Page 44 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)
“Friends, thank you for joining us for this intimate Christmas dinner,” announced Octavius as he spread his arms wide before him.
The six dukes and the three wives of Rath, Luhst, and Pryde smiled and walked in procession into the dining room. Margaret, James, and Sophie, accompanied by Temperance, followed.
Octavius was looking forward to welcoming his best friends and their wives after the several days of homely peace he had experienced with the children and their delectable governess.
The dining hall was decorated with wreaths of holly and ivy, as well as red apples. The table was adorned with evergreen boughs threaded with dried orange slices, sprigs of rosemary, and tall beeswax candles casting a golden light over polished silver.
“I’ve been quite looking forward to another one of your feasts,” said the Duchess of Rath playfully, laying her hand on her large round belly.
Octavius chuckled. “I serve at your pleasure, Your Grace.”
It had been Temperance who had decided on the decorations, and he had surprised himself by allowing her to do so. Christmas was important to her, and when he gave her permission to take charge, there were joyful tears in her eyes.
With happy chatter growing in volume, the guests sat around the table, but Octavius couldn’t ignore Enveigh’s scowl. His stomach knotted at the conflict between them.
Constantine, the Duke of Pryde, and his duchess, the newest addition to the circle, greeted him. She looked very pretty with her indigo gown highlighting her red hair—but it was Pryde’s transformation that was miraculous.
For years, Octavius had known him as the man who spoke in clipped commands and considered emotion a weakness.
Now, he leaned towards his wife to murmur something low that made her laugh.
Octavius remembered the day about three months ago when Constantine and he had waited in the church of All Saints of Shepherdsbrook for a blackmailer who had threatened Constantine’s darkest secret.
But instead of a wicked man, it was Modesty who had stepped out from the shadows cradling baby Augustus, accompanied by a friend.
Constantine had been so rigid, tight, paranoid, like a cornered wolf ready to bite and tear to pieces anyone who threatened his legacy.
Now he looked as mellow and as happy as a lamb.
“What a terrible storm outside,” said Patience, shivering. “Can you imagine all those poor people without proper shelter?”
“I was at the women’s almshouse in Whitechapel yesterday,” Modesty said, “the one Miss Grace Lockhart runs, to bring them more blankets and warm clothes for the storm.”
Temperance’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Are the roads clear now?” she asked, perhaps too quickly. “I mean, for those who might need to…send correspondence, say, or conduct business near Cheapside?”
Octavius’s eyes sharpened on her face. Why was she asking this? Was she thinking about leaving once again?
“The main thoroughfares should be passable by tomorrow,” said the Duke of Enveigh. “May I be of help?”
“I hardly think it’s the weather for a lady to be traveling about London,” Octavius grumbled to himself.
Silence fell on the room as Temperance looked at her plate.
Modesty pressed out a cheerful smile. “Despite the weather, I was surprised to discover you had sent a large delivery of very necessary food, Eccess. That is so generous of you. Thank you.”
Octavius’s stomach warmed pleasantly with the duchess’s approval. He didn’t think he needed any, but apparently he was a glutton for that, too. “I’m afraid I can’t take the credit. It was Miss Fields’s idea.”
Everyone looked at Temperance, who froze and blushed with her spoon of soup near her mouth. “It was merely a suggestion. It was you who paid for all the food and delivery.”
He nodded. “I should have thought of that years ago. I’ve always had the means.”
“Well said,” said Irevrence. “Though quite understandable, given your history with Christmas.”
Octavius’s stomach churned. Today was December the twenty-second. In three days it would be the anniversary of his father’s death at the duel he’d taken part in mere hours after taking shots at his son.
Octavius could remember standing completely forlorn, helpless, clutching at his roiling stomach as a footman brought a body on a stretcher into the house.
Only then did he see, in the dim light of the candles, his father’s unmoving face.
There was a large bullet wound above his heart, and black blood saturated his dark rust–colored waistcoat as Octavius’s world had tilted…
In the present, he instinctively reached for his glass of wine, but it was of course empty, just as he’d requested.
The need to forget, to run from that memory still slashed at his gut…
but he’d promised Temperance he wouldn’t drink, and nothing would bring him more satisfaction than to know he was a better man than Papa.
