The Truth About Princesses and Dukes (The Duke Hunters Club)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “So what are the next steps?” Aria asked.

  “They’re quite simple.”

  “Good.” Aria flashed a wide smile, and her eyes shimmered so much they made Rupert’s heart hurt.

  “All you have to do,” Mr. Deanwood said, “is return to your husband.”

  Aria blinked.

  “Then if you are still a virgin after three years—”

  “—Did you say three years?” Aria shot the man a horrified look.

  “Yes, yes,” the clerk said. “Every night. No traveling or anything, then that time will have to be added on as extra.”

  Aria’s hands curled, and her knuckles whitened.

  “At that point, if you have remained untouched, the bishop will take your case.”

  “She won’t be untouched,” Rupert said hotly. “She’ll be murdered.”

  The man shot Rupert a disgruntled look. “I was not addressing you,” he said sternly, but Rupert’s face did not flush.

  Rupert tightened his fists. “Her life is in danger.”

  “That may be, but the rules are the rules,” the man said, turning his attention to Aria. “Now, if you remain untouched, then the court will hire two courtesans...”

  Demon widened his eyes.

  “This is ridiculous.” Rupert paced the room.

  The clerk cleared his throat, managing to convey disapproval through the guttural sounds. “I was not speaking to you. Now, if the two highly trained, most professional courtesans report that the duke was unable to perform his masculine instincts, well, in that case, the bishop will most likely give you an annulment.”

  “Most likely?” Aria asked faintly.

  “Well, it is at his own discretion.”

  Rupert halted his pacing. “You mean the bishop might be bribed by her husband?”

  The man gave Rupert a hard stare. “Naturally, that never happens. Bishops speak with our Lord.”

  “Er—right,” Rupert said, but he did not seem much appeased.

  Aria couldn’t blame him. She was not very relieved. “I thought an annulment was supposed to be easier than a divorce?”

  “It is, my dear.”

  Aria’s heart thudded. She’d known this would be difficult. But she’d still thought there must be a way to dissolve the marriage.

  “I need to return to Sweden,” she said finally, wrapping her arms about her.

  This shouldn’t have been a surprise, and yet the stark finality of the man’s words disturbed her.

  She’d thought there might be hope. She’d thought there might be a way.

  She’d thought that after her husband tried to kill her, she could end this marriage.

  And yet, there was no hope, no way. She’d been lucky to leave his clutches.

  All she could do was return to Sweden. Only unlike before, when she was seen as a potential wife and courted by multiple suitors, now there would be no such festivities. If she went to a ball, it would be while being whispered about.

  She was never going to see Rupert again. She’d ruined everything.

  She raised herself up. “I need to ensure there will be no more scandals.”

  Rupert nodded, his face solemn. “You truly desire to return?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  The clerk sighed. “Where will you be staying? I’ll bring you a copy of the banns once I find it.”

  “They send it here?” Rupert asked.

  “It’s printed in the newspaper,” the man explained, “and we have all of them.”

  “Ah,” Rupert said.

  “That is kind of you,” Aria said. “I will be at Grosvenor Square.”

  He nodded. “I simply need to find your banns. I don’t suppose you remember when you posted them?”

  Aria blinked. “I don’t know what you’re speaking about.”

  He gave her a strange look. “Well, perhaps your father took care of it.” He glanced at Rupert. “She was married at Keele in Staffordshire?”

  “Yes,” Rupert said.

  “Hmph. Well, it should be easy enough to find the banns.” He tapped his fingers against the table’s surface. “Unless—”

  Aria shot him a quizzical glance, but he hesitated. “I’ll call you at Grosvenor Square tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” Aria said, then she left the building, her heart heavy.

  She was married to a man she despised, and she would remain married to him for a long, long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ARIA AND RUPERT PILED into the coach in silence. Finally, Demon stopped the coach at Grosvenor Square.

  Rupert stared uneasily at the building. The door opened, and a red-haired young woman hurried down the steps.

  “Darling!” Lucy threw her arms around Aria. “What a pleasant surprise! I didn’t expect to see you.”

