When the Duke Found Love

by Isabella Bradford

  She took a deep breath. “I should warn you that I’m bringing Fig,” she said, unable to forget Lord Crump’s terrible threat against the little cat. “I cannot leave her behind.”

  “I never expected you to abandon Fig,” he said easily. “I’ll be bringing Fantôme as well.”

  She shook her head, still anxious for Fig’s safety. “I shall have her in a basket, but you must be sure she is safe from Fantôme.”

  “You have my word,” he said. “Though I fear far more for Fantôme’s sake than hers. For all her size, Fig is very brave and bold, and poor Fantôme is not at all.”

  “Oh, Sheffield, you are perfect.” She quickly kissed him again, then hurried back toward the house. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been away, yet nothing had changed in the music room. The same pop-eyed woman was singing what sounded like the same mournful song, her sister and her mother and her aunt, Lord Crump and March and Brecon and his sons, were all sitting in the same chairs, dutifully listening as if they cared for the same mournful song—except for the young lords, all three of whom seemed now to be asleep.

  She slipped into her chair beside Lord Crump, ready to offer some nonsensical excuse. He glanced at her, noted that she’d returned, and looked back to the singer. He didn’t smile, ask where she’d been, or even inquire why she’d damp spots on the front of her skirts. It was the same response she always earned from him, a benign lack of attention that was just shy of ignoring her. Except that this time it didn’t fill her with despair or unhappiness. Now she felt nothing but joy, for soon, very soon, she’d be forever free of Lord Crump and married to Sheffield.

  But though Lord Crump did not ask where she’d been, her absence hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed. Much later, when all the guests had left and Diana was undressed and in bed trying to write the note she’d leave behind, Charlotte came to her bedchamber, a single candlestick in her hand. She wore a flowered silk dressing gown over her nightshift, her long dark hair braided in two thick plaits over her shoulders and her blue eyes filled with concern.

  “You are still awake, Di?” she asked, then chuckled ruefully. “Of course you are. You wouldn’t be sitting here with the candles lit if you weren’t. But what bride sleeps the night before her wedding?”

  “Then I am no different.” Diana smiled, wishing again that she could confide in Charlotte, and that she hadn’t had to shove her unfinished note beneath the covers. “I thought you’d be Mama.”

  Charlotte climbed on Diana’s bed, tucking her feet beneath her dressing gown. “Mama went to bed hours ago. She so feared she’d not sleep that she took a draft, and asked not to be disturbed until morning. The very roof could fall in, and she’d not wake now.”

  “She might as well sleep,” Diana said, wishing she’d been able to say farewell to Mama, too, the way it now seemed she was to Charlotte. She wouldn’t be gone long with Sheffield, only the time it took for them to wed, but when she returned everything would be as different as if she’d been gone a year. She glanced around the room at the trunks that were packed for her journey with Lord Crump—the trip that now she would not take. “There’s nothing left for me to do, you see. Everything is in readiness.”

  “I am glad,” Charlotte said, also looking about at the trunks and chests. “I won’t keep you, then. But I did have one question from this evening.”

  Diana’s smile faded to wariness. If anyone would suspect her plan to elope with Sheffield, it would be Charlotte.

  “When you were in my chamber before everyone arrived,” she began, “I could see how unhappy you were, and how much you dreaded this marriage. When Lord Crump had his fit, blaming it upon poor Fig, I thought you might break off with him then and there. I haven’t seen you so angry for years, Diana.”

  Hearing her name, Fig appeared, climbing into Diana’s lap. “How could I not be angry, Charlotte? You heard him. It was the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard a gentleman say.”

  “It was indeed,” Charlotte said, nodding. “It did not favor Lord Crump at all. I can only hope that he was shamed and unwell after his fit, and that is why he lashed out at Fig. I do expect him to apologize once he has had time to reflect on his words.”

