Chapter Twenty-Two

I f he has a penis made of gold, you can just say so." Hattie locked the door of the shop behind Caro, then hung the key on its hook behind the counter.

"Excuse me?" Caro laughed and shook her head, wondering if she'd misheard through her weariness. After working a few hours this evening in Bloomsbury, while Dorian and his mother were out, Caro was ready for some time with her lately neglected manuscript and her bed.

However, Hattie was not in a laughing mood. One by one, they worked together snuffing the lights until a single lantern illuminated the bookshop. The mass of humanity that made up London still buzzed and surged on the other side of the windows.

With the store locked tight for the night, Hattie finally turned to Caro and resumed the conversation. "What are you doing, Caroline Danvers? I saw the letter you wrote to Mrs. Adams. You should be planning your move to Kent and writing every night. Instead, Connie and I are concocting stories to explain your absence, while you spend every moment you can playing tickle the pickle with the duke. The Caro I know would write the damn book, finish his bloody library, and protect her heart. So, what are you doing?"

Caro crossed her arms to buffer the sting of truth. "Has this been brewing all week? You haven't said a word about being concerned before now."

Throwing her hands in the air, Hattie gestured toward the street beyond the shop. "I thought it was a one-time thing. Something to get him out of your system. But the longer this goes on, the more likely those people will find out you're enjoying bedroom activities with a damned peer of the realm."

"Those people? What people?" Caro shrugged off her pelisse and tried to untie her bonnet ribbon, but her fingers were shaking.

"Everyone on that street would judge you for tupping a duke, and you know it," Hattie hissed. "Any sort of safety you have outside these doors could disappear in a blink if the menfolk decide your affair means you're open for business. Your father shaming you for writing erotic stories is nothing compared to what they can do to you. Nothing . You want to know what it feels like to be hunted every time you leave the house? To constantly jump at shadows and see danger in every stranger's eyes? All it takes is the wrong man discovering you aren't above reproach, and they'll run you to ground faster than a hound on a fox." Hattie's voice broke, and Caro's heart splintered with it.

This was fear, then. Fear for her because of whatever had happened to Hattie. Those events had hurt her so deeply she eschewed the possibility of a romance. "Hattie, darling, if you ever want to talk about it, you know I'm—"

Her cousin cut her off with a wave of her hand, effectively closing the topic, just as she had each time Caro or Constance tried to bring it up. "I am trying to protect you. The longer you let this go on, the worse it will be for you. Heartbreak isn't the worst-case scenario, Caroline. No matter how much time you spend in his fancy townhome, you still have to come back here. To a bookshop in a part of London that isn't safe to venture out in after dark." Hattie clutched Caro's biceps, her gaze hard. "You aren't one of them. He's from a different world, and if anyone finds out about you two, they will chew you up and spit you out. Think, for the love of God."

A tear slipped down Caro's cheek, unnoticed until the salty drop reached the corner of her mouth. Cupping her cousin's elbows, they stood locked together. Hattie, a woman who thrived on practicality, logic, and routine, shook like a leaf under her palms.

Hattie's fear for her was honest, and Caro would be a horrible friend if she met that with anything less than vulnerability.

Even so, she was loath to admit aloud what she knew deep inside. "It's going to break my heart no matter when it ends. When he chooses his society wife, it will be over. Until then, we are living a fantasy. Yet that fantasy feels more real every time I fall asleep beside him. I'm too far gone, Hattie."

Tears flowed freely now, and her laughter tasted bitter in her mouth. These feelings had grown too fast over such a short time. "Did you know I actually am coming to like his snoring? He bought these wax plugs for my ears." A watery laugh escaped. Of all the things to mention when speaking of loving him. "They work, though. They change the sound, and now his snores are a sort of reassurance that he's there." Caro sat on the padded chair by the window and stared up at Hattie. "I can love him for as long as possible, then keep breathing when it's over. That's it. But I am being careful. He always sends a carriage for me. I'm never walking alone after dark."

Pink stained her cousin's cheeks, but Caro couldn't name the specific emotion. Then, as if reaching a decision, Hattie's jaw firmed, deepening the dimple in her chin. "I would feel better if the carriage was unmarked, to protect you. You cover your face with a veil and don't stop anywhere between your door and his."

