Chapter 19

Dorothy's blood was boiling every step of the short journey back from her new home to her old. The Duke had conducted himself even more discourteously today than during their first impromptu meeting in his drawing room.

Poor Lauren! She had dealt with his snub with great tact, Dorothy thought sympathetically. No, it had been worse than a snub, it was outright contempt.

"That man!" she muttered to herself as she stood on Lord Prouton's doorstep and rang the bell. "That damned man!"

It felt good to curse him aloud, even if only to herself. It was some kind of counterbalance to the disorienting recollection that this was the very same man who had kissed and caressed her naked body with infinite care over the last few days, thrust his shaft into her repeatedly and thrillingly, and driven her again and again over the precipice of ecstasy.

Nodding speechless thanks to the manservant who opened the door, Dorothy marched inside and let herself into the drawing room, hoping to find her father there alone, since Patrick normally dined at his club on Tuesday evenings. While not a deeply sympathetic man, Lord Prouton would at least listen to her tale of woe before telling her all the ways in which she was wrong.

"You!" Dorothy exclaimed automatically as the man in the armchair lowered the large newspaper he had been reading.

"I could say the very same, Sister," Patrick returned. "Have you perhaps come into the wrong house by accident?"

"No, I have not," Dorothy replied tersely. "Is Father not here? Why aren't you at your club?"

"Father is playing patience in the conservatory before dinner, as the weather is so warm. I am dining at home tonight, since I have a great deal of work to do on my latest business venture. Is the Duke with you? I could have the servants set two more places for dinner."

Until his last question, Patrick looked both bored and irritated by Dorothy's presence. Only the thought that she might have brought her high-ranking husband for a visit perked him up.

"No, His Grace is at home."

"That's a shame," Patrick sighed, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. "The thing that I really need for my venture is credibility and status, both of which I could get from the Duke's involvement, if you could persuade him to take an interest."

"My husband's interests and my own appear to be highly divergent," Dorothy said. "You may approach him yourself if you will."

As so often, Patrick missed all the nuance and real meaning in his sister's statements.

"True. Ladies are better off not being involved in the details of business. I will, of course, make my case to His Grace personally. After that, you should add your wifely influence—put in a good word, let him know that I'm a man to be trusted and so forth. For our family's sake, Dorothy, you must learn to play on his foibles, his weaknesses, the things only a wife could know…"

"Patrick," she protested, shaking her head as he droned on, somewhat giddy with his dreams for the new project.

"The scale of this venture is as great as the money and prestige its success could bring. A wife's influence can be critical on such decisions as these, even when she knows as little of business as you do. Your efforts with the Duke could be my key, Sister."

"I shall always give my husband my honest opinion," Dorothy assured her brother, hoping this would be enough to shut him up. "Whether he likes it or not."

Despite his thick skin, even Patrick heard the anger in her voice, and he looked at her wearily.

"Do not tell me that you have already argued with him, Dorothy. It has been only a matter of days since the wedding. I thought that even you could keep the peace for a week or two."

"It is not my fault, Patrick," she protested. "The man is intolerable! You should have heard how he spoke to one of my friends, Lauren Talbot, this afternoon. I have never heard such deliberate rudeness in all my life!"

"The Honorable Lauren Talbot?" Patrick mused, with an unexpected gleam in his eyes. "The tall, blonde young woman with pale blue eyes? Yes, I remember you mentioning her before the wedding. Good family, very good. Plenty of spirit and a fortune to match, I hear."

Dorothy was surprised to hear his enthusiasm, but she supposed that Lauren did partly fit the bill of what her brother would look for in a potential bride—rich, from a good family, well-connected, even if she lacked the cachet of the daughter of a duke or an earl. Dorothy was also gratified to find that he shared her good opinion of Lauren rather than Aaron's peculiar contempt.

