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August 5, 1818
Oliver hummed as he navigated the corridors of Scarborough Castle. Yesterday had gone extraordinarily well even if both he and Marjorie had unexpectedly shared parts of their histories without provocation. Did it violate the rules he’d set forth in the betrothal contracts? Yes, but since each of them had done it on their own volition, it didn’t much matter.
To say nothing of the breathing room he’d found after he’d talked about his father. Did he continue to grieve his loss? Yes, and he probably always would, but it didn’t hurt as acutely as it had done before. Perhaps Marjorie felt the same after her confessions, and it pleased him to give her that bit of peace.
The one fly in the ointment was his mother. She was all too happy to go along with the pretend engagement, except, from the way she spoke, she fully expected him to marry Marjorie. Making plans? For what? There would be no wedding. Talking to Marjorie as if she’d truly be the next Duchess of Scarborough? It was worrying in the extreme, for he’d specifically told his mother from the beginning the engagement wouldn’t go as far as marriage, that it was for the parcel of property only.
What did she think to gain by ignoring what he’d told her other than disappointment?
The clearing of a male throat interrupted his musings. “What is it, Atherson?” he asked of the butler.
“There is a... woman in the courtyard,” he said, but from his tone, the use of the word to describe their visitor was questionable.
“And?”
“And I asked that she remain there until you decide what should be done about her,” the other man said in monotones.
“Me? Why me? I’m scheduled to give Miss Fitzgerald a tour of the castle.”
One of the butler’s graying eyebrows edged upward toward his balding pate. “The person in the courtyard specifically asked for you.” He held out a rather battered calling card in his gloved fingers. “Said it was a matter of some urgency and delicacy.”
Oliver glanced at the calling card. “Miss Diana Bowler.” Threads of cold dread twisted down his spine. Perhaps the butler had been correct when he’d chosen a questionable tone. “Very well. I’ll take care of it.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“And please don’t mention our visitor to anyone else.” The last thing he needed was for Marjorie to hear that his former paramour had paid a visit.
“You have my discretion.” The butler gave him a half-bow and then left him alone.
With a sigh, Oliver shoved the card into his waistcoat pocket and changed his direction. Five minutes later, he left the castle and entered the cozy courtyard. Beyond the greenspace, the drawbridge had been opened as it was each morning. Just inside what used to be a keep, a gig waited, the horse grazing on nearby tufts of grass. The road beckoned on the other side, which would eventually lead to the stone bridge that had captivated Marjorie’s attention yesterday. A light drizzle filled the air, hardly noticeable but quite annoying. With nothing for it, he made his way toward a wooden bench situated near a set of stone planters. A riot of colorful flowers danced in the slight breeze, their faces turned upward in the search for the sun.
But his attention was taken with the lone occupant of the bench. Despite the small slip of a bonnet, her blonde curls caught the anemic light and gleamed. He’d adored those tresses at one time, but it had been at least six months since he’d been with her, and their trysts were always in Wiltshire, never in London even though she was part of the demi-monde.
“Miss Bowler. What brings you to Scarborough Castle?” And why the devil now?
“Oliver.” Swiftly, she stood and turned to face him. “I had nowhere else to go, and you were always kind to me.”
Bloody hell. His gaze fell to the soft swell of her belly that the folds of her pink cotton walking dress couldn’t manage to hide. After the first shock, he focused on her face. Only then did he discern the faint bruise on one cheek that had faded to a sickly yellowish green. A cut, scabbed over her left eyebrow, spoke to other trauma.
He rubbed a hand along his jaw as his pulse thrummed hard through his veins. This had the potential to complicate current plans. “Are you here because of...” With a hand, he gestured to the region of her belly.
“Oh, no.” She laid a hand on her swollen stomach and gave him a faint smile. “This happened a month or so after you and I were finished, which is another reason why I’m here.”
His brain refused to wrap around anything except the fact he wasn’t the father of that child, and the cool relief that coursed down his spine. “Perhaps we should sit.” Once he’d come around to her side of the bench, he waited until she’d settle before sitting as well with space between them. “Are you currently under protection?” She must be, for her clothes were expertly sewn from expensive fabric with impeccable stitches, and the embroidery was equally impressive.
“Yes.” She nodded and folded her gloved hands in her lap. The mist caused the ostrich feature in her bonnet to clump and slightly wilt. “Lord Barrington.”
