All About the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 4) (21 page)

“My husband is very powerful and doesn’t limit my interests,” she confessed.

“Ah. There, you see.” Mrs. Wollstonecraft took Allegra’s gloved hand in hers and gave it a small squeeze. “Give up your pedantic and meaningless loyalty to your principle and instead, use the power of your union to do something meaningful about your cause.”

Allegra bridled at Mrs. Godwin’s kind censure but then her anger dimmed as reason took hold. To insist on her loyalty to her vow that she never marry, that she live the life of independence Juliana had never known, was being petty and pedantic. As Nicholas’ wife, Duchess of Roth, she could do far more for women like Juliana than if she ran off to France and attended parties and lived a life of defiance.

“I should like to invite you to a ball,” Allegra said suddenly.

That seemed to finally flummox Mrs. Godwin. “A ball?”

“Yes. The Duke and Duchess of Roth’s ball.”

“My husband and I do not usually attend such—“

“
My
ball.”

Mr. Pierce let out a peep of shock. “Y-your Grace?”

She gave a small nod. “Though Mr. Pierce, your silence on my status, at least until after this ball, would be greatly appreciated. I am only here incognito, so to speak.”

“I will be silent as the grave,” Mr. Pierce said passionately. “To have such patronage!”

She smiled. “Yes, Mr. Pierce. I will be a duchess who buys books. Many, many books. So, please, keep this information to yourself for now. I trust Mrs. Godwin that you will do the same.”

“Certainly,” the authoress returned easily. “And now, I must add that I have been giving guidance to someone who can do far more than I for women at present.”

“Do not say such a thing!” Allegra protested.

“I do not favor the aristocracy,” Mrs. Godwin said frankly. “But nor am I a fool. And as I said to you, I shall not allow a principle to interfere with practical matters. You, my young acquaintance, will have the ear of men who would spit upon my books before they were to lift the cover.”

“Please, come to my ball. Please.” And then an idea occurred to her. “I shall invite you and your husband, and as many of the political activists that I may. I shall fill the ballroom with the great minds of the day.”

“The lords will not know what to think.”

“Most of them do not think at all,” Allegra replied.

Mrs. Godwin chortled. “Then it is a sight I must see. I accept your invitation and look forward to seeing how you wield your influence.”

With that, Mrs. Godwin gave a small curtsy and headed out the door into the busy street.

Cordelia came back bearing several books. “Are you ready? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes,” she said brightly. “I do believe I did.”

F
rom the surface, it seemed that Nicholas had found the perfect marriage. Every day since the wedding, he and Alfred had spent the hours together. Nights had been filled with passion, daylight hours, too. And yet. . .

He was fairly certain that Allegra was not content in their marriage.

Nicholas crossed into the private room reserved for the Dukes’ Club. He needed a brandy.

Aston boomed, “You’re back!”

“And it seems you’ve never left.”

“Not true. Not true, old boy.” Aston twirled his feathered hat, a massive thing of a bygone age, over his hand. Then he took a large drink from the bottle in his other hand. “I attended your wedding. I attended Blackburn’s wedding, too! Weddings galore!”

Aston was drunk. Very drunk.

“How long have you been at it?” Nicholas asked.

Aston scowled. “Not long enough. Have I told you women are the Devil?”

“I thought you were most fond of the ladies.”

“I was. I was. But that was before—“ Aston’s brow furrowed and he let out a belligerent sigh. “No. I shan’t give way.”

It was a most interesting sight, seeing the Duke of Aston seemingly laid low by a woman. He’d never have thought it. That had to be what it was, given his utterances.

“Well, I’ll agree with you that ladies have their challenges. Wives even more so.”

“
Wives
.” Aston shuddered.

“I thought you loved weddings and all that,” Roth said as he plunked himself down in a chair before the fire, next to the inebriated peer.

“I do. Jolly affairs. Everyone drinking champagne. All that kissing. But you know, they just lead to doom and gloom. Doom and gloom, I tell you.”

That was not what Nicholas longed to hear at the moment. “How would you know? You’ve never been married.”

Aston’s eyes narrowed. “I shall not be brought low by a woman. Not even one as intoxicating and maddening as. . .”

“Och, Aston, are you drunk, mon?”

The light Scottish burr drifting towards them had Roth turning in his chair. He knew that voice.

