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Lydia nodded sadly. “Yes, mother.”
Martha turned to Francis. “Take Lydia and call the coach. Go straight home at once. I’ll gather the girls and go in the second coach.”
* * *
Michael had been looking around for Lydia and her family. He had been making polite conversation with other guests, carefully avoiding the dance floor. He began to grow worried after checking the time, realizing that they were already an hour late.
When he saw Trinity clutching a stack of papers, looking around the room frantically, he began to get suspicious. He made an excuse to the older man he had been talking to so that he could follow Trinity. As he tried to push through the crowd without looking too obvious, she wrested a piece of paper from a gentleman, who looked amused and surprised. A small hand grasped his arm and he looked down to the duchess’s tiny form.
“Duke, I need to have a private word with you,” she whispered, a polite smile painted on her face.
“What is going on?” Michael asked, looking up to see where Trinity had gone, but she had disappeared into the crowd.
“Come with me,” she insisted, pulling on Michael’s arm as discreetly as she could.
Michael sighed, following the duchess out into the hall, past the guests lingering in the corridors. Finding a quiet alcove, Michael turned to the duchess. The seriousness in her face made him pause, surprised by the earnestness in her expression.
“What is going on?” he asked again, concerned.
She motioned for him to lower his voice, pressing a folded piece of paper into his hand.
“Someone does not want you to marry the Wenton girl,” she told him. “So much that they are desperate to ruin her reputation.”
Michael took the paper, unfolded it, and read it with a furrowed brow.
“I need not know what happened between the two of you,” the duchess said, cutting him off when he started to speak. “But if you care anything for that girl, you need to act quickly.”
“What do you mean?” Michael whispered. “I do not understand.”
“When the word of this letter gets out tomorrow, she will be totally ruined. She will have no prospects. Her sisters will be ruined.”
“What am I to do?” Michael said, desperately, searching the duchess’s face.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
“I care for her-”
“Do you love her, though?” she asked emphatically. “I know you refuse to marry, but do you love her enough to marry her anyway?”
Michael felt the blood rush from his head, realizing the duchess was right. The only way to avoid Lydia being totally ruined would be to marry her as quickly as possible. As though something clicked in his mind, he felt his reservations fall away, thinking only of Lydia’s best interest.
“I must get a license,” he whispered to himself.
“Yes, tonight, if you can,” she told him. She put a hand on his arm. “Listen, Duke, you must trust no one. You have no idea who is trying to keep her from marrying you, or why, even. But marrying her is the best thing you can possibly do for her.”
Feeling his hands start to shake, Michael stared down at the ridiculous caricature on the paper. Anger filled his chest, enraged by whoever would try to hurt Lydia. Thinking back to finding the letter on his desk, the threatening note that she received, he started to wonder who really hated her so much.
“The archbishop would be asleep at this hour,” Michael mused.
“I’m not so sure,” the duchess argued. “Go quickly, though, and speak to no one. The streets should be quiet at this time,”
Michael refolded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. Taking deep breaths, he nodded. “Thank you, Duchess.”
“No, thank you,” she smiled, her coy smile returning. “You have indeed given me the most dramatic evening. I’m happy to be a part of the plan.”
He bent and kissed her chastely on the cheek. “Tomorrow morning I will wake a married man. Wish me well.”
“Good luck!” she cried as he rushed past her into the hallway.
