Chapter 17
“If you marry her, I will make her life hell.”
The words cut through the room adjacent to his chamber, dedicated to his dressing rituals and ablutions.
Adam stood in his new wedding suit, looked at the tailor, gave him one quick wave of his hand, and said, “Say none of this to anyone. I will call you when you are to return.”
The tailor, a blond-haired fellow with round glasses and a rather pensive nature, gave a swift nod of his head, his face entirely white.
Usually, the man loved to chatter on about all the things happening in his part of town, which Adam encouraged.
He liked to know about the lives of regular people.
But now, the man was painfully silent as the regal and cold energy that had entered the room made it clear that comments from someone of his position wouldn’t be appreciated.
Adam stayed facing the mirror, having no wish to turn toward the source of that voice.
The tailor gathered up his needle, thread, and all of his accoutrements and darted out of the room as if he had seen the devil.
He had not seen the devil.
He had seen Adam’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Westfort.
“Grandmother,” he said formally, for she had never been a gentle or affectionate person. “You are supposed to be in Italy.”
“Thank God I found the fools in Verona intolerable this time of year,” his grandmother stated with little emotion, “and I had no wish to get stuck on the other side of the Dolomites if the French government goes up like a keg of powder.”
He turned slowly.
He wanted his grandmother to see the full glory of his wedding suit, its intent, and that he did not need her approval to wed. “Did Mama send for you?”
But it was also impossible to ignore that his grandmother was a woman of immense stature and ingrained power.
She’d been born the daughter of a duke. She’d seen the fall of Bonnie Prince Charlie.
Yes, his grandmother was no puff piece. His grandmother understood real power and how it could be lost in fire and blood and steel.
She huffed out a disgusted breath. “Your mother? No, she did not send for me. That woman will be the death of me.”
“Grandmama,” he said tightly, for though his mother wasn’t perfect and could be impossible, she was far kinder than his grandmother. “I do not think that is true. I think that your bitterness will be the death of you.”
His grandmama’s eyes flashed. “My son died too young.”
He sucked in a breath. “Yes, my father did die too young. I agree with you on that point, but it had nothing to do with my mother. Now, whose life do you plan on making hell? My mother’s?”
“No,” she said tightly, striding forward.
Her silver hair was curled luxuriously atop her head.
Unlike many older women, who chose to wear the fashions of the past, his grandmother was dressed in the height of French fashion.
Gone were the wide panniers she’d once favored, replaced by full lavender silk skirts embroidered with silver.
She was a woman to be reckoned with, a woman who had wealth in her own right and land too. And if it wasn’t his mother’s life that was going to be hell, that left only one candidate.
His stomach tightened.
“It will not be tolerated, my dear boy,” his grandmother said simply, as if her word was the word of God. “You will not marry that girl.”
“It is too late,” he said. “I have proposed, and the banns have been announced. We are marrying in a few weeks’ time. If you don’t wish to come to the wedding, then don’t.”
His grandmother smiled slowly at him, as if she was amused. As if he was a toddler throwing a tantrum, and she would simply wait until he was done and could redirect him. “You will not marry her, or I will make her life a living hell.”
His hands curled into fists. “Then I will banish you.”
He could do it. And yet he hated how the words, which were meant to protect Agatha, somehow sounded petulant.
Her smile deepened as she folded her hands before her, and she tilted her head to the side. “Oh, sweet young man. Do you think that I need to be in the same house with her to make her life a living hell? I don’t even need to be in the same country.”
He stilled, a chill running through his blood. “Why would you do that, Grandmother?”
Her mouth tightened and any amusement vanished from her visage. “Because I will not stand by while you ruin something that generations of Westfort dukes have protected.”
“I am stronger than you think,” he returned calmly, determined not to let her incite him. “I will fight you if I have to.”
She raised her chin. “Your mother will join me in this course. We will tell everyone what a fool the girl is. She will not be welcomed in any circles. We will make certain that she is the laughingstock everywhere, and that she will not be invited anywhere. Her own servants will mock her behind her back.”
