Chapter Nineteen

That evening, the two dukes played billiards after supper, while Gregory tried to understand precisely what his damned friend was telling him about the queen’s strange request.

“I still don’t see why Her Majesty needs us to return to town.”

“Call it a queen’s romantic whimsy.” Huntington chalked up a cue. “I only arrived back in town last week, and I’ve been unable to avoid talk of your relationship. Every gossip sheet in London called yours a fairytale romance from the moment you proposed to the duchess. Since your marriage, the ton has grown even more insatiable for news of this Cinderella and her duke. You have no idea how wise you were to leave the city. Your wife’s managed to eclipse every debutante this Season, and Her Majesty’s taken note. You and Her Grace have captured the queen’s imagination to such an extent that she’s decided to host the final ball of the Season at the palace. Its very theme is inspired by you and the duchess.” Huntington gave a wicked grin as he made an elegant shot, sinking two balls at once. “The queen wants a costume ball, with fairy stories and folktales as its theme.”

“And Her Majesty wants the actual Cinderella and her rakish prince in attendance,” Gregory muttered.

“It will make her ball a true triumph.”

Gregory knew he couldn’t refuse, but the idea caused his mood to sour. He’d planned to return to London with Julia at the tail end of the Season, hoping to take their place in society without much commotion. But if they were to be feted by the ton, the attention would be exhausting. Still, the Season would only last a few more weeks. During that time, he’d allow this marriage to continue to bloom, as glorious as it was terrifying. And if August came and their union remained strong, then he and Julia might be off to the Mediterranean together, a land of sunlight, crystalline waters, and relaxed standards as regards to public nudity. A fairytale ending indeed.

“If Her Majesty wants a performance, then I suppose a change of costume will be in order,” Gregory said, though he remained a bit irritated. After all, a man went on honeymoon only once in his life, and now he’d be required to perform for good society. He took his shot and cursed when he missed by a wide margin.

“It’s difficult to believe you’re the same Ashworth as three short months ago,” Huntington said drily. “The man I knew would never miss a shot with only a couple of glasses of port in him.”

“This is what happens when a man marries. His tolerance for liquor and dissolute society begins to fade.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Huntington replied, “but my dissolution was never as marked as yours. A rake’s quality is far more important than the quantity of his conquests.”

“When we were at Oxford, you were never so selective.”

“Compared to you, I was practically chaste.” Huntington took another shot and added more chalk to his cue. “Care to know the sharpest difference between the man I knew and the one I see now?”

“Even better hair?” Gregory sank a ball into a corner pocket, pleased with himself.

“You seem contented.” Huntington leaned upon his cue, looking as if he were enjoying Gregory’s discomfort.

“Julia’s the sort of woman who satisfies a man easily,” he replied. Gregory, though, had to admit the truth: that these last few weeks had been the best of his life. “If you’re going to laud the institution of marriage, Hunt, you might focus on finding your own duchess. The woman won’t fall out of the sky and into your lap, though I’d wager many would happily catapult themselves at you if it increased their chances of success.” Huntington was one of the few members of the ton whose estate made Gregory’s appear almost modest.

“Moorcliff Castle needs the correct mistress.” That was always the duke’s answer whenever called upon to marry. “Besides, we’re not talking of my happiness, but of yours.”

“I would be a happier man if I wasn’t required to strut about London like a peacock on display for royal approval.”

“You’ve never been a man who loathed public attention.” Huntington laughed.

No, indeed. At the beginning of this mad adventure, Gregory had been only too delighted to flaunt his sham of an engagement, eager to send away the lust-filled dames of London and their trigger-happy husbands. What the queen demanded was only a repeat of that same performance, so why should he hate the very notion?

If anyone were to look closely at this marriage, they would find nothing odd or false about it. Perhaps that was the very problem; Gregory finally had something that he wanted to keep all to himself, away from the prying eyes of the ton.

But it was only for a few more weeks, and then he and Julia would finally be released from this nonsense.

