Royal's Bride (7 page)

“Miss Caulfield, wait!”

Jo nudged the stallion even faster, aiming at a hedge off to the right.

“Miss Caulfield—Jocelyn, wait!”

Jo laughed and neatly clipped the hedge, landing perfectly on the opposite side. Unfortunately, in a shady spot some of the snow had melted into a puddle she hadn’t seen. The horse hit the mud and nearly went down. Jocelyn kept her seat, but just barely, and she was furious that the animal had made her look bad in front of the duke.

He caught up with her just as she raised the crop to slam it against the horse’s flanks, reached over and jerked it out of her hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked sharply.

“The stupid horse missed my command. You saw him! He nearly unseated me.”

“I tried to warn you. The fields are wet. You were riding too fast. It’s a wonder you both didn’t go down. It’s a miracle you weren’t injured.”

“It was the horse, I tell you. If he had obeyed my command—”

He seemed to be drawing on his self-control. His jaw looked hard, but his words came out softly. “Why don’t we ride south. You can see a bit of the forest. There’ll be snow left on the branches. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

Jocelyn sniffed, placated but barely. She could have been injured. The duke should have taken her side, should have whipped the blasted horse for not obeying her command.

She looked up at him, sitting on the bay, tall and broad-shouldered, unbelievably handsome. She supposed she could forgive him. He was going to be her husband, after all.

“I believe we have lost our chaperone,” she said, glancing around, but seeing no sign of the groom.

“He’ll find us. He knows where we’re going.”

But Jocelyn was glad he was gone. She wanted a little time alone with the duke. When he reached the forest and suggested they walk for a bit, she readily agreed. The duke tied the horses, lifted her out of the saddle, then took her hand and led her down to a small, bubbling stream.

He stopped at the edge of the water, looked out over the landscape, a very blue sky over rolling hills that held the last traces of snow.

Jocelyn’s gaze followed his. “It’s lovely, Your Grace.”

“I would like it if you called me Royal—at least when we are alone. May I call you Jocelyn?”

She smiled. “I would like that very much.”

His gaze roamed over the countryside. “This land means a great deal to me. Once the house is refurbished, do you think you could be happy here?”

She returned her attention to the winter-barren fields stretching as far as she could see and thought how bleak it was. Pretty, in a barren, empty sort of way, but life in the country simply wasn’t for her. “I presume we will also be spending time in London.”

“If that is your wish.”

She smiled with relief, thinking that once they were married, a brief, once-a-year trip to the country would be more than sufficient. “Then of course I could be happy.”

Royal reached for her and she didn’t stop him when he drew her into his arms. She closed her eyes as he bent his head and kissed her. It was a soft, gentle meeting of lips, a respectable kiss until she opened for him. Royal hesitated only a moment, then deepened the kiss, tasting her more fully, letting her taste him.

He was good at kissing, she thought in some far corner of her mind, his lips soft yet firm, moist but not sloppy. Once they were married, allowing him his husbandly rights would not be a difficult thing.

Royal was the first to end the embrace. He looked up, saw his groom riding over the top of a distant hill. “I think it’s time we returned to the house.”

Jocelyn glanced over his shoulder and saw their chaperone approaching. “Of course.”

He helped her remount, setting her easily in the sidesaddle, then swung up on the back of the bay.

They rode in silence to the front of the castle and a groom rushed forward to take the reins. Royal lifted her down and they climbed the front stairs together. The butler opened the door and they walked into the entry.

Jocelyn spotted her cousin coming down the stairs. “Lily!” she called out to her, catching her by surprise. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

Lily turned. “I was just collecting a bit more trim for the hats I am sewing. How…how was your ride?”

“Lovely.” Jocelyn thought of the kiss they had shared and beamed up at Royal with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Quite lovely, wasn’t it, Your Grace?”

But he seemed not to hear her. His entire attention was focused on the woman at the foot of the stairs—her cousin, Lily Moran.

“A
ll right, Lily—” Jocelyn paced back and forth across the Aubusson carpet of the duchess’s suite. “I want to know exactly what went on between you and the duke before Mother and I arrived.”

Lily just stood there, her insides humming with nerves. “I can’t imagine what you are talking about. Nothing the least untoward went on with His Grace. Mostly, I worked all day trying to make things right for you and your mother. The duke was polite to me, but that is all.”
Unfortunately,
she thought with a twinge of guilt.

Jocelyn eyed her sharply. “Are you sure, Lily? You certainly seemed to grab his attention when we walked into the house.”

Lily worked to keep her mind from straying to that one single moment, that beautiful instant when the duke’s gaze seemed focused entirely on her and for once Jocelyn was the one who was invisible.

It couldn’t have meant anything. It was merely a trick of the mind.

“You are completely mistaken, Jo. Since when has a man ever given me the slightest glance after he has been introduced to you?”

Jocelyn flopped down on the bed and gave up a little sigh, mollified a bit at the truth of Lily’s words. “He kissed me this afternoon.”

Lily’s stomach tightened. “Did he?”

“He’s a very good kisser. I would rate him a nine out of ten.”

