Chapter Two
London, 1856
Devlin Markham, the eighth Duke of Huntington, slowly reclined back in the gold brocade chair and resigned himself to being lectured. Indeed, the lady seated in front of him was the only person he was actually obliged to listen to, and regrettably, she was elaborating on her seemingly favorite topic: his bachelor status and her subsequent displeasure in it.
“The obvious lack of respect you hold for your title is easily witnessed by all. If we did not know of your shrewd business acumen, we would think you nothing but a halfwit who was led around by his nether regions!”
The Queen was never one to mince words.
Though slight in stature, Queen Victoria sat across from Devlin in an ornately carved high-back chair, her back ramrod straight, wearing an expression that told all who looked upon her that she was not to be trifled with. Unfortunately, the irate look in her eyes was one Devlin was becoming all too familiar with. And one he couldn’t charm away, as he could with other ladies.
Well, all except for Lady Sophie Wolcott, who seemed to share the Queen’s particular distaste for his reputation. Though he’d spent the better part of the last year traveling and hadn’t seen Lady Sophie since she’d fallen out of a tree in his gardens, he’d often found himself thinking of her. Only because she, like the Queen, was so immune to his wiles. It was somewhat of a mystery to him.
The Queen continued, “Though we have overlooked your many dalliances in the past, we are not prepared to continue doing so.”
“Your Majesty,” he placated as his thoughts returned to the matter at hand. “You are, of course, correct, and in due time, I shall ensure that the duties to my title are taken care of.” He wouldn’t, of course, not after vowing when he was ten never to let himself be vulnerable to anyone again, but the Queen didn’t need to know of his true intent. “However, presently I am focused upon ensuring the success of this endeavor, which requires your signature on the contract.”
“We are not prepared to sign any contracts with a known Lothario. It would not be a fitting example for the Queen of England to set to the other nobles that look to us for guidance.” Her round, soft face still managed to look quite stern as she practically vibrated with displeasure, every inch the monarch she was.
“But Your Majesty,” Devlin cajoled, “the signing of this contract would herald England as being the most progressive nation in the world. With your consent, we will be able to proceed with installing a transatlantic telegraph line across the Atlantic Ocean. Just imagine it! You will be able to send a letter to the President of the United States within minutes, instead of weeks. You would be seen as one of the greatest leaders in history for generations to come.”
As a major investor in the Atlantic Telegraph Company—and the only co-owner with a title—Devlin had volunteered to request an audience with Her Majesty on behalf of the company. His goal: to persuade her to open up the British Empire’s maritime borders to allow ATC to lay a telegraph cable across the Atlantic Ocean.
He’d expected questions from the sharply intelligent Queen, but he knew that the company’s plans were sound, and he’d trusted that she’d be delighted at the opportunity for Britannia to take this astounding invention to the next pinnacle of progress.
What he hadn’t expected was that his personal life would be what stood in the way of the project’s success or failure.
Devlin hadn’t thought investing a good chunk of his liquid fortune into Atlantic Telegraph to be the riskiest of gambles. But now…? While he could weather losing the funds he’d sunk into the project, the repercussions of failing would be too wide-reaching. His business reputation was on the line, and that was something he would not risk, not when he’d spent years cultivating it. And there were far too many people who would love to see the “Devil Duke” fail.
He would not give them, or his grandfather’s ghost, the satisfaction.
“Do not attempt to sway us with charm or flattery. We will not be deterred.” The Queen broke into his thoughts, emphasizing her speech by smacking the delicate lace fan she held against the palm of her other hand. “You are a Duke, for heaven’s sake, Devlin. Never have we had to have such a conversation with a peer of the Realm before on such a topic! Honestly, if it were not for the esteem my dear husband holds you in, we should certainly never be considering your proposal.”
“I do appreciate the Prince’s friendship and his faith in me, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Then you understand we cannot have members of the nobility cavorting as you do, with no thought to the sanctity of marriage, when Albert and I believe in its merits so greatly.” Her eyes flicked to the towering portrait of the Prince Consort on the far wall. “If we put our support behind your business endeavors, it would simply appear to others that we were condoning such immoral behavior, which we assure you is certainly not the case.”
