Scandal And The Duchess

Rose shook her head. “Anything I wore belonged to Charles’s mother.” Albert hadn’t liked that one bit.

“You’re saying Albert gets his paws on everything,” Steven said, still frowning. “Except a few sticks of furniture. Not very fair to Rose.”

“Not everything is attached to the estate,” Mr. Collins said. “You’d have to go to the house or look at an inventory, Your Grace. I suggest you make an inventory yourself. Perhaps there was something your husband knew you liked, but feared to state it specifically in the will, in case his son tried to destroy it or sell it. The new duke can hardly get rid of every piece of furniture in the house to keep you from having any.”

“He might,” Rose said darkly. “Albert is as tightfisted as they come.” She lifted her chin. “But he’s kept me from what Charles wanted this long. I believe I’ll pay him a visit and take my two pieces of furniture, blast him.”

Steven reached over and rested his hand on hers. His fingers were hot, warmth on this cold, rain-streaked day. “Good for you,” he said. His eyes too, held heat, and a strength that Rose wanted to draw into herself. When he released her to turn back to Collins, his warmth remained, as though he’d gifted it to her.

“Is that all?” Steven asked Collins. “Nothing else she can do?”

“Not for the moment,” Collins said. “I’ll work to prove the marriage registered in Scotland never occurred, and fight for your settlements. I am good at what I do, if I say so myself, Your Grace. I wouldn’t give up yet.”

“Thank you.” Rose’s anger fell away in a rush of gratitude. “I’ve not had any hope since the day Charles passed. Bless you, Mr. Collins.” She rose and held out her hands to the man, and Mr. Collins, blushing even more heavily, stood up and let her grasp his.

“It’s my job,” Mr. Collins said, extracting himself, and putting his papers back into a valise. “Thank Mr. McBride for sending for me. He enjoys helping people, does Mr. McBride.”

Steven remained expressionless. “Appreciate you coming out in the rain, Collins,” he said. “I’ll walk you down.”

Mr. Collins took his leave of Rose with many expressions of politeness. Steven clasped Rose’s shoulder and leaned to gently kiss her cheek. “It will be all right,” he said. “I promise you.”

The kiss was like a touch of sunlight in gloom, a flicker of hope in a morass of fear. Steven’s confidence was so great that it reached through her veil of despair and found the Rose who’d been shivering in the dark since Charles had died.

His touch, his voice, his very presence was daring her to believe in miracles.

***

“Still helping those in need, are you, Stevie, lad?” Mr. Collins, whose Christian name was Tavis, said as he and Steven left the hotel.

They emerged to fine November rain, which coated the streets and stone buildings, turning the gray scene even more gray. The only contrast was black—carriages and hansoms, dark-colored horses, men in black overcoats and black hats. Collins’s bright red head and Steven’s kilt were the only colors in the gloom.

“Can’t seem to help myself,” Steven answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

Collins’s look turned serious. “Have you seen her yet?”

He wasn’t talking about Rose. Steven shook his head. “She’s been out of London. I have an appointment with her in two days’ time.”

“She already knows, I take it?”

“Yes—a cold, impartial telegram. But I want to see her. She deserves that.”

“It might not be easy.” Mr. Collins put his hand on Steven’s shoulder. “If you’d like me to go with you, I will. I am her solicitor too, you know.”

Steven shook his head. “She’ll be angry with me, and you need have no part in it.” He shrugged, and Collins released him. “I’ll cheer myself up helping Rose—the dowager duchess, I mean. Fortify myself for my task.”

Collins gave him a knowing look. “The very beautiful dowager duchess.”

“Beauty isn’t everything. I’ve learned that a time or two.” Steven couldn’t stop his sudden grin. “This one’s beautiful all the way through.”

“You’ve said that a time or two as well, Stevie.”

“This is different.”

“Heard that one too.” Collins returned the grin. “When you get your heart broken, look me up, and I’ll pour whiskey down your throat. Again.”

“I won’t get my heart broken,” Steven said. “This is different, because it’s not a romance. I’m helping her; she’s taking my mind off my troubles.”

“Yes, of course.” Collins’s words were drowned out as a hansom clattered to a stop at the doorman’s signal. “Don’t you break her heart. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“No fear,” Steven answered. “Go do what you’re best at, Collins, and stop giving me advice on romance. Be off with you.”

Collins stuck out his hand, shook Steven’s, and scrambled into the hansom. Steven watched the man drive off, his emotions mixed. Whoever got their heart broken in this business arrangement, Steven was certain, it wouldn’t be Rose.

He put aside such maudlin thoughts as he headed out of the rain back into the hotel. His heart beat faster as he ascended the stairs, knowing Rose awaited him at the top. He wondered, between steps, whether his need to make up for his failure had prompted him to help her.