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

by Devlin, Barbara

  “My dear, it will be all right.” Stunned, Anthony caught her by the elbow and pulled her close to his side, even as she continued an incoherent rant at the top of her lungs. “My lady.” He gave her a gentle tug. “Arabella, that is enough. Let us return to our chambers, where you might recover your wits.” To Shaw, Anthony said, “Forgive her, as I believe the shock of the day’s events are too much for her delicate senses. Remember, we traveled far and were denied an opportunity to break our journey for a brief respite. A hot meal and a good night’s rest should do much to improve her spirits.”

  There would be hell to pay for that, he suspected, because there was nothing delicate about his wife, and she would take umbrage at his remarks.

  “Of course, Lord Rockingham. Women are naturally predisposed to histrionics, so her ladyship’s behavior is to be expected and pitied. Given her status, we will indulge her.” The doctor dipped his chin, and his imperious demeanor rankled Anthony’s last nerve, but he took no issue. His bride needed him just then, because Shaw’s reply inspired another series of spectacular insults, and Anthony found himself fighting laughter. “Perhaps, you and I can continue our discussion tomorrow, in the study, my lord.”

  “I look forward to it, Dr. Shaw.” Anthony pulled Arabella into the crook of his arm. “Come, my dear. Let us retire to the comfort of our quarters, for the evening. I will ring for your bath, and then we will dine in the quiet of our sitting room.”

  “I will summon the footman, posthaste, to heat the water, while you tend to her ladyship.” Shaw righted his coat and tugged the bell pull. “You may send for dinner to be served, at your leisure, because we are not barbarians, here. We only wish to help.”

  “I suppose I should eat something, and I do need to wash off the road dust.” Again, to his befuddlement, she leaned into him, and he steered her toward the door and into the hall, with the two stocky attendants in tow. His countess was anything but weak, and he wondered if the unpleasant developments had well and truly shocked her into hysteria. “You are wise, as well as thoughtful, my lord.”

  With care, he led her up the grand staircase, and on the landing he paused. Instinct told him there were games afoot, and he longed to inquire after her motives. Given their lack of privacy, he continued to navigate the passageways, until they arrived at the entrance to their rooms. One steward pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, which he then set wide. Anthony drew Arabella across the threshold and strode straight to their inner bedchamber. The escort secured the door behind them.

  “All right, what was that?” He narrowed his gaze, and she lifted her head and grinned. “You have never been given to such torrents of emotion, even when baited, and I should know. You are uncommonly calm under pressure, which is one of the many positive traits that draws me to you. Are you genuinely out of sorts, or is there another method to your madness?”

  “Well, you appeared on the verge of an apoplectic fit, which I feared might lend credence to Dr. Shaw’s assertion that you are unfit for your rank. I would not have him use your reaction to bolster his claims against your sanity.” She furrowed her brow. “I had to do something, and hysteria proved the only weapon at my disposal. While I thought it a successful diversion, I apologize if I caused you distress, because that was not my aim.”

  “You are a remarkable woman, Lady Rockingham.” Moved beyond words by her desire to protect him, he could have wept in gratitude. Instead, in a single swift sweep of his arm, he wound his fingers in the hair at her nape and pulled her near. Then he covered her mouth with his and kissed her hard and fast.

  A knock at the door could not have come at a more inopportune moment.

  Cursing audibly this time, he lifted his head and shouted, “Come.”

  Emily, the awkward maid, peered around the edge of the oak panel. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but Dr. Shaw ordered a bath for her ladyship. Since Lady Rockingham did not wash before your meeting with Dr. Shaw, I had water boiled, to service her ladyship without delay. Shall we set up the tub in the wash area?”

  “Yes, of course. And that was very thoughtful of you, Emily.” Anthony made no attempt to disguise the fact that he had been kissing his bride, because he bloody well enjoyed himself, and he loved the charming flush of Arabella’s cheeks. He tugged her to one side, so the footmen could carry in buckets of steaming water. “Take your time and have a relaxing soak.”

