The Duke Is Mine

Page 10

“Precisely.” Another thump sounded, along with the distinct sound of splintering wood.
“I have no doubt but that the marquess will return from Portugal satisfied with his prowess,” Olivia said. It was true, too. As long as someone was at Rupert’s shoulder who could describe marching down a country road as valiant subjugation of an (invisible) enemy, Rupert would come home happy.
“I’m sure you’re right.” The duke leaned his splintered walking stick against the fireplace and sat down opposite Olivia. “What I have to ask you is something that no gentleman should ever address with a young lady.”
“Something to do with common law?” Olivia inquired.
His brow creased. “Common law? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The old law and the new law? My parents said something about older and newer rules pertaining to betrothals . . .”
“English law is English law, and to the best of my ability, common law has no bearing on a betrothal.” The duke gave her a clear, penetrating look. “Women shouldn’t be meddling with matters of the law. Though you must develop some familiarity, because God knows you won’t be able to let Rupert make decisions on his own. But I’ll teach you all that. As soon as you’re married, you’ll come to the estate and I’ll start training you.”
Olivia considered it a great triumph that her smile didn’t slip, even though her heart was racing and a panicked voice in her head screamed: Training? More training?
His Grace didn’t notice her silence. “I’m going to have to teach you how to be a duke, since Rupert isn’t up to the task. But you’re smart enough for it. I saw that when you were fifteen.”
Olivia swallowed and nodded. “I understand.” Her voice sounded rather faint, but the duke wasn’t listening anyway.
“You may not know this, but our title is derived from an ancient Scottish dukedom,” he said. He still didn’t meet her eyes. He reached over and picked up his cracked walking stick and held it in his lap, examining it as if he thought it might be worth repairing.
“I am aware of that fact,” Olivia said. The duke obviously had no idea of the extent of her knowledge of the Canterwick holdings and history. She could have told him the name of his second cousin thrice removed’s firstborn child. And the name of that cousin’s seventh-born child, the one notorious for having been born in the common room at the Stag’s Head Inn after his mother had drunk too much ale.
“Due to our ancestral roots in Scotland, a case can be made that Scottish inheritance rules apply.”
“Ah.”
The duke pressed down deliberately on his knee, and the walking stick broke in two. He did not raise his eyes. “If you were to conceive a child now, before my son goes to Portugal, that child would be legitimate under Scottish law. I want to be quite clear about this, however: you would not become a marchioness until my son returned and wed you. There are those who might say unkind things about you, as they would of any woman carrying a child without the benefit of matrimony, although, of course, you would be put immediately under my protection.”
“Yes,” Olivia murmured.
“I would give Rupert no chance to refuse his duty. In fact, if a happy event were to occur, I would immediately send proxy marriage papers after him, to be signed in Portugal. As long as there was no mishap as regards the papers—and I see no reason why there should be—you would be a marchioness before the child was born.”
He paused. “In the event that something were to happen to Rupert before the proxy papers could be signed, you would have the satisfaction of being the mother of a future duke.”
Olivia had a terrible impulse to quote a choice line from The Mirror of Compliments: “Nothing is more precious than a virgin’s honor!” But she remained silent, not even venturing to point out that the baby might be a girl, a possibility that didn’t appear to have occurred to the duke.
“Whether or not a child ensues, I will gift you with a jointure and a small estate of your own,” Canterwick continued.
“I understand,” Olivia managed. If she understood him correctly, the duke had just offered her an estate in exchange for losing her virginity out of wedlock. It was an astonishing thought.
“I have tasked Lady Cecily Bumtrinket to accompany you to the country. You cannot stay at Canterwick Manor, of course, until either the proxy papers are signed or my son returns to marry you. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Lady Cecily Bumtrinket?” Olivia repeated. “Could I not simply remain at home until either of these events occur?”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate for you to remain here any longer.” The duke glanced about the room with just the faintest hint of indifferent disdain. “You and your sister will stay at the Duke of Sconce’s estate until we are able to resolve all the little legalities. The dowager duchess planned to invite a young lady to the country in order to assess her befittedness for the position of duchess. I convinced her that your sister was also a suitable candidate. Her invitation is a tribute to your parents, as I shall inform your mother shortly.”
Olivia murmured, “Georgiana will be gratified by the confidence shown in her.”
“And so she should,” the duke stated. “I have taken the liberty of informing Madame Claricilla on Bond Street that she is to outfit both you and your sister as befits your new station, within a fortnight. You must learn, my dear, that we dukes tend to keep to ourselves. We may crossbreed, rather like dogs and horses, but we prefer to keep each other’s company.”
Olivia’s mind was reeling. Apparently she was part of a crossbreeding experiment. And she was to stay with the Dowager Duchess of Sconce? The very duchess who had written that dreadful tome, The Mirror of Compliments?
The duke rose, and at last he did look at her. His eyebrows were rather bushy and intimidating, combined with his great beak of a nose, but nevertheless she could see both kindness and despair in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said impulsively, coming to her feet. “Rupert and I will do our best.”
“It’s not his fault, you know,” the duke said. “He wasn’t breathing at birth, and the doctors believe that had an effect on his brain. It isn’t . . . your children won’t take after the poor boy.”
Olivia took a step forward and picked up the duke’s hand. For the first time in their many meetings, she felt a genuine fondness toward him. Of all the people and things attached to the dukedom of Canterwick, her father-in-law would be one of the very few of whom she was not wary. “We will do our best,” she repeated. “And Rupert will be safe in Portugal. It’s very kind of you to allow him to follow his dream. I’m sure he will be happy to have traveled outside England.”
The corner of the duke’s mouth quirked up. “His mother would have wanted it. I know that. She would have told me that I had to allow him to grow to a man, no matter how much I’d prefer to keep him tied to my apron strings.”
Olivia blinked. She knew very little about the duchess; her parents had always said she was ill and lived in seclusion.
“Elizabeth almost died during his birth,” the duke said heavily. “She lived, but she was never the same again. She can’t eat by herself; she doesn’t recognize me. She lives in the country.”