Page 20 of My Disastrous Duchess (The Untamed Ladies #2)

“ A little clandestine, don’t you think?” Miss Pembroke said as she marched toward him. “When last you wished to speak with me, you barged into my home without an invitation. Why the need for all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense now?”

“Of the two of us, you look far more suspicious than I,” Alexander suggested, looking her from head to toe.

She was wrapped in a dark, hooded coat. Despite the drabness of the garment, she looked no less beautiful than usual.

“I saw the way you snuck out of your home and convened with these women in the park. Does the Viscountess know that you slipped out? She seemed the type of woman who would have forbidden you to leave after what had transpired.”

Margaret’s mouth dropped open. “Were you watching me?”

“Not watching but waiting.”

“Waiting to abduct me, you mean.” She cast a glance at his carriage – the only unmarked vehicle in his fleet.

“Victims of abductions do not willingly approach their abductors and remain for chit-chat. But I have not asked you here to trade more barbs with you, Miss Pembroke. If you would.”

He walked toward the waiting carriage and opened the door for her. Margaret looked at him like he had gone mad.

“You cannot be serious. This habit of yours, luring vulnerable women into shadowy carriages, tends to have devastating consequences. I refuse to go anywhere with you until you tell me what you want, Your Grace.”

She spoke his title with venom.

“Miss Pembroke, if you are so affronted by my attempts to speak with you, then I encourage you to walk home alone as you had planned. But I have an offer for you – and it is not an offer I will attempt to extend a second time once this carriage leaves.”

Chewing on her lower lip, Margaret gave the matter a second’s thought.

Then she yanked up her skirts and climbed into the carriage.

Alexander followed, checking to make sure they weren’t being watched – though whether the ton caught them in a compromised position again would hardly matter once he presented her with his proposition.

Once inside, Alexander settled opposite Margaret.

He rapped twice on the wall, and the carriage lurched forward.

Daylight seeped through the windows, casting shadows over the patterned velvet interior.

He drew the curtains halfway, feeling Margaret watch him.

She sat rigid, and he tensed under her gaze.

Her effect on him was undeniable, and she looked particularly alluring that afternoon now that she had removed her hood.

Her cheeks and lips were nipped red from the cold outside, her dark brown hair tousled from the wind.

“Well?” she demanded. “Why have you orchestrated this meeting?”

Any lingering admiration he had for Margaret quickly dissipated at her tone.

“Last night, I heard some bothersome news,” he said.

“Regarding what, precisely?”

“Your betrothal to Baron Faversham.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She looked down at her hands. The tips of some white gloved fingers had been stained green from the grass. She was still clutching to the object she had picked up: a small blue handkerchief.

“If you know everything already, this meeting seems highly unnecessary.” Her fingers flexed around the fabric, and he caught her chin trembling.

“My mother ordered that we allow the baron a few days to collect himself. A few days then passed, and he called to say that he was no longer interested in continuing with the betrothal, as he feared that in nine months I would give birth to your child.”

“I see...”

“My mother then suggested I call upon him personally tomorrow and force him to reconsider.” She paused. “But I do not want to visit him. I do not believe his mind can be changed.”

Alexander studied Margaret in the dim carriage light. The woman was an enigma. She seemed devoted to her family, wanting desperately to save them from ruin, but at the same time refused to act in any way that would make that possible.

“Then perhaps you should hear now what I have come to suggest.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. He had ruminated over their situation all night. He had come to the only reasonable conclusion, having whittled down the potential solutions to their problem until only the most logical remained.

“You will marry me.”

Margaret blanched. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Marry you?” she whispered.

Alexander met her gaze evenly. Now that the words had exited him, he had no fear.

“Yes.” He leaned forward. “It is a direct and sensible response to the article, and the most honorable thing to do besides.”

“It is a lie,” Margaret said, leaning forward too. “Marrying one another would only make us look guilty. You know as well as I do that nothing happened at Somerstead Hall.”

