His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

The duchess’ plan to stroll the back gardens quickly turned into a morning promenade at the park. All the ladies opted to join in. They put on their fanciest hats and most fashionable dresses, carrying an odd collection of muffs and parasols between them, for it was a cool and windy day, but sunny.

Rosalie walked alongside Prudence, who let her little corgi trot between them on a leather lead. Olivia walked just ahead with Elizabeth. She looked austere in a dark velvet cap trimmed with feathers, and a plum pelisse. In contrast, Elizabeth looked like the sun itself in a bright yellow ensemble that clashed spectacularly with her mane of fiery red hair.

The park was busy, as all of London seemed to share the idea of enjoying one of the last truly fine days of autumn. The strong breeze had several families flying kites on the long stretch of green lawn. In their excitement, Blanche and Mariah were already several yards ahead of the rest of the group, waving down a man selling sugared almonds.

The arrival of the Dowager Duchess of Norland and her retinue caused quite a stir. Rosalie couldn’t help but be impressed. Any hint of the scheming, snarling creature from the day before was locked tightly away. Now the duchess was all smiles, flanked by the countess and marchioness, the bevy of young ladies trailing in their wake. All down the promenade lane, other ladies not-so-subtly corrected course so that they might pass by, hoping to spy something of the latest fashions and receive a public acknowledgement from the duchess.

But Rosalie didn’t care about the social politics of promenading. She eyed Olivia carefully, trying to note her mood. She meant what she said this morning—Burke needed to talk to her, and soon. Perhaps if Rosalie laid a bit of a foundation with the lady now, his way would be easier later.

The trouble was, since her arrival to Corbin House, Olivia had kept herself even more aloof and apart. It made sense, seeing as the duchess was effectively blackmailing her. Rosalie could only imagine how the Rutledge’s felt, forced to simper and smile. All the while, a Sword of Damocles hovered over their heads.

The group congregated near a new art installation, and Rosalie took her chance. She stepped up next to Olivia. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she said, gesturing to a sculpture of two lovers sharing an intimate embrace.

Olivia just sniffed. “I have no eye for sculpture.”

Rosalie glanced around. “Then might we take a turn over by the flower garden?”

With an indifferent shrug, Olivia began walking in that direction. Rosalie fell into step beside her, making sure to keep the rest of the group in sight. The wind gusted at their backs, billowing their skirts forward. As soon as they were clear of the others, she glanced at her companion. “And how are you this morning?”

“Come now, Miss Harrow,” Olivia said with the hint of a smile. “You have me alone and that is your great query?”

Rosalie smiled. She was determined to think of this lady as the personification of a hedgehog—prickly on the outside with a soft underbelly. Rosalie just had to find her way in. She opted for sarcasm, meeting her companion barb for barb. “Yes, you saw through my clever ruse. I worked quite carefully to extract you from the others.”

“Just ask your question, Miss Harrow.”

They stopped at the edge of a sprawling flower bed, still bright with fall colors. Claret-colored dianthus mixed with purple asters, sprays of bright yellow goldenrods, and soft pink shrub roses. It was pretty as a painting.

Rosalie focused her attention back on her companion. “How are you? Since the ball…since the engagement?”

Olivia stiffened, both hands holding tight to her parasol. “It’s not made the papers yet, which is a small mercy, I suppose.”

“You don’t want to marry Mr. Burke.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course, I don’t,” Olivia huffed. “Marry a man with no social standing, no name, no title or wealth? It is unconscionable.”

Rosalie held her breath, even as her heart thrummed nervously. She had to know. “That is your assessment of his social status…what of Mr. Burke the man? Is he wholly disagreeable to you?”

Olivia turned her gaze on Rosalie. “Do you mean to ask whether I find the penniless, bastard son of a disgraced steward to be otherwise charming and handsome enough to marry?” She laughed. It was an empty sound, full of bitterness.

“So, for you, status is all that matters,” Rosalie probed, feeling a flutter of relief. “You would marry a man of status, even if he had a cloven hoof. With big enough pockets, all personality failings can be ignored…”

Olivia gave her an incredulous look. “You think I get to select from a cornucopia of handsome lords with healthy estates and witty personalities? I’m sorry Miss Harrow, but that cornucopia does not exist.”

