Page 36 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

T iffany

“We will have the tea in here,” Tiffany told Mrs. Bryant, leading the housekeeper into the back parlor. The light was overly bright at the moment, but by the time the other ladies arrived, it would be dimmer, softer, and more conducive to the atmosphere she was trying to arrange. She was nervous about hosting even such a small event without her mother’s firm hand guiding her.

This morning, she had asked the dowager if she wanted to join them, but Gregory’s mother had declined with some reluctance. She was spending the day making some arrangements for the dowager house back on his main estate, though she would be joining them for the Camden soiree that evening. Tiffany would have felt a bit surer of her footing with an older woman there to guide her, but the dowager’s assertion that she had everything well in hand had helped a little.

She did know how to host. She had assisted her mother enough times, back in the country, several times during the little Season, then the events leading up to her and Gregory’s wedding. Not that her mother had approved of most of Tiffany’s suggestions. Mrs. Bryan’s easy acceptance of all her directions, with approval in her eyes, was both gratifying and terrifying. She did not know if Mrs. Bryant was agreeing with her because she thought Tiffany was doing an adequate job or only because Tiffany was a duchess, and the housekeeper did not feel it was her place to correct her.

Lady Astrid was the first young lady to reach out a hand of friendship—true friendship, not the forced relationship that had been thrust upon Tiffany and Lady Louisa—and Tiffany wanted to impress her. Baroness Ashfield was also intimidating, a little older than Astrid, far more experienced in the ton. Friendly, but with more polish than Tiffany had.

She felt most comfortable with Miss Little, if she was being honest, who seemed as intimidated as she was by the social scene. Kalina had been thrilled when Tiffany invited her to tea, relief and gratitude shining in her dark eyes when she quietly accepted. It had been for more than the invitation when so many were tiptoeing around the Little family. It was also because a tea was so much more intimate and less intimidating than a major ball.

Well, unless one was hosting the tea in question.

Tiffany took a deep breath, frowning, when she heard the bell to the front door ring. Surely, it was too early for any of the ladies to arrive. Two of Gregory’s friends were with him in his study—Christian and Nathanial—but she had not thought they were expecting anyone else to arrive.

Her understanding was that Gregory and the Duke of Montagu were advising Nathanial on financial matters. The whole ton knew that Hereford had reached point non plus and needed to marry immediately, but Gregory had told her that Nathanial was still doing what he could to shore up his finances.

“Who could that be,” she murmured, looking at Mrs. Bryant, who shook her head in puzzlement. They both quit the parlor, and Tiffany moved quickly toward the front of the house, where she could hear voices. She winced when she recognized her mother’s sharp voice set against Paulson’s deeper one. Part of her had been hoping that perhaps Lady Astrid was running unexpectedly early.

She could hear Paulson trying to direct her mother into the drawing room while her mother insisted on being given free rein to seek Tiffany out. Immediately, Tiffany increased her pace, not wanting Paulson to have to face more of her mother’s displeasure than necessary.

“I am here, Mother,” she said, rushing into the foyer with an apologetic glance at Paulson. The butler was holding himself very stiffly, disapproving of her mother’s refusal to follow the proprieties.

Her mother sniffed, eyeing her up and down. The dove-gray morning dress with thin blue stripes Tiffany had chosen to wear today was exactly the kind of gown her mother had never let her buy. It was part of her trousseau. The trousseau she had ordered after her mother had left the modistes , changing all the directions her mother had given Madame Allard.

Tiffany steeled herself against her mother’s obvious disapproval.

“That is not how you greet guests,” her mother snapped, shaking her head and apparently forgetting that she had just been insisting to Paulson that she was not a guest, that she was Tiffany’s mother, and that was why she refused to be settled in the drawing room to wait. “Where are your manners?”

Tiffany took a deep breath, uncomfortable heat growing in her cheeks as she was aware of Paulson and Mrs. Bryant as their audience. The housekeeper had followed her to the foyer. At least there was no one else.

“I apologize, Mother. Good morning, welcome to my home.” Tiffany did her best to smile, though it was not at all sincere. Her mother’s presence in her home felt more like an invasion than a welcome visit. She gestured at the open door to the drawing room. “Please, come join me in the drawing room.”

Her mother sniffed derisively and swanned past Paulson, who was still emanating his own disapproval. The fact that he was so patently obvious in his reaction to her mother made Tiffany wonder… if the butler thought her mother was in the wrong, perhaps she was. In Bolton House, no one would ever dare gainsay her mother. Paulson and Mrs. Bryant were held to no such strictures.

