Royal's Bride (32 page)

F
or the next half hour, Lily, Royal and the others explained to the police everything that had happened over the past three days, leaving out, of course, any mention of Tsaya and the swindle. They weren’t worried about Loomis bringing it up. It would only add more fuel to the case against him.

When the conversation came to a close, McGrew’s body was loaded into the police wagon and Loomis was taken away in chains.

Lily turned to her uncle, who stood with his arm around Molly. “How did you know where to find me, Uncle Jack?”

Molly answered for him. “Jack put the word out on the street, said he’d pay a good sum for any information about the kidnapping of his niece, or where Preston Loomis might be holding her.”

“’Ol Mickey Doyle came through for me,” Jack added proudly. “Wouldn’t even take the money—not when you were my kin. Said two or three others had helped him figure it out. A good bunch, they are.”

The chatter continued, all of them grateful for Lily and Royal’s safety and Loomis’s arrest. But Lily was rapidly tiring, which Royal seemed to guess.

“If you all don’t mind, I’d like to see Miss Moran home.” His gaze found hers across the distance between them and her heart swelled with love for him.

“Afterward,” he said, moving closer, his eyes on her face, “there is a matter of grave importance I need to attend.”

Freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothing, Royal knocked on the door of the Caulfields’ mansion. He had sent word ahead, asking to speak to both Jocelyn and her parents.

“Do come in, Your Grace,” the butler said. “I am afraid Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield are out at the moment, but Miss Caulfield awaits you in the drawing room.

Royal took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what sort of histrionics he would be facing. He just knew he would do whatever it took to be free to marry Lily.

Jocelyn rose from the sofa as he walked in. She was dressed more somberly than he would have expected, in a gown of dark green velvet and a simple white lace cap.

“Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a curtsy.

“You’re looking very well,” he replied, but then she always did. “I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.”

She glanced down, seemed inordinately nervous. “I realize how upset you must be. A note was hardly the way to handle the matter. I would have spoken to you in person, but you had already left for the country.”

He frowned, not quite following the conversation. “I beg your pardon? Did you say you sent me a note?”

“Why, yes…To Bransford Castle. I assumed you had received it. I thought that was the reason for your visit.”

“No, I’m afraid that isn’t why I am here. Before we begin, why don’t you tell me what was in the note.”

“Oh dear.”

She had forgotten to offer him a seat or any sort of refreshment. Instead, both of them remained standing, which was fine with him.

Jocelyn bit her lip. She subtly squared her shoulders. “Well, I suppose there is no easy way to say it. Therefore I shall simply come out with it. I am ending our engagement, Your Grace. I realize you will be losing a great deal of money. I know about the promise you made your father, but there is simply no help for it. You see, I have fallen in love with another man.”

He stood there stunned. “You are breaking our engagement?”

“I have already informed my parents. They, of course, were extremely distressed, but in time they will come to accept matters as they stand.”

“You are ending our betrothal,” he repeated dumbly, his heart beginning to pound.

“That is correct. So you see, you aren’t really breaking your vow. You cannot marry me if I refuse to marry you.”

Elation poured through him and he fought not to grin. “No, I don’t suppose I could.”

Her dark eyebrows drew slightly together. “So you are not terribly upset?”

He managed to keep his relief from showing. Insult
ing the lady was never part of his plan. “It isn’t as if we were ever in love.”

“No, it isn’t. In truth, there is a very good chance you are in love with someone else.” She cast him a look from beneath her thick dark lashes. “I realize money is an issue but I thought, perhaps, now that you are free, you might wish to marry my cousin.”

Something seemed to lodge in his chest. “I’ve come to realize money isn’t the most important thing. As to marrying your cousin…” He did grin then. “I would wish that very much.” He caught her by surprise when he leaned over and kissed her very soundly on the cheek. “I didn’t love you before, Jocelyn, but I love you now. You have just blessed me with the most precious gift I have ever received.”

Jocelyn returned his grin. “Then we are of a mind?”

“We are, indeed. If I may ask, who is the lucky man?”

“Christopher Barclay. I believe you may know him.”

“We’ve met on occasion. He seems a good man.”

“A very good man.” She glanced away, then looked back at him. “In the past few months, I, too, have come to understand that money and social position aren’t the most important things. It is a hard lesson for someone like me.”

“It is difficult for most of us.”

“Then perhaps, one day, after all of us are wed, we might become friends.”

Royal smiled. “I would like that, Miss Caulfield. I would like that very much.”

Royal left the house with one thing on his mind—asking Lily to marry him. Though the afternoon was almost over and dusk beginning to fall, he didn’t intend to wait. He had waited far too long already.

