Chapter Twenty-Three

A ny day that began with a letter from the palace was going to be complicated. Dorian read it through for a third time.

England, Austria, Prussia, and Russia had signed a treaty, documenting their unified position against Napoleon. They'd each pledged soldiers and promised peace among their countries for the next twenty years. No small feat in diplomacy.

The palace requested his return to service. In glowing terms, the letter cited work he'd done earlier in the war, while alluding to the tasks he'd undertaken in places he wasn't "officially" allowed to be. With so much happening on the Continent, he could be of use there. If the palace had their way, he would be on a boat within six weeks. Due to the burden of the title, they were being generous with the allotted time to get his affairs in order. Or so they said.

Hastings entered the morning room and cleared his throat softly. "Mr. Gerard Bellmore from Morris, Haredale, and Wilson is waiting in your study, Your Grace."

A welcome distraction. Dorian shoved the letter in his pocket, then set his cup in its saucer with a rattle. "Mother, I hope you have a pleasant day. I'll see you this evening for the Markhurst soiree."

Dorian would much rather send a carriage for Caro and stay in, but he'd promised to attend Lady Markhurst's event, as she was a particular friend of Gloria's. Since he was not in his mother's good graces at the moment, he couldn't cry off.

The dowager had said exactly one thing to him since entering the room. "You'll be as old as he was in a month."

When he studied his mother in the morning light of the breakfast room, it was easier to remember the way she'd been when he was a boy. His parents might not have been wildly passionate about each other, but they'd been well matched. Where Gloria was strong-willed, his father had been easy to please. Content to let her have her way if it made her happy, but unmovable on things for which he cared deeply.

She'd mourned him far longer than expected. In some ways, she still did. As he rose, the set of her mouth struck him as familiar, and he paused. His mother was afraid.

This determined push for his marriage was motivated by fear. Fear that she'd lose him. Fear that the one thing that had kept her going for the last thirty years—being the Duchess of Holland—would be moot. Fear that she'd lose everything a second time. And that, he understood.

Before he left, he pressed a kiss to her powdered cheek. She closed her eyes as if to soak it in, and Dorian made a mental note to be more affectionate. "Enjoy your breakfast, Mother."

Weariness pulled at him. He hadn't slept well the night before. The letter from the king was a bomb waiting to blow up something in his life—he just wasn't entirely sure what that was yet. And the longer he sat with the idea of finding Sherman for answers, the more he wondered if those answers were worth finding.

In the brief time he'd had with Caro, he could spot differences between this affair and his marriage. It wasn't the passion, or the sighs and lazy exploration of skin. After all, their physical relationship was wrapped in the newness of them, and time would impact that.

No, the real difference was in him. Dorian made time to talk with her for hours about everything and nothing, because Caro was not only a lover but a friend. And he had to treat her as both.

A successful relationship just might come down to attention and intention. Not taking anything for granted.

When he'd married Juliet, they'd been young. His friends were still raising hell about Town or taking a grand tour. Dorian became a husband before he had the time to become a man. As he grew older, he proved how difficult it was for someone without enough maturity to be a good man, to be a good husband. Rather than being cruel, he'd been complacent.

Dorian knew—rather ashamed to admit it, really—that he was a better friend to Caro than he'd been to Juliet. Thankfully, Caro had several truly decent friends, and one of them was in his study right now. Mr. Gerard Bellmore greeted him with a smile. "Hello again, Your Grace."

They shook hands, then Dorian waved him to a chair and took his seat behind the desk. "Any progress?"

"Well, you were right. She gave her money to a charlatan, thinking she was funding a school in Kent that doesn't actually exist." Removing a stack of papers from his satchel, the solicitor placed them on the desk, then nudged the pile toward Dorian.

The papers appeared to be ledger pages and banking receipts. "This is the proof?"

"Short of a signed confession, yes."

"Excellent. The charlatan in question is connected to Juliet's cousin. Have you found recourse for my severing of ties? Assuming his larcenous arse isn't rotting in prison, of course."

Another stack of papers appeared from the satchel and were placed on the desk. "Yes, Your Grace. After looking over your marriage contracts, I've found several options. Your path depends on how far you wish to distance yourself from him."

The cover letter detailed the key clauses. Dorian barely spared the solicitor a glance as he read. "Which of these options is the legal equivalent of pushing him off an extremely tall building into the Thames?"

