Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

  “Do it at your own peril, brother mine.” Jared strode toward the upstairs ballroom where he would wed the woman of his choosing. The one whose eyes mirrored the purity of her soul, and the sadness of her heart. He’d cherish the first while he hoped to ease the second.

  Jared threw open the doors to the ballroom and stood staring, completely at a loss for words. The beauty of the woman waiting for him cut him off at the knees. That she could look so lovely, fragile and yet so strong at the same time, humbled him. He knew she was wary of what lay ahead, but she’d given her word. He admired her more in that moment than he thought possible.

  Their eyes met as he crossed the wide expanse of the ballroom. “You take my breath away,” he rasped, lifting her left hand and pressing his lips to the back of it before turning it over to press a soft kiss in the palm of her hand.

  Her swift intake of breath had his lips quirking up on one side. “Delightful,” he praised. “You and I shall do quite well,” he promised. “Trust me.”

  The wary look in her eyes softened, and he would later swear her gaze answered his edict. Trust him she would.

  Standing at his side, Persephone echoed his promises to love, honor and obey. He rather thought she’d have preferred not to have agreed to obey him. Given appearances and the fact his lady wife’s mother was present, she agreed. He had no doubt she’d been warned not to do or say anything untoward after the way he’d come upon her earlier. A look of shock on her face, hair tumbled to one side hanging over her left eye, her mouth in a delightfully rounded “O”.

  In that moment, the duke realized he could not wait to get his bride alone.

  A quarter of an hour later, they were wed and just finishing the first remove, when Jenkins was called away, only to reappear a few moments later and signal the duke—as they’d previously agreed should word arrive of Persephone’s missing lady’s maid.

  The duke leaned toward his bride and whispered, “Do excuse me for a moment. It appears Jenkins has urgent news.”

  “About?”

  He almost didn’t answer, then realized he would do well to fashion his marriage after his parents’, sharing news of import with his wife. “We may have news of Martha.”

  Her eyes filled and he cupped her cheek in his hand, murmuring, “Take heart, all will be well.”

  “How can you know?”

  “Trust me,” he commanded.

  She unknowingly quirked up her eyebrow but did not deign to respond.

  “Well done, lady wife,” he said before pressing a swift kiss to her forehead. He rose and nodded to those in attendance. “An urgent matter,” he explained, “please do continue with the meal, I shall return directly.”

  Without waiting for a reply from anyone, he strode from the room. His great strides ate up the distance to his study where King and O’Malley were waiting.

  “Your Grace,” King said. “I am very sorry to have disturbed your wedding breakfast.”

  The duke waved the apology away. “What news?”

  King nodded to the footman at his side. “O’Malley brings news, and I have ferreted out the information you requested.”

  The duke sighed. That it would come on this of all days. “My wife and guests await. Can you give me the short version?”

  King nodded and told the duke of the proof he’d unearthed about Lady Hampton, his older brother’s former lover, and Viscount Hollingford. “They’ve been seen in one another’s company at various functions about town. Word has it they are involved, and were overheard plotting against you and your wife.”

  “I see,” and he rather did. “One of their servants,” the duke murmured to himself. “Is that all?”

  “For now,” King told him. “The rest will keep until tomorrow, if you can spare an hour or so and meet me on Bow Street.”

  The duke agreed and turned to O’Malley. “What have you learned?”

  Patrick stood with his hands in fists at his sides and his eyes over-bright. “Martha has been found, Yer Grace.”

  The duke sighed with relief. “My wife will be most appreciative of your efforts to locate her—”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Grace, but I cannot let ye think the best. ’Tis dreadful news I bring ye.”

  The duke stiffened and listened to the whole of Patrick’s report. His wife’s maid had been found…too late. She’d hanged herself in her garters. The duke knew of the most common reason a young serving girl would do such a thing—she’d been violated and could not bear the consequences.

  His throat tightened. Good God, what kind of world did they live in where someone would force a woman to submit?

