A Second Chance With a Duke

by Claudia Stone

  "Imagine taking the word of another against your lady love," Michael continued, shaking his head with amusement.

  His words reignited a long buried memory within Katherine. She had once believed Lady Harrington, all those years ago, when she had told Katherine that he was promised to another. She had allowed someone else's scheming to cloud her judgement, just like Othello.

  "I have a confession," Katherine startled herself by saying. She had not meant to sound so serious, but she must have, for Michael stilled as he waited for her to continue.

  In a halting voice, Katherine outlined vaguely the circumstances which had surrounded her engagement to Charles. She did not dwell on how Lady Harrington had duped her with a false illness, but did let him know that the family's financial situation had been dire.

  "I tried," she continued, her voice slightly stronger, "To resist them, but then Lady Harrington told me that you were promised to the daughter of an earl, with a dowry of fifty thousand, and I am afraid that I believed her. I am no better than the Moorish Prince you scorned."

  The only sound within the box was the hammering of Katherine's heart. It felt good, after all these years, to have finally offered Michael an apology for her betrayal. Would he accept her words, or think her weak and foolish?

  As she waited, with baited breath, for him to reply, she witnessed a range of emotions filter across his face. What was he thinking, she wondered, though she did not have to wait much longer to find out.

  "I am sorry," he finally offered, his blue eyes rising to meet hers, "That I spent so long thinking badly of you. I had no right to feel betrayed by you, when I left you alone and defenceless. I was one and twenty, I needed no one's permission to make you my bride. I will regret, until my dying day, that I did not marry you a decade ago, Kitty."

  Gracious. Of all the things that Katherine had expected from her apology, a reciprocal apology was not one of them. She had thought Michael would rage, would berate her for having so little faith in him...Instead, he seemed to have intuited just how precarious a situation she had found herself in after her father's death.

  Guilt was writ across his face and Katherine longed to stroke his cheek and comfort him. Of course, they were in too public a place for her to do that, so instead she offered him words of comfort.

  "Please do not apologise," she begged, "You weren't to know. We weren't to know."

  They had both been young and foolish, they could not berate themselves forever from a position of hindsight. Katherine reached out to take Michael's hand, squeezing it tightly and trying to convey the sincerity of her words. He stared down at her hand upon his, then back up into her eyes, and a frisson of excitement ran through her.

  Michael seemed not to care, as Katherine had, for the fact that they were on public display, for he leaned forward, and with his free hand, gently stroked her cheek.

  "So, we are starting anew," he said, huskily, "With no anger or regret?"

  She nodded mutely in reply, her breath so constricted that she was unable to speak.

  "Very good," Michael winked roguishly, and lifted her hand to his lips.

  The noise from outside the door of their box, became too loud to ignore. It sounded like a herd of cattle were running through the theatre, as the audience made their escape.

  "We'd best venture out into the milieu," Michael said, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

  He stood and helped her into her cape, his hands gentle as he placed the material around her shoulders. They had said so much, after so long, that they were both temporarily quiet, as they made their way back down to the foyer.

  "Brace yourself," Michael urged her, as the crowds once more flocked toward them.

  Katherine pasted a smile across her face, as she greeted this person and that. She was introduced to so many people, that soon her cheeks ached from the strain of smiling politely. She had not known, before marrying Michael, just how much work was required of a duchess.

  "Your Grace, how wonderful you look."

  Katherine had just finished exchanging pleasantries with a rotund gentleman, whose name she could not recall, when a familiar voice caused her to turn.

  "Anthony," she inclined her head toward her brother in law, who was accompanied by a woman who—judging by the low neckline of her dress—was more of the demi-monde than the beau monde.

  "Did you enjoy the play?" Anthony queried, though he did not wait for her response before he continued, "I must say. It was hard to pay attention when everyone was chattering on and on about the Duchess of Elsmore's first appearance in society."

  "One would think people had more important matters to discuss," Katherine demurred, knowing full well that Anthony was trying to goad her.

