The Duchess Takes it All

Chapter Seventeen

Christian led Tamsin into the Duke of Beaubrooke’s box seats at the theater, and they claimed two seats near the front while waiting for the rest of their group to arrive. Having only just entered her half-mourning period, a play was pushing the bounds of propriety. While it would not cause an outright scandal, it would certainly raise a brow or two. Had it been a nice drama or tragedy, people might have been more forgiving. One of Shakespeare’s popular comedies, though… Well, it was perhaps not the best choice. According to people he didn’t care a fig about, at least.

But Tamsin had had enough drama and tragedy in her life. She deserved to enjoy herself, so the rest of society could be hanged. A small bit of frivolity would hardly be the end of the world. He could but hope that their peers found it in their hearts to be at least somewhat charitable and kind to a newly widowed woman.

He should have known that hope was ill placed.

Tamsin garnered a few looks and whispers as they took their seats, but he couldn’t be sure of the cause. It could be due to their appearance together, though they were not alone, but with their usual group. Or perhaps it was merely her attendance at this particular play. Or due to her presence in and of itself. After all, she hadn’t been seen much in public since her husband’s funeral, which she had unfashionably attended, and not much before then. She was likely still something of an enigma to most people. The merchant’s daughter who had been raised to their ranks.

The Duke and Duchess of Beaubrooke were also attending that evening, along with the duchess’s sister Lady Kitty and Lord Bainbridge. And Frederick, of course. Lady Georgina was also in attendance, though she was seated with her parents in another area of the theater. Even so, Tamsin was surrounded by her friends. She still seemed anxious, however, her fingers fiddling with her fan while the rest of the audience filed in and took their seats.

He took advantage of the chaos of everyone finding their seats to reach over and take her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. She gave him a grateful smile that made him want to gather her to his chest and protect her from any and all who would treat her ill. The influx of invitations to balls, soirees, dinner parties, and musical nights that were delivered to the Clevesly household hadn’t slowed since they’d arrived in London. If anything, they had increased. Yet the lack of invitations extended to Tamsin was becoming more and more noticeable.

He had quietly asked Lavinia about it, and what she had told him hadn’t eased his worries. For while at the moment the lack of invitations could be chalked up to Tamsin still being in half-mourning and therefore quite limited socially, that wasn’t the whole of it. Tamsin, it seemed, was still not accepted by the ton at large. Her position as the Duchess of Clevesly and her sizable fortune—which was the only thing any of them respected—were too exalted for them to be too outwardly disdainful, but there was no shortage of subtle slights. And a few less subtle ones, such as being excluded from many of the Season’s festivities. Most notably the largest and most sought-after balls. Many of which would take place after her year of mourning was over, and therefore invitations could have been extended.

Unfortunately, it was difficult to call anyone out on their behavior. Tamsin’s mourning status was certainly an issue. But it seemed more insidious than that. And the fact that Lavinia was of the same mind cemented the feeling.

Christian wanted to stand and shout at all those assembled before him. But that would only result in making matters worse for them all. Tamsin still cared far too much what these people thought of her. In fact, he was amazed he’d gotten her out the door that evening. When he’d brought up attending the play, he’d been more than half certain she’d decline. Though he knew how much she wanted to go.

So. For her, he would do what he could. He would accompany her to as many events as she wished to attend. He would extend his influence to gain her invitations to those that were not offered freely. And he would do what he could to shield her from the looks and vile mutterings.

If that did not work, he would kiss every tear from her cheek and do what he could to make her forget everyone and everything that had put them there. No matter the prudence of such an act.

In the meantime, he was going to enjoy watching her as she experienced her very first London play.

“Have you truly never been to a play?” he asked again, though she’d already answered the same query several times now. But perhaps having to answer him again would distract her from the growing number of disapproving looks being aimed her way.

She smiled and turned to him—and away from those jabbering scandalmongers throwing judgmental looks at her and whispering behind their fans. Let them talk. As long as he kept her attention on him, she hopefully wouldn’t notice them.

“No, my lord. Not on this scale, at least. I’ve attended a few dramatic performances at the odd dinner party now and then. But my father didn’t enjoy the theater, nor did my husband. And I didn’t have the opportunity while at school. I have read many plays, though, and quite enjoyed them. I must confess, I am looking forward to seeing one performed. Shakespeare has always been a particular favorite of mine.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” he said, meeting her gaze as they smiled at one another. And lingered far longer than they should.

“Is Taming of the Shrew your favorite of Shakespeare’s plays?” Lavinia asked, pinning Christian with a piercing look, reminding him they had a very literal audience, before turning to hear Tamsin’s response.

