Page 11 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

Whenever they arrived at Hadlow, Marce would hurry to his mother’s private sitting room, and the two would visit for most of Marce’s stay. She would take up care for Rowan’s ailing mother; providing her with companionship and delicate attention. Unquestionably, it was the most difficult obstacle standing in Rowan’s way, making it impossible to end their farce. How was he to admit his deception to his mother and rip Marce from the duchess’s life? There was no doubt that once freed from their arrangement, Rowan would never see the woman again. He deserved nothing less, but his mother was worthy of more.

And so, the years had passed. Rowan and Marce remained bound, tied by unseen ropes that coiled as tightly around him as they did her.

Lady Leona Harwich was kind, compassionate, and had given Rowan everything in his life, especially after his father betrayed and abandoned them.

Marce had been a simple way to repay his mother for her sacrifices. Though he’d never imagined the sheer happiness his mother would gain from his marriage to Marce.

At least with Marce close, Rowan could suppress his guilt over keeping such a damning secret from his mother.

“We’ve arrived, Your Grace.” Something knocked his boot, and he slowly opened his eyes to note that Marce had kicked him…actually kicked him to rouse him from slumber.

Rowan straightened as their carriage pulled to a halt before his family home. The estate never ceased to amaze him with its expansive stone façade and looming towers that hadn’t been inhabited for generations, though had, in no way, succumbed to deterioration. The sweeping land around Hadlow rolled like waves in every direction—farmland for the local townsfolk, and his mother’s treasured gardens at the rear of the main house. In the distance, the gamesman’s cottage could be seen nestled in a thicket. A glimpse in the other direction revealed Cresthaven Park, the estate of his longtime friend, Tobias. Lord Cresthaven.

Not a thing was out of place or altered from his previous trip during the late summer months of the year before; yet, he sensed that something had indeed changed. The air was as fresh and brisk as it always was this time of year. The herons squawked from their perch in the grove at the side of his manor near the pond. The sun was not high for the time of day, but there were no clouds to keep the sparse warmth from reaching the ground below. Glancing out the window, Rowan spotted a stable hand walking a mare, and a maid lugging a pail toward the kitchens. Nothing was amiss. Perhaps it was Rowan who had undergone some unknown change during his time away from Hadlow.

The coach shifted when Charles climbed down from his perch to open the door and set down the steps, his hand appearing in the opening to assist Marce down as the cold, February air invaded the warmth of the confined space.

“Shall we?” Rowan swept his arm toward the coach exit.

Her brow rose, and he could swear she worked hard to hide a smirk. “By all means, Your Grace, let us embark on another round of our charade.”

With that, she gathered her package and took Charles’ hand to depart, leaving Rowan with a grin of his own; however, he was uncertain why he found her words comical. Perhaps it was the irony of their situation, or a return to normalcy Rowan hadn’t fully realized was missing since she’d arrived in Welling. Could it be that she had been the one to change since their last visit to Hadlow?

Normalcy meant safety, a return to what was expected with no chance for surprises. They would spend their brief few days at Hadlow, and after that, they would go their separate ways as was expected. As had been their routine for years.

Rowan’s secret would hold for at least a few more months until the opportunity for his lies to be exposed once again arose during their next visit.

Yes, another round of their charade was exactly what Rowan needed.

“Good day, Mr. Pelton,” Marce’s voice drifted to him inside the carriage. “Mrs. Giles, the new uniforms are superb. Constance has superior skill with a needle, wouldn’t you say, Charles?”

Rowan remained out of sight as he listened to her greet his servants as if she were truly the Duchess of Harwich.

His duchess.

She’d even baited Charles, his driver, who took great care not to address Marce in any manner for fear he’d speak out of turn and anger Rowan.

“How is the duchess this day?” It was always Marce’s first question upon arrival.

Rowan could picture the way she expectantly gazed at his servants as she awaited their answer, not so much as drawing breath until it was confirmed that his mother was well.

It was his housekeeper, Mrs. Giles, who offered a reply. “She is doing well today. Her chest is quiet, and no coughing fits have plagued her as yet, though she refused to rest until you arrived, Lady Harwich.”

“I think I shall hurry up to see her then. If that pleases Your Grace,” she said, pausing for Rowan to answer.

Rowan departed the carriage to see the trio awaiting his reply as Charles moved to collect their traveling bags from where they’d been stowed. Why had she thought it would not please him? In all these years, he’d never discouraged her from visiting his mother despite the devastation he knew would come when the truth eventually came to light.

“Very good,” Rowan said with a nod. “I will settle into my study and join you both for our meal later.”

“That is a splendid idea, dear husband.”

“I knew you’d agree, my lovely.”

Rowan noted her strained smile as she pivoted and entered Hadlow, her chin notched up.

Mr. Pelton cleared his throat and hurried to assist Charles, while a groom rounded the main house and collected Rowan’s horse. Mrs. Giles rubbed her hands down her white apron and turned to follow in Mr. Pelton’s wake.

As had been the custom, everyone played his or her parts in the charade that was Rowan and Marce’s marriage. For all intents and purposes, Marce was the Duchess of Harwich, though every person at Hadlow knew the lie for what it was.