When the Duke Found Love

by Isabella Bradford

“It is dreadful,” Mama said, her voice dropping lower with confidential horror. “I would never have thought such a thing of Lady Enid. For a lady to leave a gentleman whom she has promised to wed—why, it is every bit as disgraceful as if she left her husband!”

  Diana shook her head, thinking wistfully of how happy Lady Enid and Dr. Pullings were together, and how well suited they were to each other.

  “But what if Lady Enid loved the other gentleman more, Mama?” she said. “Wouldn’t it be equally disgraceful for her to marry Sheffield?”

  “Really, Diana,” Mama said, clucking her tongue with dismay. “How many times must we repeat this? The happiest marriages are made with respect and regard at their base, with love to follow. Consider your own match with Lord Crump, and how satisfactorily it is proceeding. If only Lady Enid had put aside her girlish infatuations, as you have done, and persevered with Sheffield! I’m certain that she would have been far happier with a duke than with a parson. Who knows what poor Sheffield will do now?”

  Diana didn’t answer. Poor Sheffield wasn’t poor, and never would be. But she was the one who’d forgotten Mama’s cautious wisdom, forgotten her well-reasoned match with Lord Crump, forgotten everything except the empty promise of love that Sheffield had offered her, glittering there like fool’s gold.

  “I expect he’ll find another lady soon enough,” Charlotte said, swaying to calm Georgie, who’d grown restless in her arms. “Sheffield does need a wife, and he is a duke, and wealthy, besides.”

  “That’s not what Brecon believes,” Mama said. “Brecon fears that this turn of events will quite wound Sheffield, with the most dire of consequences.”

  “When did you converse with Brecon?” Charlotte asked with surprise, finally passing Georgie to a waiting nursemaid. “I thought you’d gone to Mrs. Cartwright’s.”

  Mama brushed her hand before her face, shooing away an insect, or perhaps Charlotte’s question, too.

  “I was with Mrs. Cartwright, yes,” she said. “But when I was finished there and had heard the news, I happened upon Brecon in the street. He is certain that Sheffield will now abandon us all completely and return to France. He may have gone already, to avoid the talk.”

  “Who can fault poor Sheffield for that?” Charlotte said, raising her voice over the baby’s howls. “Think of what the men must be saying in the clubs! He has had such a dreadful reputation for tempting ladies to be faithless, and now to have the tables turned upon him!”

  Mama waited as the nursery maid calmed Georgie. “What Brecon fears most, of course, is that now Sheffield will marry some French lady instead. Preserve us, a French lady!”

  Diana gulped and stared down at the grass so no one would notice the truth that must surely show in her eyes.

  “Oh, dear,” Charlotte said, listening to the servant who had come to whisper a discreet message. “Diana, Lord Crump is here to see you.”

  “Now?” Diana looked up swiftly. “Here?”

  “You can’t have him shown here,” Mama protested. “He is a bachelor gentleman, and he won’t be at ease with the children about.”

  Charlotte nodded to the servant to fetch the marquis. “He’s a bachelor, soon to be a groom. The sooner he learns how to adapt to children, the better it will be for his own.”

  “But it is the middle of the day, when he is always occupied with his business affairs,” Diana said, bewildered, her emotions so confused she could not begin to sort them. “How can he be here now?”

  “Because clearly he could not bear to keep away from you, dear,” Mama said, smiling fondly. “Now come, gather yourself. Where are your shoes and stockings?”

  Diana scrambled to her feet, brushing bits of grass and soil from her skirts. What had been perfectly appropriate for playing with Jamie was not at all right to receive the fastidious Lord Crump. Her clothes were worn, grass-stained, and rumpled, and she looked more like the village goose keeper than a future marchioness.

  “My shoes are upstairs,” she said with dismay. “I must go have Sarah dress me properly so—”

  “There’s no time,” Charlotte said serenely, as always the very picture of a duchess, even here in the garden. “Here’s Lord Crump now.”

  Here he was indeed, stalking along the garden path behind a footman. Dressed in his customary black mourning and white wig, he did not look so much like an ardent suitor as a determined one. Without so much as a hint of a smile, he first greeted Charlotte, then Mama, before finally coming to Diana.