"Exactly. An excellent young lady from an excellent family. But Aaron will not have her in the house! Can you imagine? So, I told him exactly what I thought of him…"

"Dorothy, Dorothy…" Patrick interjected, shaking his head in the most patronizing fashion. "A man of the Duke's stature does not want his house filled with chattering, gossiping women at all hours, even if they are as well-bred and respectable as Lauren Talbot. You should simply see your friends elsewhere, in places you will not cause your husband any bother."

"You're taking his side?!" Dorothy spluttered in disbelief. "Even though you agree with me that Lauren is a perfectly respectable guest who ought to be treated with full propriety and respect? He virtually threw her out of the house."

"Well, it is his house." Patrick smiled, wagging a provoking finger at her. "To me, this sounds like a simple lovers' tiff and entirely of your own making, Dorothy. You should naturally have asked your husband's permission before inviting guests. No wonder he was angry. I am sure that the fault was yours far more than the Duke's—or Lauren Talbot's, for that matter."

Before she could take her brother to task for such fatuous statements, the drawing room door opened, and Annie stepped inside.

"Will there be guests for dinner, Mr. Hoskins?" she asked, giving Dorothy a brief smile.

"No, Her Grace is not staying. She will be returning to her husband's house presently," Patrick pronounced, and with a nod, Annie vanished behind the closing door. "That maid rather resembles your friend Lauren Talbot, doesn't she?" he noted thoughtfully. "Similar hair, eyes, figure, and so on."

"What?!" Dorothy questioned witheringly, caught up in her anger towards her brother for effectively ordering her back to the Duke's house. "What on earth are you wittering about, Patrick?"

"Never mind. Ah, there's the gong for dinner. Now, go home and make up with your husband, Sister, and don't bother him further with your girlish nonsense. Remember, I am relying on your assistance to bring him round to my business venture."

"Do that yourself, Patrick. It is your business, not mine."

But her brother was already walking past her towards the door, their conversation over in his estimation, her cooperation assumed, and all of her further words falling on deaf ears.

He paused at the drawing room door and turned back to her. "Next time you visit, Dorothy, bring the Duke with you. Otherwise, it's very confusing for people, and rather disappointing too."

At that moment, Dorothy could have screamed with frustration at the men in her life. Why did all of them seem to think that she was simply an object for them to control and maneuver rather than an independent human being in her own right?

If she wasn't welcome here, then she supposed she would have to return to the Duke's house, after all. It was too late to land on friends' doorsteps unannounced, and she did not want to prompt any gossip by doing so, knowing the questions that her solo presence would prompt.

She stomped back down the steps from the front door and back into the street, turning these thoughts over in her mind.

There seemed to be no way she could stop her husband, her brother or her father from trying to control her and tell her what to do. Still, just because they persisted in speaking did not mean she had to listen, did it?

"Are you quite sure, Dorothy?" Lauren laughed in a silvery tone as she descended from her coach outside Dawford House once more the next morning. "I myself am always game for an adventure, especially one that enables ladies to assert themselves in the face of the less-fair sex, but I never had you marked down as a rebel."

"I am more than sure, Lauren," Dorothy declared, taking her friend's arm and walking with her up the path towards the house. "Aaron might be the Duke of Dawford, but I am the Duchess of Dawford, and this is my home too. If he wishes to bar you from the house, he must bar me also."

"How very daring," Lauren murmured. "Do you suppose he would?"

"Not really, no. I do hope he might actually see sense instead. I really could not believe the way he treated you yesterday. It was appalling, and I cannot have guests treated so in my household."

"Good for you." Lauren smiled, squeezing her arm.

Dorothy led her friend to a small garden table and chairs she had set up directly beside the window of Aaron's study, where she supposed he would spend much of the day, since he seemed to be avoiding her.

Neither of them had gone to dinner last night, leaving the Dowager Duchess and Miss Hughes to eat alone. Aaron had also been curt during breakfast, finishing his food and departing with a barely polite nod almost as soon as Dorothy entered the room. Miss Hughes had looked askance at them both but had the tact to ask no direct questions.

