The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “Not that I agree with your conclusion, but what do you recommend to cure me of my symptoms?” Anthony inquired. “Is there a tonic you can prescribe?”

  “To be honest, there is no cure for what ails you, my lord, and you may struggle with the mental infirmities for the remains of your life.” From a side table, Handley retrieved a piece of parchment, upon which Anthony noted a list. “However, you can manage the various maladies that typify what is referred to as ‘nostalgia’ or ‘irritable heart.’ In elementary terms, yours is but an attempt to deal with the abnormal events you witnessed, in highly irregular circumstances. It is doubtful you will ever forget what you met on the battlefield, but you can train yourself to cope with the discomfiting memories and mitigate your response.”

  “Interesting, because I did not think it possible.” And reassuring, given Dr. Handley was a respectable physician with an estimable clientele. “What do you suggest?”

  “There are many different methods of treatment, but I prefer the most basic.” The doctor handed Anthony the paper. “Discussing the source of your distress, either with me, Lady Arabella, or another trusted confidante works best. I also encourage you to journal about your experiences. And Lady Arabella tells me you lost your horse at Waterloo. Forgive my indelicacy, but you need to get back in the saddle, my lord, the sooner the better. Experiment with the items I propose, and find what succeeds for you.”

  “I promise, I will support you.” Arabella reviewed the inventory, and Anthony would have given anything to know her thoughts. “In fact, we can do it together, my lord.”

  “An excellent plan, my lady.” And she was his lady, more than ever, though she knew it not. “For now, we must depart before your parents search for you, because we have been here for three hours.”

  Arabella stood, and he followed suit. Dr. Handley showed them to the door, and Anthony collected her pelisse, along with his greatcoat. When he peered down the hall, he was surprised to discover no butler or servant.

  “For privacy and discretion, I relieve my staff when I see patients in my home, Lord Rockingham.” Dr. Handley smiled and extended a hand, which Anthony accepted. “It has been a pleasure, and I am available, if you have need of me.”

  “I am grateful, sir. I cannot express that enough.” With that, Anthony escorted Arabella to the coach. In the sky, the clouds parted. The sun cast its rays on the street, and he hoped for a future he never thought possible. Rolling his shoulders, he savored his tranquil and unencumbered state, the depths of which he had not enjoyed in years. To the coachman, Anthony said, “Deliver us to the corner of Upper Brook Street and North Audley.”

  “Aye, sir.” The driver nodded.

  As he sat on the bench across from his fiancée, he glanced out the window, until Arabella lowered the shade and then plopped beside him. Before he could say anything, she framed his face and set her mouth to his, in an unutterably sweet demonstration of her devotion, which he returned, measure for measure.

  Heat pooled in his loins and charged his nerves—and he broke the kiss. For the first time in a long time, he could think clearly. “Darling, you must take care, else you will lift your ankles for me, here and now, and I will not claim your bride’s prize in my rig.”

  “I thought we were going to take a turn about the park?” She scooted closer, and he clenched his thighs. “Why did you change your mind? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Sweetheart, today, you did everything right, and I owe you my thanks.” He rested his forehead to hers and sighed in irrepressible contentment. “Whether or not you realize it, you lifted a great burden from my shoulders. It is as though Dr. Handley shone a light on my demons and banished them, and I no longer believe I am a danger to you. Indeed, I cannot wait to marry you, tomorrow.”

  *

  Standing before the long mirror, Arabella admired the silver lamé wedding gown of Mama’s design. Behind her, the lady’s maid stowed the last of Arabella’s clothing in a large trunk, to be transported to the duke’s Grosvenor Square residence, because she and Anthony planned to depart for the coastal cottage after their wedding breakfast.

  “Arabella, are you ready?” Papa called from her sitting room and knocked on the interior door, which sat ajar, to her bedchamber. When he spied her in her bridal finery, he sobered and splayed his arms, and she rushed into his waiting embrace. “My dear child, you are a vision.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Resting against his chest, she exhaled, and he hugged her. “I cannot believe I will soon be a married lady.”