  She gazed toward the coach, her nose wrinkling slightly when she saw Rupert. “It’s you.”

  “You know each other?” Aria asked.

  “I don’t know thieves,” Lucy said archly.

  “I tried to warn you about the wedding,” Rupert said, “and Miss Banks saw me.”

  “And chased you out,” Lucy said proudly.

  “Yes,” Rupert said.

  Lucy returned her attention to Aria. “I didn’t expect you.”

  “We felt the urge to come to London,” Aria said.

  “We only arrived back last night,” Lucy said. “You couldn’t have been far behind us. Come inside.”

  They entered the townhouse.

  Even though Mr. Banks had rented it for the season, the furnishings were impeccable. Chandeliers glimmered from above with such force that Rupert suspected a maid must clean it each day despite its awkward position, unconducive for effortless dusting.

  Aria shifted her feet and settled her gaze on an ornate vase. Looking at her friend, no matter how close they normally were, was suddenly difficult.

  “Is that your wedding dress?” Lucy asked.

  Aria stepped back automatically.

  “It is your wedding dress!” Lucy exclaimed.

  “I—er—like it,” Aria said.

  “Well, it is nice,” Lucy said, but a doubtful expression was on her face. “I couldn’t recognize it before, given all the mud on it. You need to change out of that right away.”

  “You don’t by any chance have any other dresses I might wear?” Aria asked miserably.

  Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Do you mean that you didn’t travel with any other dresses?”

  “I’m—er—just ever so fond of this one. We had to leave suddenly.”

  “I feel there’s more you’re not telling me.” Lucy crossed her arms.

  “I’m not sure how much I should tell you.”

  “Everything,” Lucy said firmly, then she guided Aria upstairs. Aria turned and gave a half-wave to Rupert. “I’ll be down soon.”

  “Not that soon.” Lucy flecked a piece of dried mud from Aria’s arm. “We’re having a small gathering this afternoon, Mr. Andrews. You can stay for it.”

  “Very well,” Rupert said, reluctant to leave Aria without saying a proper farewell. Even though he knew he wouldn’t see her after she returned to Sweden, he wanted to spend every moment left with her, even if it was simply being in a room with her alongside a dozen other people.

  “I’m going to the kitchen,” Demon said. “There will be food there.”

  Rupert nodded, then Demon marched past him toward a small staircase that led downstairs. Demon strode down the steps, his footsteps echoing noisily after him.

  Rupert settled onto a small, though decidedly luxurious bench adorned with dainty gold Queen Anne’s legs.

  Then he waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Finally, Aria returned. This time she was clothed in a beautiful pale blue dress. Her hair had been smoothed back, and the glossy dark strands glimmered under the light. Aria was always beautiful, but now Rupert’s heart ached.

  Rupert rose. “You look—”

&nb
sp; Aria’s eyes brightened. “Yes?”

  “Beautiful,” Rupert said. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, and she smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Banks came bustling in and grabbed Aria’s arm. “I am so pleased to see you. You had the most delightful wedding. That tiny chapel. So quaint! So charming!”

  Rupert swallowed hard. He’d always thought the duke’s chapel was magnificent. Perhaps, to these people, it was small. What might Mrs. Banks think of his cottage?

  “But where is your husband?” Mrs. Banks asked. “Please don’t tell me you had an argument.”

  Aria gave a wry smile. “Something like that.”

  “Oh, my poor child!” Mrs. Banks clasped her hands together. “Never run away after an argument. You must talk about it. Or better still—ignore it.” She leaned closer. “That’s what I do with Mr. Banks, and we’ve been married for twenty-six wonderful years.”

  “I’m afraid that technique would be disastrous in my case,” Aria said.

  Mrs. Banks frowned. For a moment, Rupert thought she would argue, but instead, she said, “Let’s get some tea into you.”

  “Mrs. Banks, I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Rupert Andrews.” Aria gestured to Rupert.

  Mrs. Banks frowned slightly. “I recognize your face.”

  “Mr. Andrews is my husband’s cousin,” Aria said.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Banks brightened. “Well, I do hope your cousin will arrive soon.” Mrs. Banks clapped. “Young lovers do have so many tiffs.”

