What the Groom Wants (10 page)

Radley finished the last of the flask and handed it back to the man who had dragged up a chair. And when the hell did he get a chair in his room? Had his mother been shopping again?

He sighed and let his head hang. It took a moment, but he finally was able to manage a hoarse whisper. “Who the hell are you?”

“Ah, right. I’m Gregory Murray, Earl of Hartfell, and the man deeply in love with your sister. I’d have my ring on her finger by now, but your relations had to get themselves killed. She’s the sister of a duke now, and we’ve got to do things proper. Wedding’s planned for the end of the season. Is that acceptable to you?”

Radley forced his head up to inspect the man now seated before him. He looked decent enough. Wealthy too, and with a title. It was a great deal more than he’d ever hoped for his sister, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he managed an awkward shrug. “Don’t know you. Don’t know if my sister likes you.” Then his surly side couldn’t resist adding one last jibe. “Don’t bloody well know what you’re doing throwing a bucket of water on me while I’m sleeping.”

“Ah, well that was your mother. Claims she’s been trying to wake you for an hour or more. Finally, sent round a desperate note to your sis. Once I understood the nature of your illness, I had my valet make this brew.” He waved the flask. “Tastes like sewage, but I swear, it’ll make a man of you in about an hour.”

“I’m already a man,” he snapped. “Have been for years.”

“Pardon the correction, mate, but you’re a bloody drunk right now, with a sore head and an ill temper.” He tucked the flask away, then—damnation—pulled out another. At Radley’s groan, he laughed. “We’re going to get you shaved and bathed. Then you’ll finish this second flask before you put on those lovely togs your mother set out for you.”

“Like hell I will.”

“You will because you’ll be craving it. Trust me, I know. And then, we’ll go to your new London home. Step lively, we haven’t a lot of time. The women will have the bath ready by now.”

Radley wanted to argue, but he knew better. He didn’t have to see a clock to know that it was already late in the morning, possibly afternoon. So with a grudging nod, he pushed unsteadily to his feet.

That’s when he saw it: the purse. Not his regular purse, but a fancy one that had been filled with coins. It was the purse that he’d tried to give Wendy, but she’d thrown at his face. He frowned, trying to remember the details of the evening. He remembered brandy. The best damned brandy he’d ever had in his life. Then he remembered rushing to see Wendy, and…

He groaned. It all came back in a rush. He remembered accosting her in her workshop. He’d pulled out the purse, just like any Jack paying for a back-alley tumble.

He didn’t really remember the words they’d exchanged, but he didn’t need to. He could well guess. And then, he’d taken his purse and his dignity—if a drunk could have any dignity—and walked straight to the nearest pub. All that coin that should have gone to her was spent on drink.

Had he really drank a hundred twenty-one quid last night? Apparently so, because the purse was empty, and his head pounded. He collapsed onto the bed with a groan.

“The bucket’s right there,” said the Scot. “Don’t be getting my togs dirty. Neither of us would hear the end of that.”

Radley shook his head. He wasn’t going to be sick, though he felt ill enough. “I’m a bloody idiot when I drink,” he said.

“Well, that sounds like a tale,” drawled the Scot. “But we haven’t the time. If we take much longer, the women will be back at you.”

He bit back a groan, knowing it was true. “Fine,” he ground out, as he forced himself onto unsteady legs. “Let’s get me ready to present to my massive staff. Though I don’t know why we bother. They’ve already seen me unshaven and in holey stockings.”

“What?”

Radley peered at the man. “The old duke has—” He swallowed and straightened. “
I
have an excellent wine cellar.”

The Scot laughed. “You can tell me all about it after you shave.”

With a nod, Radley began to clean himself up. It was slow going at first, but he managed it. He also asked for the second flask because he did, indeed, crave it by the time he’d finished his bath. The Scot showed himself to be a decent fellow. He didn’t crow over the request, but handed it over with nary a word. He also kept Radley’s mother and sister on the other side of the screen, since his bath was in the main room, and he even disposed of the dirty water without a word of complaint.

Such restraint wasn’t in Radley’s nature as he dressed. He looked about the rooms as he moved and saw over a dozen new purchases. So when he was fully clothed in new clothes, courtesy of his mother, he was able to confront her face to face.

“What are all these new things?” he demanded as he pointed to the new tea set, the shiny copper kettle, her new gown, and feathery hair pins.

His mum drew herself up to her full stature, which was nearly as tall he was. “I’m the mother of a duke now. You can’t begrudge me a few new items.”

“But where are you getting the coin?”

“Coin? Heaven’s Radley, you’re a duke now. We can buy on credit.”

