The Duke's Inconvenient Bride (Regency Romance)

by Eva Grace

  The throng of people swarmed around the two, jostling them slightly as the call for curtain up was heard.

  "I will," he smiled back at her, not caring for those that were around. He then kissed the back of her hand, holding her eyes the whole time. "With you, I always have a good time."

  The loving couple had returned to London a few weeks later, to enjoy the rest of the season. That evening Raff had surprised Catherine by announcing that they were going to see Shakespeare's A Twelfth Night at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. Catherine had never been to the Theatre Royal before and was thus over the moon – and her trip was made all the more exciting by the fact that she was with the man she loved.

  It was the first night of the production, which meant that every aristocrat, Lord, Duke and Viscount in the greater London area had been sure to be in attendance. When she first entered the foyer, Catherine thought that the high walls and brightly lit chandeliers would hold her gaze the most. But no, it was the people that she was the more caught up by.

  As the two walked through the foyer and toward their seats in the Duke's private box, Catherine spied many a Lord and Lady that she either knew or knew of from the gossip columns.

  It was because the night was such an important event, that Catherine had gone above and beyond in her evening wear too. She wore an emerald green gown of velvet, which was tight at the bosom, then fell to the floor in elegant sweeps. Her red hair was worn in a chignon, her white gloves were worn above the elbows and her only piece of jewelry was a gold chain with an emerald set in the centre. In short, she was a pearl beyond price.

  "You really do look exquisite," Raff made sure to remind her as the two took their seats. It was something he had been doing the entire night, and every time he did, Catherine felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. It was funny how the loving words of her husband still caused suck a visceral reaction.

  "You look quite dashing yourself," she chortled as her eyes moved up his dark suit coat and the white cravat at his neck, which highlighted his tanned skin and dark colouring. Sometimes she thought he looked rather like a pirate from a romance novel, with his dark hair curling recklessly over his collar and his piercing blue eyes, which always glinted slightly with mischief. There was no doubt that her husband was reformed, she knew this from the way he worshipped her, but there was still a wild streak in him, which she would not change for the world, for it often left her breathless with desire.

  Their seats were without a doubt the best in the house. The Duke's box was located on the second floor and positioned to the left of stage, just high enough above the crowd to provide the loving couple with an unmatched view of the stage. The box next to theirs was full to bursting and Catherine caught sight of some of its patrons training their looking glass upon her and Raff. Although they had been married for over a month now, they were still an object of interest for the ton.

  When the curtains opened, the gas-lights dimmed and the actors took the stage, Catherine felt her husband's hand wrap around her own, and she knew immediately that it would not so much as budge for the remainder of the evening.

  All in all, the show was as spectacular as she had expected. It was funny without being vulgar, it was well acted without being over the top, and it wasn't too long – a problem she had with a few of Shakespeare's other works.

  Honestly, the only real negative of the evening that Catherine could ascertain had nothing to do with the show at all, but rather with one of those in attendance.

  It was Lady Drakefield of all people that brought a most unpleasant atmosphere to the show... at least as far as Catherine was concerned. Catherine had first spotted her familiar face in the foyer when they had first arrived and she had waved at her from across the room. Lady Drakefield either had not returned her salute, whether because she had not seen her, or chose not to, Catherine could not tell—though surely the former actress was not giving a Duchess the cut?

  This slight upset would have been perfectly fine, and would not have effected Catherine in the least if it weren't for the fact that Lady and Lord Drakefield sat in the box directly opposite where Catherine and Raff's own. Where Lord Drakefield waved across the theatre pleasantly when he noticed them there, Lady Drakefield didn't so much as incline her head. And then when the show began, Lady Drakefield spent the whole first act glaring across at Catherine when her husband's attention was trained on the stage.

  If it had been one single frown, Catherine might have been able to convince herself she was being paranoid —but the woman's eyes were fixed on her with such anger, that if it were not for Raff's hand wrapped tightly around hers, Catherine would almost have been afraid. Lady Drakefield's anger was visible and was so clearly meant for Catherine and Catherine alone. As the play took place beneath them, as the people laughed and clapped, Lady Drakefield stared and stared and stared. She hated Catherine, and Catherine had not a clue as to why.

  Perhaps that was not entirely true. Catherine was more than aware of the affair that her husband and Lady Drakefield had once engaged in, but she had assumed that now he was a married man, that the former actress would be done with it. Evidently, or at least by the way she watched Catherine the entire evening, that was not the case.

  "Did you like it?" Raff asked as the two made their way from the balcony once the performance was finished.

  "Yes, it was..." Catherine thought back to the show, and when she did, the look she had been given by Lady Drakefield was all she could recall. She shook her head as a means to forget it, instead concentrating on her husband's happy face. "Yes, it was lovely," she said with more conviction. She didn't see the need to bother Raff with such silly things as his old flame harbouring a hate for her. If Lady Drakefield didn't like her, so be it. She had Raff and that was all that mattered. Besides he might think that Catherine herself was being petty, bringing up his old lovers, and everything between them had been so splendid of late that she did not want to ruin it. Ignoring the gnawing anxiety within, Catherine pasted a smile across her face and chose instead to enjoy the rest of the evening.

