What a Difference a Duke Makes

by Lenora Bell

  Proof of her claim. Her claim to be wanted, to be searched for, to be someone.

  This could change everything. If she and the children left Southend a few days early, she would be back in London in time to keep the appointment.

  Her birth no longer a mystery. The possibility of . . . well, there were endless possibilities. She could have family in London.

  Ann Murray. She could have a mother.

  Edgar had said he wanted to know everything about her and it had made her so sad to think that there was nothing she could tell him. Nothing but lies.

  And now . . . the possibility of a truth to tell. Whatever it was, it would be the truth.

  At last.

  There was a knock at her door. The twins burst into the room, followed by Harriet. “Where’s Father?” asked Adele.

  “We’ve already had breakfast,” said Michel. “We want to go fly our kite. It’s a windy day. No sun at all. Perfect for kite flying.”

  “Your father had to leave early,” Mari said. “He had a brilliant idea for his engine.”

  “He’s gone?” Michel’s eyes clouded over. “But he said we would fly the kite again today.”

  “Why are you still wearing the same dress?” asked Adele.

  “Ah . . .” There was no putting anything over the precocious Adele. “I fell asleep in it, silly me. And then I awoke early and your father told me he was leaving and I haven’t had a chance to change into something new.”

  The maid gave her a knowing look.

  Mari shooed the children out of the room. “Why don’t you go and make some chalk drawings on the flagstones while I dress.”

  “It might rain later,” said Michel. “Our drawings would be washed away.”

  “Then you can paint water colors. Harriet will find easels and paints.”

  “My pleasure, miss,” said Harriet.

  “I want to see charming seascapes,” Mari told the children. “So charming that your father will want to hang them in his salon. Quickly now, before it rains.”

  The children made no more objections, trailing after the maid.

  Adele turned back. “When we return to London, do you think we’ll have a letter from Amina?”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. She should have had time to return your letter by now.”

  Adele’s shoulders lifted. “I do hope so,” she said, as she followed Michel and the maid down the corridor.

  Mari and the children arrived back in London three days later. They’d been delayed on the roads by heavy rains, so they arrived in the morning, instead of late the night before.

  Today was the day she would meet with Mr. Shadwell. She only had a few hours to prepare.

  The gate at Number Seventeen, Grosvenor Square, still said that it scorned to change. Mari didn’t know why she thought it should have changed. She was the one who had changed.

  She was different now. She had a new awareness of her body. Head to toes and all the places in between that Edgar had kissed, caressed, and coaxed to song. Though it wasn’t only a physical change. She was not the same woman who had walked through this gate after her disastrous meeting with Mrs. Trilby.

  Instead of having to don confidence and courage like a mask, she understood that strength already lived inside her. It had always been there, but she’d been afraid to own it, or to utilize it, for fear of retribution.

  Whatever was revealed at the meeting with the lawyer today, and whatever happened with Edgar, nothing could take away that strength now.

  “Good morning, Miss Perkins. Good morning, children. How was the seashore?” asked Mrs. Fairfield, meeting them in the entrance hall.

  “It was wonderful!” said Adele. “We ate oysters and rolled down sand dunes.”

  “Not at the same time, I hope,” said the housekeeper.

  “We flew a kite, and we still have sand between our toes,” said Michel proudly. “And we made sand castles. Mine was the best.”

  Mrs. Fairfield laughed. “My, my, my. What a jolly holiday. I’ll have to go with you next time. I do love sand between my toes.”

  “You do?” asked Michel with an incredulous expression, as if he’d never thought about housekeepers leaving their houses.

  “Indeed I do. And my sand castles are award winning. They even have china closets.”

  “Bof,” exclaimed Michel. “China closets.”

  “Now then, children,” said Mrs. Fairfield, bending toward them. “You’ll never guess who’s here to see you!”

  “Father?” asked Adele. “But this is his house.”

  “Not your father, he’s at his foundry, no, it’s someone you’ve been longing to see. You sent a letter to her and instead of writing back she came in person.”

