Chapter 5

The visit to Lady Lydia's residence had gone far better than William could have anticipated. He had known that the Earl of Lambert would agree in the end as a matter of principle, but he was pleased he had not had to suffer hours of persuasion and argument. Indeed, it could not have gone better if he had planned it that way.

Luck might, at last, be on my side.

He grinned at the notion, for it was nothing short of divine intervention that Lady Lydia was not just the sister of the woman who destroyed his reputation but the lady with the cat mask too.

He would never deliberately use blackmail or a kiss as leverage, but he would not argue with the advantages that fate had arranged for him. It pleased him all the more that he had not had to use blackmail, for Lydia had blackmailed herself. She had made assumptions, and he had not corrected her.

He waltzed into the drawing room of Stonebridge House, exhilarated by his success and his ride home and eager to inform his brother of what had occurred.

Like a pin to a bubble, his contentment popped. Anthony was not alone.

"What is she doing here?" William asked, ignoring the older woman who perched daintily on the edge of the settee, uncomfortable in the house that had once been her home.

The woman shook her head slowly. "Is that any way to treat your mother, Willie?"

William bristled. He hated that nickname, especially from her. "You will refer to me as ‘Your Grace.' What do you want?"

Mary Bewley, the Dowager Duchess of Stonebridge, flinched as if he had struck her. With her head bowed, she fidgeted with the beaded strap of her reticule and said quietly, "I just missed my children and wished to have dinner with them."

A trick to gain pity that might have worked on his father but not on him.

"You must have at least one ball to attend tonight," he replied. "Why else would you be draped in all your finery? I doubt that the new gown is for our benefit. You surely cannot resist the urge to show it off to all and sundry."

The gown he had recently paid for, despite his inherited debts, for the sole purpose of her not visiting Stonebridge. He should have known that the show of generosity would make her think she was welcome again.

"William!" Anthony interjected. "That is unkind."

William looked toward his mother, who raised her head with an air of confidence, now unbothered by her eldest son's behavior. Either she had grown accustomed to it over the years or had realized that it was what she deserved.

"No, sweet boy," she said softly. "I will dine with my sons tonight. What mother would not dress well for such an auspicious occasion?"

At that moment, a knock sounded at the drawing room door.

"Enter," William replied tersely.

The butler, Mr. Fenton, stepped into the room and bowed his head, appearing as uneasy as the Dowager. "Your Grace, I am sorry to say that dinner shall be somewhat delayed this evening. If it pleases you, an arrangement of savories can be prepared for you to enjoy while you wait."

"Delayed?"

That was not the news William wanted to hear. If his mother was determined to stay for dinner, then he wanted it done and over with as soon as possible.

I have important matters to discuss with Anthony.

Things that could not be discussed in his mother's presence, for she would assuredly meddle.

"Indeed, Your Grace," the butler replied.

The Dowager seemed to decide that she would begin her meddling early, as she pulled a frown of disapproval. "What is the cook doing? Willie, I told you, you cannot be soft with these people. I knew you had been too benevolent ever since you so kindly asked me to move to the Dower House."

She got up, apparently taking it upon herself to go to the kitchens and scold the cook, but William stepped in front of her before she could reach the door.

"How I deal with my staff is none of your business," he said evenly, for no one ever won an argument with his mother by raising their voice. "Sit down and wait here, for you are the guest, not the host. You keep forgetting your place."

He did not linger to see her response, heading out to speak to the cook—known to all as Jenny Hen—himself. There would be a reason for this uncharacteristic lateness, and if he had learned anything since becoming a duke, it was that bulling in and shouting rarely won loyalty. And loyalty made for a more efficient complement of staff.

"Oh, Your Grace!" the cook yelped as he entered the kitchens through a cloud of deliciously aromatic steam, waving it away with his hand. "I'm ever-so sorry! Please, forgive me. I'm not at all myself today, Your Grace. They say a watched pot never boils, but worrying near a pot makes everything burn!"

William picked his way around several spills and tried not to frown at the mess of pots and pans discarded everywhere. Ordinarily, the kitchens were pristine, and though there was the residual acrid smell of smoke in the air, whatever she was cooking now smelled wonderful.

