“Marrying her,” William repeated. “I’ll send for a special license. The wedding will be private, discreet, and soon.”
His father made a sound—half a choked sputter, half a curse. “Secret? A secret wedding? To a bloody governess?”
Charlotte swept into the room like a breeze. “What is all this racket? And what an impressive red you’ve managed, Father. Are you practicing for the House of Lords?”
“Get out,” the Duke snapped.
But William’s voice overrode him, calm and cutting. “You might as well stay. I meant to have this conversation in a more civilized hour, after I’d had my toast, but this is as good as any.”
He turned back to his father. “Miss Ansley and I have been lovers for some time. She is carrying my child. She may give birth before I’m called to the field again.”
The Duke stared at him like he’d been struck. “You don’t have to marry her,” he hissed. “You can keep her. Set her up quietly. But don’t disgrace the family.”
“It will be handled with care. I’ll see to that,” William replied coldly. “She can be moved to a townhouse in Bloomsbury. She’ll have everything she needs. And once I return, I’ll handle the public announcement on my terms.”
“The scandal—”
“Can be managed. The wedding will come first. That’s what matters.”
Charlotte spoke up, tone mild. “Her paternal grandfather was a viscount.”
“And her other grandfather,” the Duke thundered, “was a port merchant! You’ll never lack for a decent bottle on the table, Isuppose, but that’s hardly a reason to marry the woman. The ridicule—our place at Court—”
William didn’t flinch. “It is not negotiable. I’m afraid, Your Grace.”
The Duke sputtered—then fell into a furious silence.
After a beat, he said, “Well, if you insist on this idiocy—a marriage, secret or not—then make it worth it. This is a love match, is it not? I expect heirs. Plural.”
William’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Of course, Your Grace. A baby a year, like a fishwife. I’ll not shirk that particular duty.”
Charlotte made a faint sound—somewhere between a laugh and a groan. The Duke flung his napkin down and stood, storming from the room while muttering about disgrace and dragging a governess into the family line.
Only once he was gone did William let out a long, exhausted breath. Charlotte stepped beside him and rested her hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing, you know.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at the sunlight dancing on the silver teapot. “Yes,” he said finally. “But God help me—I don’t know what it will cost.”
* * *
Jane had not seen him in weeks. She heard his steps before she saw him, that familiar tread across the corridor. Her heart leapt—and then settled, heavy as stone. She remained seated at her desk by the window, the surface strewn with papers, her inkwell nearly dry.
The door opened. William stood there, freshly shaven, perfectly dressed, not a crease in sight. The very look of him almost undid her.
“Good morning,” he said, as though it were a matter of no importance. “I won’t take much of your time.”
She rose carefully. The round swell beneath her gown was now impossible to disguise. She made no attempt. He saw it atonce. His eyes darted to it and then back to her face, almost too quickly.
“You are to be moved,” he said. “This arrangement—your confinement here—is no longer sufficient. The household is beginning to wonder.”
A pause. His manner was even, efficient. “I’ll go out this morning to find a suitable house. Somewhere respectable. It will be yours entirely. Worry not.”
She said nothing. Her hands were folded over her stomach, her back straight, her face calm.
“Your household will be small, a maid and a cook,” he went on. “Keep Mary, if you wish. She’s discreet and knows of your needs.”
Still, she remained silent.
He frowned. “You can imagine, I do not wish to expose you to disgrace, or… ridicule.”
