“I won’t change my mind,” she said defiantly. Now she was angry, too, and in a way that was better. “You can’t make me marry you, Rivers.”
“I’d never force you to do anything,” he said. “But you can’t expect me to leave you without a decent explanation.”
“Because it would be wrong for both of us,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Because I could never make you happy, not the way you deserve.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that, Lucia?” he demanded, his voice rising with urgency. “When we are together, you have made me happier than I’ve ever been before, and more miserable when we’ve been apart.”
She took another step away from him, her back against the bare wall as she hugged her arms defensively to her body. Yet her eyes were dark and challenging, her earlier tears now dried to murky streaks on her face paint.
“You are a gentleman, the son of a duke,” she said. “You could never have an actress for a wife.”
“I’d be the most selfish bastard on earth if I tried to stop you from acting,” he said, and he meant it. “I saw you tonight. How could I wish to put an end to your talent, your gifts? I’ll gladly share you with your audiences for performances as Mrs. Willow, if the rest of the time I can have you to myself as my wife. Will that do? Will that be enough?”
He smiled, coaxing, and believing he’d won. But her expression only darkened, and he realized there was still more to come.
“On our last day at the Lodge,” she said, “I heard what your father said to you outside in the garden. He called me a ‘creature.’ I heard how angry he was with you for taking me to the Hall, and having me drink tea with Her Grace and the others.”
His hopes plummeted. So this was it. Blast, why hadn’t she said something about this before now?
“I’m sorry you heard that,” he said. “My father is accustomed to speaking directly, no matter how it might wound others.”
She looked down and shook her head, her long, loose hair falling over her face. Her arms were still clutched defensively around her body, and he hated to think that she needed to protect herself against him.
“If you heard my father,” he said more gently, “then you also heard how I countered every hateful thing he said about you.”
“But your father was right, Rivers,” she said sorrowfully. “I can’t make you happy, not in the ways that would matter to you. I didn’t belong at Breconridge Hall, and I don’t belong with you.”
“Yes, you do,” he insisted. “We belong together, and nothing anyone says—”
“No, Rivers, please, I beg you,” she interrupted. She finally looked up again, the pain in her dark eyes unmistakable. “This is exactly what your father meant. You are so honorable, so loyal, that you would stand by me against the entire world, and I love you all the more for it.”
“I would indeed,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I do that for the woman I love, and wish to have as my wife?”
She shook her head again, her earlier anger gone and her misery palpable. “Because no matter how much you love me, you loved your family first, and I could never make you choose between us. Your father, your brothers, your sisters-in-law and their children—they’re all a part of you that I could never replace by myself.”
“That’s foolishness, Lucia,” he said. True, his father would be furious, but his brothers and their wives would happily share their joy. “I would never expect that of you.”
“Wouldn’t you?” She uncurled one hand and placed it on his chest as she tried to make him understand. “Your father thinks I’m no better than a slatternly gypsy. If we wed against his will, you’d lose him and the rest of your family, and no matter how hard you fought it, in time you’d come to resent and despise me for it.”
Loving her as he did, he knew she believed what she said. It wasn’t a dramatic exaggeration for her.
“I’m a grown man, Lucia,” he said firmly, placing his hand over hers. “I make my own decisions, and I have an income and property, and a life and interests of my own as well. I do not need my father to choose my wife for me. As soon as either Gus or Serena bears a son, I’ll cease to be of any interest to him whatsoever.”
“That isn’t true,” she said wistfully. “He loves you too much for that. You are fortunate to have such a father, Rivers. He may have no use for me, but you’ll always be his son, and he cares for you whether you’re his heir or not. I’d never, ever wish to come between the two of you.”
He looked down at his hand across hers, her small fingers resting on his breast. He found it difficult to agree with her regarding his father, but then he had to remember that she’d no parents or siblings of her own, and that she’d never had the security of his two older brothers. All she had now was him, and he was determined to do whatever he must for her sake.
He sighed, and linked his hand into hers. “Tell me,” he said softly. “Would you marry me if we had my father’s blessing?”
“Yes,” she said at once and with gratifying conviction. “Oh, Rivers, yes.”
“Then we’ll go to him now,” he said. Unlike his older brothers, he could recall challenging his father outright only a handful of times in his life. He’d never once won, either. But this was different; for Lucia’s sake, this time he was determined to come away with what he wanted.
She gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. “Now? It must be nearly midnight, Rivers.”
“Now,” he said firmly. He pulled his watch from his pocket to check the time. Father’s habits were as punctually predictable as his own, and Rivers knew he wouldn’t retire for the night for at least another hour. “I’d rather not have to rouse him from his bed.”
She smiled, too, an endearingly wobbly smile. “You are certain?”
“I am certain of this, and everything else as well.” He smiled and drew her close, her body warm and soft against his. He felt instantly better, and having a plan that would join them together forever made him feel better still, and when he kissed her, he could tell she shared both his eagerness, and his excitement.
Reluctantly he broke the kiss and smiled down at her. Dressed all in white with her dark hair trailing over her shoulders, she looked younger than she was, and impossibly beautiful. “We must go now, sweetheart,” he said. “There will be time enough for this later.”