Ah, the viscount’s property was on the acreage on the other side of the parcel of land he was trying to claim. “The child is his?” When she nodded again and fear jumped into her eyes, he sighed. “Can I assume he’s the one who gave you this?” Gently, he traced a finger over the slope of her cheek. Becoming with child had enhanced her natural voluptuous looks.
As she winced and pulled away, she nodded. “He has a temper, especially when he’s in his cups.” The muscles in her neck worked with a hard swallow. “I hadn’t seen him for several weeks until a handful of days ago. At that time, I told him about the babe.”
“He wasn’t pleased.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, and he accused me of bedding other men, to say nothing of the pregnancy curbing his... activities in the bedchamber.” A blush infused her cheeks even though she’d worked as a lady of the evening for nearly a decade. “His tastes tend to veer toward the violent, but he pays well.”
Oliver clenched his jaw. “I’ve heard that about him.” He held her gaze. “What do you want from me?” he asked in a low voice. “I’d rather you not be here.” It might sound harsh, but there were some rules in society he didn’t want to break.
And if he were honest with himself, he didn’t wish to have Marjorie see him with a member of the demi-monde.
“I understand, but I don’t have anyone else to ask.” Tears welled in her hazel eyes. “I need your help to get away.”
He frowned. “You’re not married to him. Simply go back to London and disappear.”
“I cannot.” A tear spilled onto her rounded cheek. “Lord Barrington wants the child. He expects me to hand it over after the birth.”
“To what end? It will be illegitimate and therefore can’t inherit the title.”
She shook her head. “His wife can’t conceive. They will pass the infant off as theirs. Already, he has her put a pillow beneath her clothing to appear as if she’s enceinte.”
“Ah.” How the devil had she come to be in such a mess? “Did he offer to pay you for the child?”
“No. He said keeping me in style was enough and that I owed him.” Another tear fell. “He is out visiting friends with his wife and doesn’t know I’ve left.”
“You live there.” It wasn’t a question either.
“I reside in one of the cottages, am never allowed to be seen in the house by the servants, and if I’m in the town, I must do what I can to conceal the pregnancy.” She uttered a shuddering sigh. “Once the child is born, I will be cast aside with no income and no babe.” As she shook her head, tears fell more steadily until he was obliged to pass over his handkerchief. “I refuse.”
“Then why do you stay?”
Miss Bowler shrugged. “Lord Barrington says if I leave, he’ll hunt me down once the pregnancy is advanced enough and kill me—taking the babe anyway—so I will use him for as long as I can for the income and gifts he will give. Then I plan to steal away before birth. Vanish.” She snapped her fingers. When she lifted tear-filled eyes to his, his chest tightened. “With your help and your connections. Please?”
“What of your family?”
She shook her head. “They cast me out years ago when I became too much of a scandal.”
How could he not assist a woman in need, especially after what she’d told him? It was essentially what he did every day of his life in other aspects of charity work and causes. “Let me see if I can arrange something quickly, find a safe place for you to go when the opportunity presents itself. It will take time with the post, but I’ll return to London in a few days and will inquire at that point too.” He shoved a hand through his damp hair and resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. What would Marjorie say if she saw him with this woman?
Then he scoffed at himself. Why did he care? At the end of a month, he and she would part ways and his life would be his own again.
“Thank you.” Miss Bowler rose to her feet. Oliver scrambled to his as a courtesy. “You have no idea how much your help means.” When she leaned into his personal space and gave him an impulsive hug, he tensed.
“Will you continue your livelihood once the babe is born?” Gently, he disentangled her from his form.
“No.” For the first time since she’d arrived, she laughed. “I’ve managed to save enough over the years from... working that I can live a peaceful life with my child.”
“You deserve that.” He took a step back from her. “I’ll try to manage something in the next week.”
“I’ll await word.” With a wave, she made her way through the courtyard toward the gig.
Oliver rubbed his hands over his face in an effort to wipe away the drizzle and gather his scattered thoughts. What the devil was he to do now when the whole of his attention should be on Marjorie and the fiction they were weaving? Especially when the ball his mother was throwing for the local gentry and other notables was scheduled for a few days hence? That was his primary goal. Now with this knot in the rope, things were infinitely more complicated.
He finally located Marjorie in the ballroom of all places, and even more surprising was the fact she sought to teach one of the footmen how to waltz.
“You must take the initiative and lead with your feet, Daniel,” she said, her tone soft and instructional.
