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Marjorie’s insides continued to flutter after receiving that kiss from Oliver in the wildflower meadow. It hadn’t been for show or as an addition to the farce that had brought them together. No, it had followed a heartfelt conversation wherein she’d had an insight of what had made the duke into the man he was today.
And she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
So much so that she turned a corner of a corridor and slammed right into the impressive form of Oliver’s valet. “Oh, dear.” When she reeled backward, Carmichael shot out a hand to steady her steps. “Please beg my pardon. I was woolgathering and not paying attention.”
“It’s quite all right, Miss Fitzgerald.” As he stepped back, he eyed her with suspicion. “You seem as if your mind is troubled. Are you well?”
“I believe so.” She smoothed her hands down the front of her gown of sea foam green silk. “I’m to take tea with the duke and his mother, and presently, I’m too frazzled in spirit to make a proper appearance.” At least that was the truth. What would Oliver’s mother be like? Did she approve of their engagement? She sucked in a quick breath. Or worse, had Oliver not told her it was false? Hot panic built and stacked in her chest, prompting her to run, to hide.
“Steady, then. What you need is a few minutes to gather yourself. After that you’ll be right as rain.” He offered her a small smile. “Come with me. I know just the place.”
Curious, Marjorie followed him down the corridor, around an opposite corner than where she’d come from, and at the end of yet another hallway, he stopped at a room and ushered her inside. “Scarborough Castle might appear compact, but it’s a maze of secrets.”
“Much like the duke himself,” she murmured as she stepped into a room that was as quaint and unique as the castle. “What a dear little room!”
The valet grinned as he swept inside and beckoned her onward. “This was once the music room in the old duke’s time. Since your fiancé’s time as duke, he had the space converted into a ladies salon thinking his mother and aunts might find good use of it.”
Walls covered with mint green and ivory stripes printed with delicate vines and tiny blue flowers, the entire apartment had an airy feel to it. Gauzy mint green drapes fluttered at the windows, which had been thrown open to catch the summer breeze. A set of French-paned doors on the opposite side of the room led to a cozy balcony that overlooked a hedge maze. All the furniture was delicate and ladylike, done in a Louis XIV style, the upholstery in varying shades of green brocade. The Aubusson rugs scattered over the floor also reflected the pleasing green colors while bookshelves lined one wall, stuffed full of novels, periodicals, and everything else a genteel woman might desire to read. Near one of the windows, a small desk with exquisitely carved legs rested, no doubt a must for a duchess to answer correspondence or even pen a few pages of fiction should she wish.
A rather nice spot to sketch from also, for the light was excellent. Perhaps she should make use of this room while they were in Wiltshire.
“I absolutely adore this, could see myself passing many happy hours in here.” Marjorie explored the room, touching her fingertips to china pieces of bric-a-brac as she went. A small, wheeled serving cart of rattan and black wrought iron waited in a corner, it’s top scattered with a few decanters of... She lifted the stopper of one and sniffed. “Whisky?” Surprise rang in her voice as she replaced the crystal.
Carmichael nodded and grinned. “The dowager, at times, requires something stronger than madeira.”
“She sounds like a very interesting woman.” Then the knots of anxiety pulled once more in her belly, for all too soon she’d meet with that austere woman. Would the dowager judge her, find her lacking?
“She rather is. All in His Grace’s family are.” The valet gestured to one of the low sofas. “Please, rest for a bit. They won’t mind if you’re a few minutes tardy for tea.”
“I hope you’re right.” She sank down onto one of the cushions with a sigh. “Given the chance, I could spend hours in this room.”
“His Grace will be happy to hear it, for his mother prefers the morning room.”
“And Oliver’s aunts?”
He waved a hand. “They don’t visit as much as he’d like... but perhaps they would should he marry and start a family.” Nothing in the valet’s expression gave away his thoughts.
“Ah.” Did Carmichael know the engagement was naught but a farce? How far did Oliver trust his employees? The urge to learn more about him grew strong. “What is your favorite thing about the duke? What makes you content to remain in his employ?” Perhaps a true duchess wouldn’t engage herself in a conversation with a valet, but then, Marjorie didn’t need to worry about those protocols.
Except, that kiss from earlier belied the fact her betrothal with Oliver wasn’t merely for show in a bid to gain a parcel of property. Was it?
