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“So you see,” Sturbridge said. “Mr. Andrews simply isn’t here.”
“I see,” Aria said softly, staring at an empty bed.
The room was plain. For all the club’s insistence on being devoid of women, it clearly could use a feminine touch. The walls were a stark white and lacked any embellishment: no painting hung here. The bed was made neatly. Had he done it himself? He was very tidy. Something made her chest hurt.
“You cared for him a lot,” Sturbridge said.
Aria turned to the duke. “Me?”
“I imagine you wouldn’t storm here unless it was something truly urgent,” Sturbridge said.
“I’m supposed to leave for Sweden today,” she said. “I’d hoped to speak with Mr. Andrews before then.”
Sturbridge sighed. “I’ll take you back to Grosvenor Square. And then if I see Mr. Andrews, I’ll bring him to you.”
“That’s very kind,” Aria said.
“Let’s go,” Sturbridge said. “We might be better off leaving from the back entrance. I wouldn’t want to test the sturdiness of the members’ hearts too much.”
“I suppose I shocked them,” Aria said.
“An excellent day to return to Sweden. I’ve heard it’s a beautiful country.” Sturbridge’s eyes twinkled, and Aria smiled. Her chest still felt heavy, and she didn’t speak as she followed Sturbridge to the door.
She waited as Sturbridge told a groom to prepare a carriage. Before long though, Sturbridge was helping her into a carriage. Apparently, the grooms at this club were prepared to hastily prepare carriages for their members, who could be taken over by an urge to visit Hyde Park or their favorite gaming hell at any moment.
She sat stiffly in the carriage. It swayed as it moved over cobblestones. A few people stared at them.
“I feel very exposed,” she said.
Sturbridge smiled. “I should have warned you. I was recently named Matchmaking for Wallflowers’ top Rogue to Avoid.”
She must have furrowed her brow, for he sighed.
“I suppose Matchmaking for Wallflowers’ circulation does not yet expand to Scandinavia,” Sturbridge said.
“No,” Aria said.
Sturbridge shrugged. “It’s possible they’re simply admiring the curves of my new barouche.”
“It’s very nice,” Aria said politely.
Sturbridge tapped his hand lightly over the side. “Yes, it is.”
Finally, the carriage stopped, and Sturbridge led her inside.
Mrs. Banks greeted her in the foyer. “Princess! We were wondering where you were.”
“I’m sorry. I—er—”
“Had a gentleman caller?” Mrs. Banks stared at Sturbridge.
“You have recovered well from your late husband’s demise,” Mrs. Banks said.
“I assure you he is not my gentleman caller,” the princess said.
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Banks smiled and cast a glance at Lucy.
Lucy’s face reddened.
“I haven’t met many dukes,” Mrs. Banks observed.
“You met the Duke of Hammett, Mama,” Lucy said.
“The Silent Duke,” Mrs. Banks grumbled. “All those moon-eyed glances at his matchmaker. Quite disappointing.”
“Well, I would never cast moon-eyed glances at anyone,” Sturbridge said.
“He was named Rogue to Avoid by some obscure pamphlet,” Aria said.
“Matchmaking for Wallflowers is not obscure,” Sturbridge pouted.
Mrs. Banks shot a glance at her daughter. “They say that reformed rakes make the best husbands.”
Lucy glowered immediately, bearing a curious resemblance to a warrior preparing to clash swords with an enemy.
“Well, I am a rogue.” Sturbridge obviously noticed Lucy’s transformed facial appearance. “I assure you, I have absolutely no intention of reforming.”
“The duke was kind enough to bring me here,” Aria said. “I thought I might have a caller.”
“Another one?” Mrs. Banks raised her eyebrows.
“I don’t count,” Sturbridge said hastily.
“Well, your bodyguard is furious,” Mrs. Banks said.
Aria gave a guilty smile.
“But you do have a caller in the drawing room.”
“Oh!” Aria widened her eyes. “You should have said.”
“I didn’t know you would be so eager to see him,” Mrs. Banks confessed. “And there was a duke in the foyer.”
“I’m still here,” Sturbridge said grimly. “Though I’ll take that as my cue to leave.”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Banks said brightly. “That will hardly do. Besides, you must stay for tea.”
“Tea?” Sturbridge’s face paled, and Aria wondered how he’d been able to avoid marriage for so long. “I—er—”
“Lucy,” Mrs. Banks said, “do run and tell the housekeeper to have some tea brought up to us.”
“Very well.” Lucy disappeared quickly.
“My daughter is athletic,” Mrs. Banks said, grabbing hold of Sturbridge’s arm and nearly dragging him into the other room. “Both my daughters are athletic, in fact. I feel that athleticism is not nearly prized enough, don’t you?”
“I—er—” Sturbridge looked down at Mrs. Banks’ fingers, perhaps wondering how he could possibly extricate himself from them without toppling her to the ground in an ungallant manner.
