Page 78 of His Grace, the Duke (Second Sons #2)

Rosalie

Two Months Later

“Stop fidgeting,” James muttered.

Rosalie’s hand immediately stilled on the fur trim of her pelisse. “I’m not fidgeting,” she replied.

Yes, she was.

James just smirked, curling his fingers protectively over the hand she had draped on his arm. He gave it a soft squeeze. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

She frowned. James had been repeating that sentiment nearly every hour for the last week. It wasn’t helping her anxiety. In fact, if anything, his own lack of concern was only making things worse. If he said it again, she was going to find a stick and whack him about the knees. She was about to say as much when Burke let out a soft laugh.

“Careful, James. The duchess is not above salting people’s tea when they irritate her.”

Rosalie shot him a knowing look, the corner of her mouth quirking into a little smile.

He returned it, his grey eyes as stormy as ever against the December sky.

Between them, James just sighed, checking his pocket watch for the fourth time. He glanced over his shoulder at Lawson, the butler. “She did say two o’clock, yes?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lawson replied with a nod.

“She will come,” said Rosalie, her smile falling. “I doubt very much she will miss this first chance to excoriate us both. What a fine Christmas present for herself.”

“If she dares try it, she will sleep in the stable with Magellan,” James replied.

“Perhaps a Christmas miracle might occur, and we will find the dowager on her best behavior, merely happy to be home amongst family for the holiday,” offered Burke.

James cast him an incredulous look. “You’ve met my mother, right?”

Burke just chuckled again.

Rosalie tuned them out, her eyes locked on the sweeping curve of the drive as it disappeared into the stretch of woods separating Alcott’s northernmost grounds from the little village of Finchley. The trees were a tangled mess of leafless brown branches, dotted by the dark green of an occasional pine. Everything held a silvery glaze, dusted by the frost. Rosalie smelled snow in the air. She exhaled again, her breath coming out in a little puff of smoke. She inched closer to James, feeling the chill down to her toes.

“This is ridiculous.” He jabbed his watch back in his pocket for the fifth time. “Rosalie, go wait inside where it’s warm.”

“She will come, James,” she replied, soothing his arm with a stroke of her gloved hand.

They stood on the front steps of Alcott Hall, flanked to either side by a set of servants, waiting to receive the Dowager Duchess of Norland, who was now late by over half an hour.

Exactly one week ago, Rosalie was sitting alone in the morning room, enjoying a good book and a cup of oolong, when a footman entered with a letter on a tray addressed to Her Grace, the Duchess of Norland. Rosalie flipped the letter over to see the dowager’s seal in red wax. She opened it in a rush and read the contents:

December 15, 1812

Dear Duchess,

I have at last tired of the London air and wish to return home. Expect my coming one week hence. I shall send a man ahead to inform you of the hour.

Yours etc.,

Harriet Wakefield Corbin Dowager Duchess of Norland

Two months. Rosalie had enjoyed two whole months of wedded bliss alone in her new home with her husband... well, husbands . For that is what Burke and Tom were to her. For two perfect months, she’d been able to live as if the outside world did not exist. There was only their love. The deepening of it, the exploring, the delicious testing of limits... and occasionally tempers.

True to his word, James woke her the morning after their return to Alcott Hall, his lips and hands rousing her from sleep. He’d claimed her so sweetly, Burke and Tom watching to either side, and said once more those two perfect words, words that had for so long terrified her.

“Marry me.”

“Yes,” she replied, with no feeling of hesitation or doubt.

The four of them shared each other in bed before sharing a breakfast. Then they walked to the church in Finchley and James and Rosalie were married. Just like that, she became a duchess.

Now here she stood, in the freezing December air. Her serene bubble was about to be popped, and the one to hold the pin was none other than her scheming mother-in-law, the lady who set this all in motion by inviting Rosalie to Alcott in the first place.

“She comes,” said James.

Rosalie tensed, seeing for herself a team of four black horses trotting down the lane pulling a carriage. Her hand tightened on his arm. “Umm, James...”

“What the...” Burke muttered from James’ other side.

As Rosalie watched, one carriage became two, became four, became four and a luggage wagon, with two more carriages trailing behind. It was a caravan. The dowager duchess may have tired of the London air, but she had apparently not tired of her London set, for she had apparently brought half the ton with her.

“Bloody fucking hell,” James muttered.

