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August 13, 1818
Oliver stared out one of the windows of his dressing room without seeing the traffic on the Mayfair streets. His toilette was nearly complete, and as he clasped his hands behind his back, he escaped into his thoughts.
Last night, he and Marjorie had repaired the rift in their relationship, but now he was more confused than ever. When they’d come back to London and he rode alongside the coach, he’d merely figured she’d been in a snit after what he’d said following their coupling, as well as his handling of the matter. But during the days when he’d left her alone as per her wishes, he’d found he’d truly missed spending time with her.
Yes, the absence of their friendship had bothered him, but it was more than that. She’d left an impression upon him with her unique views on life and her determination to save her family name and reputation. Marjorie saw the world not as it was but how it could be when beneath her charcoals and paints. Everything she touched became enhanced, as if she’d somehow made it all better versions, filled the cracks and imperfections, brought out the beauty and value of things and people she’d encountered.
Despite the firmness of his resolve after he’d bedded her, he didn’t know if keeping their relationship at a friendship level merely to gain his grandmother’s property was enough. On the one hand, he had the opportunity to court Marjorie, do it up properly for they were already given more freedom than couples not yet engaged, but on the other hand rested abject and unmoving fear that told him ultimately, she’d reject him because he wasn’t like everyone else in the ton.
Not that his fear was unfounded, but he’d been unable to move past Lady Ellen’s rejection, of her cold words regarding him and his heritage, and now he saw the world through that horrible woman’s eyes. Yes, he was proud of who he was and where he’d come from, but slights like that didn’t easily unclench their claws from one’s soul. Everything circled back to that rejection, how he’d felt utterly wretched and worthless when he’d read that letter, and he didn’t want to invite those emotions back into his life any time soon.
Yet... hadn’t Marjorie shown she was different? Hadn’t she accepted him for the man he was? She’d coupled with him, seen him literally stripped down to nothing, heard his stories that made him vulnerable, and she’d remained with him, even told him not to let his past color his future.
So why couldn’t he follow that advice, the same instruction his mother had also given? Why couldn’t he move out from behind the barrier?
Because it means more this time. I stand to lose something infinitely more valuable and irreplaceable than I had before.
He frowned at his reflection in the window glass. “Gah! This indecision is not becoming. My father would never have let his mind become so conflicted.”
“I rather doubt that, Your Grace,” Carmichael said as he came up behind Oliver with a jacket of royal blue superfine in hand.
“How do you figure?” He turned about to face his friend.
The valet shrugged. “From what I understood of your sire, he was a man of deeply held convictions. He knew exactly who he was and what he wanted from life, and he refused to let anything stop him from obtaining it.” As he helped Oliver on with the jacket, he continued. “And he was never more fierce, content, or grounded as when he was in your mother’s company, but he had his doubts as well. Together, they were a force, and they were instrumental in laying the groundwork for change, not only within the ton but in Parliament. He accomplished them despite the fear.”
“That’s very true.” Tears misted his eyes, for his father had been larger than life... everything he’d aspired to become.
“Your father gave you all the tools and confidence you’d need to make your life—your time with the title—as great or greater than his.” Carmichael met his gaze. “The man was so proud of you I’d wondered if he’d pop from it, but he struggled with his fair share of moral problems and confliction. He didn’t let you see that for fear it would make him weak in your eyes.”
“I didn’t know that.” Oliver wiped at an escaped tear at his cheek. He’d never been one to hide emotions; they were a natural part of life, but he did question why so many currently gripped him at once. Never had he been at sixes and sevens as he was where Marjorie was concerned. “I suppose it makes sense.”
“Indeed.” Carmichael brushed a few stray cat hairs from the shoulders of the jacket. “Every good man worth his salt has doubts. The more doubt you have means the more important the problem and the more good it will bring.” He nodded. “The trick, I think, is to let your instinct ultimately decide what your head and heart cannot.”
“Good advice.” He’d mull it over in the coming days.
“What are your plans for the afternoon, Your Grace?” Carmichael went to an armoire and after opening a drawer, pulled out a starched collar and cuffs.
From his perch on an ottoman, Maximus watched them, no doubt hoping he’d be taken on the outing as well.