"We have lemonade, scones, cream, jam… and tea should arrive presently," Dorothy said, seating Lauren and taking the chair opposite, from where she would have a full view of the study. "Isn't the weather wonderful today?"

"Quite wonderful, far better than last Saturday when we had that tremendous rainstorm."

"Rainstorm?" Dorothy queried. "I don't remember that."

"It was the day after your wedding, my dear." Lauren laughed knowingly. "I dare say your Duke had you in his bedroom for most of the day, on your back with your legs in the air, no doubt. No wonder you saw nothing of the storm."

Dorothy blushed bright red at this crude assertion that contained a large element of truth. Lauren's words also brought back pleasurable memories that she presently did not wish to recall. She had slept alone in her suite last night, locking the adjoining door between their rooms for the first time since her arrival, but slightly irked that Aaron had not even tried the handle.

"Did you get caught in the rain?" she asked, keen to change the subject, but Lauren seemed undeterred.

"Oh, come now, Dorothy, do not be coy! Every young lady shares details of her wedding night and honeymoon with her close friends. How else can we know what to expect ourselves?"

The mixture of mirth, wheedling and prurience in Lauren's tone only made Dorothy more uncomfortable. Whatever had happened between her and Aaron in the bedroom—or the dining room, conservatory or study, for that matter—was strictly private. She did not care what other young ladies shared.

"I shall only tell you that when your own wedding night arrives, there is nothing to fear and much to enjoy," she said shortly and then smiled to a maid approaching with hot tea. "Now tell me, is it true that Lady Arabella eloped with a penniless sailor?"

The shift toward wider gossip seemed to do the trick in diverting Lauren from her course.

"Yes! Although it's only part of the story. Mr. Evans is actually the son of Admiral Parkes, and his mother is Lady Emmeline Grace of the Gloucester Grace family. So, he's hardly a commoner, but his family have no money compared to Lady Arabella's."

"Her family can't have been happy with that."

"Not one bit. But Arabella's three-and-twenty and of sound mind, so there was nothing they could do. The affair certainly has made a stir, I must say. I believe the ton are forgetting about your little scandal already. By next Season, they will all misremember a long betrothal and mutual expectations, especially if you return to London with a baby on your arm."

Dorothy pulled a face at these last words, still ambivalent about the idea of carrying a child.

"Dear me! Does the Duke know you feel that way?" Lauren asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Even I don't quite know how I feel," Dorothy conceded. "I didn't have to think about this at all in any real way until last Friday. I'm still trying not to think about it if I'm being honest."

Lauren let out a tinkling laugh and laid down her teacup. "You will likely need to give babies some thought quite soon, Dorothy, unless the Duke has entirely failed to do his duty to you, something I find hard to believe despite your persistent modesty on the subject of the marriage bed."

Looking away from Lauren's teasing face now, Dorothy turned to the study window and saw Aaron there, looking straight at her with such an expression of mingled rage and betrayal that her heart dropped. She'd wanted to teach him a lesson by bringing Lauren back here, but she hadn't wanted to hurt him. Yet, somehow she had.

As Aaron pointedly drew the curtains across the study window, Dorothy felt a real pang of regret for her actions. She had imagined that defying her husband's stupid edict would make her feel better, stronger and more independent. It had not done so.

Still, this was her fault and not Lauren's. She must be as bright and companionable as she could for the remainder of her friend's visit or risk hurting two people she cared for. Yes, despite his pig-headed, ill-mannered, and cursory way of speaking sometimes, she did care for Aaron…

Luckily, Lauren herself was naturally bright and companionable, and no conversation would ever wither in her presence unless she wished it.

"Now that you are a duchess, dear Dorothy, I do have to remind you of your promise before your wedding…"

Dorothy looked at her friend blankly, the detail of their conversation that day lost among the highly emotional events that had occupied her in the weeks since.

