The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “And over my dead body will I abandon you to some god-awful lunatic asylum. We defeated Boney, did we not?” Greyson snarled. “If His Grace thinks we will surrender you without a fight, he is mistaken.”

  “Indeed.” Warrington slapped his thighs. “After all, we are soldiers, and we will beat His Grace at his own game.” He opened and then closed his mouth. “At least, we will, somehow.”

  “One thing is certain.” Lord Michael leaned back in his chair, folded his arms. “If we are to triumph, we must work as a single entity. Else, divided, we must surely fail.”

  “And we must strategize our response, because I am certain His Grace has done the same.” Beaulieu seized control of the meeting, just as Anthony hoped, because he relied on his friend to protect Arabella in his absence. “Integral to victory or defeat is possession of Lady Arabella. Whoever holds the wife, and any issue, controls the engagement.”

  “Exactly,” Anthony inserted into the conversation. It was Beaulieu that would save the day, although he didn’t know it yet. “And in that respect, if you are willing to listen, I have a proposition.”

  *

  The sidewalks of Bond Street teemed with activity, as well-dressed Londoners patronized the exclusive boutiques that catered to society. While most young ladies lived in heightened anticipation of the opportunity to purchase new clothes, Arabella was not like most young ladies. Dragging her feet, because she detested all things frivolous and gratuitous, and shopping met those characterizations, in her estimation, Arabella followed her mother into the modiste’s establishment.

  “Mama, I do not understand why I require new gowns, when I am getting married and can take my things with me.” Arabella huffed a breath, when her mother signaled the modiste. “The lavender will suffice for the ceremony, given we bought it last season, thus it remains relatively new since you refuse to permit me to wear black.”

  “Arabella Hortence, will you be serious?” Mama snapped her fingers. “You cannot wed Lord Rockingham garbed in mourning attire, and mind your manners, because we have little time to accomplish our objectives, before we return home.”

  “Oh, all right.” While Arabella didn’t seriously expect Mama to relent, she surrendered her position, because she had bigger battles to fight, on behalf of her fiancé. “What do you prefer, Mama? You know, in medieval England, brides wore blue, as a sign of purity.”

  “You shall marry in silver lamé.” On her fingers, Mama ticked off a list. “With a mantua of silver tissue lined with white satin, trimmed with Brussels lace, and we must have embroidery.”

  “Is that not a tad presumptuous, Mama?” Arabella cringed, because she envisioned quite a spectacle. “I thought only royal brides wore silver.”

  “Nonsense.” Mama lifted her chin. “You are to be the next Duchess of Swanborough, and only the finest will do for my daughter. Given I have long dreamed of this day, I want everything to be perfect.”

  “Of course, Mama.” As usual, her mother observed the proprieties, thus Arabella resolved to cooperate. “I defer to your good judgment, in the matter, given I know naught of fashion.”

  For the next hour, she stood before a long mirror, while the designer measured, pinned, poked, and prodded Arabella, in an exercise she likened to torture. To endure the torment, she thought of Anthony and his father’s nefarious scheme, but she fidgeted beneath the stress of the situation, so she cleared her mind. When she yawned, her mother frowned.

  “Sorry, Mama.” Arabella stretched long and winced from a pinprick. “How much longer must I persist in this manner?”

  “My dear, quit complaining, because we have yet to visit the milliner or the hosiery.” Mama folded her arms, in a familiar affectation of impatience. “Then we must order stationery and cards, with your new name and the Rockingham coat of arms.” She tapped her chin. “And have you decided what you wish to give Lord Rockingham, as a small token of your esteem?”

  “Not yet.” At the moment, Arabella focused on the needles in the modiste’s hands. “But I have some ideas.”

  “We can discuss it, later.” From her reticule, Mama retrieved a piece of parchment, which she unfolded. “I almost forgot that we must have you fitted for new night rails and matching robes.” To the modiste, Mama said, “Have you any chiffon in pale pink and, perhaps, a soft white?”

  “I have some in the sewing room.” The portly designer adjusted her spectacles and signaled a young seamstress. “Fetch the two bolts of chiffon, on the back table.”

