The Duke's Second Chance

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  He nodded. “You have the right of it. Precisely.”

  Morley frowned.

  “And I imagine you are wishing in this moment to find a way to amuse yourself elsewhere.”

  “Quite right.”

  Morley coughed into his hand.

  Gerald stood, and so everyone in the room followed suit. They curtseyed or bowed, depending and then Morley and Gerald left together.

  As soon as the door shut behind Gerald, Morley muttered, “You can’t be considering this situation seriously.”

  Gerald paused in the hallway. “I don’t even know what I’m considering.”

  “You hardly know her. She could be any number of things.”

  “But she would take care of everything and just let me live. You heard her. She’s a regular staff member.”

  Morley snorted. “She is absolutely not. And she will have considerable power. You’ve your tenants to consider as well as the members of the ton. Give it some time. You don’t even know if you can stand to be in the same room with her.” He waved his hand. “So far, not for very long.”

  “True.” He gripped his friend on the shoulder. “You have the right of it. I don’t know what’s come over me, but suddenly a decision unmade seems more painful than making the wrong choice.”

  “Promise me you’ll give it some time. Four months. Six months, before even considering this hair-brained plot of your mother’s.”

  “But what if she’s snatched up?”

  “You don’t think you can find another woman willing to be your duchess?” Morley raised both eyebrows in obvious mockery.

  “It’s not that. I don’t expect you to understand, but I cannot have some doe eyed beauty hoping for things from me I just can’t give.” He didn’t voice his fear that somehow she’d remind him of his dear Camilla or that he’d forget Camilla in the face of another new debutante sharing his life.

  “And she doesn’t seem to care if we don’t share a life.

  “You’re right I don’t understand but I believe you and I respect that notion. I’m just saying, as your oldest friend, you do not want to rush this. There is no hurry.”

  Gerald nodded. “You’re right. You’re right.” His gaze flicked to the front door. “Perhaps I’ll get some air.”

  “Do you want company?”

  “No. I need the space. I’ll ask a footman to follow.”

  Morley studied him for a moment more. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Gerald nodded absentmindedly. “I suppose I shall.” The lie he spoke to pacify his friend felt bitter on his lips. He’d never be fine, not ever again. The door closed behind the footman.

  “Stay far back. I want to pretend you aren’t there.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  Gerald thought he’d be meandering to the park; even in the dark it sounded like a good direction, but his feet picked up their pace, and he soon saw himself standing outside the tea room. Again the lights were on; the woman stood at the back counter, eyeing the door as if she were looking for him.

  He pushed open the door and the smile that filled her face welcomed him into the warm candlelight and the flickering friendly shadows from the fire in the grate. “Hello. Again.”

  “Come in. I’ve saved some hot tea for you.”

  “How did you know I was coming?”

  “Oh, I didn’t, but something said you just might.”

  “Something did?”

  She nodded and stepped closer to him. For a moment he thought he might have seen the doe eyed look he got from all the debutantes when he was single, but she blinked and it disappeared so quickly he knew he must have imagined it. He pulled out a chair. “May I?”

  “Of course.” She gathered the items for tea onto a tray and brought it to him. “Shall I pour?”

  “Yes, please, but this time, I’d like my tea how I usually take it.”

  Her eyes sparkled in pleasure. “Which is?”

  It felt so intimate to be sharing his tea preference with another outside his household, though he knew he told many a lady in many a drawing room how he’d like his tea. And he sat in a tea room, where tea preferences were shared by the fifties every day. But something about telling this woman how he’d like his tea, felt personal. “One scoop sugar. Half cream, half tea.”

  She nodded, poured and stirred before handing him his cup on a saucer. This time she poured herself one as well and to his surprise, made her tea just as he had. Then she sat opposite and asked, “There’s something different today?”

  “I hardly know… I’ve named my son.”

  ”That’s wonderful!”

  “Yes, Richard, Gerald Campbell. After my father, and me.”

  “Lovely strong name.”

  “For a moment, I felt happy today.” Guilt rose up at the admission. “But I still miss her and cannot imagine that ending any time soon.”

  “Of course you do.” But as she studied him, her face turned calculating. “That’s not it. What else?”

  He shook his head. “How could you even know?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Am I correct?”

  “I would like to ask your opinion.” He felt a bit sheepish that she could read him so easily. And he felt a little ridiculous saying what he was about to say. “My mother introduced me to another lady.”

  She leaned back, surprised.

  He held up his hand. “I know. Hear me out. She’s nothing like Camilla. She’s not much to look at. And I feel no connection.”’

  “So, you’ll tell your mother no? Not to mention, it’s way too soon…”

  “No, I know that sounds like the sensible solution, but I was thinking about considering bringing on another Duchess.”

  She sucked in a breath and then cleared the expression on her face. “Bringing on.”

  “Yes, like a member of the staff, or something. Someone to take care of the estate, manage my son’s affairs, and live…live in a different house than I.”

  He watched her struggle to school her features. “I see. And then…”

  “What do you mean, and then?”

