“You been brawling?” A maid pointed at his forehead. “Mr. Russell won’t let you stay.”
“No, this was an accident before I came in,” Douglas assured her, placed an order, then found a seat near the fire.
By birth, he was heir to a dukedom. The younger son of a mean old cur, Douglas’s father married an actress. He had already married a woman of noble blood and sired an heir. Since his father’s early demise, Douglas and his mother were shunned by their aristocratic family. His uncle and brother were confirmed rakes, with no intentions of marrying and siring heirs. Three years ago, his grandfather passed. A year later, his uncle. A few weeks ago, he received notice that his half-brother had died, and Douglas was now the seventh Duke of Inverness.
He had spent most of his adult life wandering, avoiding the duty which now fell to his shoulders. After his grandfather’s death, to avoid the ever-tightening noose, Douglas had traveled through the Scottish Highlands. When the hated news came, he desired to be as remote as possible. Anything to avoid the fate he dreaded. As such, he was no stranger to cold and, at times, hunger. He preferred to appear as a ne’er do well than a gentleman.
Now, he was in Inverness, and his blue-blooded family circled him like hungry sharks. Why did he not dress better? Why did he look like a vagrant? How interesting he was to all of them now when for years they abandoned him and his mother to the kindness of the streets. Of course, his relatives had refused to acknowledge others as well. His great-uncle Robert had planned to marry an unsuitable woman. When he unexpectedly died, Eleanor St. Andrews was sent to America, and never heard from again.
The proprietor’s good ale had warmed his body, and now he needed brandy to cool his anger and resentment. He could do nothing about his relatives, but he could do something about the ten thousand pounds he’d won fair and square in a card game. He might reveal his identity and then watch the wormy man shake in his boots and piss himself for stealing from a duke, but Douglas would rather win by his own ingenuity.
Trying to sneak into the house had been a dunderheaded move. He knew that now. Even Miss Marigold saw that. Yes, she had claimed her name was Mary, but he already knew the other maid’s name was Ruth. In the week he had spent stalking the house, he also knew Ruth was not as beautiful as Marigold.
Douglas shook his head. He was supposed to be thinking about how to get his money from Kincaid, not wool-gathering about the man’s beautiful cousin, even if the expression of concern in her pale green eyes pulled on his heart strings. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sir Stirling James enter. Malcolm Russell hurried to his side. Douglas stood and headed across the room.
Last night, the two believed they had discovered a missing heir of Robert the Bruce in the person of Kincaid’s cousin. The two men were determined to rescue her from her situation through marriage. Douglas sneered at the idea of love. He had seen what love had cost his mother.
“Gentlemen,” Douglas said as he approached their table. “May I?”
“Certainly,” Sir Stirling answered. “I have to thank you for your information about Kincaid. I called on him this morning.”
“Indeed?” The news did not surprise Douglas. He knew Sir Stirling by reputation. He was a man of action.
“He gave little information about his uncle and refused to tell me anything about his cousin.”
“He said nothing?” Mr. Russell asked.
“He merely confirmed that she resided with him.”
Douglas grit his teeth to keep from displaying hatred for the man.
“Did Kincaid confirm that Angus was his uncle? That they both come from the line of David Kincaid?” Russell asked, leaning forward, his eyes alight with excitement.
“Aye.” Sir Stirling grinned. “Of course, he wondered why I wanted to know. He thought maybe money was due him from his brother’s estate.”
Douglas rolled his eyes. Of course, he was looking for more funds. “What do you plan to do?”
He might have bet Sir Stirling that no husband for Marigold and the other ladies could be found, but that was before he met her. While hunting down Kincaid, he had seen Kincaid’s daughters at various outings decked from head to toe in finery, with noses in the air as though they were princesses. Then there was Marigold, her slight frame able to carry heavy baskets, with hands rough from work and cold. By birth alone, she deserved better.
A smile crept across Douglas’s face as he recalled Marigold’s courage and strength mixed with kindness. Nay, she deserved more not by birth alone, but by her character. “It will be hard to find a husband for her when she cannot attend balls or even make morning calls.”
“Yes, quite the challenge.” Sir Stirling stroked his jaw.
“My grandmother is after me to host a ball,” Douglas said without thought.
“You?” Sir Stirling arched a brow and gave him a knowing smile even as he scanned Douglas’s disguise.
“It is true?” Russell asked, the excitement in his eyes replaced by skepticism.
“Our friend has hidden talents.” Stirling smiled. “Will you introduce yourself, or do you wish me to do the honor?”
Douglas rubbed the back of his neck. He could not run forever. He might as well let someone benefit from his situation.
“I did not lie the other night. I am Douglas Randolph,” he said to Russell’s questioning look. “However, these days I am usually heralded as the Duke of Inverness.”
Sir Stirling laughed. “A duke.”
“Quiet,” Douglas hissed. “For now, my identity is shrouded in mystery, and I confess to enjoying it. How did you know?”
Stirling shrugged. “I read the paper.”
“And you?” Douglas turned to Russell.