“I aim to take Miss Fitzgerald driving through Rotten Row, wind through Hyde Park and perhaps escort her to a few popular places in London she hasn’t seen before.”
“Ah.” Carmichael eyed him with speculation, much as the beagle did. “How is the false engagement coming along? It’s been rather hectic these past weeks, and now with you removing to Wiltshire again, it’s even more so, especially with your uncharacteristic confliction.”
Damn the man’s eyes. “It’s been well enough.” He stood still while the valet inserted the collar followed by the cuffs. “I’ve grown quite fond of having Miss Fitzgerald about. My mother has too. They’ve gotten on as long-lost friends. Which is a reason we’re returning to Wiltshire.” That alone spoke volumes, for Lady Ellen had only tolerated his mother, always looked at her as if she were less.
“And your relationship with Miss Fitzgerald?” Carmichael inquired in a soft voice. “Is the fact that the engagement has perhaps progressed past the bounds of friendship the reason for your confusion?”
Maximus uttered a woof, whether in agreement with the valet or in a question of his own, was unclear.
Heat crept up the back of Oliver’s neck. “I would caution that it’s none of your business.”
“Oh ho!” Carmichael laughed so loudly that Maximus shot to his feet and joined in with a typical beagle howl. “That’s an affirmative.”
“Damn you, Carmichael.” He crossed to his agitated dog and spent a few seconds scratching the canine beneath the ears and chin. “I’m glad my torment keeps you amused.” Sarcasm fairly dripped from his words.
“Come off it, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect. I only mean that it’s good you’re dipping your toes into love again.”
Was that what was ailing him? Love? Surely not; it had only been a few weeks since he’d met Marjorie. “I’m not certain that’s what I’m suffering from.” Lust, definitely, for the remembrance of Marjorie’s naked body beneath his haunted his dreams. Desire, certainly. That connection between them couldn’t be ignored. Fondness, absolutely, for he’d not met a woman with whom he could converse or share with more deeply than her. “It’s too soon.”
But did all of that equate to love?
“You were acquainted with Lady Ellen for years. Look how that worked out.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes. “It’s hardly the same thing.”
“Exactly my point.” Carmichael winked. “Perhaps the answer will become clearer in a few days.” He wisely turned back to the armoire to fetch a pair of thin kid gloves. “In any event, enjoy your afternoon. Will we expect Miss Fitzgerald to dinner? I’d like to inform the staff. They do so like to see her about.”
A muscle worked in Oliver’s cheek. Damned meddling servants. “I would say at this point, yes. Have a place set, but bear in mind we leave for Wiltshire early on the morrow.”
“Ah, so then there’s no need for me to avoid your bedchamber since you won’t host female company later?” The shit-eating grin his friend flashed nearly had Oliver bounding across the room to land him a facer on principle.
“I don’t believe so.” Of course Carmichael had seen them in bed together the other night. The bastard. But he couldn’t fully contain his own grin, for that night had been magnificent. “I’d appreciate your discretion on the matter.”
“Always, Your Grace.” He gave Oliver the gloves. “Enjoy the afternoon.”
Well aware of the picture he made with Marjorie beside him on his high-perch phaeton, Oliver smiled. As he waved to a few acquaintances, he chuckled.
“Look there at Lord Carruthers,” he said as he leaned closer to her. “I can’t decide what he’s more jealous about: the vehicle or you.” If he’d had to wager, he’d bet on Marjorie because she was beyond stunning in a gown of vivid pink that showed her bosom to advantage and brought out the color in her cheeks. Matching satin ribbons on her shallow bonnet danced in the summer breeze.
“Do stop.” She playfully smacked his arm. “I don’t imagine he thinks anything, for he doesn’t seem an intelligent fellow if he’s driving without paying attention to his path. Soon enough he’ll crash right into that load of hay that’s fallen from a cart over there.”
When he followed her line of sight, he snorted. “By Jove, I do so wish it happens.” Unfortunately, it didn’t, for the peer yanked hard on the reins at the last second, avoiding a collision. “Very astute of you to notice.”
“Well, you were the one who pointed him out.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I was merely sitting here letting my mind wander.”
“Woolgathering? Am I not interesting enough for you?” Though the words were said in jest, a thread of worry twisted through his gut.