Yes. Only a little longer, and they’d both be free of society’s gawking. When he lined up his cue and took another shot, he was once again in rare form.

…

When Julia returned to Carter House, she discovered a veritable treasure trove of fashionable calling cards. She didn’t know how to go about returning all of them and being fitted for her ball gown at Mrs. Maxwell’s. Fortunately, Lady Weatherford and Susannah paid a call within an hour of Julia’s arrival.

“You simply won’t believe it,” Susannah said by way of greeting after Julia had embraced her stepsister. The young woman handed Julia a gossip sheet, her eyes practically aglow with delight.

Julia had to sit down when she read over Mrs. Babbington’s Babble, the most renowned gossip column in London.

Rumor has it that the Duke of Ashworth has returned to town alongside his new bride, cutting short their wedding trip to attend Her Majesty’s grand ball as guests of honor. The new duchess will find herself with nary a free moment for the rest of the Season, if the hordes of society matrons and hopeful debutantes descending upon Carter House this week are any indication.

“Why should anyone be so invested in my marriage?” Julia shook her head as she folded up the Babble and laid it aside. “It’s true that a new ton bride always receives a fair bit of attention, but this sort of mania is supposed to die down after the wedding!”

“Blame it on the duke.” Laura smiled over her teacup. “It was his idea to flaunt your Cinderella romance before all society. The pair of you did such an excellent job that they now wish you to continue playing your parts, at least until the middle of July.”

“Still. Why would the queen herself become so invested?” Surely monarchs had better and more important things to do than speculate about Julia’s marriage and husband.

“You know how royalty are,” Laura replied. “Sometimes they grow weary of fox hunting and wish for more interesting prey.”

“You know how to make all this sound as unterrifying as possible,” Julia drawled.

Over the next several days, she scarcely had time to feel nervous, or even to think. Julia’s every waking moment that wasn’t spent in Gregory’s arms was consumed by preparations for the queen’s ball. Mrs. Maxwell had declared that, as the guest of honor, Julia’s gown must outshine every other woman’s in the room. The modiste had decided to embrace the Cinderella romance, turning Julia into a fairytale heroine for the ages. The gown was to be white satin trimmed with silver, and a pair of slippers frosted with crystal beads, to give off the shine of glass.

The preparations were not all that society required of Julia. As one of its new and most fashionable leaders, she received calls from half of the ton in the morning, and then had to pay afternoon calls upon the other half who’d called yesterday morning. She had invitations to literary salons and dinner parties, along with access to all the most pernicious gossip imaginable. If she had to listen to Lady Mountridge tell Mrs. Simpson’s most scandalous and debauched secrets one more time, Julia would force every fashionable lady in London to swallow her own bonnet.

Even the Society of Ladies for the Expansion of Female Literacy proved impossible. At Julia’s luncheon to celebrate being named chairwoman, she’d been eager to discuss plans for outreach to the more rural areas of England. Instead, all the members wanted to discuss was her costume for the upcoming ball.

For years, she’d dreamed of being in society and taking her place amongst the married women of the ton. Julia had never imagined that life as a duchess could be so bloody draining.

She’d married Gregory to gain access to this world, but Julia had discovered that society was not the great prize she’d coveted. Her husband, however, filled the best part of her days. She’d never anticipated anything like it.

And when she casually mentioned the possibility of traveling with him to Portugal or Spain in the autumn, he didn’t try to change the subject, nor did he appear uncomfortable. He seemed to be growing increasingly attached to the idea.

And as the days passed and the duke showed no sign of tiring of her, Julia allowed herself to hope that this honeymoon period might last the rest of her life. The more she saw of him, the more Julia liked him. The more she experienced his prowess in the bedroom, the more she craved him. She was now convinced there was nothing she could learn about the Duke of Ashworth that would cool her burgeoning affection for him.

So when Mrs. Woodhouse invited Julia to a tea hosted in her honor by the Carter Club, Julia found herself unable to refuse.