  “And a marchioness, at that.” Papa cradled her head. “You will outrank me, and I could not be prouder. While most expectant fathers live in hope of a male heir, with you I was never disappointed, and today you join two great houses and make me a most happy father. I only pray you can forgive me, someday, for forcing you to wed Lord Rockingham. But Swanborough pledged to protect you from his son, and I encourage you to provide the next in line to the dukedom, that you may be free of your obligation.”

  “Papa, I am not forced to the altar.” As she retreated, she held her father’s hands in hers. In light of the terms of endearment with which Anthony addressed her, yesterday, she anxiously anticipated her nuptials. “While I admit I harbored serious reservations, and I had no desire to wed, I have since come to know Lord Rockingham, and he is the best of men. Indeed, if my opinion holds any value, I promise I am in no danger from him, and I would have you know him, as do I, because he is the greatest man of my acquaintance, excepting you, of course. Despite what His Grace claims, Lord Rockingham is not insane. He is a brave war hero, and he is to be admired, not institutionalized.”

  “That is the second time you have insisted as much, and I would indulge in a debate, but I would not spoil your special day with talk of such unpleasant matters.” Papa narrowed his stare, opened and closed his mouth. “You care for him.”

  “I do, Papa,” she replied, without hesitation. Recalling tender kisses, she shivered, and gooseflesh covered her from top to toe. Then she blinked and laughed. “I do. I care for Lord Rockingham.”

  “And you do not fear him?” Papa shuffled his feet and consulted his timepiece. “I wish you had discussed this with me prior to now, because I would like to explore the topic, given I consider you an excellent judge of character, but at this moment we must away, else you may miss your wedding ceremony.”

  “Then let us depart, because I would not be late.” At the threshold, she reminisced of nights spent on the floor, reading by candlelight, and afternoons filled with the study of plant life, as opposed to the usual ladylike pursuits of embroidery, painting tables, and covering screens, and then she bade a final farewell to her childhood room. Excited, she accepted her father’s escort, and they strolled into the hall. “But you need not worry about me, Papa, because Lord Rockingham would never harm me.”

  “All right, my dear.” Something in his expression gave her pause, when they descended the stairs and crossed the foyer. At the door, Papa took her pelisse from the butler and draped the outerwear about her shoulders. “That is quite enough, and I know everything will be fine.”

  “Oh, Papa, look at the brilliant blue sky. It is as if nature blesses my union.” The sunlight blinded her, as she stepped outside, and she noted the empty coach parked at the curb. “Where is Mama?”

  “She wanted to arrive early and visit with Her Grace.” Papa handed Arabella into the elegant rig and then settled opposite her. “And you know your mother. She wanted to be sure everything was perfect.”

  As she smoothed the skirt of her gown, the coach pulled into the street and made a sharp turn. The short drive, which she could have walked had her father permitted it, from Upper Brooke Street to the Swanborough residence in Grosvenor Square took mere minutes. She barely relaxed when they passed through the wrought iron gates.

  Beneath the porte cochère of the Corinthian-columned home, the Ainsworth coach drew to a halt, and liveried footmen sprang into action. Papa exited and turned to hand her to th
e pavement.

  A cool breeze rustled her hair, and she ducked her head as she strode toward the side entrance. After skipping up the stairs, she lingered in a secondary foyer, where a very proper butler approached and bowed.

  “Good morning, Lord Ainsworth and Lady Arabella.” The stiff manservant extended an arm. “If you will follow me, I will direct you to the drawing room, where His Grace, Her Grace, and Lord Rockingham anticipate your arrival.”

  Trailing in the butler’s wake, she admired the lush Rococo décor, which boasted mezzo-frescoes in the Carracci tradition, vivid pastorals, and gilt-bronze floor to ceiling mirrors framed with asymmetrical and abstract stuccowork. It dawned on her then that one day she would be mistress of all she surveyed, and it struck her as a daunting yet thrilling prospect.