Oh, never had she been more confused about a man before, and much of that blame was laid at Richard’s feet. After that disastrous engagement, she harbored doubts about feelings and romance and truth.
“Now that is an interesting question, Miss Fitzgerald.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw, but he didn’t approach her. “I met His Grace in the military years ago. Right away we had a friendship. He has the tendency to collect odd and lost people, giving them new purpose within his household and life. I guess my favorite thing about him is his kindness and compassion.”
“For you?”
“That, and for everyone he meets.” He stared at her as he thought over his next words. “The duke is involved in many causes throughout London and does much charity work, though you’ll never hear him mention it, for he doesn’t wish for praise. He considers it his duty and responsibility that goes with the title. He uses his privilege for the good of everyone.” The valet shrugged. “Publicly, he’s every bit a duke, makes his appearances in Parliament, does the pretty in society, but his integrity is unmatched, regardless if he’s slighted at all turns.”
Marjorie frowned. “The ton has forever been fickle and unaccepting.” A niggle of hurt went through her chest to know that no matter how good and brave and giving a man was, his peers judged him by the color of his skin as well as his lineage. “Oliver definitely has a wonderful heart for people.” And she was proud that she could spend a month with him.
Knowing him makes me want to be a better woman, to do more, to be a light.
“Indeed.” Carmichael grinned. “Why do I remain in his employ?” He chuckled as if that were the funniest joke. “Why would I not? The duke is a force—quiet but deadly. Given half the chance and the proper support, he will change not only London’s future, but that of England. Part of me stays on merely to see what he’ll accomplish next, while the other part of me enjoys his friendship.” His expression sobered. “I wish nothing but happiness for him, but I sometimes wonder if he’ll ever let himself grasp that.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows rose. “You don’t think he’s happy now?”
“Sometimes, no.” The valet lowered his voice. “He’s content to an extent, but happy? I have my doubts.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Easily, she called up the remembrance of their talk in the meadow, of their time on the dance floor at the ball. He’d seemed at ease and even happy then. What did his friend see that she didn’t? “Everyone deserves happiness, Carmichael. I hope he finds it.”
“And you, Miss Fitzgerald?” His gaze had become intense as he looked at her. “Have you found that elusive state?”
“I’m not certain. My life is... unsettled at the moment.” The relationship she’d struck with Oliver was pleasant enough, and his kisses away from society’s eyes were surprising and swoon worthy, but she was all too aware it would come to an end in a matter of weeks. Would that friendship last beyond the farce, or would they go their separate ways, never to meet again?
He nodded. “Well, I wish you good fortune in your quest. You’ve been a delightful addition to the household, and we all appreciate that.”
What an odd thing to say, which again made her wonder how much Oliver had told his servants. “Thank you for the respite, Carmichael.” Slowly, Marjorie rose. “I suppose I should join His Grace for tea.”
“Perhaps you should.” Speculation filled his eyes as he glanced at her. “Shall I escort you there? The castle is rather tricky to navigate until one gets their bearings.”
“I’d like that.”
With every footstep, questions stacked and bubbled through her mind. To all outward appearances, Oliver led a charmed life, but after everything, what did he want deep in his heart? What was the secret to making him happy?
Beyond that, why did she care if their commitment to each other would end in little over two weeks?
Unfortunately, the calm Marjorie had acquired while talking to Carmichael faded in the face of returning anxiety as she chatted with the dowager duchess, who believed the engagement was all too real. At the end of the agreed upon month, Oliver’s mother would be hurt, to say nothing of everyone else caught in the crosshairs.
But there was nothing she could do about it. Plans had already gone into effect and contracts drawn up.
Time was limited.
Marjorie cleared the gathering emotions from her throat as she directed a question to the dowager. “Do you often travel with Oliver to Wiltshire?” For the moment, she would enjoy the company and pretend she would marry into a family full of love and acceptance, people above reproach.
“If I don’t already have commitments in London.” The dowager was as regal as a queen, held herself with a poise and elegance Marjorie envied. “However, for the remainder of the summer, I’ll stay at Scarborough Castle, for I feel close to my husband here.” She offered a smile tinged with sadness. “He adored the castle even if he neglected fixing it up as he ought.”
“I imagine walking the halls brings you comfort.”