“I’m a miserable failure at this, Miss Fitzgerald,” the footman wailed. “My feet want to go one way but my body the other. I’ll make a fool of myself in front of Miss Latterly.”
“It matters not if your lady is a merchant’s daughter or a maid. Once you master these steps, you’ll have more confidence and thus impress her further.”
“Enough that she might want to marry me?” he said with hope in his voice.
“Perhaps, but not if you continue to step on her toes.”
A few titters of laughter indicated that she and the footman weren’t alone.
Oliver peeked into the room. A few maids and the butler were in attendance while Marjorie and the footman were in an awkward sort of embrace as she attempted to teach the young man the steps of the waltz, the skirts of her light blue dress moving like the sky. He watched in silent shock. How many women of the ton would lower themselves to take time like that? How many would care about the shyness and dismal confidence of a footman when it came to entertainment?
His admiration for her increased. The more he knew about Marjorie, the more he came to like her; she wasn’t the usual style of unmarried ladies, and damn if that didn’t continue to intrigue him.
He stood in the corridor for a few more minutes, and when it became obvious that poor Daniel didn’t understand what Marjorie tried to teach him, Oliver came into the room while softly clearing his throat.
Immediate embarrassment ensued through the small, assembled company.
“Hold. Everyone relax.” He held up a hand and gave them all a grin he hoped would put them at ease. “Can I assume there are waltzing lessons afoot?” When they attempted to explain all at once, he held up his hand again. “Perhaps Miss Fitzgerald should speak for the group.”
She rested her gaze on him, and the mischief in those sea glass depths threatened to tempt him like a siren. “Daniel mentioned he’d been invited to a party by the young lady he’s sweet on and said there’d be dancing. He’s anxious because he doesn’t know how very well, so I thought to teach him.” When she grinned, Oliver swore the footman nearly melted. “The rest of the company decided to help.”
“It’s a marvelous idea, but it will go faster if he has an example.” As he came further into the room, he gestured with a hand. “Come, let’s pair off. Atherson with Mrs. Michaelson. Daniel with Anne. Betsey with Marjorie. I’ll partner Penny. We’ll all pretend there’s music, but I’ll lead off.”
It took next to no time for the pairs to form. The maid’s cheeks blazed scarlet when he swept her into the correct position and started them into the first steps. They’d barely circled the dance floor with one rotation before Penny stumbled and tripped to a halt.
“Your Grace, I simply can’t finish. It’s too complicated,” she protested.
“Very well.” He whistled for the rest of them to stop. “Daniel, learn anything?”
“Not all that much, Your Grace,” the footman said in dismal tones.
“Penny, you may wait this one out. You too, Betsey.” He waved a hand. “I shall partner Miss Fitzgerald. The rest of you may watch or not as you see fit.” The second he plucked Marjorie from the knot and took her into his arms, awareness for her surged along every nerve, sizzled into his nerve endings. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not.” Then she glanced over his shoulder at the footman. “It’s quite simple when you find the thread.” When she looked at Oliver, she frowned. “Why are you damp?”
“There is a drizzling rain outside.” As if that explained why he was out there.
“I’ll watch you, Miss Fitzgerald and hope for the best,” Daniel replied with a vigorous nod.
Oliver hummed the same melody he had earlier that morning and set them into motion. In this impromptu waltz, she felt all too right in his arms, their steps matched perfectly. He held her gaze and she smiled up into his face. Eventually, his humming ceased, and with very little pressure at the small of her back, he pulled her a tad closer to him. Their thighs brushed, as did their chests, and the heat from her body seeped into his. The scent of violets invaded his nose, wafted around him, the unique pools of her eyes beckoned him until he was completely caught up in her spell.
God, was she aware of how beautiful she was, both inside and out? Did everyone in this room see the same thing he did when they looked at her?
“Oliver?”
Damnation, but the way she uttered his name sent chills of anticipation down his spine. What he wouldn’t give to whisk her into a corner and kiss her until she couldn’t remember her name or until he’d forgotten why she was in his life in the first place. “Hmm?” He guided her around the next turn, gave it a theatrical flare by encouraging her to spin about before regaining their regular steps.
“Our audience has abandoned us,” she said with amusement flickering in her blue green eyes.
“I beg your pardon?” He brought them to a halt and only then did he glance around the room. Sure enough, the servants had left the room, and someone had pulled the double doors closed behind them. “They could have warned me. How long have we been dancing without witnesses?” Heat slid up the back of his neck, for he’d been completely and utterly lost in his pretend fiancée.
