The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel 3)

“Their titles are not of interest, however, are they, my lady? Mine is. You would do best to remember the prize you are here to win.”

The woman hesitated, then acquiesced.

Sera turned back to the young women. “Well. As you know, I’ve been out of town for several seasons. Shall we begin with introductions?”

Another mother tittered, “Simply not done.”

Sera lowered her voice and leaned into the girls conspiratorially. “You’ll find I have little interest in what is done. Instead, I prefer getting things done.”

Four sets of eyes flew to meet hers, myriad expressions chasing surprise in them—shock, confusion, amusement, and, in the last, admiration.

Sera made a mental note to investigate Admiration—at first blush, the plainest of the bunch, and clearly not plain at all.

Malcolm might like her.

The thought did not bring the satisfaction she might have wished.

Amusement—the minuscule mouse—was first to speak, taking a firm step forward. “I am Lady Lilith Ballard, youngest daughter of the Earl of Shropshire.” She pointed to the pursed-lipped woman who had spoken earlier. “That’s my mother, the countess.” She lowered her voice. “Well done with her, by the way.”

Sera grinned. Yes. She liked this one very much. She nodded, “It’s a pleasure.” She looked to Admiration, who watched with keen eyes, but showed no interest in introducing herself.

Which worked out well, because the duke took that moment to arrive. “Welcome to Highley, ladies.” His voice was deep and lovely, filling the early morning with aristocracy.

Sera stiffened as the assemblage turned their attention on him, the only father in the bunch taking that moment to move, coming forward with a too-loud throat clearing. “Haven. Bit odd all this, don’t you think?”

Malcolm shook hands with the man. “Brunswick.” Baron Brunswick, poor as a church mouse, Sera recalled, but with a proper, respectable title. “Has anything about my recent past been less than odd?” He waved to Sera. “You’ve met my soon-not-to-be wife, I see, and you must know her sisters.”

The baron grunted his agreement and pointed to Confusion, a redhead with enormous green eyes. “That’s my girl.”

It did not escape Seraphina that the girl in question remained unnamed. As though one girl were the same as the next, and so why bother giving them unique names? Malcolm rectified the situation. “Lady Emily, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Lady Emily, for her part, did not appear to feel similarly. Indeed, she looked as though she might burst into tears.

She was saved from the embarrassment, however, by the loud, insistent, “Mary,” from one of the other mothers. Shock seemed to come alive then, stepping forward and virtually throwing elbows to stand in front of Haven. She was blond and lovely as a porcelain doll. And it seemed her name was Mary.

Malcolm took the moment in stride, all gentleman. “You must be Miss Mary Mayhew.”

Sera tilted her head in surprise. Miss. The Duke of Haven even considering a woman without blue blood was a shock, considering how disdainful he and his mother had been about her father’s coal mining roots. “Her father is one of the most powerful men in Commons,” Sophie whispered at her ear.

A politician. Even worse.

“Your Grace,” the beauty said, dropping into a deep curtsy, her voice breathless and winning and very likely the most feminine thing Seraphina had ever heard.

She couldn’t help herself. Her gaze flew to Haven’s face, to where he looked down at Shock with polite interest. There was nothing about it that indicated anything more than common courtesy, but Sera did not care for it.

No. She did not care, full stop.

Let him appreciate the other woman. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever that Sera should mind if he thought her beautiful. No reason for her to even notice.

In fact, she hadn’t noticed him looking at all.

She snatched her gaze away, the far-off sound of clattering wheels distracting her as another black coach came up the drive. Apparently one of the girls hadn’t been able to fit all her belongings into two conveyances, and required a third. It seemed slightly unnecessary, but Sera knew better than most that catching a duke required commitment.

Not that she had needed anything extravagant to do it.

She cleared her throat and looked to Admiration, immediately regretting her sharp tone and the way it hinted at her unwelcome thoughts. “And you are?”

The girl did not flinch. “Felicity Faircloth.”

Sera blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Admiration smiled. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“A bit.”

The smile became a smirk. “Does it help if I tell you I’m Lady Felicity Faircloth?”

Sera gave a little chuckle. Admiration was her favorite. “It does not.”

“What a pity,” Felicity said, showcasing absolutely no disappointment. “And if I told you my father was Marquess of Bumble?”

Sera tilted her head. “There’s a Marquess of Bumble?”

“Indeed there is. Old and venerable.”

“Well, since Haven brought you here, I’m unsurprised by that.”

Felicity looked to Sesily. “That’s a lovely cat.”

Brummell howled and Sesily preened. “Thank you.”

“Is it feral?”

Sesily blinked. “No.”

“Pity. I had hoped it might take care of my mother’s dogs.” The three dachshunds were beneath a nearby hedge and, in order, digging a large hole, relieving itself, and ingesting a twig. Felicity followed Sera’s gaze. “They’re horrible.”

“Then I assume you don’t come with dogs?”

“Good God. No. Only my mother.”

“But you do come with her.”

Felicity winked. “She’s so desperate for me to be a duchess, that might be negotiable.”