  “Mama.” Arabella huffed a breath. “You know my style, and I do not favor such fabrics. It is bad enough that you ordered lace for my wedding gown.”

  “The lady does not understand, n’est-ce pas?” The modiste tittered, as she draped a swath of emerald silk about Arabella’s shoulders and then knelt to adjust a hem, and Mama smiled. “But she will, soon enough.”

  “What is it, Mama?” Confused, Arabella inclined her head. “What did I miss?”

  “Perhaps, I should give you a moment.” The modiste scrambled to her feet. “I have some lovely Swiss voile lace, upstairs. If you will excuse me, I will bring it for your inspection, Lady Ainsworth.”

  “Thank you.” Mama sighed. “I will expound upon the topic this evening, because I have delayed long enough. But you must inspire Lord Rockingham, in order to produce an heir and satisfy His Grace’s requirements, and your current nightwear is inadequate to the task.”

  “You refer to marital relations.” Arabella gulped when she recalled the book, which featured detailed sketches of the human body, she hid beneath her pillow. Regardless of what the estimable author wrote, she thought the deed a physical impossibility. “And, more specifically, the wedding night.”

  “You know of such things?” Mama furrowed her brow, sobered, and then whispered, “Arabella, have you dallied with Lord Rockingham? Has he made improper advances on your person?”

  “No.” At least, she assumed he hadn’t. “But I may have made improper advances on him.” Biting her lip, she reflected on their sweet and oh-so-fascinating trysts. “How does one know what is and is not proper, when kissing one’s fiancé, Mama?”

  “Arabella.” Mama pressed a palm to her chest. “Upon my word, but you quite shock me.” In that instant, the modiste returned, and Mama came alert. “Madame Clothilde, I am afraid we are called to another appointment, and I must reschedule.”

  “But, of course, Lady Ainsworth.” The modiste bowed. “I am, as ever, at your ladyship’s disposal, and I shall begin construction of Lady Arabella’s gown, to your specifications, tout suite.” With care, Madame Clothilde removed the fabric from Arabella’s shoulders. “And whenever you return, I shall make myself available.”

  “Thank you.” Mama checked her appearance and clapped twice. “Come along, Arabella.”

  “Yes, Mama.” With her mind racing, Arabella rushed to the sidewalk, where the family carriage parked. A footman held open the door, and she stepped into the elegant equipage, emblazoned with the Ainsworth coat of arms, which she always admired as a little girl. In a few days, the same conveyance would deliver her to the Duke of Swanborough’s residence in Grosvenor Square for her wedding. When she settled into the squabs, opposite her mother, she reflected on her sweet exchanges with Anthony and wondered how anything that felt so good could be wrong.

  “Around the park, until I say otherwise.” Mama flung aside her reticule and smoothed a stray lock of hair. “All right, young lady. Out with it.”

  “Out with—what?” In light of her mother’s disapproving stance, Arabella shifted in her seat and toyed with the hem of her sleeve. “Lord Rockingham is my betrothed, is he not? Why should we not kiss?” Yes, she omitted any mention of his risqué caresses of her breasts, because that behavior seemed a tad controversial. “Where is the harm?”

  “Your questions evidence your naïveté, because most such exchanges do not end with a kiss, and you would do well to remember that, until you speak the vows.” Mama shook her head. “Really, Arabella, how cou
ld you be so careless with your reputation? And I thought you were smarter than that, given all your intellectual books and erudite opinions.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She bristled at the criticism. “What do you mean, Mama?”

  “Do you really think you fool me?” Her mother snickered. “Why do you believe I insisted on the best education, after your father agreed to send you to boarding school?”

  “But, you protested, because you said highborn ladies had no need of knowledge.” Indeed, Arabella committed Mama’s argument to memory. “I distinctly recall your position, given it conflicted so completely with mine.”

  “Oh, my poor child.” Mama smiled a sly smile, which Arabella could not quite decipher. “You may know much of science and literature, and you may be a strong supporter of female emancipation, but you remain ignorant in the ways of men and women. You should have guessed that I adopted the opposing perspective, of the hysterical woman, so your father might assume the posture of male superiority and overrule what he described as my ‘unfounded fears brought about by my delicate nature.’ Regardless of his incorrect supposition, I got what I wanted, just like you hid the medical treatise beneath that lowbrow novel and my cookbook, which I selected to distract your father.”

