His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

The captain barked a deep laugh, rubbing his jaw. “Aye, I suppose I deserved that.”

“That and more,” Olivia hissed.

“Olivia—” Rosalie put a hand on her arm as the lady dared to wind up for another strike. “Come away,” she whispered. “Leave him and come away.”

Olivia’s antics with the parasol had already drawn attention. Several people were watching, whispering to their neighbors with narrowed eyes. Rosalie forced a smile, adjusting her bonnet with her left hand, while still holding onto Olivia with her right.

Olivia stepped back, chest heaving and eyes glassy with angry tears.

The captain grinned, dropping his hand from his jaw. “I knew you’d remember me. I certainly remember you.”

His smile put Rosalie in mind of a hungry wolf. She fought a tremor as she tightened her hold on Olivia’s arm. “We should rejoin our group,” she murmured.

“Is Henry here?” He glanced over his shoulder with interest as he surveyed those on promenade. “I’d love to see him.”

Olivia spoke at last, her voice clipped. “Henry is in Deal.”

Rosalie could only assume Henry must be her brother. She was starting to put the pieces together. This captain couldn’t be more than five and thirty. No doubt, they all grew up together in some way. All that was left to discover was whether Olivia’s animosity for this man was rooted in some childhood dislike…or the reverse.

“I heard he’s married now,” said the captain. “I was sorry to have missed it.”

“That was six years ago,” Olivia replied. “He has three children.”

“Aye, well I’ve been abroad for quite a long time.” He glanced at Rosalie and smiled again. “I’m sorry, miss. It doesn’t appear that Livy’s going to introduce us—”

“Stop calling me ‘Livy,’” she hissed.

“Captain William Hartington, at your service,” he said with a tip of his hat.

With a huff of indignation, Olivia crossed her arms.

“Rosalie Harrow,” Rosalie replied automatically.

“It seems as though you ladies are in a bit of a situation.” He gestured to the parasol. “May I assist?” Not waiting for their answer, he stepped between them and reached up, wrapping his huge hand around the slender handle of the parasol. He jiggled it gently, freeing it. Then he turned with a smile, offering it out to Olivia.

She took it wordlessly, snapping it closed.

His mouth tipped into a wry grin. “Is this all the welcome I am to receive then? Surely, after ten years, you can’t still be salty—”

“I am not salty,” Olivia replied. “What I am is leaving. Come, Miss Harrow.” She looped her arm in with Rosalie’s, determined to drag her away.

Before they could take a step, new voices called.

“Olivia!”

“Miss Harrow!”

Both ladies turned to see Mariah and Blanche crossing the grass towards them. Mariah’s bright red curls were loose under her bonnet, whipping in the wind as she hurried her steps. “This wind is murder,” Mariah panted with a laugh, flicking her curls away from her freckled face. “The duchess wishes to return now.”

“Hello, sir,” said Blanche, eyeing the captain with interest.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said with a smile.

Rosalie glanced from Olivia to the captain, waiting for the lady to remember herself. When Olivia stayed silent, Rosalie sighed. “Lady Mariah Swindon, Miss Blanche Oswald, this is Captain Hartington…Olivia’s friend.”

“We are not friends,” Olivia said at the same time the captain said, “Charmed.”

Hearing his name, both the young ladies gasped. Blanche lifted a gloved hand to her mouth. Mariah clung tighter to her arm and said in a rush, “Oh, but you must join, Captain Hartington. The duchess is hosting tea for the Marchioness of Marlborough, and I’m sure she’d be delighted if you joined as well—”

“Mariah, you cannot make invitations on behalf of the duchess,” Rosalie warned under her breath.

“Whyever not?” the girl laughed.

“Which duchess can you mean?” asked the captain.

“The Dowager Duchess of Norland,” Blanche replied, still batting her lashes at him. “We are all her particular guests for the autumn season.”

“The captain is far too busy to attend a lady’s tea party,” Olivia declared.

“The captain is famished actually,” he replied, patting his trim stomach. “I’m sure nothing could hit the spot quite like a slice of fresh seed cake.”

The young ladies giggled, while Rosalie felt Olivia stiffen on her arm.

“Then let us lead the way,” Mariah cooed, pulling Blanche back in the direction of their group. They walked with a new spring in their step, the captain strolling at their side. Rosalie could only describe Olivia’s walk as a funeral march.

By the time they were all settled back at Corbin House, the drawing room was full with over twenty people—all eager lords and ladies on promenade who’d managed to snare the duchess’ attention. Tea was served, along with trays of finger sandwiches, egg quiches, and yes, seed cake.

On the walk home, Rosalie discovered more about the mysterious Captain William Hartington. Blanche and Mariah were all too eager to laugh at her expense when they learned of her ignorance and filled her in at once.