“But what if—”

“It does not exist,” Olivia snapped. “Not for me anyway,” she added under her breath. “And why should you care? We are not friends. Why are you so curious about my plight?”

“Mr. Burke is my friend,” Rosalie replied. “Lord James is my benefactor. This is hurting them as much as you. And you and I…we have an understanding. I understand—”

“You understand nothing. How can you?”

“Don’t treat me like I’m simple,” Rosalie countered, not backing down. “I was there on the floor with you in that water closet. I held you as you cried—”

“Quiet, you fool,” Olivia hissed, glancing around with sharp eyes. “I’ll thank you not to speak of my business again. I can’t believe I was so unguarded,” she muttered. “I don’t even know you.”

“I will not betray your confidence. Olivia, I mean to help you—”

“No one can help me. Lack of marriage for a lady is a slow kind of death. I must—” She took a steadying breath, blinking back her tears. “I must marry, and there’s an end on it. I’ve run out of all my good chances.”

Rosalie was trying desperately not to let her own mistrust of matrimony cloud her judgement. Did Olivia truly believe there were no single men of quality worthy of marriage? Or was the lady revealing some deeper sentiment, perhaps a fear that she could never hope to win such a man?

The wind picked up a bit, whistling through the trees. Rosalie put a hand on her bonnet, holding it in place as she studied Olivia’s expression. “What if there was a way out? You don’t have to marry him, Olivia. I promise you, the duchess can be persuaded—”

“You have known the duchess for thirty days,” Olivia snapped. “I have known her for nigh on thirty years. She is as cold as she is ruthless. She’ll follow through with her threats if I don’t marry Mr. Burke-Corbin-whatever his name is now. Besides,” she added, “word is already spreading of the engagement. The papers will soon seal my fate. No, I must marry him, or I am ruined.”

Rosalie took the lady’s arm. “Please, Olivia—there is a way for you both to get what you want. If you will but trust me, I think I can see you clear of this.”

Olivia turned, her fair brows raised in curiosity. Quickly, the brows lowered. “Miss Harrow…what are you scheming in that pretty little head of yours?”

Before Rosalie could reply, a huge gust of wind swept over the flower beds. It knocked Rosalie’s bonnet back. Only the ribbons tied under her chin kept it from flying away. She scrambled to right it as Olivia screeched.

“My parasol!”

The wind had plucked the fancy lace parasol right from Olivia’s hand. The ladies watched as it was swept away on the breeze, tumbling across the grass. Olivia ran after it in a flash, her hands fisted in her skirts.

“Olivia,” Rosalie called. “Wait—”

“It was my grandmother’s,” Olivia cried.

“Be careful!” Rosalie’s bonnet flopped down her back again as she followed Olivia’s zig-zagging pattern through the grass. “Oh no,” she huffed, glancing up. “Olivia, the trees!”

Olivia shrieked, reaching for the parasol with both hands, but another gust of wind tumbled it higher. Riding the wind, it flew up into the branches of an obliging chestnut tree.

“No!” Losing all sense of decorum, Olivia did a few little hops, snatching for the handle that hung just out of reach.

Rosalie came to a halt behind her, chest heaving from their short sprint. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter as Olivia did another jump. “Olivia, please.” She put her hand on her shoulder. “Let me go for help.”

“I’ve nearly got it,” Olivia said through gritted teeth. “If the wind would just dislodge it a bit more—”

Suddenly, a deep voice chuckled behind them. “Why are you always losing things up trees?”

Rosalie and Olivia both spun around. Rosalie gasped. Standing before her was a giant of a man in a navy captain’s uniform. He had deeply tanned skin and dark eyes, with a square jaw. His hair was trimmed unfashionably close on the sides, with the rest hidden under his hat. A long, thin scar marred his right eye in the corner, extending down to mid-cheek, giving him a rugged, dangerous look.

He smiled at Olivia, his eyes flashing with mirth. “Hello, Livy. It’s good to see you again.”

Rosalie’s mouth opened in surprise as she glanced from the mysterious captain to Olivia, who was now white as a sheet. Not wasting another breath, Olivia stepped forward and slapped him across the face.