Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)

Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4) Page 40

“I’ll take care of her,” he promised. “I’ll take care of you both. Always. From this moment on you will never need to work again. Never need to be anxious or fearful. I will take care of everything.”

Oh, Lord.

“But you must stay with me and see this through. If you retreat today, the gossips will claim their victory.” His thumb caressed her hand. “We can have a future together, but we must seize it now. We can be married today.”

“Today? Are you mad?”

“Not at all. There are only a few men in England who could procure a special license on such short notice. I’m one of them. We’ll marry today, and tonight you’ll appear in public as the Duchess of Halford. No one will dare to cut you, just on the basis of a rumor in the scandal sheets. You’re beautiful and gracious and clever, and you have that whole silly etiquette book memorized. We’ll show them all tonight. You can do this.”

She wanted to believe him. She did. But how could she, when she could see very well the reaction of his own supposed best friend?

“She will never be one of us,” Delacre said. “Not even if you marry her. You know it, too, Halford. Be honest with yourself, and with her. The gossip will be savage. You will lose almost all of your social connections.” He struggled to his feet. “It gives me no pleasure to say this. But I’m trying to be your friend.”

“You are not my friend,” Griff grated out. “Get the hell out. And pray I don’t send my second with a challenge tonight.”

“I am your second,” Delacre said as he left the room. “You don’t have anyone else.”

See? she wanted to exclaim. It was happening already. Perhaps Delacre wasn’t much of a loss, but there would be others. She didn’t want to see Griff estranged from all his friends.

As for her, there was no question. She must go home, tonight. If she didn’t come back as promised, Daniela would feel betrayed and abandoned. Pauline couldn’t live with herself then. She’d sworn to never make her sister feel that way again.

She had to end this now. In no uncertain terms.

The duchess entered then, dressed in a quiet gray silk enlivened by a collar of sapphires and diamonds. “What on earth is going on?” she demanded, her keen gaze sweeping the room. “Griffin, explain this commotion.”

“Delacre’s a jackass. And I’m in love with Pauline.”

“Well,” the duchess said after a moment’s pause. “I already knew both of those things. Neither quite explains the state of my salon.”

Griff’s eyes never left Pauline’s. “I’m going to marry her.”

“No, your grace,” Pauline countered. “He’s not.”

The duchess arched a brow. “Does that mean I cast the deciding vote?”

“No,” Griff and Pauline said in unison.

She seemed unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

Pauline drew him aside and whispered, “Griff, this just can’t happen.”

“Why can’t it?”

“How many times must I point out the obvious? You are a duke. I am a serving girl.”

“You won’t be a serving girl tonight. You will be a duchess. A beautiful, poised woman who can hold her head high anywhere. And I will be the proudest man alive to stand at your side.”

“But what pride will I have, when I’m pretending to be someone I’m not?”

“I’m not asking you to pretend.”

“Yes, you are.” Her voice faltered. “You told me I wasn’t a ‘someone’ to you. You called me perfect, said you wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Yes, but—”

“But what? You don’t mean to stand before all of London’s Quality and tell them you’re in love with me. A serving girl with a coarse, yeoman farmer for a father and a simple-minded sister. Do you?”

He didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.

“No. You want to dress me up in a fine gown, throw your name over me like a cloak, and pretend this barmaid everyone’s gossiping about just doesn’t exist. As if you’re ashamed of me.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I can’t hide the truth of who I am.”

“I am asking you to live the truth of who you are. The full truth.” His tone was impatient now. He took her by the shoulders and gave her a mild shake. “There is so much more to you than a common serving girl, Pauline. Inside you, there’s a remarkable woman who soaked up poetry and squirreled away etiquette lessons, turned cruelty into dreams and plans—because she knew she was meant for better things. I saw that woman the first day we met. I don’t know why you won’t let the world see her, too.”

“You would chastise me for hiding secrets? For not living the truth? You, with that locked room upstairs?”

The color drained from his face. He darted a gaze at his mother, then lowered his voice. “This has nothing to do with—”

“Of course it does.” She retreated a step. “You’re asking me to trust you’ll love me openly. That you’ll never be embarrassed or resentful of my origins, my family. How can I believe those promises when you won’t tell your own mother about her?”

The duchess stepped forward. “Griffin, who is she talking about?”

“No one.”

Pauline gasped in shock. “You would deny her? She’s not even a ‘someone,’ but a ‘no one’?”

He drilled her with a fierce look. “You gave me your word. You promised. Stop this now, Pauline. Or I can never trust you again.”

She felt a twinge of guilt. She had given her word, and she knew she was pushing him toward a dangerous edge. But someone had to. After today she’d never have another chance.

“You never told a soul she existed, Griff. Then she died, and your heart splintered into a thousand pieces, and still you didn’t say a word. How am I to believe that you’ll protect me and my sister? How am I to trust that Daniela won’t be hidden away in some locked, shameful room?”

