How to Seduce a Duke (2 page)

Mary’s gaze searched the shadowy room. “Aunt Prudence is still asleep, is she not?” she whispered.

“You know the answer to that. What else would our ancient aunt be doing at such a late hour... or in the morn... or in the afternoon?”
Elizabeth
flipped her long wet hair over her shoulder, sending droplets sizzling into the fire. “Anne and I were ever so worried that you’d been nabbed.”

“Evidently not
that
worried. You abandoned me.”

Elizabeth
lowered her gaze to the floor. “Yes... well, we are dreadfully sorry about that.” She raised her eyes then, and smiled. “But all is well. You have come home. No harm was done.”

Mary crossed her arms over her chest and did not reply.

“Y-you were not... apprehended?”

“No, but nearly. The large one almost had me.” Mary remembered the stunned look on the oaf’s face as she slapped him, and she chuckled to herself. He deserved it, though. Had she not stopped him, he would have...

“Oh, Mary, thank heavens you are safe!” Anne, wearing a dressing gown and appearing fresh from her bath, rushed into the
parlor
and made to hug her marbleized sister. But at the last moment, noting the powder all over Mary, she changed her mind. “Why are you so late returning? What happened?”

“Nothing at all. I simply ran in the wrong direction and had a devil of a time making my way home.” It was then that Mary noticed that Anne’s face, throat and hands—indeed, every exposed bit of skin—were as red as a heated brand. “The question should be, what happened to you?”

Anne snatched the comb from
Elizabeth
and passed it through her damp golden hair.
“The powder.”
She flicked her eyebrow upward in annoyance. “I told you that it itched. Why I let you persuade me to disguise myself as a statue, I will never know.”

“I only wanted you both to see the man I have decided to marry by the end of the season—and he was right next door this eve.” Mary smiled broadly. “You agree with me, don’t you? He
is
perfect in every way that matters.” Mary bent to sit upon the settee, but
Elizabeth
waved her off before her powdered gown could mar the silk cushion. “I haven’t much time, so naturally I shall need my sisters’ help to bring about the match.”

Anne shook her head. “I dare not even ask what your idea of
help
might entail.” She thrust the comb back in
Elizabeth
’s hand, then crossed the room and opened their late father’s leather document box. From it, she withdrew several large folds of foolscap. “Besides, once we prove the information held in these letters—”

Mary raised a palm. “Stop. We do not even know where to begin. Proving anything will be impossible, given the time and financial restraints we have.”

Elizabeth
joined Anne before the document box. “There is plenty of information here and a number of sound clues to follow. Papa saved these letters for us for this very reason—to prove who we are.”

Huffing her frustration, Mary stalked across the
parlor
and slammed the lid of the box closed. “Papa wasn’t saving these documents
for
us, he was hiding them
from
us.
From everyone.
Had he had any notion that his death was so imminent, I feel certain he would have destroyed this box and its contents.”

“I completely disagree. He could have burned every scrap if that was his intent, but he didn’t, did he? This was his assurance that someday the babes he rescued would meet their destiny.” Anne lifted the hem of her dressing gown and, appearing more than a little annoyed, dusted Mary’s white powder prints from the leather box with her swollen, red fingers.

Mary pinned her sister with a hard gaze. “For the sake of argument, let us say that we are the girls mentioned in these letters... and let us further assume that every letter inside that box is true—do you think those who worked so hard to erase our existence would simply allow us to suddenly appear in London society with diamond tiaras on our heads?”

“Do not be daft, Mary.”
Elizabeth
shook her head at the ridiculousness of her sister’s words. “We would not wear tiaras. What a silly thought. One must be married to wear a tiara. Isn’t that so, Anne?”

Mary growled her frustration. “You missed my point entirely. This
endeavor
of yours could be very dangerous if the letters are genuine. Very dangerous. If not, uncovering the truth of our births will be naught but a colossal waste of time
and
coin.”

Anne raised her delicate chin, and, with an all-knowing smirk curving her lips, she addressed
Elizabeth
. “Now here it is, Lizzie. The truth of Mary’s resistance.”

Elizabeth
peered blankly back at her sister.

“Do you not see it?” Anne expelled a deep breath. “Our penny-pinching, ever-frugal Mary doesn’t wish to spend a single farthing on investigating the circumstances of our birth.”

Elizabeth
lowered her gaze to her laced fingers, which were twisted as surely as the twigs of a nest. “’Tis a Herculean task to be sure, Mary.” She turned her wide green eyes upward again. “But we owe it to Papa... and to ourselves to try.”

“Very well, so be it.” Mary tossed her hands into the air, then let them fall firmly to her sides, coaxing twin clouds of powder from her gown. “The two of you can do as you wish, but I plan to use my resources logically.”

Anne scoffed. “We are rich, Mary.”

“No we are not rich, not even close to it. It only seems that way to you because we lived so simply in
Cornwall
.” Mary shook her head. “I do not know how Papa managed it, likely by doing without and saving his pennies for years, but he bequeathed us each with great gifts—adequate portions to live on—and dowries large enough to allow us to attract gentlemen of standing and consequence. If we are careful with our spending, and practical in the matches we make, we have the means to assure comfortable lives for ourselves, instead of scraping together every halfpenny to buy flour for bread. But only
if
we are not wasteful and set aside this fanciful notion of our supposed lineage.”