Mr. Bellmore chuckled. "It's my duty as your legal counsel to advise you that pushing someone off a building is illegal under any circumstance. That said, I believe this is the course of action you want if you can't get his friend to implicate him in the fraud and theft charges." He pointed toward a note at the bottom of the page. "Since you've more than fulfilled your promised support, in both real funds and emotional and societal transfers toward her family, and as there are no longer privately held ancestral funds to pass on to a next of kin, this states you're well within your rights to terminate support. I've drafted a letter stating this and, with your permission, will send notices to every institution you bank with notifying them that Timothy Parker's credit is hereby terminated. I'll send a copy to Mr. Parker and inform him that all future communication will be handled by our firm."

God, Timothy would hate that. "And if he doesn't simply go away?"

"Then the legal recourse falls on him to prove you're somehow in breach of contract."

"Were you able to ascertain anything regarding a plan or explanation for the recent debts in her name?"

"Those are a little trickier. He is definitely making promises in the late duchess's name, which is obviously illegal. However, when faced with the consequences dealt by the judicial system, or those from the underworld thugs he's dealing with… your best option might be to publicly denounce your financial support. There may be social consequences and a bit of a scandal. But if everyone knows he's not under the protection of the duchy any longer, the rubbish might see itself out."

One stack of ledgers detailed the financial downfall of Juliet, all in the name of what she believed to be love for another man. The other pile of papers was the marriage contract he'd signed so many years ago, when he would have believed it to be impossible for them to end how they did. Yet here they were. Not growing old together after all.

"Thank you, Mr. Bellmore. Notify the banks and creditors of Timothy's change in status and deliver the firm's notice to him. He and I have some unfinished business, then I never want to see him again."

Mr. Bellmore stood, gathering the satchel. "All I ask is that the unfinished business not be resolved atop any buildings."

Dorian laughed. "I will do my best."

"Much appreciated, Your Grace."

Constance Martin said this man was a close friend of Caro's. A solicitor would be a great match for a vicar's daughter turned shopkeeper. Dorian had to wonder if Mr. Bellmore had thought so too.

"It recently came to my attention that we share a mutual friend. Caroline Danvers."

Mr. Bellmore's smile was immediate and so genuine a flare of jealousy bit at him. Maybe one of her theater proposals had been from him. "She mentioned she was working in a private library in Bloomsbury. Was it yours? She hasn't shared details. Caro is very discreet."

"Funny, but she assured me of your discretion as well. You speak highly of each other." He had to ask. "I realize it's a personal question, but have you considered taking the friendship further? She's a beautiful woman, after all."

The solicitor studied him for a moment, and Dorian had the sense he was taking his measure. "May I ask if you've grown close during her time here?"

"We have."

"Your Grace, may I sit and speak on a private matter?"

Dorian motioned to the chair once more. If he and his solicitor wanted the same woman, it could make a working relationship awkward to say the least. But better to find out now.

Mr. Bellmore had seemed unflappable on the few occasions they'd met face-to-face. At the moment, his knuckles were white where he gripped the strap of his satchel.

"I proposed to her recently. She declined."

Ah, so his suspicion had been correct. "She mentioned she'd had a proposal—two in one night, actually—but she didn't say who."

The solicitor eyed him speculatively, and Dorian had the feeling they were both trying to determine the relationship the other had with Caro.

"I'm in love with her." There. The truth was out in the world, and there could be no misunderstanding between him and the solicitor. Fiddling with the lid on his inkwell, Dorian chuckled. "I haven't said it out loud until just now."

"Not even to her? Then why tell me, Your Grace?"

The light from the window behind him cast a prism from the silver inkwell cap to the polished surface of his desk. In the beginning, he'd begged Caro to speak the pause, as they called it. He was doing so now. "I need to know if you're a better man for her than me, Mr. Bellmore."

The solicitor chuckled. "Not to state the obvious, but you're a duke."

Circling the silver cap with the pad of his finger, Dorian spoke. "I have a dukedom she doesn't want. Asking for her hand would put her in the position of everyone watching and judging her, which she also doesn't want. I have plenty of money, which she refuses to let me spend on her. My position doesn't matter, Mr. Bellmore. Not to her."

"Caro is a friend, Your Grace." He cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes closed. When he opened them, there was fresh resolve in his expression. "What I am about to share might very well get me fired. If that is the case, then rest assured I will complete the tasks asked of me today before handing your file to another associate."