  She sank into as graceful a curtsey as could be managed in bare feet, remaining down until he gave her leave to rise with his usual gesture, an almost impatiently brisk flip of his fingers. The first time he’d done it, Diana had been wounded, wondering why he didn’t take her hand to raise her, as more gallant gentlemen would. Now she merely accepted it as only another of Lord Crump’s little quirks. At least this one would end when they were wed and therefore of equal rank, and she need no longer curtsey to him.

  “Lady Diana, good day,” he said, a genteel greeting undermined by his perplexed expression as he stared at her rumpled clothes. “Forgive me for having called at such an inopportune hour. I appear to have disturbed you.”

  “I was playing with Lord Fitzcharles, Lord Pennington, and Lady Amelia, my lord,” Diana said quickly. “The children.”

  “Ah,” he said. “The children.”

  As if cued by a prompter, the baby loosed a rising wail of unhappiness. Showing empathy for their brother’s misery, the twins likewise began to cry, sobbing and blubbering and burying their faces in their nursery maid’s skirts. It was a familiar enough racket to everyone in the garden save Lord Crump, whose pale face so filled with horrified repulsion that Diana almost expected him to begin crying, too.

  At once Charlotte motioned to the nursery maids to remove the children, giving last little pats and kisses to console them as they were carried past her. Their wails continued long after they had left the garden, echoing distantly from within the house.

  “Pray forgive my little ones, Lord Crump,” Charlotte said, her smile full of apology. “It is the way of all children, I fear. When weariness seizes them, they must cry, and there is no help for it but to put them to bed.”

  Mama smiled, too, bending a fraction to one side as two footmen set the tea table before her.

  “I know children’s voices must seem a savage din now, Lord Crump,” Lady Hervey said. “But once you are a father yourself and the children are yours, you will come to believe the sound the sweetest under heaven. Would you care for tea, Lord Crump?”

  “Thank you, no, Lady Hervey,” he said, finally taking the nearest chair as Diana, too, sat in a chair instead of the grass. He drew his handkerchief from his pocket and tipped his hat back long enough to blot his forehead around the edge of his wig. “I have come not for refreshment, but with purpose and resolve.”

  He cleared his throat with a ragged rumble, apparently to vocalize that purpose and resolve. “I have this morning learned that I must leave London within the week, and will be away for some months’ time. His Majesty has honored me with a special commission to observe and report on the collieries of the Manchester coalfields, and how these mines may be best developed and encouraged for increased usefulness to the country.”

  Diana nodded encouragingly and tried not to think of how this sounded like the dullest, least interesting topic imaginable. He had not a smidgeon of Sheffield’s wit or charm. But Lord Clump was here with her, and not on his way to France; she must remember that.

  “What a handsome honor to receive from His Majesty,” Mama said, smiling warmly as she poured tea for herself and her daughters. “To be sure, we will miss you whilst you are away, but we must begin wedding plans in earnest so that when you return we—”

  “Forgive me, Lady Hervey,” he said, interrupting with rare urgency. “But that is exactly why I have come this day. My duty will take me far from London and among strangers, and a wife would prove useful to me. In short, Lady Hervey, I wish
to marry Lady Diana as soon as can be decently arranged, so that she might accompany me as my wife.”

  Diana gasped softly, pressing her hands to her mouth with shock. He wished to wed her at once, within days. He would never know she was ruined, and if in a few weeks’ time she found herself with child, she would never know for certain if it was Sheffield’s or her husband’s. It was not exactly an honorable solution, but it was a kind of salvation, offered by the unlovely hand of Lord Crump.

  “You wish to marry my daughter before you leave, Lord Crump?” Mama set the teapot back down on the table with a thump. “Forgive me, Lord Crump, but that is quite, quite impossible! At least three weeks are required for the banns to be read—”

  “Not with a special license,” Lord Crump said. “I have already taken the liberty of procuring one.”

  “But we had agreed upon the autumn,” Mama insisted, “or perhaps at Christmastide, when you would be done with your mourning!”

