The Dukes of War: Complete Collection

by Ridley, Erica

  Slowly, he paged through the words he’d written since Katherine had turned his world upside down.

  It hadn’t happened overnight, but the truth was as apparent to him on the page as it was in his heart. He’d fallen in love. Wholly, hopelessly, irrevocably. Every word on every page declared the truth.

  He wondered what she might say if she knew he’d written such wistful, lovesick verses about her.

  The memory of her dismissal of people like him as fools pretending to be Lord Byron made his ears burn with shame. He knew what she’d say. He slammed the book closed and locked it back in its drawer.

  Perhaps someday he might risk showing her one of his poems. Years from now. When he was certain she loved him unconditionally.

  He forced himself to turn to his ledgers. There was no House of Lords meeting tonight, but the Coinage Committee was scheduled to present their final recommendations tomorrow. He would ring for a breakfast tray and spend the entire day finalizing his portion of the report in order to keep his mind free from parliamentary duties.

  Tonight was about Katherine.

  He was so proud of her. Not just for daring to dream, but daring to accomplish her dreams. It wasn’t that she believed failure wasn’t an option. All that mattered to her was that she tried. And because of her optimism and perseverance, every time she tried—she succeeded.

  The House of Lords could use a few more like her.

  Ugh. Ravenwood rubbed his face. The blasted Coinage Committee.

  Over the course of the next several hours, he worked without cease. He penned the final flourishes on the report he’d spent the past month on just as the light in his windows began to fade dramatically.

  Dark clouds rolled over the fading sunset. If the black horizon was any indication, it was going to rain all night long. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Seven o’clock.

  It was time to get ready for tonight’s performance.

  He pushed to his feet just as his butler entered the room bearing a sealed missive on a silver platter.

  “Pardon the interruption, your grace. An urgent message has arrived. A footman is waiting below to run your response back to his master.”

  Ravenwood’s stomach sank as he recognized Lord Montague’s seal. The marquess was the only other member of the Coinage Committee with any brains. An importunate message at this time at night could not presage anything good.

  He lifted the folded parchment from the silver tray and sliced open the wax. With trepidation, he began to read.

  No.

  His eyes fluttered closed and he curled his fingers into fists. The other half-dozen imbeciles comprising the Coinage Committee had decided to eschew Ravenwood’s clearheaded logic, and were instead at White’s gentleman’s club on St. James Street, attempting to sway the vote before it even happened.

  They wanted to ignore the dismal slope of the post-war economy and cast all coinage in gold, and in larger sizes. They thought a nation rich enough to do so would raise England’s prestige in the eyes of all competing nations. They even considered pennies with the faces of their peers.

  Montague and Ravenwood recognized such twaddle for the poppycock it was. What England needed was to stabilize its currency, not to unbalance it further.

  They should be reintroducing silver, not hemorrhaging gold. They needed to define a predictable value for the pound sterling. Anything they could to curb its disquieting devaluation.

  The ton, however, liked sparkle more than they liked logic. Who wouldn’t wish to see his profile silhouetted in gold?

  Idiots, all of them. If such a foolish idea gained wings, the House would pass the motion with a near unanimous vote.

  Ravenwood could not let that happen.

  By himself, Lord Montague would not be able to stem the tide. The gold fanatics would poison the ears of anyone within reach and tomorrow they would disregard all of his month-long research as being capricious and irrelevant. All anyone would care about was the chance to see their face reflected back at them.

  However, if Ravenwood could make an appearance at White’s right now, evidence in hand, he and Montague might be able to sway opinion for a few of the brightest minds and still manage to salvage a responsible fiscal program for the Crown to carry out over the following year.

  Ravenwood threw the wadded up missive into the fireplace. “Summon my coach, Simmons.”

  The butler hesitated. “My apologies, your grace. I had told them you wouldn’t need it for an hour. I’ll hurry and—”

  “Leave that coach for my wife as scheduled,” Ravenwood interrupted with a sigh. “Send up the landau. I have an errand.”