  “Well, marriage lasts a long time. In five years, ten, twenty…”

  He waved his hand, beginning to feel annoyed that she didn’t support his new idea. They’d felt a real connection, like his own personal angel or something the other night, and now she was immensely annoying. “I don’t suppose it matters much, does it? Since I’ve lost the only thing that really matters already, the rest is just waiting out my days.” There, he’d said it. “And my son deserves someone to think of him.”

  “It seems like you have it all figured out then?”

  “I think I do.”

  She nodded. Then sipped her tea as though they were discussing the weather.

  “That’s all you have to say on the matter?”

  “I’m not sure what else there is to say, Your Grace.”

  His gaze shot to hers. Had he told her he was the duke? The way she said it sounded almost accusatory. Well, he didn’t know what he’d done to be the focus of anyone’s blame. Suddenly his time in this tea shop felt more stifling than comforting. He stood to leave. She slowly rose with him. They stood, not quite close, but definitely closer than they had before. The gold specks in her eyes seemed suddenly sorrowful, the turn of her nose seemed less fairylike and the very energy that seemed to bounce her on her toes fizzled. Her hair shone in the candle light. He long slender neck open and bare. For the first time, he wondered how old she was, from whence she came and why her shop was open so late. He’d thought her a gift, perhaps otherworldly even. But here she was, a real woman, and a disapproving one at that. The obvious censure jarred him.

  He bowed, crisp, the formality of the motion brought him purpose, and a detachment that he needed. Then he turned to leave. She could disapprove all she wanted. She didn’t know what he faced, didn’t understand what he needed.

  “Goodbye.” Her small voice carried to him just as the door closed behind him.


  “Goodbye.” His steps back to his townhome were slow but purposeful. He’d marry. Tomorrow, next week, it didn’t matter. And then leave his life in the new Duchess’s hands.

  5

  Amelia’s head fell into her hands at the table in the tea room. The duke? “The blooming duke.” Her mother would not approve of her language, but what else could Amelia say? His signet ring had reflected the light from the fire, and she’d not mistake that coat of arms anywhere. Then he’d said his name and it had taken all her self control to maintain a calm expression. She’d entertained the duke late at night in her little tea shop, thought she had some ridiculous soul match with the… duke? The only thing she’d been right about was the incredible impossibility that he would ever be a part of her life. The presumption to talk so familiarly with a member of the peerage made her want to cower in embarrassment. The duke! “I have to stop saying duke over and over in my mind.” She sat up and stared out into the darkness. “And I should really stop talking to myself.”

  She stood and brought the tray back to the kitchen where she used tomorrow’s bucket of water to wash up the service. Every time she thought of her conversation, she cringed until each cup and saucer had been returned to its place. And then her mind turned to the duke’s ridiculous plan. Was he really going to marry again so soon? To a woman he didn’t know?

  From what she remembered of grief, he likely imagined he’d never be happy again. And therefore didn’t care what choices he made, because he was doomed to sadness.

  And there was a child involved. He must get to know the woman who would be the baby’s mother before marrying her. What if the woman was mean? Difficult to live with? Prone to fits of temper? She plodded up the stairs and again, instead of going to bed, she pulled out her drawings. There was a recklessness in the duke’s eyes she wanted to capture, a sort of crazed abandon. Would he go through with this unwise plan? She would know when she looked into those eyes again.

  The scratch of charcoal on paper should have soothed her, but she was driven with a feverish fear of discovery and a real concern the duke was about to make a huge mistake. She pushed forward as the candles burned down, and when she was finished, she stared into the intensity of his eyes and knew. He was going to ask this stranger to marry him. Tonight, if he could.

  She couldn’t let him do it.

  How could she possibly stop him?

  She shook her head, “What has any of this to do with me?” She stood up, pacing in her room. “Amelia. You are being ridiculous.” The duke’s life was his own. And what influence did she have? She’d had her say when he was seeking her opinion.

  She stopped. The duke sought her opinion? About something so life altering as the choice of a new wife? She sat and hugged herself. What if she was the only person he was listening to? What if she’d blown it by not coming out strongly enough against such an idea?

  She ran to her closet and grabbed her cloak, tip toed down the stairs and crept out the back door. She couldn’t think, she just ran. The duke’s townhome sat right across from the park, just up the street from her tea shop where a whole row of other members of the peerage also owned homes. And she was heading in that direction as though she belonged, not just heading, running. Her feet picked up because she knew if she stopped, she’d turn around and head right back to her correct place and station.

  But she couldn’t. A part of her knew she must do something. She stopped running as soon as his home was in sight. And she caught her breath. And she fought every inclination that warned her away from this place. Ladies did not call on men alone. Tea shop workers never called on the peerage, ever. She squeezed her eyes shut. Did she dare?

  Instead of hiding, she stepped up to the front door. But her hand wouldn’t lift the knocker. She couldn’t move. Suddenly she was frozen in place in the most awkward of locations. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she raised a shaky hand to the knocker. After a half breath, a tall and stately man answered. “May I help you?” His stern expression was almost enough to send her running away, but she swallowed twice and kept him waiting so long, one eyebrow rose.