“One of them, yes,” Tamsin replied. “Though I enjoy most of his comedies.”

“Hmm, yes, I quite enjoy this one as well,” Nigel said. “The shrew reminds me very so much of you, my dear Beaubrooke.”

The duke snorted. “I was about to say the same thing about you, Bainbridge.”

Lavinia rolled her eyes, setting Tamsin giggling. She flipped her fan open to hide her mirth, but not before her amusement had been marked by several of their peers. Those in mourning must not have too good a time, if they were so unwise as to venture out at all.

Tamsin looked around and choked off her laughter, her expression immediately sobering.

Christian glowered, letting his gaze rake over the audience around them. Which likely wouldn’t help matters but he couldn’t help but feel protective of her.

Before he could get too angry at the stares her laughter elicited, the curtains rose.

The start of the play didn’t stop the gossiping or stares, of course. It seemed few people actually attended the theater to watch the play itself. They came to see and be seen and, of course, chatter away about it all.

But after a few minutes, Christian was too enthralled with watching Tamsin to remember anyone else was even there.

Her eyes lit up as the actors performed, and he could swear in many parts she was reciting the lines along with them.

“I think I know why you enjoy this play so,” Christian said, leaning over so only Tamsin could hear him.

“Oh?” She looked up at him, her eyes dancing with excitement. “And why is that?”

“You must identify with the main character. You and Kate are so similar.”

She sucked in a shocked breath. “Are you calling me a shrew, my lord?”

“I would never say such a thing.” He waited half a heartbeat. “Although you must admit, there are similarities.”

Her fan snapped out, managing to slap against his knee as she opened it and began to fan herself.

“Oh. My apologies,” she said. Though there was no contrition to be found in her tone. “I had thought you were going to say that you identified with Petruchio. A domineering man hellbent on bending a woman who does not want him to his will? Sounds very much like someone with whom I am familiar.”

“Really?” He cocked his head. “I can’t imagine who that might be.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can, my lord. You see him every day when you look in the mirror.”

“Ah, you mean Feldhagen?” He jerked his thumb behind him in Frederick’s direction.

“Yes?” Feldhagen said, leaning forward from the seats behind them to stick his face between theirs. “You summoned me?”

Tamsin hid her face behind her fan and covered her mouth to keep her laughter contained, though a soft snort escaped anyway. Which set Christian off chuckling with her. Luckily, Kate had just thrown a vase at Petruchio on stage, and the audience was laughing as well. Though Feldhagen looked nothing but confused until he finally shook his head and sat back to watch the play.

A few scenes later, Tamsin leaned over. “I suppose I can admit to at least one similarity with Kate,” she said.

His brows rose. “Oh?”

“Kate is forced to marry Petruchio. I do know what that is like. Though I was not so vehement in my protestations as she. Still, it is likely the only way I would ever marry again.”

Christian frowned. The thought of her first marriage sent a streak of jealousy through him that he both did not entirely understand and thoroughly disliked. But it was the thought of Tamsin being forced into the marriage that made his gut churn.

“It is not the ideal way to get a wife, I’ll agree,” he said. “And I hope for your sake you were not treated as our poor Kate,” he said, nodding at the stage.

It suddenly struck him that if his uncle arranged a match for him, his bride would be in a similar position as both Shrew Kate and Tamsin. He’d known that, of course, but he realized with a jolt of shame he had not considered his hypothetical wife’s feelings on the matter, so preoccupied he’d been with his own.

All the more reason to make his own match and spare him and whoever she would be the suffering.

Tamsin turned to him with a sweet smile that warmed him through. “His Grace would not have been my first choice of husband, no,” she said, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear. Though he didn’t fault her for her discretion. She was, after all, meant to still be in mourning for the man. Admitting out loud in public that she’d never wanted to wed him in the first place was…in poor taste at the very least. Even if it was true.

“But it was…bearable.”

“I suppose that is good…considering the alternative,” he said, though he didn’t know how truthful she was being. “It does, occasionally at least, end differently,” he said, not sure why he felt the need to impress upon her that happy marriages could arise even from the strangest circumstances.

“Those two at least,” he nodded at the stage, “ended quite happily. Would you truly forswear the possibility of such happiness by forgoing a future marriage?”

She looked at him for a moment and then back to the stage. “Their story ends happily, yes. But I think they may be the exception. I do not know that I am willing to risk so much on a possibility.”

He nodded, trying to ignore a disappointment he had no right to feel. “I can understand. But…what if you miss out on a great love?”

She met his gaze again. “What if I find only heartache?”

