Then why did he feel like a cad?
…
“He does not want children.” A heavy feeling settled in Olivia’s stomach as she sat beside her sister on a sofa in the drawing room. The men had retired to the study to drink port and smoke cigars. Her young niece had fallen asleep, and Grace was watching her in one of the spare bedrooms.
Ellie looked at her pointedly. “That’s ludicrous. All titled men require an heir.”
Olivia was still surprised at finding Tristan with her niece. He’d had an easy manner with Catherine and had even gifted her a toy. His disposition had quickly changed, however, once Catherine had left with her mother and Olivia was alone with him.
She couldn’t help but wonder how he was currently faring with the men.
“Don’t worry,” Ellie read her sister’s mind. “I told Hugh not to ask the duke questions, and Ian is grateful for his treatment of Catherine. I don’t think either will make His Grace uncomfortable.”
At Olivia’s silence, she touched her arm. “I saw the way the duke looked at you.”
“Oh? How was that?”
“The same way Lord Vere looked at me when we met.”
Olivia gave her sister a pointed look. “You’re wrong. The duke does not even like me.”
“To the contrary, I think he does like you. Very much. He just needs to come to realize it.”
She sighed heavily, her voice filled with frustration. “What on earth does that mean? He never wanted to marry me.”
“Do not forget that Hugh and I did not start off as star-crossed lovers,” Ellie said. “I was convinced all he wanted was to win the Raven Club from me, and I distrusted him.”
Olivia knew about their past. Her brother, Ian, had sought to hold a competition over the gambling club. For one month, Ellie and Hugh were in a fierce competition to prove whose efforts would produce a higher profit for the casino. The outcome was unexpected when they ended up falling in love. In essence, both had won the club.
“When did you realize Lord Vere was the man for you?” Olivia asked.
Her sister’s glance was bemused. “It took time. We weren’t the perfect match.”
“But Lord Vere adores you!”
“Now he does. But it wasn’t always so. You must give your duke a chance.”
Olivia gave an unladylike snort. “He does not want me.”
“Whatever the reasons behind your union, you are married.” Ellie lowered her voice and leaned close. “I think you need to seduce your husband.”
Olivia stared in shock. “What?”
“You’ve never backed away from a challenge, Olivia. I’ve never liked your fascination with fast horses after Matthew was killed.”
“Perhaps it’s my way to keep our brother’s memory alive.” Matthew’s death had had a profound effect on her. Olivia had only been a child, but she’d idolized her older brother.
“Perhaps you like the challenge, just like our brother liked the thrill of the race. Think of the duke as a challenge.”
Olivia’s voice grated sharply. “My marriage is different.”
“He is a man. They all have certain needs.”
Olivia felt her face growing hot. “I’m hardly experienced.”
“You are a woman. All you need to do is remind him of that fact.”
“I cannot.”
Ellie hesitated then tilted her chin. “You should try. I have never seen a lonelier person.”
If the duke was lonely, it was by choice. He had the influence of a dukedom. He could surround himself with people. Hold balls and parties. Garden soirees.
But could he?
His speech impediment was debilitating. She imagined herself struggling to talk. How would she go about it? The beau monde was not kind, not accepting, and had been known to shun a lady for the slightest scandal. How would they treat the Duke of Keswick?
“You think he needs saving?” Olivia asked in a dull and troubled voice.
“Only you can say. But if your husband needs aid, you are the type of lady to provide it.”
…
“A word before we leave, Your Grace,” Lady Vere said.
Your Grace.
The title was not delivered with deference or respect or even cordially, but more of a demand.
Tristan turned to face Lady Vere, his wife’s sister. She’d appeared out of the shadows to corner him in an isolated alcove as Gordon was gathering the guests’ belongings before they departed. He didn’t speak, merely waited for her to express what he assumed by her expression and rigid posture was displeasure.
“My sister and I are close,” she said.
He remained silent.