  Simmons’ eyes widened. “Shall I tell her grace you’ll meet her at the gala?”

  Ravenwood set his icy ducal mask back in place to hide his regret. “I will not be attending the gala. I will be at White’s handling a parliamentary issue. One’s first duty must always be to one’s country.”

  Simmons was far too well bred to so much as frown at the discovery his master would not be attending the duchess’s grand event, but the flicker of censure in his eyes matched the hollowness in Ravenwood’s stomach.

  Yes, he well knew his duty to his country. But what about his duty to Katherine?

  “Well?” he prompted.

  Simmons flinched. “Yes, your grace. Summoning the landau this very moment.”

  As his butler turned toward the door, Ravenwood couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Where is my wife now?”

  Simmons paused. “Strolling the grounds, your grace. She says it helps to ease her nerves.”

  Ravenwood nodded curtly.

  Of course even his indomitable wife would be vulnerable to the occasional bout of nervousness. She was human.

  She was also expecting her husband to lend his support and comfort.

  He ran a hand through his hair. Damn those fools. He had to go stop this nonsense. Even if it took all night.

  If the Coinage Committee managed to bollocks up the economy even worse than it was currently headed, all of England would suffer for it—including Katherine. He could not allow that to happen.

  Nor could he allow her to think he wasn’t present because he didn’t care.

  He hesitated for a mere heartbeat before unlocking his desk drawer and withdrawing his secret book of poetry. No matter how nervous Katherine was about the success of tonight’s gala, it couldn’t come close to the terror Ravenwood felt at showing her a single word from the journal’s pages.

  It would mean exposing himself completely. A vein, laid bare. His heart in her hands.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath and strode forcefully through the door.

  Katherine was worth it.

  Chapter 23

  A crack of thunder growled through the darkening heavens.

  Kate reached out to loop her arm through Aunt Havens’. The sky had been clear when they’d set out to distract Kate from nervousness about tonight’s inaugural event but in the space of a quarter hour, a black storm rose over the horizon to rapidly swallow the sky.

  The return walk was taking thrice as long as it ought, and the dropping temperature boded ill for her aunt’s elderly constitution.

  “We should make haste,” she murmured without altering her pace. At Aunt Havens’ age, hurrying could lead to a fall. And a fall could mean grave injury. “Take my hand.”

  Aunt Havens scowled. “You promised you wouldn’t treat me like a child.”

  Kate kept her feet moving along the path. “You’re not a child. You’re my aunt and my dearest friend. Which is why I wouldn’t want you somewhere you wouldn’t be safe or have a good time.”

  Aunt Havens’ lip quivered. “You don’t want me at your opening gala?”

  “You must attend tonight’s gala,” Kate said patiently. “You’re the other half of my heart. Seeing you and Ravenwood in the front row will give me the strength I need not to lose my mind completely. But Ravenwood won’t be there next month, or the month after. He loathes maki
ng public appearances and I won’t force him to do something he hates.”

  “But I love being social,” Aunt Havens protested, her thin fingers gripping Kate’s arm. “I love everything you do. I don’t want to miss any of it.”

  “I’m not leaving you somewhere to fend for yourself,” Kate said, her voice flat. Phineas Mapleton wasn’t the only bully in the beau monde. And a theatre’s many nooks and crannies held far more opportunities for trouble than a mere refreshment table. “Be reasonable, aunt. I won’t be able to be at your side.”

  Aunt Havens’ eyes flashed. “I don’t need a nursemaid. I’m a grown woman. Nothing would happen.”

  Kate sighed. If only she could be certain that were true.

  The problem—or the blessing—was that her aunt had been refreshingly normal ever since the Grenville soiree. Oh, certainly, there had been scattered moments of temporary confusion or wandering of the corridors, mostly at nighttime, but for a full fortnight, Aunt Havens had been Aunt Havens. Caring, clearheaded, and delightful.

