Page 17 of Two Nights with the Duke (Cherish and the Duke #3)

London, England

September 1817

M alcolm strode into White’s on the evening of his return to London, eager to meet Bromleigh and Lynton. They had sent word he was to join them tonight for the purpose of discussing an urgent matter, stressing that the matter was dire.

He had planned to decline, knowing it was mere curiosity about the rumors of his marriage and not any governmental crisis that had brought on this summons. They would have come to his townhouse in person had there truly been a problem that needed to be addressed immediately.

But Jocelyn would not hear of his refusing the invitation. “Invite them to dine with us tomorrow night. I’m eager to meet them. In the meanwhile, I’ll be fine here on my own. There’s plenty of unpacking to do now that my clothes have been sent over from the Granby townhouse. Truly, my love. You would only be underfoot.”

So he had dressed in formal evening attire, kissed Jocelyn with all the love in his heart—something he would always do from now on after that frightening incident with Burling—and walked off to meet his friends.

The large clock in the club’s entry hall bonged eight times to mark the hour. One of the liveried stewards rushed forward to greet him. “A pleasure to see you, Your Grace. Your friends await you in the green room.”

Malcolm nodded and followed the elderly steward to one of the smaller rooms off the main sitting room that held the scent of leather and freshly oiled wood. The wall sconces were lit, casting a golden glow upon the richly paneled wood and picking up the gold threads of the oriental carpet. His friends were casually seated in the room’s maroon leather chairs, but rose as he walked in.

His stiff collar chafed at his neck, for he had gotten used to wearing less restrictive attire while up in Scotland, even on occasion wearing a kilt. Aye, Jocelyn enjoyed seeing him in his traditional clan colors and getting an eyeful of his legs, which, she remarked, were nicely formed. Most of the time he was out of his clothes whenever alone with Jocelyn because he could not get enough of that sweet body of hers, and they often wound up in bed.

Such were the benefits of being newly married, although he looked forward to aging gracefully with his wife and building a life with her that encompassed far more than an occasional tumble in bed. He had never been much of a praying man, but he’d done so constantly ever since that Burling incident.

Please keep my Jocelyn safe.

Gad, his friends were never going to believe he was a married man.

Bromleigh and Lynton set aside their brandy glasses and came forward to greet him as he entered. They were also formally attired, no doubt intending to head off to one of the demimonde parties he would no longer be attending or ever wish to attend again. “What was so urgent ye had to pull me away from home?”

Bromleigh grinned at him. “My valet told me the most alarming story. We had to know if it was true.”

“What story?” Although Malcolm expected the gossip of his marriage had spread like a wildfire throughout the elegant parlors of London.

Lynton regarded him thoughtfully. “You look different…happy. Then it’s true. You’re married?”

Malcolm laughed. “Come to dinner tomorrow night and I’ll introduce ye to my bride. Her name is Jocelyn, and she’s the Earl of Granby’s daughter.”

“Gad, you cannot even say her name without turning soft,” Bromleigh muttered. “Are you that far gone?”

Malcolm nodded. “It is a love match, so ye had better watch what ye say to her, because I’ll not be forgiving any insults.”

Lynton was still grinning at him. “May we each bring along a guest?”

Malcolm nodded. “But they had better not be tarts. I’ll not have some overly perfumed, overly rouged, bosom-spilling—”

His friends burst into gales of laughter.

“Oh, Lord. Eden’s going to laugh hard when she hears this,” Lynton said, holding his side.

Bromleigh was also laughing. “Cherish will find it funny, too.”

Malcolm’s ears perked. “Cherish Northam? The beautiful lass ye meant to match with yer nephew? What happened? Did that no’ work out between them?” He studied his friend closely. “Och, I knew there was a spark between ye and the lass. Bromleigh, dinna tell me ye’ve taken her on as… What did ye do? Ye could no’ have been so depraved as to take her on as yer mistress. How could ye be so cruel as to offer her nothing better? To bloody blazes with our Silver Duke reputations. Ye—”

“I married her.” Bromleigh raked a hand through his dark hair that glinted with threads of silver by candlelight. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you what happened. But for the record, ours is a love match, too.”

Malcolm shook his head.

Had he just heard right? Two Silver Dukes tying the knot? He turned to Lynton, not certain what to say to the lone remaining bachelor. Nor did he understand why Lynton appeared so jovial.

In fact, the man was grinning like a hyena.