“She told me everything, but you should be aware that our brother, Lord Castleton, and my husband, Lord Vere, do not know the truth. I see no need to enlighten them yet.”
Yet.
The inflection in her voice was unmistakable. For a man who struggled to speak, he was keen to the slightest change in voice and tone.
“If they knew,” she continued, “the earl and marquess would take action.”
“Perhaps you should say what you t…t-ruly mean,” Tristan said.
“Perhaps you are right.” She took a step forward, and he was struck by the similarities between the sisters. Not in coloring, per se. Lady Vere had red hair, not golden, but the stubborn tilt of her chin, the flash of impulsiveness in her eyes, reminded him of Olivia.
“If I learn of any harm or misery befalling my sister, then it is not Castleton or Vere you should be wary of.” She closed the gap between them, and for a brief heartbeat he thought she meant to slap him, but then she kissed him on the cheek.
He blinked once then met her vivid blue eyes as she smiled. “Welcome to the family.”
Chapter Eleven
A cacophony of noise drew Tristan out of his bedchamber.
For God’s sake, what now? He knew who was responsible before he even set foot out of his room.
How could one woman cause so much disruption?
He eyed the doorway connecting their chambers then shook his head. He didn’t want to become accustomed to using that door. It posed a temptation that he could not allow himself to cross. He threw open his chamber door, strode to the adjoining room, and stopped in his tracks.
His wife’s room was in complete disarray. His housekeeper, a maid, and two footmen were all at work. The footmen were in the process of dragging furniture from the room. Mrs. Ludson was removing dark-blue velvet curtains from the windows, and the maid was bent on hands and knees, picking up the discarded fabric.
On second look, the maid was his wife. Olivia was dressed in a plain blue gown. Her fair hair was in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Oblivious to his presence, bent over, she continued to work, displaying a curvaceous arse.
Tristan dragged his gaze away from the tempting sight. “What is g…g-oing on here?”
Everyone turned to him in the doorway.
“Your Grace.” Mrs. Ludson was first to speak. “The duchess has requested that we make some changes.”
“That’s right.” Olivia stood, brushed her hands on an apron tied at her waist, and approached. “The room had a rather gloomy feel.”
It had been his mother’s. As far as he recalled, his parent had never had a happy disposition.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Olivia asked him.
A small smudge of dirt marred the tip of her nose. He wanted to reach out and brush it away. “No.”
“No, you mind?”
“No, I don’t mind.”
Her eyes sparkled, and his chest tightened uncomfortably at her smile. The room felt suddenly too small.
“Perhaps you can help,” she said.
“Help?” His nerves tightened.
“I’ve selected two types of wallpaper. Which do you prefer?” Two swatches of paper appeared before him. One had yellow, blue, and pink flowers; the other was of a Chinoiserie print of bamboo. His wife stood close, her head bent as she studied the swatches, and her lavende
r scent wafted to him. Was it the tantalizing scent of her soap or a faint perfume? She looked just as beautiful in a plain gown without any fripperies, lace, or embroidery as she did when he’d first seen her standing in the stables of Rosehill.
“Well, which do you prefer?” She looked up at him, her gaze innocent.
His attention returned to the wallpaper. “The floral one.” It reminded him of their country gallop through the fields of wildflowers.
She clapped her hands in excitement. “Excellent. We have similar tastes. I was drawn to that print as well.”
“Then why ask me?” he asked, his voice tense.
He regretted the question and the tone of his voice as soon as he’d said the words. Her lovely smile faltered, and a stab of pain lit her lovely eyes. He wanted to take it back.
“You needn’t fear any inconvenience to your schedule, Your Grace. The work shall be finished by the end of the day.”
…
Olivia stormed into her sister’s office at the Raven Club. “I have tried to be pleasant, but the duke is impossible!”
“How so?” Ellie set down her quill and leaned back in the oversized leather chair behind the desk. A ledger was open on the desk; a row of meticulous, tiny black figures lined the first column.
