The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV)

by Anne Gallagher

“What am I to do?” Fiona wailed. She grabbed the hand mirror and held it up to take another look. “I certainly cannot go about Town. What will people say? I told Merry I fell and hit my cheek after the ball last night, but this is most unpleasant. It shall take weeks for it to heal and I do not wish to know what kind of gossip would be whispered.” She looked at Robert.

  He stroked her reddened, bruised cheek with gentle fingers.

  It took every ounce of willpower Fiona had not to lean into them.

  “There is nothing for it now then. You shall have to accompany me on my trip to Swansea.”

  “But you said….” Fiona interjected.

  “Yes, I know what I said, but you cannot remain in Town. We have already given enough fodder for the gossipmongers and I shall not have them say I beat you. Prepare your bags, your maid, whatever else you wish to take with you. We shall leave within the hour.”

  Robert brought her fingers to his lips. “It will be fine. Do not worry.”

  At eight o’clock sharp, Edwards knocked on Fiona’s bedroom door. The room was in a shambles, dresses, petticoats, hats, and shoes strewn about. Merry was having no success with the latch on the large portmanteau on the bed.

  “Oh, Mr. Edwards, what luck,” Fiona said. “Would you mind helping us close the trunk? I have no idea of the weather in Swansea and I thought it best if I take a few of everything.”

  “Of course, your ladyship.” Edwards eyed the bruise on her cheek and winced. He snapped the lid, latched the trunk, and hefted it to the floor.

  “Ah, see Merry,” Fiona said. “This is why God chose to make men, to help with the closing of trunks.” She couldn’t help her happiness. Free of London, for a few weeks anyway, she would have the leisure to spend her time as she may. No more rounds, or balls, or teas. No more catering to the social demands of Society. She hoped she and Robert would also be able to find a more amiable accord, perhaps even pick up the threads of their ill-fated courtship.

  “If you are ready, your ladyship, His Grace would like to depart.”

  “Of course, Mr. Edwards. Come along, Merry. Let us not keep His Grace.”

  Fiona descended the stairs. Robert waited at the bottom.

  “Are you ready?” Robert asked. “I do not like to hold the horses once they have been hitched.”

  “Yes, of course.” Fiona slid on her gloves and took a last look in the mirror over the hall table. She rearranged the shawl she wore around her face so that it hid most of her injury.

  Robert turned and saw James the Younger carrying her trunk down the stairs behind Edwards. “How long do you think we are staying? I only expected to be there a fortnight. You’ve packed enough for a Continental tour.” He took her by the elbow and steered her out the door.

  “As I explained to Mr. Edwards, I do not know the clime in Swansea and as you only gave me an hour to pack, I chose several different kinds of gowns. I like to be prepared for any occasion.” Eammon handed her up into the carriage, then Merry. Robert had disappeared, although the carriage door remained open.

  Fiona felt the dip of the barouche as her trunk was placed on board. Eammon returned and made to close the door.

  “Eammon, where is my husband? Is he not riding with us?” Fiona looked out the window.

  “His Grace decided Zeus needed the exercise, m’lady,” Eammon informed her and closed the door.

  Another dip as Eammon boarded and then the coach lurched forward with a jerk.

  “Well,” Fiona said to Merry. “Let us hope the roads are good and the weather fair and we shall have a pleasant trip.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The trip proved uneventful, though cold even with rugs and hot bricks. Fiona remarked upon alighting from the carriage she was glad Robert had such a well-sprung equipage. A damp wind whipped her cape and she clung to her hat as the housekeeper, Mrs. Hastings, welcomed her to “The Cottage.” Fiona wondered how anyone could mistake the monstrosity of the building as a ‘cottage’. Built entirely of stone, it looked more like a small castle. The only things missing were turrets and a moat.

  “Let us get you inside, my lady,” the housekeeper said, eyeing the dark shawl wrapped around Fiona’s throat and half of her face. “We would not want you taking a chill.”