“James,” Rosalie whispered, heart fluttering. This could not be happening. She hardly felt ready to entertain the dowager, let alone all her high-society friends.

James turned to stare daggers at Lawson and their housekeeper, Mrs. Davies. “What is the meaning of this? Did you two know?”

Mrs. Davies had the good sense to look a little sheepish. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. She made us promise. It was to be a surprise. A Christmas present, she called it.”

“Are we really all that surprised?” Burke said with a shrug. James turned to Rosalie, cupping her cheek with a gloved hand. “I’ll send her straight home. She and all her friends will not even alight from their carriages. Just say the word—”

“No,” she said quickly, placing her hand over his. “James, I’m fine. No reason to be nervous, eh?”

His frown deepened.

Determined to soothe him, she tipped up on her toes and kissed him. His lips felt like marble in the icy air. “Do you now doubt your duchess? Shall I disappoint you, Your Grace?”

His arm curled around her waist as he pulled her closer, kissing her again. “Never.”

She broke their kiss with a smile. “Then let her come and be dashed upon our rocks, for she will not break us.”

He smiled too. She could sense the want in his look, his touch. “You are fierce, wife.”

“This is my house now,” she replied, keeping her arm around his waist as she turned to watch the caravan approach. “You wanted a duchess, and you have one. It’s your own fault you picked one who prefers to solve her problems by hurling fists rather than whispering gossip.”

“I think James has excellent taste,” Burke said from his other side. “I could not have picked a more perfect duchess for you.”

“You claim credit for this?” James said with a raised brow.

“Of course, I do,” he replied. “I was the one who discovered her in that back-alley brawl. I practically served her to you on a silver platter. You should be on your knees in gratitude to me every day of the week.” He flashed James a sly smile that had James rolling his eyes.

Rosalie ignored them. The front carriage rattled past, the wheels crunching on the pea gravel. In moments, the doors of the front two carriages were open, and the footmen were fishing out the passengers. The dowager duchess was the first down the steps of the first carriage.

James let go of Rosalie and descended the steps, offering his mother his arm. “Mother, you’re late.”

“A horse went lame and had to be changed out at Newbridge,” she replied, her bright blue eyes settling on Rosalie.

Rosalie felt that look pierce straight through her very bones. The dowager duchess had a sense about her, a knowing. It had unsettled Rosalie from the moment of their first meeting. She saw people. She saw through disguises and artifice. She saw Rosalie. In fact, Rosalie may as well have been waiting naked on the stairs, for no amount of fine fur-trimmed coats or feathered hats could disguise what she was: a nobody, unworthy, wholly undesired for this lofty role. Rosalie swallowed back the negative thoughts as the dowager had her gaze pulled away by James.

“What is the meaning of all this, Mother?” he declared with a wave of his hand.

She lifted her chin most haughtily. “George denied me the joy of one wedding. I’ll not let you deny me a second time, James. I am here to see that I get what I want.”

Rosalie’s eyes went wide, glancing from James back to his mother.

“And what is it you want?” James replied, leading her up the stairs. “Rosalie and I are already married. We’ll not be repeating the act just for your benefit.”

She paused, turning on the stair to look up at her son. “I want an apology. A heartfelt one.”

He stiffened. “An apology?”

“For not inviting me,” she replied. “I am your mother, James. With Rosalie’s mother gone, I am all she has too, or did you forget this? It may be too late for me to see you both married, but you will not deny me this chance to see you celebrated. A new duke and his duchess, and thus, a new era of the Corbins begins.”

James glanced back over his shoulder at the pooling guests. “So, you brought half the ton with you to what? Offer us their congratulations and drop off a few belated wedding gifts?”

“No, I am hosting a ball,” she replied. “Tomorrow night, we shall celebrate Christmas, as well as the new Duke and Duchess of Norland.” She let her eye settle on Rosalie. “Does that suit you, Your Grace?”

But Rosalie was distracted, watching as the passengers from all the carriages were escorted out. One lady had just exited the last carriage. Her shockingly pink pelisse instantly drew Rosalie’s eye. “Is that... Madame Lambert?”

“Of course,” the dowager replied with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Madame Lambert is the best modiste in town, and I wanted the Duchess of Norland dressed by the best. We have a reputation that must be maintained.”

“Of course,” Rosalie replied with a growing smile.

“I’ll go welcome her,” Burke said, trotting down the stairs towards the modiste.