Aria hurried through to the drawing room, deciding not to listen to Mrs. Banks quiz him on the location of all of his estates. Sturbridge was not on her mind: Rupert was.
And he must be here.
Aria’s heart swelled with happiness, as if it had suddenly decided it required more space to properly contain all of her emotions. She floated to the drawing room.
He was here.
He must have come while she’d been at the Gentlemen’s Club. She opened the door happily, and—
Aria halted.
There was a man sitting on Mrs. Banks’ elegant sofa. But unfortunately, that man was decidedly not Mr. Rupert Andrews, love of Aria’s life.
“It’s you,” she said weakly.
Mr. Alfred Deanwood stood up and bowed. “Yes. I came with the paperwork about your marriage.”
Aria nodded weakly. “Thank you, but I’m afraid you’ve wasted my time. I just learned that my husband died. I’m afraid I’m quite busy.”
“You’ll want to hear what I say,” the man said. “I must admit, I wish you’d told me before that you never did the banns. That changes everything.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
“Posting your banns is an essential process to a marriage. No detail is too obscure.”
She gave him a weak smile, bracing for him to suddenly enter a soliloquy on the merits of bureaucracy, the elevated nature of his own work, and her own weakness in not immediately recognizing its importance.
“I’m afraid I’m new to England.”
“Next time you get married, please pay attention to the banns posting process.”
“Right.” She nodded.
“It seems that you were never truly married to the Duke of Framingham.”
Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “I don’t understand.”
“The paperwork was incorrect,” Mr. Deanwood said.
She furrowed her brow.
“In Staffordshire, like in other English counties, it is necessary to give sufficient notice to the state before entering into marriage. Obviously, it does no one any good to make hasty decisions that will affect them for the rest of their lives.”
“And my late husband—” she stopped herself, “I meant, the Duke of Framingham, never did that paperwork?”
“Would there be any reason why he would feel pressed for time? He might have taken advantage of the fact that you are unfamiliar with English law.”
“My father was returning to Sweden,” Aria said. “We did speak about postponing his journey, though, and giving me a larger wedding.”
“Perhaps the duke considered time to be of more importance.”
Aria nodded. The duke had received a dowry from her father. There would be no reason to question her death if she was found at the bottom of her balcony and he could say she’d accidentally fallen.
The duke had never intended her to live.
“So, I was never truly married,” Aria said faintly.
“Indeed you were not,” the clerk said.
“Oh, my!” Mrs. Banks shrieked from behind in the room. “You were never married to the Duke of Framingham? Why, you were alone with him!”
“And you were alone with me,” Sturbridge said, as if he half-expected her to shout that he’d compromised her in Robertson’s Gentlemen’s Club.
“I was,” Aria said.
“Then you are ruined!” Mrs. Banks exclaimed. “You must leave for Sweden at once before the news comes.”
“No,” Aria said.
“No?” Mrs. Banks repeated with a stricken look on her face.
“No,” Aria said. “There’s someone else I want to marry.”
Sturbridge’s face whitened.
“Not you,” she said hastily.
Then a knock sounded on the door, and she smiled. “I believe that is my fate.”
*
RUPERT KNOCKED ON THE door, his heart beating wildly.
“Oh, good,” the butler said. “Everyone is waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me?” Rupert asked.
“They’re in the drawing room,” the butler said. “Follow me.”
The butler opened the door to the drawing room. A large crowd of people were there, and the butler introduced him.
“Mr. Rupert Andrews,” the butler said in a booming voice.
Rupert entered the drawing room, now filled with Mrs. Banks and her daughter, Sturbridge, the bureaucrat, and Aria herself.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“Yes,” Aria said.
“Thank goodness.” He hurried toward her, then knelt before her. “I have something to say.”
“I have something to say as well.”
He hesitated.
“What she has to say is quite interesting,” Sturbridge remarked.
“Everything she says is interesting,” Rupert said.
“Particularly this,” Sturbridge remarked.
Rupert considered debating this point and declare that everything Aria said was of the utmost interest and importance.
“Aria,” he said. “Before you leave for Sweden you should know that—”
Aria’s heartbeat quickened, and she gazed at him.
“I love you,” Rupert said. “I know you might not feel the same way...”
“But then again she may,” Sturbridge said lightly.
Rupert shot a disgruntled look at Sturbridge. “Perhaps you should be quiet.”
“Perhaps,” Sturbridge said, miffed.
Lucy passed Sturbridge the plate of sweets, and he seemed somewhat mollified.
“I don’t want you to go to Sweden,” Rupert said. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’ve loved you from the beginning. I loved you before we met. I loved you from the very first letter you wrote.”
“You’d never even seen me then,” Aria said softly.
“It didn’t matter,” Rupert said firmly, then he grinned. “Though you are very beautiful.”
“Indeed?”
“Absolutely.” Then he kissed her again, and life was magnificent.