Caro nodded. "I promise. I'll be smart and safe."

Hattie sighed. "It's too late for smart."

Deep in the store, a door closed, and they both turned. Faint light wavered from the office, glowing brighter until Constance stepped into view. The lantern she held illuminated her puffy face.

Immediately, thoughts of Holland, and Hattie's dire predictions were cast aside. "Connie, what's wrong?" Caro hurried over and pushed a damp tendril of blonde hair off her cheek.

"Walter has to meet a shipment on the coast and may not be back in time for the wedding." Fresh tears overflowed her large blue eyes.

Caro and Hattie exchanged a glance. Their reservations about Walter had fallen on deaf ears. But neither wished to see Constance hurting like this. Hattie approached more slowly, and Caro could tell their conversation from moments ago still strained her composure.

"You're not getting married for another two weeks. What business could possibly take him so far as to miss his own wedding?" Caro asked.

Constance sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "We might have to postpone. But the order has already been placed with the butcher for the breakfast, and we've paid a portion of the bill up front."

"Surely the butcher will apply the funds toward a new date. There's plenty of time," Hattie said.

Shaking her head, Constance wailed, "But what if this means he doesn't want to marry me after all? Who is fine with postponing a wedding, just because a shipment is arriving earlier than expected? And yes, he says those people are not the sort you want to keep waiting. He sounded so reasonable, and I absolutely hate all of it!"

Caro sighed. Smuggling and merchants went hand in hand, but something about this didn't make sense. "Are you more concerned with the inconvenience to everyone because you may have to reschedule, the danger your muttonheaded fiancé is putting himself in, or the worry that this is the first delay of many, and your dream man might not be so perfect after all?"

Hattie's eyes widened. "That's a bit blunt, don't you think?"

Caro gestured toward their watering pot of a cousin. "Constance is the most obnoxiously cheerful person we know and supremely confident with every man she meets. Yet she's like this . Clarification is needed, wouldn't you agree?"

Hattie glanced between them and sighed. "I'll make tea. Connie, find your mother's biscuit tin. Caro, check that the back door is secure, then meet us upstairs in the bedroom."

Like dutiful soldiers, war-torn after their emotional battles, they each toddled off in different directions to follow orders.

Several minutes later, Caro entered their room to see Constance on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. Cradling the tin of sweets in one hand and Gingersnap in the other, she didn't appear to be actively crying anymore. Caro scooted to sit at the head of the bed on one side. Shortly after, Hattie arrived with the tea tray. Connie nibbled despondently on a biscuit. Down the hall, a clock chimed the hour, breaking the silence.

Caro's stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten yet, so she reached for the tin. If they waited long enough, Constance would eventually share what was on her mind.

Hattie poured them each a cup, then settled in beside Constance. Several more moments passed and two more biscuits were consumed before their cousin spoke.

"What if the wedding doesn't happen? Everyone knows I'm getting married. If Walter postpones, or calls it off altogether, I won't be able to show my face on the street for months. Maybe years."

"Is that the main worry?" Hattie asked.

Constance shrugged one shoulder as she stroked Gingersnap in her lap. "We quarreled. I've always known he deals with smugglers. Show me one cloth merchant who doesn't with this damned war. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn't hear of it. Said it wouldn't be proper. So I said it would be perfectly acceptable to travel together once we're married, and I was excited to join him on the next trip. He got angry. Like that." She snapped her fingers, making the cat jerk his head up at the sound. "Walter says I will be too busy taking care of our home and children… but I don't know if I want children right away. I thought we'd have so much to do with his business and my work here. It was as if he was suddenly someone else. Instead of the man who wants to make me happy, he was yelling and unilaterally deciding how I'll spend my time."

"No wonder you're emotional. If it were me, I'd be irate." Caro cradled her cup to her chest, hoping the warmth would soothe her.

Constance gave them a sad smile. "I know I'm not the calmest person. It's kind of you to say I'm not being too emotional."

"Not too emotional," Hattie confirmed. "My response would be more like raging curses at his ancestors rather than tears of worry. But it would be equal in scale, I'm sure."

"What were you two arguing about when I came down?"

Caro sighed. "My feelings are too deep with Dorian. Hattie has concerns."

Hattie snorted. "An understatement."

Constance rested her head on Caro's shoulder. "Why don't you end it?"

