Chapter Nineteen
“—and I said to her, I said, my future son-in-law, the Duke of Penshaw—”
Lawrence heard Julia groan from the other end of the sofa and suppressed a hearty grin as Mrs. Dryden spoke with bright eyes opposite them.
Well, it was to be expected. He had always known, hadn’t he, that when—if—he ever found a woman he liked enough to marry, there would be a flutter of excitement.
Not just in the family, but in Society. It was not every day that a duke decided to wed.
Still. He could not decide what was more amusing: the mother, the son, or the daughter’s reactions.
“No hard feelings of course, old man, eh, eh?”
Lawrence looked up to see Donald standing awkwardly by the magnificent fireplace in the Penshaw townhouse drawing room.
The younger man had that look on his face that told quite plainly, unless he received specific forgiveness, in the presence of his mother, said mother was liable to hold it over him for the rest of his life.
“You and Julia…well. You’re not of her class, are you, boy? You’re not good enough for her.”
Much as he had disliked the tone the young man had used in their last conversation, Lawrence was not one to hold a grudge. Not when the welp had so clearly learned something.
“Not at all, old thing,” Lawrence said pleasantly, seeing the relief soar through Donald’s expression. “An easy mistake to make, when a man is working as a boxer at the Almonry.”
Julia winced and only too late did Lawrence remember. Oh, blast. They had agreed not to permit her mother to discover—
“The Almonry? What is that?” said Mrs. Dryden eagerly. “I did not know there was another club in London—Donald, you shall have to ensure you have membership, if His Grace is also a member!”
Lawrence glanced at Julia as he stifled a chuckle. She was in absolute paroxysms of agony, he could see, but it was her own fault.
She was the one who wanted to keep the story of how they had met and fallen in love a secret. She was the one too afraid to own up to her mother where she had been spending so much time the last few months. If it were down to him…
Lawrence smiled at Julia and stretched out his hand. She took it eagerly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lawrence could see that Mrs. Dryden had raised an astonished eyebrow at the obvious display of affection. He did not relinquish Julia’s hand.
Nothing could make him do so now.
“I do not think I shall be frequenting the Almonry D-Club any longer, madam,” Lawrence said smoothly, turning back to Mrs. Dryden, who had pinked with delight. “I think it not quite right for my tastes. Not any longer.”
“Oh, well, your taste I am sure is impeccable, Your Grace, so I—we will be guided by you,” Mrs. Dryden gushed. “After all, I knew it, did I not! The moment you dined with us, I knew, didn’t I, Julia, that you were undoubtedly a man of great rank and fortune!”
Lawrence felt, rather than saw this time, Julia’s wince. A small tightening of her grip on his hands, her pulse quickening.
Her mother was beaming, obviously delighted at having secured such a son-in-law, and on paper Lawrence could not blame her. It was an excellent coup.
Particularly as her daughter had accepted him with no idea of his title…
“As I said to Lady Romeril—you know Lady Romeril, I am sure, Your Grace—”
“I do not believe there is a soul in the world who does not know of Lady Romeril,” Lawrence said gravely.
There was a muffled snort of laughter on his left.
“Precisely, such an elegant woman,” Mrs. Dryden continued blithely. “As I said to her, you know, my future son-in-law, the Duke of Penshaw—”
“You did not say such a thing, Mama!” Donald groaned, settling in an armchair with a look of great distaste. “Do you not think it unseemly to be bandying about the name of—”
“Unseemly? You would think to dictate to me, young man, what is seemly?” His mother drew herself up. “Well! I am sure the Duke of Penshaw has never heard such a thing, a son criticizing his mother so! I do apologize, Your Grace.”
Lawrence blinked. The apology seemed unnecessary. “Oh. Right. I, uh—”
“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” said Mrs. Dryden, glowering at her son, “when speaking to Lady Romeril of the future grand addition to our family—”
“This is absolutely intolerable,” Julia hissed under her mother’s monologue. “What on earth were you thinking, inviting them here?”
Lawrence had to laugh. In a way, she was right. So accustomed had they been to having time together alone, or at least, alone in a crowd at the Almonry Den where no one gave them a second glance, it was rather jarring to be forced back into company.
He had been away from polite Society for so long, he had forgotten its formalities.
But now they were engaged, and he was once more officially the Duke of Penshaw—some of the grime, Lawrence thought darkly, would never come off—everything was different.
If they wished to converse, they had to do so in company. If they wished to walk in a park, they were accompanied.
And if Julia was to do the unthinkable and actually spend time in the duke’s home…
Why, her family must chaperone her.