When she glanced at the housekeeper, she saw the older woman’s lips were tightly pressed together. She was also watching Tiffany’s mother move to the drawing room. She did not manage to emanate her remonstrance as comprehensively as Paulson, but it was there all the same.

“Mrs. Bryant, would you please send up a tray in case my mother is hungry?” Tiffany asked.

“Yes, Your Grace, and I will get started on the preparations for this afternoon immediately.” Mrs. Bryant nodded her head with a decisiveness that had Tiffany blinking. She felt as though there was some undercurrent to the other woman’s words, but she could not tell what the housekeeper was trying to express. She did feel reassured that the other woman had everything well in hand.

Taking a deep breath, Tiffany tried to settle her shaky nerves as she faced the open door of the drawing room. She could see her mother on the other side, standing in the middle of the room rather than sitting down, arms crossed over her chest. Though her skirts were too long for her feet to be visible, Tiffany had the distinct impression that her mother was impatiently tapping her foot. Bracing herself, Tiffany moved to face the dragon.

She pushed a smile onto her face, hoping that perhaps if she was more welcoming, her mother’s disapprobation might be soothed.

“Hello, Mother, I did not expect you this morning,” she said as she walked into the drawing room. “Are you hungry? Mrs. Bryant is going to send up some refreshments.”

“I will not be staying long enough for that,” her mother snapped, not relaxing one iota as she glared at Tiffany.

The urge to immediately apologize, even though she did not know what she had done wrong, was strong. It was strange, though, that the fear that she normally felt when facing her mother was not present.

“I want an explanation, miss.”

“I… an explanation for what?” Tiffany asked, feeling at a loss. Her mother had a habit of catching her off guard. She was not sure what she was supposed to have done this time.

“For giving me the cut last evening! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? It was the talk of the entire ton last night.” Her mother uncrossed her arms so she could fan herself with her hand, as if she was so aghast that she needed more air. “Now that you are a duchess, I suppose you think you are too good to talk to your own mother.”

“Of course not, Mother!” Tiffany protested. “I did not cut you?—”

“You rushed right by me with barely an acknowledgment. You might as well have cut me!”

“But I did acknowledge you. I am sorry I could not?—”

“Barely!” Her mother interrupted her again, starting to pace away from her, her tone going higher and shriller. Tiffany recognized the signs of impending hysterics. “You might as well have turned away from me completely. Well. Yesterday, all of Society was able to see what an ungrateful, ungracious little snob of a daughter I raised. Cutting her own mother! Bad enough that you trapped a duke into marriage. Now, you are using your position to act disgracefully, thinking there will be no repercussions. How do you think that made me feel, to have my own daughter act as though she did not know me? At best, like I was a stranger, not her own flesh and blood.”

“I did not mean to cut you, Mother—” Tiffany felt herself shrinking inward as her mother harangued her.

“You never mean to. No matter how I’ve tried to train you, you have been utterly inept at comporting yourself with any kind of grace.” Her mother threw her hands in the air. “Marrying a duke has not helped. Now, you think you are too high in the instep to even acknowledge your own family, much less all the others you cut.”

Tiffany frantically thought back over her behavior in her head during the previous evening. It was true that she had been so wholly focused on Gregory that she’d had difficulty concentrating on anyone else. She’d been distracted by thinking he was arranging a rendezvous with another lady, by the revelation that she loved him, and thinking he did not return her feelings.

Had she been so preoccupied that she had inadvertently cut those around her? Not acknowledging them? Did they all think that she had married a duke and immediately presumed the rest of Society to be beneath her?

“Mother, I promise?—”

Her mother held up her hand to stop her from speaking.

“You are to attend no more events without me by your side. I had my reservations about you marrying so quickly, but due to your scandalous behavior, there was no choice.” Putting her hand up to her temple, her mother sighed. “Clearly, I was correct. Your ineptness will not be allowed to stain our family’s honor?—”

“Tiffany’s behavior no longer reflects the Bolton family. She is the Duchess of Clarence and deserves to be treated with the respect due to her.” The deep, censorious declaration was made from the doorway, and both Tiffany and her mother gasped as they turned to face it. Tiffany had forgotten that she had not closed the door behind her.

