Page 8 of The Cursed Duke (Wayward Dukes' Alliance #19)

July 28, 1815

Denham House

St. James Place

Mayfair, England

Abigail peered at him from across the breakfast table in the morning room as she held a cup of tea in front of her mouth. “I still cannot believe that Steppingford is married. And if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“I completely understand.” Wallace nodded as he took refuge into a cup of black coffee, for tea wasn’t strong enough this morning.

Yesterday morning, he and his wife had attended the nuptial ceremony at Steppingford’s home wherein the wedding breakfast was abruptly ended when the duke picked his new wife up bodily, slung her over his shoulder, and then announced to the guests he was going upstairs to fuck her. What the hell had gotten into the man? He was never that uncouth, was he? Did he regress after he’d spent so many years in India?

Abigail set her teacup into its saucer on the table. “Do you believe Steppingford loves her? There is quite a few years between them, and from what I’d managed to discern, they’d not known each other well before the engagement.”

“Dear God, that’s a lie. They didn’t know each other at all!” After taking another fortifying swig of his coffee, Wallace blew out a breath and peered at her. “Steppingford didn’t even know anything about her or that they were engaged until he read about it in the paper.”

“What?”

He nodded. “Apparently, from what I gathered from Steppingford the day before the ceremony, the chit made everything up to keep her mother from sticking her nose in the young woman’s business. She’d been tired of being referred to as a spinster.”

“Well, that is understandable, and once a woman is labeled as such, she’s almost a pariah in society.” Then she frowned. “But how did she know about Steppingford to even include him in a made-up tale?”

“She didn’t. That’s the extraordinary thing.” Wallace shrugged. “She’d no idea he existed. Perhaps she’d heard his title at some point in her life? Who can say, but from her point of view, he materialized right out of her imagination.” It was a damned coil, really.

For long moments, silence reigned between them as they partook of their breakfast. Then, his wife dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin. “I shall ask again. Does he love her?”

“Hell, no. And as for why he married her, dash it if I know that either, for he’s always maintained to us at the club that he would never enter into marriage without those softer feelings.” He paused for a sip of coffee. “I fear he’s playing a game, but what, I couldn’t say.”

“Could it be that Steppingford merely wants companionship after all this time?”

“I suppose. Loneliness is a strong motivator, but I didn’t think Steppingford would let himself be ruled by that.” As he popped the remainder of his toast into his mouth and chewed, Wallace reached for the stack of correspondence waiting by his plate. “We’ll need to wait and see, just like everyone else.”

“For his sake, I hope he finds what he’s seeking in his new wife.” Abigail continued to make inroads into the foods on her plate. “Hannah seemed like a lovely lady the brief time I spoke with her yesterday. A good head on her shoulders who would be given to a unique sense of humor if given half the chance.”

“She’s not quite the ideal society demands, though, is she? I hope she has a spine of steel in order to survive critique of her assuming the role of duchess.” A bit distracted by the letter he’d just opened, his mind certainly wasn’t on Steppingford’s woes any longer.

…writing to inform you that I won’t be long for this world… some sort of cancer of the stomach… I need you to take care of our son, Wallace. He just turned five… I would imagine I won’t last until Christmastide… Write back immediately to set my mind at ease…

Well, damn. It seemed that past sins were about to come home to roost. Dear God. What would his wife say? Quickly, he folded the letter then stuffed it into the interior pocket of his superfine jacket. He’d never mentioned his aberration with a mistress at the start of their marriage, and he’d certainly not let it be known that he had a by-blow son.

That problem would need to wait until he could gather his thoughts.

“Do stop, Eggleton. Her form doesn’t matter. She has gorgeous eyes and a bright smile, and I’ll wager she’s quite intelligent.” A note of censure lingered in Abigail’s voice. “Unless I miss my guess, she will find her way soon enough… and bring him with her as she does.”

What did he care what happened to Steppingford right now? He had his own worries, but he shook his head. The man was one of his closest friends. Of course he cared. “At least he won’t have an illegitimate child since he married the chit. After he told me that he’d ruined her in the garden on the night of his engagement ball, I’ve been at sixes and sevens trying to puzzle out his motives for going through with the farce.”

She shrugged. “What if there are no motives?”

“How could there not be? Why would anyone marry if they weren’t in love?”

His wife snorted. “We weren’t twenty years ago, yet we now enjoy a strong union.”

“There is that.” Until she found out his dirty little secret. Then what?

“Perhaps he is finally doing right by his title. Settling down. All wild oats or notions have been sown and dealt with. He has responsibilities, and he might look forward to the next chapter in his life.”

“Perhaps.” Shoving aside his own problems, Wallace nodded. “I rather hope he doesn’t hurt that young lady. As much as I enjoy my friendships with my club mates, a good lot of them are rather questionable in morals.”

Concern lined her face. “There is always that risk, I suppose, but she will hold her own, I think.”

He couldn’t help but frown, for his own indiscretion years ago would certainly hurt Abigail. And that was the last thing he wanted to do to his wife. He couldn’t keep it from her much longer, but how the devil could he bring up such a thing in conversation without her throwing something at his head?

With a sigh, he focused on his wife. “If he does hurt her, I pray he will grovel and apologize, and I hope she can forgive him.”

She nodded. “That depends on how deeply the hurt goes. There are some lines that once crossed cannot be uncrossed, and he is a disreputable duke, after all.”

“Indeed.” A sigh left his throat, for he would have a long and littered path to trod himself. “Is Steppingford the type of man to plant a child in his wife’s belly and then order her to one of his country estates, rarely to be seen again? So he can take up the reins of the life he’d had before he’d married?”

“That remains to be seen, but only he and his wife can decide how they want their way forward to go.” She gave him a bright smile. “Come with me to the shops this morning, Wallace. I rather think I’m not yet tired of your company today.”

As if he could deny her anything.

Please God, let our love hold and expand enough for forgiveness and understanding.