Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

  Her mother rose with grace and inclined her head before leaving them, quietly closing the door behind her.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Persephone could not remember specifically doing anything—other than being found on the floor when her illustrious duke walked into the salon.

  He reached for her hands and gently tugged her to her feet. “I would ask the same. Have I done something to engender such unease in you that you cannot eat…when I know you are beyond hungry?” He paused, adding, “Given the…er…” He stared at her stomach, and back up to meet her gaze, “Rumblings.”

  She sighed. “I was thinking,” she admitted. Should she tell him what worried her? Tell him what was in her heart? Would he be angry? Would he decide she was not worthy of him after all? Persephone had quite thought she would not be. He’d surprised her when he offered marriage. She’d never intended to accept his offer, but then he’d spoken of his sister and she’d felt needed. It had been quite some time since Persephone had felt as if she’d be able to make a difference in anyone’s life.

  Then there was the way she’d felt when they’d waltzed in the moonlight…

  He pulled her against him and rested his chin atop her head. His sigh was long and deep. “Have you changed your mind about marrying me?”

  She reacted immediately, pushing out of his arms. “I thought you would when you walked in and found me on my…er—”

  “As we are to be husband and wife in a few short hours, I feel as if I may speak plainly—at least when we are alone.”

  She nodded.

  “When I walked in and found you sitting on the floor with a surprised look on your face, I was worried you’d injured yourself. When it became obvious that was not the case, I worried you’d had a change of heart after you’d accepted my offer yesterday. I realize the timing is a bit rushed, but circumstances being what they are…” his voice trailed off.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “I have not changed my mind. I was worried about you changing your mind…and other things.”

  He pulled her back into his arms and breathed deeply. “Tell me what is on your mind and in your heart, Persephone,” he rasped. “And I promise to tell you what is on mine.”

  She sighed, relaxing in the circle of his embrace. “I’m a bit worried about the after.”

  “What after?” he asked, not releasing his hold on her…even when she squirmed against him.

  Persephone stiffened, prompting him to say, “I won’t be angry unless you are not honest with me.”

  “After we are married—the marriage bed.”

  “Ah, the unknown,” he supplied, and she nodded.

  “I promise to go slowly,” he told her as he tipped her chin up.

  “Thank you, Your—”

  “Jared.”

  “Thank you, Jared.”

  He smiled and captured her upturned lips in a gentle kiss. “And what do you promise me, Persephone?”

  “Not to laugh when you undress?” She could have bitten off the tip of her tongue for that last. “I’m sorry, Your Grace!” She tried to shove out of his arms, but he was far stronger than she imagined.

  “And why, pray tell,” he ground out, “would you laugh?”

  Oh, dear! He hadn’t reminded her to call him by his given name and sounded quite perturbed. She’d best answer right away. “I…that is…you see—”

  When she could not seem to put her thoughts into words, he eased his hold on her and stepped back, frowning at her. “Well?”

  His frown darkened his mien from head to foot until the icy duke stood before her. Used to anger with fire—as her father’s had always been, she had no idea how to go on. What to say or how to say it.

  “We shall remain standing here in this room until midnight if that is how long it will take you to find your backbone and explain the meaning of your words, Lady Persephone.”

  Against her will, tears filled her eyes. She’d never meant to hurt him and, somehow, she just knew she had. “I meant no offense,” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes and she thought she heard him counting…good heavens her mother did that when vexed with her. “Truly,” she said, louder this time.

  “Mayhap I misunderstood the reason you would feel the urge to laugh.” He straightened to his full height and threw his shoulders back. The Duke of Wyndmere was quite imposing when he chose to be.

  “If you must know,” she blurted out, “I’ve never seen a man without his clothes before, and I laugh when I’m nervous.”

  Bloody hell, she thought when he merely raised a brow in question—again.

  “I rather thought not.”

  She turned her back on him and stomped to the table. With a glance over her shoulder, she frowned back at him and picked up a berry tart. “I am on edge if I have not eaten and have a tendency toward shrewishness—as my mother is wont to say—when I am being closely questioned. It’s best you know ahead of time.”

  His expression smoothed out as he responded, “Indeed.”

  She sat down, vexed with the man. One word, damn him to perdition, was all it took to have her feeling quite inadequate and unsure of herself again.

  “Must you do that?” she asked after she’d consumed not one, but two raspberry tarts.

  “Do what?” he asked, sitting across from her on the striped settee.

  She picked up her teacup and motioned with it toward him. “That.”

  His lips quirked up on one side, revealing one of his delightful dimples again. She sighed. Her husband was not to be bowled over by her. Her father would have liked him very well, she realized. He’d always said he would need to find a man strong enough to see to the task of handling his daughter with kid gloves while at the same time not squashing her zest for life.

  Meeting the duke’s gaze, she said, “I rather think my father would have liked you.”

  “Because I would have you speak your mind and your heart?”

  She sipped from her teacup, blanching at the tepid temperature, before setting it back on the table. She reached for the pot and asked, “More tea, Jared?”

  He smiled. “Yes, thank you, Persephone.”