Normally, Devlin could figure out how to talk his way out of any sticky situation, but the Queen was doing a formidable job of boxing him in. “This project is going to connect the British Empire with the rest of the world, almost instantaneously. Imagine the trade and enterprise boom it will create.”
“That may be the case,” the Queen allowed. “However, I am currently more concerned with the lack of respect you pay your ducal title. Honestly, Huntington, it has been in your family for generations, and your rather blasé attitude toward it does you no credit.”
He sat back against the chair and steeped his fingers together. For the past ten years, he’d been doing everything in his power to disrespect what had been his grandfather’s title: dirtying his hands in trade, parading one lady after another through the Ton, and generally doing anything and everything to make the old man’s life a living hell. It had been the least Devlin could do, after the reprehensible role the old man had played in Devlin’s parents’ deaths. Then, of course, after his grandfather died and Devlin inherited the title, Devlin was already well ensconced in the role of the Devil Duke. Obviously, he’d been doing an exceedingly good job of it—perhaps too good, as it had culminated in this conversation with the Queen. “Your Majesty, I fail to see how my bachelor status affects this contract. In point of fact, as a bachelor, I have a good deal more freedom in ensuring that my financial trades are successful. A wife would be an encumbrance.”
And quite frankly, a wife was sure to expect love, which was an emotion he had no intention of ever feeling again.
The Queen took in a sharp breath. “Are you suggesting that the sacred pact of a marriage between a man and wife is an encumbrance? Or rather that you being tied to only one woman would be?”
Devlin lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “I have never claimed to be a saint, and though you and the Prince aptly demonstrate how beneficial a marriage can be, you must admit that most of the marriages within the Ton are far from beneficial. Courting alone can take months, which is time I do not have as I am frequently traveling between New York and here.”
The Queen’s brows drew together. “I was under the impression that this telegraph line project would take months, if not years, to complete. I had assumed you would be overseeing a great deal of the scheme here. Particularly now that you are guardian to a young boy, or was I mistaken in that regard?”
The Queen always did have excellent sources of information. He had only arrived back in England three days ago, and already she knew of Nicholas. “You are correct, Your Majesty, on both accounts.”
Devlin himself had only found out about the boy when he had last been in London three months ago, on the very day he was to set sail for New York. He’d been so busy barking out orders to the crew of his ship, he nearly hadn’t noticed his man of affairs arriving at the dock with the little boy in tow. Apparently, the boy’s father, John Delaney, had passed away and, unbeknownst to Devlin, had decreed in his will that his good friend the Duke of Huntington was to assume guardianship of Nicholas upon John’s passing. News indeed to Devlin. Honestly, what had John been thinking to leave a seven-year-old child in his care? Devlin didn’t know the first thing about children.
But Lady Sophie did.
“We are pleased to hear it.” The Queen smiled. It was not reassuring. “If you were to marry, there would be no hindrance to signing the contract and thus allowing the telegraph lines to be built over my estates.”
Leaning back, he tilted his head to the side. “So it is to be blackmail then?”
“You tread a very fine line to suggest such a blasphemous thing.” The Queen pointed her fan at him, holding it aloft like a sword. “However, it is high time you lived up to your obligations. If assisting you in doing so is classed as something akin to blackmail, then so be it.” She stood and strode over to the window overlooking Buckingham Gardens. “I prefer to consider it as well-needed assistance. Really, Huntington, most men are quite keen to marry and beget an heir.”
Devlin stood also. “I am not like most men.”
The Queen scoffed. “That has always been abundantly clear. You have consistently had too many brainless ladies flocking to your side. It is no wonder you do not have a very high opinion of ladies in general. Particularly the sort you choose for company.”
“Surely you would not wish my title and future bloodlines to be besmirched by such scatterbrained creatures?” Perhaps he could convince her this was not a good idea.
The Queen was having none of it. “Perhaps then you will look elsewhere and find a lady of intelligence, compassion, and virtue.”
“Aside from yourself, Majesty, and a very select few, I fear those qualities in a woman to be in short supply.”
“I care naught for your cynicism.” The Queen’s voice grew stern. “You know what is required of you if you wish this project to go forward. It is entirely your decision.”