  “You knew about that?” Looking on her mother, as if for the first time, Arabella sank in the cushions. “You knew about everything?”

  “Of course.” Mama shrugged and arched a brow. “And you should know that the easiest way to maneuver a man, if you please, is to advocate against that which you desire. Believe me, it works with uncanny precision, because men cannot bring themselves to admit we know best, and they are honor-bound to dispute our judgment.”

  “That is why you objected to my private tutelage, when I returned home.” When Mama nodded, Arabella gave vent to a strangled cry. “Why did you not tell me? All these years, I thought us at odds, Mama.”

  “Not so, anymore.” Leaning forward, Mama reached for Arabella, and they clasped hands. “And I would have you seize the chance fate delivered to your feet, because Lord Rockingham is a man of honor, despite his impairment. You may even know love, Arabella.”

  “Love?” She laughed. “I do not believe in love, Mama. That emotion is naught but a fairy story contrived to oppress women, because they seek that which is unattainable.” She lifted her chin. “I shall never fall prey to such fantasies.”

  “I caution you not to be too quick to discount what could be the greatest adventure of your life, my dear.” Mama relaxed. “Because I assure you love exists.”

  “Mama, are you telling me that you love Papa?” Arabella considered the prospect but remained unconvinced. “Forgive me, but I never would have presumed it.”

  “No.” Mama shook her head. “While I am quite fond of your father, love never entered the equation, given I married him out of duty, as was required of me.” She sniffed. “But don’t get me wrong, because we are friends, and he never hurt me. When he claimed my bride’s prize, he was gentle, reassuring, and never rushed me. The years passed, and we grew as a couple. Unlike some society husbands, he never shamed me. When he took a mistress, he exercised discretion, and for that I am grateful, because not many so-called gentlemen concern themselves with their wife’s social status.”

  “If you don’t love Papa, how do you know there is such a thing?” To Arabella’s surprise, Mama changed seats, and they clasped hands. “What is it? What do you hide?”

  “I was in love, once, when I was but a girl of six and ten.” Mama averted her stare. “His name was Nigel, and he was a stableman in service to my family.”

  “A stableman?” Stunned by the revelation, given Mama’s usual stalwart demeanor, Arabella’s heart raced. No matter how she approached the situation, she could not imagine her mother pining for a servant. “What happened to him, and why have I never heard of this story?”

  “It is not the sort of thing one discusses, is it?” With her thumb, Mama drew imaginary circles in Arabella’s palm. The habit harkened to her youth, when she fidgeted during church. “And it did not last long, because my father sent Nigel away. We never saw each other again, but Nigel is never far from my thoughts.” With a wistful expression, she sighed. “So, tell me of Lord Rockingham. I promise, I will not be angry.”

  “Oh, Mama, he is not what I expected.” Arabella envisioned her groom and grinned. “He talks to me, and he values my spirit, because he said as much.”

  “Then you are not afraid of him?” Mama tipped Arabella’s chin. “Because His Grace is convinced of his son’s mental infirmity.”

  “Mama, if I harbor any apprehension, it is the possibility that His Grace might succeed in committing Anthony—Lord Rockingham—to an asylum, because there is nothing wrong with him.”

  “But His Grace insists Lord Rockingham presents a viable danger to you and any prospective heir, which is why your father secured His Grace’s pledge to shield you.” When Arabella squeezed her mother’s hands, Mama compressed her lips. “What occurred between you and Lord Rockingham, that you support his cause with such fortitude?”

  “Not more than a few kisses, and while I do not understand His Grace’s penchant for besmirching his son’s sanity, I can assure you that Lord Rockingham is quite sane.” Somehow, she had to convince her mother of the truth, so she related the information contained in Dr. Larrey’s study, along with Anthony’s symptoms, that she might secure an ally. “Mama, as God is my witness, I swear to you, if Lord Rockingham is guilty of anything, if he has any fault, it is that he is human. Given what he endured on the Continent, and the loss of his left hand, he is to be admired, not declared insane and imprisoned. If I am to be his wife, you should know I will fight His Grace with every fiber of my being. I will use any means at my disposal. I will give my life, if necessary, to protect my husband, before I allow anyone to take Lord Rockingham from me.”