“—suppose that makes me a dowager duchess—”
“Mama, you know it does not!”
Lawrence grinned at the outrage in Donald’s voice. “At least your mother can be kept occupied by your brother.”
“Yes, but for how long?” whispered Julia with a laugh. “This is becoming impossible—how long before we can wed?”
“Weeks,” Lawrence said heavily. “Weeks too many.”
Special license was of course the only solution, but even then, one had to wait during weeks of torment.
Lawrence tried not to think of the warm, delectable body of the woman seated beside him. Of the skin hidden just under a few layers. The taste of her, the way she writhed—
He shifted slightly in his seat. Oh, blast.
“What is—ah.” Julia’s eyes flickered down to his breeches as a smile crept across her face. “Most unfortunate.”
Most unfortunate? Lawrence could have groaned with agony if they were not so unfortunately accompanied. It was more than unfortunate; it was torture! How was he supposed to suffer through one more night without her?
“—and wedding planning takes up so much time, it is a wonder I am getting anything else done,” his future mother-in-law was wittering on. “Why, as I said to—”
“I am sorry that it is such a burden, Mrs. Dryden,” Lawrence said seriously, interrupting her flow. “If you wish, we could reduce your stress by cancelling the wedding.”
It was unfortunate that at that moment, Donald had been taking a sip of tea.
Brown liquid spurted across the room. Julia burst into hysterical laughter, Mrs. Dryden immediately started to berate her son, and Lawrence watched with general amusement at the whole scene.
“Disgusting boy, hardly able to take you—”
“So sorry, Lawrence—blast, I mean Your Grace, I did not mean to—”
“—all over His Grace’s carpet!”
Julia’s giggles shot joy right through Lawrence’s chest as he started to laugh himself. Oh, it was going to be an adventure, being a part of this family. His own had been so refined, so distant—his brother someone to admire from afar, his sister someone to protect.
But perhaps that would change. Perhaps, now he had Julia and this warm and open example of a family, he could learn something new.
A new way to be happy.
“—must forgive him, Your Grace,” Mrs. Dryden was saying testily. “There is no other option, for there is no cure for him!”
Lawrence looked at the embarrassed man and grinned. “Why don’t you and your most excellent mother—”
“Oh, Your Grace!” Mrs. Dryden simpered.
Julia snorted.
“—return home,” said Lawrence doggedly.
The three Drydens looked at him.
“Home?” repeated Donald.
“Home?” Julia stared.
Mrs. Dryden drew herself up. “I cannot permit my daughter to—”
“The trouble is, Mrs. Dryden, is that there are certain elements of the wedding that Miss Dryden and I must discus, and it simply cannot be done in your presence,” Lawrence said smoothly, layering on the Penshaw charm as thick as he dared.
It appeared to have worked. Mrs. Dryden leaned forward curiously. “There is?”
Lawrence nodded sagely, then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why, how am I supposed to concoct a surprise present for you, as a thank you for all the hard work you have put in to make this wedding a success…if you are here?”
A flush of pink, not unlike her daughter’s, covered the older woman’s cheeks. “Your Grace!”
“And so, if your son will accompany you,” Lawrence said, rising suddenly, “I would be most grateful. I am sure you will be, too, in time.”
It was well done. Within ten minutes—Mrs. Dryden thought it most important that he know just how mortified she was about Donald’s tea incident, and how Lady Marnmouth would undoubtedly wish to hear about their ideas for the music—he had managed to bustle both mother and brother out of the room.
The door snapped shut. Silence reigned.
That was, until a heavy sigh from the sofa. “How on earth did you manage that?”
Lawrence grinned as he turned to Julia, dropping onto the sofa beside her. “I am not merely an excellent boxer, you know, but I have several years of training in the circles of the ton.”
She giggled.
“Not much different, actually,” Lawrence said with a chuckle. “Both packed full of vicious people only out to better themselves, both filled with gossip and slander, and both only have one victor at the end.”
Julia’s eyes sparkled. “And did you win?”
Lawrence answered that in the only way he knew how—with a kiss.
She gasped under him as Lawrence covered her with his body, his every inch—some inches more than others—crying out for her, but he would only permit himself a minute of frantic kissing before he pulled back.
Well. Maybe two. Three at the most.
When he finally released her and moved to the end of the sofa, Julia was panting, Lawrence was breathless, and he hardly knew what he was going to do with himself.
Have a very cold bath the moment she was gone. That seemed the only option.
“Oh, Lawrence,” Julia breathed. “You make me feel—”
“I know,” he said. “You can have no idea.”