Mary started for the doorway but, realizing that her sisters had not replied and were likely ignoring her pragmatic advice, turned back. “We must be realistic. We are just three sisters from
Cornwall
who happen to have been left large dowries.
That is all.
”

“No, Mary.”
Elizabeth
lifted the box and held it with reverence before her. “We are the hidden daughters of the Prince Regent and his Catholic wife, Mrs.
Fitzherbert
.”

“We’ll never prove it.” Mary gestured to the old leather box. “Don’t you understand? This notion is but a
faery
tale, and we’d be mad to believe otherwise.”

“Deny it all you like, Mary,” Anne countered, “but you know as well as I that it’s true—by blood at least we are...
princesses.
”

The next afternoon, as Mary sat curled in the window seat, immersed in the pages of a thick book, there came a solid rap at the front door. Her gaze shot to Aunt Prudence, who had fallen asleep in the wing-backed chair beside the hearth with an empty cordial goblet in her withered hand. Prudence snorted once but did not awaken.

Instead of rising to answer, Mary pinched the curtain between her thumb and index finger, parting the two panels no more than a nose’s width, then peeked through.

Aunt Prudence’s advanced age had curtailed social calls many years before. Mary and her sisters had not yet made any formal acquaintances in
London
, so she knew that a friend coming to call was not a reasonable possibility.

Her only thought that moment was one of dread.

What if she had not escaped the garden last evening as cleanly as she believed? And now someone had come to discuss the serious matter of her trespassing.

Oh God.
She didn’t have the faintest idea what to do.

Mary centered her eye on the gap in the curtains, but the angle was too sharp, and no matter how she positioned herself, she simply could not see who stood before the door.

There was a second knock.

Mary jerked her head back from the window. Good heavens. What if
he
was the caller? Her viscount... or worse, the giant ogre of a man he called his brother?

Mary’s heart drummed against her ribs.

Suddenly, there were footsteps in the passage, and Mary turned in time to see
MacTavish
, the lean, elderly butler recently engaged to manage the household pass the
parlor
doorway.

“
No,
please, do not open it!” Mary leapt from the window seat and hurried across the
parlor
toward the passage.

Thankfully, he heard her.
MacTavish
reappeared in the doorway riding a backward step.

“Might I ask why not, Miss
Royle
?”

Mary gave her head a frustrated shake. Was it not obvious? “Because... we do not know who it is.”

“
Beggin
’
yer
pardon, but I can remedy that problem by simply
openin
’ the door.”

Mary
steepled
her fingers and turned her gaze downward as she tapped her thumbs together.

There was a third succession of knocks.

“Miss
Royle
? I should open the door.”

Mary looked up and replied in the softest whisper she could manage. “All right. But if anyone should inquire, my sisters and I are not at home.”

“
Verra
weel
, Miss
Royle
. I understand... a bit.”

As
MacTavish
headed for the entry, Mary raced on her toes down the passage and slipped into the library, where she found her sisters taking tea.

Flattening herself against the wall of books nearest the door, she strained her ear to discern exactly who had come to call.

“Drat! Can’t hear a word they are saying,” Mary mumbled to herself. Still, the voices were both low, indicating at least that the caller was male. This, however, did not bode well for her.

Elizabeth
, whose red hair gleamed in the ribbons of dust-mote-speckled sunlight streaming through the back window, narrowed her eyes at Mary. She slammed closed the red leather-
spined
book balanced on her lap. “I know that look. What have you done now?”

Mary shoved an errant lock of dark hair from her eye and scowled back. “Hush! Do you wish for someone to hear you? We are not supposed to be at home, you know. Read... whatever it is that you have there, Lizzie.”

“It is a book on maladies and remedies. I found it in Papa’s document box.”

Anne twisted around in her chair. The redness and swelling on her hands and face had subsided, leaving her skin as light and luminous as her flaxen hair. “Why must we be quiet? You’re not making any sense.” Her eyes widened then. “Good God, Mary. Is something amiss? Why, you’re as white as a—”

“Marble statue,”
Elizabeth
interjected, then both she and Anne exchanged a shoulder-bobbing chuckle at Mary’s expense.

Mary opened her mouth to reply when she heard the metallic click of the front door being pressed closed.

A moment later,
MacTavish
was standing in the doorway of the library with a square of wax-sealed vellum centered on his sterling salver.

“’Tis for you, Miss
Royle
.” He raised the tray before Mary.

“For me?” She blinked at it but did not reach for it. “Why, I can’t imagine—”

Both of her sisters were on their feet in an instant.

“Who is it from, Mary?”
Elizabeth
’s emerald eyes sparkled with excitement.

“I am sure I don’t know.” Mary glanced up at the butler.

“’Twas left by a liveried footman.”
MacTavish
cleared his throat. “If I may, Miss
Royle
. Much as
openin
’ the door will reveal the identity of a caller... the sender may be divulged by simply...
openin
’ the bloody letter.”

Anne gasped loudly. “
MacTavish
, your language!”

Her sister’s reaction was a bit overdone, to Mary’s way of thinking, but
MacTavish’s
language had served its purpose. Mary had gotten the intended message quite clearly.

“
Beggin
’
yer
pardon, miss.” The Scottish butler tipped his bald pate. “If
ye’ll
excuse me please, I’ll just be
poppin
’ down to see if Cook needs any help setting the roast to the spit.”

As
MacTavish
quit the room, Anne
leveled
a superior gaze on Mary.

Oh no. Here it comes again.

“Why you could not bring yourself to pay a little more per annum to engage a proper butler I will never understand.” Anne crossed her arms over her chest and plopped back down in her chair. “
MacTavish
is little more than a street thug, and you well know it.”