“Despite my head for names and lineages, I did not immediately recognize your name during our last meeting.” Leaning forward to keep their conversation private, Russell added, “It was only when I looked beyond appearances. You are hardly the first peer to visit my tavern, hoping for anonymity.”
Douglas raised his glass in a toast of appreciation for the man.
Stirling looked at him for another long moment and then raised his glass in salute. “So, this ball. How do we invite Miss Marigold?”
“I could insist that all ladies in his household come. Blackmail Kincaid, lest he wants all the world to know his debt of honor to Society’s newest duke.”
“Good.” Stirling nodded. “Very good.”
“Randolph, did you say why he will not pay?”
“I assume he is angry at losing to ’the likes of me.’ He finds me dismissible and does not yet know who I really am.”
Russell frowned. “I have been attempting to find more about his father. The Kincaid family was stripped of their lands and income for activities of his father and grandfather in the rebellion.”
“He did say he was taken in by relatives,” Stirling said.
“But that does not explain how he has income for a house and servants without ever having a profession.”
“His wife or mother came from money?” Douglas suggested.
“Nothing very impressive,” Russell said.
“I hardly think he has swindled it all.” Douglas shrugged.
“Could this information help us find a suitor for Marigold?” Stirling asked. “What are you thinking?”
“I do not pretend to know much about gentry Society,” Russell ventured, “but I rather think it would hinder us in finding a match for her, don’t you?”
“I dinnae know,” Douglas said. “I probably know even less than you.”
“It may,” Stirling admitted. “However, the men that would care about her cousin’s methods for income would not be able to overlook her position in life or her heritage.”
The other two gentlemen nodded, and Stirling stood. “I expect to hear about this ball soon, Inverness. I recall we have a standing bet. Why would you assist me?”
Douglas stared at his drink. Why had he offered to host a ball for the sole sake of Miss Marigold finding
a suitor? “I remember the wager is that you cannot wed four ladies. I am merely making the odds more even by spotting you one.”
Laughing, the gentlemen dispersed for the evening.
***
“Are you listening to me?” Priscilla screeched at Marigold. “Your mind has been scattered for days.”
“Pardon, ma’am.” Marigold hastily curtsied.
“You will go to the milliner and only the milliner’s while we are with the dressmaker. Then await us with the carriage. You are not to step foot in the shop while we are there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And wash your hands and face.” Priscilla scathingly looked her over. “Do you sleep in the fire? I won’t have people saying our servants look like trash.”
“Of course, madam,” Marigold murmured as Priscilla turned to leave.
“What if someone asks about her, Mama? Do I have to say she is my cousin?” Marigold’s younger cousin, who was to make her debut soon, asked.
“Definitely not, Edith,” Priscilla answered. “Make haste, Marigold.”
Sighing, Marigold hurried to a basin to wash her hands and face in the frigid water. Last night had been exceptionally cold, and she did nearly sleep in the dying embers of the fire. Then her morning chores had taken longer than usual, leaving no time to wash her face or brush her hair. Usually, it would not matter how she looked as she kept out of sight of her relatives as much as possible.
This morning, she was tasked with purchasing ribbon while her cousins were fitted for new gowns. An invitation had arrived for a ball. Marigold’s cousins, Edith and Augusta, danced about with glee, declaring they would each marry the new and mysterious duke.
Normally, Becky or Ruth accompanied them on shopping trips, but the maids were instructed to clean and press the best undergarments and complete other chores. Priscilla was more concerned than usual about Marigold being seen by others. It made no sense to Marigold. The ball was not for a week. While they would need to be fitted as soon as possible, accessories and undergarments could surely wait.
“I will never understand those sorts of concerns,” she sighed and pulled her cloak around her shoulders.
Not permitted to sit inside the coach, she sat on the driver’s seat with the coachman. She vastly preferred Old Tom’s company to that of her relatives. However, her threadbare cloak offered little protection from the January air. By the time they arrived in the shopping district, Marigold could not feel her hands or feet.
“Mind the list,” Priscilla called up as she and her daughters started toward the shop.
Old Tom helped Marigold down. “Will you be attending the ball too, Miss?”
“Of course not.” Marigold laughed. “What would I do at one of those fancy dances?”
“I thought I heard the master and the mistress arguing about it.”
“Your ears must be playing tricks on you.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “They would never let me go to a ball. Not that I would want to,” she added.
“If you say so, Miss,” Tom said. “Now, you have an hour before they finish. No need to hurry back and freeze.”
Marigold smiled at his thoughtfulness. She quickly made the correct selections for her family, then hurried to the bookshop. She had no money for purchases, and no subscription to a circulating library. Her parents had left her a handful of books, the only connection she had to them, and she read them often. Cousin Augusta was a great novel reader and would sometimes allow Marigold to read a discarded book, but the rest were kept under lock and key in Cousin Nicholas’s library. He was the only one permitted in the room. Even his wife and children were allowed only brief visits.
Marigold nodded at the shopkeeper who allowed her to read instead of purchase and wound her way through the shop to find a copy of her latest reading. She had a strange feeling that she was being watched. Now and then, she glanced about but saw no one. Or, at least, no one that appeared to notice her.
Situated in an alcove and having lost herself in the book for several minutes, Marigold jumped when a low voice spoke next to her.
