The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series

by Jillian Hunter

  He had agreed when Sarah’s dying grandmother had insisted it would be an abuse on his part to expose a little girl to his hedonistic lifestyle. It hadn’t occurred to him to change the way he lived. He couldn’t pull himself together long enough to care whether he lived at all. He had been so immersed in self-misery that if he could have obliterated the past and prevented the future all at once it would have been a relief. And yet there was only so much a man could blame on grief.

  Did his daughter miss him? How could she when he had never played a prominent role in her life?

  He wanted her back.

  He wanted to make amends to her for the past.

  He wanted his daughter to have a real family again.

  And more than anything he wanted as his wife the woman he hadn’t even had the wisdom to choose.

  Chapter 33

  The well-sprung carriage flew along the Windsor Road. One of its passengers, the Duchess of Scarfield, had been spurring on the belabored coachman with promises of high promotion if he made it to London in time for the wedding. Indeed, in her husband’s estimation, the weather was afraid to disobey his wife.

  “Calm down, Emma,” Adrian said, his head comfortably settled on her lap, above which his heir had taken residence and was growing by the minute. “The family wouldn’t dare hold a wedding without you.”

  “Do not placate me with such nonsense, Wolf. There is nothing my family will not dare. This is what happens when I am not there to offer them guidance.”

  “We’ll be there soon enough, love.”

  “No, we won’t. It is already too late. How many times did I warn Charlotte not to put secrets on paper? Why do I hope for better? My family is destined for disgrace.”

  He smiled to himself. As Emma increased with this pregnancy, she reminded Adrian of a delicate bone-china teapot whose function was to release frequent bursts of steam.

  “You’re worrying for nothing, Emma,” he said to soothe her. “I doubt that Charlotte has any secrets to tell.”

  “I don’t want to arrive a minute before the wedding.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I want to be there for the preparations.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Are you trying to placate me?” she asked.

  “Well, no—”

  “If I know Jane and Chloe, they will have Charlotte wearing a dress from that scandalous Madame Devine. I don’t suppose you remember her. She makes provocative attire for mistresses and West End Wives.”

  He looked up as innocently as he could.

  She frowned down at him as if he hadn’t deceived her for a second. “Don’t answer. I have enough on my mind. And what about the academy?” She fidgeted, leaning over to lift up the curtain. “Can’t you make this coach go any faster?”

  “We wouldn’t want to harm our little heir, would we?” he asked, sitting up in resignation. “The academy will survive. Do not worry.”

  “Of course I will worry. No one else is willing to take the burden from me.”

  “Well, what good does it do?”

  “Men simply don’t understand.”

  The former Emma Boscastle, the widowed Viscountess Lyons or, as she was known in the family, the Dainty Dictator and Mrs. Killjoy, was considered to be the anomaly in the London line. Militant in her quest to reform the unrefined or scandal-prone, she had considered it her calling to open an academy for young ladies as an example to her own family members, who continued to embarrass her with their incessant love intrigues. “I thought I’d found a kindred soul in Charlotte,” she mused. “She was almost as levelheaded as—”

  “—you.”

  She nodded. “She thrived under my tutelage. She admired me, you know. But perhaps I set a bad example. I was a hypocrite.”

  “Emma, if you had not set a bad example we would not be married and expecting our child.”

  “True enough.”

  And a moment later she was tapping her toe against the door, her aggrieved face framed in a wreath of apricot-gold curls. “This is exactly what Lady Clipstone is waiting for—the final fall. I have to be there to prevent it.”

  “What fall? If I read the situation correctly, Charlotte was caught in a trifling affair with a man who is marrying her. A wedding, Emma, end of story.”

  “A missing diary, Adrian. Beginning of the end. She may as well have published an encyclopedia of embarrassment.”

  “Well, you’ll be there soon enough to sort it all out.”

  She subsided with a deep sigh into his arms. He nestled his face in her hair. “Stop,” she said halfheartedly, laying her head back on his chest.

