“My brother is a most fortunate man. He found and wed a woman of sense, compassion and beauty.”
Persephone sighed as she refilled his cup. “Sense, yes. Compassion for those less fortunate, absolutely…those of the ton, not as much.”
“Do not forget beauty, dear sister.”
She shrugged. “I suppose it is in the eye of the beholder.”
The earl lifted his cup, toasting her. “Indeed.”
*
Three hours later, the duke and Lady Phoebe arrived amid much confusion.
“And I say you’re corkbrained!” the diminutive dark-haired beauty proclaimed, storming in after the duke.
“I beg your pardon?” he stopped, and the young woman…alike enough in looks to be a Lippincott with her wavy dark chestnut hair and bright blue eyes…did not, bumping into him. He, however, did not budge. His sister would have fallen on her backside had he not reached out to steady her on her feet.
Instead of backing down and apologizing, the firebrand put her hands on her hips and bit out, “Addlepated!”
“That is quite enough,” the duke said, before whirling around to stalk down the hall to his study.
From where she stood at the top of the stairs, Persephone could not credit her husband left his sister alone, without seeing to her comfort, after what had undoubtedly been a trying journey from their home in the country.
“Lady Phoebe?” Persephone said, descending to the entryway. “You must be desperate for a hot cup of tea.”
The concern in Persephone’s voice took the wind out of the younger woman’s sails as she all but deflated in front of her.
“Men can be vexing at times,” she soothed. “Can they not?”
When her sister-in-law smiled, Persephone was relieved.
“You have no idea,” Phoebe bit out. “Any chance Mrs. O’Toole has baked any of her treacle tarts to accompany the tea?”
“Of course, in anticipation of your arrival,” Persephone reassured her. “I am sure she’s kept the water hot. Would you care to relax in your room first? Shall I have tea brought up?”
Jenkins held the door to the servants’ wing, as Patrick walked in with a large trunk on his shoulder, immediately followed by two footmen bearing trunks.
“Is all of that yours?” Persephone had never traveled with more than one trunk.
“Please do not start when I’ve only just heard that from my brother.”
“Let’s get that tea, shall we?” Persephone coaxed her new charge up the stairs and into the younger woman’s bedchamber.
They stood back as the three men unloaded the trunks in a line along one wall.
“Thank you, Patrick.” Phoebe’s smile seemed a bit too familiar.
He inclined his head and left, quickly followed by the others.
Persephone sighed. She would have to have that particular discussion later, when her sister-in-law was not quite so cross and perhaps more amenable to discussing the topic of not fraternizing with the staff. The implication of such and rampant rumors that would no doubt follow did not bear consideration. She would do all in her power to protect her sister-in-law from what she herself had suffered.
A few moments later, Mrs. Wigglesworth arrived with a maid bearing an enormous tea tray. “Lady Phoebe,” she cried. “You have been missed.”
The young woman pouted. “I would not have been had my brother seen fit to collect me two months ago.”
“Now, now,” Mrs. Wigglesworth soothed, “a nice cup of tea and Mrs. O’Toole’s treacle tarts are what you need.”
“Was the journey without issue?” Persephone asked.
“Broken spoke on one of the back wheels,” Phoebe said after polishing off two treacle tarts, reaching for the teacup in front of her.
“Were you hurt?”
She laughed, surprising Persephone.
“Not hardly as I landed on my brother’s head.”
“Oh, dear. Is he hurt?”
Mrs. Wigglesworth harrumphed, and Phoebe lifted her teacup to sip delicately from it before answering. “Right as rain. He has quite a hard head you know. Both of my brothers do,” Phoebe confided.
“Was anyone else injured?” Persephone thought she’d noticed a purple slash along the edge of Patrick’s jaw.
“Yes.” Phoebe put her empty teacup and saucer on the tabletop. “Patrick, one of my brother’s footmen. Isn’t he the most handsome of men?”
“Hmmm…” Persephone did not know quite how to respond without sounding like her mother. She was torn, trying to hold out against the imploring looks Phoebe cast her way, knowing she had to speak up.
She set her teacup down. “Patrick is the head of our guard, not a footman. Your brother has worked very hard to restore the family name, Phoebe. I would not want to see his hard work undermined—whether intentionally or by accident.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened while she listened. Her sigh was overly loud. “If he had only put it that way, I would not have become overset.”
“I take it he said as much to you?” Persephone knew he must have from the way his sister frowned into her teacup.
“He told me my wits had gone begging.”
Persephone did not let on that she might have said the same under the circumstances. “Was that all?”
“No,” Phoebe said, her eyes slits of deadly blue. “He said I would not be allowed—can you credit it?—allowed to attend your ball if I did not stop casting my lures at the help.”
Persephone was surprised and yet knew her husband had to have been vexed in the extreme to have threatened to ban Phoebe from the ball when it was his intention to find his sister a gentleman of noble birth with deep pockets to wed.
“He has been under undue stress as of late,” Persephone told her. “He only wants what is best for you.”
When Phoebe’s jaw set, she knew she had to do all in her power to implore the young woman to acquiesce to Jared’s wishes. “Has he told you why he married me?”