  Adele and Michel stared at each other, eyes wide. “Amina!” they cried in unison.

  “Take us to her, Mrs. Fairfield,” urged Adele.

  Mrs. Fairfield chuckled indulgently. “She’s in the parlor. Come along and we’ll go to her.”

  How wonderful for the children to see their old nurse. They were so excited they could barely contain themselves.

  Mari followed Mrs. Fairfield and the children to the parlor where a woman and man sat on the sofa, reading an almanac together.

  When the twins saw their nurse they started running, greeting her with arms thrown around her waist, burying their heads under her arms.

  “Amina, ç’est toi! Tu es venu nous trouver!”

  Amina hugged them. “In English please. I’ve been practicing my English,” she said in a thick French accent. “And it’s not Amina anymore, I’m Mrs. Shriver.”

  She gently detached the children from around her waist.

  “You’re married?” asked Adele.

  “This is my husband, Mr. Shriver.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Shriver. He was a distinguished-looking gentleman with dark hair and a noble nose.

  “And this is Miss Perkins,” said Mrs. Fairfield. “The children’s governess.”

  Mrs. Shriver smiled glowingly. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you from Mrs. Fairfield. I’m so glad the children are in good hands.”

  “I’ve heard wonderful things about you as well,” Mari said warmly.

  “We didn’t know you had a sweetheart,” said Adele to her former nurse.

  “Mr. Shriver and I have known each other for a very long time.” Mrs. Shriver blushed prettily. “But it wasn’t until after you left that he asked me to marry him.”

  Mr. Shriver clasped her hands in his. “My love, my one true love.”

  The two of them gazed into each other’s eyes, seeming to forget there was anyone else in the room.

  “Ew,” said Michel. “Romance. I’ll never fall in love.”

  “Never say never,” said Mari.

  “Isn’t that true,” said Mrs. Shriver. “Look at me, I didn’t get married until fifty years of age. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  “Are you fifty, my dear?” Mr. Shriver stared at her adoringly. “And here I thought you were thirty-five.”

  “Oh you.” She swatted his arm playfully. “Mr. Shriver is a horse breeder. We’re here in London on our lune de miel, er . . .”

  “Honeymoon,” supplied Adele.

  “Yes, our honeymoon. That’s what he told me. But really, I think we’re here to watch the Derby.”

  “What kind of horses do you breed?” asked Mari.

  “Arabians. Would you like to see my race horses someday?” Mr. Shriver asked the twins.

  “Would we,” said Michel enthusiastically.

  The children were obviously in good hands, and this was Mari’s off day. She slipped out of the room quietly. She loved those children dearly, but they were exhausting sometimes. The long carriage ride filled with questions and conversation had tired her out and she needed to prepare for her meeting with Mr. Shadwell.

  He’d said to bring anything she might have to support her claim. That meant P.L., and the prayer book, and perhaps she should compose
a timeline to present him of everything Mrs. Crowley had told her about the circumstances of her arrival at the orphanage when she was only a babe.

  She’d just gathered everything and was beginning to compose the timeline when there was a knock at her chamber door.

  “Yes?” she called.

  Carl opened the door. “Someone to see you, Miss Perkins.”

  “Thank you, Carl. Who is it?”

  “A Mrs. Trilby, miss.”

  Mari’s body went numb. “Please tell her I’ll be down in a moment,” she said, her voice coming from somewhere far away.

  “Yes, miss.”

  Mari gathered the prayer book and P.L. Rabbit and placed them in her cloth bag. Whatever happened, she had to keep her appointment with Mr. Shadwell.

  She donned her coat and bonnet and descended the stairs to meet her doom.

  Chapter 30

  When Edgar arrived home that afternoon, his house was in a state of chaos but he supposed that was to be expected. Mari and the children were home now. The house wouldn’t echo with silence when he walked through the halls.

  It would echo with laughter.