  “I cannot believe that you would ask such a thing of my sister, Lord Crump,” exclaimed Charlotte indignantly. “To make the Manchester coal mines her wedding trip! To expect her to begin her wedded life in some mean lodgings, without a proper household or staff to call her own!”

  But Lord Crump ignored them and instead turned toward Diana. He was no more handsome than when they had first met, no more agreeable, no more charming. He wished to marry her now only because she would be “useful.” There was nothing of the gallant about him. He’d yet to press those thin, pale lips against hers in a kiss, and she could not begin to imagine him making love to her the way that Sheffield had.

  But Sheffield had coaxed and warmed her heart with meaningless promises of love, and then had vanished. With Lord Crump, her heart would be cold and achingly empty, but it would be unbroken. Truly, it was no choice at all.

  “I will do it,” she said softly, so softly that she feared at first no one would hear her. “I am honored, Lord Crump, by your—your eagerness, and I will wed you as soon as you wish.”

  Sheffield stood waiting beside the fireplace in Lady Hervey’s green room, running his fingers restlessly along the carved marble mantel. On the nearest chair were the flowers he’d brought for Diana, an exuberant bouquet of early roses tied up with silk ribbons, and in his waistcoat, over his heart, was his mother’s ring in readiness.

  He was determined to do this properly. He had waited one day after Lady Enid had broken their empty engagement, and then another day after that, to make sure that Lord Lattimore failed to find his wayward daughter, and to let the gossip die down a bit. He would first ask Lady Hervey for her daughter’s hand, and then, once she agreed (as of course she must; he was confident that a duke always trumped a mere marquis, especially such a sorry specimen as Lord Crump), he’d ask to see Diana. He would propose exactly as he should, pleading his case on his knees the way that poets recommended, and then he’d put his mother’s ring on her finger himself.

  He would demand a swift wedding, too. Not only did he wish to begin the adventure that would be his life with Diana immediately, but he was also conscious of the possibility of a child. He did not want his child—their child—to be branded a bastard and Diana called much worse, and only marriage could prevent it. A hasty wedding would once again make him a seven days’ wonder, another golden gift to the London gossips, but he did not care. He would have Diana, and nothing else mattered beyond that.

  Again he glanced at his watch, shot his cuffs, and smoothed his sleeves. Damnation, what was keeping Lady Hervey? He sighed and swept his gaze around the room. The wallpaper here was dreadful, huge yellow and white tulips fit for nightmares. He hoped Diana didn’t share Charlotte’s taste and expect to festoon the walls of Sheffield House with monstrous blooms like these. He’d have to speak up if she did. True, wallpapers and such were the ladies’ purview, but he knew what was agreeable and what wasn’t, and he’d be damned if he let—

  A small porcelain shepherd crashed from a high shelf to the floor, the head flying off and skittering under one of the chairs. Startled, Sheffield looked up to the shelf for the reason for the shepherd’s sudden, fatal dive. The reason was obvious: a small patchwork mongrel of a cat was sitting there, her tail neatly curled around her paws as she surveyed him.

  He smiled up at the little cat, not only because he had a tenderness for all beasts but because this cat must be Diana’s pet, beloved Fig. What other excuse could she have to be here, given that cats were not ordinarily given free rein of ducal houses?

  “Hey, Fig, hey,” he said softly, standing beneath the shelf. The cat blinked and stretched, striving to be nonchalant even as she watched him intently. He held up his hand, which she delicately sniffed. He took that as a welcoming sign, and carefully scooped her into his arms. At once she nestled against his chest, rubbing her head against the buttons on his coat. Clearly he’d won the favor of Diana’s cat; now to be equally fortunate with her as well.

  He was rubbing his fingers lightly between the cat’s ears, a place that, in his experience, all felines enjoyed, when the door behind him swung open.

  “Fig, blast you, where are you?” Diana said, scowling fiercely until she saw Sheffield. Then she froze, her fingers tight on the door latch and her blue eyes wide with surprise.

  “Good day,” he said softly, the same voice he’d used to coax the little cat. Only two days had passed since he’d last seen her, yet it felt like an eternity. It almost hurt to look at her now, he’d missed her that much, and yet nothing could make him look away. She wore a plain gown, some pale pink filminess that gave her an ethereal air, or would have if it hadn’t clung so splendidly to her breasts and waist. “You’re beautiful, Diana.”

