The Irish Duke (32 page)

“Excellent . . . and I’ll do likewise, Your Grace.”

“Well, I warrant we should join the ladies. A congratulatory toast is in order.”

The duke summoned his steward. “Round up the ladies, Mr. Burke, and fetch us some champagne.”

 

Louisa, who had been staring out the drawing room window with unseeing eyes, spun around as if awakened from a trance. Her father was smiling broadly, though Abercorn was not. She could not read the expression on her mother’s face, but Georgy looked curious as a monkey as Mr. Burke carried in two bottles of champagne.

John Russell handed out the wine that Mr. Burke poured. “This is a joyous day. James has asked for Louisa’s hand and I have consented.” He raised his glass. “Let’s drink a toast to the happy couple.”

“Oh, that’s marvelous.” The duchess raised her glass. “Congratulations, James. Lu, darling, I wish you every happiness.”

“Thank you, Mother.”
Why are you acting surprised?
Louisa glanced at her sister and saw a look of displeasure on her face. She did not need to look at Abercorn. She could feel his cold anger.
I’m caught in a forked cleft—damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

“Mr. Burke, plenish a room for James and ask Cook to arrange something special for dinner.” Georgina radiated warm approval.

Abercorn set down his glass. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I cannot stay over. I have pressing business in London.”

“Well, in that case, I’m sure you’d like to be alone with your future bride. Lu, darling, why don’t you take James into the conservatory where you won’t be disturbed?”

Louisa walked quietly with downcast eyes. Abercorn nodded with formal politeness and followed her from the room.

Bedford grinned at his wife. “Good heavens, James is rigid as a board. Surely he didn’t fear I would turn him down?”

“Abercorn is Irish. I warrant he doesn’t have a fearful bone in his body.”

“You’re right, of course. That’s one of the reasons I like him so much.”

Georgy spoke up. “This goes against all tradition. The
eldest
daughter is supposed to marry first.”

“The Russells don’t follow tradition. We set the fashion,” her mother declared.

John winked at his wife. “
We
certainly did.”

 

The scent of camellias filled the air. James saw Louisa’s nostrils flare as she turned to face him. He masked his anger but it was still there, goading him beneath the surface. “I have your father’s blessing, and your mother’s condemnation.”

“I’m sorry, James.”

I’m the one who’s sorry. You never responded to my advances because there was someone else.
He could not bear the thought that she loved another, nor that the swine had let her down. The knowledge that she had given her heart, and obviously far more, was like a knife twisting in his gut.

“Under the circumstances,” she asked softly, “can we not be friends?”

Under the bloody circumstances?
“No, I fear not!”

The pleading look in her eyes made him regret his sharp reply.
I’m a self-righteous bastard. She needs me. How can I reject her when she comes to me as a supplicant?
He tried to smile. “At least we can be civilized. Let us have a truce, for the sake of our families.”

“A truce . . . yes.”

He sought for a token to pledge their truce and reached out to pluck a camellia. His hand hesitated above a creamy white flower but then moved on to pick a crimson bloom because it was the ancestral Abercorn color.

The flare of pain in her green eyes made him aware of the insult he had inadvertently offered her. White was the symbol for a bride and her purity. Red could mean a fallen woman.

She laughed defiantly and plucked the red camellia from his fingers. “You Irish devil! You don’t offer a truce—you offer war.” She inhaled the crimson bloom’s heady fragrance. “Red is my favorite color. War it is!”

James grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. His lips came down to ravish her mouth and show her who would be the victor in this battle of the sexes.

She pulled her mouth from his. “If you think to bend me to your will by force, you are deluding yourself, Abercorn. It will take a far greater weapon to overcome my defenses.”

He felt the hot throb of his erection and pressed it against her to show her how rock hard he was. “I have such a weapon; never doubt it, Lu.”

Her eyes flashed fire. “That’s
Lady
Lu to you, Irishman!”

“The outraged innocent . . . I must admit you play the role well.”

At his words, he glimpsed the hurt in her eyes that she quickly masked. His heart softened and he immediately regretted wounding her. “I promised to be civilized, then did the exact opposite.” James cupped her face tenderly and touched his lips to hers.
She needs a protector, not an adversary.

“Lady Louisa, will you marry me?”

“Your gallantry overwhelms me,” she said sweetly.

When she tried to pull away, his hands tightened on her shoulders. “You haven’t answered my question.”

She glanced up into his dark eyes.
I won’t. I can’t.
She was covered with guilt. None of this was his fault. He was being trapped every bit as much as she was. She suddenly realized how much the proposal cost his towering pride. “Yes. I will.”

On impulse she tucked the crimson camellia between her breasts. It matched the bright spots of color in her cheeks as they emerged from the conservatory.

At dinner they were seated next to each other. Jack had returned from London and offered his sincere congratulations to James. It was plain to everyone that he admired Abercorn and welcomed him as a brother.

As always at Woburn the conversation turned to politics and James felt relief. “Lord John won’t have an easy time of it when the reform bill goes to the Upper House. The majority in the Lords are Tories.”

“Yes, with Wellington leading the way. The prime minister and I agree that we need more Whig votes. Tomorrow I intend to write to King William and urge him to create fifty new peers.”

James was reminded once again how much influence the Duke of Bedford had in politics. “That’s a very shrewd suggestion, Your Grace.”

“That’s generous praise from a Tory,” Louisa declared.

You are deliberately emphasizing our differences.
James did not take the bait.

John Russell, however, couldn’t resist. “Ignore her teasing, James. Mixed marriages can work out. Georgina and I are proof of it, though we sometimes came to blows.”

