Page 38 of Manufacturing a Duchess

“The Beautiful Lady?”

“The one we saw that day at the Tower. The one who did not seem real. It was wonderful to look at her, but I think I would not like to have her for my stepmother.”

“Whyever not?”

Marjorie shivered. “She seemed very cold. I do not think she would be fond of little girls.”

“Well, that is an assessment of which we cannot be sure. Her name is the Honorable Miss Millicent Wentworth, and she is the daughter of Lord and Lady Wentworth. Also, yes, she is beautiful and refined and elegant.”

Marjorie nodded numbly and ducked her head.

“Nevertheless, she is not the woman I have asked to be my duchess.”

“She’s not?”

“No, sweetheart. Miss Wentworth needs a fortune. I cannot provide her with one. Miss Hardcastle, on the other hand, does not find my lack of a fortune to be a hindrance.”

“Miss Hardcastle?” At that, Marjorie’s head shot up. “My friend, Miss Hardcastle? Aurora?”

“Calling her Aurora is very forward, Marjorie.”

“Oh, Papa—she told me to. My Miss Hardcastle? You are going to marry my Miss Hardcastle?”

“Yes, imp. I have asked her. And she has accepted me. Provisionally, that is. She wanted me to speak to you first, however. She wanted to make sure you approved.”

“Approved? Oh, Papa!” Marjorie jumped up and flung herself against her father. “That is the most wonderful news! Then I can be friends with Miss Hardcastle forever! I never have to say good-bye to her, ever ever ever!”

Her father drew her to him and kissed her on each cheek. “I take it you are happy, then, with my choice?”

“Oh, yes, Papa. When do I get to see her?”

“Soon. We are going to take a trip up to her family’s home so I can settle the details with her Papa. Would you like that? To take a trip to see Auro—Miss Hardcastle’s home?”

“Oh, yes, Papa. Will I be able to ride in the carriage with her?”

“I believe that can be arranged. In the meantime, we should start packing. Are you sorry to be leaving London?”

Marjorie shook her head. “I have seen enough, Papa. I am ready to leave.” She hopped down off his lap, where she had briefly settled herself, and headed toward the door that would eventually lead her to her room. “I shall inform Peg. We shall begin getting ourselves set to rights.”

Her father smiled at her. “Excellent, sweetheart.”

Marjorie turned, though, before she stepped out and looked at her father with a clear and cool appraisal in her eyes. “So, we came to London on a campaign, then. And it was successful.”

“Yes, Marjorie, it was successful.”

“Of course it was, Papa. You are the most brilliant soldier in the world.”

“What? Even greater than Wellington?”

“Well, perhaps not greater than Wellington. But very near the top.”

With that parting summation, she stepped away. Alec deflated back into the cushions. Thank God that ordeal was over. It had gone a great deal better than he had expected. Now he only had to report back the results of his conversation with Marjorie to his near-affianced bride. And pack. And tell Finn. He was not yet home free, and he had a momentary wonder whether he would ever truly be again.

Thirty

The next day, Alec sent a note round to Berkeley Square, requesting his cousin, the Duke of Galloway, to join him at a coffee house on the Strand for them to discuss matters somewhere away from their normal purlieus. Said missive was answered promptly in the affirmative. Therefore, twenty-four hours after his proposal and negotiations were well in hand, Finn and Alec sat down together at the end of a much-scrubbed table in a moderately filled establishment, and Alec could relax. At least slightly.

They each ordered the house brew. Alec was pleasantly surprised it was not completely watered down by the establishment but instead hot and hearty. “Ah, I have missed this,” he said.