Page 27 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

September 21, 1814

J on ushered his two friends into his study and offered them whisky or brandy. Unsurprisingly, they all chose the whisky.

“Let’s get this started,” Heathbrook said. “The sooner we finish, the sooner I can have some of those amazing curd puffs Elegant Occasions always provides for parties. I can’t believe you’re having one of our secret meetings on your wife’s birthday.”

Jon shrugged. “She said she didn’t mind. And since both of you have been out of London except for our wedding, it’s not as if I had a choice.”

“True.” Scovell swigged some whisky. “If I had my choice, I’d stay in here the whole time drinking. Don’t like crowds much.”

“None of us do,” Jon said. “Had enough of that in prison. But I did want to inform you both of something beforehand. Just remember that no one is to know of this but we three and my wife, understood? And if you simply must give me grief over it, I will tolerate it only for the duration of this meeting.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” Heathbrook said.

Jon groaned. “I guess I’d better get this over with since Mademoiselle Bernard will be attending the party. So, as it turns out, Mademoiselle Bernard—Giselle—is actually Morris’s illegitimate daughter by a Frenchwoman. That’s why they were so close. She followed him to Verdun so she could get to know her real father. By then, the man her mother married while already with child was dead.”

Both men just gaped at him.

“Oh,” he went on, “and she brought a sheaf of letters and a journal to Tory from Morris. He’d left them to Giselle to deliver in case he never made it home. So . . . er . . . I was very mistaken about their relationship. I admit that now.”

“Well, as long as you admit it,” Heathbrook said in a bad imitation of Jon’s voice. “Good God, man, that is enormous news. So she’s here? The mademoiselle?”

“We . . . er . . . see her quite a bit, actually,” Jon said.

“How does Tory feel about it?” Scovell asked.

“Apparently, she likes having a sister. But we haven’t told Cyril. She’s afraid he won’t keep it quiet, and it might embarrass Giselle.”

His two friends had met Cyril at the wedding, where, fortunately, no one else spoke to him long enough to realize his situation. It would have ruined Tory’s wedding entirely if anyone had slurred Cyril. She loved the boy dearly, as did Jon.

Heathbrook shook his head. “That old dog. I didn’t know Morris had it in him.”

“Neither did I,” Jon said. “Tory was shocked herself. Morris was even more rule-bound with her and her mother than with us. But it was before he met her mother, so it wasn’t as if he was unfaithful, which made a big difference to her.”

Scovell looked as if he were contemplating something. “Has your wife read the letters and the journal yet?”

“She’s working through them, but hasn’t finished,” Jon said. “Why?”

“Because if whoever betrayed us knew of them,” Scovell said, “he or she might have been following Tory out of an assumption that she already possessed them and a fear that Morris mentioned him or her in them.”

“You mean, in connection with the escape!” Heathbrook exclaimed. “Why else try to follow Tory? And no one knew where her cottage was, after all.”

“Mother did,” Jon said, “but perhaps the person didn’t realize that. Besides, they wouldn’t want to call attention to themselves by asking around.”

“You might want to read those letters and the journal yourself, old chap,” Scovell said.

Jon nodded. “Excellent idea. Then again, how would this person even know about them? We should question Giselle about who might have known.”

“I can do that,” Heathbrook said.

The other two men eyed him with surprise.

“What?” he said defensively. “I’ve always found her interesting.”

Jon scowled. “You mean you’ve always found her beddable. She’s my sister-in-law, for God’s sake. Tread lightly.”

“You’re always trying to ruin my fun.” Heathbrook put down his empty glass of whisky. “Now, are we done yet?”

“I suppose,” Jon said. “How long will you two be in town this time?”

“Quite a while.” Heathbrook turned serious. “I’ll be in court for weeks with my cousin. But I have a good lawyer. We’ll prevail. Still, it’s a messy business.”

“I remember,” Scovell said. “I’ll be here, too. My eldest brother is being seen by a physician for his heart and is insisting upon me preparing to become marquess. The fool thinks he’s dying.”

“Don’t tell Mother,” Jon said. “She’ll try to marry you to Chloe for certain.”

Scovell set down his whisky glass with a grim expression. “I doubt Lady Chloe would have me, marquess or no.”

Jon was about to question that when the door swung open.

“There you are, Jon,” Tory said. “The party is about to start! I’ve been looking all over for you. As host and hostess, we have to be in the receiving line.”

“I’m coming, my love,” Jon said, ignoring the way the two bachelors chuckled as he left.

He didn’t care what they thought. She had enriched his life already in just the month they’d been married. He never wanted to be without her again.

An hour later, after having a rousing conversation with his good friend Grenwood about managing an estate, he wandered over to where his mother sat watching Cyril play with the wooden horse she’d just bought him.

So much for his worries on Cyril’s behalf. Just as Jon had expected, once Mother had met the boy, she’d taken to him instantly.

As Jon approached, he heard her say, “Cyril, darling, come sit by your grandmama.”

“Yes, Grandmama,” he said happily, and perched on the settee at her side.

When his mother caught Jon frowning, she said, “What? He doesn’t have one. I might as well fill the position until you and Victoria give me actual grandchildren.” She turned to Cyril. “And how old is Grandmama?”

“Forty!” Cyril said cheerily.

“Very good, young man,” his mother said.

“Mother!” Jon said. “I don’t think you should teach him to lie.”

“What lie?” she said blithely. “He really thinks I’m forty. Nothing wrong with that.”

With a shake of his head, Jon went in search of his wife but got waylaid by Chloe and Giselle.