Captain Hartington was none other than the eldest son of the Fifth Duke of Devonshire. Rosalie knew that the Cavendish family was perhaps the most illustrious peerage in the land, however she’d never heard of the captain, and for good reason. Like Burke, Captain Hartington was a bastard, his mother being a maid in the late duke’s household. But the duke had denied his son nothing, including giving him use of his own name, and providing for him a surname in honor of his subsidiary title as Marquess of Hartington. As a bastard, Captain Hartington could have no claim on his father’s title. His younger, half-brother assumed it last year upon their father’s death.

Rosalie learned from the captain himself that he’d joined the navy young, and spent the better part of the last thirteen years on the far sides of the world. She was curious to know whether he was acquainted with Renley, but the other ladies had too eagerly snared all his attention for her to get another word in.

She watched with curiosity as he moved about the drawing room, making small talk with the other guests, giving all the right smiles and paying all the right compliments. He was clearly an expert at sailing these high society waters. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of him being an untamed wolf at heart.

Meanwhile, Olivia had retreated in on herself, doing her best to say nothing to the captain or even acknowledge him. But Rosalie saw the way her eye kept slipping over to him. She saw the way Olivia held too tightly to her cup and saucer, the way she chewed her bottom lip. Unless Rosalie was very much mistaken, Olivia Rutledge did not despise the captain as much as she let on. Rosalie didn’t know the details, but she was desperate to find out. Might this not be a possible solution to all their problems?

Before she could question the lady about it, a footman opened the drawing room door and announced, “Lord Darnley, Lord Seymour, Lieutenant Renley, and Mr. Corbin.”

“Ah, excellent timing,” said the duchess from her seat in the middle of the room. “Let them come in, Finch,” she added with a wave of her hand.

Rosalie’s stomach flipped as she set her cup back on its saucer. Darnley and Seymour were two of the names on the top of their list of eligible bachelors. Apparently, Burke meant to try and shove them under Olivia’s nose today. His timing could not possibly have been worse. He was the first in the room, his eyes scanning quickly until they fell on her and he smiled. He made a move as if to come to her but was distracted when Captain Hartington launched to his feet and spun to face the door.

Renley was frozen in the open doorway, eyes wide. His look of shock quickly morphed into delight. “Hart—bloody hell—”

Captain Hartington barreled over, wrapping Renley in a tight embrace, nearly lifting him off his feet. The two sailors laughed, both talking at once as they cuffed each other’s shoulders, wholly oblivious to the presence of others in the room.

“When did this happen?” Renley cried, fingering the epaulets on Hartington’s shoulders.

“Eight months back,” the captain replied.

“And how long have you been in Town?”

“Just a fortnight. I’ve been in Greenwich—”

“The hospital?” Renley’s voice was suddenly tight as he gave his friend a once over, looking for any obvious injury. Rosalie knew there was a notable hospital for seamen in Greenwich.

“Aye, but not as a patient. I’ve been giving lectures, actually. Don’t know why they’d let me behind a lectern, but I can’t argue with orders.”

Both men laughed again.

“Are you going to come in, Lieutenant, or should we all just learn to live with this ghastly draft of air?” called the duchess from her spot on the sofa.

“Sorry, Your Grace,” Renley replied, still holding Hartington’s shoulder as he moved into the room to let the footman shut the door.

Rosalie hardly noticed when Burke was standing behind her chair, a cup of tea already in hand. “How the hell did Will Hartington get invited to tea?” he muttered.

“That’s partially my fault, I suppose.” She looked over her shoulder at him to see his confused frown. “We met him in the park. He pushed his way in, as a matter of fact.”

Burke just grunted, taking a sip of his tea. “Sounds about right.”

She didn’t know why, but Burke seemed displeased. “You know the captain?”

“Only by reputation,” he muttered, his eye still on the sailors.

Rosalie turned her attention to the lords at the tea station. “Which is which?”

“Darnley is the one of the left,” he replied.

She took in both gentlemen. Lord John Darnley was the eldest son of the Earl of Whitby. He was tall and narrow through the shoulders, not unattractive, with dark blonde hair and dark eyes. The other gentleman was Lord David Seymour, third son of the Marquess of Hertford. He had an athletic build and dark features, with a prominent nose and hooded eyes.

“Your timing is not ideal,” she whispered, bringing her cup of tea to her lips.

“No time like the present,” he replied. “I need this over and done with.”

“You need to talk to her first,” Rosalie countered. “She’s in a fragile state, Burke. If she finds out we’re trying to manipulate her or pawn her off on strange men, she’ll dig her heels in. Please, talk to her before this gets out of our control—”

“Alright,” he soothed, his hand itching with the desire to give her comfort. She watched him curl it into a tight fist. There were too many eyes here, this was too public.

She gave him a little nod of understanding.

His eye darted over to the pair of lords now in conversation with the Swindon sisters. “Seymour and Darnley are staying through luncheon. I’ve arranged it with James to seat them by Olivia. I’ll get Renley to invite Hartington to stay to better balance the numbers. And I will talk to her,” he said again. “I swear to you, I’ll talk to her before the day is done.”