  Diana didn’t answer, not nearly as confident of that apology. She knew she’d slender experience in the world’s ways, but she had observed that men who threatened and beat their horses or dogs were generally the same ones who mistreated their wives and children. Despite Lord Crump’s reputation for Christian generosity, she’d been so shocked by his threats against her cat that she had already half resolved to refuse him even before Sheffield had proposed. She wasn’t exactly sure how she would have accomplished that, but to save both Fig and herself, she would have found a way, even if it had meant refusing him in the middle of the ceremony itself.

  “But what puzzles me is this, Di,” Charlotte continued. “You were miserably unhappy. Then during the entertainment, you left for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and when you returned, you were another person entirely. You couldn’t stop smiling, and you’d become so joyful that even Aunt Sophronia took note. What caused so sudden a change in you, Diana? What happened to bring about that joy?”

  Diana looked down at Fig, tracing the patterns in her fur to avoid meeting Charlotte’s gaze.

  “I went to the garden to—to order my thoughts,” she said, picturing Sheffield, not Lord Crump, and striving to keep her words to be as true as possible. “Marriage is so important to a woman that I wished to be sure. When I asked myself if I respected and loved and trusted the man I was to marry, I realized that I did, and my entire spirit grew light and full of joy. That must have been what you saw.”

  “Dear Diana, I am so happy for you!” Charlotte exclaimed with relief and joy of her own. “That is all I ever wished for you, to find the same happiness, trust, and love that I have with March.”

  She leaned forward and kissed Diana tenderly on the forehead. “Good night now, lamb. Try to sleep if you can, for tomorrow will be full of excitement.”

  Diana hugged Charlotte close, already missing her. Tomorrow would indeed be full of excitement, far more than Charlotte could guess, and when it was done, none of their lives would ever be the same.

  Three hours later, that excitement began.

  At this time in the night, the great house was still, with highborn and low all asleep in their beds. That alone was exciting for Diana, to be wide awake while the rest of the household was not. She was dressed simply in a plain linen bodice and petticoat, clothes left from the old days at Ransom that were more suited for a London servant than a soon-to-be duchess, but it was more important that she be able to dress herself without a maid than that she impress with her grandeur. Besides, the ordinary clothes would be a kind of disguise, making their adventure even more exciting.

  For the last time, she read the letter she was leaving behind for her sister and mother. The letter had been much more difficult to write than she’d thought, and wasn’t nearly as noble as she’d wanted to make it. It wasn’t even as neat as it should have been, with several blots and crossed-out words.

  Dearest, dearest Mama & Charlotte,

  When you read this I shall be far away, having followed my heart & married Sheffield. I know this will be a terrible shock to you, but I love him beyond measure & he loves me the same & we will be most rapturously happy together, which I would not ever be with Lord Crump. I pray the scandal will not be too great & that you & everyone else will find it possible to Forgive me & offer your blessings upon us.

  Your most affectionate daughter & sister, D.

  She sighed, wishing she could have explained her decision more clearly. She didn’t doubt she was doing the right thing by marrying Sheffield, but she also realized the enormousness of it, and how it would be perceived. She was jilting Lord Crump. There was no nicer way to say it. She was disobeying her family, turning her back on her duty to them, and by her actions, she was causing them considerable unhappiness and trouble. She would become the centerpiece of g
ossip and scandal, not just among their circle but in the papers as well. While eloping with a duke instead of marrying a marquis would be considered advantageous by some, there would be many others who would see only the shocking circumstances, and even as a duchess, she would not be welcomed in every house, at least not in the beginning.

  Most of all, by eloping she would be behaving in exactly the impulsive manner for which she had been faulted and scolded for all her life. Yet now, because she loved Sheffield, it seemed to her that impulsiveness was the virtue and obedience would have been the sin, and she could only pray her family could understand.

  The second note, for Lord Crump, was much shorter, and had been much easier to write, too.

  To His Lordship the Earl of Crump:

  My Lord, I free you of your obligation to wed me, for I cannot find sufficient love in my heart to be the wife you deserve. I thank you for the regard you have shown me & beg your forgiveness,

  Yr. serv’t,

  Lady Diana Wylder

  She set the two letters side by side on her pillow, where they wouldn’t be missed. With a final sigh, she turned away and went to open her window.