“I refuse to feed your ego. You’re puffed up enough already.” When she turned her head and caught his gaze, amusement danced in her eyes. “However, I was thinking about sketching, of the drawings I need to finish, and what I should do with the handful of pads I’ve already filled with my art.”
“You don’t wish to keep them?”
“Some of my early work isn’t that good.” Marjorie sighed. “I suppose I should keep them as evidence of my growth.” She toyed with the strings of her reticule that matched her bright skirts. “I think, if I had the time or a patron, I’d draw all the time.”
“There’s nothing stopping you. I’ve said I’d be happy to support you.”
“I appreciate that.” She laid her right hand on his arm, and he rather enjoyed that unconscious sign of affection. “It’s too bad we can’t always stay in Wiltshire at Scarborough Castle. I could use the salon as my studio—it has such wonderful light—and perhaps try to sell my paintings at country fairs and the like.”
An ache moved through his chest. Did she remember their time together grew limited? “I echo those sentiments. The castle has always felt more of a home to me than the townhouse in London. I really should make an effort to have some of the crumbling masonry repaired and to have some of the rooms re-papered.”
“That sounds fun. Do you already have colors selected?”
“Of course not.” He chuckled. “Perhaps I should put you in charge of that.” Except, in eight days, their engagement would come to an end. Why couldn’t their friendship extend past the agreed-upon terms? His gut roiled. Eight days to have Marjorie all to himself, for false pretenses of course, but...
“What a lovely thought, and definitely something a duchess might wish to do.”
His pretend duchess. Oh, God. “Give it some thought. I’m curious to see what you’ll come up with seeing as how you have an artist’s eye.” Perhaps if he ignored reality, it wouldn’t happen.
As the road ahead became clogged with vehicular traffic due to the fashionable hour, Oliver was obliged to slow their progress to a halt. A landau stopped next to them going the opposite direction. Two young ladies within peered at him with wide grins, each looking like flowers in their dresses of thin pastel cotton.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” They were both daughters of a marquess.
“Hello, Your Grace,” the oldest one said, boldly raking her gaze over his figure. “I’d hoped you’d call on me sometime this summer.”
A slight sound from Marjorie caught his attention, but when she put a hand on his thigh, clearly staking her claim, his heartbeat jumped, and his shaft tightened. “Actually, His Grace is my fiancé.” The slight emphasis on the word “my” had him catching his breath and losing a piece of his heart to her. “So if he were to call, I’d come with him.” The smile she offered the two women held a decidedly wicked edge.
The lady’s eyes went wide. “That’s too bad. Another duke off the market.”
Oliver wasn’t given an opportunity to reply, for their carriage lurched into motion and soon slid by. Since he couldn’t maneuver out of the jam with any sort of grace, he gathered the reins into one hand and took her hand in his other. “Don’t like the thought that other women might be interested in me?” he asked softly before he brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed the back.
“I do not. The cheek of that young woman, flirting with you while in my company.” She arched an eyebrow. “I couldn’t have that. And I also don’t want your attention split while the terms of our contract are in affect.”
“Agreed.” The look in her eyes sent both admiration and need through him. What he wouldn’t give to be alone with her right now, to kiss her senseless and ask if she thought extending their contract was the height of insanity. It would keep her with him longer. Aloud, he said, “What say you to visiting Gunther’s?”
“What?” Her eyelids fluttered, and he could almost see her brain struggling with the abrupt change of topic. “The ice shop?”
“Yes. I thought perhaps you might like to visit. From what you told me, your Seasons were less than spectacular, so I wanted to give you a taste of what you should have experienced years ago.” He felt like a veritable hero when pleasure sparkled in her eyes. “Or we can stop by a tea shop I like near Covent Garden. It’s rather a long drive, though. If you enjoy that, perhaps on our next outing in London, we can look at Elgin’s Marbles or other curiosities at the British Museum.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She smiled and fairly vibrated on the bench beside him. “No, that’s not true. I do know what to say.” Despite the vehicular traffic around them or the crowds of pedestrians, she pulled his head down and kissed his cheek. “It all sounds lovely, but perhaps we should start with a drive. It’s rather a crush here right now, and I doubt those two misses were the last of the women hoping to blatantly catch your eye.”