“You can’t do that. She will be the Duchess of Westfort. People will respect her—”
“You think that I can’t do it?” his grandmother said with a surprising dose of fury. “With your mother’s aid, we shall make it clear that she’s no one, nothing, and certainly not to be paid any attention while the two of us are still alive.”
“I’m a duke. I can—”
“Oh, my darling,” she cut in again with a syrupy sort of false sympathy, as if he could never match her. “Yes, you are a duke, but if you underestimate your mother’s and my ability to make certain she’s isolated and alone in society, you are a fool.”
“She will have me. I will protect her.”
His grandmother had the audacity to throw her head back and laugh. “That is not enough. Not in this society. And you are a busy man, aren’t you? For it is the ladies who decide who fits and who does not.”
“Then I will give up the dukedom,” he said. “Philip will do.”
She stilled, her face going pale. “You don’t mean that.”
And he didn’t. Though if pushed… Bloody hell, could he do it?
He thought of Agatha and a terrifying realization hit. He could. He could run away from it all if she was with him. Hell, he’d live on a barren rock with the sea crashing and the wind howling to be with her.
But could he do that to her? She’d have to abandon her family, for they could never stay in England.
“I think you should go now,” he growled.
“I have loved you since you were small,” she began. “Since the very first moment that I set eyes upon you. I held your little hand, and I knew that you were going to be a great duke, just like your father. I won’t let that stop now because you’ve decided to fall in love.”
“I didn’t decide to fall in love,” he countered, wondering if her idea of love and his were the same, if she’d ever loved him at all or if it was just the dukedom she loved so well. “There’s a reason why I’m doing this, and it has to do with your son, my father.”
“Does it now?” she challenged softly, crossing to the brass studded chair near the fire and bracing her hand on its brown leather back. “Did he not provide a good enough guide for you? To show you what a proper and good duke does?”
“Oh yes, he did,” he whispered, his throat tightening as he thought of the emaciated, sweating man upon his great, ducal bed, frightened of going to death with a life half lived, knowing only wealth and power that had filled his days.
“He guided me well, and I will not ignore that guidance. Not now.”
“Then you are risking a great deal of difficulty and ruin,” she snapped. “I want you to know that. And I will not let it go without a fight.”
And with that, his grandmother turned and walked out of the room. When she left, he felt colder than he had felt in years.
“We have a problem,” the Duke of Rivers said to Fennyman as they stood before the wall with their notes upon it.
“We do?” Fennyman asked. “By my accounts, all is going quite well.”
“We do,” Rivers confirmed. “That.”
He pointed to a picture not too far from the Duke of Westfort’s.
“That?” Fennyman echoed, peering at the miniature portrait. “She’s in Italy.”
“My spies on the Continent report that she made sail from Calais recently.”
Fennyman groaned. “Not her. She was not supposed to return until after the wedding. She is a deeply troubling factor.”
Rivers nodded.
“And she will destroy the lot of you.”
Rivers whipped around. Philip Crawford, brother of Westfort, stood in the shadows of the room above Fennyman’s.
They had developed two offices, one in Rivers’ house and one in Fennyman’s place. After all, Fennyman couldn’t spend all of his time up at Rivers’ house. He had a business to run.
They’d been careful. Rivers always played a few hands of cards and threw dice before he came upstairs, putting anyone off the scent that perhaps something more was afoot between him and the gaming house owner.
He’d never thought Philip might catch on. Perhaps he should have. He was a clever young man.
“What are you doing here?” Rivers demanded.
Philip gave him an assessing stare. “I could ask the same of you, Your Grace, but I figured something out not too long ago. That meeting at the boxing gym was quite odd. And Adam noticed too. But he is not as observant as I am, and his thoughts are full of Miss Allen. But I still thought something was off about all those ladies petitioning those specific lords to come. And that’s when I talked to my little opera dancer friend.
