The Duke of Morewether’s Secret (20 page)

“I’m not sure what you are asking of me, Your Grace.”

Christian looked hard at the man with Ducal Glare #1. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking either. “Don’t let her go anywhere.”

“You’re not asking me to keep the lady of this house captive.” The footman didn’t ask; he stated.

“Well, no. It sounds absurd when you say it like that. Just keep her in the house until I can get back.”

“Captive.”

The duke clenched his jaw and exhaled out of his nose in a huff. “No.”

With an exceedingly dry tone and a look of complete and total irony, the footman replied, “I’ll pass on your concerns to Her Grace.”

“I’ll be back by eleven.” He settled his hat firmly on his head.

“I’ll keep your planter warm, Your Grace.”

Thea watched the exchange between her husband and her footman though a sheer curtain. She was surprised when Christian turned from her front door, strode along the walk and off along the street. After nearly twenty-four hours, where was he going? But then, what did she care? At least he was going.

“What did he say, Collins?” she asked the butler after the door had been closed and bolted.

“The footman stated he said that he had errands of the utmost importance, that he would return shortly, and that we were to keep you in the house.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Don’t call me that.” She wasn’t sure the marriage was legal — it had never been consummated after all. If it wasn’t, then she didn’t want to be called by that title — ever.

“I apologize for my impertinence, but there is much to be gained with the title of Duchess of Morewether.”

Thea let her head fall back. Collins was probably right, but still the name rankled. Her entire body felt prickly and irritated from her eyelids to her scalp.

“If you don’t mind my saying so” — the butler hesitated where he would normally include her honorific, stumbling over what to call her — “he did seem earnest, your husband.”

“Yes, he does a remarkable job convincing people he’s something he’s not.” She was certain Christian was earnest is his desire to get back in her good graces if for no other reason than he was embarrassed.

“I’ll have tea brought up right away.” Collins left with alacrity.

Thea drifted back to her suite of rooms and took a haphazard inventory of the trunks and bags in various states of packing. She wasn’t sure where her maid had wandered away to, but Hudson was sure to be back shortly. Thea wondered what the elegant English duchess wore to meet with a solicitor. She didn’t have any idea considering she was neither elegant, English nor willing to be acknowledged as the Duchess of Morewether. Surely the maid would know.

She sank to the bed and sat there, staring blankly at a half-filled trunk. For how long, she had no idea. The pretty pink dress she’d worn for her wedding was partially folded in tissue and lay across the opening, the hem trailing to touch the carpet.

She wasn’t going to cry anymore. She’d known better than to fall for the man. Everything about him, from the gossip he’d so carefully cultivated to the cavalier attitude he’d taken with their courtship, had reinforced her initial opinion of him. She’d been fooled into believing she was special, with pretty gifts of race horses and dear words, but the harsh reality was that Christian, Duke of Morewether was a man cut from the same cloth as her father.

She could no more respect her husband than the man who claimed to be her sire. The bitterest medicine was the knowledge he’d not understood her at all. He presented a façade of a man who considered family as important to him as she did. All of it lies.

Lies.

The solicitor was no help either. When he called for their appointment, she had every expectation he would explain the English legal system and give her an easy way out of her sham of a marriage.

“It’s not that simple,” Mr. Paulson explained with a placid face and a handful of biscuits. “A request for annulment must be presented in front of the Ecclesiastic court, and a bishop will decide if your request is valid.”

Thea let her shoulders slump. “Oh.”

“Secondly, there are very few reasons for a valid annulment.” He gestured with his chin for a refill on his tea of which Thea obliged. “Thank you, dear. Has your husband committed fraud to convince you to marry him?”

Thea had not disclosed her name, nor that of her husband to the solicitor when he arrived. After all, if Christian was camping out in her yard it was certain he’d never allow her to go see a solicitor.

“Fraud?”

“Has he misrepresented himself to you?” Another biscuit disappeared into his maw.