  “She’d been badly beaten, Yer Grace,” O’Malley added.

  He swallowed against the lump of anguish he felt for his wife’s maid and the sorrow his wife would no doubt feel when he told her. “Where is she now?” He would use his title to see heaven and earth moved to have the poor young woman’s body treated kindly and given a decent burial. She would not be buried at the crossroads at midnight with a stake through her heart as was the custom for those who’d taken their own lives.

  “I wasn’t sure what to do, so I called on yer physician.”

  “Dr. McIntyre,” the duke sighed deeply. “A good man, highly trustworthy. Has he taken charge of her body?”

  Patrick closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, as if remembering what had occurred after he found the body. “Aye.”

  The duke felt for the younger man. “I am deeply indebted to you and owe you more than you realize for going beyond what you’d thought your duties to be when you hired on as part of my household staff.”

  O’Malley shrugged. “It wasn’t that so much as the black eye and scratch marks…” He swallowed audibly and the duke walked over to his whiskey decanter and poured a glass, handing it to his former footman, now head of his household guard.

  “Drink up, man,” the duke ordered.

  O’Malley did and sighed. “Sorry, Yer Grace.”

  “I would hear the full report…later. I would not want my bride to believe I have left her high and dry in favor of my ducal duties even if they are of a most urgent nature.”

  King and O’Malley nodded as the duke took his leave. Standing in the doorway, he turned and said, “I owe you both for uncovering these most urgent circumstances in a swift and confidential manner. I shall see you are both compensated for your time and expertise.”

  “I don’t want any bloody—” Patrick’s horrified gaze met the duke’s. “I am mortal sorry, Yer Grace. Never have I seen…God in heaven—the angle of her neck.”

  The duke nodded to King. “Stay with him. I shall return in a quarter of an hour. I’ll have Mrs. Wigglesworth bring you something to eat.”

  “I don’t—” Patrick began only to fall silent at the hard look in the duke’s eyes.

  “I cannot seem to keep me mouth shut.”

  “You can,” the duke told him, “and you must until we find the bastard who did this. Mark my words, O’Malley…on my father’s grave, the man will be made to pay.”

  That quieted the younger man faster than words of sympathy for what he’d seen and had to handle on his own until Dr. McIntyre arrived on the scene. The duke would have to have a word with his bride to ensure the wedding breakfast ended on a bright note, even though in his heart he would have the darkest news to impart to his bride.

  On his way past the door to the servants’ quarters, Mrs. Wigglesworth emerged, a worried look on her face. “I was just summoned to the ballroom, is aught amiss?”

  “A matter of urgency called me away. I must see to it, but not until I return to the breakfast, my bride, and our guests. Do you have any suggestions to move them along?”

  His family’s faithful servant tilted her head to one side and finally smiled. “I believe I do.”

  He stopped mid-step on the stairs. “Well?”

  “When your father and mother were first wed, and he’d had enough of whatever gathering your mother organized and was p
utting him through—he truly hated socializing when he was not of a mood to.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “What did he do?”

  She smiled. “He’d rush into the room and sweep your mother off her feet and carry her out of the room. Stopped all music, conversation, and the like immediately. Then everyone would sigh over the newly-married couple and be smiling as they were ushered to the door with their top hats and cloaks.”

  “Brilliant,” he said. “Follow me.”

  The duke burst through the double doors to the ballroom, delighted to find his bride on her feet, standing behind her mother’s chair speaking to her. Without a word, he stalked over to where she stood, swept her into his arms and strode out of the room.

  Mrs. Wigglesworth beamed, saying, “I…er…believe His Grace has finished breakfast and has a more pressing matter to attend to.”

  Lady Farnsworth smiled and rose. “I believe I shall take my leave. Please do give His Grace and my daughter my best.”

  The duke’s housekeeper agreed as she moved everyone on their way out of the ballroom, down the stairs, where Jenkins escorted them to the door.