She nodded. “Your father,” she said, but that wasn’t the reason.
“Not at all,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “It’s that I don’t wish to wait a moment longer than I must to make you my wife.”
—
A half hour later, after a breakneck ride in a hackney, Lucia found herself hurrying through the front hall of Breconridge House with Rivers’s hand firmly clasped around hers. He had only given her time to wash the paint from her face, and she still wore her loose-fitting Juliet costume, her hair unpinned.
Rivers was striding so purposefully that she had to trot to keep pace with him, bunching her long skirts with her free hand so she wouldn’t trip as they began up the stairs. She’d only a passing impression of the hall, of a great many candles and gilding and a marble floor that was chilly beneath her slippered feet, the same extravagance that she remembered from Breconridge Hall.
“Almost there,” Rivers said as they reached the first floor. “At this hour, they’ll be in the Green Parlor, listening to Celia play.”
“They?” she asked, surprised. She realized she’d been picturing the duke sitting alone, waiting for them like some sort of awful judge. “There will be others there, too?”
“Only family,” Rivers said, smiling. “My stepmother, Celia, of course, and my brothers as well as Gus and Serena. We always dine together here en famille on Thursday evenings. Except I left early tonight to see you instead.”
In return her smile was tight, a sorry attempt to hide her anxiety. She’d much rather they declared their love for each other before a full house at the theater than face his family like this.
“It will be fine, Lucia,”
Rivers said, sensing her uneasiness. “I’ll make Father understand, and we’re not leaving until he agrees.”
She rolled her eyes. “Santo cielo, I should like to see that.”
“You will,” he promised. He stopped before a closed door, and raised her hand to kiss it with the gallantry that always made her heart flutter. “I swear to it.”
From inside the room came the muffled notes of a harpsichord, jangling and discordant to her ears, and she sighed with dismay. Wasn’t this evening difficult enough for her without adding music, too? The footman at the door murmured a greeting to Rivers, clearly expecting him to give Lucia’s name so she might be announced.
“There’s no need, Willis,” Rivers said. “I’ll present Miss di Rossi myself.”
The footman nodded and opened the door for them, and before she could hang back Rivers was leading her into the room, forward to the bright ring of candles at the far end, before the tall windows. She recognized Celia, sitting at the harpsichord’s bench, and Serena, sitting beside her to turn the pages. Standing nearby with a glass in his hand was a dark-haired gentleman who so strongly resembled Rivers that Lucia knew he must be his brother Geoffrey. Though obviously surprised, those three were smiling warmly in welcome.
But the last person in the room was not.
Lucia swallowed a small gasp as the Duke of Breconridge turned toward them. He was every bit as formidable as she’d imagined he’d be, and impeccably dressed in a dark velvet suit that gleamed with golden embroidery. There was lace at his wrist and throat, a large emerald on his finger, and an elegantly curled and powdered wig on his head. While he still possessed the same handsome features that he’d passed on to his sons, his were set and world-weary. He had the well-bred yet jaded face of a man who had spent the majority of his life having everything exactly as he wished, and his expression was confident that that would not change now.
She forced herself to keep her gaze level and not look away. She’d met him once before, though then she hadn’t realized he was Rivers’s father. Did he remember, too, or would he pretend he’d forgotten?
“So you have returned, Rivers,” the duke said, rising to his feet, ignoring Lucia entirely. “The Stanhopes were sorry to have missed you. Lady Anne was understandably upset that you weren’t here. I fear you have missed supper, but I can send for a little refreshment from the kitchen if you wish.”
Lucia didn’t flinch. She’d expected this slight from the duke, and she refused to let it intimidate her. She wished Rivers had mentioned that his rumored fiancée, Lady Anne Stanhope, had been among the dinner guests, but what mattered now was that she was gone. Lucia raised her chin a little higher, squared her shoulders a little straighter, and smiled as warmly as if the duke had smiled at her first.
Rivers was mortified by his father’s reception. She could tell by the way he squeezed her hand, a kind of wordless apology and support. He took a slight step forward, holding their clasped hands in front so his father couldn’t miss them.
“Father,” he said, “may I present Miss Lucia di Rossi? Lucia, my father, the Duke of Breconridge.”
She slipped her hand free of his and sank into the curtsey that was expected of her. It was also the curtsey that she’d practiced so often under Rivers’s instruction, and she bent with the grace that she’d made her own. She was the noble-born Ophelia, she was the cherished Juliet, she was the honored Mrs. Willow, but most of all she was Lucia di Rossi, who loved and was loved by Lord Rivers Fitzroy. All gave her strength, even as she remained bent low on the carpet with her white Juliet-skirts spread around her.
But the duke still did not acknowledge her or her curtsey, instead looking directly at Rivers and ignoring her. She didn’t have to look up to sense Rivers’s growing anger, and her heart went out to him. How difficult this must be for him! She didn’t want him to take her side against his father, but rather wished his father would accept their love, and with it Rivers, too.
“You’ve noticed that we’re a smaller group than when you left this evening,” the duke was continuing as if Rivers hadn’t made his introduction. “Poor Augusta wearied, and Harry took her home. Of course every care must be exercised with her these last days before she’s brought to bed.”