“Your wish is my command.” He tugged on the reins. It took ten minutes to navigate his way out of the traffic directly around his phaeton. “We shall drive in Hyde Park. Have you ever gone through?”
“Once or twice. Richard took me a few months ago, and Cecil did last year only on the way to somewhere else.” She slipped her arm through his, which brought her body closer to his as he guided the horse. “I always enjoy the way the sunlight sparkles on the water of the Serpentine. It’s like tiny diamonds, and at any moment I’d imagine a mythical being rising out of the river.”
“I adore how your mind works.”
The afternoon was idyllic, made sweeter by his lovely companion who chattered about the beauty of the park and how the light illuminated various things like leaves, the bark of a tree, the hue of the fur on a squirrel, things he would never have noticed if she hadn’t pointed them out. Suddenly, images filled his mind, much like her charcoal pencil moving across a page. Scratches became pictures, and in that moment, he saw them as a couple, standing together wearing grins while peering down at a baby’s cradle where an infant’s fist was visible from the swaddling clothes.
That image would forever be burned into his mind’s eye, and what was more, he wanted that to become a reality with every fiber of his being... if only he could move the heavy weight of fear from his chest.
Was it love?
He didn’t know, but whatever it was, he wished to usher it fully into his life.
Eventually, he brought the phaeton to a halt along the Serpentine on the opposite side of the park from where the popular bathing spots were. The horse would be content enough to graze on the grasses beneath several oak trees. “Are you averse to a little scandal?” Oliver asked as he jumped down from the vehicle. He needed a distraction from the relentless thoughts in his head.
“That largely depends on what you have in mind.” She squealed as he put his hands on either side of her waist and swung her down from the phaeton.
“Having fun, my dear.” How long had it been since he’d done something spontaneous? “Come along.” Taking her hand, he drew her to the edge of the water. Sure enough, when the sunlight hit the surface, it did indeed sparkle like a million diamonds. “We should have a modicum of privacy here, at least long enough for a little refreshment.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Quickly, take off your shoes and stockings.” He must be mad to attempt something so shocking right there in the park where anyone could come upon them, but perhaps circumstances lent themselves to insanity. As he spoke, he sat upon the banks and removed his boots as well as his socks. When he stood, he stretched out an arm to her. “We’re going wading.”
“I rather think I like this more than an ice at Gunther’s.” She put her hand into his with her skirting hiked up to her knees with the other.
Dear God, the sight of her legs sent him deeper into want, but he could hardly toss her on the bank and claim her body. Perhaps she’d let him do that soon. Instead, he concentrated on the tepid coolness of the Serpentine’s water on his feet and calves as he moved forward.
“Ooh, it feels so squidgy under my feet!” Another squeal cut through the air, and she went into the water until it lapped nearly to her knees.
“How does this feel?” Daring much, he splashed a few drops of water onto her face.
Her surprised giggle went straight to his heart. “No fair!” When she did the same, sprinkling his jacket and waistcoat, a delighted laugh was tugged from him.
“Vixen.” Oliver scooped up a handful of water and hurled it her way. Dots speckled her gown. “I’m afraid this interlude will ruin your dress. I promise to buy you another.”
“Not until I have retribution to make up for it.” She put a hand in the water and threw it his way, catching him square in the face.
“Now this is war.” For the next few minutes, they splashed and waded about the shallows. Only when they were more or less damp did they call a truce. As Oliver stared at her, saw the joy in her face and the laughter in her eyes and the wet hem of the back of her skirts, his heart gave a mighty thud, as if it were coming back to life after a long period of dormancy. “I wish you were always this happy,” he said softly, unsure if she’d heard him.
“I wish I was always given cause to be so,” she responded in a barely audible whisper.
With a growl, he snaked an arm about her waist, hauled her against his chest, and brought his lips crashing down on hers. He treated her to a string of long, drugging kisses before finally releasing her. “Thank you for this afternoon. I’ll never forget it.”
A blush raged in her cheeks, and he couldn’t pretend to ignore the way her eyes had darkened with desire. “I’m sure there are adequate wading opportunities at one of the ponds on your Wiltshire property...” When she returned to the grass, his mind was quite a bit clearer than it had been at the outset.
“We’ll have to give them a try.”
Perhaps it wasn’t love yet, but he’d definitely begun to trod that path despite the fear.