“I believe you should do what is best for her, but also you.” He touched Beau’s shoulder. “Marry for love, my boy, not for catching some damn villains in a trap.”
“But you said I should marry her since she had been compromised because she’d been living under my roof without a chaperone.”
St. Albans flustered. “Well, she is my granddaughter. My need to protect her was strong, and perhaps I reacted hastily. If you recall, I didn’t feel comfortable with her living with you even when I thought she was a servant. Now I believe I have a little more say in what happens to her and that’s why she and the Wilsons will move in with me.”
The thought of Philippa even just at the end of the street made him feel oddly caged, like a wolf lashing out at being separated from his mate. He didn’t like her being away from him and it wasn’t simply because he feared for her safety. He’d become addicted to her, the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her lips, and the way she said his name as she laid half-asleep in bed beside him after making love. He didn’t want to let go of that. Yet St. Albans was right.
“We can have the marriage announced tomorrow,” the duke said. “We won’t bother with the banns. They would take too much time. It would be best if we obtain a special license. Lord knows nearly everyone does that these days.”
Beau listened to St. Albans as he made plans for the wedding breakfast to be at his home and that Philippa’s mother Beth would likely try to arrange for trousseau which he would donate some money toward.
“And then there’s the dowry,” St. Albans mused. “I’ll give you ten thousand.”
“Your Grace,” Beau shook his head almost violently. “I won’t take even one pound. You know how I feel about that old nonsense. I have my own money and…” Beau trailed off. “Bloody hell, I need to contact Lennox. He’ll wonder what the devil is going on when I announce my marriage to his maid. I don’t want him to misunderstand and challenge me to a duel.” He was only partly teasing.
“You’ll have time for that after we leave.” The door to the drawing room opened and Philippa exited, her parents behind her.
“Are you ready to come home with me?” St. Albans asked.
“Yes, but I need to pack my things.”
“Your clothes can be sent over this evening.”
“Oh, but I don’t wish to leave my mother’s necklace behind.” She blushed and bowed her head in embarrassment.
“Allow me to accompany you.” Beau joined her and they walked quickly upstairs to her bedchamber. He needed a moment alone with her again.
“Have you come to a decision? On marriage, I mean?”
“Yes.” Philippa walked to her bed which had been put to rights with fresh linens. It was as though last night had never happened.
“And?” He followed her with his eyes, watching her restless pacing.
She stopped and offered a hopeful smile. “Yes.”
Beau smiled back, perhaps too quickly given the look of suspicion in her eyes.
“But I have one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I need to know if you will try to love me. I know that I am not what you wished for, that you had no desire to marry or love anyone… But would you try with me?”
It was as though she knew the one thing he feared, the one thing he couldn’t agree to without it being a lie. “I…”
“Try. That’s all I’m asking. An attempt.” The need for love was there in her hopeful face and he knew he would agree. He would try. Even if it scared the bloody hell out of him.
“I can endeavor to try,” he whispered in her ear and he meant it. He didn’t know if love would come, or if his heart would let it, but he would try. That single promise seemed to give her the strength to turn and face him. Their lips met in a feathery kiss.
“I vow to try to love you as well,” she replied. “Although I suspect I am halfway there already,” she added under her breath.
Beau cupped her face and kissed her like a man possessed. He only let go when they were both breathless. He kept his forehead pressed to hers, savoring the intimate touch before he finally stepped back.
“You’d better go, before I try to keep you here against the duke’s wishes.”
Philippa hastily packed a small bag and rushed past him. He stayed there a moment longer, his gaze drifted to the painting of Leda and the Swan.
A god so desperate for a woman he made himself mortal…vulnerable. Beau now understood Zeus’s decision. Not the outcome or the violence, but certainly the initial thought of transformation and the risks that came with it.
Beau had worked so diligently to avoid love and marriage and yet he was willingly walking into the latter and it was likely inevitable that the former would follow.
If only the shadow of Monmouth wasn’t looming over this whole affair…
* * *
Philippa and her parents entered the duke’s home that afternoon as guests. The butler, Mr. Jarvis, was delighted to see them. She was shown to a bedchamber, as were her parents, and all were allowed some time to rest before the evening meal. She hadn’t thought she was tired but after all the revelations from that morning, her body was heavy with exhaustion. Collapsing on the bed, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
She woke some time later to the sound of the dining room gong and rushed hastily downstairs. Her mother and father were already in the Duke’s vast dining room, staring at everything wide-eyed. It was easy to understand their shock. They’d never been in a house like this before, let alone a grand room with gilded portraits and fine china, or a mahogany table that could seat twenty people.
Philippa was distracted through most of dinner, answering only when questions were posed to her. It was a small relief to be left to gather her thoughts. To be an upstairs maid one minute and a duke’s granddaughter the next…and she was to be married in a few days? It was a lot to absorb.
She pushed her chair back and stood. St. Albans and her father stood in response.
“I’m terribly sorry. I’m not feeling particularly well. May I go to bed, Your Grace?”