He gave her a sad smile. “I suppose this isn’t a question that can be answered. At least not tonight,” he said, smiling a bit broader. “Something to consider, however,” he added, “is that while Kate finds Petruchio to be the worst scoundrel, she does end up loving him in the end.”

“Hmm, true. However, something for you to consider, my lord. Just because she ends up loving him in the end doesn’t mean he’s not still a scoundrel.”

He barked out a hastily choked-off laugh at that. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” She grinned, that amused fire back in her eyes. “Requiring her to agree with every word he says no matter how ridiculous. I do not care how much I love someone, I would never agree that the sun is the moon or vice versa just because the man I loved said so.”

He pursed his lips and regarded her. “But is that not love? To totally surrender to your mate?”

“I do not believe so, no. A man who really loved her wouldn’t require her to go so against her natural inclinations just to prove her love.”

He smiled, loving the glimpse she was allowing him into the inner workings of her mind. “You make a compelling argument. I shall take that under advisement.”

“Good,” she said, grinning at her victory.

“But,” he said, chuckling when she scowled, “perhaps her acting against her natural inclinations is less because he requires it and more because she does love him and wants to make him happy.”

She pursed her lips. “One could say that, I suppose.” Though she didn’t sound like she actually believed that.

“Think on it,” he said, leaning toward her again with a conspiratorial whisper, loving every moment of their discourse. “Who is to say that Kate does not want Petruchio? I believe she does.”

Tamsin’s gaze locked with his. “Is that so, my lord?”

“Oh yes.”

“And how have you deduced this?”

His gaze roved over her before meeting hers again, and he leaned in ever so slightly. “Notice the way her eyes flash when she speaks to him,” he said, nodding toward the stage.

She looked at the actors arguing below them. “Perhaps the light hurts her eyes,” Tamsin said, her voice faint.

“Or perhaps it is passion.” His smile spread slowly when Tamsin’s breath caught in her throat. “And look at the way her breaths come so quickly she cannot catch them.”

Tamsin pressed a hand to her chest. “Perhaps her laces are too tight.”

“Or perhaps it is excitement.”

Tamsin bit her lip, and Christian nearly groaned aloud. “And see the way she turns into him when she is supposedly fighting to get away?”

Tamsin’s breath rushed out in a tremulous sigh. “Mayhap she lost her footing.”

“Hmm,” he said, smiling again when Tamsin trembled beside him. “Or perhaps it is desire.”

She turned to stare at him, her mouth open as if she’d speak, though no sound came out.

But she didn’t need to speak. He knew exactly what she wanted to say, what she was feeling. The fire that was coursing through her blood. He could see it in her face as clearly as she could probably see it in his. He needed to—

A fan whacked him on his other leg, and he started, turning to look at Lavinia, who smiled at him with gritted teeth. “Would you two desist immediately?” she whispered to him. “No one is watching the play anymore; they are watching you .”

Christian looked around, his grimace deepening the more faces he saw turned in their direction, the more whispers that hissed through the theater. Though he wasn’t sure what was stronger. His anger at the gossipmongers even now spreading their hateful tales, or himself for making matters infinitely worse.

He had just wanted Tamsin to have a wonderful evening. And now, they’d given the gossips even more to talk about.

He risked a glance at Tamsin, and his heart swelled with pride. His duchess wasn’t sitting shamefaced or chastised. Instead, she sat, regal as a queen, her gaze coolly surveying the crowd before her as if they mattered not at all. Though he knew that, for her, the exact opposite was the case.

The moment the curtain closed for intermission, Georgie appeared in their box. She glanced around the assembled group, her lips spreading in a mischievous grin. “Well, judging by everyone’s faces, I needn’t mention that Lord Rauchberg and our dear duchess have just become the latest scandal.”

“Georgie,” Beaubrooke muttered, his eyes narrowing, but Tamsin just shook her head with a bitter laugh.

“What are they saying?” she asked.

Georgie looked at her with approval. As did Christian. It was always better to know what one faced than to shy away from it.

“For the most part, everyone is exceedingly curious about both our duchess and the two new gentlemen who are sitting with their group.”

Tamsin raised an eyebrow. “Surely there is more to it than that.”

Georgie nodded sharply. “Quite a bit, yes. Though the worst of it is that you are trying to find yourself yet another husband who…” Georgie hesitated, frowning.

Going by Tamsin’s tight smile, she already knew what was being said. “It’s all right, Georgie. You can say it,” she prompted.

Georgie’s lips pinched, her eyes flashing with anger, though it wasn’t directed at Tamsin. “They are perturbed that you are trying to get another husband who by all rights should be out of your social range despite, and this is a direct quote, having already purchased yourself a title through your first marriage.”