“It does.”
“I was shown a dear little ladies salon today before I came into tea. I found an immediate affinity for it.”
“Oh?” The dowager and her son, who sat beside Marjorie, exchanged a glance. “How truly interesting. Oliver renovated that room for me and my sisters, but we don’t use it often and I’ve always felt bad it’s been so neglected.”
“It was a labor of love, Mother,” Oliver said softly, and the rich sound of his voice sent tingles dancing down Marjorie’s spine.
She nodded with enthusiasm. “It catches the light beautifully and would make a fine apartment for sketching and painting. Plus, it overlooks the maze, which I haven’t had the opportunity to explore.” She shrugged. “This property tugs a sense of wonder and peace from me, and I... well, I haven’t had that in my life for a long time.”
Where had that admission come from?
“I feel the same.” The dowager gave her a smile. “I’m glad you have an affinity for it. The castle seems to call to the ones who are a good fit.” Again, she looked at Oliver, but speculation filled her eyes, much as it had with Carmichael. “I believe it’s anxiously waiting for its next mistress.”
Oliver scoffed. “Come now, Mother. The castle isn’t a living entity.”
“I sometimes wonder,” was all she said.
Oh, how stately she was! Possessed of smooth skin a few shades darker than Oliver’s, she had a tall and slender form that made her gown the trappings of royalty. Her countenance and mannerisms conjured images of beautiful, revered Egyptian queens and pharaohs. “If I might pay you a compliment, Lady Scarborough, without seeming crass or over the top?”
“Of course.” The dowager peered at her son with amusement in her expression.
Marjorie rushed onward before her courage deserted her. “You are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.” Jewels glittered at her neck and on her fingers, and her black hair had been styled into complex twists and braids within its updo, held in place with combs. “I can’t stop staring, but to do so is the height of rudeness. I don’t wish to offend.” Had she already done so by speaking?
To her surprise, Lady Scarborough uttered a loud, genuine laugh that rang in the room. “Oh, my dear, you have made my day all the more wonderful.” She smiled at her son. “I think I’ll like her. You chose a bride well, if quickly.”
“I...” For the first time since Marjorie had met him, he floundered. “Perhaps we should talk of something else.”
Did guilt assail him as it did her? Heat infused her cheeks, for neither of them could escape the lie. “I feel so... ordinary around the two of you.” When she turned her head and caught Oliver’s eye, his glance of approval and the sensual curve of his lips sent flutters into her belly. “Or perhaps I’m rendered at sixes and sevens due to the fact that I lost my mother and am fascinated by those who still have theirs.”
Why the devil had she said that? Not even Richard had managed to pull such secrets from her, and they’d enjoyed a six-month engagement period.
What is wrong with me?
“Oh?” The dowager refreshed Marjorie’s teacup. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“My mother didn’t die,” she said in a quiet voice teeming with regret for having mentioned it. Marjorie dropped her gaze to the tea tray, her appetite for the tempting sweets having suddenly fled. “She ran off with a baronet ten years ago, claiming she had found the love of her life.” With a shrug, she sipped her tea. “They fled to America, and I haven’t heard or seen from her since.”
What would they think of her now that she apparently couldn’t keep the family secrets to herself?
“How horrid.” Lady Scarborough frowned. “Viscountess Highmore.” She tapped her chin with an elegant finger. “I do remember something about her from years ago but not much.” The dowager rested an assessing gaze on Marjorie. “Before she found her baronet, was she unfaithful to your father?”
“Mother, such questions!” Oliver protested softly, warning in his voice.
“It’s all right.” Marjorie briefly touched his arm. “It’s my history, and though it embarrasses me, I can’t change it.” She peeked across at his mother while heat blazed in her cheeks. “I haven’t the proof, but I’m sure she was.” Anxious to move on, she waved her free hand. “My mother’s actions hurt my father deeply.”
“I can imagine they did.”
“After she ran off with her lover, he wasn’t the same man he once was.” Perhaps it was a good thing her engagement to Oliver was fictious, for she was hardly a good candidate for a real duchess with so much scandal attached to her family’s name.
“Of course he wasn’t.” Conviction rang in the lady’s voice. “No man would be, especially if he’d married for love.”
