by Maya Rodale
“I will find another way. But I won’t compromise when it comes to the woman I love.”
Chapter Twenty-five
His Grace has still not proposed to Miss Van Allen. Inquiring minds want to know why not, and more than a few women—marriage-minded mothers, particularly—want to know if the duke is still up for grabs.
—The New York World
The next day
The Fifth Avenue Hotel
It had been little more than forty-eight hours since Adeline had stormed out of his room. Hours had passed in which his written apologies were returned unopened. Hours had passed in which he considered what to do about the pressing matter of his future happiness and the rest of his life.
He decided to take a risk. Gamble everything on a long shot. New York City seemed to have gotten to him after all.
When one decided on a course of action, one did not waste time in making it happen.
“Are you certain about this?” his mother asked nervously while Kingston’s valet finished brushing off his jacket. A man of his position, in his position, did not make a call looking anything less than perfectly and impressively attired.
His mother did not so much as travel from one hotel suite to another without a full ensemble. She completed the look with a feathered fascinator. Her days with those were numbered, though she didn’t know it yet.
“To be honest, I have never been more certain,” Kingston said.
“The gossip will be rampant,” his mother said. “Rampant.”
“It always is.” A man of his position was always subject to scrutiny. He couldn’t accidentally walk into a woman in a hotel lobby without it being written up in at least three different newspapers.
“Your sisters—”
“Will thank me later.”
“And what about me, your dear mother?”
“Will buy another hat. Only this one I shall be able to pay for.”
The duchess harrumphed, which was to say that her chief concern had been addressed.
She picked up the box with the ring, flipped the lid, and eyed the piece of jewelry. “I have always loved this one. Your father gave it to me when he proposed.”
He turned to his mother and looked at her, really looked at her. She was a handsome, rather than pretty, woman. She’d been a good mother to him and his sisters, always fiercely championing them and ensuring that they didn’t witness the worst of their father’s excess. For the first time he wondered at the personal cost to her. His father hadn’t realized what a good woman he’d made his duchess.
Adeline was right; no wonder his mother wanted vibrant-colored dresses and outrageous millinery, all so someone might notice her, a woman of a certain age who had been overlooked by her husband, deemed frivolous by her son, and dismissed as just a nagging mama by her daughters.
“You deserved better than him. You’re a good mother,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I am speechless.”
“You are not. You have been questioning me all morning.”
“What you are about to do is irreparable. Permanent. Life altering. I want you to be certain.”
“Mother, I came to New York to seek my fortune. I shan’t leave without one.”
For some, heartache and rejection was a gray, foggy morass one could not see or move through. But after his fight with Adeline, after that conversation with Freddie, after all those unopened letters, Kingston knew what he had to do. He saw everything now with a sharpened, heightened clarity.
Change the world, Duke, she had said to him once. Well, that was too much to ask of one man.
Take the risk. He knew what he had to do.
And so, he went to call on Mr. Van Allen with a diamond ring in his pocket.
177 Fifth Avenue
Mr. Van Allen, a short but distinguished man of advancing years, stood when Kingston entered his library, a wood-paneled situation with soaring ceilings, designed to look like the studies in English country houses like his own. The difference was that everything here was new and lacked the patina of dust and the air of centuries of intimidating people.
“Your Grace.”
“I’ve come to discuss something with you, sir. A proposal, in a manner of speaking,” Kingston said, lowering himself into one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“It’s about time. My wife has already started planning the wedding, according to these bills here. But I don’t see a ring on my daughter’s finger.”
Kingston removed the velvet box from his pocket, opened it, and set it down on Van Allen’s desk. The diamonds and sapphires sparkled brilliantly. The stones alone made a valuable piece. That it had been in the possession of dukes and duchesses for generations conferred even more value upon it.
“A Kingston family heirloom. Dating back hundreds of years. All the duchesses ever since then have worn it.”
“Your intentions are quite . . . clear.”
“My intentions in coming to Manhattan have always been clear: I need a fortune. I had thought to obtain it in the traditional way, by marriage. But I have been made aware of other ways of doing so.”
“Interesting. Keep talking.”
“I could give this ring to your daughter. I could wed her and I would be a kind, respectful husband to her. But I do not love her.” Kingston paused. Because one paused at the moment their life was about to take an unexpected turn. “Or, I could sell this ring and invest the proceeds in your newest real-estate project. I’ve heard it said that Manhattan real estate is a sound investment.”
Van Allen’s eyes flashed.
As a rule, a member of the aristocracy did not engage in trade.
A man of his position did not sully his hands or leisure time with matters of money, unless it was to spend it. One could argue that this did indeed count as merely spending money in his leisure time. One could twist and fashion the facts to fit the very narrowly defined existence he had been raised to expect and perpetuate.