“I’m not certain.” When she tried to disentangle her hand from his, he gripped it tighter. “But it was a lovely dance all the same. I do so enjoy the exercise.”
“Agreed.” He brought her hand up and kissed the back, let his lips linger along her skin for much longer than was necessary. “I wonder if our shy footman learned the finer points.”
“I couldn’t say but I hope he impresses his young lady. It was such a sweet story.” A faint blush infused her cheeks when he placed a line of baby-fine kisses up the inside of her arm to the bend of her elbow. “What are you about, Your Grace?”
“Seeing if I can have you at sixes and sevens when you’ve been nothing but gracious and patient.” If he weren’t careful, he’d make a cake of himself for no other reason than he was extremely content in her company.
“Rogue.”
Indeed, he felt like one, for the temptation to do wicked things to her grew with each breath. “I can’t help it.” Her skin was soft. How far could he go before she called a halt?
She tsked her tongue. “Shall we go for tea then?”
Apparently, not far. “Not just yet.” Loath to leave her company and resume his day-to-day activities and schedule, he pulled her down onto the floor beside him, sitting on the marble in Turkish fashion while she folded her legs beneath her and arranged her skirts about them. The difference between her and his previous betrothed was staggering and had been on his mind since he’d arrived at the doorway. “Might I tell you about my last fiancée?”
“Only if you want to.” She touched his arm. “From what I can deduce, she hurt you deeply and you might not wish to unearth that pain again.”
“Actually, I think it’s past time to talk about it, and...” He forced moisture into his tight throat. “And I want you to know in particular.” Carrying such things in his heart wasn’t a good idea.
“I’m flattered you want to share.”
He nodded. What would she think about him after he’d told the story? “We’d known of each other for a few years and had a year-long engagement. I thought I knew exactly what sort of a person she was.”
“Perhaps she was merely better at hiding her true self than you were of assigning trust.” Marjorie patted his hand. “You tend to see the good in people before you know them, hope they have as much integrity as you.”
“Perhaps.” How could she see that in him from such a short time together? “In any event, she was an earl’s daughter and the match pleased both of our families.” He pressed his lips together and looked her. “Or so I thought. Never in all my time with Lady Ellen did I think she harbored such prejudices as she did.” He’d missed such an important detail that it still turned his stomach.
“How did your relationship fall apart?”
“I’ve wondered that several times myself.” Oliver stared into the shadows of the ballroom where the afternoon sunlight didn’t reach. “Two months ahead of our wedding, she had a letter delivered to Colborne House, telling me that she couldn’t possibly go through with the engagement let alone marry me.”
“How horrid. What was her reason?” Outrage brimmed in Marjorie’s voice. She clutched his hand, giving him the support he should have had from Lady Ellen. Only now did he realize he’d never had any of that from her.
“She cited my ancestry, said she couldn’t bear the thought of having children who might have dark skin or the certainty of whispers and rumors following her should she marry me. To say nothing of how I might damage her society standing.”
“Never once had she brought these concerns to you before?”
“No!” He shook his head. “I assumed they didn’t matter, but perhaps she’d talked to others in her circle, and they turned opinion.” Anger roiled through his chest at the slights, emotion that he wouldn’t let himself feel at the time churned. “She added there was no amount of coin or the privilege of being a duchess that such things could blot out.” His voice wavered on those words. “Above all that, she hadn’t the common decency to tell me these things to my face so that I might counter them with logic or set her fears at ease.”
“It was bad form on her part and speaks to her character. There is nothing wrong with you, Oliver.” The words were like a balm to his soul.
“Oh, I know that now, but at the time, I was thrown.” He shook his head. “What was more, the forfeit of her dowry didn’t deter the esteemed Lady Ellen, for not five months later, she’d married a marquess nearly twenty years her senior with sterling bloodlines.” He caught Marjorie’s eye, shocked again at the difference between the women. “If I didn’t doubt her fidelity when engaged to her, I did then, but the damage had been done. I hated myself because of those words.”
“Why? Surely one woman’s opinion didn’t have that drastic effect.”
He snorted. “Oh, but it did. My heart was shattered, for I loved her, or thought I had. I couldn’t fathom that I’d ever be good enough for a woman again because of my skin color. To say nothing of my heritage. I couldn’t change either.” After a shuddering breath, he sighed. “But then, I pulled myself together and owned my history and everything that goes with it—including my appearance.”