  At the end of the long corridor, they turned right. Standing near the fireplace, she spotted Anthony, resplendent in his regimentals, which she suspected he wore for her. When he met her gaze, from across the room, he smiled, and telltale warmth filled her cheeks.

  “Ah, we are all in attendance.” His Grace made what she considered an intrusive study of her person, and she shuffled her slippered feet. “Welcome, Ainsworth and Lady Arabella. Shall we commence the ceremony, because I am starved?”

  “I thought we might visit, first.” Her Grace drew near. “Lady Arabella, you look like a princess. Lady Ainsworth described your gown, but she did not do it justice.”

  “We can visit at the breakfast.” His Grace pinched the bridge of his nose and pursed his lips. “Allow me to present the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Most Reverend and Right Honorable Charles Manners-Sutton. The Archbishop journeyed to London to officiate your wedding, expressly.”

  “It is an honor.” Arabella curtseyed and then gave her attention to her groom. “Good morning, my lord.”

  “My lady.” Bereft of the various signs of stress and anxiety that often marred his handsome features, Anthony bowed. Then he claimed her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles. In a quiet tone, he said, “That dress is inspiring.”

  “Oh?” In a whisper, she replied, “What does it inspire?”

  “Minx.” He winked. “You will regret that, later.”

  “Is that a promise?” Yes, she provoked her soon-to-be-husband, and it felt so good. “Because my imagination conjures all manner of delights.”

  “My dear, you may depend upon it.” He waggled his brows.

  “Let us take our respective positions.” The archbishop moved to stand in the light of a large window. “Lord Rockingham, if you and Lady Arabella will join hands, we can begin.” Holding the Book of Common Prayer, he waited until they did as he bade. “Dearly beloved family, we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. Therefore, marriage is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God.”

  The service progressed, and she held Anthony’s stare, when she took her vows, reciting each word with care. To her amazement, the same mystical connection, an invisible but impenetrable bond impervious to the mortal constraints that distinguished and blessed their fledgling relationship, enveloped them in a glow of emotions she could not identify. Tears welled, when he pledged his troth, and his expression, filled with unmistakable if unspoken devotion, proclaimed he was not so immune to the moment.

  At last, she made her final declaration, and her voice wavered, given the significance. “From this day forward you shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.”

  “Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?” The archbishop asked.

  “We will,” their parents responded, in unison.

  “Grant that all married persons who have witnessed these vows may find their lives strengthened and their loyalties confirmed.” The archbishop closed his book and smiled. “And now I pronounce you husband and wife. Lord Rockingham, you may kiss your bride.”

  Ah, the kiss.

  Given the onlookers, she did not expect much. Oh, how wrong she had been, when Anthony wrapped his arm about her waist and covered her mouth with his.

  In her mind, the ethereal communion of flesh commanded notice, and the moon and stars answered, as the tide halted, the birds quieted, the wind stilled, and the sun ceased its path, thus the world acknowledged the union of two souls so perfectly matched, to render the distinctions between them indiscernible. It was only when His Grace coughed, her father cleared his throat, and Her Grace and Mama giggled that Arabella and Anthony parted.

  “I would say that bodes well for the union.” The archbishop grinned. “Congratulations, Lord and Lady Rockingham.”

  “Thank you.” Anthony shook hands with the archbishop. “On behalf of my bride, we are honored by your presence.”

  “Shall we adjourn to the dining room?” His Grace huffed. “I understand my son wishes to depart for Sussex, posthaste, and I would not delay the happy couple.”

  “Of course, Father.” Anthony tugged Arabella’s elbow. “Go ahead, and my new bride and I will join you, shortly, because I would like a brief word with her.”

  “All right.” His Grace wagged a finger. “But do not take too long, because I am famished.”

  “We will be right there.” The group disappeared down the hall, and Anthony cupped her cheek. To her surprise, he bent his head and bestowed upon her the sweetest kiss. “I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed an undisturbed sleep last night, for the first time since I lost my arm at Waterloo.”