Now that was the question, wasn’t it?

Chapter Nineteen

Lord, yes, he’d misrepresented himself. He’d led her to believe he was a decent man. “How do you mean misrepresented? In what way?”

The solicitor coughed, and coughed some more, to the point where Thea leaned across the expanse of the tea tray and pounded him on the back. He sputtered a clear breath before he finally answered, “Consanguinity.” He shoved another baked good in his mouth without a pause. When she stared at him in confusion he elaborated. “Were you blood relations, and he disguised that fact?”

“Oh. No. He didn’t do that.”

Mr. Paulson leaned his bulk against the tufted seat of the delicate parlor chair. Thea eyed the spindly legs with concern. “How about incompetence? Was your husband under the age of consent?”

Thea shook her head.

“How about insane?”

She guffawed. “No, not insane. Surely there’s something else.”

Absently brushing crumbs from his waistcoat, he eyed the furnishings in the room. “Impotence.”

“Impotence?”

“Right. And I will tell you, it’s difficult to prove.”

But it was certainly an interesting concept. “Out of curiosity, how is that done? Proven, I mean.”

Mr. Paulson shifted in his chair and it gave an ominous creak. “Among other things, the court would hire two talented courtesans to … stimulate your husband. Do you understand?”

Thea giggled. She couldn’t help herself. The very idea she’d claim her husband, the man who’d so famously had most of the eligible woman in London, was unable to perform. She could see the look on his face already.

“It’s not a laughing matter, Mrs … What
is
your name?”

Thea sidestepped the question. “There is no one in London who is going to believe my husband has suddenly been struck impotent.”

“Well then, madam, you are well and truly married. I don’t see much of a way around it.” He made as if to stand but didn’t get far. He leaned back again only to thrust himself forward, then back and forward again, until he gained enough momentum to rise from the seat. Thea watched the movements like she would circus performers in a delicate and needle-pointed ring.

She walked him to the front door. “There are really no other opportunities, Mr. Paulson? None at all?”

He shook his head.

“What if our marriage has never been consummated?” Not officially at least. Doing the act before marriage hardly counted.

“This is not the dark ages.” He shot down her idea with disdain and impatience. “That would never make it through the court in this day and age. No. Your best chance would have been if he was your brother or an uncle or something.”

Thea sighed and wrinkled her nose. “Nothing that salacious. I fear I’m trapped.”

“Trapped in a gilded cage, I’d say.” He gestured around the entry hall and the pieces of art displayed there. “Make him a good wife instead of trying to get away from the man.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Actually, all of this is my money. This is my house and these are my things.”

“Are you so sure of that?” The solicitor checked his pocket watch, then snapped it shut.

Thea’s stomach filled with stones. “What do you mean?”

“Once you married the man, everything you have becomes his under English law.”

That can’t be right. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

“My money?”

He nodded.

“My art collection?”

Again, he nodded. “Everything. That is unless you both signed marriage contracts that stated differently. If you have those papers, I’m happy to look them over for you.”

No, she had nothing of the sort. They’d married so quickly, and she’d been too ignorant to even consider she should protect her assets. The hateful tears pricked the back of her eyes again. She hated to admit it — the worse fumble of all — she had been too in love with him to think clearly. Just like her mother had done.

“I have other appointments, madam.”

“Thank you for answering my questions.”

“I say make the best of it.” He paused for a moment and looked into her eyes. “He can’t live forever.” Then he plopped his hat on his fat head and exited her front hallway.

Thea had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but the idea was heartening.

His secretary showed in exactly one applicant for governess.

“Where are the rest of them?” He eyed the girl in the hall.

“This is the only one, Your Grace. Apparently, she is the only one available at such short notice.” Gibson handed him a sheet of paper, a list of references carefully penned in a precise script.

Christian exhaled through is nose in frustration. “Show her in.” His gaze followed his man as walked through the double doors of his study and spoke to the girl. She looked up, eyes wide, then stood to follow the secretary back across the carpeted floor.