  The following night Raff took Catherine for a stroll through the elegant Vauxhall Gardens. Vauxhall a monumental pleasure garden located in the south bank of the river Thames and an ideal destination for anyone wishing to impress a young lady... only if that somebody was a man of worth, of course. Catherine wore a simple dress with a cape thrown elegantly over her shoulders, while Raff was dressed in a burgundy jacket over cream breeches. They made quite the attractive couple, as they strolled down the winding paths of the gardens, enjoying the music, which drifted across the warm night's air from the grand bandstand.

  "It really is something else," Raff mused aloud as the two strolled along the man-made, stone garden path while marvelling at the beauty that surrounded them. They had been blessed with a full moon that night too, and although there were gas lamps on every corner, it was the moon that seemed to provide the majority of the light; a fact which only added to the romance of the scenery.

  "Even more than me?" Catherine joked.

  Raff stopped, turned toward her and gave her the most serious of looks. "Don't be daft. Nothing compares to you." He held her stare, looking at her most seriously before cracking a smile and bursting into laughter. She slapped at him playfully and he dodged out of the way. "Come now, there's a rose bush up ahead that I wish to steal a bloom for you from." He unlinked his arm from her own and hurried ahead, apparently thrilled by the idea of plucking a rose from the sacred bush.

  Catherine smiled as she watched him go, quickly disappearing around a hedge not ten feet away. She was still struggling with herself to comprehend just how different he was to the man she married, and with that still struggled to come to terms with just how lucky she truly was.

  It was because of this momentary dalliance, that Catherine and Raff became separated. To be fair, it was by only a few feet and a hedge or two, but it was enough to leave Catherine without an escort, and although this concerned her none too much – fully aware
that her husband was just up ahead – when she went after him, she took a wrong turn and became lost, then she did begin to fret just slightly

  She walked alone through the pleasure garden, and at one point considered calling out her husband's name, but then decided against it as there were surely others in the area and she did not wish to appear a like a frightened, lost child. Rather she picked up her pace, took a few turns that she hoped were in the right direction, only to quickly realise the fact that they were not.

  Getting nowhere faster than a runaway horse, Catherine let go an annoyed growl, came to a stop and looked around for a sign of anything that might seem familiar. Unfortunately, as it was a pleasure garden, and as it was well into the night, everything and nothing looked familiar to her.

  Frowning with a new-found sense of anxiety, she then walked in a new direction that she hoped to be the right one, or at the very least might lead to the right one. Of course, it was not to be and this only made her more lost.

  Finally, after a few more minutes of walking, she came across two gentlemen, and with a relieved sigh, she approached them for aid.

  "Excuse me, sirs, I was hoping you could offer me some assistance? It seems I've lost my husband and haven't a clue where he is."

  It was as the two men came into the light, that Catherine immediately regretted her decision to approach them. And it had nothing to do with the fact that she didn't much like the idea of being around unknown men whilst unescorted, rather it was more to do with the fact that they looked to be the sort of men that any lady, regardless of social status, would do well to stay away from.

  Their clothes were ragged, the type that a docker might wear, their skin was pockmarked and ravaged from gin, and the one man that had chosen to smile at her had teeth so yellow that it was a wonder she hadn't seen them from across the way.

  "That's no good," the one with the yellow teeth chuckled. "A lady like you shouldn't be out here alone."

  "No good at all," the other agreed. Although he didn't show his teeth, he did have an expression so cruel and leering that Catherine had to look away for a second.

  A second was all it took. A second in which Catherine could have turned and fled, and in doing so perhaps put some much-needed distance between her and the two scoundrels she now faced. But it was a second in which she did nothing but look away and as such, the two men launched themselves at her, subdued her with strong arms, and the next thing she knew, everything went black.

  When Raff spotted the rose bush up ahead, he let go a growl of delight and he made haste for the splendid piece of flora that he wished to relieve of its blooms. And although it was not technically prohibited, he knew that to pluck a rose from the perennial plant was heavily frowned upon. Not that he cared for this rule, as he planned on stealing a rose anyhow. It would look marvellous in the hand of his beloved wife and he knew that she would appreciate it so, and thus a pox on the rules he thought to himself as he made for said bush.

  When he reached the plant, he did a very quick scout around, assuring himself that no one else was in the vicinity. To his delight, he saw the area to be near empty, which not only made for a more romantic evening, but made the theft of the rose that much easier.

  A wicked smile spread across his face as he leaned toward the bush, scouted for the best rose and plucked it from the bristly thorns. Overcome with a sudden sense of fulfilment, Raff spun on his heel, fully expecting to spy Catherine making her way along the moonlit path toward him. When he saw the path to be empty, devoid of his beautiful wife, he became a trifle nervous.

  "Catherine!" he called lightly, not wanting to cause a fuss and raise an alarm when it wasn't needed. "Catherine are you about?"

  With the rose still in hand, Raff hurried back in the direction he had come. It was only a dozen feet or so and he fully expected to turn a corner and find his wife transfixed by a shrub of some kind. But when he reached the point where he had left her behind, and found her to be missing, he panicked.