  “No.” He locked his hands beneath her breasts. “You can’t make me.”

  “I could, you know.”

  “Then try it.”

  “Perhaps I don’t want to,” she said, conceding to him with a smile.

  “Four years of marriage,” he mused. “Don’t forget that we were a scandal at the time. I’ve always wondered, and perhaps I’m better off not knowing, but what turned you and Lady Clipstone into such bitter rivals? Weren’t you once friends?”

  “We were going to open an etiquette school together,” she mused.

  “And?”

  “And I have to keep some secrets, Adrian, unless Charlotte has spilled them all with her indiscreet pen.”

  At length they stopped at a coaching inn outside Camberly. Once a mercenary and soldier of fortune, Adrian rarely had to use his rank to secure a decent room in the taverns he visited. He was as rough to the observant eye as Emma was dainty.

  But he was especially protective of her during this first pregnancy. He walked up the stairs behind her, ready to catch his little teapot if she should slip, which she almost did when a small girl on the escape from her governess came flying down like a fury.

  “Honestly!” Emma exclaimed to the harried governess, who squeezed past her on the stairs in pursuit of her fleeing charge. “Aren’t children taught any manners these days? That little girl needs a firm hand.”

  “She needs a pair of prison guards, madam,” the governess tossed back at her. “And as soon as she is delivered to her parents, I shall be delighted to retire my hand.”

  Emma glanced at her husband, shaking her head. “A girl that boisterous is destined to cause trouble; mark my words. I know an undisciplined child when I see one.”

  “Shocking,” he said, thinking of the tortures he had carried out at that age. “What is the world coming to?”

  She picked up her skirt and huffed out a breath. “I see that grin on your handsome face. You do not fool me for a moment. Our child will not be allowed to run willy-nilly in public places. Nor in private ones, either.”

  “As you say, my little teapot.”

  “What did you call me?”

  He laughed. “Nothing, dear heart. Don’t upset yourself or the baby.”

  Grayson rarely let a fortnight pass without giving a party for one reason or another. To receive a gold-edged invitation to one of his lavish affairs was an honor in the aristocracy indeed. His Park Lane mansion never went to sleep. Sentries and servants patrolled the grounds around the clock, fortified by steaming mugs of hot cocoa made from the fresh milk the dairymaids delivered every day. Bakers brought trays of hot bread, pastries, and savory meat pies to the tradesmen’s door in the basement kitchen.

  But now there was to be a wedding. The house buzzed like a beehive. The kitchen staff ordered the other servants around, and the other servants obeyed. The best cutlery must be brought out of storage. The table linens had to be pressed with hot irons. There had to be room cleared for guests and for the great piles of gifts sent from well-wishers. The menu for the wedding breakfast needed the approval of the marchioness. The footmen needed new soft-soled shoes so that they could glide about as quietly as ghosts. It took effort to make a Mayfair wedding look like a scene from a fairy tale.

  Chapter 34

  Sir Daniel had an unpleasant day ahead of him. His first tas
k was to visit the duke and Miss Boscastle at the Park Lane mansion where she was residing until the wedding. Harriet was present, which did not surprise Daniel. Still, he could not look at her so elegantly dressed without remembering the tangle-haired guttersnipe she had been when he first arrested her, and how she fought him when he had entrusted her to Emma Boscastle’s care. Her life had been transformed from that moment. How he wished he could sweep every vulnerable young boy or girl in London off the streets.

  “Your Grace,” he said with a deferential smile, bowing over her hand.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “Just tell me that you have found the diary.”

  He shook his head and straightened. “I wish I could. If anyone knows where it has gone, it is a guarded secret. I have interrogated all of my sources, with nary a clue overturned as to the diary’s whereabouts.”

  “Oh, dear,” Charlotte said faintly. “I think I shall need something stronger than tea.”

  Sir Daniel glanced away, but not before noticing the concerned look that the duke sent his demure fiancée. Was it possible that this arrangement was deepening into genuine affection? Perhaps this diary affair had brought some good, after all. Daniel believed in love and marriage, even if both had eluded him.