Lauren smiled and helped them both to a slice of cake. "If you remember, you did say you would help me find an eligible man under fifty without a large mustache. I was only joking yesterday about dancing elderly widowers to death, you know, but I would like to finally make a match this Season."

Dorothy smiled and nodded. "I will help you in whatever way I can, Lauren," she assured her friend. "You were so good to me and the other newcomers last year. How could I refuse? Although you may not need my help at all. Even my brother speaks highly of you, and he is, well, very selective in his own peculiar way."

"How interesting." Lauren laughed, nodding and seeming to file this information away for future reference. "But I do have someone in mind. Do you know the Marquess of Lensbury?"

"Yes!" Dorothy exclaimed happily. "Gareth Wardle. He's a lovely man—so handsome and friendly. I met him a few weeks ago at a dinner my brother hosted for some neighbors. We almost went for a picnic with his mother and sisters, but then the scandal with Aaron blew up and everything was canceled."

"How wonderful to learn that you are already on good terms with him, Dorothy. I'm afraid I know Lord Lensbury only by reputation. He is heir to a considerable fortune, I believe?"

"He has money on both sides of the family," Dorothy confirmed, suddenly feeling a small concern at the idea of setting up such a kind and amiable man with anyone focused more on his money than his personality, even her good friend Lauren.

"My father and brother require me to marry a man of fortune," Lauren sighed regretfully, as if reading Dorothy's mind and doubts. "I must do so, even though my priorities are kindness, sociability and good manners. You know how men are, don't you? But it seems that someone like Lord Lensbury might garner approval on all sides if only I could meet him…"

Dorothy clapped her hands together lightly. "Let me arrange a small ladies' picnic, now that I am safely married and socially acceptable once more. I shall invite Lord Lensbury's mother and sisters, so you can get to know them, and then I'm sure you can secure yourself an invitation to their house, where he is sure to wish to meet you."

"What a wonderful idea," Lauren said with a satisfied smile. "I couldn't have come up with a better plan myself. Shall we compare our diaries now?"

Dorothy shook her head, some instinct telling her to take this project slowly rather than rushing into things as she had today in inviting her friend back to the house for tea despite Aaron's anger.

"You must give me a little longer to become settled in my role and work out the protocol and practicalities of such an outing. Perhaps in a few weeks time."

"I would be forever in your debt," Lauren murmured, draining her tea. "Anyway, let me know if I can be of service at all in setting things up. I have, after all, been around on this circuit rather longer than most young ladies."

"There is no one I would rather call on for help in such a task," Dorothy declared honestly.

"Unfortunately, I must leave you now. I'm due to attend a musical afternoon with my family at an estate out near Highgate and cannot be late getting home."

"Of course, I will walk you out," Dorothy offered, rising and taking Lauren's arm. "Isn't this garden beautiful in summer?"

"It is, although a little too wild for my tastes," Lauren commented. "I prefer more formal arrangements. It's hard to know whether those blooms over there are wildflowers or weeds."

Dorothy shook her head. "It's all actually very carefully arranged to attract different butterflies, birds, and other wildlife. The housekeeper told me that Aaron has the garden here kept this way for his mother because she isn't well enough to venture out into wilder spaces anymore but likes to watch nature around her."

"I see," Lauren said politely, but Dorothy laughed at her.

"No, you don't. You'd rather have something along the lines of Versailles, wouldn't you?"

"You know me too well, Dorothy…"

As they rounded the side of the house and came into the front garden, Dorothy caught sight of the Dowager Duchess by the lavender bushes that framed the front steps.

Dressed as ever in mourning black with a white cap, Mary seemed to be picking lavender into a small bag. Dorothy assumed this was a sleep aid to keep under her pillow, or perhaps to be used as a remedy to soothe the nervous headaches she sometimes suffered.

At the sound of voices approaching, the older woman turned and looked at the two young women approaching arm in arm.

"Good morning, Duchess, I wonder if you remember…"

But before Dorothy could complete her sentence, all color seemed to drain from the grey-haired woman's face, and she collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.