Page 8 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Seven

T iffany

There he was. Her future husband.

The Duke of Clarence. Looking up at the window where she stood as if he could see her, despite the dark and the distance from the street. Her brother was already walking toward the door, and after a moment, the Duke of Clarence followed him.

Closing her eyes, Tiffany took a deep breath. She’d been preparing for marriage her entire life. She’d been training for it. Every lesson her mother had put her through, every critique that had been leveled at her, had all been pointed at the final goal of marrying and marrying well.

She was going to do that.

She had succeeded, despite her looks, despite her inability to satisfy her mother with her conversation. She was going to marry, and she was going to marry a duke. It was beyond her wildest dreams and certainly any of her mother’s expectations for her.

So, why was there a hard pit in the center of her stomach, surrounded by rabid butterflies?

Part of her wanted to rush into the foyer to meet her brother at the door and demand to know everything. If the Duke of Clarence had not been with him, that was exactly what she would have done. Instead, she hung back, moving to the doorway of the drawing room, watching as their butler Paulson opened the door and greeted the two dukes.

“Thank you, Paulson,” her brother said as he passed him, Clarence right on his heels.

The two of them were certainly striking beside each other, both dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and handsome enough to make every lady of the ton sigh. Clarence’s navy-blue jacket hugged him as neatly as her brother’s green one did him, emphasizing a long, lean figure. The biggest difference between them was the bruise that was beginning to bloom on Clarence’s jaw.

Sebastian looked around.

“Where are my mother and sister?”

“Your mother has gone to bed, Your Grace, with a megrim ,” Paulson informed him, taking the men’s gloves. “Your sister…” He turned, and Tiffany stifled the urge to duck back into the drawing room and pretend she was not there.

Both Clarence and her brother turned to look with Paulson, and her gaze met Sebastian’s for only a fleeting second before it was drawn to Clarence. Her breath hitched as he looked back at her, just like he had in the library earlier this evening.

Like she was beautiful.

Like she mattered.

“Good, well.” Her brother huffed. “I will have to speak with Mother in the morning. Thank you, Paulson. Please have someone bring some brandy to the drawing room and something for my sister. We will need the room lit as well.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Paulson bowed and took himself off, but not before glancing over at Tiffany and giving her a supportive smile. She smiled weakly back at him. An older man, he often acted something like a secondary father, as much as he was able to be, considering the difference in their stations, and she’d always been grateful to him for that. Especially after losing her own father so unexpectedly.

Knowing that he was supportive helped.

“Right, well.” Her brother stared at her and sighed. “Let us go into the drawing room so we can talk.”

It only took a few minutes for the gas lamps to be lit, brightening the room. Tiffany sat on the couch and tried not to startle when the Duke of Clarence seated himself beside her. Her brother took one of the armchairs, glowering at the other duke the entire time.

As impatient to demand answers as she was, Tiffany held her tongue as Polly, the maid, brightened the room. When she was just finishing, Jane from the kitchens came in with a tray of brandy, tea, and Tiffany’s favorite biscuits. She thanked Jane with relief, even as impatience gripped her, but she knew better than anyone not to treat the servants as if they did not exist.

It always startled her the number of people who forgot that their maids and footmen were just people, and they liked to gossip as much as the ton did. While she trusted her brother’s staff, she did not want to give them any more cause for wagging tongues than she already had.

When Jane quit the room, closing the door behind her, Tiffany gave her brother a look as she leaned forward to pour herself some tea. He cleared his throat, tugging at the cravat around his neck to loosen it, waiting for her to sit back before he picked up one of the brandies.

Beside her, the Duke of Clarence did not move. He sat perfectly still, watching her, his hands on his knees with one finger tapping against his right knee. It was rather unnerving.

“You pour tea very well,” he said after a moment.

Tiffany blinked, nonplussed by the unusual and unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

It came out as more of a question than a statement, due to her confusion.