The moment he spotted the tall, dark-haired duke sporting a dress kilt, he let out a groan. “Has Scotland invaded?”

“You know you love to set eyes upon me, Roth.”

Roth let out a grudging smile. One of the few outings he’d had since his secret wedding was to attend Imogen and the Duke of Blackburn’s wedding. He’d longed to take Alfred, but he knew that keeping her out of sight for the time being was the right thing. Launching her into society at the wedding of such a couple would not have been fair to her. He’d disliked keeping the secret, but there it was.

It had been and was still incredibly difficult not to declare to the world he was married. In fact, at present, he wished the Scot would hie off so he might have private discourse with Aston. He needed to discuss his bride.

Blackburn strode down the hall, picked up the decanter of brandy and poured out a glass for himself and one for Roth. “I see you’re parched.”

He was. He’d yet to have a drink and honestly, a good part of him longed to be as absolutely gone as Aston. Yet, he was not about to return to his new wife drunk as a wastrel. Truly.

Aston eyed Blackburn then let out a rush of fellowship. “Good to see you, old fellow. The wife let you out of bed?”

Blackburn ignored Aston’s blustery greeting and sat. “She seems to be on some sort of mission or the other. Something to do with a visit to your home, Roth.”

Roth lifted his brows, attempting to depict a picture of perfect innocence. “Indeed?”

“Yes. She was most secretive, mumbling about plans, and ladies, and none of my affair.”

Roth nodded. “Then it’s not.”

“At your house?” Blackburn challenged lightly.

It was a small point of contention, his friendliness with Imogen that many people who hadn’t known them seemed to have. Even Alfred, to his delight, had bridled a bit at the friendship. Still, Imogen was and ever only would be a friend. “She wasn’t alone. She was with Hunt’s and Darkwell’s wives and, I think, Hunt’s sister.”

“All of them then.” Blackwell chortled. “At your house?”

“Mmmm.” Roth acknowledged. They were a formidable group of women.

Blackburn stared then he sat in an empty chair, his kilt draping over his knees. “What the Devil are you doing hosting a party of ladies? You’re a bachelor.”

Aston swung his gaze towards Blackburn. “It’s because he got—“

“Got a marvelous idea for a charitable project,” Nicholas interjected quickly.

“A charitable project?” Blackburn echoed. He then leaned back and gave a wicked smile. “Come on then, Roth. What trouble are you in? Why’d you need their advice.”

“Why you would assume—“

“The bloody fool got shack—“

“Aston, I’m going to kill you.”

“Please,” Aston groaned dramatically. “Put me out of my misery.”

“That is not usually your tune,” Blackburn observed. “You’re usually a merry soul, Aston.”

“My merriment has been murdered,” Aston lamented.

“Ah. A woman,” Blackburn surmised. “I had a feeling that you’d been having those troubles.”

Aston twitched. He definitely twitched. “Have you, indeed?”

“Och, aye. You’ve all the signs, especially just the now. Drunk in the afternoon, feeling sorry for yourself, and a rather shocking lack of grooming. My sister, Rosamund, would give you the eye and tell you to not be such a clod pole. She’s no time for men who feel sorry for themselves.”

Aston turned red and slunk down in his chair.

Blackburn seemed not to notice, but Nicholas couldn’t help but suddenly wondering if Aston already knew Rosamund and given his slinking into his seat, if said lady wasn’t the source of his dismay.

If she was, Aston needed to leave London before Blackburn had his balls for breakfast. After all, any sane man would never tolerate Aston sniffing around one of their female relatives’ skirts. The man was a bounder. A delightful bounder. But a bounder no less.

“Your sister is most sensible, I’m sure,” Aston said finally before taking a deep swig.

“She’s a powder keg, if you must know,” Blackburn bemoaned, “but she’ll have no moping about that’s for certain. Always on some adventure or the other these days. Did I tell you she was heading to Egypt?”

“Egypt?” barked Aston.

“Mmm. She’s hit it off with the Duchess of Hunt’s brothers, all scholars and excavators and is arranging to travel with a companion. Says she longs to see the temples and all that.”

“And you’d let her go?” Aston bellowed.

“
Let
isna a word you use with Rosamund—“

“Or any intelligent woman,” Nicholas cut in.