Or . . .
Change the world, Duke.
The world was changing with or without him. Kingston could stubbornly cling to the old way of doing things, calling it tradition, calling it noble, calling it his sacred, honorable duty. But if he took his duty to steward the dukedom for another generation seriously, he would have to change how he would do it.
One could not expect old methods to work in a new world.
Kingston leaned back in his chair, his pose deliberately one of ease, which was highly at odds with the internal turmoil he was experiencing. Risking your past and future all at once, for the love of a woman who refused you, would make a man’s heart beat a little faster.
Mr. Van Allen leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face but a note of challenge in his voice. “The question is, which one will give you a better return on your investment? My daughter’s dowry is significant. My own wealth is astronomical. I have no other children. Apparently, I will not live forever.”
“And tell me, Mr. Van Allen, how do you value happiness?”
“Money makes me happy.”
“But in your calculations, do you not account for the quality of one’s company at the breakfast table, the pleasures of the marriage bed, the joys of mutual respect, admiration, and love of one’s spouse?”
Van Allen’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we were talking about business.”
“We are talking about the return on investment. I wager that if I invest the value of this ring in your real-estate venture, I will be rich and happy. As opposed to marriage to your daughter, in which I will be rich and content. Surely happiness is worth more than mere contentment.”
“The venture could fail.”
“You could die penniless.”
“You could have it all,” Mr. Van Allen said.
“That depends on your definition of all.”
“This is not what I had expected from a man of your position.”
“I could say the same. I had thought you and the other robber barons cared about money ab
ove all else. Not something as old-fashioned as a title in the family. Are bragging rights that your grandson will be a duke worth more to you than the profits you would earn from the success of your new building projects? Or what of your own daughter’s happiness?”
Kingston now knew that he could not respect himself if he did not take seriously his duty to care and provide for those who depended upon him. But perhaps he did not have to sacrifice the love of his life to do so.
Chapter Twenty-six
The Dress to Ditch a Duke?
Anyone who is anyone in New York City now orders her gowns from the House of Adeline, dressmaker of the moment. Those pockets! Even the Duke of Kingston cannot resist the stylings of his longtime friend. He was seen calling after her as she fled the Carlyle Masquerade. Imagine that! Fleeing a duke! It is one thing to design a gown to snare the town’s most eligible bachelor, quite another to design the dress to wear when ditching the duke.
—The New York World
It was the question mark that made her nervous. If the paper had printed The Dress to Ditch a Duke! she would be safe. That exclamation point would emphatically deny any connection with His Grace. But that question mark lingered and made improper suggestions that Adeline did not care for.
Mrs. Van Allen did not care for them either.
She arrived at the shop with fire in her eyes and purpose in her step.
“Mrs. Black.”
“Mrs. Van Allen. How may I assist you today?”
Adeline was not precisely in the mood to design a gown for her to wear to the betrothal ball or the wedding itself. One was never quite in the mood for that.
“I am not here for a dress. I would like a word.”
“Is something wrong with the gown for Miss Van Allen?”
“The gown is fine. It is the occasion to wear the gown that is proving to be problematic.”
The bell on the shop door rang softly and two women entered the shop. It was all the reason Adeline needed to escort Mrs. Van Allen into a fitting room, where they might have some privacy to speak freely.
“My daughter was going to be a duchess. Until you intervened.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Van Allen, but I don’t understand.”
“He will not be proposing after all.”
It was difficult to form words when one could not even manage a coherent thought. What the devil was he doing? He needed Miss Van Allen. Adeline couldn’t give him what he needed and would not, especially after he had questioned her integrity.
He was a duke both in want of a fortune and a wife, and so to let it be known that he would not be proposing made no sense at all.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Van Allen, but I have no idea what this is about.”
Mrs. Van Allen narrowed her eyes. “But I think you do.”
She was definitely not here for a dress. This would not be a fitting, it would be a dressing-down of possibly epic proportions.
“My daughter’s future was secured until you seduced him and bewitched him.”
“Enchanted him,” Adeline whispered under her breath, so quietly that no one could hear. But she had left. Returned his letters unopened. They had no future together.
“Do you know what it is like to want security for your daughter? Mothers will do anything to ensure their daughters are secure.”
“I know,” Adeline whispered, thinking of her own mother and all the men she endured for the sake of her daughter. All so that Adeline might have a roof over her head and food in her belly. She had sacrificed herself for her little girl. Adeline understood all that now.
“Between her father’s fortune and the duke’s social standing, my daughter would never have wanted for anything. She would always move in the best circles and live in the best circumstances. I did that when I married her father instead of . . . never mind. And when I encouraged her and the duke, I—we—were close to success. Security. And now, we are not.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I thought he was going to propose.”
“So did I. And then he was seen running after you.”