As his carriage rolled to a stop in Harken Lane, he saw that the light was still on in Lily’s hat shop, her slender figure moving behind the counter inside. Royal wiped his damp hands on his trousers, took a deep breath and opened the door. At the sound of the bell, she whirled to face him.

“Jocelyn is marrying Christopher Barclay,” he blurted out, not at all the speech he had planned. “You are mine, sweeting. Will you marry me?”

There was a woman at the counter and she stood there stunned as Lily let out a very unladylike cry of joy, lifted her skirts, rounded the counter and rushed straight into his arms.

“I love you, Royal Dewar, I love you! And I can’t wait to marry you!” And then he was kissing her and they were laughing and when he looked up, the woman at the counter was wiping tears from her eyes.

He was once more engaged—this time to the right woman.

And unlike before, this time he couldn’t wait to get his bride to the altar.

T
he wedding at the end of May was a simple affair—at least by ducal standards. Neither Lily nor Royal had wished to wait an entire month, but Aunt Agatha had said that Lily deserved a wedding befitting the duchess she would become and insisted on paying for the entire affair.

During that month, the gardens at Bransford Castle had been trimmed and planted and returned to the way they were before they had fallen into shambles. Yellow crocus and purple pansies bloomed along the pathways and all of the trees bore lovely green leaves.

Standing on a snowy linen runner placed between rows of white lawn chairs, Lily stood next to her uncle as the wedding march began.

“Are you ready, little girl?” Jack asked, offering her his arm.

Lily gave him a teary smile, grateful to have him back in her life. “More than ready.” The month she had waited to be married had been the longest of her life.

She rested a white-gloved hand on the sleeve of his
coat and they started down the aisle. As she gazed out over the group of people who had come to help them celebrate the marriage, she felt a surge of gratitude. Silently, she thanked Royal’s friends and family who had accepted her so readily as the woman who would become his wife.

She felt only a little shaky as she continued down the aisle, passing the rows of guests. All of Royal’s closest friends were there, the Oarsmen, they called themselves: the Earl of Nightingale, wickedly handsome Jonathan Savage, ever-serious Quentin Garrett, charming Dillon St. Michaels and dashing Sheridan Knowles.

Rule Dewar was there, grinning as she passed. Only Lord Reese, Royal’s middle brother, was missing, still away at war.

A little farther down the aisle, she spotted Molly Daniels seated next to Tommy Cox. Royal had given Tommy a job at the castle and he and Mugs were thrilled to be back in the country. Lily was thrilled to have them there.

Tommy waved as they passed, while Molly smiled and dabbed at her eyes.

Jocelyn was there, a surprise, but a welcome one. She sat next to handsome, dark-haired Christopher Barclay, her fiancé. That morning, she had sought Lily out the moment she had arrived at the house.

“Royal invited us,” she had said nervously, a rare occurrence for Jo. “You and I are family. I hope you don’t mind my coming.”

Lily’s eyes welled. She leaned over and hugged her cousin. “I don’t mind. I am delighted you are here.”

Jocelyn stayed in the duchess’s suite to help Lily
change into her wedding dress: a cream silk gown she had fashioned for herself, the skirt amazingly full, dropping into a vee at the waist, the square-cut bodice decorated with clusters of lace and tiny pearls. A gauzy net veil covered the pale curls resting on her shoulders, held in place by a small cap of cream lace dotted with the same gleaming pearls.

The altar loomed in front of her. Standing to the right was the handsomest man she had ever seen, the golden-haired duke who would soon be her husband. The tender smile he wore made her heart swell with love for him.

Uncle Jack paused in front of the altar, kissed her cheek and gave her over to the man she would wed. Lily cast her uncle a last warm smile, then her eyes filled with tears as Royal took her gloved hand and lifted it to his lips.

Together they turned to face the bishop.

“Dearly beloved. We are gathered together this day in the sight of God and in the presence of these witnesses to join together His Grace, Royal Holland Dewar, seventh Duke of Bransford, and this woman, Lily Amelia Moran, in the bonds of holy matrimony…”

Lily barely heard the words that followed. Her gaze and her heart were filled with Royal and the life they would share. She made the proper responses in all the right places at all the right times, thank God, pledged her troth and heard Royal’s deep voice pledging his, and then it was over.

“You may kiss your bride,” said the bishop. And when Royal took her in his arms and kissed her as if he would never let her go, she had no doubt that she well and truly belonged to him.

And tonight she would become his wife.

“I love you, Duchess,” he said as they walked together down the aisle toward the wedding feast that had been prepared for them. “You’re worth more to me than the entire Bransford dukedom.”

Lily’s heart swelled. She looked into his beautiful golden eyes and knew that he meant every word.