  “You are that determined?” Mama asked with more than a little incredulity. “You believe in him that much?”

  “I do, and Lord Rockingham needs me.” It was not the first time Arabella realized she needed Anthony, because he functioned as her purpose, and hell would freeze before she let him down. With shoulders squared, she faced her mother, because she would leave no doubts regarding the constancy of her commitment. “The day may come when I must rely on your support, in order to protect Lord Rockingham, because I cannot do it alone. I would like to know I have your support, Mama.”

  “My dearest child, I have always been on your side.” She cupped Arabella’s cheek. “Never forget that, despite appearances, I have your best interests at heart, and I will assume a position to achieve your goal, even when it seems we are at odds.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mama.” Indeed, Arabella needed her mother’s kindness just then. “Know that I will not involve you, unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  “Of course.” Sitting erect, Mama wagged a finger. “Now, promise you will not kiss Lord Rockingham, again, until you are married.”

  Chapter Nine

  Two days before his wedding, Anthony accompanied his parents to another in a long list of gross displays of opulence that characterized the ton. If not for his singular motive for joining the festivities, he would have stayed home. Garbed in the customary black formal wear, he stepped from the ducal coach. Tugging at his cravat, he glanced at the star-filled night sky and inhaled a deep breath.

  Despite what he told Arabella, he had yet to set things right with his father, but he didn’t want her to worry. Besides, he believed his fiancée’s account may have been slightly exaggerated. At least, he hoped she exaggerated. Still, he needed to clear the matter with his father. At every opportunity, he tried to engage his father, but his endeavors went ignored for one reason or another.

  “Anthony, stop delaying.” Tapping his foot in an impatient rhythm, Father cleared his throat. “You are to make your final public appearance with Lady Arabella, prior to your nuptials, and you will not disappoint me, so you had better adopt a smile, now.”<
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  “Father, a moment, please.” After several unsuccessful attempts to speak with his father, Anthony spied his chance. In the event he was wrong, and Arabella spoke the unvarnished truth, he had to intervene. Were he alone at risk, he would not protest, but he would do anything to protect Arabella, even if it meant playing the part of besotted groom, to appease his father. “I promise, it will take but a few minutes.”

  “All right.” Father huffed and said to Mama, “Johanna, wait for us at the entry, and we will navigate the receiving line as a family.”

  “Of course.” Mama nodded. “But don’t tarry, and do not fight in the street like a couple of ruffians, else I shall be vexed with you.”

  “Worry not, Mama.” Anthony waved to her. “And we shall soon follow.”

  “Well?” Father replied in a sharp tone and folded his arms. “Out with it, but if you wish to advance another objection to your impending union, then you waste your time, because I am done obliging you. You will do your duty, with or without your cooperation.”

  The declaration, unmistakable in its meaning, suggested Arabella didn’t exaggerate.

  Anthony was in trouble.

  “You mistake my intent, because I have no desire to argue against my wedding.” Nervous, he paused, recalled his purpose, and checked his tone. No matter what happened after the ceremony, his struggle was just beginning. “I simply wanted to say how grateful I am to have Lady Arabella for my future wife. Indeed, you were right about her. She is a very fine woman, and I am genuinely happy about the upcoming marriage.”

  “Really?” With a countenance of surprise, Father opened his mouth and then closed it. He arched his brows. “I am delighted to hear it, but why the change of heart, when you have done naught but protest?”

  “I know my duty, and I will not fail you, but there is another reason for my new perspective.” Squaring his shoulders, Anthony gained his footing. For a moment, he mulled his response and composed a few falsehoods he doubted he could deliver with any degree of sincerity. At last, he settled for the truth. “To be honest, I like Lady Arabella. She is beautiful, possessed of uncommon intelligence, and excellent company. So there is no need to worry, because I shall be a most attentive fiancé, this evening.”