Page 2 of Dare to be Wicked

Eliza watched her go and sighed. If only the promise of chocolate and cake could give her such a burst of energy. She was ready to drop.

“You did very well today, Eliza, I was proud of you—of all of you,” her father amended, resting his hand on Jules’s shoulder as he watched Lottie disappear along the upstairs landing.

Jules yawned, smothering it behind his hand. “Well, I’m dashed glad, as I’ve never been so bored in all my life. I hope to God the queen has a good long reign in her, for I’ve no desire to endure that performance again any time soon. G’night, Sir, Mama.”

“Don’t forget we must leave for Holbrook before midmorning,” Mama warned him as he climbed the stairs.

There was an audible groan of protest, but Jules kept moving, disappearing in the same direction as his sister.

“Well, goodnight—” Eliza began, only to give a gasp of alarm. “Mama!”

Her father moved fast, catching her mother about the waist just before she fell,

“Oh!” Mama raised a hand to her head, her countenance pale. “Oh, dear.”

“Prue, darling, what is it?” the duke demanded, stricken.

Eliza’s mother gave them both a rueful expression. “Well, it is a little early to tell yet, but my money is on another girl, around the end of November, if I know anything.”

“Mama!”

“Prue! B-But we said… we agreed… no more,” her father exclaimed.

Mama snorted and returned an arch look. “Don’t look at me like that. I hardly did it all by myself.”

“Mama,” Eliza said faintly, smothering her mouth with her hand and trying hard not to laugh.

Her poor father looked as if he needed a drink.

“Seven!” he said, as if he could argue her into changing her mind about it. “Deuce take it, you impossible creature, we agreed seven was quite enough.”

Mama shrugged and leaned into the duke, her blue eyes soft with adoration. “But eight is such a nice round number. We shall call her Octavia.”

Papa sighed and leaned down to kiss her.

“Darling,” he said helplessly.

Mama’s maid appeared at the top of the stairs and the duchess smiled up at her. “Perfect timing, Sally.”

The woman hurried down to her mistress and gave her an arm to lean on.

The duke stared after her. “Prue, are you quite—”

“Fit as a fiddle! Just a little tired so don’t start fretting over me, Robert, darling. I will be perfectly fine,” the duchess said with a blithe smile. “Like shelling peas,” she added with a wave of her hand and a snort of laughter as she made her way up the stairs.

“Shelling peas? Oh, good God, that woman….” her father said.

He stood, misty-eyed, watching her go—too shocked to move, Eliza suspected.

“Go to bed, Papa,” Eliza urged him.

“She’s not as young as she once was,” he said, his voice taut with strain.

“No, but she really is fit and strong, and far too stubborn to allow anything to disturb her plans for the future. She will be fine, Papa. I’m certain of it.”

He nodded, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“She will,” he said, with the determined air of a duke whose word was law. “She will.”