  “Oh, how wonderful.” Indeed, she could have cried. “I prayed you would welcome and employ Dr. Handley’s advice, because he successfully treated several soldiers with similar symptoms.”

  “Must admit I was skeptical, but I cannot argue the results.” Again, he claimed a kiss, and her knees buckled. “While I know I shall never be healed, I believe I can manage, as Handley suggested, and I know not how I will ever repay you.”

  “My lord, I require no recompense, because the look on your face, at this moment, is payment enough.” But, in the spirit of their newly forged union, she indulged her reinvigorated playful side. “However, you may address me by a term of endearment, which I adore, and we shall call it even.”

  “You like that, darling?” He clucked his tongue, and she laughed. “Or do you prefer sweetheart? And here I thought I might be stepping on your independent toes.”

  “Not a chance, and I will take both, in equal measure.” She toyed with a gold braid on his uniform. “If I have learned anything about our relationship, it is that I am stronger with you than without you, and I am so happy to be your wife.”

  “And I am your very fortunate husband, sweetheart.” When she squealed in unmasked delight, he chuckled. “All right. Let us retire to the dining room, and I suggest you eat your fill, because I have quite an evening planned when we arrive in Sussex, and you will need your strength.”

  “I am uncontrollably excited.” They strolled down the hall, and she feigned ignorance of his meaning, else she might swoon, not that he frightened her. “And I am at your service, unreservedly.”

  “Lady Rockingham, you are every husband’s dream.” Before she could reply, he swept her into the dining room, where the family and the archbishop waited. “Sorry to have kept you, but I needed to inform my wife of my plans following our celebratory meal.”

  “Ah, young love.” His Grace snickered. “Well, we commenced breakfast without you. There are numerous selections on the sideboard, and you may help yourself.”

  “Here, my lord.” Arabella collected two plates. “Let me assist you.”

  After dishing ample portions of eggs, kippers, and toast, she abided her husband’s request and filled her belly. At the end of the meal, which she found rather dour and informal given the glorious occasion, His Grace extended an unremarkable toast. Then she removed
to a guestroom, to change into a traveling gown of lavender wool.

  Without fanfare, she accompanied her husband to the ducal coach, which His Grace insisted would make their journey more pleasant, and made her farewells to Mama and Papa. Shortly after pulling into the lane, she landed in Anthony’s lap, in the privacy of the plush equipage, and they shared a heated interlude that seemed to last forever. Finally, he broke their kiss.

  “Darling, once again, you tempt me, and if we continue on this path, I will take your maidenhead here and now, and that is not what I want for the consummation.” With infinite care, Anthony set her aside and then moved to the opposite bench. “Promise me you will do nothing too accommodating for the remains of the trip, because there are limits to my self-control.”

  “Poor aggrieved husband.” Imbued with newfound confidence, she inclined her head and bit her bottom lip. “I am quickly discovering there are other aspects to womanhood, which I grossly misconstrued, and I cannot wait to see our honeymoon cottage.” She glanced toward the windows. “If you do not want to risk another tryst, why don’t you raise the shades? No doubt, an audience will temper your enthusiasm.”

  “A great notion.” Anthony wiped his brow, exhaled, and tried to lift the shade. “How odd. It appears to be stuck closed.”

  A grimace and a groan belied his difficulty, so she fumbled with the shade to her right.

  “Mine will not budge.” To her shock, after another failed attempt to loosen the shade, he ripped the fabric. Sunlight spilled into the compartment, and she shielded her eyes from the bright rays. She surveyed the passing landscape, and a heavy sensation settled in her stomach. “Where are we?”

  “I am not sure, but this is not the road to Brighton.” He peered at the terrain and pounded on the roof. “Oy. Driver, please, stop.” The demand garnered no reply, and her heartbeat raced. “Hello. Driver, halt, at once.” Given the lack of response, Anthony yanked on one door handle and then the other, to no avail. When he met Arabella’s stare, she swallowed hard, and a dull ache nestled in the back of her throat. “My dear, it appears we are trapped.”