Page 81 of Once Upon a Devilish Duke

The more secretive espionage matters had to be handled differently. Those issues went to the Prime Minister first, and he decided what Edward could tell the Prince Regent, usually with the Prime Minister in attendance. Essentially, Edward had to determine what to tell the Regent as the King’s Liaison and what not to tell him from all the dispatches he received. It all then had to be put in a way that the Regent could handle.

The problem for Edward was that he read everything from weatherbeaten reports from the Continent to pristine local reports. Every word was retained in his head. It was his responsibility to determine who needed to know what. Part of hiding away from everyone in the ton was to ensure that those secrets stayed within him. It was a heavy burden, but now he realized that there was something more outside of his responsibility. Edward knew he had used his position and duty to hide from everyone. To give him an excuse to keep them all at arm’s length.

The truth was, his family meant a lot to him, though he knew they did not think so. He had tried to protect them from all that he knew and from all that he could not handle. Like Maxine. It was getting harder to ignore the situation. For eight years he had protected Maxine. Eight long years of disappointed looks and not-so-subtle hints of his great sin. It was too late now to change things. He could not go back and fix what her mother had broken.

And then there was Rose. She had become important to him, although he had tried to resist her at first, but she was a determined baggage. She had wormed her way into his affections; and now he could not get her out of his head. He wanted to protect her, too. It was a pity there had been no one to protect him when he had needed it.

He got into the carriage and banged on the roof with his cane. He closed his eyes for a moment. One storm at a time. That was all he had to do. Weather one storm at a time.

*

The atmosphere was jovial enough, and Rose smiled at all the appropriate times and was content to sit with William sleeping in her arms, her portrait of him hanging on the wall behind her. She looked around the room: the dowager, Marianne, Gabrielle, and Lucinda. She was going to miss them all.

It was only a matter of time before the lies her brother put in the paper would be on the lips of every member of the ton and their servants. She should go back to Ashtonvale, marry a local farmer, or something as banal as that. Her father would have been against it, of course; she was a gentleman’s daughter, a lady. But what good was a title when everyone’s opinion of you was that you were not fit. Not right somehow in the mind to live your life without her overbearing brother.

Her father wanted her to have the freedom to choose. To take her time and make sure that the man she would choose was right. Her father would have been disappointed if she had capitulated and returned to her brother. He would be disappointed if she did not fight Cecil for her own reputation. Despite what would happen if she won, her reputation might never recover, and she would need to plan for that. If she won and retained her allowance, financially she could start over somewhere far from London, but she would be on her own.

“Marianne, when will you announce your engagement to Lord Dunstan?” Lucinda asked.

“When he proposes, I expect,” she replied with a laugh. “We are trying not to rush things, but I am enjoying my time with him, and I am learning more about him and his ways.”

“I remember that he enjoyed bold colors in his home. Will he let you redecorate if you choose?” Lucinda asked.

“I do not mind the bold colors, but he said there is a second parlor I could make my own with all the frills and fancies I like,” Marianne said on a sigh.

Gabrielle laughed. “Frills and fancies? Does he think you are going to turn it into a haberdashery?”

“I think he means feminine touches.”

“Of course he does. I think he would let you do whatever you want to any room in the house and not complain even once.” Lucinda smiled into her cup.

“Have you kissed him?” The question was out of Rose’s mouth before she could stop it.

The four women all looked at her with open mouths.

Lucinda giggled first. “I certainly hope so,” she said.

The rest of them waited for Marianne to either confirm or deny.

“He has. On the forehead.”

“Good lord, what is wrong with the man?” her mother asked.

“He is making sure that I am comfortable. If I kissed him, I would think he would kiss me back.”

“Then why haven’t you kissed him?”

“Because…it is wanton.”

“Do you love him?” Gabrielle asked her.

“I do…at least I think I do. How to know for sure?”

“You will know,” Lucinda said. “You will think of nothing but him. When will you see him next? What will he say? Will he smile in that way that makes butterflies in your belly?”

“You will long for his touch, even if it is just to tuck your arm through his. The way he looks at you with that expression he gives to no other,” Gabrielle added.

Marianne blushed. “I must be in love, for I long to be with him as soon as he leaves my side. I cannot wait to hear his voice in the hall when he comes to call. I love the smell of him. Is that strange?”