Bransford Castle, three months later

L
ily snuggled closer to Royal’s warmth. They had made love earlier and now she lay drowsily tucked into his side in the big ducal bed, where he insisted she sleep every night.

She felt his hand smooth over her tumbled pale blond hair and her eyes drifted closed. She knew she should get up. There was always a great deal to do, but fall was in the air and she was thinking that perhaps she would indulge herself a little this morning.

She snuggled closer, her hand skimming over the muscles on his chest. He felt so good, so solid and incredibly male. Her hand went lower, smoothed over his flat stomach, and her eyes widened. He was heavily aroused, his erection pressing against the sheets. Desire stirred as she imagined him making love to her once more before they were forced to meet the day.

“I believe we are of the same mind, Duchess,” he said
gruffly as he came up over her. Then a firm knock sounded at the door. Royal groaned as the delicious possibility of lovemaking slipped away.

“Mr. Marlowe is here, Your Grace,” said Greaves the butler through the door.

“Damnation.” Royal sat up in bed, raking a hand through his hair.

Lily came fully awake and also sat up. “You’ve an appointment this morning?”

He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on her mouth. “One I managed to forget. You’re a beautiful distraction, Duchess, but a distraction just the same.” Swinging his long legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed his dressing gown off the chair and slipped it on while Lily pulled on her blue silk wrapper.

“Mr. Marlowe? Isn’t he the man you hired several months ago to oversee the brewery?”

He nodded, cinched the sash on his robe. “He’s bringing me a six-month progress report.”

Lily knew Royal’s Swansdowne Ale was becoming more and more popular. In the past few weeks, he had been forced to hire several more employees just to keep up with the demand.

He flashed her a heated glance. “I guess what I had in mind will have to wait until tonight.”

She reached toward him, ran a hand over the lapel of his dressing gown. “Or perhaps this afternoon,” she teased with a hint of mischief that made his tawny eyes darken.

“I shall hold you to that, Duchess.”

She yawned behind her hand, turned and headed for her own suite of rooms to dress for the day. “I needed
to get up anyway. I promised myself I would answer Jocelyn’s letter this morning.”

In a hugely extravagant wedding, her cousin had married Christopher Barclay two months after Lily’s marriage to Royal. In a recent letter she had written,

Lily smiled, wondering which of them would conceive a child first, for certainly her own handsome husband also devoted himself to that endeavor.

Lily heard Royal’s voice as she disappeared into her suite.

“Show Mr. Marlowe into my study,” he instructed the butler. “See to his refreshment and tell him I shall be down very shortly.”

“As you wish, Your Grace. And I shall send George up to help you dress.” Royal watched the old man hurry off down the hall, far more fit than he appeared. George Middleton, his valet, appeared a few moments later as Royal finished shaving then wiped the soap and water from his face.

“Pick something simple, will you, George? I am in a hurry.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

A few minutes later, dressed in a white shirt and brown trousers, a light woolen waistcoat and velvet-collared jacket, he headed downstairs.

Edwin Marlowe sat in a leather chair in the study, a lean man, impeccably groomed, with intelligent hazel eyes. He came to his feet as Royal walked in.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Royal said with a smile. “I take refuge in the fact I am still a relatively new bridegroom.”

“I can well understand, Your Grace. I have met your lovely new duchess.”

The men sat down and chatted amiably for a while, then Marlowe retrieved the huge leather-bound volume he had brought with him and placed it on the desk.

“I am pleased to be the bearer of very good news, Your Grace.”

Royal looked up at him. “So the brewery is doing as well as we expected.”

“Not exactly, sir.” He grinned. “Swansdowne is doing stupendously better than we ever could have imagined. In London, your ale is all the rage. They call it the nectar of the gods. Every pub in the city is demanding to increase their supply.”

Royal felt a thread of satisfaction, followed by a leap of excitement. He had been right to begin the brewery. And now all his efforts were truly paying off. “We’ll need to convert more of our fields to barley.”

Marlowe nodded. “In the meantime, we’ll have to buy grain from other growers.”

“And the brewery is making enough that we can afford to do that?”

“More than enough. I don’t believe you have yet
grasped the scope of your success, Your Grace. The Swansdowne Brewery is going to make you a very wealthy man. In fact, you are already reaping incredible profits.”

Royal just sat there. It seemed they were well on the road to rebuilding Bransford Castle and the dukedom’s fortune. He couldn’t help thinking how proud his father would be.

And how thankful he was that he had followed his heart and married Lily, the woman he loved above all things and with whom he wished to share his good fortune.

