Page 13 of A Duke to Reclaim Her
Lady Rose hesitated, her hand rising to her hair as if to make sure it was still in place. Felix wondered how a woman who had been so ferocious in private could seem so unmoored here, among strangers.
He leaned toward her. “Will you be all right?” he asked.
Lady Rose looked at him. For a moment, some flicker of the old fire returned. “I’ll manage,” she said.
He watched as she followed the servant down the corridor, novice’s habit trailing, the last of the light from the window painting her in gold before the door closed behind her.
David waited until she was out of earshot, then let out a whistle. “Well, you have done it now, Felix. The gossips will feast for a year on this.”
Felix shrugged, trying to summon his usual bravado. “Let them. I’ve lived through worse scandals.”
“I doubt that very much,” David said kindly. He clapped Felix on the shoulder. “Come. We have much to discuss, and only a few moments to do it in.”
Together, they turned down the hall, taking each step at a quick pace.
The study at Carden Hall was designed for intimidation, with ceiling-high shelves of legal tomes and heavy histories, as well as a desk that was big enough to seat a magistrate and the accused. All of it was arranged so that even a duke might feel slightly dwarfed by the furniture.
Felix had never liked the room, but it was the only place to have a serious conversation without half the house listening. He bypassed the decanter and poured them both a generous inch of whiskey, handing one off with a sardonic flourish. David helped himself to a seat by the fire, stretching his legs as if he intended to plant roots.
“To the happy couple,” David toasted.
Felix clinked his glass against his friend’s, more out of habit than agreement, and downed his drink in one swallow.
David let the silence ride for a moment, then sobered. “You’ll have to tell me how it happened, Felix. Last I heard, you were content to leave the family line to the crows.”
Felix refilled his glass, this time taking the whiskey more slowly. “I wasn’t expecting her. I was not expecting any of it.”
David considered that. “The baby… She’s not yours, is she?”
Felix looked up, surprised at the speed of the deduction, but then again, David had always been the quickest study at Eton, never fooled by a surface-level lie.
“She is a Greycliff. That’s all that matters.”
David nodded, but he didn’t drop the subject. “Whose, then? Don’t tell me you’re covering for some cousin again. I’d appreciate the truth.”
Felix held the glass to the firelight. The color was golden, almost innocent. “My father,” he said at last, his voice flat. “The baby’s mother, Julia, was a maid in our household… and his mistress for a short time. Lady Rose was the only one who ever cared about her, so when Julia died, she made sure the child ended up somewhere safe.”
David’s face went still as he absorbed the information. “And now you’re making Lady Rose the next Duchess of Carden? Why on earth have you agreed to take up that mantle? You must be going for sainthood, and it sounds less than ideal.”
Felix grunted. “I’m going for containment. It’s not as though I ever wanted the title. I only want the mess out of the papers.”
David sipped his drink, weighing it. “Lady Rose thinks the baby is yours?”
“It’s better that way.” Felix shrugged.
David stretched out his boots. “You’re planning a white marriage, then?”
Felix felt his jaw click. “We have an understanding. She keeps the child, I keep the estate, and we both keep our illusions intact.”
“Romantic, as always.” David smiled without mirth.
Felix stood, set his glass down, and moved to the writing desk. He plucked a fresh sheet of paper and scrawled a note to his solicitor, instructing him to arrange for the special license and expedite every bureaucratic process relating to Lizzie.
He folded and sealed the note, then rang the bell by the hearth. A footman appeared within seconds, eyes trained respectfully on the rug.
“See this is delivered to Mr. Penrose in London immediately. Wait for a reply.”
The footman bowed and vanished.