  By the time the room had emptied, Jared had deposited his bride in his bedchamber and explained very briefly, and not in any detail, he had news…not good…involving his wife’s lady’s maid.

  Persephone’s eyes reflected her sadness. “She’s been found?”

  He nodded.

  She closed her eyes. “And not in any pain?”

  He took her hands in his and answered, “Not any longer.”

  “Do I want to know what happened?”

  He shook his head. “I rather think not. We are in the process of finding the person responsible for this atrocity. I intend to see that he pays with his life.”

  Tears gathered in his wife’s eyes and slid from the corners, magnifying the depth of her concern and care for her maid…a woman close enough in age to be sister to his wife.

  “Would you…” She paused to wipe her eyes. “Would you let my mother know she’s been found?”

  He nodded. “I hadn’t thought to do so before she took her leave. I was more concerned with you, Persephone, and how you would take the news.”

  “That is the reason for your bold move in the ballroom?”

  “Bold?” he asked, one brow raised higher than the other. “I do not believe you’ve seen a bold move as of yet,” he said, leaning close so he could trace the edge of her jaw with a trail of swift, but persuasive kisses. “But you shall very shortly.”

  He eased back and bowed. “I have to listen to the rest of O’Malley’s report and send instructions with King.”

  “Is that your footman? O’Malley?”

  “Used to be my head footman, he’s now on protection detail, guarding my wife and family.”

  She looked up at him, pressing a hand over her heart. “Why me?”

  He closed the distance between them, bracketing his wife in his arms. Not even a breath of air remained between them when he pressed his mouth urgently upon that of his wife’s. She sighed and leaned against him more fully. Pouring all he felt for Persephone into his kiss, he was rewarded when she returned his kisses most passionately.

  His mind and his heart were in complete accord. He would be making Persephone his as soon as possible. He did not think he would survive the wait otherwise. “Until my return, duchess mine.”

  She laughed, a light and airy sound. “I do not think of myself as such and was by no means laughing at you, Jared.”

  He nodded, satisfied with her explanation. “I did not think otherwise.”

  “You had earlier,” she protested.

  “Ah, but that was before you admitted to laughing when you were nervous.”

  She shrugged.

  “Are you not nervous now?” He pulled her flush against him, cradling her slender curves.

  She giggled and her eyes widened. “Oh, dear, Jared…I did not mean to laugh at you. Forgive me?”

  He kissed her until his heart threatened to burst in his chest. “You do please me, my duchess. I intend to teach you how to do that and more…later.”

  He left her standing in the middle of his bedchamber, one hand to her lips and the other to her heart. He imprinted the image into his mind and onto his heart to carry with him through the unpleasantness he had yet to fully attend to.

  He hoped he would be able to leave the ugliness behind and bring only what was in his heart to his bride on this, their wedding night.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Persephone stared at the closed door and wondered what had happened to her maid. Whatever it was had rattled the man who’d just left her with a promise on her lips of what he would share with her later…in his bed.

  “Our bed,” she corrected, turning around to walk over to the four-poster bed where they would lie together, and mayhap she’d conceive a child—their child—tonight.

  Weighty thoughts for one who’d only just been married not an hour previously. “Why didn’t he take me with him?” she wondered aloud. “Did he not trust that I would not speak out of turn?”

  She sat on the side of the bed and thought over all she’d come to learn about her duke…and in but a few hours’ time he’d truly be hers. “It must be dreadful if he doesn’t want me to know the details.”

  Her eyes filled but, this time, she didn’t bother to stop the tears from falling. Someone had to grieve for the passing of Martha Eversham, a plucky young woman from the borderlands. While she cried for a life cut short, she hungered to know what happened, and thirsted for justice for her friend. And Martha had been that, if only for the briefest of times.

  She hoped to be able to speak freely with her husband, but knew he had to settle whatever needed settling before he could come back to her. She wanted to ease the dark worry she’d seen in the depths of his sapphire eyes. Uneasy with what lay there, confident he needed to share the worry with someone who would understand.