He hoped the man who’d fathered him was turning in his grave.
He could bet his father had never known a love like the one that now filled Octavius’s heart.
Yes. He loved the woman sitting on the other side of the table next to the children who had become the light of his life. Thanks to her, he was a better man.
And the strange part was, he liked this new him.
But Octavius couldn’t actually marry a governess, not when he was so close to achieving his goal: the position of the president of Board of Trade.
Or was it just an excuse to protect himself from the possibility that, just like his mother had flown on the most difficult day of his life, Temperance may one day tire of him and decide to flee his presence, his very life?
Was he shielding himself from the possibility she might see the fat piggy he really was underneath all those smiles and jests and charm?
The memory of their argument still haunted him, despite their connection when he had bedded her four days ago and every night since.
He’d raised his voice, wished to control her—scared her, even.
He had been a tyrant. A bully. Everything he’d despised in his father.
Would she leave him when he showed her who he really was and became completely vulnerable with her?
And what if she didn’t?
What if, like his six ducal friends, she saw the very core of him—and stayed?
The thought of her being in his life forever thrilled Octavius. He looked at the Raths, Luhsts, and Prydes, these three happy couples, and remembered the turmoil his friends endured to change and become better versions of themselves to gain their happiness, these women by their sides.
What if that could be him and Temperance, too?
He and Temperance and James, Margaret, and Sophie: the five knights.
“Miss Fields,” came Enveigh’s voice from a long way away, “do you have any plans for your birthday?”
Everyone looked at her.
“When is your birthday?” asked Octavius, a little more gruffly than he would have liked.
She raised her head and blushed once again. “Christmas Day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Octavius, and he felt the attention of all his guests on him, the questions everyone had but no one dared to ask.
Temperance straightened her shoulders. “It didn’t come up. I’m not expected to tell you every single thing, am I?”
That was definitely not how a governess and her employer talked with each other, and everybody in the room knew it.
“We should do something for your birthday, Miss Fields,” said Sophie, whose ankle was now almost completely well. After her fever had cleared, she had been more like her usual cheerful self.
Temperance smiled. “I don’t think there is anything to do. It’s going to be Christmas Day; that’s what’s going to matter.”
“It’s an important day,” said the Duke of Enveigh as he shot Octavius a glare. “And you should make sure you take her anywhere she needs to go.”
Octavius blinked several times. Silence fell on the room, the only sound the Duchess of Rath’s fork clinking against the plate.
No one looked directly at Temperance, save for Archibald.
A tangible awkwardness rose between them, entirely unsatisfactory to Octavius.
He wondered how uncomfortable both Temperance and Archibald must feel sitting through dinner at the same table, considering how she had rejected his marriage proposal in front of everyone present not much more than one week ago.
The thought of them marrying made Octavius long for a drink again.
Temperance was pale as she sat staring at her plate.
“Where do you need to go on your birthday?” Octavius asked Temperance, ignoring everyone else in the room.
She swallowed before she threw the Duke of Enveigh a quick glance and blushed. “Nowhere. Please, let’s forget it—let’s resume the dinner.”
“Maybe you could show us another electrical experiment,” suggested Margaret.
“Another electrical experiment?” exclaimed the Duchess of Luhst with excitement. “Miss Fields, I hadn’t realized you were a scientist!”
Temperance blushed yet again. “Oh, ‘scientist’ is a big word?—”
“Oh, no, she is a scientist,” said James eagerly. “Aren’t you, Miss Fields? You can make a light in a globe and you can perform all the electrical tricks that we saw at Marvels of Electricity, can’t you?”
“What tricks?” asked the Duchess of Rath with great curiosity, leaning over the table and looking at Temperance.
Octavius watched as Temperance swallowed uncomfortably. “Please, it’s nothing. My—my father and I had an interest in electric fluid. It’s of little import.”
“You must tell us more,” said the Duchess of Luhst eagerly. “You must join our Misses with Microscopes women’s club.”
Temperance blinked. “A…club?”
“The Duchess of Rath is a biologist, I am a chemist, and the Duchess of Pryde is an archaeologist. We support each other, read each other’s papers, discuss our research, help each other to make progress.
We also share a library for women that my husband very generously donated and have funds to buy instruments and tools for research. ”