That damned newspaper. That damned question mark!
“Do you see a ring on my finger?” Adeline held out her hands: her working-girl hands, no matter how successful her dressmaking enterprise became.
“Oh, he sold the ring,” Mrs. Van Allen said with a bitter laugh that seemed to say foolish girl. “He has some notion of investing the proceeds. He’s going to take his chance on investments.”
Oh? He wouldn’t be proposing.
Oh! He would be investing!
Oh . . . Adeline understood perfectly. He was risking his past for his future, in a thoroughly modern way.
He was taking a chance so that he could marry for love.
He was taking this risk for her.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered.
“Do you know how that looks for my daughter? They were practically betrothed and suddenly he’s risking his family legacy on some real-estate ventures rather than wed my beautiful girl. She’ll never find another match now.”
“Your daughter is loveliness personified. I’m certain she’ll find someone. Perhaps it may even be a love match, with someone who shares her passions for the birds.”
Mrs. Van Allen was not interested in that possibility. “Oh no, you have ruined everything for her with your beguiling gowns and your seduction of the duke. Do not deny it, Mrs. Black. I have seen the way he looks at you. And I have spoken to Madame Chalfont, my preferred dressmaker. Apparently you and the duke have been carrying on for some time.”
“It’s not what you think—”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter what I think or what it actually is. But Madame Chalfont and I will ensure that every society woman considers you a risk to their marriages or to their suitors. And who wishes to have their dressmaker steal their spouse or suitor? No one. No woman you care to dress. And so I will see that you pay for this.”
And with that, she was gone.
Adeline sank to the floor.
All it would take were a few well-placed rumors making suggestions about the nature of her relationship with the duke and a few questions about her character. It would make her seem unsavory, unseemly—all noxious qualities which would transfer to the distinctive designs of her dresses. Her gowns would not be worn. Her business would fail. She would go back to simply cutting and sewing for someone else, all the while muttering, And to think, I could have been a duchess!
Adeline had to do something. She had fought too hard, overcome too much, and come too far to let her dreams be wrecked with a few well-placed rumors. Too many good women relied upon her now and too many daring women had gone out on a limb for her. She would sacrifice everything before she ruined things for her sisterhood.
She could not burden her seamstresses with matters like this. She could not destroy Rose’s faith in love, confirm Rachel’s worst suspicions, or leave Margaret and her baby at the mercy of bad men.
When another letter from the duke arrived, she knew exactly what to do.
To my enchanting New York City girl,
I have seen all the sights Manhattan has to offer and the only one I want to see again is you. Would you do me the honor of joining me for a walk in Central Park?
—Kingston
Chapter Twenty-seven
One knows not what to make of the new trend of marriage proposals in Central Park.
—The New York World
A short while later
Central Park
Kingston waited at the entrance to the park, the one on Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue where he had previously waited on Adeline once upon a time. He felt the same nervous energy coursing through him; it was the way one felt when they knew their life was about to change. Forever.
He had written her letters that at first had returned unopened. When she finally replied agreeing to see him, hope sparked. This was his chance to make a grand demonstration of his love, to humble himself before her, to grovel, to sw
eep her off her feet, all at once. It was his chance to prove that he was the man for her, that she was the woman for him, and that they could be happy together. Forever.
He looked up, and there she was, strolling purposely toward him in another one of her stunning creations—a deep blue dress, simple, elegant, fitted to perfection. He dared to think, My future duchess.
If he was lucky.
If his groveling apology was sufficient to make her forgive him for the grievous insult to her integrity and ingenuity. If love was enough, she would be his wife. She was here and that gave him hope.
“Hello, Duke.”
“You’re here. I’m glad. I didn’t think we were finished,” he said. She gave him a weak smile that made him nervous but he ignored the feeling. This was right. She was here—why would she have come if not to say yes?
So he took her hand in his and they walked into the park, favoring one of the shaded paths, until they came to a particularly picturesque spot. People relaxed on benches, children played games on the grass, and a string quartet he’d hired played enchanting songs, just to make the moment more romantic.
He turned to face her and gazed down at her upturned face. Yes, hers was definitely the face he wanted to see each night before sleep and each morning at the breakfast table. Forever.
His heart was pounding as he held her hands and hoped he spoke the right words.
“Adeline, I owe you an apology. I am sorry for insulting your honor and your ingenuity when what I truly feel is admiration for you and your accomplishments. I want to know you, Adeline. If I want to know all your secrets, it is because you are endlessly fascinating and enchanting to me. But I can live with mystery; it’s you that I cannot live without.”
“Oh, Kingston . . .”
“There is something else I must ask you.”
Kingston was aware of people watching them; a young couple holding hands, attentions fixed on each other could only mean one thing. A public proposal.