Page 27 of A Duke Never Tells
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ELLIOTT RINIKEN
“You can’t do that,” Elliott whispered. He kept his voice to a whisper despite the desire to bellow it aloud, and despite the closed door of the study and the fact that both of the property’s female guests were presently in the library, a good sixty feet and two doors away.
“I didn’t ask for your advice, Elliott. I’m informing you of my choice.”
While James sat facing the desk and Elliott for once sat behind it, the balance between the two men had shifted. The man of business didn’t need a calling card to know which of them was the duke, this morning. It was rather remarkable, really. Pointing it out, however, would likely set them back another week, and they didn’t have the time to spare—though if James carried out the mad scheme he’d just outlined, they certainly would no longer have a Society wedding for which to prepare. What that fact meant beyond itself, he refused even to consider. There was too much chaos afoot without him delving into daydreams. “Do you have any idea of the scandal you would be causing?” he asked instead.
“Of course I do. I live in London, remember?”
“Yes, but this scandal won’t necessarily be harming you, James. It’s expected that you will do something mad and unacceptable every so often. Lady Margaret Pinwell has no allies in London. Everyone will wonder what’s wrong with her that you broke the engagement so close to the wedding, especially after going along with the agreement for more than a year, and after entertaining her at Earnhurst for a week. She will be ruined. You’ll make it impossible for her to find someone else.”
While it was imperative to point out the consequences she would face, Elliott didn’t like talking about Margaret—Sophronia—finding someone else because at this moment he was the someone. As far as she knew, he was the Duke of Earnhurst, and by God he wanted to wed her, bed her, and settle with her into a life championing causes and celebrating rare books.
But the lie, piled atop yards and yards of deception and tangled, contrary assumptions, meant that sooner rather than later someone was going to tell her that he wasn’t the man she thought he was. Rather, the man she’d decided had no sense of decorum and a penchant for nonsense was the man she was meant to wed—which now wouldn’t be happening, either.
“If you can think of another solution, by all means enlighten me.” Holding on to his empty glass of whiskey so tightly that his knuckles whitened, James looked every inch a desperate man about to do something very, very foolish.
Except that it wasn’t all that foolish, not to James. For a long time, Elliott had deemed the old duke’s son an ungrateful blackguard who delighted in spending all his time denting his family’s reputation. Now he saw a man who’d felt abandoned by his father, and worse, replaced by someone who better fit the mold of his father’s idea of a good man. This, rejecting Lady Margaret in favor of her companion, was his last chance to defy the old duke, and was also his only chance to carve out a happy life for himself.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin to fix this,” he said, sinking back in the chair. “I find Sophie—Lady Margaret—delightful as she is. I adore that she has strong opinions, that she has facts behind her to support them, and that she is willing to wage campaigns to gain the vote not just for herself, but for her entire sex. But I am not the Duke of Earnhurst, James. She isn’t meant for me.”
James slammed the glass onto the desktop. “So you just surrender? Ignore your feelings for her? What sort of military man does that?”
“A military man who clearly sees the lay of the battleground. I cannot change facts. And the fact is, she is a lady promised to a gentleman. I am not a gentleman. And don’t think you’ll be ending your agreement with her and then sweeping Mabel off her feet, either. For one thing, they are friends. For another, if Mabel is indeed the lady’s companion, you’ll find neither of you tolerated in Mayfair if you marry her. If she’d marry you. Jumped-up servants do not get invited to balls, to dinners, or to anything frequented by the aristocracy.”
“Then we’ll stay here. She adores the country, anyway. And if she’s not a servant, if she’s a friend of Lady Margaret’s doing her a favor, then there’ll be no social stigma against her.”
“No. Only the stigma that she took her friend’s future out from under her. If she would do such a thing to Sophie. Margaret.” God, the tangle of names was confusing. “Have you discussed even the possibility of this with Mabel?”
“No. Of course not. She thinks I’m the butler.” James scowled. “But she cares for me. I know she does.”
“If you know her mind so well, then, what would she say about a man of privilege who broke a marriage agreement five weeks before the wedding and then ran off with the bride-to-be’s friend? Would she find that romantic?”
“I am not attempting so high a bar as romance,” James countered. “She will understand that this is all a favor to Lady Margaret as well, because I would make that woman a godawful husband, and you know it.”
Elliott looked at the younger man. “I think you would actually do your damnedest to make her happy, but I fear the damage is already done.” He took a breath. “She has eyes. She knows you prefer Mabel.” Elliott put a hand over his eyes. “This is all giving me a megrim.”
“You and me both. We’ve all done damage here, by falling for the wrong damned people.”
“But Sophie doesn’t know that. She thinks I’m you. And I never bloody intended to be the villain here.”
“Neither did I. If they’d never come, you and I would still be squabbling about paint colors, I’d be refusing to assist with anything, and the wedding would proceed as planned.” Finally releasing the glass, James pushed to his feet. “But they did come, and I cannot let Mabel go. I’ve known a great many women, Elliott. She is… everything to me. Evidently, it’s true that when a rake falls, he falls very hard.” He pounded his chest with one fist. “And so, if you’ll excuse me, I have a letter to write. I will make every attempt to cast the blame on myself, and mention several times that Lady Margaret is too good for me.”
“James.”
“The alternative is that I marry her. And that, I cannot do.” With a last glance at him, James stood and left the study to go write a letter that would doom them all.