  Bustled into the front room without waiting for a reply or a word from Robert, Fiona found it dark and drafty. A fire had been lit, but the warmth did not permeate to more than five feet around the massive mantle. She rubbed her gloved hands together, but that did not help the pervading nip in the air, even in the house.

  “Perhaps there is another room, Mrs. Hastings, a smaller room where I would be more comfortable,” Fiona said.

  “Of course, my lady, forgive me. I thought as your first trip here, you might like to see the best rooms first.”

  “After such a long journey, I should like nothing better than a cup and biscuit, and a warm fire to thaw my frozen toes.” Fiona stamped her boot clad feet. “’Tis so large in here, I’m afraid the fire would be wasted.”

  “Yes, of course my lady. This way if you please.”

  Fiona noted Mrs. Hastings pursed lips, as if she’d done something wrong by asking for a smaller accommodation. She followed the woman through the maze of halls, and shown to a parlour that had a magnificent view of the ocean. Turbulent now, but Fiona could imagine the view to be breathtaking on a nicer day.

  “This is lovely, Mrs. Hastings, thank you,” Fiona said, taking off her gloves.

  The room was very small and sparsely furnished. A divan and low table occupied the hearth, and a comfortable looking chair sat next to the window. Rough-hewn wood paneling covered the walls and a lovely Aubusson in rich colors carpeted the floor.

  “Tell me, what is this room?” Fiona asked. “’Tis too masculine to belong to a woman, too sparse for company.” She undid the buttons of her cape and settled it over the back of the divan.

  “’Twas the late Lord Cantin’s sitting room,” Mrs. Hastings said. “‘E called it his thinking room. He liked to look out at the ocean, said it calmed his soul.”

  Fiona could certainly see why. Perhaps this room would be a comfort to her as well. She certainly had enough to think about.

  “Tea and biscuits then, your ladyship? Perhaps a bowl of soup instead?” Mrs. Hastings stood at the doorway.

  “No soup, thank you.” Fiona managed to take off the large hat without ruining her hair, and as she unwound the shawl from her neck, she heard the older woman gasp. Fiona said nothing, and neither did Mrs. Hastings. How could she possibly explain her husband’s rather poor timing in the bedroom?

  “I recently had a rather unfortunate mishap with a set of stairs, Mrs. Hastings. The doctor said it was merely superficial. Unfortunately because of my fair skin coloring, it looks worse than it really is.”

  Mrs. Hastings nodded once and averted her eyes. Fiona could tell the woman knew she lied.

  “Of course, my lady. I shall have your tea brought in a moment.” She half-curtsied and bolted from the room.

  Fiona walked to the fire and rubbed her hands together. Yes, this was much nicer than the front parlour, not as austere or imposing, quite comfortable, and very warm. Fiona liked this room very much. She took in the small bookshelf set into the wall, mostly Shakespeare, and ran her finger along the frame of the portrait of a much younger Lady Joanna. There wasn’t a lot in the room, but it had lovely character.

  Waiting for her tea, Fiona sat in the dark leather chair and stared out the large window watching the waves crash on the beach, the spray pluming like a specter. One second there, the next gone. She could understand why the late Lord Cantin liked the view. Safe from the wildness of the sea, yet still one could feel themselves immersed in it.

  Fiona heard footsteps in the hall, and thinking Mrs. Hastings returned with her tea, looked toward the door with a smile.

  Robert entered the room, and upon seeing her, his face lit with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  Fiona rose from the chair. “Forgi
ve me, my lord. Mrs. Hastings showed me to the front parlour, but as it is so large, the fire was not keeping me warm. I asked her to show me to a smaller room where I might enjoy the fire and a cup of tea.”

  “This room belonged to my father,” he said in a protective tone.

  “Forgive me, my lord, I shall take my leave,” Fiona said. She moved to the small table and bent to pick up her gloves and hat.

  “No. Forgive me,” Robert said, and took a step back. “You are right. This room is perfect for a cup of tea. Do sit down.”

  Fiona looked at him and found his entire countenance weary.

  “Please, join me,” Fiona said. “You must be exhausted from the journey.”