  “What will you do, in the meantime?” she asked in a whisper. “Do you need my help formulating a plan?”

  “Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “We will discuss it, later. Now, I will await your arrival in our sitting room, whereupon I shall take my turn and bathe, but do not hurry on my account.”

  “All right.” Perched on tiptoes, she favored him with a feathery kiss. “I promise, I will not linger too long.”

  The look she gave him almost took him to his knees, and he cleared his throat.

  The footmen exited the inner chamber, and he followed in their wake. When they marched across the sitting room and into the hall, Anthony eased into an overstuffed chair near the windows. In light of recent revelations, he realized he could not appeal to the earl of Ainsworth for assistance. Liberty would have to be secured elsewhere.

  *

  The mantel clock signaled the late hour, and Arabella stretched long and yawned. In the world beyond the windows, the sun had long since set, and she pondered ringing for Emily, but something odd left her rooted in place. Reclining on the chaise, and holding a book in her lap, she pretended to read. Pretended because she could not settle her thoughts. Instead, she studied her confusing husband.

  For some reason she could not fathom, her once amiable and flirtatious spouse had become sullen and despondent. He barely said a word over dinner, despite her numerous attempts to discuss their situation. Yes, the conversation with Dr. Shaw did not yield the hoped-for results, because they remained where they started—in captivity. But she thought they would form a new plan, together.

  “Shall I have the dishes cleared?” She sat upright. “Would you like more wine? I can refill your glass. Or I can pour you a brandy.”

  “Brandy, please.” He nodded once and said naught more.

  With a sigh, she scooted forward and dropped her feet to the floor. Standing, she rubbed the small of her back with her knuckles and walked to the tallboy. Reaching to the left, she yanked the bell pull. Then she lifted the heavy decanter and filled a crystal balloon with the amber liquor, which she delivered to her husband.

  “What is wrong?” She perched on an ottoman near the chair he occupied, so he could not ignore her. “Aside from the obvious. You’ve hardly spoken to me. Have I done something wrong?”

  “No.” He took a healthy gulp and frowned. “But I am at a loss to discern a way out of this mess. I had thought we could rely on your father for assistance. In truth, we need his support. His complicity makes our predicament more dire.”

  “Well, I cannot argue with you there, because I never would have imagined Papa could betray me, but why should his involvement make our situation worse?” Cocking her head, she half chuckled. “Things are pretty bad, already, I suppose.”

  “My father can do with me as he wants. I am not concerned for myself, because I am not afraid of him or his doctor.” Anthony compressed his lips and met her gaze, and the despondence she spied well-nigh punched her in the gut. “But your fate I cannot begin to contemplate without profound reservations.”

  “Fret not for me, because Dr. Shaw made it clear that I am to be returned to London.” Yet, something dark and ominous stirred within her as she uttered the statement, and nagging doubts crept to the fore of her brain. He was right to worry. A light rap of the door signaled the maid’s arrival, and Arabella whispered, “We will continue this discussion, later.” Then she stated, “Come.”

  “Good evening, my lord and my lady.” Emily curtseyed and approached. “Should I have the footmen remove the dishes?”

  “Please, do so.” Arabella dipped h
er chin and stood. “And I should dress for bed.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Emily peered over her shoulder and waved to the footmen. With characteristic timidity, the maid bowed her head and walked with Arabella into the bedchamber. “I aired the white gown and the matching robe, as you requested. Shall I take down your hair?”

  “Oh, indeed.” She eased to the small, tufted seat at the vanity. As she reflected on what the night would hold, anticipation simmered beneath her flesh, and she smiled to herself. Tomorrow, she would be Anthony’s wife in every way, and no one could change that.

  “Are you nervous, my lady?” Emily gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “I beg your pardon. I should not have asked such a personal question.”