  “Don’t,” she said sharply, the spell broken. “Don’t even begin, Sheffield.”

  “There’s nothing to begin,” he said, wishing she’d smile, “considering how nothing ended, not between us.”

  “Nothing ever began to end,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “I told you I did not wish to see you again, Sheffield, and I meant it. Now if you please, give me Fig, and leave. Fig, here. Here.”

  She crouched down and patted her skirt, making a small clicking noise with her tongue to summon the cat. But though Fig twisted her head to look at her, she remained snug against Sheffield’s chest.

  “You see how it is,” Sheffield said, ruffling the cat’s fur. “She wishes me to stay, though she wouldn’t mind coming to live with me at Sheffield House, either. I believe you’d enjoy it, too.”

  “Sheffield, please go,” she said, an unexpected desperation creeping into her voice. “Please! If you stay, you’ll ruin everything.”

  “I don’t wish to ruin anything, Diana.” Sensing the difficulty of making a proper proposal with a cat in his arms, he bent long enough to set Fig on the floor. “I love you, and I want to make things right between us.”

  Diana clapped her hands over her ears. “No, Sheffield, I will not listen. I will not hear you, not a word.”

  “Very well, then,” he said, reaching into his coat. She was scarcely making this easy for him; in fact, she rather looked as if she might cry, which wasn’t encouraging at all. Still, he’d wager the ring would get her attention, and make her realize he was serious in his intentions. “If you will not listen, perhaps this shall prove that I—”

  “Sheffield, my dear.” The door behind him opened, and Lady Hervey sailed toward him, her arms outstretched to offer a motherly embrace and her face full of sympathy. “Oh, I am so very sorry to hear of your misfortune! I cannot fathom how Lady Enid could behave so abominably as this toward you.”

  She hugged him and kissed his cheek. Over her shoulder, Sheffield saw that while Diana had removed her hands from her ears, her expression remained less than friendly.

  He smiled and winked.

  She flushed a deeper pink, but turned away. That blush gave him at least a hint of encouragement. But really, why didn’t she smile? Would it tax her so much to show that she was glad to see him?

 
; Unaware, Lady Hervey stepped back, searching his face.

  “You are not too desperate, Sheffield, are you?” she asked, clearly concerned. “Brecon is quite worried for you, you know. I know the talk has been merciless, but you must put it behind you and move forward.”

  “Thank you, Lady Hervey.” He sighed manfully. “Your words are a rare comfort to me.”

  “I am glad of it,” she said, giving his chest a fond pat. She really was quite pretty for an older lady in her thirties, with the same blue eyes and golden hair that Diana had inherited, and Sheffield could understand why Brecon seemed to spend so much time in her company.

  “There’s bound to be another lady in your life,” she continued, “one who shall love you as you deserve.”

  “I can only pray there is,” he said. “A lady of beauty, passion, wit, and virtue.”

  He glanced briefly at Diana, hoping she’d heard that much, but she was pointedly looking in the other direction, as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

  “Passion and virtue?” Lady Hervey repeated, her brows raised with skepticism. “Perhaps you should look more for the virtue than the passion, Sheffield. Passion is not to be trusted, and it inspires unconscionable behavior. Passion is what has led Lady Enid into the arms of that dreadful parson.”

  At their feet, Fig had discovered the porcelain shepherd’s decapitated head, and now batted it halfheartedly toward Lady Hervey. She frowned and picked it up.

  “Oh, Diana, see what Fig has done now.” The head’s painted face stared up glumly from her open palm. “I’ve told you not to let her come into this room. I hope this wasn’t some priceless treasure from March’s family.”

  “You know how Fig is, Mama,” Diana said, scooping up the cat with one hand. “She goes where she pleases. Here’s the body. I’m sure it could be mended, even though it is surpassing ugly.”

  Standing before him beautifully dressed in pink, with the scrawny cat in one hand and the headless shepherd in the other, she somehow seemed to perfectly demonstrate why she was his ideal duchess. No wonder he loved her. There would never be a better time to ask for her hand, and once again he began to reach for the box with the ring.