The Queen’s posture was rigid, and he knew she was finally serious in her marriage threats; she was determined to see him marry and would not be cajoled into signing the contract otherwise. He felt a burst of annoyance. He’d had no intention of marrying, yet his project was far too important to abandon.
Then again, a wife could not be that much trouble, provided that she was trustworthy and was under no illusions it was a love match. But what woman of the Ton could really be trusted and was pragmatic enough not to expect love from him?
There was only one whom he knew of, and there was no way imaginable that she would ever consent to marriage.
However, if marriage was the key to attaining the Queen’s signature to ensure the project went ahead, then marriage it would have be. “You will sign the contract upon news of my engagement?”
A rather satisfied smile lifted the corners of the Queen’s mouth. “Once I read the notice in the Times, you shall have my signature. However, I will only do so after a clause is placed into the contract, making it null and void should your engagement fail to culminate in a legal and binding marriage.”
The Queen was a master strategist. Marriage it would have to be. At least for the time being. She hadn’t, after all, said anything to preclude him from getting a divorce later. He wasn’t called the Devil Duke for nothing.
“Very well, Your Majesty,” Devlin said, making a determined effort to unclench his jaw. “Expect to read my engagement notice in the Times within a fortnight and attend my marriage in one month.” Even though the very word felt like it was wrapping itself around Devlin’s neck and squeezing tight. He tugged briefly at his cravat.
“I am not such a task master. You are free to take more time in order to choose a suitable lady. After all, a marriage is no amusement but a solemn act.”
“That will not be necessary.” Devlin strode to the door and pulled it open. He paused and glanced back at her. “This project is too important to waste any more time.”
The Queen stood. “I trust the lady will be suitable.”
“Too suitable for me, I am sure. Particularly as she’s a bluestocking who champions orphans. Nonetheless, I assure you, you will approve.” He bowed to her.
“Ah, so it is to be Lady Sophie Wolcott then?”
Devlin straightened, an unwelcome jolt of surprise gripping him. “What makes you say her name?”
The Queen smiled smugly, delight at being right dancing across her features. “She is the only one who fits that description that I approve of.”
Her statement should have been reassuring, but he was having too difficult a time quelling his internal panic to feel much comfort. “And if it is not Lady Sophie whom I was thinking of?”
“As I said, she is the only one I approve of.”
“So not only are you blackmailing me into marrying,” Devlin said, the area between his shoulder blades aching with tension, “you are choosing my bride also?” She might be the Queen of England, but that gave her no right to meddle in his personal affairs. If he didn’t need her agreement for his project, he was certain he would have walked out, then and there.
“Do not play the outraged male with me, Huntington,” the Queen replied. “We both know perfectly well that you have already decided upon her. I might suggest, though, that you not delay in your courtship. The Earl of Abelard has returned, and after the tragic passing of his wife early last year, I believe he is searching for a new countess. If my memory serves, Lady Sophie might be quite welcoming of his suit.”
“Your sources are, as always, remarkable.” He knew she had the Intelligence Department of the War Office at her disposal, but he doubted they were the origin of all of the gossip she seemed to possess regarding Society and its members. Not for the first time, he wondered who was supplying her with the details. Whoever it was was worth their weight in gold.
“I shall look forward to the next two weeks immensely. Oh and Devlin? Do have a care. Marriage is permanent, and the way one enters into a marriage is generally the rule of thumb for how it will turn out.”
“My business transactions always turn out successfully.”
“Men always look at marriage as some sort of business endeavor,” the Queen replied, “yet it is not until they actually marry that they realize their notions on the subject were most incorrect. Though I fear until you actually experience this firsthand, you will remain quite misguided in your thoughts.”
Devlin bowed. “Well then, I had best hurry, for I should not wish to remain misguided for too long.”
The Queen pursed her lips. “Disbelieve all you wish, but I shall look forward to talking with you after the lovely Lady Sophie has run you through your paces. But do remember,” she said as she motioned him out the door, “that I shall sign nothing until the official announcement has been made.”
“Have your quill ready then, my Queen.” He bowed again. “For you shall be requiring it very shortly.”