“How dare you suggest that I’m ashamed of her.”

“Prove you aren’t, then! For God’s sake. Love shouldn’t be a secret. You gave her a name, and you can’t even use it.”

His eyes flashed.

“Did you love her?”

“You know I did. I do.”

She raised her voice. “Then say her name.”

“Mary.” His angry shout echoed through the room.

Pauline went very still, absorbing the quiet swell of his fury. She knew he would never forgive her for this. But at least, at long last, he might be able to heal.

“Her name was Mary,” he said. “Mary Annabel York. Born the fourteenth day of last October, died the following week. She lived all of six days, and I loved her more than my own life.” He turned away from her, leveling a small table with a single, savage kick. “God damn it.”

“Oh.” The duchess pressed a hand to her mouth.

Pauline rushed to her side, afraid the older woman might swoon. She helped her to the nearest chair. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

She said it over and over again. Words of regret, apology, condolence. But she knew they couldn’t be enough.

“I’m sorry. But I’ve come to care so deeply for you both, and I can see plainly how you love each other. How you’re hurting each other, too. Please. You can hate me forever, but talk to each other.”

Griff stared out the window, emotionless. “I’ll call for the coach to be readied. You can leave within the hour.”

“I didn’t want it to end this way. I hoped we could part as—”

“As friends?” He tapped one finger against the window glass. “If you don’t believe that I’d change anything, give up everything, move heaven and earth to keep someone I love, even if it’s only been a week . . . ? Then you don’t know me at all.” He fixed her with eyes gone cold. “It seems I was wrong about you, too.”

Reeling backward, she fled the parlor. Then she turned and ran down the corridor, headed for the entrance hall.

“Pauline,” the duchess called after her. “Wait.”

She only ran faster. What more could be said? Nothing would change.

When she reached the front door, she wrenched it open and darted through.

Outside, a crowd greeted her with a roar.

Good heavens. The square was jammed with carriages and people, all of them thronged about the steps of Halford House, craning their necks for a look.

A look at her, apparently. Lord Delacre hadn’t been exaggerating. The word was all over London, and now all of London had converged on the duke’s front step.

“There she is! That’s her!”

“Miss Simms!” a man shouted. “Is it true you’re a barmaid?”

“Five pounds for an interview for the Prattler!”

Pauline cowered in the doorway. She couldn’t go back inside and face Griff again. But this crowd churned with enough curiosity and excitement to pulverize her. Even if she managed to escape these people, where would she go? She had no money. No possessions, save the clothes on her back.

She wasn’t even wearing shoes.

“Pauline!” A familiar voice filtered through the din. “Pauline! It’s me, Susanna.”

Her heart leaped. Shading her brow with both hands, she scanned the crowd until she saw a friendly wave from a gloved hand, and a halo of red hair.

A friend.

As Pauline pushed toward her, people grabbed at her disheveled clothing and jostled for a glimpse of her face. She felt buffeted about like a cork.

At last she and Susanna made their way to each other. “Oh, Lady Rycliff. I can’t . . . I don’t know how to—” Overwhelmed, she clapped a hand to her mouth.

Susanna folded her in a protective hug. “It’s all right, dear. It’s all right. You’re coming home with me.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Ensconced at Rycliff House, safely away from the crowds, Lady Rycliff—who now insisted Pauline call her Susanna—poured another cup of tea. “What a week you’ve had, dear.”

Pauline watched the fragrant liquid filling her porcelain cup. Lady Rycliff serving her tea. The world had turned upside down.

“It has been eventful.” And the story had taken the better part of two hours to relate, from the first tossing of clayed sugar to the cold, bitter end.

Of course, she hadn’t told everything. She left out the amorous details. And Griff deserved his privacy where Mary Annabel was concerned. She’d never tell another soul about that.

“I knew Halford was a villain.” Lady Payne—who insisted Pauline call her Minerva—plucked a biscuit from the tray and took a vengeful bite.

“You’re mistaken,” Pauline said. “He’s a good man. The best kind of man.”

And she’d hurt him. Whenever Pauline closed her eyes, she saw his angry, betrayed expression. The image was stamped into her memory, embossed in guilt. Perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed, but she’d been so concerned for him . . .

And so afraid.

Griff was right. She’d been so very afraid for herself.

“Did he truly propose marriage?” Lady Rycliff asked.

Pauline nodded.

“And you refused?”

She nodded again. “You must think me a fool.”

“You are not a fool.” Susanna reached to squeeze her hand.

No. Pauline supposed she wasn’t. In truth, she was a coward. She’d panicked and pushed him away.

His suggestions had been such madness. The two of them, marry? Her, become a true duchess? An elegant lady, admired by the London elite?

It just couldn’t be. The crowd outside Halford House knew the truth. She could still feel them tugging at her clothing, shouting in her ears.