I confess I can be quite persuasive, and she does love it when I am.
She told me that a certain gentleman who worked at Fennyman’s had told her to invite me, and so it struck me then that something was going on.
And then I saw you enter, a man who, as far as I know, never gambled until just recently. ”
Rivers waited, refusing to give uninvited information. The lad knew nothing yet. Or so it seemed, and he wasn’t about to volunteer the answer.
“You are the reason why my brother is happy, aren’t you?” Philip breathed.
The Duke of Rivers gave a perplexed look. “No, not at all. Miss Allen is the reason that he’s happy.”
Philip rolled his eyes. “Well, if you don’t do something quickly, it’s all going to be over.”
“What do you mean? They’re going to be married in a few weeks,” Rivers returned.
“Possibly, but I doubt it,” Philip warned. “If you don’t get ahold of my grandmother and my mother, it’s all going to be a disaster.”
“I have an idea,” Fennyman said quickly.
“What?” Rivers said.
“It’s unorthodox. But I think it will work. His mother’s not a terrible person. She wants him to be happy. In fact, I think she wants to be happy too.”
Rivers blew out an impatient sigh. “What is it?”
“Well, you remember what I said about love and fear and shame?” Fennyman prompted.
“Yes,” Rivers said.
“Well, then I think it’s time we put another part of this board in play.”
Rivers sucked in a breath as he stared at the picture of Lord Donovan. A handsome older gentleman who had, on more than one occasion, mentioned to his manservant how very fine he found the Duchess of Westfort.
Philip looked from man to man. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
Rivers shot the young man a hard stare. His endeavor was about to collapse, but he wouldn’t let it. No matter what it took. “Are you willing to help save your brother’s happiness?”
“Do you jest? I’ll do anything you ask. Put me in a dress and ask me to do a French opera kick, and I’ll do it gamely. It’s time to end this family’s curse upon dukes,” he said. “But what do I need to do?”
Rivers cocked his head to the side, praying Philip meant it. “Perhaps you can help your mother to a little bit of happiness as well. Are you willing to try that?”
Phillip nodded. “She deserves it. I don’t have anything to do. It’s the worst thing when you’re a second son and you don’t want to be a vicar or a soldier.” He pivoted towards Fennyman. “And I’m not really interested in giving you any more of my money.”
Fennyman laughed. “You don’t lose that much,” he said.
“I lose enough,” sallied Philip. “And besides, it’s not exciting enough watching the turn of a card or the tumble of a dice. I want to do whatever you two are doing, and I think that you two are maneuvering society.”
Rivers arched a brow. “What would make you say that?”
Philip folded his arms across his broad chest and looked up at the board. “You’re putting people together, people like Agatha and my brother. And it sounds like my mother now too. Are you running some sort of mad matchmaking scheme?”
Rivers and Fennyman exchanged a glance.
“You are,” Philip guffawed. “You are trying to restructure society by making matches that the mamas would not.”
Rivers scowled. “Can’t you see why? Look at the match your mother would’ve made.
Your brother and Lady Hortense Larkin would have been a complete and total disaster.
Hortense wants to go live in a cottage and probably study for the rest of her life in the country somewhere, and your brother longs for love.
So if someone did not step in, things would have gone completely wrong, and then we would have had another miserable duke.
And another piece in the newssheets. And more misery for the masses. ”
Philip’s eyes lit with understanding, and he nodded his approval. “Yes, I can see the logic of it. Now I want in.”
“In?” Fennyman queried, standing to his full height of well over six feet and glowering appropriately as he considered the lad.
“Yes,” said Philip without backing down. “And since I know your secret now, you have to let me in.”
Rivers and Fennyman exchanged another glance. Fennyman gave a tight nod, and Rivers smiled slowly.
Philip cleared his throat, determined. “You could use someone like me, another lord on your side to help manipulate things,” Philip said swiftly.
“Massage them,” Rivers clarified, and then he extended his hand. “Welcome to The Marriage Managing Society.”