For the next half hour, they made plans for increased production and distribution of the ale, and scheduled a meeting in London with his marketing manager to formulate a sales campaign. They were just finishing their discussion when a familiar soft knock tapped at the study door.

Royal walked over and opened it, not surprised to see his pretty wife, looking delectable and tempting, standing in the hallway.

“I am sorry to bother you, darling, but your brother Reese has arrived home unexpectedly.” The worried look on her face told him something was wrong.

He turned to Marlowe. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this at our meeting in the city. I appreciate all you have done.”

Marlowe made a slight bow of his head. “I look forward to seeing you there.”

As soon as the man disappeared down the hall, Lily caught Royal’s arm. “Reese has been injured, Royal. His leg was damaged by cannon fire. He is home for good, darling. But it is clear he is not happy about it.”

Royal took Lily’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Well, then, we shall simply have to find a way to make him happy.”

Hand in hand, they walked into the drawing room where Reese sat waiting. Tall and raven-haired, with the same intense blue eyes as Rule, Reese picked up the silver-headed cane lying next to him on the sofa and shoved himself to his feet.

“It’s good to see you, Royal.”

“Welcome home, brother.” Royal strode toward him, clasped his shoulders and leaned in for a brotherly hug. “It’s been far too long since we heard from you. All of us had begun to worry.” No letters had arrived, not since a few months after the wedding. Royal had tried to discover what had happened to his brother, but had simply been told his location was unknown. All of them had begun to fear the worst.

“I’m home,” Reese said, “as our father wished. Though I have no idea what to do with myself now that I am here. I imagine the old man is grinning as he peers down on us from heaven.”

Royal laughed, glad to see that Reese, though not joyous, didn’t seem quite as morose as Royal had feared. “You’ve met my wife.”

He flashed her a brief smile. “Your very beautiful and charming wife. Congratulations. I can tell by the way you look at her that you are happy. Father must have chosen well.”

Royal’s gaze flicked to Lily, whose gaze flashed to his. Apparently none of Royal’s letters had reached Reese, either. “It’s a very long story. We’ll tell you all about it at supper. In the meantime, it is your story we wish to hear.”

And so Royal poured each of them a refreshment and they all sat down. For the next half hour, Reese talked of the war in the Crimea and the battles with the Russians and the grapeshot that had shattered a portion of his leg. He spoke of the months he had spent in a foreign hospital, unable to remember his own name. Once he had recovered enough to return to his regiment, he had been forced to leave the cavalry because of his injured leg.

“But you are feeling well now?” Lily asked.

Reese nodded. “Aside from a limp and a stiff leg that pains me on occasion, I am fine.”

Royal took a sip of his brandy. “I presume you’ll be moving into Briarwood, as father wished.”

He sighed. “It’s time, I suppose. I shall probably make the most inept farmer ever to grow a crop.”

But Reese was the sort who excelled at anything he wanted to do. Athletic and intelligent, he would learn the business of farming—if that was truly his wish.

Still, there were the memories to conquer. Briarwood had once been the place Reese intended to make his home. An inheritance from their maternal grandfather, it was the place he had planned to live after he was married and starting to raise a family.

A military career did not preclude his taking a wife. He’d been in love with a girl named Elizabeth Clemens, the daughter of an earl who lived on a nearby estate. But her parents believed she was too young to wed. She would wait for him, she had promised when Reese was called to duty.

Instead, when he returned home on his first leave, he found his beloved married to another man.

Reese had never truly recovered from her betrayal. Nor had he ever forgiven her.

“One thing I can promise,” Royal said to him. “If you grow barley, you’ll have a buyer for all you can produce.”

One of Reese’s black eyebrows went up. “That sounds interesting. From the grin on your face, it would appear Bransford lands have once again begun to prosper. In truth, I am not surprised.”

Clearly his brother was happy for his success, but Royal could see the resentment in Reese’s blue eyes that life—and his father’s wishes—had forced him into circumstances not of his choosing. Royal wondered if a wanderer like Reese could ever be happy in the sedentary world of a country lord.

Or if he was prepared to confront the fact of Elizabeth Clemens’s long-ago betrayal when the mere mention of her name set Reese’s teeth on edge. Royal wondered what his brother would do when he found out Elizabeth’s husband of these past six years had died just last year.

Royal took a sip of his brandy, eyeing his brother over the rim of the glass. For the moment, he refused to worry about Reese’s future. There would be plenty of time for that. Instead, tonight they would celebrate his brother’s safe return, and Royal and Lily’s joyous marriage.

Seated beside him on the sofa, his pretty wife looked up at him and his heart squeezed with love for this gentle, courageous woman he had wed. Royal clasped Lily’s slender hand and said a silent prayer of thanks for the day he had found her in the snow.