The dowager huffed. “Well, is someone going to show me inside, or shall I expect my feet to freeze here on this stair?”

Recovering himself, James offered out his arm again, leading his mother past Rosalie and into the house.

Rosalie watched as the rest of her house guests began climbing the stairs. There was the Viscount and Viscountess Raleigh, with Madeline smiling between them. The Marchioness of Marlborough and her two young children. The Duchess of Somerset, a close friend of the dowager, was instructing two footmen on the care of her pair of corgis. The Countess of Waverley stepped past her, flanked by a giddy Elizabeth and Mariah, who came bounding up the stairs to give Rosalie hugs. Rosalie greeted them warmly, shooing them inside with promises of hot chocolate and dancing after dinner. Her attention caught on Burke.

“Rosalie, you remember Paulette Lambert,” he said, climbing the stairs towards her.

“Of course,” she replied, offering out her hand.

The modiste took it, dipping into a slight curtsy. “A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace.” The one and only time they met, the lady had been so sure James meant to court Rosalie with his extravagant wardrobe purchase. Now here Rosalie stood, his duchess.

Burke patted the lady’s gloved hand. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”

“I shall find you in an hour, ma chérie,” said Paulette over her shoulder. “I ‘ave a new gown for you and we must get you fitted. I call it Les Trois Diamants ,” she added with a wink, letting Burke lead her into the house.

With a warm feeling settling deep in her chest, Rosalie followed them all inside.

Just as she promised, an hour later Paulette was ordering Rosalie to her bedroom so a new ball gown could be tried on and properly fitted. They left the rest of the boisterous house guests below. Mrs. Davies led the way as Rosalie, Paulette, and the dowager made their way towards her room.

Paulette wasted no time directing the maids. They soon set up a trifold mirror in the corner. A set of boxes were arranged on the end of the bed, their lids already removed. “I ‘ave three for you to try, Your Grace,” Paulette explained.

“Tell me my James at least offered you a nosegay on the day,” the dowager said with a sigh, sinking into a chair.

Rosalie stilled, her hands on the clasps of her dress. “Umm... no, he didn’t.”

“Did you have a veil? The barest trim of lace? Anything that might denote you were a bride on her wedding day?”

“No,” Rosalie replied. “It was all a bit rushed,” she admitted, focusing her attention on her clasps rather than the sternness of her mother-in-law’s eyes. “We had breakfast together and walked to the village. Burke and Tom joined us as witnesses. It was quiet. Perfect, actually,” she finished with a smile.

“It sounds like a dream,” said Paulette distractedly. “Aha, zis is ze first choice.” She lifted a beautiful cream silk gown out of its box. “Simple but elegant, non?”

“No,” the dowager replied with a frown. “She is not a debutante at her first ball. She is a duchess. What else did you bring?”

Paulette was unfazed by her rudeness, handing the dress off to a waiting maid as she reached for the next one. “Zis one is a new design,” she said, holding it up. It was a lovely thing of soft pink satin with a lace overlay. “I call it La Rose Rose ,” she said with a chuckle.

“Your thoughts, Duchess?” the dowager asked with a raised brow.

“It’s beautiful,” Rosalie replied.

Paulette narrowed her eyes at her. “Hmm... and back in ze box she goes,” she said, stuffing it unceremoniously away. “But now we come to ma précieux trésor. Zis one you cannot deny.” She folded back the paper of the last box and lifted out a stunning ball gown. It was ivory silk, gathered at the bodice. A geometric diamond pattern in shades of blue and silver beads circled the waistline. The diamonds grew in size as the eye fell to the floor. The bottom hem was scalloped, ending with a lovely little train.

“It’s beautiful,” Rosalie sighed. “The diamonds are like snowflakes.”

“Try it on,” the dowager directed.

In minutes, Rosalie stood on the stand before her trifold mirror, marveling at the cut and style of the gown. The sleeves were sheer and capped. The beading made the bottom of the dress heavy, swaying a bit as she moved.

“This is the one,” the dowager declared.

“Absolument,” chimed the modiste. “I always know ze right gown for ze right lady. I shall take ze others and burn zem.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rosalie cried. “Please, would you go to Elizabeth and Mariah and offer them the other dresses as my gift? Could you alter three dresses in a night? Oh no, that is too much,” she said more to herself.