Then it suddenly dawned on Malcolm. “Och, laddie! Are ye telling me we’ve all been caught in the parson’s mousetrap?”

“Without a struggle and quite happily.” Lynton nodded. “I married my neighbor, Eden Darrow.”

“The delightful lass with owlish spectacles and a shock of red hair with pencils always poking out of it?”

“That’s the one.”

Malcolm gave him a companionable slap on the shoulder. “She’s a bright thing. I thought she was too smart to ever choose ye,” he teased.

His friend took the jest in good nature. “My children have always adored her. My mother, too. Turns out I have always adored her, as well. Just too stupid to admit it. I refused to recognize the gem in front of me all along until I almost lost her to another. I think my mother and children would have disowned me and moved in with her. Fortunately, I came to my senses in time and proposed.”

Bromleigh poured Malcolm a brandy, and then the three of them raised their glasses in toast. “To our wives,” he said. “To these extraordinary women who tamed the Silver Dukes.”

Lynton nodded. “Hear, hear.”

Malcolm drank a little of his brandy and then set his glass down. “This is a joyous occasion, but it is also bittersweet, is it not? The end of the Silver Dukes.”

Bromleigh shook his head. “Oh, it may be the end of us . But I’m sure there are others ready to take our place.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Do ye really think so?”

*

The question was raised again at the dinner table the following evening among the three of them and their wives. “What do ye think, love?” Malcolm asked Jocelyn as they lingered at the table over the desserts that included a Viennese torte and a blancmange. “Is this the end for the Silver Dukes?”

She set down her fork and cast him a soft look. “I hope not. I think it would be lovely for three other gentlemen to take your place. We spinsters,” she said, smiling at Eden and Cherish, who were close in age to her and had similarly believed they would never marry, “like to hope there are other handsome paragons out there ready to give their hearts to worthy ladies who have held out for love.”

Cherish rose and held up her wine glass. “Eden, Jocelyn, will you join me? Close your eyes and make a wish that someone you hold dear—whether friend or relative or worthy acquaintance—will find true love with one of the next Silver Dukes.”

The ladies eagerly joined in.

Malcolm and his friends watched their wives as they stood in silence for a moment, their eyes closed as they made their wishes.

Lynton shrugged.

Bromleigh chuckled.

Malcolm knew whoever took their places had not a chance of avoiding true love. “Are we allowed to know yer choices?”

Jocelyn shook her head. “It won’t come true if we tell you.”

Malcolm’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Love, ye canno’ believe that nonsense.”

“ Camborne ,” she said in that impertinently loving way he adored, “it isn’t nonsense. Of all people, you should believe there is a higher force that guides us. You cannot disrupt it.”

“What if we wrote down our choices?” Cherish suggested, glancing at her and Eden. “It wouldn’t count as telling if our husbands merely happened to notice the list of names, would it?”

Eden agreed.

Jocelyn went into the parlor and returned with an armful of supplies from her writing desk that included parchment, quill pen, and ink pot. “You go first, Cherish, since you were the first of us to marry.”

Malcolm arched an eyebrow, finding it all quite humorous. Cherish and Bromleigh had married a few days ahead of Lynton, who had only married Eden a few days before he and Jocelyn had wed. Their hasty ceremonies could not have been more than a week apart.

Was he too cynical?

Cherish smiled as she wrote down her choice.

Bromleigh peered over her shoulder and laughed. “I knew it. Perfect. I cannot wait to see what happens.”

Malcolm and Lynton read the name next and laughed as well.

Cherish had chosen Bromleigh’s cousin, Lady Fiona Shoreham. Obviously, she was not a duke, but Cherish was wishing for a Silver Duke for her best friend. Fiona was a widow, not a spinster, and had resolved never to remarry. She was also a bossy bit of goods, very quick witted and quite meddlesome, but all in all a lovely lady.

Eden was next and wrote down her choice.

Lynton frowned. “You chose him? The bloody fellow was in love with you , Eden. You think he’s going to make an adequate Silver Duke? He isn’t even a duke.”

Eden frowned back at him. “But he will be. Apparently a grand-uncle of his passed away and his father is next in line to inherit the dukedom, which means he will be next in line after his father.”

Malcolm did not know who they were talking about, but peered at the name. Lord Trajan Aubrey, also known as Viscount Aubrey, a courtesy title given to him by his father, who was an earl and now about to become a duke.

He smothered a chuckle, for this was the man who almost stole Eden from Lynton. No wonder Lynton was peeved.

