Chapter Twenty-Six
The Decadent Dukes sat in their usual chairs in the upstairs chamber at White’s. Adam had just told the others about his nuptial plans.
“We will announce it in a fortnight.”
Brentworth congratulated him graciously.
Langford did too, but with little enthusiasm. He gazed around the chamber. “I suppose this is over now or will be soon. The Decadent Dukes will be no more.”
“Why? I am decadent still, just with one woman.”
“It won’t be the same. There is nothing decadent about being bad with your wife. If we continue, we will have to change our name.” He pondered it. “The Dour Dukes. The Despondent Dukes . . .”
“In time I expect it will be the Domesticated Dukes,” Brentworth teased.
“Take that back. I cannot bear the thought of it.”
Brentworth laughed. “The Dutiful Dukes.”
Langford covered his ears with his hands. “I refuse to hear it.”
“You could continue alone and be the Debauching Duke.”
Langford brightened. “That isn’t so bad.”
Brentworth turned to Adam. “Have you met with her brother yet?”
“This afternoon. He was so happy he almost wept. He believed a duel was inevitable and only a marriage alliance would save him.”
“If he knows half of what you know, he worried for good reason.”
“Clara reports that her grandmother is also elated.”
“I am sure, since she probably knows all that you do,” Langford said.
“So you decided to leave it all as it stood after all,” Brentworth said. “Just as well.”
Yes, just as well. He had faced a devil’s choice. He understood his father better now, and why he had ended it as he had.
“Let us go out,” he said. “It is too fine a night for this chamber. Langford, you can lead the way. We will visit your favorite lairs.”
Langford was on his feet at once. “Follow me, and we will reclaim our name. There is a most interesting party taking place tonight that you will both find a revelation. After that we will visit a new pleasure house that opened near Covent Garden. Stratton, you can remain in the gaming salon if you choose. Unless, until you marry you believe you can visit the more interesting chambers. There is one in which a woman shackles a man and uses a whip and a feather to—”
“It sounds inventive, but I will remain in the salon.”
* * *
Clara climbed out of her carriage at Gifford Hall. As soon as she did, the door opened and Emilia ran to her and embraced her.
“Theo told me. Everyone is so excited and happy. I think Stratton rather frightening still, but if you like him this is wonderful news.”
“I do like him. Very much.” Clara linked her arm through Emilia’s and they walked together. “Perhaps you can visit us, if you like. Should Grandmother ever become a trial.”
“Do you mean it? Here in London?”
“At any of his properties. You will always be welcomed as part of our family, Emilia. It is important to me that you know that.”
“I am so glad. My one sorrow since I heard was that we would not see each other so much anymore. This way we shall.”
Inside the house, Clara went to the morning room at once. Emilia trailed along.
“Has Grandmamma not yet come down?”
“She is still in her apartment,” Emilia said. “She chaperoned me last night at the theater. She had a wonderful time, since so many ladies stopped by to pay their respects. I am not surprised she slept in.”
Clara pictured her grandmother holding court in the family box at the theater. Of course she had a wonderful time with all of that groveling proving her place in society.
“I will go up to see her,” Clara said.
“You know she does not like that.”
“This cannot wait.”
Emilia thought better of joining her and stayed in the morning room. Clara mounted the stairs slowly, not looking forward to this meeting. She had not seen her grandmother since she wrote and told her of her pending engagement to Stratton. Five letters had come in reply, in fast succession, praising her in the first, and listing long series of instructions in the others.
She faced the door to the dowager’s apartment for a solid minute before knocking. Margaret opened it and led the way to the dressing room.
The dowager sat at her dressing table, dressed and ready. She looked over at her visitor and her whole expression lit. “Welcome, Duchess. I am delighted to see you, although it took you a good long while to come. Sit, sit. Margaret, have some coffee sent up. Lady Clara and I have much to discuss.”
“Please do not, Margaret. I will not be here that long.”
“Oh, tosh, of course you will stay. In fact, I have had your apartment made ready. It is best if you move back here until you marry.”
Clara did not argue. She wanted Margaret to leave, and this provided a reason.
“August would be good, I think,” the dowager said. “Ideally we would wait until the year of mourning is over, but I think we can wink at that. Or even July, if that would not be too rushed. Most of society is still in town in early July. It goes without saying that it must be a special license, but I doubt Stratton would have it any other way . . .”
Her grandmother chattered on, moving from one plan to the next. Clara spent her time finding her courage to say what she had come to say.
“You are probably relieved,” she finally interrupted.
“Pleased, that is certain.”
“No, relieved. You so worried that Stratton might harm Theo. Remember? It was your reason for trying to form an alliance through marriage. So he would not find a reason to challenge Theo.”
“I am sure I did not say it quite that way.”
“You said it exactly that way. As did Theo. You indicated it had to do with that old argument over property. I thought it bizarre that you believed he would kill a man over that ancient disagreement. And you said I did not know everything.”
“Did I say that? I don’t remember. Nor can I think why I would. Now, about your wedding garments—”
“You know why he came back. Why he fought those duels. What he intended to discover. That was why you were afraid.”
“I am sure that I do not know what you—”
“He has learned what you feared he would learn, Grandmamma. About how my father revived the accusations and even sent a man to investigate. He says he knows everything.”
The dowager fussed with the bottles and cases on her dressing table, holding her expression firm and her composure strong.
“Except he is wrong,” Clara said. “He does not really know everything, even now. I think I do, however.” She stood, walked over to her grandmother, and placed a sheet of paper on the table in front of her. “As do you.”
Her grandmother looked down at it. Her color rose. She picked it up and waved it. “What nonsense is this?”
“It is a drawing of jewelry.”
“I can see that.”
“That set belonged to Stratton’s family. Only I saw it here when I was very young. Right here, in this very dressing room. It was in that drawer with your paints. I even wore it. Then I stared at it in a looking glass while you whipped me. Do you remember? I have never forgotten.”
Her grandmother’s arm dropped. The drawing hung limply from her hand, then fell to the floor. She turned her body and faced Clara. She looked afraid.
Clara’s heart clenched for her. This woman was often an interfering harridan, but she was also family.
“I love you, Grandmamma, but not enough to pretend ignorance about this. A man killed himself over this deception. The man I love believes one of his parents committed treason. So I must put the question to you. How did jewelry that I saw in your possession find its way to France to help pay for Napoleon’s last army?”