Olivia collapsed in one of the armchairs before the desk. “He complains over every slight change. Oh, he said I could decorate my own chamber as I feel fit, but his amicable attitude swiftly changed after I showed him options of paper for the walls. He glared at me and his jaw hardened like a lump of granite as if he couldn’t wait for me to complete my task and leave him in peace.”
Ellie rubbed her chin with a thumb and forefinger and studied her thoughtfully before finally answering. “Your actions are making him uncomfortable. For a man who has kept to himself for years, this is progress.”
Olivia flung her hands out in exasperation. “Progress? He is a bear!”
“Do not give up so easily, Olivia. I’ve told you that the Raven Club’s greatest asset is not money but information. I’ve learned something about your husband.”
Pausing, Olivia gazed at her sister in speculation. “Don’t hold me in suspense.”
“He attends all sessions at the House of Lords and has been trying to get a bill introduced and passed that would help wounded soldiers who have returned to English soil.”
Olivia immediately thought of their butler. She’d since learned from Mrs. Ludson that Gordon had lost his leg in battle during his time in the army. “I find his support of such a bill to aid our soldiers admirable, but I wonder why he has chosen to champion it. Our butler, Gordon, was injured at Waterloo.”
“Perhaps he feels a kinship with wounded soldiers,” Ellie said.
“How so? The duke was never a soldier.”
“No, but he has difficulty speaking. Maybe his trials have made him sympathetic toward others who suffer any type of injury.”
Olivia pursed her lips as she considered her sister’s words. It would explain Tristan’s motivations. His butler was wounded. His housekeeper’s wandering eye was a condition, which would make her unemployable by nobility, no matter her skills. Olivia was slowly coming to understand her husband more and more.
“Tell me about the bill,” Olivia said.
“A strong and influential opponent to the Soldiers Bill is Lord Ware,” Ellie said.
“I met Lady Ware at the theater two years ago. As I recall, she’s a decade younger than her husband,” Olivia said.
Ellie nodded. “There is another as well. Lord Dumfries is a good acquaintance of Lord Ware, and the two have similar political views. They are often seen together at the coffee house across the street from Parliament after sessions discussing their political aspirations. The only difference between the two men is that Dumfries is not on amicable terms with your husband.”
Intrigued, Olivia leaned forward. “They have a past?”
“Lord Dumfries and the duke attended Eton together. Yet they are not old school friends. When they happen to be at the Raven Club on the same night, they avoid each other. Rumors are that the two men’s dislike for each other goes way back.”
Olivia mulled this over. “You said Lord Ware has influence. Do you believe that the Soldiers Bill will fail if Lord Ware continues to opposite it?”
“Most likely.”
“And that Lord Dumfries would love to see Tristan lose?”
“Guaranteed.”
Olivia bit her lower lip, piecing the rest of the story together. “I see.”
“Lady Ware prefers the roulette wheel in the back corner of the casino.”
“Then I must visit that game, too.”
“Yes, you should. I’ll be sure to send you a note when she is expected.” Ellie leaned forward, and a mischievous glint lit her blue eyes. “And I have surprising information about the lady that will be of great interest to you.”
…
“You have a visitor, Your Grace.”
“A visitor?” Olivia had just returned from the Raven Club when Gordon announced the arrival of a guest.
“Lord Jeffries, the duke’s cousin. He awaits in the drawing room.”
Ellie’s brow furrowed. “Where is the duke?”
“His Grace is not in residence. Lord Jeffries requested to meet you.”
“I see.” Only she didn’t. Trepidation traveled down her spine. She hadn’t met any of her husband’s relatives, other than his grandmother at the wedding. She’d thought it odd at the time but believed that the hasty wedding was the reason others hadn’t made the journey to the duke’s country seat in Kent.
