In the Highlander's Bed (27 page)

She must trust them now.

“When do I meet His Grace?” she asked Phillip.

“Tomorrow night,” he answered. “His mother suggested she arrange for him to be present at Lady Viner’s ball. We’ll have the introductions then. After that, a very short courtship and a speedy marriage arranged by special license.”

“Are we to tell everyone it was love at first sight?” Constance asked.

“They won’t believe you love Holburn,” Francesca predicted.

Phillip sat back in his chair. “Come now,” he scoffed. “Be fair. Holburn is a handsome man. He’s set many hearts on fire.”

“Only the hearts of women who admire rakes,” Francesca retorted.

“Which is actually a good portion of the female population,” Phillip pointed out.

“I don’t care,” Constance said, coming to a decision. “If this is what must be done, so be it.” With those words, she excused herself and, rising from the table, left the room.

She surprised herself. She didn’t feel happy or sad. Her practical nature had taken over and she refused to wallow in self-pity. That was how one survived the unthinkable.

She spent the rest of the day sitting out in the Garden Room, knitting to keep both her hands and her mind busy.

Alex came to fetch her for dinner.

“You’ve heard about the offer?” she asked him.

He nodded.

She studied the loops and weaves of her knitting before asking thoughtfully, “Alex, do you have a moment?”

“I do.” He sat on the settee beside her.

“There was a madwoman among the Scots,” Constance said. “She kept talking about water coming and overtaking Gordon.” She ran a light finger over a line of her stitching before saying, “I know the Shawnee believe such people have gifts…but she could just be spouting nonsense, couldn’t she?”

“She could,” Alex said. “However, some people do have visions.”

“Yes, but what if she was just a confused poor soul?”

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Alex took the knitting from her. “Constance, why do you ask?”

“Because I don’t ‘feel’ anything,” she dared to confess. “When the duke first told me about the soldiers attacking Gordon, Iknew he wasn’t dead.I knew . But now, I keep trying to sense where he is, if he is alive, if he is dead, and I feel nothing. The bond between us was very strong, Alex. I would know if something happened to him…wouldn’t I?”

Alex’s dark eyes considered her a moment. “Did he love you?”

“Yes.”

“Then he would have come for you if he was alive. It’s been almost three weeks, Constance. I would let you wait forever, but you know you carry his child.”

“I do,” she admitted. “Justin and Phillip wouldn’thide him from me, would they?”

Alex sat back. “No. They are both honest men.”

“I want to believe he is alive, Alex. Even if he doesn’t come for me, I want him alive.”

“What was this vision the madwoman had?” Alex asked.

“That Gordon was covered in water and that water took him away.”

“And you don’t believe that is a vision of him drowning?” He didn’t wait for an answer but said, “If he is alive, he may not be in England. He could not stay.”

Constance drew a deep breath and released it. “That’s what I wanted to know,” she murmured. “Before I take Holburn’s offer, I have to be certain.”

“Of course,” Alex agreed.

She stood. “I don’t feel well. Please ask the others to excuse me.” She didn’t wait for his response but went up to her room. There, she lay awake a long time, curled into a ball, her arms and legs protecting her belly and the fragile life she carried. Whatever the future held, she would honor Gordon’s son.

Constance came down to the Breakfast Room the next morning to find Phillip furious on her behalf.

Francesca and Charlotte were with him and equally as concerned.

“Look at the papers,” he said. “The dowager duchess of Holburn has all but posted an announcement that you are betrothed to her son.” He handed theMorning Post to Constance, who read an item in a column that chronicled the routs and balls around Town.

The very wealthy Miss C, youngest of three beauties from America, is soon to make an announcement concerning a certain Duke H. We are expecting to see both parties at Lady V’s Roses at Twilight fete this evening.

“Roses at Twilight?” Constance muttered. “It sounds like a play, not a ball.”

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“Everyone does themes,” Francesca answered. “I assure you, the room will be floor-to-ceiling roses if I know Lady Viner. She is as ridiculous in her planning as my stepmother.”

