Page 2 of Manufacturing a Duchess

“Who, the governess?”

“No, you fool, Marjorie. She’s only a child. And after the hell I saw over in Spain, I want my daughter to be a child as long as she needs to be. She deserves to be free.” And then, almost in a whisper, “She deserves someone better than I.”

A silence fell between the two men at that point, remembering friends who had never come home and friends who had, yet were never the same again. Alexander Raeburn and Finlay Mackenzie had both fought, had both been injured, and now both had trouble sleeping from time to time.

Finn spoke first. “Where are you staying?”

“I’ve hired some rooms. We’ll keep them through the Season. I can’t afford anything grander—no house is within my rather tender budget. I have Archibald to look after me, and Marjorie has Peg, her nurserymaid. We’re a very spare household,” he added ruefully, “And we travel light.”

“Humph. Like the seasoned campaigner you are. Well, listen, my house in Berkeley Square is yours, whenever you want it. And I will ask Mama about a proper governess. She will be delighted to hear you have come to your senses and are searching for a wife for you and a mother for your daughter. The spectacle of Marjorie running wild throughout London won’t help your marriage prospects, cousin, though I would be delighted to accompany you on some of your expeditions. Has she been to the Tower yet and seen the bears?”

“No, she hasn’t. I’ve kept her cooped up in our rooms. That one day of sunshine we had directly after we arrived was ages ago, and she is getting restless. As a result, she has devoured the guidebook at least three times and is begging to get out. I had hoped, with the governess, she could begin to explore the town and see the sights.”

“Well, what if I join the two of you tomorrow for an outing? See the Tower, go to a bookshop, and then Gunther’s for ices? How does that sound?”

“Splendid! Yes! Marjorie will be delighted. And speaking of Marjorie, I had better get back. She may have tied up Peg again practicing all the standard naval knots. For which, incidentally, I hold you entirely responsible. Your book on ships of the line has inspired this latest nautical craze.”

“Then make haste! I shall call at ten of the clock tomorrow. Leave your direction with the porter, and I will retrieve it on the way out.”

Alec’s reply was a warm and grateful smile. He stood, gave his cousin a quick bow, and left.

* * *

The quiet settled once more around Finn, no sound save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the snores from an aged club member sleeping several chairs away. Faintly through the draperies came the steady pounding of the rain. “He’ll get soaked,” but the Duke of Galloway smiled as he reached down for his fallen paper.

Two

Having retrieved his horse and hunched his head down inside his collar, Alec’s thoughts unknowingly echoed Finn’s. “I could almost wish myself back in Spain,” he muttered. With resignation, he set out through the downpour and the crowded streets to make his way to his temporary home.

The return to his lodgings, however, did not improve his mood. Hours later, a now dry, fed, and weary Duke of Selkirk sat in front of his own fire, nursing a drink of something not quite up to the quality of his earlier glass at White’s, and staring at the flames which crackled at him from the fireplace. Based on his present mood, the sound appeared to be mocking him. His daughter and household were settled comfortably in their beds. All upsets had been soothed. He had dismissed his man, Archibald, a few hours earlier, telling him that, duke or not, he could see himself to his own bed. All should be well.

But he was still restless. His meeting earlier in the afternoon with Finn rankled him. It didn’t matter how many times he had this conversation with himself, it didn’t matter that he had come to a decision, and it didn’t matter that he had acted on said decision and travelled down to London with his daughter. This business of finding a wife was an itch around his neck and a roiling in his belly. If he boiled it down, it was a circular conversation consisting of two phrases: “I do not want to do this” and “I must do this.” The only way he could stop the whirling was to tell himself, “This is for Marjorie.”

He tugged at his neckcloth, but he had already loosened it when he sat down with his drink. He stared at the glass, which held only a thin line of whisky. Gulping down the last taste, he half rose to refill it and then sank back down. He had better not. Drinking himself into oblivion was tempting, but it would not help. And tomorrow there would be an outing. For Marjorie.

He leaned his head back and extended his legs toward the flames. He let his mind wander to their first morning in London, after the long ride from his estate in Scotland. He had woken up to find the sun had broken through the clouds and decided to take his daughter for a walk to see some of the town. She was eager to release her pent-up energy from the close quarters of several days in the carriage. Regardless of all his grumbling about having to leave the peace of home for a duty he was loathe to fulfill, he too had been eager to get back out into the hubbub of the enormous city.

The streets of London were crowded that morning. Sidewalks were thronged with strollers and shoppers and the roadways clogged with carriages, riders, and carts. Horseshoes clanged on the stone-paved streets, wheels rumbled, wandering sellers shouted out their wares, cries of outrage followed a young pickpocket as he made a quick getaway clutching a lady’s elegant reticule. Mud and other unmentionables flowed down the gutters, and ladies hoisted their skirts as they attempted to shield themselves from the occasional splashes. Days upon days of rain had momentarily lifted, and the city had burst into human bloom. A touch of chill was still in the air, and a few hot chestnut sellers were doing a brisk business as people paused to buy a bag of warmth to clutch in their gloved hands.

Alec had vaguely recognized he and his daughter had drawn a few looks, more of wonderment than judgement. It was not often you saw a gentleman of his class out walking with his child, with neither hide nor hair of a nursemaid in attendance. It was also the complete comfortableness evident in the pair. They formed a close unit, secure in their own company.

Peg had bundled eight-year-old Marjorie up in a sturdy coat with a fetching bonnet that matched. Well, he had found it to be fetching; his daughter could not have cared less. Clutching his hand as they walked, she took in everything and engaged him in a steady stream of observations. As the occasional passing cart drowned out her words, he’d had to lean down to hear her clearly. The happy spark in her dark eyes gave him a feeling of buoyancy, and he reached over to tug an errant bright curl behind her ear.

Marjorie was eager to look at everything, and, occasionally, she let go of her father’s hand to jump up and down to emphasize a point in what she was recounting.

“Marjorie!” he exclaimed. “Hold onto my hand! These carriages and wagons are dangerous. You could be trampled.”

She skipped back to him, undeterred. “Oh, pooh, Papa! I would not be such a ninny as to hurl myself into the street.”

“Excellent. Let us keep any hurling at bay for the present, imp. Now, we are almost at the bookshop. Shall we see what treasures they have for us in the window?”

“Ooh, yes.” Tugging free again, she darted ahead for the few remaining feet and took up position in front of the wide window. “Oh, look, Papa! Ever so many. Imagine, so many books all gathered together for sale.”

“Yes, just so,” he replied. And father and daughter came to a stop, nearly pressing their noses against the glass. The latest titles were tastefully and temptingly arranged behind it. No need to order and wait for an item to be shipped far up to the north where they lived. You could see something you liked, step inside the shop to purchase it, and carry it home to read that very day.

“I am ready to step inside, Marjorie. Are you? Only one book, mind.”

The lack of a response caused Alec to turn abruptly to the spot where his daughter stood, or rather, had stood. He’d found himself alone in a sea of people heaving themselves up and down the sidewalk. A cold panic gripped him. Damnation! He had told her. Why didn’t she listen?