“Right, well.” Her brother cleared his throat again. It occurred to Tiffany that both men were as unnerved as she was, though her brother did finally take the reins of conversation. “As I am sure you have guessed, Gregory has made an offer for your hand. I do encourage you to accept it due to… well, circumstances. If you would like to speak with me privately, I can send him out of the room.” He frowned. “I should probably have done so, anyway.”

“There is no need. I understand what is necessary,” Tiffany said quickly. Anything to shorten this drawn-out torture of awkwardness between them all.

Sebastian gave Clarence a look.

Immediately, Clarence slid from the couch, startling her so that she nearly spilled her tea as he went down on one knee beside her. Hot liquid splashed against her fingertips on the saucer, but she managed to keep her grip despite that.

“Lady Tiffany,” he said, reaching for her hand and then halting when he realized they were full. He frowned, then took the cup and saucer from her, turning slightly to put it back on the tray before returning his attention to her and taking one of her hands to hold in his. He cleared his throat again, and Tiffany had to stifle a giggle.

Perhaps she was tired, perhaps she was becoming hysterical, but there was something so farcical about all of this that she had the mad urge to burst into laughter.

“Lady Tiffany, would you do me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife?”

“Yes,” she replied, practically choking on the word in her endeavor not to laugh. She could barely hold it back, and the only thing that could make this moment worse would be to laugh at a duke’s proposal of marriage.

“Good. Right then.” He cleared his throat again, and she coughed to cover the sound that bubbled up. “That’s done.”

Her amusement was wiped away with those two words. Farcical, yes, and yet this was her life. Her reputation at stake. Her reflection back on her family. She was going to marry a duke because she had to, and he was going to marry her because his honor demanded it and no other reason. There were worse reasons to marry, she supposed, and yet…

And yet.

She did not have the heart to admit to herself now what she had truly hoped for.

The duke resumed his place on the couch beside her, but he did not let go of her hand. Her fingers felt so small against his, his hand rougher than her soft skin, and he held it very gently but firmly, as though he did not want to let her go… Tiffany’s stomach did an odd flip. She did not want to let go, either.

Her brother frowned at them both and dropped his gaze to where Tiffany’s hand now rested in Clarence’s, the back of her hand against his thigh. Tiffany pretended not to see the frown. Clarence turned his head away from her brother to focus on her.

“We have come up with a plan to make this evening appear less scandalous,” Clarence said, putting his other hand overtop hers. Her brother made a disgruntled sound, but the duke did not look away from her, his dark eyes wholly focused. “We are going to put it about that you and I met and became engaged before the Season began but had an agreement with your brother that you were not to be deprived of a Season, so you could meet other gentlemen and be sure of your choice.”

“Because no one in their right mind would agree to marry you if they had a choice,” Sebastian muttered, not very quietly. Tiffany shot him a look, but the Duke of Clarence just grinned as if Sebastian had complimented rather than insulted him. He squeezed Tiffany’s hand, and she looked back at him. It was probably best to ignore her brother, as he seemed determined to be surly.

“Then, tonight…” She let her voice trail off. How did they explain tonight if she was supposed to be meeting other possible suitors? And would anyone truly believe that the Duke of Clarence wanted to marry her?

“Tonight, we were overcome with our passion for one another.” Clarence winked at her, and she blushed. There was some truth to that, on her side at least. “We snuck off to the library together for a private moment and to complain about your overbearing brother insisting we remain apart for the whole Season. You will be the Juliet to my Romeo, and everyone will be so overcome by the romance of it that any hint of scandal will be quickly squashed.”

“We are pretending to be a love match?” Tiffany stared at him. He could not actually think anyone would believe that someone like him was in love with someone like her.

“A love match being tested by your brother,” the Duke of Clarence replied cheerfully. “Tongues will wag, but the focus will be on the romance of it all. As long as we play our parts until the wedding, no one will think twice of it.”

“And what of after the wedding?”

He shrugged. “No one pays attention to what anyone does after the wedding.”

“I mean, how will we behave?” Regardless of his answer, she was rather trapped in the situation, but she wanted to steel herself for whatever the future might hold. She could easily imagine herself being overcome by his charm, his pretense of love, which was likely a recipe for disaster.