  The same quarter moon she’d seen earlier still shone in the London night, full of promise and silvery light as it ducked in and out of gathering clouds. A lovely, beauteous moon, she decided, and exactly the ideal moon for eloping. How could anything done beneath such a moon be wrong? With a chirp, Fig jumped on the sill beside her, rubbing her head against Diana’s shoulder.

  “Here you are, Miss Fig,” she said, gathering the cat securely into her arms. “The last thing I wish is to have to chase you about the garden tonight. Come, into your basket now.”

  She pulled Fig’s wicker traveling basket from beneath the bed and tried to lower the cat inside.

  “Blast you, stop fighting,” she muttered as she struggled to maneuver the cat, suddenly all hissing and rigid paws and claws, into the basket. “Stop this, or I’ll leave you behind, and then you’ll be sorry.”

  At last she pressed the lid down and buckled the straps to keep it closed while Fig mewed piteously. Diana flung her cloak over her shoulders and hurried back to the window. She opened the sash wider, wincing a bit at the unavoidable squeak, and leaned forward.

  There was Sheffield, standing beneath her. He wore a long, dark cloak and a sword, and had a black cocked hat pulled low over his brow, all wonderfully mysterious.

  “Sheffield!” she called softly. “Sheffield, here!”

  At once he looked up, his handsome face turned toward her. He smiled warmly, which was very fine, and then pointed to the watch in his hand, which was not quite so fine. Time might be of the essences, but it wasn’t particularly romantic to be reminded of the hour like this. She blew him a kiss from her fingertips anyway, and hurried back to gather the valise with her few well-chosen belongings and Fig’s basket.

  “Gardy-loo!” she called softly, and dropped the valise from the window. Sheffield caught it with a grunt, clearly surprised by how heavy it was, and set it on the ground beside him. He held his hands up, beckoning.

  She grinned and set the basket with Fig on the sill. She checked the rope she’d threaded through the basket one more time, and slowly began to lower it from the sill. The frightened cat made the basket swing and jerk, but finally it came within Sheffield’s reach. He caught it by the handle, and as he began to coil the rope on top, Fig growled from within.

  “What in blazes is in there?” he said, staring warily into the basket. At once Fantôme appeared like a portly ghost in the moonlight, trotting over to sniff at the growling basket. “Is that Fig?”

  “It is,” Diana said. She sat on the edge of the window-sill and swung her legs over the edge. “You keep Fantôme away from her. She’s frightened enough as it is.”

  “She’s making a precious great amount of noise for being frightened,” Sheffield said, skeptically peering into the basket along with Fantôme.

  Diana recognized the potential for disaster. “Please mind Fantôme, Sheffield.”

  But her warning came too late. Swiftly Fig’s paw swiped through the wicker to catch the bulldog’s nose, making him howl with pain and tumble backward.

  “That’s your fault, Sheffield,” Diana called. “Poor Fantôme! Hush him now, if you can, else he’ll raise the watch and the kitchen staff, too.”

  “Your cat’s a vicious wild beast,” Sheffield said, doing his best to calm the dog, who was slinking far from the basket with his tail between his legs. “I told you my mild-mannered Fantôme would bear the worst of the bargain.”

  “I did warn you,” she said, tossing her shoes and rolled-up stockings to the grass beside him, for it was much easier to climb down in bare feet than in slippery leather soles. She turned and began to slide from the sill, holding on while her toes felt for the brick stringcourse. The architect who had designed Marchbourne House had doubtless intended the neat rows of protruding bricks and pilasters only for their appearance, but Diana had always found them as good as a ladder built into the house’s wall, and she moved quickly, with nimble confidence.

  “Let me help you, sweet,” Sheffield called gallantly. “Jump, and I’ll catch you.”

  “You needn’t,” Diana said. “I’m almost down.”

  She edged her way to the roof of the porch, turned on the slates, and then began to lower herself over the edge. She was perfectly capable of making the small drop into the flower bed, but Sheffield charged forward, trampling through the spring pinks and foxgloves to seize her boldly around the waist.