  It made Kate look like a peevish goose-cap to suggest her aunt incapable of occupying a theater seat without supervision. It made Kate feel like a peevish goose-cap. What if she was overreacting, and Aunt Havens would be perfectly fine?

  Then again…what if she would not?

  “It’s not that you need a nursemaid,” she told her aunt. “It’s that I will be going mad with all the preparations and timing and the myriad things that can go awry with the performances at any moment. I won’t even be able to stop and talk to you.”

  Aunt Havens’ chin trembled. “You won’t have to talk to me. I already know you’re going to succeed beyond anyone’s imaginings, including your own. I want to be there to see it happen. I want to cheer you on.”

  Kate took a deep breath. That was her dream, too. “Let’s hurry inside. We need to leave for the theater in less than an hour and neither of us is ready. Right now everything seems overwhelming. I spent all afternoon hunting for my best evening gloves and I still haven’t found them.”

  “Ohh,” Aunt Havens said with a chuckle. “I took them days ago.”

  Kate’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. That was completely unlike her. “You snuck into my bedchamber and nicked my best evening gloves?”

  Aunt Havens nodded. “I needed them.”

  “You—Aunt, give them back,” Kate spluttered. Her aunt’s moments of confusion were obviously worse than she’d thought. “As soon as we get into the house.”

  “No.” Aunt Havens set her chin mutinously.

  Kate stiffened her spine. There was no sense arguing with someone who could not think logically. If she wished to wear gloves, she would simply have to wear a pair of ill-fitting ones from last year, or else a more comfortable pair that weren’t quite fine enough for the occasion.

  “This, Aunt,” she said in mounting irritation. “This is why you can’t be left alone in a crowded theatre. You’ll eat from the serving trays, steal people’s evening gloves… How am I supposed to concentrate on managing dozens of performers when all I can do is worry about you?”

  “How can you leave me behind?” A tremor shook Aunt Havens’ voice and she yanked her arm free from Kate’s. “I know I’m getting older. That’s why I don’t want to miss a single one of your achievements. Every day, I think: what if this is the last time I’m able?”

  Kate’s throat seized up, preventing her from responding. What if tonight was the last time Aunt Havens attended one of Kate’s events?

  Aunt Havens jerked away from Kate and marched up the final walkway to the entrance of Ravenwood House by herself.

  Kate stood in the front lawn and watched her go.

  The first droplets of rain fell from the clouds above, splattering on Kate’s nose with icy wetness. Yet she no longer felt like rushing inside to don her favorite evening gown. All she wanted to do was throw herself into her aunt’s arms and hold on tight.

  The front door swung open and her husband stepped outside.

  Warmth spread through Kate’s chest and her shoulders started to relax. Ravenwood was strong. He made everything better. Tonight, he would stay by Aunt Havens’ side. Tomorrow, they would figure out a compromise for the future. Something that would make all three of them happy.

  Ravenwood sprinted forward, opening a large black umbrella as he ran. He held it over her head and kissed her. “Haven’t you the sense to come in out of the rain? I cannot have you catching cold before you even leave the house.”

  She wrapped her arms about him and laid her cheek against his warm chest. He was her rock. She couldn’t help but love him.

  When they’d first been compromised, she’d believed him a soulless blueblood with a heart of ice. How wrong she had been. He was business and order and beauty and wildness all wrapped into one. He wasn’t just perfect—he was perfect for her.

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Terrified,” she answered honestly. “My grand inaugural event is only ‘inaugural’ if it takes off and more events follow. No one I’ve spoken to truly believes it will. The ton acts like it’s a one-time charity event. The performers are convinced there will never be a second show. I know a society like this would be wonderful for our city. But everything hinges on everything else, and the slightest disruption could derail the whole scheme.”

  He stared at her, his green eyes unfathomable.