“Of course, child. Jarvis, have Mrs. Honeyweather see to her needs.”
Jarvis nodded and walked with her to the stairs. He hovered politely at her elbow, making her feel a bit silly.
“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis, but I can walk upstairs. Please do not trouble yourself.”
“If you have need of anything, Miss Wilson, we are at your disposal.” Mr. Jarvis’s understanding look made her shake a little. The duke had told his butler and housekeeper the truth of Philippa’s birth, but they’d been warm and gracious before as well. Nothing seemed to have changed now that her past had been disclosed to them. It was a mark of the duke’s personality that he’d selected servants who were accepting of such things. She had known of plenty of fine houses in London where the servants were just as arrogant as their masters, if not more so.
Philippa paused halfway up the stairs, her fingers resting on the mantle as she felt something call to her. She turned and, without fully knowing why, headed toward the portrait gallery. She was alone as she reached Albina’s portrait, and no candles were lit for her benefit. Moonlight illuminated the woman who mirrored her in so many ways.
This was her mother, a woman who’d died giving her life and a name. When she’d been here a week before, she’d been astonished at the similarities but never could have imagined so simple a truth as being the woman’s daughter. Philippa studied the Albina’s features, wishing so hard that she could have known her, at least for a time.
“I’m sorry we never met,” she whispered to the silent face smiling down at her.
“I’m sorry, too.”
St. Alban’s voice made her jump. He smiled as he joined her.
“She would have adored you. In fact, I know she did. She came to visit me when she was six months pregnant. Your father was furious with her for traveling, but Albina insisted. She stood here in this very hall, a hand on her belly as she spoke of her child with
so much love.”
“But she had two children.” The twin brother Philippa would never know was a hollow space in her heart. She would have given anything to have grown up with a sibling.
“The numbers wouldn’t have mattered. Love isn’t bound by limitations. She loved both of you, even before she knew you.”
Philippa wrapped her arms around herself. “Your Grace, what are we going to do? If we reveal my true heritage, Roderick will no longer be the Earl of Monmouth’s heir. He will be cast out of society.”
The duke clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve been thinking over that problem as well. Roddy is dear to me. I love the lad as much as I love you.”
His words made her gasp.
St. Albans’s brows rose. “You’re surprised I love the boy?”
She stared down at her slippers in embarrassment. “I’m surprised that you love me.”
“My child, I loved you the moment Beau told me he’d rescued you, before I’d ever seen your face or learned the truth about you.”
“But why?”
“Because of Beau. You didn’t know him, my dear. He was lost in himself. He wasn’t invested in life, but then he came to your rescue. I wish you could have seen him as he talked about you. You woke him up.” The duke’s bittersweet smile tore at her heart. “After he lost his father, he had only his mother, but then he lost her as well. After that, he closed up. He changed. But now I’ve seen a man with hope. It scares him, I think, but at least he has it. And you, my child, are his hope. I love you for that.”
Philippa bit her lip as the duke held open his arms. She moved into his embrace, shaking as sobs wracked her.
“You will never have cause to be sad again, not if I can help it,” the duke promised. “You have your parents. You have me. And you have Beau.”
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed in his arms, breathing in the faint scent of cigar smoke and thinking how it was strangely comforting.
“Now, dry your eyes and go up to bed. We have a full day ahead of us. Your wedding.”
“You truly believe marriage is a good idea?”
“I do.” The duke answered without hesitation. “Beau would not have volunteered it unless he was certain that was what he wished to do.”
“But it’s only to catch Monmouth and Sommers.” He had denied it, of course, but that may have simply been for her benefit.
“Not at all. I believe he offered marriage because he wanted it, but he is afraid to admit it. As a man, I can admit that sometimes we avoid things that frighten us. We come up with bizarre rationalizations, and we act in ways which prove mysterious to sensible ladies such as yourself. But I promise you that Beau is a good man and he would do right by you in marriage.”
Philippa looked at the wall of ancestors. Her ancestors.
“Your Grace…”
“Grandpapa,” he suggested softly. “If you like.”
“Grandpapa.” She gestured to the dozens of oil painted figures. “Would you tell me about them?”
The duke took her arm in his and they paused at a portrait next Albina’s. “I would be delighted.”
“This was Marianne. Your grandmother. Devil of a flirt, she was. A lover of tea and cold winter mornings where frost patterned the windows. She never met a horse she couldn’t ride.”
He moved on down to the next portrait of a solemn man with silver eyes and a slightly hawkish nose. She liked his dark, brooding masculine beauty.
“And him?” Philippa noticed he wore a find doublet of blue silk and high-heeled shoes that had been the height of fashion a hundred years before.
“Alexander, a great uncle of mine. Clever fellow. Always causing trouble with ladies of the married variety but never getting caught. A delightful scoundrel, or so I’ve been told.”
And so went the introductions to a lineage Philippa never imagined could be hers. Hanoverian princesses, master painters, dukes, infamous rogues, and talented singers. The family was a noble one with color and life. For the first time, Philippa felt she might fit in somewhere with these passionate adventurers.