  “That’s all right.” Arabella recalled she needed to grow closer to the servant. “Are we not friends?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Well, friends don’t keep secrets from friends, do they?” Arabella asked, and the maid shook her head. “Precisely. And to answer your query, I am a little nervous, but I think that is probably natural for a new bride.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Emily tugged several pins from Arabella’s intricate coiffure. “My one and only beau married another girl from Weybridge, last year, and I suppose I will never find another suitor.”

  “Don’t say that.” Arabella grabbed her silver-backed brush. “There is always hope, and you never know what can happen. As a matter of fact, I never intended to take a husband.”

  “Really?” Surprise colored Emily’s response. “But you wed a marquess.”

  “It was pure luck owing to birth on both our parts that we ended up together.” Arabella turned to face the maid. “And, I should add, a dark twist of fate.”

  “I don’t understand.” The maid furrowed her brow. “Do you mean you were not destined to marry his lordship?”

  “Yes and no.” Arabella chuckled at Emily’s perplexed expression. “You see, there existed a longstanding agreement, brokered before we were born, between our two families. Only, Lord Rockingham had an older brother who originally inherited the title. When John was killed at Waterloo, Anthony became the Marquess of Rockingham, assuming ownership of the title, the marquisate, and me, I suppose.”

  “How awful.” Emily picked up a comb and worked to untangle a knotted curl. “Did you love the first Lord Rockingham?”

  “What a curious question, given love rarely enters the equation when it comes to marriage.” Arabella considered the two men and wondered how different her life would have been with the elder Bartlett son. “To be perfectly frank, I never had the opportunity to know John. He sent the occasional gift, and we spoke briefly, when I was very young. Beyond that, I seldom heard from him.”

  “Well, at least for you, love didn’t matter, but I could not take a husband who did not claim my heart,” Emily replied in a melancholy tone. Arabella almost challenged the servant’s assertion but held her tongue, because she needed an ally. “I used to envy what I thought were the delights of London, including the balls and socials. You get to wear such lovely clothes and eat some of the most delicious food. You attend the theater and Vauxhall. It sounds so exciting. Yet, I would not trade places with you, because if I wed, it will be to a man of my choosing. I suppose that is a concession of poverty.”

  “It does seem rather dreadful when you put it that way.” Indeed, never had Arabella pondered that perspective. After assessing her hair in the mirror, she stood and gave her back to the maid. As Emily unlaced Arabella’s gown, she reminisced of her brief courtship with her injured hero. “Still, if I had a choice, I would have set my cap for Lord Rockingham.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Emily snorted and tugged the dress from Arabella’s shoulders. “He is a wealthy marquess, heir to a dukedom, and, if you don’t mind my saying, a vast deal more than a little in twig.”

  Together, they giggled. From beyond the doors, Anthony cleared his throat, and Arabella came alert.

  “We should be about our business, because my groom awaits.” Steadying herself with the maid’s support, she stepped free of the gown. “But I would not have you linger under the impression that I do not care for Lord Rockingham, because the truth is, I am quite fond of him.”

  “That’s right.” Emily whisked Arabella’s chemise over her head. “If I remember correctly, you called him a war hero.”

  “Yes, but he is so much more than that.” She sat at the edge of the bed and unhooked her garters. “Lord Rockingham is the kindest, gentlest, and best of men. He has a particular partiality for neige de pistachio ice, and he is blessed with a boyish innocence that quite slays my defenses, despite what he endured in France. Although the duke does not recognize it, his son possesses uncommon courage. Where others might never overcome the loss of an arm, Lord Rockingham greets every day with newfound strength and optimism, and I hold him in great esteem. Indeed, I could not have hoped for a better husband.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but you speak like a woman in love.” Emily picked up the diaphanous night rail Arabella selected for her wedding night. When she prepared to drape it over Arabella’s figure, she flinched and came to a halt. “Oh, dear. I did it again. I said something wrong. Please, forgive me.”

