Page 63 of A Tale of Two Dukes

The door in front of us seems simple enough; however, the moment it opens, I freeze, taking in the splendor. Greenery lines the path before us, like a luxurious garden. Around me, others traverse about, not a mask in sight.

It must be for my comfort that he allows me to conceal myself. My heart warms at this knowledge, bursting into flames as William gives me a conspiratorial smirk.

“Tonight, you are my goddess, an unnamed beauty whom everyone will wonder about, but no one will know.”

Even now, others glance our way, some looking over their fans, others outright staring. However, with the mask, I’m free to walk amongst them, unfettered by fear. Rolling my shoulders back, I follow him throughout the space, taking in all the delights.

Pausing, he waits as I take in all the sights surrounding us. “Welcome to Vauxhall Gardens.”

My breath stills as excitement flutters through me. I’ve heard whispers of this place. Anyone who’s ever spoken of it does so with hushed, almost reverent tones. It had been my hope to one day see it with the former Birchleigh after we wed, but truthfully, there’s no one else I’d rather experience this with than my beloved William.

Everything begins to blur as he points out places and gives them names. At some point, he promises to take me to the Rotunda, but I’m too awestruck by the orchestra playing. With an indulgent sigh, he stands next to me, taking in the beautiful music as it pours over us.

Smatterings of feminine giggles and masculine tones intersperse, drawing my attention away from them and onto a group coming toward us. I recognize a few of the girls from The Rose and Thorne, but the only man who looks familiar is William’s brother.

He is without a woman, standing next to another man about his height. However, where Blackport differs from this stranger is the quick intake of breath as he realizes it’s his brother's harlot who accompanies him. The other glances about, his shoulders rigid as he takes in the merriment of the men milling about, conversing with the women.

With a large smile, William raises his hand, motioning to his brother. “Ahh, Robert. You made it. And not alone, I see. Come.” He guides me over to the group, purring in my mind as my anxiety spikes. “You already know my brother.” The man in question gives me a cursory nod, and for once, doesn’t seem to regard me as some vile insect to squash under his boot.

Extending his hand, he rattles off titles while each man nods to me. Seems the stranger with the black hair is Norhaven. To his left is Portswell, a man with a gentle demeanor and light brown eyes. The girl next to him titters behind her fan, glancing up at him in the most besotted manner.

Is this how I appear to William? Shoving it out of my mind, I continue down the line, attempting to commit them to memory. They’re obviously friends of the duke’s, and as such, I must make every attempt to be cordial.

The next in the line is Foxford and a woman I do not recognize. They said she’s his wife, and by the look of them, it’s a true love match. Jealousy eats at me as I note the way the two look at each other, as if they cannot get enough of the other’s presence.

Her claiming mark stands out proudly on her shoulder, a testament to their bond. Whereas mine is on the inside of my thigh, a place no one will ever see. Pain pricks my heart, only alleviated by William’s constant affection humming through the bond.

Bringing up the end of this troupe is Whiteport, brother to Norhaven. He too has a girl from The Rose and Thorne by his side but shows her no attention. Instead, his eyes bore into me, as if looking for all my flaws and imperfections.

“May I present to you, Miss Kitty Bartlett.”

At the sound of my false name, I nearly collapse as I give them all a curtsy. In truth, ever since William said my true name, I ceased to remember myself as Kitty and went back to being Catherine. How foolish of me.

The merriment seems to die down at the proclamation, but the men, thankfully, do not appear to be outright hostile. Not like his brother, that is. That’s something, at least. With his hand on the small of my back, William motions for us to make our way to a row of tents.

The scent of food wafts in the air as we gather around the table, drawing forth a different sort of conversation. As the men converse about hunting, the girls murmur amongst themselves. Granting me a small smile, the Duchess of Foxford leans forward.

“Men and guns, don’t you agree?”

“In truth, this is the first I’ve heard about his love for game. But it’s nice that he has a hobby.” Nervous energy runs through my fingers as I pluck a bit of food from the plate.

She gives an unladylike snort. “Hobby? That’s not a hobby. At least not one that should be conversed on at the table.”

“Then what, pray tell, dear wife, should we talk about?” Foxford raises an eyebrow, his lips set into a thin line. A warning if I’ve ever seen one.

“What about fencing? Dueling? Shakespeare?”

“Only one of those is suitable for your lips, and I shall allow you to figure out which one it is.”

“Come now, Foxford,” William laughs. “You should know by now that your wife could speak about a great many things. I say let her regale all of us on how she drew first blood.”

Stabbing his fork into his food, he shakes his head. “She will do nothing of the sort if she values her backside.”

My eyes widen at the banter amongst the men as their conversation takes on a far different tenor. Somehow, they go from hunting game to hunting down women. Apparently, William’s brother prefers that sport over riding to hounds.

“Don’t let these men fool you,” the duchess whispers. “They’re all talk, but no action.”

“Was not your backside burned just this morning?” Foxford warns, garnering a large grin from his wife. “If you care to see action, I have no issue taking you back home, allowing you to do some penance at your cross. While you’re there, I’m sure you would enjoy ruminating while holding onto a fresh bit of ginger. It’s been a fair minute since your Hail Marys have been stuttered from your lips.”