  He skirted the table and sank into his father’s chair. “Yes, I am rather tired. I did not realize how arduous the trip would be on horseback.”

  Fiona wanted to say he could have certainly ridden in the carriage with her, but did not. She did not wish to start an argument so soon.

  A footman arrived with a tea tray and Fiona asked for another cup. She poured for Robert and waited until the footman brought hers and departed before she spoke.

  As she poured, Fiona said, “I have told Mrs. Hastings I fell down a flight of stairs.”

  Robert stared blankly at her.

  “My facial disfigurement,” Fiona stated.

  “I know to what you referred,” Robert said softly. He placed his cup on the edge of the windowsill, leaned forward in his chair, and sat with his hands clasped, elbows resting across his knees. “Fiona, I do heartily apologize for that. Please forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, my lord. It was an accident, and I daresay we have all had those upon occasion.” Fiona smiled. “We do not need to speak of it again.”

  An electric silence befell them.

  “Nonetheless,” Robert began, “your injury will preclude you from leaving the grounds. I do not wish the villagers to speculate on what happened to you. Mrs. Hastings is an excellent housekeeper, but I’m afraid she is addicted to gossip. I’m sure her prattle has already reached the vicar’s ears.”

  “Well, that is a shame. I should like to see the village, and the shore.”

  “Perhaps another time,” Robert leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  “My lord, I think you need to have a lie-down. You are not looking well. ‘Twould do no good for you to be seized with an illness. Riding in the cold for so long has pervaded your bones and you must take care not to be hindered during your time here as it is of such a short duration.”

  Robert opened his eyes and stared at her. “Damme, if you do not sound just like my mother.”

  Fiona smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment, sir.”

  Robert picked up his cup and stood. “Perhaps you are right. I will lay down for a spell. Mrs. Hastings will attend to your every whim.”

  “I’m afraid Mrs. Hastings thinks I am contagious,” Fiona said. “The look she gave me upon seeing the bruise and the subsequent attention of the footman make me think she will stay as far away from me as possible.”

  “I will speak to her,” Robert said, and placed his cup on the tray.

  “Thank you, my lord. I do not wish to come between you and your servants. However, I also do not wish to be shunned for something that was not my fault.”

  Robert opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Upon gaining the door, he said, “I shall see you at dinner then. Good day, Fiona.”

  “Pleasant dreams, my lord.”

  *****

  Robert tossed and turned on the big feather mattress. He dozed and woke half a dozen times, his sleep-addled brain returning to Fiona’s face immediately upon waking. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have caused her such distress? What must she think of him?

  Robert was glad they had escaped London before his mother had seen Fiona. She would have jumped to the same conclusion he had upon seeing her. Someone had punched her in the eye. And with their tumultuous relationship, how would he be able to explain it had been a dreadful accident born of passion? He couldn’t. Not even to himself.

  William’s words came back to haunt him. “You will not be able to help yourself when a beautiful woman is involved.”

  Robert snorted. He had always been able to help himself before. Beautiful women abounded in Society and Robert had his fair share of them. But he had never managed to do such harm, had never been moved to such a bout of…hysteria. That was all Robert could think of his situation. He had succumbed to madness where Fiona was concerned. He couldn’t get the damn jacket off fast enough.

  But why? That was the question. What was it about Fiona that made him fall into such a state of idiocy? His brilliant mind failed to find the answer. Yes, she was his, yet he maintained he didn’t want her. At least in his heart. Although after last night, it seemed he did want her in his bed.

  This lust he felt for her was fleeting, he was sure. Not built on the foundations of love, nor even friendship, how could it last? Did treating Fiona like a common doxy somehow appeal to his ego? Or was it simply because their marriage was impermanent, and subconsciously he felt that if he crushed her spirit, that would quell his surprising desire. Or was he just simply mad?

  Robert threw off the covers and stood in front of the fire. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost time for dinner. He may as well dress and go down. No sense in ruining their first night there.

