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“Go on,” his cousin prompted.
“I dreamed that I had, indeed, married. The woman was ghastly, gray, and haggard, nagging me about this and that. There was a drove of my children around me, pulling on my shirttails and sleeves. I kept trying to shake them off, but they clung to me like demons.”
Laughing, Joseph assured him, “Well, we both know that will never happen.”
“Indeed,” Michael laughed.
The woman looked shocked. “Your Grace, but they say all over town that you are to be wed!”
Still laughing at Michael’s dream, Joseph nearly doubled over. Michael looked on in shock. When he finally realized that the woman was earnest, he scoffed. “Marry, indeed.”
“It’s in all the papers,” she assured him, rising. Michael found himself distracted for a moment, watching her walk across the room, clad in nothing but a thin negligee. She found the pamphlet she was looking for on a table by the fireplace and brought it to him.
“See, Your Grace?” she said, pointing to an article.
Michael took the paper from her to read aloud, “’The Rakish Duke of Marigold is settled at last. Reports from the Assembly two weeks past indicate that the virtuous Lady Lydia Wenton, eldest daughter of the late Viscount of Rackliff, has accepted a proposal from the most eligible bachelor of the Season. This report comes as an utmost surprise given that no one can claim to have seen the duke actually speak to the virtuous lady.’”
Michael looked up at Joseph and demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it,” Joseph claimed. His shocked expression convinced Michael that he was telling the truth.
“This is preposterous,” Michael went on, throwing the paper down. He found his shirt and shrugged it over his broad shoulders. “I must find out the source of this gossip and squash it immediately.”
“What harm is there?” Joseph asked. “You do not know the lady and don’t attend the Assemblies. Why worry what the papers say?”
“Some woman thinks that she can use my name to curate favor among society,” Michael seethed. “I must find out who this is and teach her a lesson.”
Still trying to recover his breath from his bout of laughter, Joseph shook his head. “Oh dear, she will learn to never cross you again, Your Grace.”
Michael turned to the woman. “Tell me, how long has this report been perpetuated? Is this the first time the paper has said anything?”
“I believe there was a small mention of it last week,” she told him.
“Weeks!” Michael cried. “I cannot have this go on any longer.”
Finding his waistcoat, Michael pulled it on and buttoned it up. “Come on, Joseph, let’s get to the root of this mystery.”
“You’ll have to go to London,” Joseph reminded him. “And you can’t just set off to the city wearing the clothes from the night before.”
He groaned and the woman pouted at him yet again. He started to think that somehow her pouting had worked on him the previous night.
“What?” he sighed.
“Payment, Your Grace,” she reminded him.
Michael sighed again dramatically, found his coin purse, then tossed several coins at her. “Fine,” he told Joseph. “Let’s head down to London.”
* * *
Kitty sighed, “I do miss London, with the endless balls and the excitement of society.”
Sitting across from her, Michael tried not to roll his eyes. Joseph was engrossed in a paper, thoroughly ignoring his betrothed. The carriage tilted haphazardly across the rough road.
“I’m so glad we are going down, at least for the last few weeks,” she continued. “It is always so dull in the country.”
Realizing that neither man was going to respond, she pouted, and spoke directly to Michael. “Tell me, what embarrassment do you have planned for this wretched Miss Wenton?”
“Lady Lydia, if you please,” Joseph murmured.
