without thinking about it he found himself kneeling by her chair, his arms around her shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, not exactly knowing what was defined in that statement. “For me, for Lucien, for all of it. Tell me what I need to do. I’ll do anything.”

It was true.

Damp, green eyes regarded him with a hint of reproach as she pulled back. “If I knew what to do, I would do it myself.”

True. She had enough independence that she had remained true to herself and weathered the censure and sometimes downright ridicule of the merciless
ton
. “I don’t know either,” he confessed, letting her go. “I’m at a loss. Newly married, at odds with my only parent, who is apparently ailing. My brother is missing, and I can’t even offer you solace.”

Vivian looked away for a moment, which wasn’t like her, and then she swallowed hard enough he saw the muscles ripple in her throat. “There’s something I think I should tell you. It would be a relief actually. It might be possible . . . well, I have no idea yet really, but . . . possible, yes, that I might be carrying his child.”

Charles stilled in the act of extracting his handkerchief from his pocket. “
What
?”

Whatever he’d expected to hear, that wasn’t it, though now that he thought back on his conversation with Lucien when he arrived in London, maybe he shouldn’t be so stricken with surprise.

“Child.” She looked at him directly then, his face only inches from hers since he was still kneeling by the bench where they’d been sitting, her lashes wet and dark. “Lucien’s.”

Could this get more deuced complicated
? He certainly couldn’t see how. Carefully, he asked, “Only possible? Or do you have reason to think it might be probable?”

“I’m . . . late.” Vivian blushed at the intimate confession, which was a vivid contrast to her earlier ashen complexion. “That is very unusual. And I have been light-headed and nauseous, especially in the mornings.”

The indelicate subject of how the cycle of woman’s body worked might embarrass her, but he was well past that point, considering the situation. Charles stood abruptly. “I see.”

“I can’t believe we are talking about this.” She looked down at her clasped hands.

“Of course you should tell me,” he responded, restive and wanting to pace but settling for bracing a hand on a small rack that held pots of fragrant herbs. “Viv, you can tell me anything; you know that. Besides, this would be my
brother’s
child.”

If he’d married you, and it is a boy, the babe would be the heir apparent
.

“I am not yet convinced it is true, so we shouldn’t worry over it right now.”

But Lucien
hadn’t
married her yet. The hell they shouldn’t worry about it. The implications were dire. Not that she would be the first woman to bear a child out of wedlock, but it certainly wasn’t ideal, nor did it bode well for her future.

Damn you, Lucien, I know you intended to wed her, but
 . . .

He stopped himself mid-thought and closed his eyes for a moment. He was no better. No, he hadn’t seduced Louisa first, but he had whisked her off to Scotland without her family’s approval, and that was a similar sin. Love should not be so damned complex.

“We’ll deal with it if it proves to be the case,” he said finally. “Viv, it will be fine.”

“It will?” Her smile was wistful. “It is ironic that it has all turned out as it has, isn’t it? When Lucien first suggested we marry I was appalled. Not that he isn’t handsome and charming, but I was simply doubtful of his motives. As we spent more time together, I began to . . . very much enjoy his company.”

“Apparently so,” he couldn’t help but say wryly.

Her tone was very quiet. “What could have happened to him, Charles?”

“I don’t know.”

“If there are two people on this earth who should, it is us.”

“I realize that.” His voice was shorter than he wished, the implications of a possible pregnancy immediate, his concern for her heartfelt, and damn all, he was tired. “Lord, I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t ready for this. All the responsibility.”

Trust her to understand. “No.” The admission was a bit humiliating, but it was true.

Vivian smiled at him though her lips trembled. “Rest assured no one is abandoning you, but for varying reasons, we would like to retire to the country.”

If it had to be this way, maybe he could help everyone. “I think your earlier suggestion is a good one. Would you like a companion for your stay in the country? I know Louisa would embrace the suggestion.”

***

Louisa elevated on her toes and kissed her husband with heartfelt gratitude. “Your father terrifies me,” she whispered against his lips. “But not as much as being thrust into the limelight as the possible next Duchess of Sanford. Still, I cannot leave you.”

His hands spanned her waist. Charles’s gaze seared right into to her soul. “I don’t want you to go, but I do want you to be happy.”

“I’m not unhappy. I just wasn’t born into your world and right now it is particularly uncomfortable to be a Caverleigh with all the attention focused on your family.”

“Our family. Darling, I know you think it matters whether or not you know every bit of protocol, but it doesn’t.”

She adored his smile. It was such a mixture of a quixotic quirk of his lips and a boyish grin. Louisa touched her fingertips to his mouth. “It does.”

His hands came up to rest lightly on her shoulders. “I think Vivian might need you.”

Need her
? That was certainly a change. All along he’d promised Vivian Lacrosse would help her deal with society. It was a bit confounding to hear him say Vivian might need
her
. “How so?”