  He couldn’t wait to find Mari and tell her the fantastic news. Finally, finally the engine was lightweight enough. The new boiler design they had forged was working perfectly, the ribbing giving it the strength and resiliency it needed to withstand the high steam pressure.

  And then there was the other matter.

  The matter of the engagement band burning a hole in the pocket of his waistcoat.

  An ostentatious band of diamonds that the jeweler had assured him was fit for a duchess . . . but probably not fit for Mari. She was simply too unique. Too utterly herself to follow the dictates of fashion.

  He’d have another ring commissioned later—a simple setting would be best. Perhaps a twist of gold with one ruby to match her hair.

  He’d been searching for this meaning, this feeling, throwing himself into his work, groping blindly, and then Mari had happened.

  Their night at the seashore hadn’t been a mindless coupling.

  It had been strong, true, honest . . . and it had changed him.

  He’d opened his heart to her, told her his sordid history and she’d accepted him for the flawed, bitter man he was. And her acceptance . . . her love . . . was everything he’d ever wanted.

  He’d never be able to put those walls back up.

  His heart twisted. But what if she didn’t love him? Or, worse, what if she only thought she loved him, but it was a mere infatuation and would fade quickly?

  She might wake up one day and find herself married to stubborn old him, with two half-grown children, and feel trapped.

  These were the thoughts chasing each other around his head like a hound chasing its tail as he entered the house, only to find everything in an uproar.

  “What’s happening, Robertson?” he asked.

  “I’ll let Mrs. Fairfield tell you, Your Grace. I don’t understand it at all.”

  “Your Grace,” Mrs. Fairfield wailed, appearing in the doorway. “They’ve taken her.”

  Michel and Adele came running down the stairs. “Bring her back, Father!” cried Adele.

  “They can’t just take our governess,” said Michel, his face stormy and fists by his side.

  “Slow down, please,” said Edgar. “You’re not making sense, any of you. Taken her where? Someone please tell me what has happened.”

  Mrs. Fairfield stared at him, splotches of color on her cheeks. “That horrible Mrs. Trilby from the governess agency came to the house today with a constable. The same one who brought the children home that day. They escorted Miss Perkins away. She went willingly. I’ve no idea why.”

  “That mean old constable. He’s just sore because I popped him with my slingshot. I would have had another go at him, if it had been in my pocket,” said Michel fiercely.

  “We shouldn’t have let her go,” said Adele.

  “It must all be a terrible misunderstanding,” said Mrs. Fairfield.

  “That’s exactly what this is,” Edgar said, his mind immediately rejecting any other possibility. “A terrible misunderstanding.”

  “Father?” Adele pulled on his hand.

  “Yes, love?”

  “She took her cloth bag, and her umbrella, and P.L. Rabbit. That means . . .” Her lip wobbled. “That means she’s never coming back.”

  “Hush.” He tilted up Adele’s chin. “Of course she’s coming back.”

  He reached out his hand and Robertson handed him his hat.

  “Go and fetch her back, Your Grace,” said Robertson. “We’re all relying on you.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” said Edgar. “I promise you I’ll bring her back.”

  “This person misrepresented herself to a duke,” said Mrs. Trilby. “She claimed to be from my agency. It’s libel and slander and she ought to be locked away. Surely there’s a law against it, sir.”

  Mari had followed Mrs. Trilby and the constable to a nearby police station. It was better to have everything out in the open, though she hoped Edgar didn’t find any of this out until she had a chance to tell him herself.

  She’d been going to tell him the truth, directly after her meeting with Mr. Shadwell today.

  “There’s no law against lying, madam,” said the chief constable. “If it harms no one.”

  “His Grace will vouch for my service being exemplary,” Mari said.

  “Oh I’m sure he will, you wicked, wanton creature.” Mrs. Trilby rounded on the constable, her shoulders shaking with outrage. “When the Earl of Haddock informed me that one of my governesses had . . . had seduced a duke and was living with him in flagrant sin, in front of his children. Well! It’s my reputation that suffers, sir. And she isn’t one of my governesses. I took one look at her and knew the truth. She’s soiled and . . . and not superior in the least.”