  Gideon stirred. “And the sapphire necklace has not passed hands?”

  “Not in the obvious shops,” Sir Daniel said. “Which is in itself unusual. It might be that the thieves have escaped the city.”

  Charlotte gave a soft sigh. “I so wanted this to be cleared up before the wedding.”

  “There are still four days left,” Gideon said, his gaze turning introspective.

  Harriet lifted her chin. “He’s right.”

  “I have a horrible feeling,” Charlotte said softly, “that it has indeed fallen into wicked hands.”

  Gideon walked slowly across the street, holding up his hand to interrupt the flow of midday traffic. It stung his pride that he would not be able to keep his promise to Charlotte’s family. He had failed to recover the lost diary before the wedding.

  “Damn,” he said as a small carriage hurtled toward him, forcing him to jump onto the sidewalk. “Who the blazes drives like he owns the street?”

  “Wynfield!” Devon shouted from the seat of his phaeton. “Would you like to go to the arcade for an hour? I am in need of a new hat.”

  Gideon was about to refuse but then he shrugged. “Why not?” he muttered as he climbed up beside his future cousin-in-law. Devon had already done his worst—unless he ended up causing an accident with his reckless

  driving.

  “I should buy Charlotte a wedding present, anyway,” he said to himself.

  “Don’t buy her another blasted diary.”

  “I have something else in mind.”

  He and Devon parted company as soon as they entered the emporium. Sir Godfrey noticed Gideon right away and abandoned another customer in the middle of a sale to attend him.

  “Your Grace! Your Grace!” he cried, in the event that no one had noticed a peer of the realm in their midst. “How good it is to see you again this soon! What can I do to be of service?”

  He stared down in embarrassment into the man’s expectant face. No wonder Kit had stolen Sir Godfrey’s intended for his own. The blundering fellow didn’t have a clue except when it came to business.

  “Would Your Grace like to examine the hunting horn more closely? I have a knife that complements it.”

  “I’m looking for a wedding present, sir. The weaponry will have to wait until our anniversary.”

  Sir Godfrey’s eyes widened. “Oh, good one, Your Grace.”

  Gideon nodded at a group of young ladies who had stopped to stare at him. “I would like a fan—”

  “Ivory, gilt, or feather?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “A difference?” Sir Godfrey shuddered. “I should say. We also carry tortoiseshell or mother-of-pearl—”

  “It—”

  “Silk or chicken skin?”

  “Chicken skin? Definitely not.”

  “A fan with a peephole to convey mood, or a mounting for the more modest?”

  “I’ll be damned if I know. One of each, I suppose. I would like to surprise my betrothed before the wedding.”

  Sir Godfrey flagged his assistant down with the fan he had removed from a counter display. “Please bring out every fan we have in the shop for His Grace.”

  The assistant shook his head in apology. “You’re holding it.”

  “What?” Sir Godfrey said, snapping the fan shut. “We had three dozen in here the day before yesterday.”

  “Yes, sir. But yesterday a lady came in and bought up the whole lot.”

  “Who was she?” Sir Godfrey asked.

  “The head of that academy, sir. She had it put on her account.”

  Sir Godfrey handed the fan to Gideon. “Bring me the account book.”

  Gideon crossed his arms, tapping the fan in irritation. He caught Devon’s eye across the store, and before he knew it Devon was standing at his side.

  “What do you want me to do?” Devon asked, turning his head to the side.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your distress signal.” Devon glanced down at Gideon’s hand. “You summoned me over with your fan.”

  “I did no such thing—do you mean to tell me that you know how to converse with a fan?”

  “For God’s sake, Gideon, there isn’t a gentleman in London who doesn’t know at least the rudimentary language of the flutter. It isn’t only a matter of seduction. It is about survival.”

  The assistant reappeared with the heavy account book opened in his hands. Sir Godfrey stared at the names listed in the previous day’s column of sales.