Tamsin’s eyes widened slightly, but that was her only reaction. It wasn’t the worst rumor that Christian had heard. Tamsin had two attractive, unmarried men currently staying with her. And she was a comely widow. Despite the fact that they were hardly alone with a house full of servants and the young duke, the men Christian had overheard here and there had come up with more than a few scenarios as to what could be going on behind closed doors with the beautiful widow. Rumors that made Christian want to raze the building to the ground.

But doing so would only lend truth to the rumors. And so he’d kept his silence. But it was getting more difficult to do so.

Nigel snorted. “As if the majority of them didn’t do the exact same thing through their own marriages,” he muttered.

Georgie shot a glare at him, but Tamsin laughed quietly. “If it is one thing I have learned from trying to incorporate myself within these illustrious ranks,” she said, her voice dripping with well-deserved disdain, “it’s that their hypocrisy knows no bounds.”

“You certainly aren’t the only one who thinks so,” Lavinia pointed out. “Just the other week, the Anonymous Bartholomew depicted just such a scene. A caricature of a bride, who actually looked a bit like you, my dear, now that I think upon it,” she said to Tamsin, who flushed.

“The bride stood in the church in front of the clergyman, looking downcast, whilst her father and soon-to-be husband haggled over her, waving fists full of money at each other. The audience members were all saying the most horrible things about the woman. Yet the men were all sitting with pocketsful of money themselves while sad-looking wives sat beside them.”

Lavinia’s lips pursed. “The caricatures were humorous, of course. But the situation itself wasn’t. And it happens far too often.”

Christian listened with a knitted brow. The scene she described was eerily similar to Tamsin’s situation. Even down to the caricature looking like her. Then again, Tamsin would hardly be the first woman to be married off to the highest bidder. And she was well enough known amongst the ton for having married such a high-ranking husband that being used as inspiration for whoever was behind the Anonymous cartoons was really not so surprising.

Tamsin sighed and rose, her gaze raking over the audience once more before she turned to Christian.

He immediately stood, not needing her to say a word. She murmured her goodbyes to their friends and turned to leave the box, flanked by Christian and Frederick. A queen protected by her knights.

Christian didn’t look at or acknowledge anyone on their way out. Though he noted with interest that before they’d left the box, Frederick had said a particular goodbye to Lady Kitty, bending close to whisper something to her before leaving. He’d have to speak to him about that. But for the moment, Christian was wholly focused on Tamsin.

The carriage ride back to Clevesly House was quiet. Frederick laid his head back on the cushions and kept his eyes closed. Christian kept his gaze on Tamsin, and she on him. Her beauty in the moonlight that filtered in through the glazed windows nearly stole his breath. He’d seen grown men crumble beneath the weight of such scrutiny as she had just endured. But she’d not only borne it with a fortitude that he would wager few would have in her place, but with a grace that those harridans and rumormongers didn’t deserve.

His duchess was magnificent.

Their eyes remained locked until the carriage pulled to a stop in front of their house, and the footman opened the door. Christian descended and reached up to help Tamsin alight. He flicked a look at Frederick before turning to lead Tamsin into the house, and Frederick nodded. He would take care of anything that needed handling once they went inside. Christian wanted nothing more than to get Tamsin alone for a few minutes.

And it seemed as though she was of the same mind as he, as she so often was.

When they entered, she didn’t even pause to give the waiting footman her cloak. Instead, she marched straight to the library, leaving Christian to follow in her wake. He closed the door behind them, not caring what Frederick, the servants, or anyone else thought.

Tamsin removed her cloak and let it drop to the floor as she moved to stand near the large fireplace along the far wall. Then she turned to watch him, her gleaming eyes never leaving his as he advanced on her. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. Just marched up to her and pulled her into his arms, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss that had his blood roaring.

She rose on her toes, her arms winding about his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. He crushed her to him, wanting to erase every bad memory of the night. Obliterate every stare. Every whisper. She opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to tangle with his, and he groaned as she arched into him.

His lips left hers to trail down her throat, and the small moan that escaped her had him closing his eyes to fight for some shred of control. The woman would be his undoing.

A knock sounded at the door, and they broke apart, both struggling to drag in a breath. Tamsin nodded, and he called out, “Enter.”

The door opened to admit one of the maids, who bobbed a quick curtsy. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but His Grace is asking for you.”

Tamsin smiled. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

The maid bowed her head and left, closing the door behind her.

Christian held out a hand and drew Tamsin back into his arms, reaching up to brush a curl from her cheek.

“What’s changed?” he asked. Something had since the first time they’d kissed. She seemed…more sure. Less hesitant.