  “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed breathlessly. Her skirts had flown up when she’d fallen, forcing him to hold her around her bare legs, and as she struggled to pull her skirts down, he did nothing to help her but laugh. In all the times she’d climbed from windows, she had never once been caught like this, as if she were fragile and helpless. It was pleasant enough to feel his arms around her, but it was also a bit disconcerting, too, until he kissed her. That she’d expected, and she twined her arms around his neck to kiss him back, by way of showing she didn’t really mind him trying to catch her. He really was excellent at kissing (much better than at catching her), and before long she’d completely forgotten all about how he’d fussed about Fig and trampled Charlotte’s flowers, and everything else besides.

  Fortunately, his memory was better.

  “Enough, Diana, as much as I am loath to say so,” he said, disentangling her arms from around his neck and gently setting her down. “I wish to be far away before you’re missed.”

  She hurried to retrieve her shoes and Fig’s basket, while he brought her valise and Fantôme. They slipped through the garden gate and back toward one of the streets bordering the park, where a nondescript hackney coach was waiting.

  “This is a masquerade, isn’t it?” she whispered as he helped her climb inside. The hackney itself was an adventure, for ladies like her never rode in common hired carriages with murky recesses and unspecified pasts. To be in one with a man like Sheffield was almost too exciting to express. “No one will ever guess we’re inside.”

  “That’s rather the point, isn’t it?” Sheffield said as he hoisted Fantôme on the opposite seat. “Subterfuge and disguise, dissembling and masquerade. All part of a good elopement.”

  “You say that as if you’ve eloped before,” she said. “You haven’t, have you?”

  “Why would you even ask such a question?” he said indignantly, settling beside her. “I can absolutely tell you, with no subterfuge or dissembling, that you are the only woman I’ve ever eloped with, or wished to.”

  “Ever?” she asked, turning her face up toward his.

  “Ever, ever,” he said, curling his arm around her shoulders to draw her closer. “The only one. It’s a fine thing that I love you as much as I do.”

  She smiled, and kissed him in such a delicious and leisurely fashion that it was almost as if they were already wed.

  “Where are we to be married?” she asked, feeling foo
lish for not knowing something so important. There hadn’t been time to ask for such details earlier in the evening. He had asked her to marry him, she had accepted, they’d agreed to elope, and that had been all. “How long before we arrive there?”

  He sighed. As they rumbled along through the London streets, the lights from passing lanterns fell across his face in ever-changing patterns. “It’s not so easy as that, sweet.”

  “I know it’s not,” she said, twisting about to face him. “The laws are against clandestine marriages, and require couples to have their banns read for three weeks before a marriage can take place. Unless, that is, the couple procures a special license.”

  He stared down at her. “How the devil do you come to such knowledge?”

  “Because Lord Crump had to acquire such a license to wed me,” she said. “A perfectly good license that I suppose shall now go to waste.”

  “A good thing that ours shall not,” he said, patting the front of his coat, where she presumed he kept the all-important document. “But I wish there to be no doubt of our marriage, and not the faintest grounds for anyone to challenge it. Therefore we are heading for Oakworth, my house in Hampshire. We’ll be wed on my land, in what amounts to my county, and by a nearby bishop who owes me an honorable favor, all making for as ironclad a marriage as can be arranged in a day.”

  “Goodness,” she said, impressed by his diligence. “It sounds wonderfully ironclad to me.”

  She was thankful for that, too. Although her marriage to Lord Crump was likewise to have been a hastily arranged ceremony, she’d never doubted that it would be legal and binding, not with so many solicitors involved in the settlements and dukes as witnesses.

  But an elopement was by its very nature constructed on a less steady foundation. She and Sheffield weren’t an ordinary couple, racing off to be wed by the blacksmith of Gretna Green for the sake of love alone. There were nearly royal titles and vast fortunes involved, not just for them but for their children as well. She thought shyly of the child she might even now be carrying within her, who, if a son, could one day become the next Duke of Sheffield. For his sake, there must be nothing to challenge his legitimacy or other entitlement to the dukedom. It would have been far easier if they’d wed in the abbey, the way Charlotte and March had, where there could never be any doubts, but the displeasure of their families had made that impossible.