Page 40 of To Dare a Duke

The rumours of cruelty had begun shortly after their marriage and had been blatant lies. Raising his hand to any woman for any reason was something he’d always believed repugnant. To be falsely accused from his wife’s own mouth, through rumour and gossip… that had been intolerable.

“Prue?” Charles repeated, smiling now at the familiar use of her name. “You mentioned a Saharan wind I think?”

Robert snorted. “I kissed her and—” Damn it, how did he explain this without making her sound like she was no better than she ought to be? Yet, wasn’t that precisely what he wanted to reassure himself about? “And she did not behave as I expected. What did she mean by daring me to meet her, to dance with her, and then kissing me like… like…?” He trailed off, appalled to feel heat creeping up his neck. “I’ll not make another mistake, Uncle. I… I just can’t.”

Charles looked at him, sympathy in his eyes. He at least had never been fooled by Lavinia. He’d seen through her from the first.

“Miss Chuffington-Smythe is everything I told you she was, Robert,” he said firmly. “She will make you a fine wife, and be a good and loving mother. I know she would be a faithful wife, loyal to her husband, especially if she has given her heart to him. I realise, however, that you’ll have a fight on your hands to gain it. Her father has given her a deep mistrust of men and no desire to marry. Yet, she is a young woman like any other; no doubt last night’s frivolity was a desire for romance. Women like to be courted, Robert. Indeed, everyone, you included, needs a little romance in their lives.”

“That is the last thing I need,” Robert snapped, annoyed now. “I told you I wanted none of that. I told you I did not want a woman to love, or to love me. I simply need a wife I can tolerate, with whom I can agree on the raising of our children, of my heir, and that’s all.”

Charles let out a breath; a pitying look accompanied the sound, and raised Robert’s hackles still further. “Then find your own bride and leave Miss Chuffington-Smythe alone. If you can’t be bothered to do the thing properly, to secure your own and her happiness, then I’ll have no part in it.”

“You never implied I must make the blasted girl love me when we spoke,” Robert protested, stung by the remark. “You said she was a sensible young woman!”

“As she is!” his uncle threw back with more force than Robert had been expecting. His anger was palpable. “Sensible enough not to tie herself to a man who doesn’t give a snap of his fingers for her happiness. Now, do as you will, Robert, it’s your affair, but leave me to eat my breakfast in peace. You’re giving me indigestion.”

Robert got to his feet in silence. Only his uncle would ever dare speak to him so, leaving him feeling rather more like a scolded boy than the Duke of Bedwin. He knew he could make the point of his rank, and Charles would be forced to apologise. If he did so, however, he would damage one of the few close relationships that mattered a damn to him, and so he held his tongue. He was halfway to the door when Charles spoke again.

“I’m fond of that girl, Robert, and I think you two could be happy together, but if you hurt her, I’ll never forgive you.”

Robert bowed his head in acknowledgement, and left the room.

***

The morning of the 21st of April. At the residence of Miss Ruth Stone. Upper Walpole Street. London 1814.

“Well?” exclaimed the young women in varying tones of breathless excitement as Prue joined the rest of the Peculiar Ladies.

“Well what?” she asked, all innocence as they hurried to get her settled down with a cup of tea, impatient for her news.

“Oh, stop it, Prue,” Matilda begged, looking as if she wanted to stamp her foot. “We can see you have news. For heavens’ sake, tell us before we all burst of curiosity!”

Prue smirked, rather enjoying herself. She still thought the dare had been a grand piece of folly, but could not help congratulating herself on having achieved it so swiftly. Kitty’s eyes were on her, narrowed in suspicion.

“You danced in a garden?” the young woman said, her scepticism blatant. “At midnight?”

“I did,” Prue replied, not beyond crowing a little, as a triumphant smile curved over her mouth.

“I suppose you followed the letter of the dare and danced by yourself,” Kitty grumbled, folding her arms and looking sulky. “We ought to have rewritten it before you left. Everyone should have been more careful with their wording,” she added, glaring about the assembled company.

“I was not alone,” Prue replied, taking a nonchalant sip of tea. The room exploded with squeals of delight and intrigue, and Prue almost upset the cup entirely as Bonnie clutched at her arm.

“Who was it?” she demanded, almost bouncing with excitement. “Tell us!”

Prue frowned a little and stared about the room, meeting each woman’s gaze.

“I must have an oath first, an oath on our friendship, on the loyalty of each Peculiar Lady to one another. Anything said within the sanctity of these meetings, anything to do with the dares we accept, or their outcomes, we will take to our graves.”

“Agreed!” said everyone at once, but Matilda shook her head and raised her hand.

“I think we should also swear an oath,” she said, her voice firm. “That no matter what, we support each other. If ever one of us is in trouble, each and every one of us will drop everything and come running, that we will never leave one of our number out in the cold to face the wolves alone.”

“Agreed,” Prue said without hesitation, smiling her approval at Matilda.

After a moment’s hesitation, everyone followed her example, their voices grave and sincere, and Matilda smiled, then turned to Prue and clapped her hands together with glee.

“Tell us everything!”