"That's rather dire, Mr. Bellmore. I won't fire you or your firm if you're in love with her too. Please believe that."

"I asked Caro to marry me because the partners in my firm will only promote married, stable men. Since my partner of seven years, Leo, and I are happy, promotion doesn't seem likely. He and I suggested an arrangement we thought would offer her stability, while making me look like the kind of family man the firm wants." The solicitor's gaze was direct, but a white line of tension around his mouth made it clear he was worried about how this information would be received.

That wasn't how Dorian had expected this conversation to go. But the details made sense now. Two proposals—Mr. Bellmore and his partner. "After seven years, I'd say it sounds like you're already a stable family man, Mr. Bellmore."

The solicitor visibly exhaled. "We're happy, Your Grace. But you can see where I am in a difficult position."

"Yes, I can. And I understand now why Caro didn't tell me you and Leo were the ones who proposed. As you said, she's discreet." Which made him respect her even more.

"She suggested we move with her to Kent and that I set up a private practice there. I'm not too keen on the idea. With you in her life, I wonder if she will be moving after all."

"The cottage. I watched her fall in love with the property. It's perfect for her. Another of Caro's dreams that is the opposite of what I offer. It might be worth visiting the village, Mr. Bellmore. You might be happy there. Although…" An idea grew and Dorian's smile grew with it. "What would it take for you to set out a shingle in London? Step away from the firm you're with currently and be your own man?"

Mr. Bellmore laughed, but there wasn't much humor in the sound. "So many things."

"Such as?"

"A client list capable of sustaining overhead expenses. Larger savings than I currently have, so I could hire a barrister willing to work with an unknown firm. Connections to build the firm into something that could sustain everyone involved for the future."

"Wouldn't those same things be needed in Kent?"

"In a smaller village, my expenses would likely be less overall. I could scale the needs to a manageable size."

Dorian leaned back in his chair and rested his chin on one fist. "It sounds like what you need is a wealthy benefactor. Perhaps a duke you've impressed with your abilities and discretion."

The solicitor blinked, then stared. "Your Grace, I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll consider it." Dorian thought through what he wanted to say. He was dealing with a solicitor, after all, and details mattered. "This offer isn't dependent upon my relationship with Caro. You've done excellent work for me, Mr. Bellmore. I hate to see anyone's life hindered because they love someone other people deem unacceptable for whatever asinine reason."

"With all due respect, Your Grace, anyone who deems Caroline Danvers unacceptable has either never met her or isn't worth knowing."

Although the idea was all of three minutes old, the rightness of it felt as solid as the wood desk in front of him. The men who'd sat here, held this title before him, had done things their way. This was the next step toward being a duke he could be proud of.

And the solicitor was right. Anyone who thought a woman like Caro wasn't worthy of a duke, just because her father hadn't sat at a desk like this or held a title like his, was not worth knowing.

"I suspect this whole situation with Timothy will cause a stir, because we know he won't slink off into the night quietly. And if I can convince Caro to take a chance on a life with me, there will surely be even more scandal. Despite those looming issues, the Holland name carries enough weight and funds to help you become established on your own, Mr. Bellmore." Dorian stood, and the solicitor followed. He offered his hand. "I hope you'll consider my offer. In the meantime, we deal with Timothy and see this thing through."

When the solicitor left, looking happy but a bit stunned—which made Dorian inordinately satisfied—he checked the time. Bixby had agreed to meet at three o'clock this afternoon. Which meant he'd have time to visit the library and see Caro once she arrived later this morning.

And after Bixby, he would visit the jewelers. Because every duchess deserved a ring.

"He's using the store to shuffle letters to his mistress, isn't he?" Hattie said when the customer left the shop. At Caro's nod, she wrinkled her nose. "I thought I recognized the shady air about him. I thought Mr. Sanders was better than that. Why is it they always think we don't know what they're up to? Do they believe we're not going to notice, just because we're women? I should warn her off when she comes in. She might not know he's married."

Caro shrugged and plucked Mr. Sanders's letter from Hattie's hand. "You could casually mistake her for his wife or ask after their children. I think they have three. But meddling beyond that would be entirely up to you. I'd say something…" In the office, she placed the letter in the appropriate box.

