His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two
His Grace, The Duke: Chapter 71

Rosalie clung to Burke and Tom as the crowd surged out the doors of the church. By the time they made it outside, James and the Queen were gone, whisked away in carriages. The crowd outside had more than doubled, filling the streets. They were jubilant at the sight of their Queen. Word spread like wildfire about James, leaving all to gossip and exclaim.

“Hurry,” Burke muttered, shouldering his way forward, holding tight to Rosalie’s arm. Tom boxed her in from behind as they pushed their way towards one of the waiting carriages. The footmen wearing the Corbin livery stood back and Burke helped her in.

From inside the carriage, eager hands reached for her. “Oh, Miss Harrow, it is pandemonium out there,” cried Mariah, pulling her safely inside. She was soon wedged on the bench seat next to the Swindons, their mother already seated across from them, Blanche at her side.

Rosalie spun for the door, still holding to Burke’s hand. “Wait—”

“We’ll meet you at the house,” he said, letting her go as the footman shut the door with a snap.

“Drive on!” Tom barked, rapping the side of the carriage with his fist.

The coachman called to the horses and the carriage lurched forward, wheels creaking on the cobblestones. Rosalie quickly lost view of her men in the sea of faces.

All the ladies exclaimed about the sudden change of events as Rosalie’s mind spun faster than the carriage wheels. James had looked at her. He held her gaze and nodded. What did it mean? Was he pleased? Was he angry with her? Did he resent her?

They arrived back in no time, all the ladies spilling out of the carriage. Inside, the house was in uproar as servants darted about, whispering excitedly.

“Mrs. Robbins, what’s happening?” Rosalie called, catching the lady by the arm as she rushed past.

“Oh, Miss Harrow, we just heard the news. It’s so wonderful—we’ve been told to prepare for a larger party, and we have no time. Even now they are on our doorstep!” she cried, hurrying away, calling out orders to maids and footmen as she went.

Already, guests were arriving, eager to celebrate the investiture of the new duke (and gossip about the fate of the old one). Rosalie didn’t miss how the subtle touches of a wedding ceremony were quickly being altered. Before her eyes, three men swept past and snatched up the large wedding cake, shuffling away with it balanced between them.

She spun on her heel, trying to look everywhere at once. Where was James? Had he already returned? Was he somewhere in the house? And where was poor George? She wove through the crowd, looking for a familiar face. Each moment, more guests seemed to appear. A footman passed with a tray, and she snagged a glass of champagne. Before she could get it to her lips, it was snatched from her hand.

“Give me that,” Olivia panted, draining the flute in three gulps. She looked flushed, anxious.

“Olivia, are you—”

“This is your fault,” she hissed, shoving the empty glass back at her.

Rosalie’s heart stilled. “My fault?” To own the truth, at that moment Olivia could have been referencing any number of things and be correct. The name Burke gave her all those weeks ago seemed fitting at last. She was the siren who sat upon the jagged rocks, luring all men to their demise.

“Oh, he is insufferable,” Olivia said on a soft breath. “Why can he not just leave well enough alone?”

Rosalie followed the direction of her gaze across the crowded room. It was impossible to miss the towering form of Captain Hartington standing by the punch bowl. Like Tom, he looked devastatingly handsome in his uniform—not that she’d ever admit it aloud, especially where Burke might hear. “Has something happened?” she murmured, depositing the empty champagne glass on an obliging side table.

Olivia scowled at her. “As if you don’t know. As if you haven’t been egging him on all this time.”

“I have done nothing—”

“Then your men have been hard at work,” Olivia countered.

Rosalie furiously fought her blush as she took a steadying breath. “My men?”

Olivia gave a very unladylike roll of her eyes. “Don’t play stupid with me, Miss Harrow. Blanche and Mariah may be twittering fools, but I am not. And neither is Elizabeth, you should know,” she added with a level look. “Mr. Burke and Lieutenant Renley are in your pockets. How deep, I will not speculate, but I do know they’ve been whispering in William’s ear, spinning him up.”

Rosalie held Olivia’s gaze. In a daring move, she chose not to deny her claim. The time for games and half measures was over. They were quite literally out of time. “Olivia, Captain Hartington still loves you.”