Gordon took her pelisse, and she found herself at the entrance of the drawing room. A fair-haired man of average height and build stood looking out the window at the gardens below.
She smoothed her skirts. “Hello, my lord.”
He turned. Handsome with blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and a quick smile, Lord Jeffries approached and bowed. “Hello, Your Grace. I’m your husband’s cousin.”
“Good afternoon, Lord Jeffries.”
He studied her curiously, and her nervousness rose.
“Pardon my unexpected visit,” he said, “but I wanted to meet the duke’s new wife. If I waited for him to invite me, I’d be waiting a very long time.”
One might think the statement rude, but Ellie found it humorous in its honesty. It was true. Tristan would not hold a ball to properly introduce his new wife to society.
Her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “You must know my husband well.”
Lord Jeffries’s blue eyes twinkled. “Our fathers were brothers, and we grew up together. Although, since His Grace is older, we did not attend Eton together.”
She judged Lord Jeffries to be closer to her age. She motioned to the gold settee against the wall. “Please sit. May I offer you refreshment?”
He settled on the settee. “As an Englishman, I’m afraid to admit I do not prefer tea.”
Ellie joined him on the settee. “Coffee then?”
“I do prefer it to tea. Jonathan’s has the best brew.”
“The establishment where stock brokers and jobbers gather?” she asked.
He looked at her with even more renewed interest. “I enjoy dabbling in the London Stock Exchange. I’m surprised you know of the details.”
“I was raised a bit unconventionally.”
“Fascinating.”
She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying her like she was a rare item in a curiosity cabinet. “You are looking at me curiously.”
His face turned a telltale shade of scarlet. “Forgive me. You are not exactly what I had expected. I had assumed you were…you were—”
“You assumed I was what?”
He shook his head. “I cannot say.”
A suspicion clawed at her. “You assumed I was a harpy, a shrew, or horribly ugly. The duke has not spoken fondly of me.”
Lord Jeffries looked aghast. “He never called you any of those things!”
“But he never spoke favorably of me, either, did he?”
He shifted on the settee, his discomfort obvious. “My cousin can be difficult.”
“You do not need to defend him, my lord.” Difficult was not the only word she would use to describe her husband. Stubborn to a fault. Deceptive. Unforgiving.
“You must understand him. His Grace speaks little and distrusts most people,” Jeffries said.
Her interest was piqued. If Lord Jeffries grew up with Tristan, then he would be able to shed light on her husband’s past. Maybe then she could understand him.
“Why is he so distrustful?” she asked.
“You must know that he is a man of few words.”
She knew where this was headed. It still didn’t explain everything. “He stutters,” she said. “Anyone can discern this within five minutes of speaking with him.”
“Yes, well, he wasn’t treated nicely as a youth, even by the former duchess.”
“But the duchess was his mother. She must have loved him, no matter how he spoke,” she argued.
“She was a cruel and selfish woman. She treated him with disdain, and when it became clear he could not be ‘cured,’ she turned cold and unloving.”
She tried to imagine Tristan as a boy. A scared youth who feared disappointing his mother every time he opened his mouth.
“The duchess hired tutors, but they were unable to help with his speech. He was put through rigorous drills, sometimes even cruelly struck, and when nothing helped, his own parent scorned him then shipped him off to Eton. He wasn’t treated any better there.”
She listened in dismay, and her heart went out to Tristan as a boy. No wonder he preferred to isolate himself in his study or avoid social events.
“Thank you for telling me, my lord,” she said.
“Please call me Spencer. We are family.”
She smiled at that. “Yes, we are.”
“I do believe you are what my cousin needs.”
Antonia had said the same thing to her before Olivia had departed Rosehill. “I’m not so certain I’m what the duke needs. As far as I can ascertain, he needs to refine his gentlemanly manners.”
Lord Jeffries threw back his head and laughed. “See? I do believe my cousin has met his match. When can I see you again?”
How to Capture a Duke Page 8