Chapter Four
A child. Duncan was not often at a loss for words, but he was here.
What to say? Would he have agreed to meet with her if he had been made aware of her secret and, by society’s standards, her scandalous past?
Duncan was honestly not sure. Since he eschewed society’s arbitrary and archaic expectations as a whole, perhaps he would have agreed to meet, in any case.
“Allow me to explain,” Mrs. Cheevers said, tearing him away from his conflicting thoughts.
“My parents, particularly my father, had decided plans for my future. His goal for me was marriage to an aristocrat above a viscount who would better his position in society, you see. All the men he introduced me to were much older, and I had no desire to be forced into a situation over which I had no control.”
“However, you ran off with an older earl,” Duncan interjected.
“Southen was ten-and-five years older, not five-and-thirty years older, as was the marquess my father wished me to marry. I make no excuses for my actions, as I believed it was my only option to escape. Besides, I was infatuated with the Earl of Southen. My parents were appalled and went to great lengths to concoct a cover story for my sudden absence. They located a country squire, Hannibal Cheevers, in Northern England, and paid him for the use of his name. They also discovered a small Anglican church nearby that had recently burned to the ground. In exchange for a generous donation, the curate issued a common license in my name and Cheevers’s, since all the records were lost in the fire.
If anyone inquired, my parents could show proof that the marriage had taken place. ”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “That is quite the elaborate scheme.”
“My parents would have gone to any lengths to protect themselves from scandal and gossip, Your Grace. Mercifully, they left me alone; we had little contact with each other. We all continued with our lives. They contacted me three years ago when they learned Mr. Cheevers had passed away, informing me that when they mentioned me at all, they would refer to me as a widow. As for Southen, he bought a small manor house; he called it a cottage, and we lived there the first few years. It is located outside a small village in Kent. The villagers knew me as the earl’s housekeeper, Mrs. Roberts.
We were already growing apart when I discovered I was with child.
” Mrs. Cheevers took a fortifying drink of wine. “Shall I continue?”
“By all means. I thought a bishop had to sign a common license for it to be valid?”
“I assume the curate forged the signature.”
Duncan snorted. “Corruption in the Church of England? Who would have ever thought such? Please continue.”
A furrow appeared between Mrs. Cheevers’s brows. “I have to ask. Is my salacious backstory merely entertainment, or are you seriously considering making me a duchess? What is to stop you from returning to London and spreading this tale of woe to all and sundry?”
Duncan crossed his legs. “There is nothing to stop me. You are placing your trust in me, as I place mine in you. A duke seeking a bride in a notorious gambling den? Gossip, indeed. To answer your question, yes, I’m seriously considering making you the Duchess of Allenby.
Are you contemplating becoming my duchess?
” He spoke the truth. Mrs. Cheevers was very attractive, with her blue-green eyes, raven-black hair, and confident air.
She had caught his attention from the first. Taking her hand was the first time he had touched a woman in any way in several years.
Was there a brief flash of awareness between them, or had his dormant heart misread the signal?
“Yes, Your Grace, I am. If you will have me. I want your word, as a duke and a gentleman, that you will not repeat anything I have told you, whether or not we agree to the marriage.”
Duncan nodded. “As you wish. You have my word. I will not reveal your secrets.”
Mrs. Cheevers let out a sigh of relief. “And you have mine. Where did I leave off?”
“The child.”
“Oh, yes. Southen was livid; it was the final nail in the coffin for our disintegrating relationship. We parted ways shortly after Reese was born. He allowed me to stay in the house with a generous allowance. He visited only a few times over the next five years. My parents, however, were mortified to learn of Reese’s existence.
My father categorically refused to acknowledge him and sent me a scathing letter stating that the child was never to darken his door.
He called me a harlot, devoid of morals, and said that Reese was a child born from wicked sin, cursed and forever marked. ”
Duncan frowned. “Harsh. I do not hold your father in high regard.”
Mrs. Cheevers sighed. “Neither do I. Only desperate circumstances made me knock on his door again. You see, Your Grace, I will do anything to ensure my son has a proper future, free of scandal and full of opportunity. I will also admit that I want stability in my life, a sense of permanence.”
“Which means marrying an aging, scarred duke?” Duncan asked sardonically.
“You are hardly a man with one foot in the grave, Your Grace. Far from it.” Her expression softened. “As for the scars? They matter not. Do you always wear a mask?”
The straightforward Mrs. Cheevers hadn’t seen the scars yet.
Duncan could show them to her now. Would she shriek?
Run from the room? It was a rather overdramatic thought, but a few people had turned away in horror before.
“I wear it in public, but not in the privacy of my home. Will that be an issue for you?”
“No. As long as the scars do not spread internally to such an extent that it would be impossible for us to have a successful marriage. I do want one, Your Grace. I want us to be friends—partners in life. I do not wish for a typical aristocratic marriage where we live in separate wings of the manor and only see each other only at dinner, if we even speak at all.”
To Duncan’s astonishment, he realized he did not want that either.
Why even contemplate being wed, arranged or not, if you were not going to make a supreme effort to make it work?
“Then allow me to set the terms for this marriage. First, we shall strive to be friends and partners. I have no interest in such a reserved marriage as you describe. I want a family, and all that entails, from the intimacy required to achieve it to being a devoted husband and father. And that will include your son.”
Mrs. Cheevers blinked rapidly. “M-m-my son?”
“Yes. As far as Reese is concerned, the late Mr. Hannibal Cheevers was his father. Allow me to make a suggestion. If we agree to marry, I will provide protection for the boy. How many people know about your previous circumstances and the false marriage with Cheevers?”