“Society believes that I compromised you regardless. Marrying you would restore you in their eyes. They will believe that ours was a mistake borne of passion, one for which we will atone in the eyes of the Lord through our marriage.”

“But my honor is not yours to protect,” Margaret said, suddenly pensive. “Do not mistake me, Your Grace. That you would suggest such a thing is... It is eminently kind and has left me speechless. Yet one of us must point out the obvious.”

“Which is?”

“You do not want to marry me.”

The box grew still around them. He hadn’t expected her to push back like this.

This was a reaction he couldn’t understand.

He was a much more favorable prospect than Baron Faversham, and even if he and Margaret enraged one another, becoming a duchess was an offer no woman in her right mind would refuse.

“What has given you that impression?” he asked.

Margaret snorted. Alexander couldn’t help but smile.

“The first time we met, you made perfectly clear that I was not a suitable option for courtship, let alone marriage,” she explained.

“I have not become more suitable since then. No man who is thinking clearly would ask for my hand unless he felt he had no other choice. You will be taking on my father’s debts as your own, supporting my mother and sister for all of time.

.. And let us say nothing of the fact that you and I do little but quarrel.

You cannot sincerely wish to make a wife of me. ”

“Does that matter to you? Marriages are forged out of convenience more often than not. And in what pertains to you specifically...” He studied her. “You are entirely acceptable.”

She raised her brows and scoffed. “Flatterer.”

He was exasperated. “Acceptable in so much as you have been born with sufficient beauty and wit to become a duchess. I do not ignore your flaws – this trouble with your father, for a start. But it does not concern me. The benefits of marrying you will outweigh the disadvantages. And there would be grave disadvantages for me. I have made up my mind on this matter. Make up yours so we may be done with it and move past this unpleasantness with the press.”

Margaret left him waiting a moment, fiddling with her hands. For the first time since she had entered the carriage, she looked genuinely frightened. The levity they had managed to foster had died in an instant.

“Before I give you my answer, I must know one thing.”

“Then ask it.”

“Once we are married, what would you expect from me? You said that this would be a marriage of convenience, but I am unsure what that implies.” Her brow furrowed. “I have heard rumors, Your Grace, about mistresses coming in and out of your London home.”

Now it was Alexander’s turn to leave her waiting.

He was not a rake but had taken no vows of chastity either.

His affairs had been far and few between, and in the last few years, there had been no mistresses to speak of.

He wondered what she meant, until it dawned on him that she was referring to the women he and Ripley had interviewed.

One of his staff must have gossiped about him with Margaret, making it more likely that a Somerstead Hall servant had gone to the press over anyone else.

“I can assure you that whatever you have heard is false. I have not taken a mistress in many years, and once we are married, I will never take another.” He tried to project himself into the future, imagining a lifetime with Margaret.

“It remains to be seen how we will fare as man and wife, but I would treat my vows to you as the unbreakable, binding promises that they are. And I would expect the same of you. What more awaits us... I cannot say. That would largely depend on your own expectations. I would not touch you, for one, not unless...” He left the second half of his sentence unspoken, hoping she would read between the lines.

Not unless you asked me to.

A blush crept up her neck, and she swallowed hard.

“Those are my terms, Miss Pembroke.”

He glanced out of the carriage window. They were approaching Grosvenor Square.

He had asked the driver to circulate until they were done speaking, but Alexander had waited long enough.

He tapped on the carriage wall again, signaling the driver to direct them to Margaret’s home.

She seemed to understand what the gesture meant, rubbing her brow in thought.

By the time they circled to her house some five minutes later, she still hadn’t answered him.

“Miss Pembroke?” he asked as the carriage slowed to a stop.

Margaret glanced up, and the look in her eyes made him uncharacteristically nervous. Maybe Margaret had been wrong in her assessment. There was a part of him that wanted to marry her – and not just for the convenience.