Bromleigh was grinning, too.

They knew Lynton could not be jealous, for Eden had made her choice clear and loved her Silver Duke, Lynton, with all her being. Malcolm supposed he would be a little irked if Jocelyn did the same and chose a former beau.

When Jocelyn’s turn came, he peered over her shoulder as she wrote down a name.

Lady Florence Newton.

“Who in blazes is that, love? I thought ye ladies were choosing Silver Dukes to replace us, but Eden’s the only one who has done so.”

“The name I wrote is that of my best friend since childhood,” Jocelyn explained, noting his look of confusion, “and I am wishing for a Silver Duke for her. Spinsters are entitled to have friends, you know. She happens to run the Ladies’ Ornithological Society in Lower Bramble, a charming village in the south of Devon.”

“I’m an avid bird watcher,” Eden interjected, and then suddenly gasped. “So is…” She pointed to the name she had written on the paper because to say the name aloud would ruin the wish. “Do you think…?”

Lynton groaned. “No. No, no, and no.”

Eden ignored him.

Jocelyn rose. “Ladies, I think we ought to leave our husbands to their port while we retire to the drawing room.”

“To plan out yer fiendish plots?” Malcolm teased.

She cast him a sugary smile. “No plotting required. The die has been cast. Fate has already intervened.”

Bromleigh took a sip of his wine as he watched the three ladies scurry out with their heads bowed together and laughing. “Gentlemen, are you up for some wagers? If the ladies can make their wishes, we ought to do be able to do the same.”

“Aye,” Malcolm said, “and select actual dukes to follow in our footsteps. I think the ladies got sidetracked thinking about those dear to them whom they wish to see find happiness.”

Lynton grumbled.

Bromleigh slapped him on the back. “Just remember, Eden chose you. Be a good sport about her choice. She only wants the man to find his own happiness.”

The quill pen and parchment were still on the table. Malcolm took the parchment and cut three strips off it. “We each get to write down the name of someone we know who is most likely to take our place as a Silver Duke.”

Bromleigh went first and wrote a name down on his strip of parchment.

Lynton went next and did the same.

Malcolm wrote his last. “All right, let’s see the names.”

They laughed upon realizing they had written down the same friend—Jonas Langford, the Duke of Ramsdale, perhaps the only one among their circle with a reputation as rakish as theirs and a determination to remain independent to rival their own. He was also intelligent, honorable, and a man of maturity, being that he was of similar age to them. These requirements made him an obvious choice to step into the role of Silver Duke. But Ramsdale was very much his own man and did not like to be labeled by anyone, much less the ton elite.

Bromleigh stared at the strips. “Who is going to tell him?”

Lynton shook his head. “Not I. In fact, none of us should say a word to him. He’s no puerile youth. Let him fall into it on his own. Besides, do you really think this will work on him?”

“No,” Malcolm and Bromleigh said at the same time.

“Ye mentioned placing wagers,” Malcolm said.

Bromleigh nodded. “I’ll open up a betting book and set down a list of wagers. First wager is, who of those named by our wives or us will marry first? Second, whom will they marry? Third, when will they marry? Fourth, which of them will never marry? We’ll add additional wagers as needed. What say you?”

“Agreed,” Lynton said. “But we keep the wagers private, only betting among ourselves.”

Malcolm grinned wickedly. “Och, no. We open up wagers on Ramsdale to the entire ton . The others we’ll keep among ourselves for now, in deference to our wives.”

Lynton laughed. “What you mean is, our wives will kill us if we put their friends in a betting book for all to see.”

“Aye, that,” Malcolm admitted, still grinning.

But Bromleigh groaned. “You do realize Ramsdale is going to shoot us when he finds out what we’ve done.”

Malcolm shrugged. “He’ll be angry for certain, but he’s a good friend. Should we not wish for his happiness?”

Lynton nodded. “So be it. We open up the betting book on Ramsdale. Who are we to subvert the course of true love?”

They finished their ports and then joined the ladies in the parlor.

Malcolm’s heart filled with a contentment he never thought possible as Jocelyn looked up and cast him the brightest smile as he approached.

“Love ye, my sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, taking hold of her hand as he settled beside her. Having almost lost her, he was never going take a moment of their time together for granted.

She knew it and felt it too, for he saw it in the open-hearted way she looked at him.

There was much to be said for the power of love…and finding a gorgeous stranger in one’s bed.

THE END