Olivia stilled, tears springing to her eyes. “Did he tell you that?” she whispered.

Rosalie shook her head. “No. He would hardly admit such a thing to me. But he told Lieutenant Renley and Mr. Burke.” She reached out a hand, curling it around the fine satin of Olivia’s sleeve. “I say he is in love with you. A handsome, rich sea captain with a bright future who claims as his relation one of the most illustrious peers in the land. You would be the wife of a captain. Goodness knows he will advance, perhaps all the way to the Admiralty. A sister to a duke. Why do you hesitate?”

Olivia blinked back tears, turning her gaze from the captain. “Why does he?”

Rosalie’s heart was fit to gallop out of her chest. Burke’s freedom was inches way, she could feel it. “What can you mean?”

“Why hasn’t he asked me to marry him? Is he afraid I’ll say no again?” She turned to Rosalie, clinging to her hand, hope blooming in her eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

Rosalie heaved a sigh of relief. “Then for goodness’ sake, tell him that. Tell him to ask you again, Olivia. Tell him your answer before he asks—”

“I couldn’t possibly,” she cried. “It’s not right—not proper—a lady does not—”

“Fuck what a lady does,” Rosalie hissed, losing all patience. Her men were clearly rubbing off on her. She’d never said that word in her life before.

Olivia blinked in surprise, eyes wide.

Rosalie took her by both hands. “You have a chance here, Olivia. A real chance at happiness. Do you know how rare that is? Forget about all these people and their rules. The only thing that matters is that you love him, and he loves you. So, leave your horrible pride behind you, and choose to be happy.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Olivia said, her voice so small and unsure.

“Nothing is ever easy for us,” Rosalie replied solemnly. “The life of a woman is a life of making choices that follow us for forever and a day. You made a choice regarding him once. Life has given you the rarest of gifts: a second chance. It is time to make your choice again.”

Olivia sniffed, glancing down at their joined hands. “You know, I think I might be learning to like you…despite the fact that you stole my fiancé away.”

Rosalie smirked. “He was never yours to steal. And I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do more than merely tolerate you,” she added.

Olivia belied her feelings with a soft smile.

Rosalie gave her hands a squeeze. “Now, I don’t mean to hurry this along, but your Captain Hartington is headed this way.”

Olivia gasped, dropping her hands. “Oh heavens, he’s insufferable. He can’t mean to approach me here!”

Rosalie grinned, pointing over the lady’s shoulder. “If you follow that hallway, there’s a painting of hounds on the hunt. The next door is a servant’s stair. Lead him that way. At least it is some privacy,” she finished with a wink.

“Heaven, help me,” Olivia breathed. Snatching a second glass of champagne off a passing tray, she turned and darted away. Within moments, Captain Hartington adjusted his course, ever so like a hound on the hunt.

Rosalie stood alone in the crowded room, taking a few deep breaths. This day was already so overwhelming, and it was barely halfway over. She didn’t know how many more surprises she could take. Centering her thoughts back on James, she glanced around, determined to replace him. They needed to talk. She had to know. Their stairwell was taken, so she’d have to improvise.

“We’re to have dancing!” Blanche cried, coming up behind her and looping their arms together. “They’re opening the courtyard for dancing, come and look! It’s a bit cool, but how can we mind the chill when there is such excitement to be had?”

Rosalie gave a weak laugh. “Surely this event ought to have an air of solemnity—”

“Oh, tosh,” Blanche cried. “How can you not be excited, Miss Harrow? Lord James—excuse me—His Grace,” she twittered, “is now the most exciting, the most handsome, the most eligible peer in the land!”

Rosalie stilled, heart beating wildly. “Eligible?”

“Of course, silly,” Mariah laughed, suddenly appearing at her other side. “When he was just a viscount, he was eligible enough, but now that the title is really his, every unmarried lady in the ton will be throwing themselves at him left right and center.”

“And we have the advantage,” Blanche said, her voice suddenly conspiratorial. “For we already share such intimacy with him.” She paused, giving Rosalie’s arm a little pat. “Well, perhaps not you, Miss Harrow. He’s never really shown you much interest.”