The small smile lifting Phoebe’s lips eased one knot of tension in Persephone’s stomach.
Instead of answering, his sister shrugged.
“He needed someone he could trust to go about in society, introducing you to those who are worthy of your regard. You would be able to make friends among other young women of a similar station in life and meet gentlemen of consequence. Those who would not seek your hand for your fortune alone.”
Phoebe set her plate down next to her teacup, delicately blotted her lips with the monogrammed linen napkin and placed it, too, on the table. “If you believe that’s the only reason my brother offered for your hand, you have not gazed into a looking glass as of late.”
“What does that have to do with what I can offer you as your chaperone during the remainder of the Season?”
Phoebe smiled, like a cat that had just been served a bowl filled to the brim with fresh cream. “Not a bloody thing.”
Persephone’s eyes raised at Phoebe’s words, but she did not remonstrate her for the use of them, as she had done so quite recently herself. “Your brother is an honorable man. I have vowed to do all I can to see you safely through your first Season. I would ask you do not add to his duties at present. He has far more than you know of or could possibly imagine.”
With that, she rose and rang the bell pull. “I’ll have one of the servants remove the remnants of our tea. Did you bring a lady’s maid with you?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I did not want to bring her to London as I had no indication from my brother how long I’d be staying.”
“There are still a few months left in the Season. You will most definitely need a lady’s maid. Shall we see if there is someone on the staff who can fill in for her while you are here?”
“Thank you, I’m sure Mrs. Wigglesworth can find someone more than suitable.”
“I’ll see you at dinner, then.” Persephone held the door open, surprised one of the servants had answered the summons so quickly. “I’ll just have a word with Mrs. Wigglesworth
and send her up with your new lady’s maid to attend you, shall I?”
“Lovely,” Phoebe said, closing the door in Persephone’s face.
Persephone blew out a breath. “Well, that did not go quite as I’d hoped…and she was not quite what I expected.”
Not quite as confident as she’d been an hour prior, Persephone sought out Mrs. Wigglesworth and met the two maids she felt were up to the job of handling Lady Phoebe, as the older woman put it. With a grateful sigh of relief to have handed the task over to someone far more qualified than herself to handle her new charge, Persephone sought out her husband.
With a swift knock, she waited for him to bid her enter, surprised he was involved in a meeting with his brother, Patrick, and a man she guessed must be the mysterious Mr. King from Bow Street, his red coat giving him away.
“I do beg your pardon, milord,” she turned around and slipped back out through the door.
Her husband caught up with her a few doors past his study. “Persephone, I would have a word with you.”
She looked into the face she was coming to know as well as her own. Unable to help herself, she ran the tips of her fingers along the line of his jaw, searching for an injury, no matter how slight. “I am glad you were not injured, Jared.”
His eyes deepened to that desperately brilliant blue she now welcomed. “I cannot say the same for O’Malley.”
“Why is he not being attended to by Mrs. O’Toole, or do we need to summon the physician?”
“He refused until he could give his joint report with King from the Runners. We have…had our man.”
“Then can we—”
“I must get back to the study to hear the whole of it. I can tell you it is bleak, Persephone, and far worse than I’d imagined it would be.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Have Mrs. O’Toole put together one of her poultices along with a large linen square.”
“For what purpose?” she asked.
“O’Malley needs the poultice for his jaw and the linen square to wrap his ankle. One of the trunks my sister insisted were essential to the journey hit him when the spoke on the carriage wheel splintered…he landed crooked when he fell, injuring his ankle.”
“Mayhap two poultices then, Jared? One for his jaw and one for his ankle once it has been wrapped. Shall we send Jenkins along to help him upstairs?”
“Not until I send word…if you would, Persephone.” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing the feather-light kiss she’d come to anticipate whenever he took leave of her.
She sighed deeply and cupped the side of his face lovingly in her hand. Standing on the tips of her toes, she pressed her lips against his cheek briefly before opening the door to the servants’ side of the town house.
Persephone rushed into the kitchens and found Mrs. O’Toole in the midst of tying a bit of cheesecloth into a knot, lowering it into a pot of boiling water. “Ah, you’ve already heard what was needed.”
She nodded. “Jenkins sent word around for two poultices to reduce swelling.”
“Thank you. Jared…er, His Grace has assured me they are very nearly done hearing Patrick’s report. Jenkins will assist him to the kitchens.”
“He’s a good lad, but takes his job quite serious, mind?”
“I have noticed and am grateful. I feel much safer and am more vigilant than I had been prior to…that is…” She closed her eyes and would have wept, had she not felt the reassuring arm about her waist.
“Here now,” Mrs. O’Toole helped her to sit. “You’re looking a bit on the peaked side, Your Grace. Rest a bit, won’t you? I’m certain Mrs. Wigglesworth will remind young Lady Phoebe of her debt to the duke. That one’s always been a mite spoiled and needs to understand the world does not revolve about her.”
Persephone sighed. “I was once that young and just as spoiled.”
“And look at you now,” Mrs. O’Toole beamed. “There’s your color come back. I have a bit of tonic, if you need it.”
