Page 19 of My Disastrous Duchess (The Untamed Ladies #2)

“ A most irregular rendezvous, that’s what my dame said,” Simon laughed a few days later, inspecting his cards with a cigar hanging halfway out of his mouth. He took the cigar between his fingers and turned to Alexander. “And you know it’s bad if that’s what the demi-reps are dubbing it.”

Alexander leaned back in his chair, one boot crossed over his knee, only half listening to Simon, Bastian, and the others as they discussed the latest absurdity printed in the rags.

The papers were still investigating the scandal between him and Margaret.

Nowhere in London was safe from stares and gossiping.

The smoke in White’s hung low, curling around them, quick to choke. Alexander’s mouth twitched for an entirely different reason as he brought his brandy to his lips.

“You didn’t think it would pass so quickly, did you?

” Simon continued, calling over a footman and placing an order for more hock.

The game had barely begun, but he was already deep in his cups, encouraging Bastian to keep up since Alexander wouldn’t be persuaded.

“It’s not even been a week. Why not get Bastian to do something embarrassing and detract some of the attention from you and your mistress? ”

“You know I would,” Bastian said, face red from drink. He sorted clumsily through his cards, exposing most of them to the table. “But I can’t risk myself so soon. Miss Diana Dawson-Duff has not yet turned her nose up at me.”

“Miss Diana Dawson-Duff?” Simon guffawed, clapping Bastian on the shoulder, probably trying to get another look at his cards. “You cannot honestly have designs on a woman with a name like that.”

“Why should her name factor? She is perfectly charming and bright – a far cry from your usual prospects, Stockton.” It was Bastian’s turn to play, throwing another guinea into the pile before the round started.

“But until such a time as her affections become clear – or the lack thereof – I cannot make a fool of myself. Not even for you, old friend.”

“You will recall, if you can, that I was not the one who asked,” Alexander reminded him, scowling as he followed suit. “I need no assistance, have asked for none.”

But my patience is wearing thinner by the day. There has been no progress that I have heard of on Miss Pembroke’s end – meaning I am still waiting to contact Isadore.

“How assured you are,” Simon taunted. “This impresses me.”

“Most things do.” Alexander straightened, casting his gaze away from the table. The men snickered at Simon’s expense as the game continued.

“You will not be laughing when I tell you what next my lady said.” Simon wiggled his brows, waiting just long enough to make Alexander suffer.

He leaned in close, the acrid smell of smoke filling the air around them.

“Because from what I heard, Miss Pembroke’s betrothal to old Faversham has unknotted itself rather inconveniently. ..”

“What?” Alexander reeled back. “You’re lying.”

Simon shook his head. “A recent development, not yet common knowledge. But my lady’s friends know more than most – know Baron Faversham too, when he comes into town.”

The cards in Alexander’s hand went limp. He settled them face down on the table, the game mostly forgotten. Around him, the laughter from the other gentleman faded until it couldn’t be heard as his mind churned.

“You might ask her yourself,” Simon said, drawing back. “Then of course, that would mean visiting your little miss in person. Have you the courage for that?”

It was not a question of courage, and Alexander bristled at the underhanded slight. He had counted on the betrothal holding. What did Baron Faversham have to lose in retaining Margaret as his betrothed? It was a question that wasn’t worth answering.

Margaret was now free, a duke’s dalliance and a baron’s castoff, and it was Alexander’s fault.

Alexander stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. The movement drew a few curious glances, but no one questioned him – not even Simon.

His hand went instinctively into his pocket, fingers finding the familiar weight of his watch. He muttered a curse as he left the club, leaving the game behind for good.

"How lucky you are, Margaret,” Sophia said in her usual deadpan tone. “A month ago, you had zero suitors and no prospects of ever securing one, and today you find yourself with two. A fortunate turn of events, all things considered.”

Margaret looked up from her shoes. “How do you figure that?”

“Baron Faversham has not yet rescinded his offer – that makes one, even if it does make my stomach turn to look at him overlong. And yet if he does dissolve your betrothal, the duke will be all but forced to marry you, which makes another.”

Sophia rose from the wrought-iron bench where they had been sitting that afternoon and ambled toward the edge of the lake. She pulled her hooded cape more tightly around her as the wind increased.

“You are forgetting one important fact,” Lucy chimed in, swinging her legs back and forth, the soles of her boots sweeping over the grass beneath them.

“The Duke of Langley has no obligation to marry anyone. Men often find themselves in trouble like this and always seem to come out unscathed. Why would he bother marrying Margaret? She has no father to force the match.” She scrunched her nose and looked Margaret’s way. “No offense, of course.”

“No, no,” Margaret said, staring absently at the lake. “You are only speaking the truth.”

Margaret, however, was not.

The morning prior, Baron Faversham had come to visit.

Margaret had guessed from his miserable expression what decision he had reached.

Her mother had tried to convince him to change his mind, but the baron was unyielding.