Blackburn gave a firm nod of agreement. “Oh, aye, Roth. You’ve the right of it there.” But then Blackburn’s brows drew together. “Why should it bother you if Rosamund goes?”

“Rosalie can do whatever she likes,” Aston piped.

“Rosamund,” Blackburn corrected.

“Yes. She.
Rosamund.”
Aston hiccupped. “But I’ve sailed the world and I know just how dangerous traveling can be.”

“My sister is a formidable force. She can take care of herself. And of course, I’ll arrange for her safety if she insists on going.”

Aston slunk further down his chair, brought the brandy to his lips like a man seeking refuge from the grim reaper and stared into the fire.

It was clear Roth was going to get no help from Aston tonight because even if it wasn’t clear to Blackburn, it was clear to Nicholas. Aston and Rosamund knew each other and in more than passing.

Roth drew in a breath. “If you must know why Imogen was at my house. . .”

“I’d like to but I won’t insist,” Blackburn replied.

“She was there to meet my wife.”

Blackburn sputtered on his brandy. “Your—“

“Wife. Yes.”

Blackburn gaped. “When did you get married?”

Nicholas laughed. “Before you, actually.”

“And you kept it a secret?” Blackburn wiped the brandy from his coat. “Why?”

“The circumstances are unusual.”

Blackburn sat back in his chair. “Highly.”

“Yes. Well,” Nicholas said somewhat annoyed, “at least I didn’t try to kidnap her in broad daylight whilst three sheets to the wind.”

“You advised such action,” Blackburn pointed out.

“So, I did. Though I didn’t recall it the morning after.”

Blackburn smiled fondly, as if the memory only brought to mind his beloved wife. “We were all a bit worse for wear.”

“Woman will do that to you,” put in Aston who continued to cradle his brandy bottle.

Blackburn laughed. “But they also bring joy. The greatest joy a man can know.”

“That’s the thing.” Nicholas stared at the fire, unsure he really wished to discuss it but knowing he had to if he wished there to be some sort of change in his circumstances.

“Yes?” Blackburn prompted.

“I feel like I’m on the edge of such joy but. . . It’s escaping me.”

Blackburn poured more brandy into their glasses. “Do you love her?”

“I beg your pardon?” Nicholas asked as he stared into his snifter.

“Do you love her?” Blackburn grinned. “I warrant you do, but have you told her?”

“No,” Nicholas admitted. “Actually, I’m not certain I’ve confessed it to myself.”

“Well, you’ve just done so.” Blackburn clapped him on the back merrily. “Now, go home and tell her. All will be right as rain.”

God bless simplistic fellows like the Duke of Blackburn. The man was notoriously black and white and was only just beginning to see that there were hues of gray in this world. But what if, in this, the Scot was right?

Could he dare to face his wife and declare his love? Suddenly, all his travels around the world seemed as nothing to this terrifying proposition.

T
he ballroom glowed with the light of a thousand candles in towering candelabras positioned about the massive and ornate room. No expense had been spared on the decorations.

Garlands of flowers, despite the winter chill outside, hung from the balconies and staircases. Cloth of gold swept across archways in elegant swaths. Fruit had been gilded and arranged beautifully in towering bowls all about the room, meant to be looked at, not even eaten.

The entire room shimmered as if kissed by the sun’s rays.

Musicians played their sugary notes at the end of the golden-hued hall while hundreds of lords and ladies danced, crowded about, and chattered, all dressed in their finest clothes and jewels.

It was the most glorious sort of presentation the
ton
might attend or see.

Everyone’s eyes were wide, filled with awe at the sumptuousness of the night. Wine flowed like water and so did the conversation. She was a topic for sure. After all, there was some lamentation from both ambitious mamas and young ladies that the Duke of Roth had been taken from the market.

Since the ball was so lavish and no excuses or apologies were being made, there was a general buzzing about how terribly romantic the marriage was and how beautiful the young couple looked together.

After all, Allegra was the only daughter of the Earl of Portmund, who was with attendance with his countess.

Allegra nodded and greeted her parents when they arrived. It had been tempting to exclude them, but she knew how important family was to Nicholas and it also would have been highly odd for them not to be celebrating with them.

As it was, her father and mother appeared so jovial one might have thought that they had personally arranged the marriage. Certainly, many people assumed they had.