He gaped, already seeing where this was going. “How much,” he rasped. “How much did you buy on credit?”

She shrugged. “As if I know! Radley, we can finally have everything we’ve always wanted!”

Radley swallowed, his head pounding. Certainly, he was wealthy, but he knew his mother. If left to her own devices, she could beggar the crown. He had to find a way to moderate her spending now. So he straightened and spoke in a commanding tone.

“No, Mum, we can’t.
You
can’t. There are expenses and an entire village starving for food. I’ve spent the money we have already. It’s gone up north to the people there. Plus there’s an army of servants at the house who need pay.” The bankers, in fact, had warned him repeatedly yesterday. Not just once when they joined the solicitors, but again that evening, when he demanded the coin for Wendy. There wasn’t ready blunt. Not for him or his mum. And there wouldn’t be a lot for months to come. He had “assets” they said, not “cash.”

“But that’s the beauty of credit,” his mother said. “You don’t have to have the coin now.

“But you have to pay eventually, mum.”

“And eventually, you’ll have the money.”

He shook his head. The woman wasn’t listening, and he didn’t know what to do about that. And worse, he didn’t have the heart to restrict her. When they were growing up, he’d seen her take the food off her own plate to give him. He’d watched her darn socks and cut up her own dresses to patch a hole in his pants. And now, finally, they had money for food and clothing. They had a house full of nice things in London and servants to meet their every need. How could he begrudge her these purchases?

“No more, mum. Not a single thing more.”

She flashed him a happy smile—one that had been so rare when he was a child—and then bustled them to the door. “Come along. The carriage is already here.”

He frowned. “Carriage? What carriage?”

His mother huffed. “Well, we can’t arrive at our new home on foot, now can we?”

Radley winced, knowing that yesterday he had indeed arrived there on foot. “But—”

“I sent a note telling them to send the carriage at one thirty. It’s a quarter to two now, so I’m sure—”

“I’m sure the horses have been cooling their heels for fifteen minutes, while the entire neighborhood sits outside to watch.”

His mother didn’t answer, as she was busy adjusting her hat above the feathered hairpins. But he saw her smug smile and knew the truth. After years of derision at her superior airs, his mother had finally gotten her wish. She was the mother of a duke now, and this was her way of rubbing everyone’s nose in it.

“You’ve been lording it over the whole neighborhood for weeks now, haven’t you?”

“Come along, Radley, Caroline. It’s time to move to our new home.”

Radley grimaced but didn’t argue. His mother had earned the right to crow. So he bent to pick up a huge trunk, when his mother abruptly hissed.

“Put that down, Radley!”

He dropped it, startled.

“You’re a duke, for God’s sake. You don’t carry and haul trunks. You have footmen for that.”

He blinked. He’d been carrying and hauling for his mother ever since he could walk. But one glance at his sister’s slow nod had him rethinking. He
was
a duke, after all. Why not let a servant carry the thing? It was bloody heavy.

So he straightened and nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The women filed out, his mother leading the way. He didn’t have to see her face to know that she wore an air of superiority in her expression. Caroline went next, while the Scot hung back, waiting for him.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

Radley didn’t answer at first. Instead, he took a moment to look behind him. Not just at the rooms, but at his entire life up to this point. Was it all gone then? Would he never return to the life he’d known and loved? He knew the answer already, but it was hard to believe—harder still to want it.

“Can a man be ready for this?” he asked.

“Never.”

“Then I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

The Scot grimaced. “You’ll find your way. There are many who will help you.”

Radley nodded. Of course, there were. After all, there had been a whole pub’s worth of men willing to help him celebrate his new status. There were solicitors anxious to marry him to his cousin and bankers fired up about not spending his money. He had yet to travel to the ducal seat to meet the people getting the bulk of his cash in foodstuffs and medicines. And that didn’t mention the people of the
ton
who would likely trip over themselves to help him in other ways he couldn’t yet imagine. Marry their daughters, invest in their schemes, and give voice to their politics.

“I was going to be captain of my own ship.”

“And now, you’re a duke. Some would say you traded up.”

He sighed. “I’m not one of them.”

“No,” said the Scot with a strange expression. “No, you’re not. I quite like that about you.” Then he shrugged. “Well, come on. No use delaying the inevitable.”

“Right.” So he straightened his shoulders and headed out. Then the oddest thought hit him as he left the room. He needed a woman on his arm. And not just any woman, but Wendy, with her calm practicality and steady voice. He needed his Wind because without her, he feared he would founder.

He touched the Scot’s arm. “How long do you think this will take?”