He would not marry Margaret while the ton pulsed with rumors of her scandal.

Margaret’s response had been curt, a quick thank you for the consideration, and a wish for all the best .

But a war had been waging inside her ever since, relief battling with panic.

Katherine had started scrambling, already trying to sell back the things she had purchased, seeking help from Lady Jane in matchmaking Margaret to someone new. And Eliza...

She couldn’t even think about Eliza.

Lucy wrapped an arm consolingly around Margaret’s waist, tearing her from her thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Margaret. I only meant that Sophia was making things sound simpler than they are – probably because she’s jealous that another one of her friends is involved with a duke.”

Sophia scoffed, turning halfway from The Serpentine.

A lock of blonde hair escaped her disguise, and she quickly tucked it back into place.

Being seen with Margaret in public would have been unacceptable, but once her friends had learned of the scandal, they organized a secret meeting to show their support.

They had gathered in a quiet corner of the park, away from the main footpath.

The trees rustled gently overhead, the air carrying with it the scent of damp grass and smoke from the city.

Lucy had come alone, having snuck out without a word to her guardians.

Sophia’s maid was waiting nearby, keeping watch in case a rider came past.

“I’m not jealous. I’ve been betrayed, ” Sophia argued, marching back over to them.

“I agreed to join this mad league out of support for you and the others. Then Anna finds herself a duke, and now you are entangled with one too. Meanwhile, I have neglected my own dreams, having likely sabotaged myself forevermore.”

“You’re such a liar,” Lucy said through a laugh. “You say you are part of the league, but your dance card is full at every ball we attend, and you’re an open and obvious flirt. The league is not the reason you have not married, Sophia. Your own impossible expectations are to blame.”

“Oh, now you sound just like Anna. I won’t apologize for having high standards,” Sophia replied. “Just because Margaret is satisfied with a misguided dalliance?—”

“There has been no dalliance, and I am far from satisfied,” Margaret protested, stopping the argument before it could escalate.

“That is precisely the issue at hand, which you are both forgetting. You speak of the Duke of Langley as though he is a prospect worth considering. I should pay him no mind at all. He has no interest in me and never will.”

The girls were quiet for a moment. The only sound to be heard was the clatter of carriage wheels somewhere in the distance, until Lucy made an unconvinced noise.

“But how can you be so sure?” Lucy asked. “He invited you to Somerstead Hall when he could have let you die. He rushed to Grosvenor Square just as the article was hot off the press. That shows some interest.”

Margaret mistakenly glanced at Sophia, who was looking down at her knowingly.

“Did something happen at Somerstead?” Sophia asked. “Something more than you are willing to admit? You do not seem yourself, Margaret. If there is something we should know?—”

“There is nothing.” Margaret hated lying. “He is solely interested in protecting himself. That is all you need to know. All I can do is wait for...” She sighed. “I’m not even sure what, at this point.”

“Such is the fate of a woman.” Sophia looked up at the trees. “Always waiting.”

Lucy leaned forward and picked a piece of clover from the ground.

Three leaves, not four. She plucked them off one by one.

“The duke might be more conflicted than you give him credit. I’ve seen His Grace a few times at gatherings back home, and he never struck me as a cruel gentleman. He might surprise you yet.”

Margaret laughed softly. “Might surprise me as one is surprised by typhus when their skin starts to itch.” She took the naked stalk from Lucy and cast it aside. “No, ladies. I fear we are alone.”

A comfortable silence followed as a softer breeze ruffled Margaret’s skirt.

In that moment, she thought a prayer of gratitude for her friends, silently wishing that their own futures would be easy, or whatever they dreamed them to be.

Her heart ached with longing for Anna. She loved her friends equally, but only gentle Anna would have known how to help.

“We should not linger,” Margaret said, searching for Lucy’s hand and squeezing it. She took Sophia’s too, gratified by the warm smile that graced her friend’s face. “Thank you both for meeting with me today.”

The girls departed one by one, Margaret waiting to leave last. She watched Lucy hurry around the lake until she disappeared, Sophia scurrying off with her maid, while she sat on the bench with her thoughts now that she was alone.

The Serpentine glittered in the daylight, and she was reminded of the view of the Avon River from Somerstead Hall – and then from Pembroke House.

She rose with thoughts of home in mind, looking toward the gravel path that would lead to the park’s exit.

As she lifted herself from the bench, something caught her eye.

It was Lucy’s handkerchief, embroidered with her initials.

It must have fallen from her pocket as she left.

Margaret collected it, the tips of her gloves becoming slightly damp from the grass.

She adjusted them as she made her way back to the footpath. ..

And that was when she felt it: the sense that someone was watching her.

The air shifted as she turned around. She surveyed her surroundings to make sure she was alone, expecting to find nothing.

But between the trees behind her, which had so perfectly concealed her friends from sight, concealed him – she saw a figure watching her, standing beside an unmarked carriage. Her breath caught in her throat as he nodded, begging her toward him.