Her husband seemed to take up the whole space of the frame, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Your Grace, Gregory.” Her mother was the most flustered Tiffany had ever seen her. “I… am not sure what you think you heard?—”

“I heard everything.” Gregory stalked into the room, moving to stand at Tiffany’s side, prowling like a tiger about to pounce. “My wife is not a snob. My wife did not trap me into marriage—if anything, it was the other way around. My wife is not inept. And she is most definitely not in need of your guidance through the social scene. If, at any point, she desires your advice, she will ask for it.”

Still glaring at her mother, he took Tiffany’s hand and lifted it to his lips to give a kiss. Even though he was not looking at her, Tiffany could not help but stare at him in pure shock and adoration as he defended her—a knight in shining armor here to slay her own personal dragon.

No one had ever done so before. No one had been around to do so. But somehow, Gregory had known that she needed him, and he’d appeared.

“She is already an exemplary duchess, and I will not have it said otherwise.”

Tiffany’s heart soared in her chest at the compliment. She looked at her mother, who appeared a trifle paler than and whose manner had completely changed from aggrieved to placating now that she was faced with Gregory rather than Tiffany.

“Oh, well, yes, of course… You must understand, I only wish for both of our families to be presented in the best possible manner,” Tiffany’s mother said in a rush.

“Of course,” Gregory said coldly. “However, I believe it is time for you to leave now. My wife and I have a very busy day today. Next time, send a card ahead so that we can be properly prepared to receive you.”

If Tiffany had not already been in love with her husband, this moment would have done it.

Gregory

Quivering with rage that he could not express because he could not—would not—strike a woman, not even Tiffany’s mother, Gregory stared down the duchess. He did not know what was wrong with her. He did not know why she saw Tiffany the way that she did, why she was so cruel to her, but he would not stand for it.

Not in his house.

Paulson had come to the study to let him know that the Duchess of Bolton had arrived to see her daughter. It was odd enough for him to let Gregory know such a thing, but his tone of voice when doing so had set off alarms in Gregory’s head. He’d immediately excused himself from his friends and gone to the drawing room, where he’d listened outside the door, aghast.

He felt guilty he had not intervened sooner, but in his defense, he’d been shocked to his toes by the amount of vitriol the duchess had been heaping upon her own daughter. And that was what Tiffany had lived with for her whole life? Where the devil had Sebastian been to defend her?

“Well.” The duchess sniffed, drawing herself up. She eyed him balefully, with calculation in her eyes that he had never seen before. Any semblance of her usual fawning demeanor toward him was gone. “I can see I have dropped by at an inopportune time. I will take my leave of you.”

Nose still in the air, she whisked herself away at high speed, and Gregory felt Tiffany sag beside him as her mother exited the room. It suddenly felt as though there was a lot more air to breathe.

He turned his wife toward him, pulling her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin. Now that she was against him, he could feel the way she was trembling. Fear? Hurt? He was not sure. Grimly, he wished that he was not above striking a woman, for Tiffany’s mother surely deserved it.

“Are you all right?” he murmured, stroking her back to comfort her as best he could.

“Yes.” She sucked in a breath. “Thank you for coming. How did you know?”

“Paulson.” He paused. “She is far worse than you told me.”

Tiffany laughed, an abbreviated little laugh that bordered on hysteria.

“That was barely anything,” she said, which made him tighten his arms about her. The idea of her living with that viper for a mother for all these years… “Normally, she only speaks to me like that where there is no one to overhear her. Father did hear her once, and I think he said something to her, but then he died not long after, and she was so much worse afterward.”

Her voice was quiet, almost like she was speaking more to herself than to him. Gregory continued to stroke her back, encouraging her to lean on him.

“Did I cut anyone last night?” she asked him.

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head even though she could not see him. “She made that up whole cloth. We can ask my mother, but I would be very surprised if anyone cared that I rushed you out of the ball… and everyone would know to blame me, not you, even if they did object to our hasty exit.”

His wife let out a sigh of relief. The fact that she was still inclined to believe her mother’s exaggerations made him frown, but at least she accepted his reassurance. Something was going to have to be done about the duchess’ behavior. And Tiffany’s. He did not like to think that she might have agreed to let her mother dictate her movements through Society if he had not interrupted.

“Excuse me, Your Graces?” The soft, hesitant voice had both of them lifting their heads, Tiffany pulling away. Gregory let her go with some reluctance. Such shows of affection in front of the staff were not the done thing, but he hardly cared about that. A maid stood in the doorway to the drawing room with a cart piled high with refreshments, an apologetic expression on her face. “Did you still want the cart?”