Leaning her head against the wall, Caro sighed as memories of the last few weeks replayed in her mind. His wide smile that day on the ice. Kissing him for the first time. How he'd begged to know her. The way he held her at night, as if she was precious. "Because the desire for him can be so overwhelming I think at times I'll forget to breathe with wanting him."

"You've fallen in love." There was no question in Connie's voice.

"Yes. Or so near as to not be able to tell the difference. It's too late to save myself from the fall."

"Might as well enjoy the tumble, then, eh?"

Hattie snorted. "Excellent pun, Constance. Blanche Clementine would be proud."

"I had a suspicion I'd find you in here with her." Dorian's mother entered his study after the most cursory of taps.

Annoyance made him level a glare at the dowager. "Good afternoon, Mother. May I help you with something?" Thankfully, he and Caro were sitting in the paisley wingback chairs by the fireplace—fully clothed and each in their own seat. Continuing the conversation they'd been having before the interruption, he said, "The chairs are ugly. I've been considering having them reupholstered. Tracking down Sherman, and everything else that's happened, has been a higher priority. But I agree—they're ghastly."

Caro rose and offered her seat to his mother. Dorian stood and motioned Caro to his. "There, if everyone is settled"—he sent a pointed look at Gloria—"what can I do for you?" While Caro had never gone into detail about what Gloria had said during their little tête-à-tête a few weeks prior, he knew his mother. The realization he'd had at the Waterstones' ball earlier in the week held true. As much as he loved Gloria, he wouldn't let her hurt Caro.

Seeing them together in his study sent a pang of longing through him. At once, he could see a future so clearly where these two strong women grew to respect each other. A child played with a puzzle on the floor, and Caro's waist curved with another. He'd hear her laugh well into their dotage and watch silver overtake her hair.

"Are you quite well, Dorian? You look like you're about to swoon." Gloria's voice yanked him bank to reality. The dowager settled her accessories and drapes of fabric about her. The little ritual was so familiar it eased some of his annoyance at her intrusion and soothed the ache left by the scene he'd imagined.

"I believe men faint. Women swoon."

"What rot," both women said, then glanced at each other in surprise.

"If you're well, then kindly explain what I interrupted. You two sounded like co-conspirators." Now that her bits and bobs and fluttery fringes were in place, she faced him with an expression he was all too familiar with. Dorian sighed and brought the chair from his desk and placed it beside Caro's ugly paisley seat.

Gloria had learned long ago to weaponize silence. Not in a petty way… usually. More often in a "I have no intention of deviating from this topic until you give me the information I require" kind of way.

One thing she'd always done well as a parent was communicate her expectations. Whether it be the education standards she and his father held for him as a child, or now, when she made it clear they'd be discussing nothing else until Dorian cracked like an egg and shared his troubles.

An ache began behind his left eye. "Mother, Caro, would either of you like me to order a tea tray?" He had to try.

In answer, Caro shook her head, and the dowager raised one imperious eyebrow. "If you mean to distract me with cakes and tea, it won't work. Just as it hasn't worked since you were six. Something is weighing on my only son's shoulders—something distracting enough to interfere with my plans. And we both know how I feel about interference in my plans."

He glanced at Caro. "She won't leave until she's satisfied. Mules are less stubborn than my mother." And maybe telling Gloria how vital Caro had been to his search for answers would soften the dowager toward her. After all, as a deeply intelligent woman, she respected that trait in others.

Wanting these two women to find common ground might be a losing battle. Hell, it might be the most far-fetched aspect of that future he'd envisioned. If there was any chance of that coming to fruition, they needed to start somewhere. He heaved a sigh.

"Juliet was having an affair."

The bald truth of it should have been a conversational bomb, sending disbelief and denial like shrapnel. And yet, Gloria merely nodded.

Dorian bit back the acidic words he wanted to spew. The only one he'd told back then had been Oliver. "You knew."

"I suspected. But I didn't know with whom, and without that knowledge, my hands were tied."

Gloria had written often during that time, urging him to either return home or demand Juliet come to him posthaste. In fact, he'd quoted her letters in several of his pleas to the king for release from diplomatic service.

"Thanks in large part to Caro, we've solved the ‘who,' but I have yet to reason out the ‘why.' We've been trying to find the man and are getting closer to doing so. I was about to tell Caro about my plans to meet with his cousin, Lord Bixby."