“I did not expect you to be a reader.”
Spinning around, she smiled to see Mr. Randolph. “I would say the same of you.”
He looked different somehow. His hair appeared clean, and while his clothes were neither new or fashionable, they were most definitely not the same ones he’d worn the day before. What was he doing in a bookshop in the middle of the day? The other customers were all fine gentlemen and ladies. Should not he be working? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask when he spoke.
“So, you like these novels of manners?” He touched the book she held.
Marigold colored slightly and brought it close to her chest. “It is a harmless pastime that I rarely get to indulge. Do you disapprove of the novels, or only my reading them?”
“I just find them…tame,” Randolph said in a bored tone. “They’re all about saintly women in a drawing room whose greatest concerns are choosing a suitor and learning which lady is a true friend.”
“And you would suggest reading something more adventurous? I expect you have seen many things.”
“I have seen enough to know that those sorts of books do not represent most people’s lives. But I presume that is what appeals to you. You wish it were your life.”
Marigold’s back straightened. “Never have I wished to have such a life. I am content with my role and situation. The kinds of books you mention are, generally, not considered suitable reading for ladies.”
She raised her chin to meet his eyes. He peered at her as though searching her soul.
“And you do not wish to be tempted?”
Marigold’s eyes widened. She quickly glanced around to be sure no one overheard him. Determining they needed more privacy, she headed to a distant corner. Randolph followed. When she turned to face him, he stood very close and had a strange look in his eyes.
“You suppose correctly, but not as I believe you meant to infer,” she whispered. “Reading Don Quixote and the like would be far too tempting for a girl in my situation. The call of adventure, of seeing new places and meeting new people is dangerous for me.”
“Am I dangerous, then?” He leaned forward and rested an arm on the wall above her head.
“Not as long as I carry rocks on my person,” she said and raised a hand to his wound, which was still bruised.
“I am no thief,” Randolph said with an intensity that surprised her.
“I believe you,” she said, and relief flooded his eyes. “Does it hurt?”
“Not right now,” he answered. “You are a curious woman, Miss Mary.”
Her breath caught in her throat. At her age of twenty, gentry ladies were considered to be nearing the shelf. Servants, however, often married years later. The line between girl and woman was not as clearly related to age for them, and no one had ever seen her as anything but a girl before.
“Are you surprised to hear that I find you a woman?” Randolph’s head dipped lower. “A flesh and blood woman who wants her pulse to race and heart to pound.”
Marigold kept her eyes averted. Still, her chest rose and fell in quick breaths. When she dared to raise her head, something caught aflame in his blue eyes. His gaze dipped to her lips, and Marigold held her breath. Was he going to kiss her?
Thoughts of returning to the carriage and her angry cousin flew by the wayside as Marigold angled her head, prepared to receive her first kiss.
Chapter Four
Desire ripped through Douglas’s body like a bullet leaving a musket, and its effects were just as deadly. His base instinct warred with his attempts to play the gentleman. The side of him which craved, nay, needed Marigold’s lips on his won. She tilted her head up, inviting him to taste. Her breath caught in her throat and Douglas could hear her heartbeat. His own skipped to a similar rhythm. Just before their lips touched, a crash sounded behind them. They both startled, wrenching their faces away.
Marigold gasped, and a hand fle
w to her chest. She looked up at him with shocked eyes, apparently surprised at how much she had forgotten herself. Douglas cursed under his breath. Not only for the missed opportunity, but because he had put them in an impossible situation.
Sir Stirling meant for her to marry a wealthy man and, despite being a duke, Douglas’s coffers were mostly empty. Hence why his money from Kincaid mattered. Not that it would be enough to set things right, but it would be enough to invest in a venture. Additionally, as much as he loathed the idea, he would soon have to select a wife. Society was curious about him now, but he knew the fascination would soon give way to disgust. They would hate him forever if he married a lady with no fortune or name, who had worked as a maid most of her life. Worse, they would be cruel to her, and that he could not tolerate.
What was he thinking? Desiring a kiss was not the same as expecting a marriage. That was the honorable route, of course, but when had he ever cared about honor?
“I must go,” Marigold whispered. She dropped her book and rushed away.
Freed from her spell, Douglas took a deep breath. How could he be so stupid? He approached her bent on making sure she would come to his ball, not to seduce her in a public place. If anyone had seen them, her chances for a good match would be destroyed. Douglas knew from experience that very few men would stand by a woman with a tarnished reputation.
“Inverness? Is that you?” The languid tone of Douglas’s silver-haired grandmother reached him. What could a dowager duchess want in the store?
“Madam.” He turned and bowed.
“Oh, you are always so formal! Grandmama, please,” she spoke loudly for the crowd that had suddenly gathered.
“As you wish,” he said through gritted teeth. After years of being unwanted, he must now feign familial affection?
“You will not blame Matthews for telling me you intended to shop here. Now, we must get you to the tailor. Your new clothes should be ready. You no longer need to dress like a soldier.”
A soldier? Is that what the family had spent years saying? Refusing to continue the show she had arranged, Douglas said nothing and headed toward the door.
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 58