“No, thank you, Sally,” Tiffany said, shaking her head. “I apologize for having you fetch it for nothing.”

“Take it to my study, Sally,” Gregory directed. “We certainly will not say no to some refreshments in there.”

“Yes, Your Graces.” Sally bobbed a curtsy before turning, pushing the cart away.

Tiffany and Gregory exchanged looks.

“I should return to Christian and Nathanial.” He squeezed her hand. “If your mother returns, send Paulson for me.”

“I will.” She smiled wanly. “I doubt she will, though. At least she showed up now instead of after the other ladies arrived for tea.”

Studying her face, which was still troubled, Gregory slid his hand around her waist and pulled her to him. Her eyes widened in surprise, then she melted against him as he leaned down to capture her lips with a kiss. Though he could not fully make her forget what had just happened, he could at least distract her somewhat.

When he lifted his head again, her cheeks were pink, her lips were swollen, and she was smiling. There. Much better.

“I look forward to hearing about your tea this evening,” he said with a grin. He truly was, too. He was curious about who Lady Astrid’s friends were, as she had a bit of a reputation for being friendly but not having actual friends in Society. That she had reached out to Tiffany to form a friendship was, he was sure, initially due to Tiffany’s engagement to him, but Lady Astrid did not do anything she did not want to do.

Leaving his wife with a smile on her face, Gregory returned to the study, where Christian and Nathanial were waiting for him. They both looked up from their plates when he came in, having obviously taken a break from Nathanial’s accounts when the food had arrived.

“Everything all right?” Christian asked from where he sat in an armchair, a tiny sandwich in hand, his boots resting on the ottoman in front of him.

Gregory hesitated, but he felt the need to vent, and he could hardly do that to Tiffany.

“The Duchess of Bolton came to see Tiffany… and harangue her. Was there any talk last night about Tiffany giving anyone the cut? Especially her mother?”

Both Christian and Nathanial exchanged a look of confusion, giving Gregory his answer even before they shook their heads. He sighed, helping himself to some food and drink while he shared the bare minimum of his wife’s fraught relationship with her mother and what he’d overheard. Mostly what he’d overheard. He did not want to reveal too much of Tiffany’s personal business, but it felt good to get it off his chest and witness Christian and Nathanial’s shock. Their horrified reactions matched his own.

“First time I’m glad you married her and not me,” Nathanial muttered, shaking his head. “At least I escaped having to deal with her. I can still choose the mother-in-law I’m stuck with.”

And choosing his bride was one of the few choices Nathanial had left to him, a fact that was becoming more and more clear as they worked through his finances. Christian and Gregory were able to offer some assistance and advice, as both of them had flourishing estates, and Christian was considered an expert when it came to investments, but there was only so much that could be done with next to nothing.

Nathanial was going to have to marry a lady with a large dowry this Season if he was ever to fully recover the dukedom during his lifetime, and certainly, if he was going to be able to settle his younger sisters into the kind of marriage they deserved. He did not want them to have to settle for title hunters the way he was going to have to. He wanted them to be able to pick whoever they wanted. Gregory thought it entirely reasonable and honorable, though now that he’d married Tiffany, he felt sorry that Nathanial was having to make such a decision in a cold, hard manner rather than allowing his feelings to have any kind of sway.

Gregory could only imagine what it would be like to have so little control over his own life. He might not have had a choice in his own bride in some ways, though he had made the choice to kiss a debutante in a deserted library, but he had control over everything else. Nathanial would be able to choose his bride, but he could not even control which ladies he would be able to choose from. Given his circumstances, he was bearing up admirably.

Once they’d finished eating, they got back to work. It could not have been more than two hours after the Duchess of Bolton had left in a snit before Paulson knocked on his door again. Gregory looked up as his butler entered the room, an expression of consternation on his face.

“The Duke of Bolton is here to see you, Your Grace,” Paulson said. As Sebastian was not directly behind him, Gregory imagined his butler had left the duke cooling his heels in the foyer, unsure of whether to bring him in or not.

Gregory glanced at the other two, and both of them nodded. Christian’s expression was openly curious. Ah, well. If Sebastian was here about Tiffany and his mother, perhaps some witnesses were not the worst idea in the world.

“Bring him here, Paulson,” Gregory said, a pit growing in his stomach.