Exactly how old was a governess supposed to be? Surely older than her charge. This girl — for that was the only word that came readily to mind, woman surely didn’t fit — certainly wasn’t more than ten years older than Lucy.

Christian turned his attention to the list of references. They looked good to him although he had no idea what he was looking for. The names listed seemed acceptable, if not actually
ton,
they were certainly quality.

“Miss Georgina Honeysett.”

The girl curtsied. “Your Grace.”

She was tall and thin, pale but pretty in that way that young women with clear complexions and bright eyes always were. There was intelligence in her gaze, and if she was intimidated about meeting with a duke she didn’t show it. Her posture was ramrod straight and her dress demure. Miss Honeysett was dressed the part of a governess.

“You have excellent references for someone so young.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “I’ve been fortunate to find employment with good and generous families.”

“Why did you leave your last position?”

Brown eyes filled her face. “The child, she was eleven, died. Influenza. It was quite tragic.”

Christian nodded to communicate sympathy through the gesture while he considered what other questions one asked a potential governess during an interview. “Where were you educated?”

She gave him the faintest smile. “My mother was a governess before she married my father, a minster. I have six sisters, I’m in the middle. I am proficient in the classics. I speak Italian and French as well as passable German. I can read some Greek. I play the pianoforte and the harp with less skill. I know the principles of water colors and oils although nothing I’ve created will ever hang in a national gallery.”

“Excellent.” And Christian supposed it was. That Greek was a boon.

The girl shifted her weight to the other foot. “How old is your child?”

“Lucy is ten.” Ten? He did a quick calculation in his head. “Yes, ten.”

Miss Honeysett raised an eyebrow. “You’re not certain?”

“No, I’m certain. I haven’t always had the child under my care.” How much was he expected to explain about his situation?

“I see?” Again she moved her feet.

“She was living with her mother. We are not married.” There. Let her infer what she will from that. Anyway, she was bound to get the full story from the servants if he hired her. “I will be leaving the county shortly. Tomorrow as a matter of fact. If you are hired, I will arrange for you to take Lucy to my house in Yorkshire. I have not arranged formal education for her yet, although I intend to do so. I will expect the person I hire to be in charge of making sure my daughter is prepared for school — reading, writing, arithmetic — so she will be on par with the rest of the children. Also, I’m not certain about her manners. I’ll also expect her to learn what’s proper.”

“Certainly. A good governess should do that and more.”

He narrowed his eyes and watched her expression for several beats. “Miss Honeysett, how old are you? You hardly seem old enough to —”

“I’m three and twenty, Your Grace. I assure you I have all the experience required.” She tilted her head to the side. “Is your daughter unruly? A handful?”

“I have absolutely no idea. For all I know she could have been raised by wolves, but now that she’s being acknowledged, I do not desire her to embarrass me or my family. I am newly married and I do not want my new wife to be troubled by the child. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I do. You want her educated and in good character to send to school.”

“Exactly that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you capable of that, Miss Honeysett?”

“I am.” Her voice and expression exuded confidence and that was what convinced him. That and there were no more applicants. And he was leaving on his honeymoon immediately and needed to devote all this energy into wooing his wife.

“You’ll start this afternoon. Shall we go meet my daughter?”

Lucy was in the conservatory. The tune she banged out on the keys of the pianoforte was lively, something you’d expect to hear in a bawdy house rather than a refined household in Mayfair.

“I didn’t know you could play,” Christian told her as he and Miss Honeysett approached.

“Father,” Lucy said his name in surprise. It was the first time he’d seen her since meeting her the day before. It was remarkable how much she looked like her mother.

“Good morning. This is Miss Honeysett. She’s going to be your governess.”

Miss Honeysett extended her hand to Lucy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I enjoy music as well.”

Lucy didn’t accept the offer of a handshake. She eyed the other female with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. “I don’t need a governess.”