"Is something the matter?" he asked as she dried her hands on a cloth. "Are you unwell?"

The cook looked close to tears, shaking her head. "Not in the common sense, Your Grace, but I feel sick with worry." She paused. "It's my daughter—she's laboring with her first, and I've had my boy, Benny, run back and forth with news all day. There've been some… complications in the last few hours, and Benny went for the midwife, but he's not been back since, and I'm… I'm…"

Her lip trembled as she visibly fought to hold herself together, wringing the dishcloth almost to tearing.

"I understand," William said, grateful that he had blocked his mother's attempt to come here. "I will send for the physician at once."

The cook's eyes widened. "Your Grace, I couldn't do that. I can't afford it."

"You do not need to," William insisted, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching before he put his arms around the older woman. "I will pay, whatever it costs."

Jenny Hen hugged him in return so fiercely that he feared for the integrity of his ribs. Clearly, she had needed that. "Thank you, Your Grace. If I live and cook in this kitchen 'til I'm a hundred, it won't be enough to repay you for this." She squeezed him harder. "Thank you. May God bless you for this deed."

He held her as she shook and sobbed in his embrace while his mind raced with the stupidity of making such a generous offer. He was in no position to be charitable, his coffers almost empty, but when it came to Jenny Hen, he could not help it. He would have given her his very last coin if she had asked, for all his life, she had been more of a mother to him than the one who birthed him.

And Ican never repay that, not if I fetched a physician for you a million times.

He pulled back, adjusting her cloth cap. "Can you continue? Should I send for someone from the village to take your place for tonight?"

"I'm almost done with the dinner, Your Grace." She hesitated, looking somewhat guilty. "After that, I might leave the cleaning up and starting on the breakfast for Elspeth and June if you can spare me?"

He nodded. "Leave as soon as dinner service begins."

"Thank you," she gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. "Your Grace, thank you."

He released her and, with a nod of quiet respect, made his way back out of the kitchens. In the hallway, he passed Mr. Fenton and relayed the order that a physician was to be sent to River Cottages on the very edge of his estate, where all of his most senior staff members and their families resided.

"A physician, Your Grace?" The butler pursed his lips.

It was no great secret that the Stonebridge fortune was threadbare, at least among the longest-serving members of the staff. They had seen the debts grow when William's father was Duke. They had watched the money drain away and had likely known that William was set to inherit naught but increasing destitution.

"I think you heard me," William replied coolly, for secret or not, it was not something he would be challenged about.

Mr. Fenton bowed his head. "Of course, Your Grace. I will see it done at once."

"And please bring any letters that may arrive in the next few days as soon as they arrive," William added, for he hoped it would not be long before he received word about the special license he had applied for.

Indeed, it could not be long, or all of his plans would come crashing down.

The butler bowed his head again. "Certainly, Your Grace."

That done, William pressed on toward the drawing room, soothing his nerves about the state of his diminished fortune with the knowledge that Lydia's dowry would make everything better. It was a famously large dowry, set aside after all of the scandals that Emma had been mired in to improve Lydia's chances.

He paused outside the drawing room door and took a deep breath before striding in as if nothing untoward had happened.

"Anthony, Duchess, I have good news," he said. For Jenny Hen's sake, he needed to distract his mother.

The Dowager looked up. "Dinner is not delayed?"

"I have found a bride," he continued, ignoring her. "And we are to be married in a week's time."

His mother's eyes widened to the whites. "You… are betrothed? To whom? Why have I not heard of this lady? Is she well-ranked? What are her connections like? Is she fair of face?" Her mouth tightened. "You cannot spring something like that upon me, Willie! I have not evaluated her. It is my right as your mother."

"I am the Duke of Stonebridge," he replied calmly. "I may marry whomever I please without anyone's prior evaluation."

And you are in no position to judge, he neglected to add, for he was almost certain that his current financial woes were, in no small part, due to his mother's frivolity and expensive tastes during her marriage to his father. A fair few bribes, too, to keep the scandal sheets silent.

At that moment, he prayed that Lydia would prove to be nothing like his mother, for if she was anything like the Dowager, perhaps she would save them and then ruin them all over again.