Constance handed the paper back to Phillip.

“What does it matter? We are arranging the marriage as it is.” She helped herself to the tea.

Phillip set the paper aside. “You haven’t met the man,” he told Constance. “I am not an ogre. I don’t want to bully you into anything. I know you already think me a bit of one already. I’m not your enemy.

Not any longer.”

Constance turned at the sideboard. “I think I know that.” She frowned. “But I don’t know if I trust you.”

“Trust me. I love your sister very much. I would never harm you. After all, I let my brother take that treasonous sword north.”

“You did,” Constance agreed. She sat at the table beside him. “And I do appreciate everything you are doing on my behalf.”

“Wait until this evening. Once you meet Holburn, you may not be so appreciative.”

She laughed…but noticed that neither Francesca or Phillip did. Sobered, she sipped a cup of tea, her gaze falling on the newspaper, where her name seemed to jump out at her.

Francesca was right. Lady Viner had filled every room in her house with roses. The air reeked of them, even outside, where Constance stood with Charlotte, Francesca, and their husbands, waiting in the line of guests entering the house. A gentleman ahead of her began sneezing furiously. Apparently, he had a dislike of roses. He wanted to leave but his wife would hear nothing of it.

Constance felt ill at ease. She heard her name whispered often and knew that behind those fluttering fans women were gossiping.

Miranda couldn’t attend because of her delicate condition, and Constance wished she could use the same excuse.

She knew she looked her best. She was wearing a gauzy, pastel blue muslin with a bodice of silver and lace. Her hair had been styled up on her head with pearl pins holding her curls in place. She’d wanted to appear regal and aloof, the way a possible duchess should be.

Inside, Lord and Lady Viner acted overjoyed to greet them. Charlotte whispered in Constance’s ear,

“We’ve made her ball. There will be a mention in every paper tomorrow.”

Constance nodded. She dared not speak. Her stomach was a tight knot of anxiety. What had seemed relatively simple to agree to yesterday was revealing horrifying consequences. She felt as if every eye in the room was on her.

The duke’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Holburn, practically pounced on them the second they were done with the receiving line. She seemed unaware of all the speculation. Perhaps when one was a
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duchess one became accustomed to all the attention. Francesca seemed at peace with it.

The dowager was a petite woman, as wide as she was tall, who wore ostrich feathers in her hair as if to add to her height. It didn’t work.

Her fingers were covered with rings, and jewels were in her hair and pinned to her dress. She was a bright, lovely ornament who was very pleased with Constance. “So lovely, so lovely,” she kept saying.

“Just perfect. I was so afraid you were peddling a giraffe or a gorilla,” she informed Phillip.

“A giraffe?” Constance repeated.

“Oh, you know, one of those women who is so unusually tall everyone has to crane their necks to look at them,” the duchess said. “And a gorilla is ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Big shoulders. You are a bit tall but not uncomfortably so. Then again, Holburn is huge, so you might suit.”

Constance murmured a dubious “Thank you.” Her initial reaction to the duchess was that she was more rude than silly.

“Will we have the opportunity to meet your son?” Charlotte asked to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“He will be here this evening,” the duchess assured them, smiling brightly, and Constance sensed she didn’t have a clue where her son was. In fact, Constance was beginning to wonder if there was any substance at all behind the dowager’s bright blue eyes—and then she met Holburn’s uncles. They swooped down upon the duchess like hawks after fresh prey.

There were two of them, Lord Brant and Lord Maven, and they dressed like Puritans. Their black was a stark contrast to the duchess’s colorful style and to Constance’s demure gown as well.

“So,” Lord Brant said, drawing out the word in a sonorous tone after the introductions, “I understand we are to wish you happy.” He didn’t appear happy.

Constance smiled. “Thank you.”

“Yes, Holburn is so ecstatic,” his mother said. “Absolutely overjoyed. Wait until he sees you this evening and tells you himself.”

“I have seen him this evening,” Lord Brant said.

