He knew, therefore, that he could expect a draft for a thousand pounds from Lord Adderwood, who’d bet that Miss Lexham would not make her curtsey to the Queen before the end of the month.
He did not know until this moment that His Grace had lost the wager regarding Miss Lexham’s being wed before the end of the London Season.
“I’m getting married,” His Grace informed his two employees. “To Miss Lexham. Next week, perhaps.”
Both men maintained their usual wooden expressions. Both offered the correct form of congratulations.
Both felt queasy, albeit for different reasons. Osgood feared that a lady in the house would upset his neat order and disturb his papers.
Harrison, who had no intention of letting any female interfere in any way with his arrangements, was mortified at the prospect of having to abase himself to a person who had made a spectacle of herself in the newspapers—one who had, furthermore, administered to him a setdown that a certain footman had repeated to another. Harrison had dismissed both servants without a character.
His Grace knew nothing about this. His Grace didn’t know one footman from another.
“I shall make a note for a special license,” said Osgood. “And the purchase of a ring.”
“I planned to go to Doctors’ Commons for the license tomorrow,” said the duke.
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Osgood. “Have you any particular requirements regarding the ring?”
“Indeed, I do,” said His Grace. “I shall see about that, too, tomorrow. While I’m in the neighborhood, I’ll stop at Rundell and Bridge.”
Rundell and Bridge were royal goldsmiths and favorites of the Prince Regent. The shop at Number Thirty-two Ludgate Hill included among its regular customers not only English royals and nobility but those European crowned heads who’d managed to keep theirs attached to their necks.
If Harrison had ever worn an expression, it would have grown grimmer. But all his thoughts were written on the inside.
His master, to his knowledge, had never personally selected and purchased a piece of jewelry for anybody since coming into the title. It was Osgood’s responsibility to buy the gifts His Grace gave to his amours. The duke’s wishing to visit Rundell and Bridge himself and choose the engagement ring himself boded ill. The Harem Girl, clearly, had her hooks in him very deeply, indeed.
“I must pay a brief call tonight,” Marchmont said casually to his secretary. “I shall wish to bring a gift.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
No more was said. No more needed to be said. The duke was getting married. A gift to the party he was not marrying was in order, and Osgood would be expected to have a suitable parting gift on hand.
The duke gave no further instructions. It wouldn’t occur to him to do so. Osgood, who operated independently of the household staff, knew exactly what was required of him. Harrison, as usual, would ascertain what needed to be done next in his sphere and would communicate these requirements to those in the lower ranks.
When the duke went up to dress, he let Hoare know of the impending nuptials in the same offhand way. Hoare wept, but then he wept over buttons and over-starched neckcloths. The only reason Marchmont hadn’t sacked him was that he was used to him and it was too much bother to get used to somebody new. Everybody knew this, including Hoare.
After the master went out again, Harrison summoned the valet, cook, butler, and housekeeper to his luxurious parlor. He gave them sherry and assured them that Marchmont House would continue to run as it had always run. There would be a slight augmentation of the staff in order to properly attend to the increased responsibilities. Otherwise, all would go on as usual. While there was bound to be a short period of adjustment at first, he did not expect significant interference or disruption in the day-to-day operation of the duke’s establishment.
To Mrs. Dunstan he later confided, “I foresee no difficulties whatsoever—fewer, in fact, than might attend had His Grace chosen differently. The Mohammedans do not believe in educating women. Everyone knows there’s little in ladies’ heads but fashion and scandal. This lady will know even less of household matters than the average English gentlewoman, and she will be less inclined to tend to them. We must not look upon this as a catastrophe but as an opportunity to enlarge the establishment.”
Had Mrs. Dunstan harbored any lingering anxieties or doubts, Harrison’s confidence banished them. The following day, all the upper servants were cheerfully bustling about and bullying their inferiors, to prepare the house to receive its new mistress.
As to the unpleasant episode during her brief visit to Marchmont House—Harrison refused to let it trouble him. Once the lady lived under his roof, he told himself, she, like everyone else, would live by his rules.
Later that night, the duke paid a call to Lady Tarling.
Wearing the same wry smile she’d adopted on a previous occasion, she opened yet another velvet box. This one was green. This one contained a set of three gold floral bouquet brooches, set with colored diamonds.
They had been made to be worn separately or attached to form a tiara.
“How beautiful,” she said.
“I’m getting married,” he said.
She nodded and looked up. She was not surprised, except at how little the news surprised her. “I see.”
“I preferred that you not read about it in the papers first,” he said.