  Persephone was wise enough to know she might not understand the whole of the circumstances surrounding the passing…she could not quite vocalize it as “death” yet…hadn’t been able to call her father’s passing such as yet either. Mayhap in years to come when telling one of their children. “Children?” she gasped. “Are we to have more than one?” she wondered aloud. Probably not, she thought, her mother had suffered through more than one stillborn birth.

  But she’d do her part and try to conceive and grant the duke his heir and a spare, so he’d allow her to rusticate in the country without bothering her with his daily presence. Isn’t that what she wanted? “Of course, it’s what I want,” she said aloud.

  Her heart sighed and her head throbbed. No, you do not, she would admit to herself, but not aloud. She wanted the duke with her, paying his addresses to her, kissing her breathless until she was mindless to all but his lips on hers, their hearts beating in perfect rhythm.

  “No,” she realized at last. “I don’t want to be in the country if my duke is in London.”

  Mrs. Wigglesworth arrived an hour later with a tea tray. “His Grace wanted to ensure you were not hungry,” she said, when Persephone opened the door.

  “I see,” she said, thinking it was quite the opposite. She’d come back around to not understanding why he could not have included her in whatever conversations he’d had in his bloody study where all men planned their lives and those under their command. And was she not now under the Duke of Wyndmere’s command?

  “His Grace was most concerned,” Mrs. Wigglesworth said, as she set out the teapot and accoutrements herself. “Do you mind if I pour, Your Grace?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I asked if you minded if I poured, Your Grace?”

  “My husband is not here,” she said before pausing at the odd look in Mrs. Wigglesworth’s eyes. “Oh,” Persephone sighed, “you were referring to me.”

  The housekeeper nodded. “You are the new Duchess of Wyndmere.”

  “I suppose I shall become accustomed to the t
itle,” Persephone admitted.

  “It might take a bit of time to get used to,” Mrs. Wigglesworth said. “It has taken Jared…er…His Grace a bit longer than Jenkins and I thought it would.”

  “Please do pour, if you would, Mrs. Wigglesworth.”

  The housekeeper smiled and poured a cup, adding just a dollop or two of cream and a bit of sugar.

  “Thank you. Tea is best served quite warm, isn’t it?” Persephone asked.

  “I prefer mine hot, though others like it more on the tepid side.”

  “I cannot abide tepid tea,” Persephone said. “Though I would never complain as most of the time the reason the tea is tepid is due to the fact I tend to carry on conversations without pausing to sip from my teacup.”

  Mrs. Wigglesworth stared at the cup in Persephone’s hand and smiled.

  Persephone caught on to what the loyal housekeeper was doing. “Er…yes, exactly.”

  The older woman raised her empty hand to her lips as if to mime sipping from a teacup and Persephone laughed. It felt good to laugh after receiving such devastating news. That thought was quite sobering. “I have had bad news,” she said after taking a deep sip.

  “I know, Your Grace. I’m most distressed to hear of it.”

  “She was a friend to me,” Persephone added, her voice going soft as if to say it too loud would decry the feelings rioting through her. “We did not know one another long but, at times, length does not equate to the bonds of friendship, does it?”

  Mrs. Wigglesworth agreed. “I wish your mother was still here. You look as if you could use a hug from her.”

  Persephone set down her teacup, and stared at the kindly housekeeper, confessing, “I so desperately need a hug.” Meeting the older woman’s gaze, she shyly asked, “Would you be so good as to hug me?”

  Tears in her eyes, Mrs. Wigglesworth met Persephone halfway and hugged the new Duchess of Wyndmere to her heart and let the poor thing cry her eyes out.

  *

  The duke opened the door to his room in time to see his wife cradled against his housekeeper’s ample bosom…one he’d cried against on more than one occasion—definitely the time he’d been five and broken his collarbone climbing that dammed tree Oliver had egged him to climb. And then there was the time, he’d fallen off the stable roof when he was seven and twisted his leg beneath him…she’d comforted him that time, too.