“Father,” Rivers repeated. “May I present Miss Lucia di Rossi?”
“Good evening, Miss di Rossi,” Geoffrey said, coming forward to take Lucia’s hand and lift her up. He had the same warmth in his blue eyes that Rivers had, and she couldn’t help smiling in return. “I have heard much about you from my brother and my wife, and I’m honored to at last make your acquaintance myself.”
“This is my brother Geoffrey, Lucia,” Rivers said quickly. “Serena’s husband.”
“He is Lord Geoffrey Fitzroy,” the duke said sharply. “Do not slight him before an inferior, Rivers.”
“It is you who are slighting Miss di Rossi, Father,” Rivers said, his voice rising. “Why you cannot put aside your pride and—”
“There’s no reason for a formal introduction, Rivers,” Lucia said, placing a light restraining hand on his arm. “His Grace has met me before, you see.”
Abruptly Rivers turned to face her. “He has?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling to reassure him—and perhaps herself, too. She was going to need to give the performance of her life if this was all to work as she prayed it would. “Last week your father came to Russell Street with His Highness to see Romeo and Juliet. All the primary players had the honor of being presented to the royal party at that time.”
Rivers looked sharply at his father. “You didn’t tell me you’d seen Lucia perform.”
The duke gave the slightest of shrugs. “Since I believed you had wisely ended your liaison with this woman, Rivers, I did not judge the matter to be of any consequence. I suppose it slipped my mind.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Lucia said gently, “but that was not what you told me then. Before all of us, you said that seeing my Juliet had been an honor and a privilege, and you agreed with His Majesty that I had brought tears to the eyes of the sturdiest gentlemen among you.”
“Hyperbole,” the duke said with disdain. “If you were familiar with the ways of Court, ma’am, you would know that much is said, but little believed.”
That stung, but she didn’t let it show, and it helped that Rivers protectively slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Father, please,” Rivers said. “I have not brought Miss di Rossi here for your critique of her performance. Rather, I intend to marry her, and I hope you will give us your blessing.”
Serena and Celia made little cries of rejoicing and Geoffrey grinned, and Serena hurried forward to kiss Lucia on the cheek and link her hand loosely into Lucia’s: a small gesture, but one that meant so much to Lucia.
But the duke’s expression only darkened.
“You will not have my blessing,” he said flatly. “How can you possibly expect me to condone so unsuitable a match as this one?”
“Because I love her,” answered Rivers without hesitation, “and she loves me, and I can see no reason under Heaven for that to be unsuitable, even to you, Father.”
“Because it is, Rivers,” Father thundered. “Consider your station, and then consider hers. Her parents were dancers, kicking their feet in the air for the amusement of the crowds.”
“As was my mother, Brecon,” Serena said quietly. “She was also my father’s mistress, not his wife, yet you forgave that for my sake, and for Geoffrey’s.”
“Your father was a gentleman,” the duke said firmly, waving away her objection. “That made it easier to overlook your mother’s other, ah, deficiencies.”
“Perhaps my father wasn’t a gentleman,” Lucia said, “but he and my mother were married, and they loved each other very much.”
“They were foreigners,” the duke said. “French, and Italian, I believe. They were not English.”
“But I am,” Lucia said, undaunted. “I was born was brought to London when I was less
than a month old, which makes me as English as anyone.”
“As English as any of us are, in any event,” Geoffrey said, coming to stand beside Rivers. “Pray recall, Father, that we have a good share of Italian and French blood in our veins as well, back to the de’ Medici, and—”
“I do not require a lecture as to our ancestry, Geoffrey,” the duke said. “It is our future, not our past, that concerns me at present, and how this woman from the stage deserves no place in it.”
“That’s not what Her Majesty believed, Brecon,” Celia said. With her customary poise, she glided from the harpsichord’s bench to stand beside her husband, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Didn’t you tell me that after Miss di Rossi’s performance, Her Majesty wished aloud for the young ladies of her Court to possess even half the grace of Miss di Rossi’s Juliet?”
Lucia gasped. “Her Majesty said that of me?”
“She did,” Celia said, nodding so that the white plume in her hair nodded in agreement as well. “Or so Brecon told me that night. My husband may be a stubborn man, Miss di Rossi, but he is always truthful. If the queen herself judged you would be an ornament to her Court, how could we Fitzroys possibly believe otherwise?”
Overwhelmed with unexpected emotion, Lucia was speechless. She’d never expected to find such acceptance from Rivers’s family, or such regard. She felt it like a force enveloping her, wrapping her in a kind of security that she’d never felt from her own family.
Except for the one person whose judgment would matter most to Rivers.
“I will not be hectored in my own house, Celia,” the duke said, the edge in his voice unmistakable. “You compel me to speak plainly. For his own good, Rivers deserves a lady for a wife. A lady. We all do, considering what may be at stake.”
He didn’t have to say more. Everyone else in the room understood. He meant that much-wished-for future Duke of Breconridge, the unborn boy that hovered over every family gathering.
A Reckless Desire Page 35