They might as well hear the rest. “I’d like to believe that he did, for the alternative calls into question my very existence.” Hot guilt circled through Marjorie’s chest as the dowager looked at her with compassion. How could she continue to deceive this woman?
Beside her, Oliver shifted position. What made him so restless?
The urge to unburden herself trumped everything else. “I can understand that my father wasn’t perhaps the one her heart and soul connected with. That happens all the time, but what I can’t forgive or understand is the fact she left me and my brother, as if we didn’t matter.” She pressed her lips together when they quivered from emotion she’d assumed she’d already conquered. “My mother valued her affair more than the children she’d borne in her marriage. What kind of mother does that?”
Oh, dear Lord! Was she truly sharing the sordid details of her life with these people so high on the instep? This was outside of enough even for her.
“Someone who was never meant to be a mother.” The dowager duchess peered across the table at Oliver and slightly inclined her chin toward Marjorie. “It’s not a reflection of your character, dear.”
“My mother is correct.” Oliver took her free hand, held it tightly. It was becoming a habit of his, comforting her when faced with trauma inflicted by her family. “None of it is your fault.” He met her gaze and she wanted nothing more than to fall into the pools of those Arctic eyes. “She had to battle with her own demons, and we can hope she might come to regret her decisions, for missing out on knowing you, the woman you’ve become, will be her cross to bear.”
Marjorie’s chin trembled. Her heart squeezed. How was this man not married, when he was so charming and caring? “Whether she does or not is beyond my ken. Her absence is difficult to overcome but thank you for those kind words.”
“I speak the truth.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the middle knuckle. Questions clouded his eyes, yet he spoke none of them.
“Now you have me in your life, Miss Fitzgerald,” the dowager said, and once more guilt circled through Marjorie’s belly. “Eventually, you’ll meet my two sisters once you’ve acclimated with Oliver’s life. Probably after your wedding trip.”
“We haven’t decided what exactly will take place or when,” he responded with uncharacteristic coolness in his tones. “Don’t pressure her.”
Marjorie refrained from looking at Oliver for fear of giving away the truth to their scheme. “I appreciate that, Lady Scarborough.”
Would they think her desperate for attention, or just pathetic?
“It’s truly my pleasure.” The older woman handed a teacup to her son. “What of your father, Miss Fitzgerald? Was he glad to hear of your impending nuptials?”
Immediately, Oliver choked on the sip of tea he’d taken. Once recovered, he sighed. “Mother, that sounds oddly like prying. Our engagement surely isn’t the only subject you can manage to converse upon.”
“I’m sure it isn’t, but it’s the most exciting thing to have entered your life in recent years, so why shouldn’t I find myself excited?” She raised one finely arched eyebrow as she leveled a quelling glance at him. “I’m anxious to begin planning.”
“Perhaps you should wait until things are more settled,” he said, and when Marjorie looked at him, a muscle ticced in his cheek.
Why was he so tense? Did he feel bad from the deception as well?
At the mention of her father, sadness prickled through Marjorie’s heart and fought alongside the shame. “As I said before, the defection of my mother haunted my father.” Once she revealed this last bit, the Colbornes would rush to disassociate their name from hers. All her careful planning would be for naught, and her brother would be left to the wolves of his creditors. But there was no hope for it. Both Lady Scarborough and her son stared at her with varying degrees of interest in their expressions. “My father bore the rumors and the scandal as best he could, but the gossip persisted. He took it hard. It dogged his footsteps throughout society.”
“Gossip is malicious and colors every person who indulges in it with a certain brush,” the dowager said softly.
“Yes.” Marjorie nodded. “Papa couldn’t bear it any longer. He couldn’t move forward without a divorce or proof that Mama was dead.” She stifled the sob welling in her throat.
Never had she told anyone these terrible secrets, so why now?
“You needn’t continue if the story pains you, sweeting,” Oliver said in a whispered voice that sent awareness of him over her skin. Would he sound the same in the dark of night as they lay side by side in bed, naked and on the verge of—
For heaven’s sake, Marjorie, get hold of yourself.
“No, I should tell you.” The hand holding the teacup shook so badly that amber liquid sloshed perilously near the rim, so she set the delicate china on the table. “A few years ago, he took his own life. Put a ball through his head in his study while Cecil and I were both out.” No matter how she tried not to cry, when both Oliver and his mother expressed dual outrage and horror tinged with empathy, Marjorie’s control on her emotions slipped. Tears fell to her cheeks, furthering her embarrassment.