"His name is Sherman Snyder. We're hopeful Lord Bixby knows his whereabouts." Caro had been silent until now. Dorian sent her an encouraging look.

Gloria's eyebrows pinched together in such a familiar way; it was impossible to miss the resemblance between the dowager and himself. "Sherman Snyder? Are you certain?"

"Do you know him?" Caro asked.

"Well, yes. Timothy brought him to tea one day, said they'd been friends since school. They were in Bath doing the usual things and stopped in to pay their respects. Timothy must have introduced them. That scoundrel. And to think I vouched for him with hostesses."

"Timothy introduced Sherman to Juliet?" Timothy, who had benefited greatly from her death and continued to try to leech money from Dorian like a parasite. Dorian rested his elbows on his knees as pieces of the story clicked together. "When do you think it started?"

His mother glanced pointedly between him and Caro. "Must we speak of this with an audience?"

"Caroline has been vital to this entire effort. Please continue."

The dowager sighed in capitulation. She might not agree, but she wasn't going to fight it.

"How long, Mother?"

"When Juliet's mother died, she grieved so very hard. I worried for her, and I know you did too. I insisted she join me in Bath until she was ready to sail to you."

Dorian studied his mother as her pause grew into a lapse in conversation. She stared into the fireplace, and he could see she was shifting events in her mind to make sense of it, as he had.

"Letters began to arrive. So much correspondence. Weeks passed, and then months. Her mood was much improved, so I initially thought the letters were from friends. You wrote so faithfully, of course, but I knew they weren't all from you." It sounded like she was trying to relieve him of the worry that he should have done more.

"I remember she left for London to attend a masquerade, right as her mourning period ended. She was so excited to go; I tried to tell myself she was eager to rejoin society. After that, I received the occasional letter from her, usually full of plans for that school she was building. Never another word about joining you. By that point, I had my suspicions but hoped I was wrong. At least she was discreet."

Small consolation, that. "When did Timothy show up with Sherman?"

"I suppose about a week after I brought her to Bath."

That made sense. Timothy introduced them, and their game had begun.

"When you last saw Juliet, how was she?"

"She was out of her mind with the fever. Ranted about her cousin betraying her and being played false. I thought it was the illness speaking. I'd seen Timothy recently, and he hadn't mentioned a falling-out."

A timeline began to form.

Julie had been grieving her mother. Timothy introduced her to Sherman, who then took advantage of Dorian's absence and Juliet's grief. Along the way, they managed to steal thousands of pounds from her under the guise of a charitable school. Somehow Juliet discovered at least part of their deception and fell ill soon afterward. "The school she spoke of doesn't exist."

"You think Timothy helped Sherman swindle his own cousin?" Caro sounded appalled.

His mother didn't seem to know if she was going to rage or cry. Her expressions ran the gamut of emotions.

Dorian nodded as he pressed his palms against his eye sockets. God, he was tired. "I think they worked together for the money. I don't know if romancing her was part of the plan, but we know from Sherman's letters there was most definitely an affair."

"You found the letters?"

"The late duchess kept them hidden in books. As I'm processing the duke's donation, we are inspecting each volume to ensure there are no letters within that could fall into the wrong hands." It was just like Caro to pinpoint exactly what his mother's concern was and address it directly. Caro turned her attention to him. "So, knowing this, why not approach Timothy and find Sherman that way?" Caro asked.

"It's tempting. But I think, given that I already have your solicitor friend, Mr. Bellmore, looking into the legalities of Timothy's actions over the last few months, gathering information might be more important than confrontation right now. When I corner Timothy for a confession, I want to know all I can. If he's as deep into this as it sounds, I intend to bring legal consequences against him."

"Lord, the scandal, Holland. Think of the scandal!" Gloria said, throwing up her hands.

But Dorian was already shaking his head. "I don't care about the bloody scandal, Mother. These men are stealing from women and breaking their hearts. If we can stop them from doing it again, surely that's worth being in a few gossip columns."

The smile Caro gave him made him feel like not just a duke, but a king. "If Lord Bixby knew of the fraud, he's culpable. There might very well be more than one villain in this situation. The scandal could be larger than you think, Mother. Prepare yourself."