  "One would," the viscount smiled thinly, "Though when your appearance when coupled with that of Miss Price, caused quite the stir. It's only natural, given the history..."

  Lord Atwood trailed off and stared pointedly across the room. Katherine willed herself not to turn her head, but she had been so curious, for so long, about the woman who had born Charles' child, that she found she could not resist.

  It was easy to discern Molly Price in the company she kept, for she was the only woman amongst a group of men. She, like Katherine, was fair haired, but that was where the comparison ended. Where Katherine was tall and slight, Miss Price was petite and curvaceous. Where Katherine was quiet and reserved, Miss Price was loud and vivacious.

  Katherine watched, with tired eyes, as the beautiful actress threw back her head and laughed gaily at something one of her companions had said.

  It was ridiculous to compare herself to the other woman, Katherine thought, for it was like comparing chalk and cheese. She had already spent many evenings wondering what Miss Price had that she did not, and she would not waste another.

  She could not give a fig for Miss Price; in fact, she was grateful that she had tempted Charles away with whatever mysterious quality it was that she possessed.

  "Quite the girl," Anthony observed, with a leer.

  Katherine looked at her brother in law and felt nothing but revulsion. What a horrid man he was, so like his brother. Anger flared in the pit of her stomach, as Katherine realised how much pleasure Anthony was extracting from making her feel uncomfortable.

  "Yes. She's quite pretty," Katherine observed, her tone clipped, "How sad that she was forced to waste her looks on your prig of a brother. Do you know, I'm of half a mind to go over there and thank her, for taking Charles off my hands. You can't imagine the relief of not having to see his face each morning at breakfast, it quite put one off one's food."

  "I did not know the Kitty had claws," Anthony observed, momentarily discombobulated by Katherine's sparky reply.

  He was accustomed to dealing with his brother's downtrodden wife, but she was no more.

  "I am not a Kitty, my Lord," Katherine replied, her voice sanguine sweet, "I am a duchess—and I will thank you not to address me so informally."

  With that parting barb, Katherine swept away from her brother-in-law, her head held high. She did not, as she had suggested she would, make her way to her late husband's mistress, instead she moved toward Michael, who smiled as she approached.

  "Is all well?" he enquired solicitously, glancing over her shoulder to where Lord Atwood stood.

  "All well," she replied, with as bright a smile as she could muster.

  The shine, however, had been taken off her perfect evening.

  In the carriage, on their way home, Katherine found that she could only half listen as Michael discussed the acquaintances he had spoken with. Once they arrived back at Elsmore House, they climbed the stairs in silence, Katherine too lost in thought to think of anything to say.

  Michael paused outside her bedroom door, to bid her goodnight, and Katherine watched as he hesitated.

  Did he wish to come in?

  The earlier lightness that she had felt was now gone and her heart was once more guarded against pain. Perhaps if she had not spoken with Anth
ony, Katherine might have been brave enough to invite her husband inside.

  Instead, as he bid her a reluctant goodbye, she said nothing. She just smiled at him and closed the door, unwilling to invite heartbreak into her life again.

  The next morning, Katherine awoke feeling groggy after a night of restless tossing and turning. Her sleep had been filled with nightmares, in which she had inexplicably been forced to watch Michael canoodle with Molly Price.

  She knew that it was just a dream, but still, as she washed and dressed for breakfast, she could not help but feel a sense of unease.

  "There you are," Michael looked up from the newspaper he was reading, as Katherine entered the dining room.

  The sense of unease she felt dissipated, as she took in his warm smile. She must stop allowing Charles to dictate her feelings from beyond the grave, she chided herself, for Michael was no more likely to run off with Molly Price than she was.

  She knew that she must banish the spectre of her late husband, for he must not be allowed to haunt her second marriage, as had her first. For a moment, she rued that Catholicism had fallen so far out of fashion, for Charles had been such a demon that she feared it would take an exorcism to cast him from her mind.