Chapter 16
Beau walked into Ashton Lennox’s drawing room and found the typically business-minded baron playing a game of peekaboo with his two-year-old daughter.
“Where’s Rose?” The man chuckled as he covered his face and then pulled his hands apart to reveal himself to the child.
“Here!” Rose squealed, kicking her chubby legs in delight. She had her father’s pale blond hair which curled in natural ringlets just past her shoulders. Her eyes lit up with a sense of devious mischief.
Beau coughed politely and the little girl raised a tiny finger at him.
“Rogue!” she cried out, still pointing at him.
Beau covered his mouth to hide a laugh. “I beg your pardon?”
Lennox straightened, scooped the girl up off the couch and set her on one hip before he gave her cheek a kiss.
“Go find your mother.” He set her down and she toddled off into the corridor.
“Miss Rose!” The footman exclaimed, chasing her past the doorway as she giggled wildly.
“Did you just set your baby loose in the hall on her own?” Beau asked.
“Absolutely. It keeps my footmen on their toes to chase the scamp about.”
“And did she just call me a rogue?”
Lennox rolled his eyes. “It is her new favorite word. Her mother tends to call all my friends rogues, so Rose now believes any man who sets foot in this house must be one.”
“I see.” Beau still smiled as he followed Ashton out of the drawing room and into a study where he closed the door.
Lennox leaned back against his desk. “There have been some developments, I understand?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Beau asked, a little suspicious.
“The fire on Bond Street was a very public affair. I had a man I trust watching over the Wilsons’ shop and he reported to me at once that you and St. Albans had safely escorted the Wilsons out of the flames.”
“So, it is true. You do have spies everywhere,” Beau muttered. He’d heard rumors for years that he should never cross Lennox, and now he was seeing why.
“I won’t apologize,” Lennox said. “Now, what have you discovered?”
“To get straight to the point,” Beau said. “Philippa is Monmouth’s legitimate daughter. She was one of a set of twins. The other child, a boy, died. Monmouth was left without an heir, so he paid the Wilsons for their son. In exchange, they took Philippa to raise as their own. We learned this from the Wilsons, but only after we found the midwife had been killed. We believe Sommers killed her and set fire to the Wilsons’ home.”
“Christ,” Lennox muttered, seeming to put together some larger picture in his mind. “The things men will do to hold onto a legacy… and I’m starting to wonder if there is anything Sommers won’t do if it amuses him. The man is a monster. When will it end with these two?”
“When Philippa is dead, or they are arrested,” Beau replied bluntly. “Which brings me to my next point.” He paused, but Lennox did not interrupt him. “I am to marry Philippa. We are putting our announcement in the morning post tomorrow and I am to obtain a special license today.”
Lennox eyed him. “Is this merely to draw the scoundrels out?”
Beau held his breath a moment. “No.”
“I presume Philippa is aware of this?”
“Yes, she has agreed.”
“Very well. Not that you or she need my consent, but you have it.”
“Thank you.”
“When is the wedding?”
“A few days from now. The sooner the better, I should think. Monmouth, and likely Sommers, will seek to act once they learn of it.
“Indeed,” Lennox agreed. “What would you have me do?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe have pistols present at my wedding?”
Lennox nodded thoughtfully. “And a few other precautions, perhaps.”
“You don’t truly think
they would storm into St. George’s and shoot her?”
“No…At least not Monmouth, and certainly not directly. But with Sommers, I cannot be too sure.” Lennox stroked his chin and a shadow passing across his face. “One can never be sure how evil men with greed in their hearts will act, and it seems that predicting Sommers is like predicting the weather. Better to be prepared than not.”
“Agreed.” Beau sighed. “Well, I suppose I’m off to procure a license and see to the announcement in the papers.”
Lennox crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. “Oh, now that your circumstances have changed, are you still planning to move to New Orleans to run the Southern Star shipping office?”
Beau hadn’t given much thought to his own plans in days. Not since he rescued Philippa. “I… Yes. I believe I will.”
“Let me know if that changes. Our business arrangement can remain the same. I would simply need to send correspondence to New Orleans to have a manager appointed for you if you choose to remain here with your bride.”
“Thank you, Lennox. I will keep you informed. Once I survived the wedding, I’m sure I will have a better sense of my future.”
Beau shook Lennox’s hand before he left him alone in his study.
As Beau stepped out into the wintry light of October, he couldn’t help but wonder what he should do. For so long, he’d wanted a change of pace. He wanted to go to New Orleans, but she wouldn’t wish to leave her family or her grandfather, not when she’d just found him. There was no possibility she would wish to move to New Orleans with him.
That meant he faced the decision himself, to stay or to go. And while his heart said no, his mind insisted that time and distance apart would keep his foolish heart safe.
* * *
The following morning, the announcement of Mr. Beauregard Boudreaux’s engagement and upcoming wedding to one Philippa Wilson took London by a veritable storm. Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex spread the paper out before her while she ate her breakfast with her husband, Godric.
Boudreaux’s Lady Page 18