  She tried to smile. “At least two things will go right tonight. I’ll have my two favorite people seated in the front row. I’ll glance down at you any time I get frightened and I’ll be able to regain my strength.”

  “I…” Ravenwood loosened her arms from about his waist so he could retrieve a journal from inside his greatcoat. “I have something for you.”

  Carriage wheels crunched along wet gravel and she jerked her gaze around his shoulder in surprise. “The stable is an hour ahead of schedule. And I thought we were taking the coach-and-four, not the landau. The sturdy roof is less draughty for Aunt Havens.”

  “The landau is not for you. It’s for me.” He ripped a page from the journal and pressed it into her hand. “Something has come up with Parliament—”

  “Something has come up with Parliament?” she repeated in derision. “They’re not even meeting tonight. Will you be at the theatre in time for the performance?”

  “I doubt it.” He glanced over at the tiger who had just leapt down from the landau to open the door. “Forgive me, Katherine. This is important.”

  “‘This is important,’” she mocked hollowly. Of course his plans mattered. But so did hers. “You have to be there. I need you. No one will donate money if they don’t see you there doing the same, and Aunt Havens needs someone looking out for her now more than ever.” She couldn’t keep the panic from her voice. “I’m begging you to come. Please.”

  “Take my umbrella.” He pushed the handle in her direction. “I must hurry. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Her eyes stung. He didn’t care about her event. He didn’t even care about her. She might be a duchess, she might be his wife, but there were a thousand other strangers who would always take precedence. He would never choose her over duty.

  “I think you know where you can stick that umbrella,” she choked out, her voice thick.

  He adjusted his top hat. “Katherine—”

  She spun away before he could see how much he’d hurt her. “Go.”

  For a moment, for the briefest of heartbeats, he hesitated. And then he turned and climbed into the landau.

  She stood in the rain, refusing to look at him, unable to move, as the carriage groaned back into motion and disappeared from sight.

  Only then did she remember the torn page he’d thrust into her hand.

  She glanced down at it with shaking fingers. The rain had streamed down her arm, coursing across the journal page in messy rivulets.

  Most of the words had already washed away, but she could just make out the larger script of the title printed across t
he top:

  A Poem For My Wife.

  She pressed it to her chest in dawning horror and raced for the protective overhang covering the front steps.

  Ravenwood had written her a poem.

  He had finally worked up the courage to share it with her. Something she no doubt would have cherished forever.

  And it was gone. Nothing more than a purple smear remained.

  She leaned the back of her head against the brick of the house and stared bleakly at the stormy sky.

  He would think she’d done it on purpose. He’d think she rejected his poem, rejected him.

  When the truth was she would give her heart to have been able to read his words.

  If she hadn’t dallied for so long… If she’d paid attention when he’d given it to her… If she’d taken the blasted umbrella…

  Heart breaking, she gazed numbly at the ink-stained page. There were no ifs.

  The words were gone.

  Chapter 24

  Kate tugged on a pair of too-tight gloves and strode from her bedchamber.

  When she reached the front door, the butler stood at the ready with two umbrellas and two pelisses.

  Aunt Havens was nowhere to be seen.

  Kate didn’t need to glance at her pocket watch to know they were running out of time. She needed to get there early. She needed to be there now.

  With a sigh, she turned on her heel and made her way to the guest quarters.

  Aunt Havens sat in the middle of the floor amongst a pile of spilled linens, playing with Jasper.

  Kate tried very hard to keep her head from exploding.

  “Aunt,” she said with all the patience her heart could muster. “What in the world are you doing?”

  “Playing,” Aunt Havens replied joyfully. “I’ve just found a puppy.”

  Kate’s mouth dried. Aunt Havens had been Aunt Havens a mere hour ago. And now…

  “What is the puppy’s name?” she asked thickly.

  “He won’t tell me,” her aunt replied with a laugh. Her eyes widened as she glanced up at Kate. “You look lovely. Are you going somewhere?”