Sera laughed. This girl had absolutely secured first place, and she wasn’t yet within the walls of Highley. Sera would have her divorce in no time. She ignored the way the thought settled, slightly off, instead thinking of the Sparrow, and her future.

Divorce meant freedom.

If Haven liked Lady Felicity Faircloth, or any of the ladies, honestly, freedom was hers.

That thought settled slightly better.

She looked to Haven, who was watching her carefully. “Duke. Come meet Lady Felicity Faircloth.”

As he did, the final coach arrived, stopping just past the assembled group, and Sera turned to the rest of the assembly, arms wide, attempting to move them to the entrance to the manor house, out of the path of the conveyance. “My lord and ladies, and Mrs. and Miss Mayhew, welcome. Let’s get you all settled, and we shall plan for a lingering lunch during which we may all get to know each other better. There shall be games and, of course, decent drink.” She had Lord Brunswick’s attention then.

The words set the group in motion, one of the women saying in a loud whisper, “It’s a bit of cheek to pack three coaches, don’t you think?”

The question, meant to undermine others, put Sera on edge, serving as a keen reminder that she loathed these people and this life, and that she could not wait to be rid of it, and the man who tethered her to it.

She wouldn’t have the backbiting. This gaggle of climbing, scheming titlemongers could bite in full view, or be civil. Seraphina remained mistress of the house and owner of the title, and so she would set the rules.

“As a matter of fact, I think the extra carriage shows a marked preparedness that is admirable in one who will run such a far-reaching household.” She looked to Malcolm. “Don’t you, Your Grace?”

He did not hesitate to lie, which was surprising, considering the fact that minutes earlier, he’d expressed the exact opposite feelings about the mass of coaches trundling up the drive. “Indeed.” Mrs. Mayhew’s cheeks went red as the duke looked to the young women. “And which of you is so thorough?”

The girls, for their part, looked to

each other with a mix of curiosity and regret on their various faces. Finally, Lady Lilith spoke. “It seems none of us pass this particular test, Your Graces.”

And as if to prove the woman’s point, the door to the ninth carriage burst open, ricocheting off the coach and bouncing back to nearly slam shut before it was caught and controlled, and one large, long, buckskin-covered leg came to the ground.

“Oh, dear.”

“What does that mean?” Malcolm’s question came harsh and quick.

Sera did not have time to elaborate when a dark head popped up above the carriage door, followed by wide shoulders in a perfectly tailored navy blue coat.

Those assembled seemed to hold their breath at the appearance of this brash intruder.

What was he doing here?

“Ding-dong,” said Sesily, at which point Sera was fairly certain she heard Haven growl.

This was not the plan.

Something had gone wrong.

“That had better not be—” Haven left the sentence unfinished when the man turned, revealing a face battered and bruised with what Sera could only imagine was wicked skill. Caleb Calhoun smiled, revealing his teeth, somehow still unscathed, and closing the door with a single, smooth movement. He approached as though this was all perfectly normal.

She was already moving toward him. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you.” Removing his tall hat, he said, “I say, this place is busier than Faneuil Hall fish market at half past five.”

The women assembled gave a little gasp at the words.

Well, most of the women assembled.

Sesily gave a little squeal of glee. “The American is coming!”

Sera slid a look to Haven, only to discover he was glaring at her, without even an attempt at subtlety.

“I’m afraid not for long, sweetheart.” Caleb swept the hat from his head and bowed low with a grand flourish. “What a beautiful group of ladies. I’m not sure I could pick the prettiest among you.” He looked up at Sera, eyes twinkling even as one of them was shining black and nearly swollen shut, and said, “Well, besides Duchess, of course.”

She raised a brow.

This was not going to make things easier.

Chapter 13

Sparrow Flies the Coop!

“If you’ll excuse us for just a moment?” Sera said too brightly before opening the nearest door and pushing Caleb into one of Highley’s numerous receiving rooms.

Murmurs of “This is all highly irregular,” and “Who is that man?” mingled with her sisters’ attempts to herd the entire group to their respective chambers.

Sophie’s voice came above the rest. “Surely you all would like a moment to freshen up after your early travels.”

“I don’t wish to freshen up!” one of the mothers replied with affront. “Your Grace! I will not have my daughter so poorly influenced by your . . . wife!”

“Ugh,” said Sesily from closer range than Sera would have expected. “Can we eliminate the Mayhew chit from competition as soon as possible? Her mother does grate.”

Sera spun to face her sister. “Sesily!”

“What?” Sesily feigned innocence. “I thought you might need a chaperone.” Applying her prettiest flirt, she switched her attention to Caleb. “One never knows with Americans.”

Caleb sent her an appreciative look. “If one is lucky.”

Sera huffed her displeasure. “Both of you are insufferable.” She whirled on her friend. “What in hell are you doing here? And what in hell has happened to your face?”

“You should see the other men.” Caleb smirked, then winced as the expression tugged at his lip. “Ow.”