The man pursed his lips. “A couple of hours to view the whole house and meet the staff. Then there’s settling in. I’ve insisted your sister move in with you, you know. She needs to live the life as sister to a duke before she agrees to be with me.”

Radley blinked. “That’s right decent of you.”

The man didn’t respond beyond a tight shrug. “The staff will want to feed you. A meal fit for a king, most likely. Then, there are your requirements—selecting a valet while the ladies pick their maids. And—”

“When will I be able to leave, do you think?”

“You’re the master. You can leave when you like. But it wouldn’t be good form to depart at all. Not today. The staff would take it as an insult.”

He cursed under his breath. He couldn’t wait that long to talk to Wendy. He had to see her today. “How late, do you think? When can I escape?”

The man grinned. “It won’t be so bad—”

“When?”

The smile faded. “After dinner. Eleven, probably.”

Too late. Much too late to see Wendy. She’d likely be asleep, and he couldn’t go banging on her door, demanding to see her. Not after the mess he’d made of it last night.

Damn it, he had to find a way to see her. Today. Then he had an idea.

“You said a dinner fit for a king?” Or perhaps, a queen. “Do you think I could invite someone to join us?”

“Just one? Certainly.”

Excellent. He was going to get his Wind back. And he was going to do it in style.

The footman arrived at the dress shop mid-afternoon. His loud and ponderous voice reverberated through the door between the front parlor and fitting area.

“I have a message for Miss Wendy Drew from his grace, the Duke of Bucklynde.”

Wendy jumped at the sound of her name. She was in the middle of fitting a matronly baroness and had pins in her mouth. Fortunately, Helaine was also there. Wendy looked to her friend, trying to hold back her panic. She had no idea how to handle such a situation. She was on her knees, for God’s sake, and most customers didn’t even like talking to her. They preferred all discussion to be with Helaine, the dress designer, while Wendy silently obeyed commands. How would the baroness react to a message from a duke?

Fortunately, Helaine had an answer. She clasped her hands and appeared mortified. “I’m so sorry, baroness. I can’t imagine what is—”

“A message from a duke!” the woman squealed. “The new duke? The one everyone is talking about?”

“Uh…” Helaine looked to Wendy, who nodded miserably. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Send him in! Oh, send him in! I’m decently covered, aren’t I? Do I look acceptable? Is my hair—”

“You look wonderful,” Helaine said. “That color compliments your complexion to perfection.” And it did. Helaine had quite the eye for color and design. That’s why they were the premiere dressmakers to the
ton
. Meanwhile, she glanced at Wendy, silently asking if she was ready.

Wendy had found her feet and set the pins into a cushion, but she was anything but ready. Really, after last night’s disaster, what could Radley be thinking to send a messenger? What could the man possibly say that would make up for what he’d done last night?

Meanwhile, everyone was waiting on her, so she gave a reluctant nod. Helaine opened the door to reveal a young footman in the blue and gold livery of the Duke of Bucklynde. He held a dozen hothouse roses in his grip, which he extended to the room at large.

“Miss Wendy Drew?” he asked.

“That’s me.”

He turned to face her and executed a deep bow. “His grace sends these with his compliments.”

“Ooooh!” squealed the baroness as if they had been given to her. Meanwhile, the curtain that blocked off the workroom twitched. No doubt Tabitha and Lady Chelmorton were peeking through to see what was going on.

“Um, why don’t I take those?” inserted Helaine, as she grabbed the bouquet. “There’s no card that I can see.”

The footman continued, his voice booming through the room. “His grace wishes to express his deepest apologies for any slight and wishes to make amends over dinner tonight. Would you honor him with your presence this evening at his London home? A carriage will be sent at eight.”

Wendy stared at the footman. Had there been a question in there? If so, he had rolled right over it. Meanwhile, the baroness squealed again.

“Dinner with his grace? How exciting! Is he throwing a dinner party? How many people are invited? Have you known his grace long? Oh goodness, do you think he would come to my musicale? It’s next Tuesday. I could introduce him to some very influential people. What do you think? Would he come?”

Helaine held up her hand, thankfully silencing the baroness. “Wendy?” she asked softly. “Do you wish to dine with his grace tonight?”

Wendy bit her lip and looked at her dress. She hadn’t the clothes to wear to an evening with a duke. And beyond that, she was supposed to work at Damon’s hell tonight starting at eleven. “I—I can’t,” she whispered.

“You can’t!” gasped the baroness. “But you must. He’s the
new
duke
!” She said the words as if Wendy didn’t know exactly whom they were talking about.