Mr. Sanders wasn't the first man to use the bookshop mail system to hide communication from his lovers, and he wouldn't be the last. It would be an easy way for a man to run romantic schemes with multiple women. Especially when he's the kind of man who rents rooms by the week and slinks away in the dead of night.

"Walter wouldn't be the type to do that. Right?" Constance's voice reached where she stood in the office. That she was even asking the question made Caro want to shake her and demand she rethink this whole marriage.

"I've met Walter once, darling." She joined her cousins on the sales floor. "Only you can know if he's the kind who would have an affair. Have you heard from him since your row?" In Caro's opinion, any man marrying a woman should make an effort to befriend her closest friends. Even more so if those friends doubled as family. Any man who didn't see the wisdom of that was a fool.

Constance still looked troubled, but she kept her hands busy by tidying a display of botany books, sketch pads, and water paints near the counter. "He sent one note. It was all very vague. If I'm interpreting the letter correctly, Walter arrived safely to… wherever. But excise men were in the town, so they're meeting at another location. I still don't know if he will be home in time for the wedding."

"I'm sorry, luv. I know this is weighing heavily on you, and I hate that. But Connie, I wouldn't be a good friend to you if I didn't say something. In my opinion, the question you should be asking is not if he is going to be home in time. It's if you want to marry him after the way he treated you. If his expectations of what your life together will look like don't match yours, you need to call it off." Of all people, Caro felt the burden of loving a man who lived a vastly different life from hers. If Dorian were a cloth merchant like Walter Hornsby, and loved her too, Caro would be throwing a lifetime of reservations to the wind and planning her own wedding.

Somewhere between him asking to know her and becoming her friend, she'd learned to trust him.

Which meant, she realized with a pang, she needed to tell him about her writing. Maybe he'd be flattered… Yes, she'd hope for that.

Even though their relationship wasn't bound for marriage, Dorian deserved her honesty. And thanks to their time together, there was enough Blanche in her to be that brave.

"Your future together should be one you both want; otherwise, what are you doing?" Hattie said. "And that applies to both of you." She waved a finger between Connie and Caro.

The sales floor of the bookshop wasn't the time or the place to ponder her doomed romantic relationship, so Caro changed the subject. "Connie, you know who might be the kind of man to use a mail account for nefarious purposes? Sherman."

While she couldn't in good conscience tell Dorian's private business without his permission, she could clarify for Hattie. "A friend discovered their spouse was having an affair and wants to find the lover. I wonder if perhaps the person they're looking for might use a mail account like Mr. Sanders."

"I'll check our records. If he doesn't have an account here, he might have one at another shop." Constance latched onto the distraction as Caro hoped and hurried to the office.

If she found a way to contact Sherman that didn't interfere with the possible legal case Gerard was building against him and Timothy, Dorian would have the chance to question the man outside a courtroom. Maybe then he could lay this whole business to rest.

"A chance to catch a dodgy one in the act—I like it." Hattie grinned.

A moment later, Constance returned with the file of mail account contracts and set it on the counter. "We are assuming he used his real name, of course, but let's see if we get lucky. Chatsworth, Foster, Kingston, Thompson—whoops, too far." Fingers flew as she flipped and shuffled paper. "If he's here, what will you do? Set up a meeting? Pose as his lover and tell him to go to the devil? What's the plan?"

"No plan yet. This is all speculation." Caro leaned over to look at the names scrawled at the top of each page, although they were upside down and at times the handwriting was abysmal.

Pouting out her lip, Constance set down the stack. "Snood, but no Snyder. Should we send queries to other stores?"

"I'll do it," Hattie said, pulling a stack of papers in front of her.

"Disappointing, but not surprising. Connie, if you'll cover the store, Hattie and I can deliver notes to the other shops. The walk will do me good."

"I'll begin by making a list of all the lending libraries and places offering mail service," Hattie said.

"At least we have a plan. It might not work out, but it's something I can do. Thank you for your help," Caro said. "I need to get to Bloomsbury and finish the library." The project that had brought her into the duke's home and changed her life forever was nearly done. She pasted on an unbothered expression and focused on what needed to happen next. "Connie, could you clear a place on the interior wall in the back for the crates? They'll be delivered later today. Avoid the area near the door. And maybe set down wood, so the men can stack the crates on top. We don't want the books ruined if that room floods again."

Constance's grin was sunny to the point of being nearly manic. "Anything to distract me from my problems."