She took a deep breath and let it back out again. “I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps nothing. Maybe everything,” she said, her fingers playing with the lapel on his jacket. “I suppose I just came to the realization that if they were going to talk, no matter what I did, I might as well do what I wish.”

His smile spread slowly, and he held her a little closer. “And what is it you wish?” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“I…do not yet know,” she said with a laugh.

“Letting things go any farther between us…” he said.

“I know,” she said. “It would be a mistake.”

“Yes.”

Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead, unable to stop himself.

“If we were discreet…” she said, then sighed deeply. “I do not know.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, fighting for control. It was all he could do not to throw her over his shoulder and march straight to his chamber. Even if doing so would be his downfall.

The possibility that it might become hers was the only thing that stopped him. She didn’t deserve to suffer any more than she already had. Regardless of the promise of paradise he saw in her eyes. He wouldn’t be able to survive if that paradise turned into a hell of their own making.

“I must see to James,” she said, reluctantly pulling away from him.

“I will be here if you need me.” That, at least, he could promise her.

She gave him a smile that nearly broke his heart and swiftly kissed him good night before hurrying out to see to her son.

He sank into an armchair and covered his eyes with a hand. He didn’t look up when Frederick took the chair opposite him.

“This is an unexpected turn of events,” Frederick said, his voice thick with amusement.

Christian moved a finger so he could peer at his friend, who just laughed.

“Well,” Frederick said, “your uncle did send you to find a wife while you secured the Clevesly estate.”

“As you’ve repeatedly reminded me. And as I’ve told you, I guarantee the duchess was not the one who he meant me to find.”

Frederick’s eyebrows rose. “And is she?”

Christian covered his eyes again. “I do not know.”

“Yes, you do,” Frederick said with a snort.

Christian let out a sigh and sat up. “Even if she is, I doubt she would agree to it. If it would even be allowed.”

“She is a duchess.”

“Must we have the same conversation every time?” Christian said, sitting up with a growl. “Her father is a merchant. The laws…”

“I know, I know.” Frederick frowned and leaned forward in his chair. “I suppose you can but hope your uncle will see fit to interpret those laws in your favor.”

“Hope is a fragile thing. If my uncle will not relent, but I have already spoken to the lady, I could do her irreparable harm.” He shook his head. “I will not do that to her.”

“Then what happened tonight? And the night of the ball?” Frederick asked, his eyes boring into Christian and seeing far more than Christian would like him to.

“Weakness. Hope. Madness.” Christian let out another long breath. “I know not.”

“Well,” Frederick said, leaning his elbows upon his knees, “if you have been overcome by madness, so have I.”

Both Christian’s brows rose at that. “What do you mean?”

“I will be calling upon Lady Kitty’s father tomorrow to ask for her hand,” Frederick said with a sheepish grin.

Christian sat up in shock. “Lady Kitty? Truly?”

Frederick shrugged, his grin widening. “I never saw the lady coming until it was too late, and I was thoroughly caught.”

Christian chuckled, some of his torment over his own situation easing with his friend’s news. “Happily so, I hope.”

“Very much so,” Frederick said, his smile softening. Christian’s spirits soared with happiness for his friend. Though he was saddened for himself.

“And will I be losing you then, to a new country as well as to a wife?”

“Not entirely,” Frederick assured him. “While our plans for the future are not completely set, we will return home for the foreseeable future. Though I do anticipate many visits to Kitty’s family.”

“I am happy to hear it,” Christian said, glad he wouldn’t be losing his friend just yet. “And I am happy for you, mein Bruder,” he said, reaching out to clasp Frederick’s hand in a firm grip that Frederick returned. “Truly.”

“Thank you,” Frederick said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Have you discussed when the nuptials will take place?” Christian asked.

Frederick cleared his throat. “We wanted to wait until her father had given his permission, but we anticipate no obstacle from that quarter. We wish to be wed as soon as possible.”

Christian chuckled. “I will have a word with the duchess. I’m sure she would be as happy as I to offer Clevesly House for the festivities if the bride’s family wishes.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Frederick said. “Well,” he said, standing and moving toward the door, “I think I shall retire. I need all my wits about me tomorrow.”

Christian chuckled and stood as well, stopping when Frederick turned back.

“Perhaps your uncle will send his response soon,” he said, obviously trying to instill some hope in Christian.

“Perhaps I do not wish to know what his response is,” he said, his mind churning.

Frederick shrugged. “At least then, for good or ill, you’ll know what possibilities your future holds.”

Christian froze for a moment and then nodded. “True. Good night, Frederick.”

Frederick gave him a hope-filled smile and turned on his heel, leaving Christian alone with his torturous thoughts.