“Your terms are more than fair, and you yourself are...” She paused, avoiding his gaze. “You are entirely acceptable to me, too. I would be a loon not to accept your proposal, Your Grace. So, yes. I will become your wife.”

Relief swept over him. Alexander finally relaxed, nodding at her answer. He felt a sudden tenderness for Margaret now that she was set to become his wife. Everything would be in order soon, thanks to her.

He could finally contact Isadore.

And yet the prospect of reuniting with my sister, while it was once my primary motivator, seems equally important to me now as ensuring Miss Pembroke’s safety.

“Then I will come inside with you and tell your mother the news,” Alexander said, shuffling across the bench as the driver came around for the door.

Margaret smiled. “I will ready my vinaigrette.”

After leaving the Pembroke home, Alexander returned to Langley House. The manor rumbled with conversation, indicating that Carlisle was in residence and was hosting friends from town.

Alexander found him in the game room, paused a moment to eavesdrop as Carlisle showed off a lion skull mount to his acquaintances, describing what seemed to be a trip to India he had taken in his youth.

When Alexander made his presence known, Carlisle set down his wine and approached, excusing himself from the group.

They quickly occupied themselves with their game of billiards, allowing Alexander to slip out with his uncle.

“Drinking and billiards at this time of day,” Alexander said as they walked the corridor. “That’s rather unlike you. What are you hoping to obtain from them?”

Carlisle huffed and looked back down the corridor with disgust. “Is it that obvious? The men in there are from the Royal Society. We came down together from Bath and arrived at noon, while you were out. They are utter boors, the lot of them, but they are planning a scientific tour of The Levant next year to which I am hoping to secure an invitation.”

His uncle walked a few paces ahead, leading Alexander to the terrace doors. He pushed them open with his shoulder, then shivered at the outdoor temperature. Alexander followed him out.

“In that case, I wish you the best of luck. And I apologize for interrupting.”

“No, no.” Carlisle chuckled. “I am grateful for the chance to give my ears a rest. What’s the matter? You look concerned.”

“Something has happened this afternoon of which I feel you should be made aware.” He looked out over the gardens, thinking of Margaret. “I believe I have become betrothed. I will be marrying shortly.”

Carlisle blinked once. “You believe you’ve become... what?”

“Betrothed,” Alexander repeated, clasping his hands behind his back. “To Miss Margaret Pembroke.”

“To Miss Pembroke.” Carlisle stared at his nephew as though seeing him for the first time.

His brows rose slowly as he processed the news.

“Naturally, I had wondered whether there was any merit to the story circulating about the two of you. Yes... News of your indiscretion reached Bath soon enough. I had planned to interrogate you on the matter this evening, but it now seems unnecessary. I must express some relief over it being Miss Pembroke and not some other woman you are marrying – but it surprises me that you have accepted her, considering the actions of her father.”

“I was left with little choice. But that does not mean I regret my decision. I wrongly held her accountable for her father’s misdeeds when first I reacquainted with her. She will become a strong duchess.”

“I agree. Miss Pembroke is a lovely woman. I remember her as a sharp if reticent girl?—”

Alexander laughed. “She was far from reticent now, but still sharp. You are not cross with me?”

“Certainly not.” His uncle’s expression softened.

It was an unusual look for Carlisle, but it ratified Alexander’s decision.

“I had, of course, hoped you would secure a wife someday. The circumstances, perhaps, are not ideal. But I will work with you to ensure a smooth transition for Miss Pembroke into her new and uncertain life. And if I am remembering correctly, she was fascinated with Somerstead Hall. That alone would have secured my approval.”

“Thank you.”

Alexander stood in quiet contemplation with his uncle for a while, looking over the grounds behind Langley House. Carlisle placed a hand cautiously on his back, patting it twice before he returned inside to the London Society members.

Carlisle may be pleased with my decision to marry Margaret, but he does not yet know what our marriage will facilitate... Will he accept Isadore with so much good faith?

And not just Carlisle.

Would Margaret?