“That serves you right for thinking you could charm your way out of this,” she replied, the words without sting. “What happened?” she repeated, lifting her hand to her friend’s strong, swollen cheek, delicately feeling about his eye.

He inhaled sharply at the touch. “You can’t come back. Not right now.”

Sesily gasped. “You planned to sneak off to London? How exciting!”

Sera looked to the ceiling and asked her maker for patience. She’d planned for a clandestine night or two, just to check in on the Sparrow. “It’s not exciting, Sesily. It’s business.”

“You say that like it doesn’t sound exciting as well,” Sesily replied. “Which it does. It’s not every day a woman has a—”

“Stop.” Both Caleb and Sera cut Sesily off before she could say tavern, Sera looking to the door to be certain no one was close enough to hear. Malcolm was in the foyer beyond, and he met her gaze, but the fury in his eyes likely had more to do with the clamoring gaggle of mothers objecting to the entire morning, and no doubt a great deal more. Like Sera, in general.

He hadn’t heard, which was all that mattered. If he knew what she had, he would have altogether too much power over her.

As though he did not have enough of it as her husband.

“The point is,” Caleb went on, “you must stay here.”

She blinked. “Why?”

Sesily knew when she was not required. “I shall go fetch something for the American’s eye.”

“I’ve a name, you know.”

Sesily winked. “But ‘the American’ sounds so much more ominous, don’t you think?”

“Go,” Sera said.

Sesily did and Caleb said, “That one is trouble.”

“I shall be far more trouble if you don’t tell me what is going on.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“If only men understood the rampant fear that particular quartet of words instilled in women’s hearts.” She whacked him in the arm. “Tell me.”

“Oof!” he groaned, clutching his shoulder and going pale.

“Now she’s hit him!” came a pearl-clutching gasp from the hallway beyond. “You must send her away, Your Grace. This is no place for a proper young lady!”

Sera ignored the words, overcome with concern for her friend. “Caleb. What’s happened to you?”

“It’s fine. It was a touch dislocated, but I found a decent butcher who put it back in. It’s just a bit tweaky right now.”

Her brows shot up. “Who dislocated you?”

“The Bastards.”

The Bareknuckle Bastards, the pair of brothers who ran the Covent Garden underground. Until now, they’d left Caleb and Sera alone, but it hadn’t been long since the Sparrow was up and running, and Caleb and Sera had expected their success would soon be noticed—and the Bastards wouldn’t like it. “Did something happen to the Sparrow?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed in a day or two.” She did not like the sound of that. “They wanted a trade. Money for protection. I told them I didn’t need protection from a bunch of redcoats.”

“And they set out to prove you wrong.”

He tried for another smile. “I got a few good punches in.”

She shook her head. “You’re a child.”

“We’re not paying them fear money.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Of course we’re not.”

“Excellent. Then consider this business meeting adjourned. You are staying here to get your divorce, and I shall take care of the rest.”

Frustration flared. If she hadn’t been forced to the country, she’d have been able to help in London. She’d have been able to protect the Sparrow. Ironically, she hadn’t been at the club to protect it from its enemies because she was too busy protecting it here. From a different enemy altogether.

If she lost it, she lost the only reason to have returned to Britain. All that she was fighting for. She was here for the Sparrow’s promise of freedom. For its future. And for hers. But there was no point in protecting the tavern in theory if she couldn’t protect it in practice. “Like hell. I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

She cut him a look. “Tell me. What, precisely, makes you believe you can tell me what to do?”

He sighed. “Certainly not history.”

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nbsp; “No,” she agreed. “Certainly not.”

“And if you do return, then what?”

“Something!” she insisted, frustration flaring. “The Sparrow isn’t anything without its namesake.”

“Bollocks,” Caleb said. “You stay here. I’ll take care of the Bastards. Hire security, make sure they see I won’t stand for them getting in our way. Don’t worry your pretty head about the bits and pieces.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I shall club you in your head if you continued to treat me as a precious dove. I’m coming back.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s mine,” she whispered. “Held in trust by you.”

“Until you get your divorce, which is why you’re here.”

“Which will mean nothing if I don’t have a tavern standing at the end of it.”

He looked to the ceiling and exhaled his frustration. “You want your nose in the business.”

She nodded. “Now, more than ever.”

“Fine. Then I shall spend days here.”

It was such a terrible idea she laughed. “No, you will not.”

“For once, we agree, wife.” Haven stepped into the room as though he owned it. Which she supposed he did. Irritating man.

“I’d thank you not to eavesdrop on my conversations,” she said.

“As we remain married, conversations you have with unmarried gentlemen are my business, pet.”

Men were insufferable. “Call me ‘pet’ again, and see what happens.”

He did not flinch. “What? You do to me what your American scoundrel had done to him?” He looked to Caleb. “Bad luck. I only wish I could have done it myself.”

“If it had been you, Duke, you’d be looking a fright, not me.”

Haven grinned at that. As though it was funny. “History would suggest otherwise, Yank.”

Sera paused. What did that mean?

It did not matter. “Haven, I must return to London.”

“No.” She imagined neither man much liked agreeing with the other.