  *****

  Merry had unpacked her trunk and pressed the wrinkles out of the plain green satin gown Fiona was to wear to dinner that night. How many more dinners would she and Robert share? The episode in her bedroom last night had given her hope they might come to an understanding and that with time, Robert would no longer feel the need for an annulment. But Fiona could hardly be sure what Robert would do or say next. His disregard for her feelings one minute, and then his heartfelt apologies the next were sheer lunacy.

  Perhaps if he didn’t appear to like her, she might find it easier to feign the indifference to their situation he seemed to want from her. But his waffling kindnesses and then taciturn manner left her completely confused.

  In one of their arguments, she had accused Robert of being exactly like her father, which was the furthest thing from the truth. Robert was nothing like the Laird Stewart, a conniving miser who wouldn’t give his own daughter tuppence for a new pair of boots.

  Robert’s generosity at the modiste had left her breathless, giddy even, when she realized she could buy anything she wanted and not have to pay one single farthing for any of it. She’d been thrifty, until her mother-in-law took her shopping. At her modiste, Lady Joanna had ordered gown upon gown without a second thought to the expense. Fiona was horrified to learn that trip had cost Robert nearly two thousand pounds. A casual remark to his mother, Fiona was sure he’d said it for her benefit. Perhaps he would take that into consideration when he settled the annuity on her after their annulment.

  Nevertheless, for all his strange ways, she liked Robert. She’d like to remain married to him, and if she were truthful to herself, it had nothing to do with his money. Viewed from Society, he was a kind and generous man, willing to do anything for anyone, especially his family. His charity work was legendary. His servants could not extol his virtues high enough. His friends loved him and the women adored him, even those he had cast aside.

  Fiona’s life before Robert had been endless days of sheer drudgery at her father’s beck and call. With her marriage, she was now learning the possibilities that life had to offer. She needn’t be chattel, merely kept. She could help people, children especially. She could be a helpmate to Robert to further the duchy. And if he did go through with the annulment, well, she could be anything she wanted.

  Fiona had yet to figure out why Robert married her. Lady Joanna had said it was his duty to honor and Fiona knew Robert was a man of his word. But why did he marry her, only to annul the marriage? It made absolutely no sense. She was sure he had not thought of the annulment until after
the service. Why then would he go along with his father’s threats?

  He claimed he did not love her. For all that aspect, he barely even liked her. Why keep her around then when he could so easily dispose of her? Why treat her like a duchess in the first instance? Wouldn’t it have been easier to settle the account on her before they returned to London, sought the annulment in private, and be done with it? No one need know especially his poor mother, his friends, or his family. Why introduce her to Society at all?

  The man had become an enigma. Fiona decided to ask him that night at dinner, the reason he married her. Perhaps he would deign to tell her the truth.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Robert and Fiona finished dinner, Robert declared he would retire early.

  “I am still not feeling well,” he said. “I’m afraid you were right and I did take on a chill.”

  Fiona rose and slipped her palm across his forehead. “You are overly warm, my lord. You do indeed need to rest.” She turned to a footman. “See that His Grace’s room has a good fire. And a pitcher of water and glass for the night table.”

  She turned back to Robert. “Perhaps Mrs. Hastings has willow bark in her apothecary cupboard for the fever.”

  Robert rose from the table. “’Tis nothing. You do not have to hover as if I may die at any moment.” He gave her a small smirk. “However, you may find that to your every advantage. You would become a very wealthy woman.”

  “Do not joke about the matter, my lord. I do not wish you dead.” Fiona stepped away from the table and headed to the door. She turned and said, “I shall speak with Mrs. Hastings and meet you in your bedchamber.”

  Robert lay half-frozen under his covers. The fire blazed, he could feel the heat, but his body shook as if he were laying outside in snowfall. Perhaps Fiona was right, he was sicker than he thought.

  There was a small knock on the door. He could not manage to speak for his teeth chattering. Fiona entered the room carrying a small tray with a large cotton bag dangling from her arm. She set the tray on the night table, dropped the bag on the floor, and began rearranging other objects on the table until they were to her satisfaction. She wore what was obviously a flannel nightrail, buttoned to her neck, with a long flannel robe over. Did she plan to sleep with him wearing that?