  "Catherine!" He roared at the top of his lungs, caring not one wit for the lack of etiquette he was showing. "Catherine!"

  With the rose forgotten, lying crushed on the ground behind him, he rushed through the garden like a man possessed.

  Despite the moon's rays, and the gas lit lamps that adorned every path corner, it was still far too dark for his liking. Where previously the hedge maze, shrubs and flower beds that covered every square inch of the park were beautiful and majestic in design, now they were a hindrance like nothing else. They were almost sinister in the way that they concealed paths from view.

  Raff ran down the path at full pelt, his heart hammering in his chest. Occasionally he jumped up and down as he did so, trying to look over the topiary hedge mazes; he darted around bush after bush as he attempted to cast his gaze as far as it would go; and every single body that he came upon, be it man or woman he would stare at them madly, searching their faces until he was certain it was not his love.

  How much time passed during his search, he had not a clue, but by the time he reached the front entrance of the gardens, he was red in the face, worn in the body and no closer to having located Catherine. To say that by that time he was concerned, would be an understatement to be sure.

  It was as he reached the entrance way that he spied one of his footmen making his way toward him.

  "Ambrose," Raff called, forgetting how wretched he felt as he quickly closed the gap between the two. "My wife! Is she with you?" He grabbed the footman by both arms, holding him in place as if he were a culprit that might run were he given the chance.

  "No, Your Grace," young Ambrose responded, looking appropriately shocked by the way he was being manhandled by the Duke. "Is she not with you?"

  "The carriage!" Raff exclaimed, letting go of Ambrose and making for where the carriage was waiting, in line with a dozen others. "Perhaps she got lost and --"

  "I just came from there, Your Grace," Ambrose called out as he hurried after his master. "Quite literally one second ago. Her Grace is not there."

  Raff spun on his heel, fear now well and truly taking over every morsel of his body. "Are you sure you didn't see her? She could have slipped by and --"

  "I think not, Your Grace," Ambrose said slowly and carefully. "I have been standing there the entire night. But when I heard you calling out, that was when I came. If she did pass me, she would have needed the grace of an alley cat. Is she not perhaps lost in the gardens I know them to be a trifle confusing at times."

  "No," Raff let go a worrisome sigh. "There is no way... I ran through them like a mad man as I called her name. If she was there, surely she would have at the very least alerted me to her presence?"

  "What then?" For the first time, Ambrose actually sounded worried. The burly footman was not prone to showing emotion of any sort, so this momentary lapse in personality was as troubling as anything else.

  "She's gone." Saying the words, admitting them, was crushing, and it was at their utterance that Raff felt a weight suddenly rest itself upon his shoulders. It was a weight similar to the one he had felt only a few weeks previously when Catherine had runaway. Only this time, the weight was far greater and far more suffocating in its nature, because this time, he believed her to be in genuine danger.

  "Is there any chance..." Ambrose looked nervous at what he was trying to say; his hands fidgeting, his eyes darting this way and that. "... maybe, she... you don't think that she... ran again, do you, Your Grace?"

  "Certainly not." There was not an ounce of doubt in his tone; not a waver, or a quake. For Raff knew that there was no way that could be the case. Catherine loved him as much as he loved her —she would not abandon him again.

  The last few weeks had been something of a dream for Raff, like the old stories his governess used to read him when he was a child, only this time he was the hero of the tale. To find a woman that he truly wanted to be with, and one who wanted to be with him also, was unlike anything he could have ever imagined happening. He never once consi
dered that he would fall for anyone in his lifetime, so when he did, he did so with full measure.

  When Catherine had returned to him that day, and when he admitted to her his feelings and she did the same, he set about ensuring that from that point forward, their marriage would be one of bliss. He treated her like a princess, lavishing love upon her like it was going out of fashion. He could tell how much she appreciated it too, and how much she had fallen for him since.

  It was because of this that there was not a doubt in Raff's mind that Catherine had not run. He had given her no reason to.

  The only plausible explanation was that she was taken, and that was far graver.

  "To the carriage," Raff announced suddenly. A plan had just come to mind, and although it was as unlikely to work as it was hopeful, there was really nothing else Raff could think of.

  Without waiting for Ambrose, he turned and fled from the gardens and toward where the coach was parked. There, the driver sat waiting, and when he saw Raff making for him, he sat up straighter and readied the horses.

  "Where to, Your Grace?" the driver asked casually, not yet understanding of the urgency behind Raff's movements.

  "You're to do a circle of the gardens," Raff commanded. Rather than jumping into the compartment of the carriage, as was the norm, he climbed up beside the driver, seating himself on the front bench. "And any soul you see, I don't care who it is, you're to pull over without question. Understand?"

  "Your Grace," The driver began slowly, "I'm not sure that the road follows the exact circumference of the --"

  "Do you understand!?" Raff boomed. The commanding tone of his voice, combined with the determined look in his eyes did much to cower the driver, who nodded quickly as he readied to kick the horses forward.

  A moment later, Ambrose sprang into view and once he had taken his place at the back of the carriage, the driver kicked the horses forward and the search began.