Page 19 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

The businesses were not stressed because of any decision Rowan made—but one would not know that by seeing the unnecessary excess surrounding him at that moment.

Glancing toward the head of the table as Tobias took his seat next to Rowan’s mother, he was about to chastise everyone in the room. Heat crept up his neck and moved past his perfectly tied neckcloth to his ears. Servants lined the walls as if this were a daily occurrence at Hadlow Estate, their newly commissioned uniforms in perfect order.

Everything was perfect, from the place settings to the food to the servants to the—

Guests.

Rowan turned his head to take in his mother and Marce, both seated near the head of the table to his left and right, as they chatted quietly with Tobias. The pair was each exquisite in their own way, and both smiled as they greeted Tobias. The look of utter happiness on his mother’s normally worn face brought a lightness to Rowan he hadn’t felt in months…perhaps years.

His feet halted, refusing to take another step closer for fear of bringing an end to the merriment. Certainly, his mere presence was enough to cast a dark shadow over the entire group.

Even now, his mother laughed—actually, giggled would be a more accurate term—and swatted at Tobias’ hand with her fan. His mother actually held a fan, flipping it open with a coy precision born to every woman of noble birth and began to fan her face as her cheeks blossomed with a delicate rose hue.

Marce leaned in close, her arms folded on the table before her as she pushed her place setting aside, her long curls falling over her shoulder in a manner he was coming to think of as normal. The trio laughed again, and Rowan’s annoyance dissipated.

For a brief moment, Rowan considered departing the room and leaving the three to enjoy their meal without his dark presence there to dampen their good cheer.

But then, she turned her smile in his direction.

And nodded in greeting.

Not his mother. No, she was still fanning her heated face and laughing at whatever inane story Tobias regaled her with.

It was Marce’s wide grin that brought Rowan farther into the room. He moved under the shimmering glow from above and amidst the savory scents of the meal set before them until he reached his place at the head of the table.

With her chin tilted slightly, Marce looked up at him, her smile never wavering. And in that moment, for no more than the blink of an eye, Rowan allowed himself to ponder what it would be like if Marce Davenport were truly his duchess. If she gazed at him in a similar fashion every day. If he could look forward to enjoy every meal with her by his side.

Belatedly, he remembered her quick words of avoidance as she’d fled down the main stairs that morning, obviously looking to be in anyone’s company but his. No, Marce’s smile and good cheer was not meant for him, nor caused by his presence.

That was far too much to hope for, even if, surprisingly, it was something Rowan longed to have.

Chapter 8

Appearances were difficult things to uphold in London, but far more challenging while at Hadlow. Expectations were ever-shifting, sometimes altering to the point where Marce wasn’t certain what was expected of her while in residence—apparent by the meal they now shared, something that had not come to pass during all her time visiting Hadlow. She had no idea how to proceed with Rowan staring down at her as if there were truly mutual affection between them. His stare was open and welcoming, and the smile that had settled on his lips was completely foreign to her. The way she felt the need to hold his stare was highly unsettling. If she maintained eye contact a moment longer, all their lies would come to light, and there would be no hiding what they’d done.

And so, Marce did what any woman in her position would do, she averted her gaze…immediately, giving her attention to a far more deserving man: Lord Cresthaven.

Despite the draw of the duke, Marce pleaded with herself to keep her attention elsewhere—specifically, far from Rowan.

It was ludicrous to think that Rowan’s smile had been meant for her. It had been an unintentional meeting of eyes, as it were. Besides, Tobias, the duke’s lifelong friend and one of the few people—besides the Hadlow servants—who knew the secret of their arrangement, was always easy to read. He was the happy and light one of the pair. Between him and Rowan, he was the first to laughter and the last to anger.

Marce had come to know what to expect from Tobias as she’d thought she knew what to anticipate with Rowan. Yet, something had changed with the duke since her last visit.

Perhaps it was she who had changed.

Never had she seen her arrangement with Rowan as a mutual agreement between them. Beneficial to both, yes. A distraction from Marce’s otherwise routine and chaotic life in London, most certainly. But beyond her retaining Craven House, Marce gained nothing from their association. She refused to think of her love and closeness with the duchess as having anything to do with the bargain she’d struck with Rowan. The woman deserved more care and compassion than to be a part of her son’s ill-fated notions for revenge.

And, if there was one thing Marce knew, it was that Rowan had been seeking vengeance when he blackmailed Marce all those years ago.

However, in this moment—surrounded by all of the finest things Hadlow had to offer—Marce didn’t feel trapped. She’d already reconciled that she would be giving up her home. She could tell Rowan where he could stick his arrangement whenever she chose.

So, what was stopping her from doing exactly as she’d planned to do?

Certainly, she would miss Leona and Hadlow, as she’d never return to the estate, but there must have been something else that kept her from throwing Rowan’s bargain in his face when they met at the top of the stairs.

She was procrastinating by convincing herself that Leona deserved a better farewell than Marce merely disappearing, never to be seen or heard from again. She realized it was not the only reason she hesitated to break away from Rowan. To keep from telling him to go to the Devil and take his bargain with him. If she did, a carriage could be summoned within moments, and she would have no need to witness Leona’s devastation and heartbreak. But something held her back. What exactly that was, she was afraid to look at too closely.

“You appear peaked, my child,” Leona said, bringing Marce’s attention back to the room around her. “Should I send for your maid?”