  “My cousin is hardly young,” Rupert said.

  “Well.” Mrs. Banks bit her lip. “In spirit, perhaps.”

  Before either Aria or Rupert could respond, Mrs. Banks opened the doors to the drawing room. A sullen man who Rupert assumed was her husband sat in a corner, surrounded by piles of paper.

  “Do put that away, Henry,” Mrs. Banks said. “The guests don’t like to see you work.”

  “How do they think I put such a nice roof over our heads?” Mr. Banks grumbled, though he did tidy his papers.

  “I must apologize.” Mrs. Banks swung back her gaze toward Rupert and Aria. “Mr. Banks is incorrigible.”

  She put her hands on her waist. “Remember, the Duke of Sturbridge is coming. Think of your daughter.”

  Rupert blinked. “Sturbridge is a good friend of mine.”

  “Is he?” Mrs. Banks’ eyes glistened. “You must tell me all about him.”

  Rupert swallowed hard. He’d much rather speak with Aria than tell Mrs. Banks about dear old Sturbridge. The chief problem with Sturbridge was that he was a self-professed permanent bachelor. Though that was never a problem with Rupert, he suspected that Mrs. Banks might find that fact somewhat less endearing.

  After a while, Sturbridge did appear.

  “My dear duke,” Mrs. Banks said. “We are so delighted to have you here.”

  “I thought there would be more people,” Sturbridge said, and Miss Banks’s face turned scarlet. Apparently her mother’s blatant attempts to match her made her feel uncomfortable.

  “Well, we do have a princess in our midst,” Mrs. Banks said, and Rupert noted that she didn’t mention that Aria’s appearance had been unexpected. “May I present Princess Aria, now the Duchess of Framingham?”

  Sturbridge’s mouth fell down. “I—”

  “Yes, it is quite special that we have a princess as a guest,” Mrs. Banks said with a knowing smile. “She is very good friends with my eldest daughter.”

  Rupert shifted his legs. He wanted to tell them that Aria was many wonderful things in addition to being a princess.

  Sturbridge continued to open and close his mouth, and Rupert blinked. Sturbridge was a duke. He’d been to Buckingham Palace multiple times. He’d dined with the king regularly before his recent ascent to the throne. He shouldn’t be so taken aback by meeting a princess.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your husband,” Sturbridge said finally.

  This time Aria blinked, and she sent a stricken look at Rupert.

  “You knew about Framingham?” Rupert asked finally.

  “It’s in the evening edition,” Sturbridge said. “All the horrible details.”

  “Indeed?” Aria’s voice shook, and she sat down on the sofa abruptly.

  “You must be devastated,” Sturbridge said, his face somber.

  “I must confess I am shocked that it has been widely spread,” Aria said finally.

  “How could it not be?” Sturbridge shrugged. “Given his title.”

  “How did it come out?” Aria asked.

  “Well, I suppose when his carriage was discovered in that river.”

  Aria’s eyes widened. “E-excuse me?”

  “Don’t tell me I’m telling you for the first time,” Sturbridge said.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know that story.”

  “How gauche of me.” Sturbridge’s face paled. “Well, it is good you are seated. I am afraid your husband was discovered dead. His carriage fell into the river. Apparently, they were driving late at night. The driver survived.”

  “How horrible,” Aria said.

  “Indeed.” Sturbridge nodded gravely. “I fear you are a widow.”

  “How tragic!” Mrs. Banks exclaimed. “How very frightful! Oh, my poor princess!”

  Even Mr. Banks offered his condolences.

  Rupert’s heart thudded. The duke was dead.

  Mrs. Banks turned to Aria. “So very tragic!” She rang the bell pull, and a maid entered. Mrs. Banks gestured to the maid. “Bring the princess some handkerchiefs. She’s a widow now.”

  “I will manage,” Aria said.

  “You must be in shock, dearest,” Mrs. Banks said.

  The maid handed Aria five handkerchiefs. “These are the ones without lace.”

  “She’s a princess,” Mrs. Banks exclaimed. “She can use lace when she cries.”