“Were you the one to find him,” Oliver asked softly as he set his teacup next to hers on the table.
“No, the butler did. He then told me when I returned home, but I didn’t go to see; I couldn’t take that.” She forced a swallow into her tight throat. “Cecil did though. I often wonder if that sight is what drove him to his vices as a way to cope.”
“Hush now. It’s over and this wasn’t your fault either.” His arm went around her shoulders, holding her close.
All too easy it would be to let herself sink into the warmth of his embrace, but she didn’t. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, can’t imagine what you’re feeling even though I lost my father too.”
“In a different way, and with no scandal.” A sigh escaped her. “A loss is a loss, and we don’t choose which ones to mourn.” She wiped at her cheeks. “I feel that I never really knew my father, and now my brother is on the cusp of becoming as lost yet on a different journey.” Tears fell again and she couldn’t stop them.
I must look a fright and sound like a madwoman, tainted, not good enough for a duchess.
Not that it mattered, for she was only pretending.
Oliver encouraged her head onto his shoulder as he gently rocked her while crooning soothing words in a language she couldn’t understand for its softness, French perhaps? Or Italian possibly? Three more questions sailed into her brain. “It’s a difficult path for him, to be sure.”
Lady Scarborough stood. “Oliver, might I have a word with your intended?”
His breath caught ever so slightly, but he was ever the gentleman. “Of course.” He rose and she immediately mourned the loss of his support. “I’ll be outside in the hall.”
When he excited the room, his mother took his seat beside her. She wrapped her arms around Marjorie. The scents of gardenia and jasmine enveloped her. “You’ve certainly had a run of ill-luck, and I don’t blame you one bit if you feel conflicted about it.”
The support and compassion were so foreign that Marjorie broke down again while the older woman continued to hold her.
“You also need to let go the vision of what you wished your parents were. They weren’t those people, probably would never be them, which would lead to disappointment.”
“In my head that rings true, but my heart is bruised.”
“And still hurt, which colors everything you do now,” the dowager said quietly.
“Yes.” It was nice to be understood. Marjorie lifted her head. “I shouldn’t cry on you; it will stain the satin of your gown.”
“It’s not as important as you, dear.” Lady Scarborough handed her a linen napkin. “What helped me come to terms about my own family was the strength of my husband. I hope you can find the same with Oliver.”
“As if that is possible,” she said in a choked whisper as more tears fell.
The dowager sighed. “Make it possible. You’re to be a duchess. You landed him and are strong; I can tell. Lean into his strength and give him yours.” She paused, her hand running up and down Marjorie’s arm. “Everything will work out as it should after that, especially once love enters the union.”
Another round of guilt circled through her insides, ever growing. The engagement was a sham, so there was no opportunity for love or anything else. “Thank you for your caring words. I appreciate that,” she finally said, pulling away from the other woman.
“I’m always here.” The light of speculation in her eyes remained there, warring with hope. “We’re family now.”
For a long time, they sat in silence before the dowager stood. “I have things that need my attention, but remember, you’re not alone anymore.”
The moment she left, Oliver darted in and reclaimed his spot next to her, his eyes slightly wild while worry lined his handsome face. “Are you well?”
“Yes.” She nodded as she dabbed at the lingering moisture on her cheeks. “I like your mother, wish to sketch her.”
“Then do it.” Pleasure lit his eyes. He pressed a fleeting kiss to her temple. “Today was unexpected in many ways.”
“It was, but I’m glad we both shared. I feel I know you better now.”
“As I do with you. Understanding is key to any relationship, don’t you think?”
“I do.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, and when his gaze dropped to her mouth, tingles danced through her lower belly. “You said no sharing of our pasts though.”
His shrug was a thing of beauty. “I’m changing my mind. Doesn’t every friendship need a backstory?”
“I suppose it does.” A shuddering sigh escaped her. For the moment, she was allowed to enjoy such with him, but for how long?
A slight touch to her shoulder snapped her from the thoughts. “Shall we finish our tea? You can tell me all about the ladies salon.”
“I’d like that.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
Regret and hating herself for the deception with his mother could wait, for her time was better spend by enjoying the present and all it offered.