“I’ll be fine,” she reassured the kindly cook. “The worries piled up on me while His Grace was gone.”
“All will be well now that he’s returned,” Mrs. O’Toole reassured her. “You shall see.”
Persephone hoped, but did not plan on their troubles vanishing that easily or quickly.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“You will have faith in me, Wife,” the duke grumbled, tying his neckcloth. He had sent his valet off on another errand he had not deemed worthy of Persephone’s concern.
“I would have more faith if you but shared a tidbit of what you were about. Do you think I don’t know another missive arrived today?” Heart in her throat, Persephone whirled around to keep from saying more than she already had.
“The investigation is taking longer. Apparently, Hollingford has powerful connections.”
“Does he?” Persephone asked, keeping her back to him.
“The viscount has reappeared and has been noted out and about in society again. Lady Hampton, on the other hand, has disappeared. Apparently, she has gone into hiding.”
The heavy hands on her shoulders stilled the maelstrom of worry inside of her. She put her trust in her husband, believing the threats would stop—and the culprits brought to justice. She couldn’t bear to think otherwise.
Leaning back against the man who held her heart, she sighed. “I cannot help but be concerned, Jared.”
“And why would that be?” He wrapped his arms about her waist, resting his chin atop her head.
“If you must pry?”
“Oh, I must,” he reassured her.
Before she could utter another word, Jared spun her around until she faced him. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her with a thoroughness that always had her heart pounding and head spinning. “What do you feel, Persephone?” he asked, pressing a trail of kisses along her jaw and beneath it.
His kisses were just one part of their marriage she’d come to treasure. His honesty, integrity, and willingness to help others were all a part of the whole that comprised the man she’d come to love.
“Love?” he asked, hauling her close, kissing her breathless. “Do you love me, Persephone?”
Had she said that out loud?
When she remained silent, he warned, “Do not torment me, Wife.”
Her smile radiant, her heart full, Persephone lifted to her toes and wrapped her arms around the man she loved…rather desperately. “I love you, Jared Malcolm Lippincott…with or without your ducal mantle wrapped about you.”
He lifted her off her feet, spinning them around to the point where she had to hold her head to steady it. He was laughing when they tumbled to the bed. “I didn’t think I needed to hear you say the words,” he confessed.
“And how do you feel about me?” she asked, resting her head in the crook of his arm.
“I adore you.”
“Hmmm…”
He drew her on top of him and kissed the tip of her nose, one cheek and then the other before nipping her right earlobe. “I love you, Persephone Amelia Lippincott.”
“Do you, truly?”
He nodded. “And have since I saw you bathed in moonlight, waltzing alone on the terrace.”
She sighed. “At first, I thought I’d imagined you until I looked up into your beautiful blue eyes,” she whispered. “I’ve come to depend upon seeing you first thing in the morning and last thing at night.”
“Ah,” he rumbled, “would that we could escape our duty tonight and spend the whole of it waltzing in the moonlight.”
“My mother would be quite overset after all of the planning and finagling she’s gone through putting this ball together at your request. But more, she is a bit nervous that you will find fault with the arrangements she’s made.”
“I would imagine that she would. But I have no doubt the ball will go off without a hitch.” His gaze locked with hers as he trailed the tips of his fingers along her collarbone and back to dip into the hollow at the base of her throat.
“Your sister would be most put out, after she’s met more than one gentleman who has shown more than passing interest in her.”
“Other than the ones I’ve already approved?”
“I do not think so. Mayhap I shall have to ask your spies,” she said, shifting to her side, sliding off the bed.
“They are not spies, my love. They are my personal guard.” He pushed off the bed to stand beside her. “They ensure the safety of those I love.”
“I do not mean to jest, Jared. I’m not accustomed to being shadowed.”
“A vital part of their duties.”
She’d promised not to become vexed with her husband, understanding he had his reasons for keeping silent about certain matters. But she was not happy about it.
“Come now,” she urged, turning her back on him to replace the pins that had loosened her artfully tousled updo. “We have duties to see to, and your sister’s future to plan. No time for lollygagging, Your Grace.”
“Ah, but I have far more in mind to do than lollygag, Your Grace.” He pressed a warm, soft kiss to that spot…where her neck meets her shoulder…the one guaranteed to have her melting into his arms.
“You do not play fair,” she whispered.
“All is fair in love and war,” he reminded her, stepping close enough for her to see their reflection in the looking glass.
“Are we at war?” When would they see an end to the troubles surrounding him? He worked so hard, striving daily to restore that which had been lost. Now that his sister was here, his tasks seemed endless.
“Nay, not you and me. Others mayhap, but that will soon be over, if the recent intelligence I’ve received bears fruit.”
“Can you share a bit of it with me?” She stared into the looking glass and his eyes.
“I cannot…will not risk putting your life in peril.”
“What of your peril?” she rasped, turning to face him.
He lifted her hands to his lips. “I would do all in my power to right the wrongs that have been done these few years past. Not of my doing, but my responsibility just the same.”
“And you will not confide in me.”
“Nay, my love.”
Mending the Duke’s Pride Page 29