  "We have made the papers," Michael continued, as Katherine took her seat, "Have a look."

  She took the proffered paper and scanned the column that he had indicated to. The sense of unease and tension soon left her body as Katherine read the gushing prose in which she was described.

  "Goodness," she laughed, a genuine one which caused her shoulders to shake, "I fear they have gone overboard. I am hardly beguiling, nor is my hair plenteous and spun from silk."

  "You are plenty beguiling," Michael argued, a wolfish smile upon his face, "As for your hair, it is becoming. Yellow like...straw."

  He trailed off and scratched his chin, before breaking into another smile, "Well, you can see why I don't take up writing for a living. Your hair is lovely and so are you."

  "Thank you," Katherine flushed, unused to such compliments before breakfast.

  As the servants brought out plates of eggs and salmon and poured steaming chocolate into her cup, Katherine chatted easily with Michael about his plans for the day.

  "The House will sit in the morning," he said, between forkfuls of kippers, "Then I must meet with my man of business in the afternoon."

  He launched into a detailed account of the problems with drainage on one of their northern estates and the remedies he had been reading up on to try fix them. It was hardly scintillating, as conversations went, but his efforts to include her were touching.

  "I must dash," Michael said reluctantly, as he checked the time on his pocketwatch, "We're voting at eleven. I hope your morning is not too taxing."

  He stood up to go but before he left the room, he walked over to her and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  "Have a good day, dear," he said with a wink, and before Katherine could even reply, he was gone.

  Katherine finished her breakfast alone, perusing at her leisure the paper which Michael had left behind. She had no plans for the day and she was beginning to feel a stirring of boredom, when Bessie appeared, her face creased with worry.

  "Your Grace," she whispered, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder, as though she was afraid she was being followed, "They're here."

  "Who are here?" Katherine replied, flummoxed by her statement.

  "All of London," Bessie hissed, her eyes raking Katherine from top to toe, "Come, let me fix your hair a bit, before you receive them."

  The lady's maid bustled Katherine upstairs and hastily fixed her hair into a more charming style, before she coaxed Katherine into one of her new dresses.

  "You are suited for battle, your Grace," Bessie said, with a hint of satisfaction, as she tied the sash of Katherine's day dress.

  Though her words were meant as encouragement, Katherine could not help but feel nervous at her choice of phrasing. Just how many people were waiting for her, she wondered, for Bessie to liken taking morning calls to battle?

  As she descended the stairs and made her way to the front drawing room—the most opulent of the house's three drawing rooms—Katherine soon found out.

  Inside the drawing room, perched on every available surface, were at least two dozen women. Some, Katherine had met the night before, while others were complete strangers to her. In a daze, she greeted each and every one, offered tea and cakes—which had materialised, along with three maids, out of thin air—and generally tried to master the delicate art of hostessing.

  She smiled and nodded as the ladies gossiped, laughed along with their jokes, and tried not to scream as one departing group was immediately replaced by another.

  It was not that Katherine was not sociable, she was, it was just that all of these ladies were calling on the Duchess of Elsmore, not Katherine. She had no time for social climbers, or people who wished to curry favour with her because of her title, but she knew that she must bear her visitors as patiently as she could.

  Tomorrow, she would inform the butler to let anyone who called know that she was not at home.

  As the late morning turned to early afternoon, a familiar face appeared amongst the hordes of strangers.

  "Caroline," Katherine greeted her friend warmly, "How glad I am to see you."

  "I did not realise you were so popular," Caroline replied in a whisper, with a wicked look at the ladies who lined the room.

  "Nor did I," Katherine laughed, "Though I won't let it go to my head. I expect it is Her Grace who is the popular one, and not I."

  Caroline plonked herself down on the chaise beside Katherine and remained by her side until the last of the stragglers had left.

  "Thank goodness for Rotten Row," the marchioness observed dryly, "For if those ladies did not have to be ready to promenade at the appointed hour of five, I fear they would have lingered all evening."

