Page 43 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“How is Leona doing with Marce’s sudden absence?” Tobias cast his arm over his eyes and stretched out his legs before him. “Does she suspect that anything is amiss?”

Rowan scoffed. “Marce told Mother there was a family emergency in London that needed her immediate attention.”

“Simple and effective.”

“Yes, but now Mother questions me every day—sometimes several times a day—about why I didn’t accompany my wife to London.” Each morning, he’d been summoned by the duchess and questioned about Marce: had she written yet? Would she return soon? Shouldn’t Rowan attend to her to remedy the emergency? It took much energy to waylay his mother’s insistent questions. “She went so far as to try and convince her physician that she is able to travel.”

“Travel where?” Tobias asked. “Leona hasn’t left Hadlow in nearly ten years.”

“London, of course,” Rowan sighed.

“I suppose you convinced the good doctor that it would be unwise to take pity on the duchess and agree to the journey?”

“I didn’t need to,” Rowan confessed, staring into his empty glass. “Miss Pearl talked my mother out of her plans. I think the old dragon knows Marce called an end to our farce.”

“If Leona’s companion knows, then the entire staff at Hadlow is aware.”

“I do not doubt that.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Rowan narrowed his glare on Tobias. “Because I am not expected in Scotland for some time. I won’t have Marce sending me fleeing from England.”

“Not England, you fool,” Tobias expelled, exasperation lacing his every word. “In Kent. What are you still doing in Kent? Why are you not on your way to London to make things right with Lady Marce?”

Rowan still had trouble accepting the fact that it was Lady Marce, not simply Miss Marce. It shouldn’t make any difference. A gentleman should treat every woman with the utmost respect. That Marce was nobility shouldn’t matter in the slightest. And did it truly matter now?

“She left, Tobias.” Rowan sat forward, his head spinning slightly. “She wants naught to do with me, and I do not blame her. It is over. There is no reason to hurry to London in an attempt to mend the mess I’ve made. If we are both lucky, society will never get wind of any of it.”

“When do you plan to take back Craven House?”

“I do not want the place.” He’d stepped foot in the house only once, and that was more than enough. The place reminded him of everything he loathed about his father. It was the reason he’d abandoned his family and turned his affection elsewhere. It was where the duke had been when his wife nearly perished giving birth to the duke’s twins—babes who hadn’t survived. It was the place he’d remained after sending Rowan’s mother to live alone at Hadlow. Craven House highlighted the failures of his family. He wanted nothing to do with it.

“So, you are resigned to break your mother’s heart?”

“Of course not,” Rowan retorted. “I’m remaining at Hadlow to make certain she learns nothing of what transpired.”

“And it will not strike her as odd that she never sees your charming wife again?” Tobias chuckled. “While I don’t claim to know the duchess as well as you, I will remind you that she is a very perceptive woman. She will certainly notice when Marce isn’t at your side when you next come to Hadlow.”

Tobias was correct. Even if Rowan were able to keep his mother from finding out about his deception, it was in no way a long-term solution. He was saving her heartache today and postponing the inevitable only to cause greater hurt when she discovered the truth.

“You need to tell her. The sooner, the better, before she overhears a servant speaking of it.”

“I cannot.” He was being a coward. He knew it, and from Tobias’s frown, his friend knew it, as well. “Besides, it has been so many years already with Mother becoming none the wiser. I cannot bring myself to wound her so brutally.”

“Then you have only one option.”

“Do tell.” Rowan sucked in a deep breath, awaiting his friend’s response, certain he would offer the answer to all his problems.

“You must go to London and beg Marce to forgive you.”

“She would likely spit in my face—”

“Then you will wipe it from your chin and ask the woman to wed you for real.”

Rowan’s heart hammered in his chest. Wed Marce? The idea should not shock him so. And Marce agreeing to any such thing would be beyond surprising. “I have no designs on Marce, or on wedding any woman for that matter,” he stammered, the only sign that his motives lay not in his wedding a woman but one certain woman rebuffing his proposal.

“At this point, you need to save your own arse, and Lady Marce Davenport is your only option.” Tobias slammed his tumbler on the small table to his right and pushed to his feet. “Saving your own hide means avoiding injury to your mother, as well. Either we go to London and fix things with Marce, or you return to Hadlow alone to confess everything to the duchess.”