  “It might be uncomfortable on her nose,” Mr. Banks hypothesized.

  “I suppose so.” Mrs. Banks turned to the maid. “Thank you.”

  “I suppose you must want to be off on the first ship to Sweden now!” Mrs. Banks exclaimed.

  Aria glanced at Rupert with a quizzical look. Finally, she sighed. “Yes, I-I suppose so.”

  “I will leave.” Sturbridge turned to Rupert. “Are you coming with, Andrews? You’re staying at Robertson’s Gentlemen’s Club, like always?”

  “Yes.” Rupert glanced at Aria. “My—er—condolences.”

  She nodded, and this time, tears prickled her eyes.

  Rupert wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. He longed for her. He craved her. But she was a princess, and now she was also a wealthy widowed duchess. Demon was correct: she was far above him. She’d never have had any reason to notice him had he not so thoroughly disrupted her life. At one point, Rupert had thought he would marry a woman in the village, but he hadn’t even equaled the appeal of the local merchant.

  Aria didn’t need him anymore. He was simply glad she was safe. That would have to suffice.

  He followed Sturbridge from the room, his heart thudding. His heart ached, as if his boots were thudding over it, and not the marble floor of the foyer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  He was gone.

  Aria stared after Rupert.

  Just like that, she was gone.

  “My poor darling,” Mrs. Banks said mournfully again. “What a shock! What a dreadful shock! Your life will never be the same.

  “I-I know,” Aria stammered, but it was Rupert, not the late Duke of Framingham whom she pondered.

  “And you, still in your wedding gown! You must have loved him very much.”

  Aria’s face crumpled.

  Love.

  That’s what she’d felt for Rupert. That’s what she’d felt for Rupert from his very early letters, and her love had never wavered, not when she thought he was an elderly duke prone to making awkward statements, and certainly not when she discovered his true identity.

&nb
sp; Now Aria was free to marry, free to fall in love with someone else. But Rupert had left with his friend, as if Aria were nothing more than a casual acquaintance, nothing more, indeed, than the widow of a cousin he’d never particularly liked.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Had she misjudged everything? Had his eyes never truly glimmered with affection for her? Had he not meant it when he’d told her he would sweep her away to Gretna Green if he could?

  An unpleasant taste invaded her throat.

  He could have taken her to Gretna Green now, and he hadn’t. He’d barely even spoke to her.

  “You are horribly pale!” A wail from Mrs. Banks interrupted Aria’s musing. “Don’t you think she looks pale, Mr. Banks?”

  “Er—quite pale,” Lucy’s father said.

  Aria’s eyes shot open, and she rose. “I would like some rest.”

  “I quite understand,” Mrs. Banks said, though a look of disappointment passed over her face.

  Perhaps she thought it was more difficult to act in a mawkish and melodramatic fashion when the target of her howls was absent.

  “I’ll show you to a guestroom,” Lucy said quickly and leaped up. “It will be fine, you’ll see.”

  “He’ll always be dead,” Lucy’s mother cried.

  Lucy clutched hold of Aria’s waist and quickened her pace.

  “Wait.” Aria turned to Mrs. Banks. “Could you please do one thing?”

  “Anything, dear, miserable child.” Mrs. Banks clutched Aria’s abandoned, unused handkerchief to her face as if on the verge of entering into hysterics.

  “Please tell my bodyguard, Demon, to book me on the first ship to Sweden. There’s one that leaves tomorrow.”

  “Are you certain?” Lucy asked.

  Aria nodded. “Very certain.”

  Then she raised her chin and strode upstairs to the guestrooms.

  It was all over.

  All her dreams for an exciting life in England with a man who adored her had collapsed. She’d been foolish to wish for them at all.

  “YOU LOOK TERRIBLE,” Sturbridge observed. “Are you certain you didn’t walk from Staffordshire?”

  “Quite certain,” Rupert said weakly.

  “Hmph. That was supposed to be a jest.”

  Rupert was silent. His chest felt hollow, as if he’d left his heart at Aria’s feet in the Banks’s Grosvenor Square residence.