The footman nodded, as if he had expected such an answer. He bowed deeply then spoke again. “His grace feared that you might decline, so he bid me give you this.” He extended a pristine note in an envelope so fine Wendy feared to touch it. But as Helaine had her hands full with the roses, Wendy had no choice, unless she wanted the baroness to snatch it up. So she took the missive and silently ran her finger over the engraving—the ducal crest, bold and beautiful, on white linen.

“Well? Open it!” exclaimed the baroness.

Wendy’s hands shook, but she managed to open the envelope to see another engraving of the ducal crest, this one three times as large. Then she opened the missive.

Dearest Wind,

I know you are angry with me and rightly so. I behaved abominably. If you were a woman to want gifts, I would shower them on you. But you are not, so I must rely upon my meager charms to convince you. Please come to dinner tonight. I wish to apologize. I wish to see you. And even worse, I need your strength behind my sails. This is all strange to me, and I fear I will founder without you.

In desperate hope,

R

Wendy read the letter three times, pausing only to take a deep breath.

“Well?” asked the baroness as she craned her head to see.

Wendy folded the letter closed and held it tight to her chest. She didn’t know what to think, but she knew what she felt.
Hope.
A sweet, seductive, undeniably sneaky hope that moved straight through her fears to warm her soul. It was the dream that whispered through every girl’s heart that she would marry the handsome prince and live happily ever after.

The revival of such a silly dream was as painful as last night’s crushing disappointment when her prince had turned out to be just another drunk man wanting to get between her legs. And the two feelings—hope and disappointment—fought each other until she didn’t know what to do.

Thankfully, her best friend was there, compassion on her face as Helaine took her hands. She didn’t try to read the letter. Her gaze was trained on Wendy’s face.

“What does he want?” she asked quietly.

“To apologize. For being such a beast yesterday.”

Helaine smiled. “But you are afraid to believe that he could be sincere. Especially as most men are completely useless.”

To the side, the baroness released a sigh. “Well, that is certainly true.”

“But you know,” Helaine continued, “many men are quite good. My Richard is wonderful. Samuel adores Penny, and even Grant has made Irene incredibly happy. All are good men, and all of us are happy. It could happen for you too.”

Wendy didn’t realize she was shaking her head until Helaine argued with her.

“Yes, it can. Isn’t he the one who sent you presents all these years? The silk shawl, the carved ivory box—all under your brother’s name.”

Wendy nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Didn’t they understand? She was too busy, her life too chaotic, to add a maddening aristocrat. A duke, no less, who said he was lost without her.

She didn’t know how to respond to such a heartfelt plea. No one in her experience had ever spoken like that. They all demanded things from her or told her what they intended. Only Radley with his gentle touch and earnest eyes ever said words like that. Radley, who had nearly overwhelmed her last night, against the worktable when he was drunk.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

The baroness snorted in disgust. “You go to dinner, silly girl. Let him apologize. Good heavens, men never apologize! So, if you’ve found one who does—snatch him up! Or at least go to dinner, so you can live the experience once in your life.”

Helaine’s lips twitched at the baronness’s impassioned speech, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, she squeezed Wendy’s hands. “Go to dinner, Wendy. What harm does it do to hear what he has to say?”

The harm wasn’t in the evening, but in the time afterward, when she had to rush away to Damon’s gaming hell. How did she explain that? “I… um… but, is it proper? I am an unmarried woman without a chaperone.”

Helaine started to answer, but the footman cleared his throat, effectively silencing everyone. Then he spoke again, as if he were speaking heaven’s proclamation. “His grace also expects his mother, sister, future brother-in-law, the Earl of Hartfell, and Lady Eleanor to be in attendance.”

Wendy straightened at the mention of Lady Eleanor. She would like to get a look at the woman, and this was the perfect opportunity. She looked to her friend. “So, it’s proper?”

Helaine nodded. “You can bring a maid along if you like.”

As if Wendy had a maid to follow her around. “But what would I wear?”

“What about that gorgeous gown you wore to my ball? The green one that brings out your eyes.”

She did look lovely in that. But she’d have to change before going to the hell. That dress was much too revealing for dealing vingt-et-un.

“Oh, say yes!” cried the baroness. “Before I say yes for you, slap on a green gown, and go in your stead!”

Everyone laughed, effectively breaking the tension. So with a pounding heart, Wendy turned to the footman. “Please relay my thanks to his grace. I shall be ready at eight.”

He bowed deeply. “Excellent.” And then he withdrew, backing out so obsequiously that Wendy fought a hysterical giggle, while Helaine squeezed her hands in joy.

“You shall have such a wonderful time, Wendy,” she breathed. “You’ll see. It will be delightful.”