The man was a rake, after all.

He tilted his head at her, as if confused.

“Well, I imagine we will settle into our marriage. I would like children. I prefer to live in London most of the year, though I do go to the country for a few months in the summer. My mother will be delighted to have a daughter-in-law to keep her company… and… ah, I should warn you, I have four half-sisters. They’re all very young and very sweet, and they live in the manor house, though they have their own wing.” He smiled again, a kind of bashful, hopeful smile.

Tiffany did not know if he was purposefully neglecting the topic of mistresses and lovers or if he truly did not understand what she was attempting to ask. She supposed it was an awkward subject with her brother’s presence.

It did not matter, after all. She would marry him, regardless. And while they were pretending to be in love, she would hold her heart apart to protect it.

The idea of a second mother nearly made her quail, but then she remembered that she would no longer be living with her own. At least she would only have to deal with one mother at a time.

“I would like children, too. And to meet your mother and half-sisters.” That seemed to be the appropriate response to make, and Clarence beamed at her, patting her hand.

“You will like his mother,” Sebastian said. “Everyone does.”

Everyone liked her mother, too. She had a great many friends. That did not make her criticism any easier to bear. Tiffany smiled placidly. She would make the best of the situation, just like she was now.

“Tomorrow, Gregory will join us in the afternoon. We will take a turn around Hyde Park before opening the house to visitors.” Sebastian sighed. “I expect we will have a great many. Being seen in Hyde Park will make it clear that we are not hanging our heads in shame and that, indeed, you have done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“And you and I will play star-crossed lovers now allowed to reunite.” The duke winked at her. “Your brother will be your growling guardian, displeased with being thwarted, a task I am sure he will find most difficult.”

Tiffany could not help but giggle, glancing at her brother, who was scowling at his friend again. He cleared his expression when he realized she was looking at him and smiled at her. It was a pained smile but a smile, nonetheless.

“Do not worry, Tiff. I do not blame you for this evening’s events. This ploy will keep any tarnish from your reputation and the family’s name?—”

“And my reputation, such that it is,” Clarence murmured, ignoring the way her brother glared at him again.

“By the time the Season is over, no one will even remember that your marriage started with a scandal.” Sebastian rubbed his hand against his knee. “It will be well, I promise. This scoundrel has promised to do his best to make you happy, or he will answer to me.”

That last sentence was a definitive threat, and the smile dropped from Clarence’s face, all remnants of teasing gone. She almost wanted to scold her brother because it was akin to watching a puppy being kicked.

“I am sure we will be happy,” she said reassuringly, even though she was not sure of it at all. She also could not be sure they would be unhappy.

Her brother nodded and got to his feet.

“We need to talk through the marriage contract and write the announcement. You should go to bed, Tiffany. It is going to be a long day tomorrow, and we still have to explain our plan to Mother.”

What her mother would think of it, Tiffany had no idea. She was very concerned with the family's reputation, though, so likely, she would be agreeable to any plan that helped keep it unblemished. But then, she’d thought her mother would be pleased to hear that two dukes had offered for her to save her reputation, and instead, she’d come down with a megrim.

Nonetheless, Tiffany still got to her feet, her hand still in Clarence’s. She found herself rather reluctant to let go.

Do not be na?ve. He is already pretending, probably. Practicing. He does not want to keep holding your hand. It is part of the pretense.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “I wish you a good night.”

She attempted to pull her fingers away from his, but he held on to them.

“Call me Gregory, please,” he said, smiling at her. “We are to be married, after all, Tiffany.”

Hearing him call her by her name with no honorific near took her breath away, especially with the way he was looking at her, as though he could see into her very soul.

“Of course,” she said faintly.

He raised his eyebrow at her. “Of course, Gregory.”

“Of course, Gregory,” she parroted, though it felt incredibly wrong to use his Christian name.

Thankfully, her brother came barging in, shouldering the duke aside and back, pulling their hands apart.

“Goodnight, Tiffany,” Sebastian said, bending down to give her cheek a kiss. “Do not worry. Everything will be all right.”

She hoped he was correct.