Page 13 of A Wager at Midnight (Betting Against the Duke #2)

Chapter 13

S CARLETT —S OMERSET H OUSE , A BOUT L AST W EEK

A nother week of the Annual Exhibition—this time, I send a footman from Anya House to check that today’s lecture would happen on time. The duke accompanies me. Mr. Thom is not up to driving, so I stay at Anya House. I must admit to liking it more and more than Ground Street.

“Your Grace, will you accompany me here every day? Or just for today’s anatomy lesson?”

“I received a rather strange bill from a Madame Rosebud for two guineas.”

There’s humor in his face, but his pallor is dull.

“I had a little adventure. It’s handled, but two flowers earned the money.”

“Is that the same as an angel earning her wings? These British sayings sometimes are difficult for me to grasp.”

“Something like that, Your Grace.”

He doesn’t ask for more, so I’ll keep the details to myself.

Though he’s spending time away from his project, and even Lydia, I enjoy these moments where he tries to explain art. These paintings are . . . well, some are lovely and colorful.

The duke’s tastes, except in waistcoats, are different than mine. Many of the exhibits that he enjoys are not great to me. Nonetheless, I appreciate how he’s deliberate in spending time with me. I don’t want that to ever change.

We move to a lower canvas. This one illustrates a school scene where teachers or administrators have come into a yard to stop a fight between boys. “Now this is interesting, Your Grace.”

The duke glances at the tag. “By an artist called Mulready. The painting is named Fight Interrupted .”

He steps back studying it. “The shading and color make it very lifelike. Impressive.”

“And that’s why this art is for you or Georgina. To me the colors are nice, but I want to know what happens to the boys’ aggression.”

“Hmm. How so, Scotland Wilcox?”

“Just because they aren’t fighting doesn’t mean the tension’s gone.”

“And that is why I love showing these to you.” His gaze goes to the left and then right. “You always speak to the heart of any matter. You see past the obvious.”

It’s obvious that Katherine is not allowing Lydia to spend as much time at Anya House as she did last year. Her birthday is next month.

I want to tell the duke I’m sorry Katherine doesn’t love him. That I know how it feels when you hope for something that’s not true. I’d also tell him not to settle for anything less than what he deserves.

Funny, forward and bold Scarlett Wilcox, even dressed as Scotland, can’t say or admit the obvious when it comes to feelings. I glance again at the painting. “It’s rather charming. And still very true. Boys get to be ready to rumble. Everyone else waves fans.”

“I thought we were working on a way for you to rumble. Or are you going to be like Lady Hampton and wiggle your way out of our bet?”

I turn to him. I see pain in his eyes and immediately wonder about his health. “If I ask how you are feeling, you won’t tell the truth. So I’ll ask if you are giving up.”

“Nyet, but one must be wise enough to know when the game changes.”

“Is this a chess analogy? I still haven’t learned to play.”

He moves us over a little and I notice he’s leaning on his cane, sometimes almost using it to feel his way. Odd. The duke’s too young to depend on it, but I know his condition deprives him of strength. From what I’ve studied, it’s chronic, but not constant.

“We are back to Dirce,” he says. “I feel it is less menacing on a second visit.”

I catch his gaze. “Are you the bull today? Or are you one of the hapless others?”

“That’s my Scarlett, direct and fatalistic.”

I take the cane from him and turn the crystal head toward a lit sconce. It adds a sparkle and glow to it.

He stands erect, not needing the cane.

“Does this add to your confidence? Is it a weapon, or are you getting us ready for when you need it?”

He offers a soft chuckle before taking it back. “A little confidence now.” The sparkle is smothered in his palm. “S. Wilcox. You are given to be frank. I’m patient up to a point. You’ve had a week to sulk. Are you ready talk about your returning to Anya House well after midnight last week?”

How do I say I compromised a man in a brothel and not have the duke demand a duel from Mr. Stuffy? “Your Grace, does an interest in a person work the same as an interest in art?”

The duke comes a little closer. “Art conveys emotion. You’ve been emotional all week. I would suspect that someone who masterfully pulled off a masquerade at White’s should be pleased.”

“Does everyone become a spy for you?”

“Yes, eventually, but I saw your face. I know an unhappy Wilcox when I see one.”

The presence in the window—that was him?

He nods like he’s spying on my private thoughts. Blast it. Maybe he has some Cossack way of doing so.

“Thank you, Your Grace, for not intervening.”

“Well, I trust you. And I did check to see that Mr. Carew was still alive, not dead from what happened at White’s. I’m your friend. I’ll not judge. Tell me.”

I shrug, then smooth my cranberry waistcoat. It goes well with my buff breeches. Again, I will admit the duke’s tailors are amazing. But I don’t want to admit much more. “Nothing out of the ordinary. You know how it is when men gather.”

He peers down at me. If he wore spectacles, I’d swear he was a minister sent to condemn my soul. But this is Torrance—part brother, part father, part friend.

“Scotland Wilcox, I don’t have to tell you of the dangers to your reputation, your friends, and family. It will be awful if you are exposed.”

That’s new, this tone of condescension. I can offer one right back. “Well, I’ll admit that the three pals, Livingston, Carew, and I, went to a brothel after White’s. I used your name at said brothel to make sure no one would speak of us being there or expose me as a woman in men’s clothes with my new favorite courtesan, Chrysanthemum.”