  “No.” Arabella blinked, as her world seemed to spin out of control. “There is naught to forgive, because you put into words what I did not see until now. Until just this moment.” Resting her palms to her thighs, she inhaled a deep breath. “I knew I harbored an attachment for him, but I never explored the depth of my emotions. Yet, I cannot deny what I feel.” She gave vent to nervous laughter. “You are correct. I love Lord Rockingham. I know not when or how it happened, but I love him. Regardless of what the Duke of Swanborough or Dr. Shaw claim, his lordship is not mentally infirm. Indeed, I find the mere suggestion abhorrent. More than that, it is false, and I will defend my husband with my life, if I must.”

  “My lady, if you believe in Lord Rockingham, then I believe in Lord Rockingham.” The maid enveloped Arabella in the sheer robe, more an afterthought than a practical garment, letting the delicate folds fall into place. Then Emily secured the single mother-of-pearl button at Arabella’s throat. “There. Oh, my lady, you are a vision. Daresay Lord Rockingham counts himself the most fortunate of men, tonight.”

  “Thank you, Emily.” Arabella eased into her slippers and told herself everything would be fine, even as butterflies fluttered in her belly. “If you will put away my things, you may retire for the night.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Emily scurried about, tidying the room. She hung the discarded clothes on a peg in the armoire and turned down the bed. After one last survey of the area, she curtseyed and cast an impish grin. “Sleep well, my lady.”

  Alone, Arabella walked to the long mirror and studied her appearance. Cupping her chin, she glanced from side to side. What she spied in her reflection stole her breath. Her eyes filled with newfound spirit, and her face presented a canvas colored with emotion. A warm, vibrant fire burned within her, and she could not deny the truth.

  How had she missed the obvious development?

  How had she yielded her heart and not known it?

  She was a woman in love.

  The answer to the mystery proved simple. While she studied all manner of intellectual topics, often conducting her own experiments, she never explored the passionate complexities of the male-female relationship. To that day, the connection bewildered her, because she never bothered to examine it. She used women’s novels to conceal what she considered more serious books, when she patronized the booksellers with her father. Perhaps, she shouldn’t have been so quick to discount what she deemed a frivolous waste of time. Were she as smart as she presumed, she should have investigated sentimental attachments before she married. Now, everything seemed muddled except for a single nagging prospect that consumed her thoughts. Which begged the question: Did Anthony share her attachment?

  Determined to find the answer, Arabella marched to the double door portal and turned th
e cool metal knob. With the heavy oak panel set wide, she thrust herself into the fray. Seated where she left him, Anthony did not acknowledge her dramatic entrance or her presence, much to her disappointment.

  “My lord, are you unwell?” she prompted, hoping for some recognition of her provocative attire. After all, she dressed for his delectation. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Hmm?” He faced her, and his expression sobered, as he scrutinized her appearance from top to toe. Slowly, he stood. “My lady wife, you are more beautiful than I can say.”

  “Thank you.” Steeling her nerves, she walked to him, her eyes never leaving his. “Shall I refill your brandy?”

  “No.” He shook his head and furrowed his brow. Something sinister and foreboding danced in his troubled gaze. “I’ve had enough.” He pulled her close. “Come and sit, because we need to talk.”

  “Of course, I am at your service.” His reaction was not what she anticipated. Given the sheer material that did little to conceal her body, she had prepared to be ravished. At the very least, she expected him to kiss her. Still, she did as he bade. “What do you wish to discuss?”

  “Well, since our original plan involved an appeal to your father, and we now know he is a willing accomplice in our abduction, we must alter our tack.” Ah, he ogled her breasts, just visible and posing a tantalizing temptation, meaning he was not so immune to her enticing turnout as he pretended. “I have been thinking about our situation and of those in a position to assist us. The solution is obvious. We must appeal to Beaulieu and the Mad Matchmakers, but first we must make contact. How far have you progressed with the maid?”

  “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances.” Arabella snapped her fingers. “But I may have had a breakthrough, today.”

  “Oh?” He reached for her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. The gentle sashay gave her gooseflesh. “Tell me.”