Jo had a kissing scale? Lily knew her cousin had kissed a number of gentlemen, but she hadn’t realized each of them was being rated. “Have you ever kissed a ten?” she asked.

Jo rolled onto her back and gazed up at the green silk canopy above the bed. “Only one. Christopher Barclay. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the fourth son of some obscure baron. He’s a barrister—young, though, not old. We danced at the Earl of Montmart’s ball and later we walked in the garden. Christopher kissed me. I should have slapped him, I suppose, but his kiss was definitely a ten.”

Perhaps that was so, but Lily couldn’t help thinking that if Royal Dewar ever kissed her, it would also be a ten.

Royal.
She had never said his name aloud, but lately she had begun to think of him that way, as Royal, instead of His Grace or the duke. It was dangerous, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“So how was your ride?” she asked. “Aside from the kiss, I mean.”

Jocelyn’s lips thinned. “His bloody horse nearly threw me—that’s how it was. I couldn’t believe it. And he didn’t do anything about it.”

“What did you expect him to do?”

“It was the horse’s fault. I expected him to do
something.
”

Lily ignored the outburst. Jo rarely took the blame for anything that happened. Lily wasn’t surprised she would blame the horse. “Did you talk about anything interesting?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “He asked me if I could be happy here. I said that I could—as long as we also spent time in London.”

Lily thought of the lovely rolling fields, the yew forests and the stream that trickled along the edge of the garden. There was nothing she would like more than to live out here in the country. “I wonder when he’ll ask you to marry him.”

“Soon, I imagine. We’ll only be staying a week, perhaps less. Mother and I decided a shorter visit would be better. She thinks a six-month engagement will be long enough to make all of the arrangements for the wedding. I’m sure the duke will make a formal proposal before we leave for home.”

“You don’t sound terribly excited.”

“Oh, I will be—once our engagement is officially announced.” Lying on the bed, she scooted back until her shoulders rested against the elaborately carved wooden headboard. “Can you imagine what people will say? I shall be the envy of every woman in London.”

“That is certainly true enough, but have you given any thought to your feelings for the duke? Aren’t you the least concerned that you might not love him?”

Jo laughed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t believe in love. Besides, once I give him an heir, I can take a lover if I
wish. I can choose whomever I want and perhaps I will fall in love with
him.
”

It seemed so coldhearted. Lily sank onto the stool in front of the dresser. “You can’t really mean that.”

“Oh, but I do. That is the way it works, cousin, in marriages that are arranged.”

Lily swallowed. “I see.” But she didn’t really see at all. She only saw that Royal would be marrying a woman who didn’t love him and had no intention of being faithful. The sick feeling returned to her stomach.

Royal headed down the hall and walked into his study. A man stood in front of his desk. He turned at the sound of Royal’s footfalls—medium height, a solid build, jet-black hair and hard, carved features.

“I presume you are Chase Morgan,” Royal said, speaking of the man he had hired to find out exactly what had happened to the Bransford fortune.

Morgan made a slight bow of his head. “At your service, Your Grace.”

“Have a seat.” Royal sat down behind his desk and the investigator sat down across from him. “You’ve brought news, I take it.”

“Indeed, very interesting news. I thought it might be more productive if we could discuss the matter face-to-face rather than trying to communicate by letter.”

“I appreciate that. So what have you discovered?”

Chase rose from the chair and retrieved a leather satchel Royal hadn’t noticed before. He set it on top of the desk. “May I?”

“Of course.”

The investigator opened the case, pulled out a sheaf
of papers and spread them on the desk in front of him. “Each of these pages represents a company in which your father invested. There are millworks, railroads, shipping lines and various trading commodities.”

Royal grunted. “None of which managed to earn a shilling in return.”

“Exactly so.” Morgan singled out one of the papers and slid it in front of Royal. “The interesting thing isn’t so much which companies your father chose to invest in, it is who owned these supposed companies.”

Royal arched a brow. “Supposed?”

“That’s right. None remained in business for more than six months. Most were closed down sooner than that—if they were ever more than merely accounts on paper.”

“You are saying they were fraudulent?”

“That is the way it appears.”

His mind ran over the implications. “But you don’t know for certain.”

“Not yet.”

He tapped the paper. “How do we find out?”

Morgan pointed down at the paper. “We need to investigate the people listed as owners of these businesses—the Southward Mill, for instance, and the Randsburg Coal Mining Company. There are also corporations named that supposedly own shares in these businesses, which means we need to find out who owns those corporations, as well. I was hoping you might recognize some of the names, be able to tell me something we could use.”

Royal sat there a moment, trying to absorb the news as he scanned the list on the page. He reached for another sheet, and another, and finally shook his head. “I am sorry. I don’t recognize any of these names.”

“I didn’t really think you would, but it was worth a try.” Morgan sat forward in his chair. “What I need to know is how far you want me to take this?”

Royal tapped the paper. “If these investments were shams, then someone or several someones took advantage of my father in his weakened mental condition. I want to know who these men are.”