  “Father told me not to worry when only fortune hunters offered for me. He said it couldn’t be helped and was due to the size of my dowry.”

  “I have no need of your dowry,” the duke told her.

  “But if you had…” she began.

  He shook his head. “It would not matter a whit to me,” he said. “It’s what I see in your eyes and hear in your voice when you speak to those of your own station and those who serve you.”

  She bristled at the inference she needed to be served. “I really do not like having to have someone wait on me hand and foot, and only recently agreed to have a lady’s maid…” her voice drifted off. “Whatever can I do about Martha?”

  He set down his cup. “I have my men working to get to the bottom of her disappearance. I believe we have information and should know something more by tonight.”

  “But how?” Persephone let the first tear fall, and then another. Wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands as she had when a child, she tried to quell her tears.

  The duke handed her a large linen square. “Dry your eyes, Persephone. We are doing all that can be done to find your maid.”

  “Why?”

  “Why the devil what?” he demanded.

  Her gaze shot to his. Uncertainty coloring her tone, Persephone said quietly, “She is but my maid. Why would you go to such lengths to find her?”

  He stood and walked to the window, staring out at what lay beyond. “She is a person and of value, no matter her station in life.”

  Persephone rose and joined him, once again laying a hand on his arm. “I feel the same,” she told him.

  He wrapped an arm about her waist and drew her against his side. They were staring out into the bright sunlight when a rap sounded on the door.

  “Yes?” he said aloud.

  “Madame Beaudoine is here,” Jenkins
replied.

  “Ah,” he said. “Please send her in and ask Lady Farnsworth to accept my apologies and return as well.”

  As the women bustled into the room, the duke pressed his lips to the top of Persephone’s head and held her close for one brief moment. “Well shall do well together, Persephone.”

  He nodded to the ladies and quit the room.

  Her mother was about to ask what had happened, but Persephone shook her head. “All is well, Mamma.”

  Lady Farnsworth beamed as Madame Beaudoine and two of her seamstresses lay a beautiful gown, the color of twilight…a deep soft blue…across the back of the rose settee.

  “Shall we begin?” the modiste asked.

  A knock on the door had them turning toward it. Mrs. Wigglesworth bustled inside with two serving maids. One carried a tea tray and the other collected the remains of the one already in the room.

  “His Grace thought you’d enjoy a cup of tea before you begin, Madame Beaudoine. His Grace is most grateful for all you’ve done in such a short time.”

  The modiste nodded, her pleasure evident from the smile on her face. “Please thank His Grace for me.”

  Mrs. Wigglesworth glanced at the settee. “Oh!” she sighed as she walked over to the dress draped over the back of it. “Lovely, just as he said it would be.”

  “The duke talked to you of my dress?” Persephone couldn’t be more surprised.

  “He was a bit worried you might not like that he’d chosen to have one made up just for you without consulting you, even when using your favored modiste.” She turned and smiled at the modiste. “Madame Beaudoine, you are a wonder. I cannot wait to see what you will do for Lady Phoebe’s wardrobe.”

  “I look forward to fitting Lady Phoebe,” the modiste replied.

  “Here now,” Mrs. Wigglesworth said, “have a seat, ladies. We are a bit tight on time this morning. His Grace is quite adamant all must be ready as you are to wed at eleven o’clock.”

  Persephone thought of the duke and their heartfelt conversation before he’d left. She rather thought she had made the right decision to accept him. Time would tell about the rest of it. The unknown was best left for later. At least he had vowed to go slowly. Would that he said he’d be patient…but she’d worry about that later.

  Much later.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The duke paced in his study, wondering what Persephone would think of the gown he’d commissioned Madame Beaudoine to create for his bride. The modiste was a wonder, promising then delivering a gown on such short notice.

  He sighed. The bend his mind had taken as of late worried him. He needed to concentrate on his family’s reputation, not the woman he would wed in a little under two hours’ time. Then again, he thought, her reputation was now part of the family’s. He had to ensure nothing untoward happened to her or anyone connected to her as it would reflect on his family’s name.

  Good God, why had he not reasoned that out before now? What of the missing maid? The visit to Grimsby’s establishment? The Chellenham indiscretion? He was a bloody fool for not being able to see past his own desire to protect the woman he’d been drawn to from the first.

  The bilious-colored gowns had not been off-putting in the slightest. Her spectacles were actually quite lovely perched on the end of her pert little nose. And her eyes…the warm deep brown of her eyes was quite lovely. Roses in her cheeks, blue-black hair he imagined yet again spread out on his bedlinens in but a few short hours.

  “Devil take it,” he mumbled. In just a few hours, he’d have to feed the few guests who’d been invited to the brief ceremony and wedding breakfast to follow. Even as he paced a path from the window to the door of his study, the stouthearted Mrs. O’Toole was creating a spread fit for royalty. He had no doubt it would be and had hired on a few more servants to aid in the preparations and serving of the same.

  If he could only find out how the fitting had gone and whether or not his bride-to-be was pleased with the gown. Persephone had little or no say in their ceremony, the least he could have done was to allow her a say in the gown she would wear. There simply hadn’t been time.