  “Lady Alice Clipstone,” he said, his lip curling in recollection. “That would be the owner of an academy that struggles to attain the reputation enjoyed by Your Grace’s fiancée. She has bought on credit again, I see.”

  “Are you suggesting there is a rivalry between the two academies?” Gideon asked, motioning at the account with the fan.

  “Oh, indeed. I would say, in fact, that you would not find more intense competition between the various fencing schools in town.”

  Gideon considered this. He would mention it to Charlotte and to Sir Daniel.

  “Thank you, Sir Godfrey. This has been an elucidating conversation. I would like to purchase the diary and silver inkstand that Miss Boscastle admired.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. They will be delivered to—”

  “The Marquess of Sedgecroft’s residence.”

  “And a magnificent place it is, Your Grace.”

  Chapter 35

  The duel was behind Gideon. The energetic schoolmistress whom Charlotte had hired as her replacement was ensconced at the academy. At last Charlotte felt free to indulge in joyful anticipation. It was impossible, actually, to feel anything but joy, with Jane and her female entourage celebrating this marriage as if it had not come about by unconventional circumstances.

  Still, from a Boscastle perspective, all was well that ended in a walk to the altar. Everyone in the family knew that a genuine romance followed no proper rules at all. But somehow all the ingredients—a dose of passion, a sprinkling of secrets, a measure of honor, and two hearts drawn together by an intangible force—combined to make a union that would not only survive but thrive over the course of time.

  Charlotte had given up hope that her diary would be returned. The only consolation was that none of her writings had shown up in the scandal sheets. Gideon had mentioned Sir Godfrey’s remark about Lady Clipstone’s rivalry. Charlotte explained that it had something to do with her cousin Emma, but she didn’t know what, and besides, she had more urgent matters on her mind.

  Her wedding dress had finally been finished by a dedicated corps of seamstresses whose needles had flown and stitched morning and night to create magic. Now all that she needed were her corset, chemise, and a few traveling essentials. Jane’s Itali
an shoemaker had fashioned the most perfect wedding shoes in the world—burgundy leather adorned with diamond-studded buckles that glittered like stars.

  Jane was also taking her to the controversial dressmaker this afternoon. Madame Devine had a talent for designing attire that drove men so wild they willingly drained their pockets.

  Charlotte was amazed at the bystanders milling about the Georgian-style brown-brick shop. “What are all those gentlemen waiting for?” she asked Jane.

  “They’re hoping for a glimpse of the customers, many of whom are Cyprians and courtesans.”

  “Then what are we doing here?”

  Jane stepped out of the carriage, lifting her head at the low whistles that followed her to the door.

  When Charlotte hurried to join her and a chorus of cheers went up, Jane laughed and pulled her into the care of the two footmen who escorted customers into the shop.

  “I was mortified the first time Grayson brought me here,” Jane whispered as they climbed the stairs to the fitting rooms. “Really, Madame creates her fashions for one purpose only—for the pleasure of a gentleman to remove.”

  To Charlotte’s surprise Madame Devine already had a corset selected, ivory silk with steel underpinnings that pushed up Charlotte’s breasts, nipped in her waist, and emphasized the flare of her hips. Charlotte felt as if she were fitted up more for a medieval joust than a marriage, but the result was so provocative it seemed certain Gideon would liberate her from the contraption before long. Miss Peppertree would approve.

  “The duke will be delighted,” Madame Devine announced when the fitting, exhausting for everyone, finally came to an end.

  An auburn-haired woman in a leghorn bonnet and a striped scarlet-and-gold silk dress stepped forth from a dressing screen.

  “Audrey,” Jane said warmly. “Have you met Miss Boscastle?”

  “I haven’t had the honor.” She lowered her voice. “But I’m happy to admit that I have not seen His Grace since the news of your engagement broke.”

  Charlotte smiled, knowing that her family considered Mrs. Watson a friend. “I hope you never see him at your house again,” she said honestly.