  Haddock. She should have known. He’d found a way to hurt her after all.

  “No law against tupping a duke, madam,” the constable said in an exasperated tone. “Now, I do have other, more pressing matters to attend to.” He turned to Mari. “Miss Perkins, you’re free to leave now. Apologies for your trouble.”

  “This is an outrage!” said Mrs. Trilby. “The good name of my agency sullied in such a manner. Of course the duke won’t prosecute her. She has ensorcelled him with her favors.”

  She’d been branded a scarlet woman now, in front of a constable, and she hadn’t even been able to muster the will to deny it, because it was true.

  “Mrs. Trilby, I do apologize for misrepresenting myself to the duke, but you did promise me a position, and I was desperate. I had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to, and no money. You threw me out onto the street.”

  “Do not speak to me, you shameless girl. Mrs. Crowley must be turning over in her grave. To think a pupil from her school, one of her girls, behaved in such a manner. It’s unthinkable.”

  “Mrs. Crowley hated me and would no doubt feel vindicated by this turn of events.”

  “There, you see?” said Mrs. Trilby to the constable. “She doesn’t even dispute that she’s living in sin with that devil of a duke.”

  The constable sighed. “Mrs. Trilby, it seems to me that the only way anyone will know if one of your governesses might be, shall we say, intimate with her employer, will be if you tell them. So I suggest you keep your mouth closed, and all will be well.”

  Mari was beginning to like this constable.

  “I came here willingly,” Mari said, “so that you might hear my side of the story. But I really must be going now. I have an appointment with a lawyer.”

  “You can’t just let her leave, sir!” insisted Mrs. Trilby. “I demand that you charge her with defamation and fraudulent misrepresentation.”

  There was the sound of raised voices from the outer room. The constable perked up instantly. “Do you hear that, ladies? I’ve got to go. Important goings-on. Come along now, both of you, Mrs. Trilby. Miss Perki
ns.”

  Mrs. Trilby was forced to follow after the constable.

  Mari walked behind them. The shouting grew louder as they walked down the hallway.

  A furious male voice, deep and unmistakable.

  “What have you done with my governess?” Edgar roared.

  He stood in the center of the room, an immense, glowering monstrosity of a knight in shining armor. But would he defend her honor when he knew the truth? That she was in his house under false pretenses. That she’d deceived him.

  The clerk at the desk clapped his hands together. “Here she is, Your Grace. You see? We’re returning her to you.”

  “Mari.” He strode toward her, eyes steely and handsome face worried. “Did anyone touch you? Look at you the wrong way? Because if they did, I’ll have this entire station shut down.”

  “I’m unharmed,” said Mari.

  “She came willingly, Your Grace,” said the now anxious-looking constable. “She was treated with respect.”

  Mrs. Trilby made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “Respect? She’s unfit to be serving in your household, Your Grace. She’s an orphan. A charity girl of unknown origins. She lied to you. She’s not from my agency at all. She’s . . .”

  “Mrs. Trilby, I presume?” Edgar gave her the exact same look of dismissive, aristocratic disdain that his mother had used on Mari.

  Mrs. Trilby swallowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Please know one thing, Mrs. Trilby. I don’t care where she came from, or what she’s done. She could be the leader of the most notorious gang of cutthroats in this city and I would defend her honor, do I make myself understood?”

  The butterflies returned to Mari’s stomach in droves. His conviction took her breath away. “Thank you,” she said, wanting to touch him but holding herself in check.

  Mrs. Trilby pursed her lips. “You can’t honestly mean to say that you don’t care about the qualifications of your servants. She misrepresented herself. It’s a slanderous outrage on the sterling reputation of my agency and I will—”

  “You will be quiet, you awful woman.” Edgar stood at his full height, every inch the commanding, arrogant duke his gate would have society believe him to be. “You’re the one slandering my future duchess.”