“Lively disagreements add spice to a marriage and keep boredom at bay.” Georgina raised her glass and saluted her husband.

“I warrant there will be nothing dull about our marriage,” Louisa warned lightly.

James took up the challenge and raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Shortly after dinner, Abercorn bade the Russells good-bye.

“I shall see you in London.” The duke was about to accompany James to the door until his wife took him by the arm. “I think Louisa can manage without your help, darling.”

In the front entrance hall, James put on his caped greatcoat and picked up his hat.

“I’m sorry if that was difficult for you,” she murmured.

“It wasn’t difficult. Your family and I get along splendidly.”

She raised her chin. “I’m the only fly in the ointment.”

He placed his fingers beneath her chin and studied her face. “A beautiful dragonfly perhaps.” He plucked the camellia from between her breasts and placed the crimson bloom in her hair. “Good night, Lady Lu.”

When Louisa went upstairs, Georgy followed her into her bedroom. “You never told me that James was coming to propose to you!”

Louisa stared at her sister. “Surely you know that Mother coerced him into it? She believes I’m the one who had the miscarriage and concluded James was responsible.” She was surprised that Georgy couldn’t put two and two together. “Because of you, Abercorn and I are both compromised.”

“You’ve always insisted you didn’t want to marry. Why did you accept his proposal?”

“He swept me off my feet.” Louisa could tell the sarcasm went over Georgy’s head.

“You will be the Marchioness of Abercorn, and mayhap a duchess someday.” She couldn’t hide her envy. “I warrant he’s a magnificent lover, too. It isn’t fair that you have everything, and I have nothing!”

 

The hour was late when James arrived at his townhouse on Half Moon Street, but Claud hadn’t yet retired. “That was a quick trip. I didn’t expect you.”

“I proposed to Louisa Russell and she accepted.”

“Congratulations! Is the engagement official? Will it be announced in the paper?”

“It won’t be announced until the marriage contract has been negotiated.”

Claud grimaced. “I forgot a dynastic marriage has to have a legal and binding contract, even when it’s a love match. Mother will be happy for you.”

The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Yes, I must write her a letter.”

When James sat down at his desk, however, the first letter he penned was to Angus Murray. After the salutation he wrote:

The following week the Duke and Duchess of Bedford and their two eldest daughters arrived at their London townhouse in Belgrave Square.

“We have no time to lose, Louisa. You must be fitted for your wedding gown and your trousseau. We will spare no expense—you must have an entire new wardrobe.”

“What about me?” Georgy demanded.

“You’ll be maid of honor, darling, and my sister Charlotte’s youngest daughters will be bridesmaids.”

“I meant what about my new wardrobe?”

Her mother waved her hand. “You may have everything you put on your list. We’ll need more than one modiste this year. First thing in the morning we’ll visit Bond Street.”

The following day, Madame Madeleine arranged for two seamstresses to take up residence at Belgrave Square and work full-time on Louisa’s wedding trousseau.

The bride agreed to white satin for her wedding gown and the dresses of her attendants, but when it came to the rest of her new wardrobe, Louisa decided to please herself, rather than her mother.

“I have very definite ideas about what I want. I love red and other vivid shades.”

“Red is too bold a color for a bride,” her mother protested.

“Not this bride. Crimson is the ancestral Abercorn color. I shall need at least one gown in that vibrant shade and a velvet cloak to match. I want lots of red accessories—hats, gloves, slippers, fans, parasols, and of course red undergarments.”

“You’ll shock your bridegroom,” Georgina admonished.

“Yes . . . I’m looking forward to it.”

 

At the end of March, the Duke of Bedford and the Marquis of Abercorn attended the debates on the reform bill in the House of Lords. On the final day they sat for thirteen long hours.

“I think we can consider the battle won,” the duke told James with satisfaction. “Before I forget, the duchess invites you to dinner tomorrow night. I’ll ask Johnny to come and we’ll celebrate our victory.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but tomorrow I go to Edinburgh to work out details of the marriage contract. My Barons Court attorney has arrived from Ireland to consult with Angus Murray. It was good of you to send your Bedford attorney to Scotland.”

“I thought it might speed things up. We cannot announce the engagement until all is settled, and I’m sure you’re impatient to set the wedding date.”

“Please convey my apology to the duchess. I’ll send Lady Louisa flowers.”
I’ll order a dozen white camellias and one crimson bloom. That should provoke a smile.

When James arrived home, Claud handed him the letter he had written to his mother.

“A servant from Bentley Priory returned this today. He said Mother was at Haddo House in Scotland.”

James’s dark brows drew together. Only yesterday he’d seen the Earl of Aberdeen in the Lords. “Hellfire, I hope she hasn’t been there all winter. The climate is much too harsh for her health. As soon as I’ve seen the attorneys in Edinburgh, I’ll go up to Haddo House and visit her. I’ll be able to tell her in person that I’m marrying Louisa Russell.”

 

When James arrived at the law office in Edinburgh, Angus Murray ushered him into a private consultation room and handed him the detailed report he had compiled.

“When John Russell took over Woburn from his late brother Francis, he took on debt of a quarter of a million pounds. His large income from his many estates allowed him to pay off the old debt, but he immediately borrowed a vast sum for lavish improvements at Woburn. He then took on more debt to build Endsleigh estate in Devon, and to buy and rebuild Campden Hill in Kensington. He has a good income from his estates, which he keeps in excellent repair. Lenders have always been eager to throw money at Bedford, and his debts now equal those of his late brother.

“His heir, Lord Tavistock, has borrowed a great deal on the prospects of what he will inherit. The lenders know those prospects are vast.”