  “Calf-brained,” he grumbled, “attics-to-let.”

  “I say,” a deep voice said from the doorway. “You shouldn’t bemoan your shortcomings, Brother,” Edward said cheerfully, striding into the room.

  “You’re here.” The duke met his brother halfway. “I had thought you would have turned up last evening.”

  “Had something to attend to,” Edward told him. “Couldn’t be helped.”

  “I see,” the duke said, and he did. “Did she beg you to stay, or is that not my business?”

  Edward grinned. “Not your bloody business and, yes, before you ask, I was beyond discrete. I cannot help it if women find me irresistible,” he told Jared. “’Tis my cross to bear in life.”

  The duke found himself chuckling, glad his brother had finally arrived. “You’ve been keeping a low profile as of late, Brother,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Edward met and held his brother’s gaze. “I said I would. A Lippincott does not go back on his word.” He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and gave it a pat. “Now, about your bride…”

  The duke raised one brow and his brother laughed aloud. “You have Father’s look down pat, brother mine. He’d be proud.”

  “Because I can raise one eyebrow?” the duke wanted to know.

  Edward let his hand fall back to his side. “Nay,” he said. “Father would be proud you’d dug us out of near bankruptcy and are working your fingers to the bone to pull our family name out of the gutter by our proverbial bootstraps.”

  The duke sighed. “Would that it will make a difference. I worry it won’t be enough. That those who once embraced Father, and have yet to open their doors to us, won’t ever do so.”

  “Does social consequence mean that much to you, then?”

  The duke met his brother’s gaze and shrugged. “Not as much for me as for Father’s memory, for you and Phoebe. She’s so young and deserves to meet and marry a man worthy of her. I fear she may say something untoward to one of the crowd of matchmaking mammas trying to land a titled gentleman for their horse-faced daughters.”

  Edward broke out into guffaws of laughter. “Horse-faced?” He laughed all the harder.

  The duke finally joined in. “It is good that you’re here, Edward.”

  His brother swallowed the rest of his laughter and sighed. “I couldn’t let you marry without me being here to toast your happiness.”

  “Does it matter?” The duke didn’t really see how it would.

  “Immensely. You are all that Oliver should have striven to be but could not see past his own selfish needs to realize. Father spent years trying to mold our brother into a younger version of himself. Even Father could not have predicted Ollie would have fallen so low as to gamble away his inheritance along with our family’s good name while satisfying his baser needs.”

  “All men have them,” the duke reminded him.

  “True,” Edward agreed. “But one can control them, temper them, while living an exemplary life. I should have spent more time aping you than trying to be more like Oliver.” Edward met his brother’s gaze. “Can you forgive me?”

  Jared was touched. His brother’s sincerity and plea hitting the very heart of what had been bothering him since he’d become the Sixth Duke of Wyndmere. “I don’t mean to be a dull-dish and constantly reminding you to at least show a bit more discretion in your string of lovers.”

  His brother nodded. “You cannot help being a bit on the dull side, you know,” he added, smiling at the expression Jared knew must be on his face. He’d felt as he had the time he’d been thrown from the hunter he’d vowed to ride even though their father had forbidden him to—as he’d been a mere ten years old at the time.

  “It’s certainly a boon to know my brother agrees wholeheartedly with me that I am dull.”

  They were both laughing when Jenkins knocked on the door to h
is study. “Are you ready, Your Grace?”

  Jared stiffened and looked to his brother who nodded.

  “He’s ready, Jenkins. And so am I.”

  “Very good.” Their butler bowed and left the door open behind him as he headed down the hallway.

  “Aren’t you the least bit anxious your bride-to-be will quail with fright before your ducal greatness?” Edward teased.

  Jared harrumphed in answer.

  “After all, she is a bit more mature than most of this Season’s debutantes.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “She does have rather interesting taste in her choice of evening wear,” his brother added, with a sideward glance at him. “Then again, I have heard lately she has taken to wearing colors complementing the color of her hair and eyes.”

  “Hmmm…” Jared wasn’t listening to his brother, as he wondered if Persephone was anticipating their time alone together as much as he. Remembering their chat when she’d confided her nerves and anxiousness, hoping not to laugh, he was not at all certain.

  Edward halted in his tracks. “What did you say?”

  Jared stopped beside him. “What?”

  Edward put a hand to the middle of his brother’s chest and asked him to repeat what he just said. “I believe I said, hmmm.”

  His brother growled.

  Quite animalistic of him, Jared thought.

  “After that!” Edward commanded.

  “I was thinking, not speaking,” Jared stated quite emphatically.

  “I distinctly heard you say something about hoping not to laugh.”

  Good God, he had said that last bit aloud? Surely his thoughts had gone begging in anticipation of marrying Lady Persephone. “Nerves,” he said to his brother. “Wondering if I’d laugh aloud during the ceremony due to nerves. Wouldn’t do at all if I laughed when asked if she is the woman I chose to wed above all others, would it?”

  Edward’s eyes narrowed and he stared at his brother. “You do not tell falsehoods without that telltale twitch under your left eye. Perhaps I should share that tidbit with your bride.”