The duke stands there frozen as if all his joints have stiffened.

“Your Grace?”

“Sorry, I think I just witnessed my life pass before my eyes. It was too short, and without as much color as it should have.” He releases a big sigh. “You like to stun people. Are you craving attention? Is that why you pick arguments? I don’t think this act will win the man you love.”

I glower and want to say no. I’m not that shallow.

“Wilcox, do you know how much more Lady Hampton will hate me if she learns that I let you act like this?”

“And her opinion matters, why?” I keep my chin lifted and try to act angry. It’s hard when I see he’s hurting in his soul.

“Oddly, her opinion matters greatly. That’s the thing of loving someone who does not love you back.”

Why is he so smart, and everyone else, including my heart, so stupid? “Carew is brilliant. As passionate as I am about research, he’s the same about medicine.”

The duke lifts my jaw. His light-colored fingers are now inked with the coal black cosmetic. “If he can’t see your worth, then he’s not the one.”

“Does that mean Katherine is not the one for you?”

The duke almost turns, but then he catches my gaze. “Sometimes love doesn’t last. Sometimes it doesn’t win. Too much has happened between Katherine and me. No one is brave enough to admit that maybe we both have been betrayed. That we have pain that’s shared.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Wilcox, you’re playing a dangerous game. Can you assure me you will be smarter than any of these men and courtesans and remain without scandal?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Can you assure me that only Mr. Carew knows of your playacting?”

“Mostly, Your Grace. I’m sure he told his driver, and Chrysanthemum probably told Daisy and Madame Rosebud. Will Madame Rosebud tell Livingston?”

His head tilts to the side. “I’ll make sure the flowers stop talking.”

He must believe me, if he’s tidying up my loose ends. The duke hasn’t ordered me to return to Anya House. “I still have your trust. That means something.”

“Well, I pray you continue to fool everyone. Once Lady Hampton knows, she’ll stop you and Lydia from visiting completely. That will ruin me.”

“I’m of age. At twenty-one, I no longer need her consent. Why does everyone think of me as if I were Lydia’s twin?”

He gets very close. “Did Lydia have a twin, too?”

“No. But she . . . I was thinking that if someone is born the same day, they could be a sort of twin.”

The duke, for the first time since I’ve known him, looks shaken.

“Why does Katherine hate you? It can’t be for anything that’s happened since Tavis died. It has to be from before. What did you do to Tavis Palmer, the late Lord Hampton, that is unforgivable to my sister? Help me understand? Trust me.”

He looks around like he’s waiting for someone to interrupt us, but at this early hour of the exhibition, the visitor count is light. “Come with me.”

We walk for a moment and come to the entrance where the marble River God of Thames sits in judgment.

“I knew your sister long ago. Tavis took advantage of me and her.”

“Did he lie? Tavis was sweet, but he had a forked tongue.”

The duke looks as if he’ll take his cane and strike the marble. “Pitchfork tongue would be a more apt description. For Katherine to believe that I always loved her is to realize all the years of hating me are a waste of her life.”

“How many years ago did you know Katherine?”

“Long enough.”

“Do you still love her, from that time?”

He looks down at me, and I know he doesn’t know anymore.

“One can wait too long to be loved.” The duke adjusts the cane in his hand. “Scarlett, you gave me permission to find a man for you to marry. I’ve waited a year on purpose. Marriage for someone as gifted and as smart as you should be more than a name on a science report.”

“And it gave Katherine another year to see how much we need you—”

“That I need you . And that I love my Lidochka like she’s my daughter.”

The way he says it sounds more than a wish. “When Katherine came back from St. Petersburg, she gave birth to a stillborn. Are you the baby’s father?”

He winces. “I wish that was one of Tavis’s lies. That the baby lived. My son was born the same day as Lydia.”

He glances away. He surely sees the pity in my eyes. “Was Tavis good to Katherine, to help her heal?”

“Tavis wasn’t there. They didn’t see each other or marry until much later.”

The duke frowns. “So she didn’t marry him when she discovered she was with child, but after giving birth. Could she still have been waiting for me?”

He stands close to the River God and slaps the statue’s shoulder. “You hear that? She might’ve been waiting for me.”

The smooth marble god appears ready to rise and stir the waters. . . but has my admission given the duke false hope? “But she did marry Tavis. They seemed happy. Every day he made her laugh. They’d still be together if he were alive.”

The duke clasps his hands onto his cane. “Look, here comes two of your marital candidates with important names to put on paper—the angry physician and the wayward scientist.”

“Can the option be neither? They are both very disappointing.”

“Unfortunately for you.” His shaking fingers grasp mine for a moment, then he ducks them to his side. “I’ll leave you to them. Try to be home . . . to Anya House at a reasonable time.”

The duke begins to walk away.

“Your Grace, I understand, too, about falling out of love. Disappointment is an incredible poison. I hear it can be fatal.”

“Many things are, Wilcox. That’s why you have to live with no regrets.”

My true friend disappears, going again into the long hall.

Livingston and Carew seem to be exchanging words as they get to Somerset’s steps. And I wonder why two men who are able to partake in all aspects of science seem so miserable.