  "I thought Lady Smithson would never leave," Katherine replied, for the woman had insisted upon staying until Katherine had reluctantly agreed to attend one of her saloons.

  "All the fuss will die down, after a spell," Caroline said sagely, reaching out for one of the pastel macaroons which still remained. Caroline too, Katherine knew, had experienced a surge in popularity after her marriage to Lord Deverell.

  "How did you cope with them all?" Katherine questioned, hoping that her friend might offer some advice.

  "I simply decided to present myself as the woman I had been before I wed," Caroline giggled, "The ton soon realised that assuming the title had not changed me one jot from the wallflower I had been, and they moved on to someone more interesting. I expect, once the baby comes and I am up to my eyeballs in swaddling, that I shall never have another caller again."

  The baby?

  Caroline gasped as she realised what she had let slip, and she flushed prettily.

  "Are you..?" Katherine asked with excitement, so thrilled for her friend that she was unable to finish her sentence.

  "I am increasing," Caroline answered, the smile which crossed her face so radiant that it could have lit up all of London, "But, oh. I was not supposed to tell anyone, as it is so early. Deverell will kill me if he finds out."

  "He won't kill the mother of his child," Katherine soothed, laughing at the very idea, "And never fear, I shall not tell a soul. But, oh, how exciting Caroline! You will be a wonderful Mama."

  "I hope so," her friend frowned, looking nervous, "I am afraid that I will drop it on its head, or leave it behind somewhere...But still, we shall have nursery maids to ensure that Deverell and I don't break the poor thing before it's born, and it will have the most wonderful godmother to look after it."

  Caroline gave Katherine a wink, an act so unsuited to her grand station that Katherine could not help but laugh.

  "Are you certain you wish me to be godmother?" she asked, touched that her friend wanted her to play such an important role in the baby's life.

  "I wouldn't dream of asking anyo
ne else," Caroline affected indignation, "And Deverell will not have anyone else but Elsmore stand as godfather, so it works out perfectly."

  Just the mention of Michael's name gave Katherine pause for thought. He had declared that he did not wish for children, but would watching his friend start a family, make Michael regret his decision to marry her?

  "How goes it with your dashing duke?" Caroline asked gently, as she noted the worry in Katherine's eyes.

  "It goes..." Katherine sighed, as she wondered how she could explain her feelings toward Michael. She sensed concern radiating from her friend, so in order to assuage her, Katherine continued. "It goes well. He is courteous, polite, and respectful. We have smoothed out all our differences and have agreed to try and make the marriage work as best we can."

  "Why, that is wonderful," Caroline reached out to take her hand, "And love will come, Katherine, for it was there before. Baby steps are perhaps what is needed, after everything you endured with Lord Atwood."

  Katherine had never discussed her marriage to Charles with Caroline, though Caroline would have heard the rumours of all of his philandering. Their friendship had always been an escape for Katherine, who had not wanted to sully their time together with talk of her husband.

  "Trust is built in drops, but lost in buckets," Caroline continued, "And I am afraid that Lord Atwood near dried up the well in you, but Elsmore will do you right. You'll see, it just takes time."

  Katherine nodded, afraid to speak lest she blabbered something silly to her friend. Luckily, or unluckily as the case may be, the arrival of Eudora removed any necessity for her to reply.

  "My dear," the dowager duchess called, as she swept into the room, "Oh, Lady Deverell. I did not expect to see you here. You have crumbs on your face, my dear."

  Caroline hastily wiped the pastel crumbs which had lingered after her earlier macaroon from her lips, throwing Katherine a look of disquiet. Katherine rolled her eyes in return; Eudora had no right to barge into her home and insult her guests.

  "You seem to have made quite the impression," Eudora continued, without waiting for Katherine to speak, "If the papers are anything to go by. In order to capitalise on your success, I suggest you and Michael should hold a ball. You can show the ton that there is nothing amiss about your marriage."