“My parents. My younger brother was seven years of age when I ran away, so I assume my parents told him the fabrication. There’s my companion, Miss Priscilla Barry, who has been with me for eight years.
Priscilla is my dear friend, housekeeper, cook, and nurse all rolled into one.
If we marry, I would want her to accompany me.
Both Reese and I are very attached to her.
Priscilla is trustworthy.” Mrs. Cheevers tapped her chin.
“Southen’s son knows me only as Mrs. Roberts, as does Southen’s solicitor.
I am fairly certain the new earl does not know about Reese.
Southen and his heir were not close. And finally, the curate who forged the certificate of marriage.
I do not know his name. Again, he would not know about my son. ”
“I will offer my name to Reese. I believe it would be best to remove the name Cheevers as soon as possible. Additionally, with the last name Bamford, he would likely have more opportunities like the ones you mentioned. I’ll provide him with the best education, whether in law or medicine.
I do not personally recommend the church or the military as a vocation, but that will be up to your son when the time comes.
I promise you, Reese will be part of our family.
Unfortunately, Reese cannot take over the dukedom, due to the various title inheritance rules, as you are no doubt aware, but if we do not have children, I will see that he is well provided for in the future.
He will be my son, and I will recognize him as such. ”
Augusta was stunned. This was more than she could have hoped for.
With Southern dead, what future lay before her?
Yes, she had managed to save money over the years, but it would not be enough to keep her, Reese, and Priscilla housed and fed for decades, let alone to send her son to the best schools.
So she’d have to either become a courtesan or find a suitable husband, and to do that, she unfortunately needed her parents’ assistance.
Her father had balked at first, but thankfully, her mother persuaded him to see the logic of the plan. Hence, the scheme with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
So here Augusta sat, with a complete stranger, negotiating a possible marriage.
The duke’s outward appearance suggested he was a refined gentleman, but what truly mattered to her was the man beneath.
So far, he appeared honest and generous, if a little reserved.
It was more than she had hoped for. A lump of emotion lodged in her throat, and tears threatened.
It took all her inner strength not to throw herself into the duke’s arms in gratitude.
“Mrs. Cheevers?”
“Yes. Sorry. I am overwhelmed by your generosity, Your Grace.”
“Allow me to provide some background. My country seat, Bamford Park, is located in Essex, just outside Purleigh, about forty-five miles from London. There are also a few smaller estates and two town residences. I spend most of my time at Bamford Park. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I have not participated in London Society for more than a decade, so that is not an obstacle.”
“I may start attending Parliament in the spring. I have not decided yet. Mrs. Cheevers, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
There was no turning back. This decision would shape her future and her son’s. Augusta made a vow: She would do everything in her power to ensure its success. They might not love each other, but they would become friends; she was determined to make that happen.
“Yes, Your Grace. And I consider it an honor, indeed. Thank you.”
The duke nodded. “Well met. Then, we are agreed. I believe a brief, small ceremony would serve us best. I will procure a special license, and we can be married within the week. Is that satisfactory, or would you prefer an extended engagement?”
“No engagement, for that would mean staying with my parents for a prolonged period. I would like to be reunited with my son as soon as possible.”
“Just so. Write to Miss Barry, send it by mail coach, and instruct her to prepare for the relocation to Bamford Park. Is there much to bring?”
Augusta pondered that. “Besides our personal belongings? There are a few items that hold sentimental value, dishes, quilts, and other select objects.”
“Then, when we arrive at Bamford Park, I will send two carriages to—where is the residence?”
“Just outside the village of Otham, about fifty miles from London.”
“Which is about sixty or seventy miles from Bamford Park. I should also tell you that my stepmother, the current duchess, lives at Bamford Park. My late father remarried when I was ten, and Laura, who is not much older than I am, is a good friend, in addition to my mother. I wish her to remain.”
Augusta smiled. “By all means. I look forward to meeting her. Shall we drink a toast to our betrothal?”
The duke stood, holding his empty glass. Augusta rose, and he walked toward her. She quickly refilled both their glasses.
“To a beneficial alliance,” he murmured. “To family and friendship.”
Augusta raised her glass. “To the future and banishing loneliness.” She gasped. “Forgive me, I meant me and—”
“No,” Allenby replied solemnly. “You have the right of it. We’ve each had our companions, and you had your son, so we haven’t been alone these past few years. However, one can be lonely in a crowd. A little regard and affection from anyone other than family would be welcome, at least for me.”
Such heartrending honesty. Augusta already liked the Duke of Allenby. “And me, as well.” With that, they clinked glasses and took a sip.
Allenby set his glass down on the table, then took her hand.
He bent slightly, softly kissing it, a gentle touch that made her skin tingle.
Good heavens, Augusta hadn’t expected such a physical reaction to a kiss on the hand.
She struggled to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn’t suppress a sharp inhale at his warm touch.
He stood upright, still holding her hand, and met her gaze. “Then I will take my leave. When I have the license, I will bring it to your parents. What is the address?”
“10 Park Lane, Mayfair,” Augusta whispered.
The duke released her hand, stepped backward, and bowed. “Until we meet again—Augusta.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but turned on his heel, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Augusta looked at the closed door. “Goodnight, Duncan.” She finished her wine and sat down, feeling numb but not in a bad way.
In an hour and a half, her life had changed forever.
But hadn’t that been all the time she had taken ten years ago when she made the fateful decision to run away with Southen?
That choice, she later regretted. Time would only tell whether agreeing to marry a scarred, reclusive duke would also cause remorse.
Somehow, she must try to keep this mutual agreement limited to friendship. Well, with a touch of physical intimacy to start a family. Love complicated everything. Southen had broken her heart, and Augusta vowed to never put herself in such a vulnerable position again.
No matter how honorable and appealing Allenby was.