This was a surprise to the duchess. “You have?” she asked.

“Yes,” Lord Maven agreed. “He’s in the card room, his usual place. Did you know he’s placed a wager on the books at White’s that hewon’t be marrying.Ever. ”

Now Constance understood all the stares and whispers.

The duchess’s hair feathers shook with indignation. “Why is he doing this to me?”

Constance could also feel Phillip’s temper start to rise. The heat of his expression should have seared the eyebrows off Lord Maven. Even the usually temperate Justin was taking insult. The twins exchanged a look, another of their silent communications.

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However, what made Constance angry was the obvious relish the uncles took in sabotaging the marriage arrangement. For the first time in weeks she felt a surge of her old spirit.

Deciding to take matters into her own hands before there was an explosion of tempers, she said, “Your Grace, perhaps we should go to the card room? If there is a wager on the books, I believe I must at least meet Holburn for it to be valid.”

The uncles all but sneered their opinions.

Constance didn’t care. Her pride was up. If Holburn was anything like his uncles, she was ready to face public scandal and have her baby alone.

The dowager seized on the opportunity to escape. “Yes, I believe we should.” She linked her arm in Constance’s.

Phillip, Charlotte, and the others started to follow them, but Constance waved them back. If Holburn was as rude as the uncles, Phillip appeared ready to call him out. She could not let that happen. “This is a moment when I can acquaint myself better with the dowager, if you please?” She sent a silent plea to her sister.

The twins weren’t the only siblings who could communicate without words.

And, fortunately, Charlotte understood. With a nod, she directed her husband to see about refreshments.

Once they were alone, the duchess confided, “My husband’s brothers are greedy, greedy,greedy . And so disapproving. Can you imagine how difficult my life is with those dour-faced bastions of propriety lurking at my door? Don’t worry. Holburn doesn’t like them one whit. You won’t have to deal with them often.”

“Why are they so disapproving?” Constance asked.

“Because they worry that Holburn is going to spend all their money,” the dowager replied breezily.

“They fear if he dies, there will be nothing to inherit. As if Holburn cares about their wishes any more than he does mine. I will warn you, he can seem callous. He doesn’t consider how his demise would affectmy income.”

Constance had given up searching for logic in the duchess’s thinking. The card room was set up in the parlor. There were four tables with five to eight players at each. Almost everyone in the room was gathered around the table farthest from the door.

“Oh, dear, what is he doing now?” the duchess worried, and shouldered her petite self through the crowd.

Constance followed and had her first look at the man she would marry.

The duke was tall and lean. One would have thought him athletic except for the unnatural pallor of his skin beneath dark hair and the way his hand shook as he reached for a card to turn over. He was a handsome, elegant, dissolute man.

He realized his mother was there almost immediately. He looked up at her, his lids low over lazy eyes.

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“Mother,” he said, deliberately pronouncing each syllable. “Have you come to watch me win money off of Gibbons?”

“Dominic, what are you doing?” his mother asked.

“Flipping a card,” he answered easily. “High card wins two thousand pounds. That is Gibbons’s jack on the table.”

“Dom?” his mother said, but he shushed her.

“’Tis only money, Mother.” He flipped his card and then his brows pulled together. “Pity. A king. I’m sorry, Gibbons. I had meant to give you money, not take it.”

Gibbons rose from the table. “You’ll accept my marker?” he said stiffly. He was a young man, and there was sweat on his forehead, as if the outcome of the cards had mattered a great deal.

“Of course,” Holburn said negligently. “Does anyone else wish to play?” In spite of the early hour of the evening, he was obviously well into his cups. Constance’s father had been a drinker, and she recognized the signs. It did not endear this man to her.

“Holburn,” the duchess said, “there is someone here you need to meet.”

Almost as one, everyone turned to Constance and she could feel her face flame. Well, everyone turned save the duke. He kept his head low, his concentration on the cards his hands shuffled.

“Holburn,” his mother chastised while the group gathered around him sent Constance sly, superior smiles.