Paulette just laughed. “As long as your belle-mère is content paying a hefty bill, I shall sew until my fingers bleed, ma chérie. I ‘ave your measurements from before, so zis gown is almost parfaite.”

Rosalie smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She caught the dowager’s eye and her smile fell. “Could you, umm... would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Of course,” Paulette cooed. “I shall go find my Horatio and feed him too much cake.”

The two maids followed her out, softly shutting the door behind them.

Rosalie stood still, her eyes on her own reflection in the mirror. “Why did you really come?” she murmured.

“I told you why,” the dowager replied, tapping the edge of her teacup with her sugar spoon.

“And that’s it, then?” she pressed with a raised brow. “You came to throw us a ball to celebrate our marriage... and you have no harsh words for me? No admonishments? Shall I walk through the doors of my dining room only to have a piano fall on my head?”

The dowager snorted. “Do you want harsh words from me, Rosalie?” She lifted her gaze to Rosalie’s reflection in the mirror. “Do you want me to hate you, child?”

“No,” Rosalie replied. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she added softly.

“And why would I hate you?”

Rosalie balled her hands into nervous fists at her sides. “Because I did the one thing you asked me not to do. You asked me to keep my distance from the gentlemen in this house. From James and from Burke... even George. I did not. George is my friend. In the end, he took my advice over yours. Burke is... well Burke,” she added, eyes darting away. “And James is my husband.”

“Burke was never mine to keep,” the dowager replied, taking a sip of her tea. “I knew that first morning when he brought you to me that he was lost. He has always been obstinate and passionate. I tried to rein him in, but the man is wild,” she added with a sigh. “He’s yours now to make or break. I wash my hands of him.”

Rosalie’s breath caught in her throat. “And James? You don’t resent my marrying him?”

The dowager caught her eye’s reflection in the mirror again. “Having arranged the thing myself, I’m not sure why I would now resent it?”

Rosalie blinked. “What can you mean?”

The dowager laughed. “Who do you think had the special license issued?”

“The—what?”

“Come, Rosalie, don’t be a fool,” she said, setting her tea aside. “James is a peer. He cannot simply marry on a whim. Either the banns must be read, or he must apply for a special license directly from the Archbishop of Canterbury. The day James was invested as duke, I had the archbishop issue the license. I knew it was only a matter of time until you set aside your confounded pride and married him. In truth, I was already planning for a Christmas wedding,” she added. “But it is easy enough to change one’s plans from a wedding to a ball. I doubt I lost more than fifty pounds in the exchange.”

The air left Rosalie completely. “The license was your doing?”

“Of course,” the dowager replied. “Almost from the moment you arrived in my house, I saw the change in James. He was always so focused, so driven. In the span of days, you began unraveling him. You broke him down, piece by piece, remaking him into something new. Something better, stronger.”

Rosalie could hardly believe the words she was hearing.

“I always knew something was missing from my James, some piece of him that would take him from excellent to extraordinary. Of course, it had to be a woman,” she muttered, almost to herself. “How can I deny you what you’ve rightfully won, when it will clearly bring only benefit to my family? You were most unexpected, Miss Harrow. You vex me, it’s true. For you are willful and proud and too often indiscreet. The fact that you forced my son to accept your lovers into your marriage is obviously a chief concern, but I imagine if I try to wedge Burke or Renley away from you now, I’ll only get my hand bit for my trouble. Am I right?”

Rosalie stepped off the dress stand and sank onto the nearest chair. The dowager knew. Of course, she knew everything. How long had she known? Did everyone know? Rosalie had kept her eye on the papers and read nothing except recycled stories from the day of the investiture—the failed wedding, the shooting, Olivia’s midnight escape. The Corbins were mentioned just last month when the news of Piety Nash’s wedding was announced. Apparently, she’d bagged herself a wealthy earl. But there was nothing about Rosalie being a jezebel in the house of Corbin.

“Am I right?” the dowager pressed.

Rosalie raised her chin, meeting her mother-in-law’s gaze. “I see there is to be a truth between us. I know your secret... and you wish to know mine. But can I trust you with it?”

The dowager pursed her lips. “I am a woman of the world, Rosalie. I imagine I already know your secret.” She leaned forward, those eyes holding Rosalie captive in their gaze. “What I care about is that the center holds. James would hardly be the first peer in England to have an unconventional marriage. And he’s made it clear he cares nothing for my ideas, nor my advice. If I give it, he will be sure to run in the opposite direction as quickly as his legs will carry him. I am thus resolved, at last, to stay out of his affairs.”