Morgan nodded. “All right. It may take some time, but sooner or later, I’ll find out who brought these investments to your father’s attention. There may be any number, but more likely just a greedy few who saw a golden opportunity and seized it.”

Royal stood up from his chair. “I want those names, Morgan. Do what it takes to find them.”

The investigator stood up as well, an imposing figure with his whipcord-lean body and thick black hair. “I’ll send word as soon as I have further news.”

Royal walked the man to the door of the study then watched him disappear down the hall. He’d had his suspicions that perhaps his father had been duped, but until today he hadn’t been sure.

Unconsciously, his jaw hardened. He would find out who was responsible for the terrible losses his family had suffered. The question then would become—what should he do?

Jocelyn sat in the Blue Drawing Room taking tea with her mother and the Dowager Countess of Tavistock. She would rather have been shopping or perhaps gossiping with some of the young women in her social circle about the ball last night at the Earl of Severn’s town mansion, which she had been forced to
miss. But after she became a duchess, she could do whatever she pleased.

She nodded at something the dowager said, though she wasn’t paying all that much attention. She wished the duke would make an appearance. Plying her charms on a handsome man was always entertaining. Perhaps he would rescue her from the tedious afternoon.

She took a sip of tea from her gold-rimmed porcelain cup, thinking that at least she was enjoying the chance to wear her new striped-mauve silk gown. It was a lovely dress, the skirt fashioned of deep flounces edged with mauve velvet ribbon. She started at the mention of her name and realized the countess was addressing her.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I must have been woolgathering. What did you say?”

“I said my invitation to tea extended to your cousin, Miss Moran. I expected she would be joining us. She isn’t ill, is she?”

Jocelyn waved a hand. “Of course not—Lily is almost never sick. She is merely busy making her silly hats. Mother thought it best to leave her to it.”

One of the dowager’s silver eyebrows went up. “Miss Moran makes hats?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mother set her teacup down a little too firmly, rattling the porcelain against the saucer. “I am embarrassed to say our dear cousin has ambitions of one day owning a
millinery shop
. I vow, I have never heard the like. I told her it simply wasn’t done.”

“What sort of hats does she make?” the dowager continued as if the topic was actually of some importance.

“Why, all sorts of hats, ma’am,” Jocelyn answered.
“In fact, Lily made the velvet cap I am wearing this afternoon.” She turned her head to show off the lovely mauve creation with its clusters of velvet ribbons that matched her outfit.

The countess looked intrigued. “Why, it’s lovely. You say she is making hats at this very moment?”

Jocelyn nodded. “In a room somewhere down the hall. She sews hats every afternoon.”

The dowager slowly rose to her feet. With a knobby hand, she reached for her cane and used it to steady herself. “I love hats. I believe I should like to see your cousin’s handiwork.”

Her mother’s mouth thinned. Jocelyn merely followed as the old woman made her way slowly down the hall.

“The Daffodil Room, I believe it’s called,” Jocelyn said. “I think it is at the back of the house.”

“I know the room. It has a lovely view of the garden.”

A garden that needed a good deal of work, Jocelyn thought. She would hire the best landscape designer in England to modernize the pathways and replace the plants and bring the overgrown mess back into vogue.

The countess paused outside the door to the drawing room, peered in, then walked inside. “So this is what kept you from taking tea with us.” She gestured toward the swatches of cloth, ribbons, lace and imitation flowers stacked on the tables and strewn over the backs of the chairs.

Lily shot to her feet, dumping the bonnet in her lap to the floor. She bent and quickly retrieved it. “My lady. I didn’t realize you expected me to come. I apologize.”

The old woman flicked Mother a glance. “It’s all
right, my dear. Now, tell me what you are doing with all of this frippery.”

“Making hats, my lady. It is…sort of a hobby of mine.”

“Hobby or business?”

Lily glanced at Jocelyn, clearly not wanting to embarrass her.

“The truth, young lady.”

“Making hats is my business, Lady Tavistock. I have a number of clients who purchase my designs. I hope to own my own shop one day.”

“So I’ve been told.” The countess strolled about the drawing room, using her cane only occasionally. There was a row of finished hats up on the mantel: a dress cap of pearl-gray silk trimmed with moss-green velvet leaves, a headdress of lace and violet ribbons, a leghorn hat with a cap of blond lace.

“I must say, these are quite lovely.” She turned to Lily. “I should like very much to commission a hat for myself. Perhaps later this afternoon we might discuss it.”

“Oh, my lady, I would be honored to make you a hat.”

Mother looked as if she had swallowed an apple core and it was stuck in her throat.

“I realize you are busy with your work,” the dowager continued, “but perhaps you might join us for a bit. We shan’t be much longer, but a cup of tea would surely do you good.”

Lily cast Mother a glance but there was no real way to decline. “Thank you, my lady. That would be lovely.”

The old woman leaned on her cane and began a slow shuffle out of the Daffodil Room, returning to the drawing room down the hall. Jocelyn was hoping she could go upstairs for a nap. She was used to late nights attending
parties and balls, and all of this country air seemed somehow tiring. She sighed as she walked back into the Blue Drawing Room and resumed her seat on the sofa.