“Have you shown it to her yet?” Chloe whispered, rather loudly.

She and Giselle giggled like a pair of schoolgirls. It was unsettling, to say the least. Even though they were nine years apart in age, the pair had become as thick as thieves, or as mother would say, quick as thieves.

“No, I haven’t,” Jon said. “You two did not let it slip what I was giving her for her birthday, did you?”

“Certainly not,” Chloe said. “We wouldn’t spoil it.”

“She will be très content when she sees it,” Giselle said. “Can we be there when you show her?”

“No, indeed,” he said. “It’s my private gift to my wife.”

They sighed. Then Giselle glanced across the room. “He’s looking at you again, Chloe.”

“Who?” Jon asked sharply.

“Your friend Scovell,” Giselle said.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “You and Tory always think he fancies me, but I don’t see it. He’s just being annoying as usual.”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Jon said, “but I really must find my wife.”

He finally spotted Tory, who was hard to miss in that gown of peony red. She was in a serious discussion with Beasley, who was becoming somewhat famous in their circle as an engraver of Rowlandson’s drawings. Not to mention, he was one of the teachers at Tory’s budding school for female artists.

“I tell you, Mr. Beasley,” Tory said, “part of the school could be used as a provider of colorists for the printmaking industry. The fashion journals already use a select group of women to color their prints. Only think how many widows and daughters of détenus and women détenus themselves we could employ! You know that your ladies suffer, especially the ones who lost their husbands in Verdun. If we were to hire them out, some of the money could go to the school.”

“I agree, Your Grace,” Beasley said. “I’m just not sure we have the room in our present location.”

“This sounds like a discussion I need to be part of,” Jon put in.

“There you are, Jon,” Tory said, pausing to tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Could you please tell Mr. Beasley that this would be a lucrative enterprise that would also benefit hundreds of women?”

Jon chuckled. “First of all, sweetheart, my mother would say that the words ‘lucrative’ and ‘enterprise’ should never come out of the mouth of a duchess.”

Tory cocked her head. “And what do you say?”

He smiled. “That I can see I’ll have to give you my birthday present early.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” she asked warily.

“Do you remember that place in Chelsea we looked at that you loved, but said was too dear for the school?”

“Ye-e-s.”

He handed her a set of keys. “It belongs to you now.”

“Jon!” she cried, her face awash with joy. “You didn’t!”

“I did. I’m a duke. I can do as I please, remember? And it pleases me to treat my wife to a bigger building for her school. It probably cost less than that ruby necklace you’re sporting, anyway, so I figure I saved money in the long run.”

She clutched the necklace, her eyes going wide. “Good Lord, I must take these off and put them somewhere safe.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, laughing. “Those are the Falconridge rubies. Why do you think I wanted you to wear them tonight? They’ve been worn by the Falconridge duchesses for generations. Which you are now one of.”

She stretched up to kiss his cheek, then turned to Beasley. “Did you hear that, Mr. Beasley?”

“I heard, Duchess,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Now we can teach women to be colorists and other sorts of artists,” Tori said.

“Perhaps even sculptresses,” Jon said, with a wink at Beasley, who looked shocked that the duke had just winked at him.

“Certainly,” Tory said. “Or at the very least, relief artists for Josiah Wedgwood. We’ve already got one lady in his employ. Who knows how many others we might soon have?”

“I’m just glad to see you so happy.” Jon turned to Beasley. “Would you mind if I steal my wife away for a few moments?”

“No, indeed, Your Grace,” Beasley said. “I’ll find the missus and see if she’d like a few of those cheese tarts.”

Jon escorted Tory to the stairs, then led her up toward the art room.

“What are you doing, Jon?” she asked.

“Giving you my other present.” When they reached the top, he made her cover her eyes with her hands, then pulled her into the art room. “All right, you can look now.”

Tory opened her eyes, then gazed around at the room in wonder.

“I had everything moved over from your workroom at the cottage since the lease was about to be up anyway, and I supplemented with supplies where needed. Chloe and Giselle helped me. They knew which things you were wanting.”

“This is so lovely.” Her hands covered her cheeks. “I can’t believe you did all this!”

“Obviously, we’ll have to put the schoolroom somewhere else once we have children, but there’s plenty of other rooms in the house we could use, and this was never the ideal setup for a schoolroom anyway.”

She turned to kiss him full on the mouth. “I love it,” she said, her eyes misting over. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“And to show you my lessons weren’t a total loss . . .” He tugged her over to where sat his admittedly bad clay model of an apple. “This is for you. In case you can’t tell—and you probably can’t—it’s an apple for my teacher, since I’m a duke and all and can afford one out of season.”

She was biting her lower lip very hard.

“It’s all right—you can laugh,” he said.

“I’m merely trying to figure out,” she said in a voice trembling with repressed amusement, “how you could make the model of a round piece of fruit lopsided.”

“I have no idea.” He drew her into his arms. “First, I tried to do a naked rendition of you, but you can only imagine how that turned out. And no, I didn’t keep it. I repurposed the clay into that apple. Clearly, there will only ever be one sculptor in this marriage.”

“That’s all right,” she said, laughing. “I don’t need a sculptor for a husband.”

He kissed her forehead. “I don’t suppose you would sculpt a naked rendition of yourself for me, would you?”

“No need.” She looped her arms about his neck and pressed her breasts suggestively against him. “I can show you the real thing whenever you please.”

Taking her by surprise, he picked her up and carried her over to the table they’d used for lessons previously. Then he set her down on top of it. “Thank God,” he murmured as he began kissing his way down the slope of her bosom. “I like the real thing best of all.”