Rosalie raised a brow in wry disbelief.

“Well... for the most part I mean to stay out of things. I am still a Corbin, and I have my own opinions,” the dowager added with a sniff. “But my paramount concern is that the public face of House Corbin shines without a blemish. Whatever happens behind closed doors shall be your own affair. But what society sees. What the ton sees. This matters, Rosalie. It matters immensely.”

“I know,” Rosalie replied. “And we would never dare act in a way as to bring any undue suspicion to the family or the title. No one will ever doubt we are happy and in love because we are . I love your son madly, wildly, utterly and completely.”

“But what of Burke and Renley?” she said with a raised brow of her own.

Rosalie took a steadying breath. When the day began, she hadn’t been sure how much she was willing to reveal to her mother-in-law. But the thought of sharing a life with her—sharing a house with her—and hiding how she felt about Burke and Tom felt intolerable. It would be miserable for everyone involved.

The last thing she wanted was for his mother to be forced out of Alcott—her home for the last forty years—all in the name of making them more comfortable in her absence. But a life of hiding her feelings for Burke and Tom in every moment not shared in private felt like a kind of torture the likes of which would cause so much pain as to leave her a broken and bleeding thing.

“Burke has accepted a position as James’ steward,” she replied. “Tom stays with the navy for now. He is returning from Town as we speak. He had a meeting with his captain. We believe he may soon be called out.”

“So, they intend to stay here at Alcott... with the two of you.”

Rosalie focused her attention on her own cup of tea. “Yes.”

“And if there is gossip—”

She glanced up sharply. “Horatio Burke and Tom Renley have been dear childhood friends of the Duke of Norland for nigh on twenty years,” she replied, her speech already well-practiced in her dressing mirror. “Long before he met me, James had a well-established record of housing them here. Nothing has changed now that we are married. James sees them as family, and so do I. They will always find a home with us.”

The dowager held her gaze. “An answer without answering.”

“You seek my frankness, and I have given it,” she replied. “Enough for you to understand our feelings on the subject, at least. If there ever comes a time where I believe I can trust you with more of my frankness, I will most agreeably oblige. For now, I have said enough.”

The dowager pursed her lips. “All I really need to know is that you love my son, and you are committed to being his duchess. That is the only thing that matters. The public face of things must hold. Alcott must hold.”

Rosalie rose from her chair, taking the dowager’s hand in both of hers as she sank into the empty chair beside her. “I will love your son until my last breath. I will be a duchess, a wife, a mother, a proud lioness. We Richmond ladies are strong, are we not? I didn’t know my own strength at first, but James helped me to see it. He is so good and kind, so strong, so loving. I will not fail him. Not ever. And I love Alcott. It is safe in my hands... besides, you’re not dead yet,” she added with a soft grin. “I imagine you may continue to be useful to me, at least for a little while. I should like to have your mentorship as I learn to run this grand estate.”

The dowager gave Rosalie’s hand a pat. “Good. Love my son as he should be loved, manage this estate as it should be managed, and you’ll hear no complaints from me. I think... is it wrong of me to say that I think Elinor would be proud of you?” She raised her hand and tucked one of Rosalie’s dark curls behind her ear.

Rosalie’s eyes bloomed with tears at the touch. “I am not my mother,” she whispered.

“No,” the dowager replied. “You are something... more. You are wiser and stronger than ever we were. You will be the duchess I could have been, the duchess I should have been... the duchess worthy of wearing a tiara born out of love and self-sacrifice. A kind duchess. A loving one. You will do well here.”

A tear slipped down Rosalie’s cheek.

“And I brought it, you know,” the dowager added, rising to her feet.

Rosalie rose too. “Brought it?”

“The Duchess Mary tiara. Spun silver vining with diamond and amethyst grape clusters. You’ll need to wear something for the ball tomorrow night. A duchess must always be properly dressed,” she counseled with a frown. “You should wear it.”

Rosalie nodded, her voice still thick with emotion. “Thank you for your kindness to me. I-I don’t know where I’d be had you never written... had you never invited me to Alcott—”

“Do not dwell in the past, dear. Look forward. That’s what I do. Everything we do now is for our future, yes?”

Rosalie nodded again. “Yes.”

***