Rosalie sucked in a breath. The thought of another woman sharing intimacy with James was enough to make her want to scream, cry, tear apart this house stone by stone.

“Blanche, don’t be cruel,” said Mariah. “He danced with her at Michaelmas, remember?”

“Well, he’ll not be dancing with her tonight,” Blanche replied. “Not if the rabid ladies of the ton have anything to say about it.”

This was all too much. Rosalie needed to see him. Needed to talk to him. Had this changed things for him? Had she ruined everything?

“Good morning, Miss Harrow,” came a quiet voice behind her.

She spun around, sighing with relief to see the wide eyes and soft smile of Lady Madeline Blaire. “Madeline,” she said, reaching out for her.

The ladies embraced, Madeline taking a step back and pulling Rosalie with her.

The other young ladies darted away, too excited to go and inspect the new dance floor.

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Madeline murmured, letting Rosalie go.

“Thank you,” she replied, blinking back tears. “I—heavens, I know I’m just being silly.”

“Much is changing.” Madeline gave her a knowing look. “Has he made you any promises already?”

Rosalie’s eyes darted up as she stilled, searching Madeline’s face. She was such a sweet thing, so young and innocent, with her wide doe eyes and freckled cheeks. And yet, Rosalie got to know her over the weeks they spent at Alcott. She saw the quiet strength in her, the cleverness, the resolve. Madeline was smart enough to see what the others apparently did not.

Slowly, Rosalie nodded.

Madeline pat her arm reassuringly. “He will hold to them. He is too proud to falter once his path is chosen. If he made you a promise, he will keep it.”

“It’s complicated,” Rosalie whispered. “He would risk too much for my sake. Even if he wanted to keep his promise, dare I let him?”

Madeline considered for a moment. “I think…if you expect him to respect your choices, you must respect his in turn. If he chooses you, accept it. If this changes things too much for him, then you can move on.”

Rosalie closed her eyes, willing her heart not to break. Nothing could be known until she talked to James. Until they all spoke together. Her senses hummed as she felt eyes on her and she turned. There, at the far end of the hall, stood James. Apparently, he’d been taken upstairs and changed out of his wedding attire. He now wore fashionable evening clothes, the sash of his new title draped across his chest.

Swallowing her fears, she took a step forward. As she did, Burke and Tom came into view, standing to either side of James. They put their heads together, speaking low, before the other two turned, watching as she crossed the room towards them. James looked stoic, Burke resolved…but then Tom smiled.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she moved faster, desperate to be by their sides, to hear James say this changed nothing. He still wanted her, wanted all of them. Together.

A face in the crowd caught her eye, and Rosalie felt all her senses hiss with alarm. She glanced from her men back to the intruder, following their path with her eyes. Possessive anger flooded her chest as she veered off course, weaving through the growing throng of excited guests.

“You should not be here,” she declared, turning her back on her men to block Marianne’s path.

“Out of my way,” Marianne hissed. “This does not concern you anymore, whore.”

The woman looked mad. She wore her finest clothes—a perfectly tailored morning dress and pelisse, a fashionable bonnet trimmed with bright ribbons, feathers, and bows—but her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. Her hair looked unkempt, and she quivered with a nervous energy that set Rosalie’s teeth on edge. She’d had dreams of this madwoman, but the reality was somehow so much worse.

Rosalie raised her hands, alarm ringing loud as church bells in her ears. “Your quarrel is with me. Marianne, please, leave Tom out of it.”

The lady snarled. “You don’t understand! No one ever understands. Tom is mine.” She panted, chest heaving as she narrowed her eyes with resolve. “And if I can’t have him, no one can.”

Rosalie gasped, doom flooding her very bones. The room suddenly seemed to spin, the crowd a swirl of smiling faces. Colors and music and laughing couples. But Rosalie saw nothing except the large pistol Marianne raised in her shaky hand. She felt nothing but the arm the lady shoved against her chest, tipping her off balance. She heard nothing but the shot, ringing in her ears. And she smelled the smoke of the powder, stinging her nostrils.

The crowd erupted into chaos all around as Rosalie tumbled to the floor. In all the madness, one voice echoed over all others. It was a haunting, desperate wail. James’ voice pierced her soul.

“No! Burke, noooo!”