God, what a tangled web they’d woven. And Elliott couldn’t even blame it solely on James’s initial jest to foist the dukedom on him. Because while they’d lied to the ladies, the ladies had lied to them. They still didn’t know the identity of one of them for certain. Yes, they’d fallen for the wrong people, and now no one would belong to anyone. Elliott downed the rest of his own glass of whiskey, then threw it at the wall. “I should have stayed in India.”
Randall rapped on the open door. “Your Grace? Robert has saddled Charles again, as you instructed. And the carpenters and cabinet makers are here for the library. One of the men saw the new staircase and began weeping with joy over the mahogany. They’re an odd sort, aren’t they? Cabinet makers.”
“Too much sawdust, I reckon.” Rolling his shoulders, Elliott stood. Wedding, no wedding, the chaos of it all had nearly caused him to forget that he needed to have a satchel delivered to the Falconers Inn. He retrieved it from under the desk, hefting the heavy thing over his shoulder. “I’m heading out to the stables for a moment. Tell the cabinet makers that when they’re finished weeping, I will meet them in the study.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The footman inclined his head. “Also, Lady Sophronia asks if you would inquire with Dr. Grimsby about when he expects to arrive to assess Mabel’s ankle.”
“I will send him a note.”
Nodding again, the footman backed out of the doorway, hesitated, then stepped forward again. “And Mrs. Carvey is in a rage. It seems James the butler boiled water on the stove this morning and didn’t remove the kettle. It’s scalded now, and causing a horrible stink in the kitchen.”
“Ah. I think you should have James the butler take that up with Mrs. Carvey.”
“Mrs. Carvey said to tell you, as she doesn’t want to be sacked for batting James across the head with the ruined kettle.”
Elliott stifled a grin. “Perhaps remind her that all of us know James to be a dismal butler, and inform her that she may send her new scullery maid into Remiton for a new kettle today, if she wishes. Or she may go herself and choose three new pots.”
“Oh, that’ll shake her out of the shouts, Your Grace.” Nodding with more energy, the footman retreated again. “Thank God for you, Your Grace. Mrs. Carvey is a fearsome woman.”
If only all of his problems could be solved by the purchase of pots. Making his way out to the stable, he found Robert mounted on Charles and walking the gelding about the yard. “Here it is,” he said, handing the heavy satchel over to the groom. “Deliver it to Falconers and leave it there for a Mr. John Smith.” For a time, he’d considered having the constabulary lie in wait for Jasper Burshin, but this was one matter he preferred to handle himself. Especially with potential scandal and disaster hovering all about them like angry bees these days.
That done, he paused outside the front door of the house, weighing what he needed to do today against what he wanted to do. It used to be that the two were one and the same. But then he’d met one Lady Sophronia Frumple. And until someone stepped forward with the truth, he and she were still… friends. And he adored his friend, and rather thought she might feel the same way about him. Whatever James decided to do, though, there lay no path that ended the way he wanted. None.
Off to the study with the cabinet makers and Lady Sophronia it was, then. Sophie would give her advice to the carpenters on the glass-fronted bookcases, because the house would be—might have been—hers. And he would attempt to avoid any further daydreams, which were all just more damned lies.
“The cabinet makers have arrived to draw some plans for the new bookshelves,” he said, strolling into the library. It looked a worse shambles than it had before they’d begun working on it, but with the windows wide open and the ruined bookcases and books removed, it smelled a great deal better. And felt… lighter.
“That’s wonderful,” Sophie said, rising from the foot of the chaise longue and handing the book she’d been holding over to Mabel. “Have you told them what you have in mind?”
“Not yet. I thought you might care to join me. You’ve a better hand for drawing than I do, anyway.”
“I would be delighted. If you can spare me for a bit, Mabel?” She turned to look at her companion, half reclined on the chaise, a large stack of books beside her.
“I’m very content to remain here all day and look at books,” Mabel said, grinning.
“We’ll be back in here with the carpenters in a few minutes, Sophie,” Elliott pointed out. “And I’ll have Hannah look in on Miss Mabel.”
Sophie nodded. “Very well. I’ll be back soon, Mabel.”
“Take your time, my lady.”
“I believe your father may have been more aware of the value of his books than we thought,” Sophie said, following Elliott to the foyer. “The most valuable ones seem to have been set the farthest away from the windows, probably to protect them from the sun. That also protected them from the worst of the mildew, thankfully.”
“That is good news. The glaziers will be here for the windows beginning this afternoon. Once they’re repaired and the leaking is stopped, we’ll begin on the new floor.”
“Do you realize that you’re smiling?” she noted, her hand sliding around his arm.
Elliott stopped, looking at her. “It’s progress after a very long stagnation. It makes me feel hopeful.”
“I’m glad of that. And I’ve been thinking. A wedding is but a matter of a few hours. A very small moment for such an old, grand house. But the renovations you’re doing, those will last for decades, and that is what you should keep in mind.”
“What I shall keep in mind when I look at this castle made grand again, is you, Sophie.”
Pink touched her cheeks. “You are not the man I thought you were, Earnhurst. And before you tell me that that doesn’t sound much like a compliment, it is one. A very large one.”
“I’m well aware of my reputation in London,” he said. “I’ve changed, I’d like to think.”
“I believe you have. One could almost think you two completely different men.” With a smile she lifted up on her toes and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. “Despite the injury to Mabel, this has been the most magnificent holiday of my life.”
“Mine as well, Sophie.” His skin where she touched him felt burned and branded, scalded in a way that didn’t hurt, but left him aware of her scent, the sound of her dress as she moved past him, the sight of her blush and her dancing green eyes. Soon she wouldn’t be able to bear even looking at him, but for this one, lingering moment, everything felt perfect.