“Well, of course, it will be delightful,” the baroness huffed, waving her hands. “Now go on. Go get the dress so I can see it on you.”

Wendy blinked, abruptly confused. “But baroness, your fitting—”

“Tut tut. Don’t you have another girl who can set the pins? Go on. I want to see this green gown!”

Wendy didn’t have to call Tabitha. The girl pushed through the curtain, the movement awkward, as she was setting her glasses on her ears. “I’d be happy to set the pins.”

“I guess that’s settled then,” Helaine said with a laugh. “Go get the dress. Let’s see if it still fits.”

And so it was done. The pile of work yet to do, the baronness’s fitting, even the shipment of new silks that Irene brought in an hour later—all was secondary to dressing Wendy in a gown that turned out to be loose. Obviously, she’d lost weight. So Tabitha was set to tucking in the seams, while Lady Chelmorton did the hard work of filling a tub for Wendy to bathe. And even Helaine remained late to dress Wendy’s hair. Then, just before the carriage arrived to whisk her away, Penny arrived with a pair of slippers to which she had added a stitched flower along the sides for decoration.

Then everyone stood back to smile as if she really were Cinderella heading to the ball. “It’s just a dinner,” she whispered.

“We know,” said Helaine, her tone light.

“It’s just a dinner,” Helaine’s mother continued, “with a duke who sent you roses and wants to apologize.” As Lady Chelmorton had nearly witnessed what had happened the previous night, she was the one who should have objected the most. Instead, she was giddily happy and couldn’t stop fussing with the wrap she set around Wendy’s shoulders. “All men get drunk, you know. And he did just land two days ago. It’s important to be gracious as you forgive him. Make him work for it, of course, but he did send you roses.”

“Coo, and he’s a duke,” murmured Tabitha. She had Wendy’s pile of stitching in her lap and was plying her needle with skill. The sight should have reassured Wendy, but part of her still tightened in anxiety. It was stupid, really. She was worried that Tabby couldn’t do the work well and afraid the girl would prove too good and would replace her.

Wendy pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to cool her flushed face. “I can’t think,” she whispered.

“But that’s the beauty of it,” Irene said with a laugh. “You’re not supposed to think tonight. You’re supposed to feel. Enjoy! Make the duke kiss your hand and implore you to forgive him.”

“Then be gracious,” said Lady Chelmorton.

“But not too gracious!” inserted Helaine, and they all laughed at the slightly bawdy suggestion. “Hold out for a ring.”

“And then we’ll all be calling you ‘your grace’!” cried Tabby.

Again, everyone laughed, Wendy included, though the idea of becoming Radley’s duchess was… was… what? A giddy dream? A terrifying possibility? She didn’t dare hope, and yet, she did. Her, a duchess! And when she stepped out to the gleaming blue and gold carriage, Wendy felt like a duchess indeed. Two footmen hopped from their perch—one to open the door, the other to set down the step and hand her inside.

Her friends stood watching, and Wendy caught sight of Helaine pressing a handkerchief to her eye. Was she weeping? Wendy felt tearful herself, but she didn’t dare release a tear. It would smudge the kohl darkening her eyelashes.

Then the carriage started its ponderous trek through the London streets. She leaned back against the squabs and thought of what was to come this night, of all the advice she had been given, and of what she would do. She didn’t know. She couldn’t sort out how she felt, much less plan a course of action.

In the end, she simply closed her eyes. Tonight would be magical, she decided. Tonight, she would be Cinderella on the way to the ball, even though it was just dinner. And if Radley wanted to kiss her again… Well, she would decide then what she would do and not think more about it now.

But, of course, she did think about it. She did think and dream and wish all the way to his home and up the steps. And then, everything came crashing down when she saw the stunningly beautiful Lady Eleanor about to kiss Radley.

***

“I feel like I’m being strangled,” Radley groused to the room at large as he tugged at his cravat. How did people stand these things? The tight shirt was bad enough, but add to it a cravat, waistcoat, and coat, and he was afraid that he would drown. He couldn’t move in all this damn finery, couldn’t grab a rope, or save himself, if he were blown overboard. Yes, he knew he wasn’t on board. He was, in fact, in the drawing room before dinner, waiting with his whole family for the dinner bell. He wasn’t even outdoors, but logic had little traction against years of training in going barefoot and shirtless on board.

“Stop fiddling,” Lady Eleanor scolded as she stepped before him.

He stood in front of the fire, too nervous about Wendy’s arrival to sit down. Plus he was afraid he’d split his pants if he so much as bent his knees. So he’d stood there by the fire and fidgeted with his clothes.