  Then she said, “Excuse me. I would like an audience with his grace?” Grace came out in a squeak and she wanted to kick herself, but she stood her ground.

  He said. “I’m sorry but his grace is not seeing anyone. The family is in full mourning. Might I tell him who is calling? Have you a card I could leave?” He raised his nose at that suggestion. Perhaps he knew already she was not the type to be carrying or leaving cards at the homes of the peerage.

  “It is actually quite urgent. Perhaps I might leave him a … note, or use one of your cards. I’m sorry I haven’t brought any of my own…”

  He opened his mouth but a voice from behind, in the entryway, stopped his obviously negative response. “What is it Palling.”

  The butler stepped aside and indicated Amelia with his hand. “A miss…”

  “Amelia Dickson.”

  “Amelia Dickson to see His Grace.”

  A tall man with kind eyes held out his hand. “Lord Morley. Pleased to meet you. Might I ask the nature of this visit?”

  “Are you…are you a friend of the duke?”

  His mouth twitched in amusement, but he limited the twitch and did not smile at her expense. “I am his best.”

  “Oh, then perhaps I might speak with you. You see, when he and I were talking earlier…”

  “Excuse me, but did you say you have seen him this evening?” He stepped forward and looked up and down the street. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Oh, yes, please.” She looked over her shoulder. The night air was chilly and the street empty.

  Lord Morley led her a short way into the home and then stepped into a study. “Do come in. I shall leave the doorway open. Most of the servants have done to bed, and I don’t want the nature of our conversation to go any further.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He indicated that she sit. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve come to say?”

  She eyed him for a moment. What she knew was a confidence the duke had shared with her probably because he assumed there was little chance she would ever share the information with anyone else. “Where is he, exactly?”

  “I was hoping you could help me to discover the answer to that question. He hasn’t returned.”

  “Oh that could very well be good news indeed.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Or the very worst.” She cleared her throat. “I think he’s planning to make a bold and brash move perhaps even this evening, and I’ve come to speak up and tell him he mustn’t.”

  The man’s eyebrows rose up into his hairline. “And how do you know the duke?”

  She felt her face heat and when his eyebrows rose even further, she shook her head and waved her hands around. “No, it’s not like that at all.”

  “Not like what, precisely?” He leaned forward in his chair. “Why don’t you tell me what it is.”

  “I’m merely trying to determine how much he would like you to know.”

  “You aren’t helping the conversation leave a certain assumption.”

  “I know. Oh good heavens, I know.” She looked away, more mortified than she had ever been. “He came to my tea shop a month past, four months on the day that Camilla died.”

  He just stared.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon. The night Her Grace passed.”

  “Had you ever met him before?”

  “No, and I didn’t know who he was. I was working late, cleaning up the shop, and hadn’t locked the door or anything yet. He stepped inside and I just brought him tea like I would any other customer. But he talked and I sat with him. And.” She closed her eyes, smiling at the memory. “It was nice.” She shrugged. “I wondered if I’d ever seen him again, but I saw his ring just now, and I was flummoxed that I’d been sitting all chummy with the Duke of Granbury.” She fanned herself. “Not that I don’t serve the peerage all day lo
ng. The shop is right here in Grosvenor Square, but for a moment, I was his friend.”

  The man cleared his throat, interrupting her reverie.

  “Yes, well, anyway, to the point, I didn’t think I’d see him again. And I was pleased to help a man in such a desperate and lonely state. But he came back tonight. This time was different. He wasn’t quiet and contemplative, he was frenzied and desperate. He mentioned that his mother and sister want him to remarry, that they’d chosen a woman. I suggested it was too soon.”

  Lord Morley held up a finger, nodded and snorted his apparent agreement.

  “But he didn’t seem to agree, he thought, I think he thought that bringing on a new duchess would be a way to make his life easier.” She let out her breath. “And I didn’t discourage him enough. I didn’t know if he was serious or not, to be honest, but after he left when I looked at my sketches, I knew…I knew, he was going to make a desperate and might I be frank, unwise, move.”

  “And so you came here, to dissuade him?” His mouth dropped open. “You are one incredible woman.”

  She felt her toes heat, so embarrassed and uncomfortable at his praise. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. I just knew I had to try.” She looked behind her. “Is the woman…here?”

  “No. She’s staying at her own townhome, which isn’t far.”

  Fear twisted in her gut. “You don’t suppose…”

  Lord Morley stood. “Perhaps we can dissuade him together?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  She hurried to the door with Lord Morley following right after. As he took his cloak from the butler, he asked, “and what has you invested in his decisions?”

  “I have no idea. I just knew it was a terrible idea.”

  “I see. Perhaps it isn’t too terrible.”

  “Perhaps, but the key is, we don’t know, do we? Forgive me, I’m being too bold.”

  “After showing up here in the middle of the night to stop a perfect stranger from proposing, a duke no less, nothing you say or do will be too bold. Feel at ease.”