The empathy in her eyes nearly broke him. “Is that why you’re unattached now?”
“Yes. I couldn’t—can’t—bear to offer my heart and see it smashed again, for no other reason than shallowness or fear.” He held her gaze, clung to hand. “It’s not fair. People should be accepted merely for the fact they’re alive and making a difference.”
“Agreed.” She squeezed his fingers. Questions clouded her eyes. “Is that the reason for the no romance clause in our contracts?”
He nodded. Did she think him broken, lacking, not worth the effort?”
Marjorie brought his hand up and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I’m so sorry a woman shattered your heart.” The stones in her engagement ring sparkled in the sunlight. “And I’m angry on your behalf Lady Ellen couldn’t see past your appearance to discover how wonderful you truly are, how fascinating.”
“Thank you.” His voice was graveled with emotion. “It’s quite disheartening to know such views exist in our world.”
“Yes, it is. You don’t deserve such treatment or slights, but not every woman will treat you as she did. Someone will love you for the amazing man you are and will see the beauty of your heart. Then you’ll know Lady Ellen never harbored that feeling for you from the first.”
He was beginning to suspect she was right. “She couldn’t tolerate the cats.”
“Then obviously she was wrong. Edinburgh and Luxor are adorable beasties.” Marjorie pointed across the room where both cats watched from a perch on a stack of chairs. “They escort me from room to room, and they keep me company while I sketch.” Then she showed him the skirting of her dress. “If I pick up any more of their hair, I’ll become a cat myself.” But there was no distaste in her voice, only amusement.
Unaccountably, a piece of his damaged heart flew into her keeping before he could authorize it. Surely that was a mistake, duress of the moment, but the cats’ loyalties were telling. They never put themselves out for anyone.
“Where is Maximus?”
“He decided to sleep in my chambers. I’ve made him a little nest in one corner of the room. I don’t think he enjoys dancing.”
“Then I’ll have to speak to him,” she said with a giggle.
Would that he could always make her laugh and could do so for as long as she’d let him. “I have no doubts you can change his mind. You have a way of convincing everyone in the castle to your cause.”
She shrugged. “It’s no trouble. I enjoy your staff. They’re smart, interesting people.” For long moments she rested her bright gaze on him. “For a duke, you’re easy to talk to. And you are rather handsome.”
His chest tightened as need circled through his insides. “That’s good to know.”
“Why did you come to seek me out just now?”
Why indeed? He’d forgotten, but honesty compelled him to speak. “I wanted to be in your company.”
“How sweet.” She said nothing else, but she did lean closer to him, her eyes wide with an invitation he knew he shouldn’t accept.
Oliver drifted toward her. It was folly, this feeling that everything they did wasn’t permanent. Their engagement was pretend, a fiction for a specific purpose, but damn if he didn’t want to kiss her. “Marjorie?”
“Hmm?”
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated having you with me these past couple of weeks.” They’d gotten on better than he’d expected.
“I’m happy to do it, but I do have one question.”
“Oh?”
“Earlier, before you came in, before I tried to teach the footman how to dance, I saw you in the courtyard with a woman.”
“Ah.” Hot guilt twisted with cold panic in his chest. Belatedly, he remembered that due to the cozy construction of the narrow castle, the ballroom overlooked the courtyard.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Who is she?”
“No one of consequence.” Shame roiled through his gut, for the lie, for the fact he’d ever engaged Miss Bowler’s services. Above all, he didn’t want Marjorie to think poorly of him. He pulled slightly away.
“Do you and she have a history together?”
“Uh...” He released a hand in order to tug at his suddenly too tight cravat. How could he disassemble when she would guess at the truth anyway? “Perhaps.” God, he was a coward.
“I see.” Disappointment clouded her eyes. “Next time, you should invite her in. No one should have to sit in the damp, regardless of who they are.” With all the regal elegance of the duchess she pretended to be, Marjorie rose to her feet. “I must run. Your mother has invited me to tea, and I don’t wish to be tardy.”
“Of course.” Oliver scrambled to his feet, but she had already moved across the floor.
“Edinburgh, Luxor, come boys.” At the soft click of her tongue, the cats jumped from their perch and ran after her.
His shoulders slumped. Was it his imagination or did she close the door behind her with a tad more force than necessary? As confusion swirled about his brain, he sighed. The feeling of damaging something priceless prickled over his skin, which begged the question: how could he fix it?
And why the devil did he care?