Page 68 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“It is not nonsense, boy.” She wiggled up into a seated position and set the kerchief aside, the coughing fit over. “You had quite a row before Marce fled back to London.”

He patted his mother’s hand. “We needn’t discuss that now. You should rest.”

“Yes, I think that is a sound idea,” Marce said from behind him, her hand squeezing his shoulder. “We will return as soon as the physician approves guests.”

Rowan didn’t miss the unease in Marce’s voice.

“Oh fiddle-faddle,” the duchess sighed. “The pair of you think you are so wise. Assuming that I, a frail, old woman cannot see what is what.”

“You are exhausted,” Rowan argued. “You should sleep. We can talk later.”

“I did not tell her, Your Grace,” Miss Pearl pleaded from across the room. “I swear to it.”

“Tell her what?” Marce asked.

“What, exactly, is going on?” Rowan pushed to his feet, glaring between the duchess and her companion, his words echoing through his mother’s chambers.

“Sit down, Rowan…and you, too, Lady Marce Davenport.” The sharp edge of his mother’s voice had Rowan falling back into the straight-back chair. Another seat appeared next to him, and Marce sat. “Do you think I am ignorant of everything that happens under my roof?”

Even in his childhood, Rowan had never witnessed his mother speak with such force and conviction.

No longer did she appear pale and sickly as color blossomed in her cheeks.

“Your Grace.” Marce sat, her back ramrod straight as she assessed his mother. “I am—”

His mother’s stern glare halted Marce’s claim. “I have waited all these long years for the two of you to finally come to your senses.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

Slashing her hand through the air, she addressed him. “To be forthcoming, I lost my bet to Pearl years ago. I had no idea the pair of you would be able to keep up your charade for so much as a year, let alone nearly eight.”

“You know?” Marce put a hand to her throat, her eyes wide.

“It took me only an hour, on your first stay at Hadlow, to discover the truth. Not that he had forced you into agreeing to pose as his wife, but that you’d decided together. If I’d known the extent of my son’s resentment, I would have stepped in sooner.” She shook her head with remorse, speaking only to Marce. “Besides, though I’ve chosen to reside in Kent, I am not oblivious to town gossip—or the lack thereof, as it were. No lord in my day, or this day, could wed without the London Daily Gazette reporting on it, especially when he is a duke, and the bride is the daughter of none other than Madame Sasha.”

“I am sorry for deceiving you, Your Grace.”

Rowan’s resolve splintered at the heartbreak in Marce’s voice. He’d caused this…had known the day would come when his mother discovered his deception.

“It was my doing, Mother.” Rowan’s head lowered in shame, unable to meet her eyes and see her disappointment written so clearly across her face. “Marce had naught to do with anything. I forced her to accept—”

“You most certainly did not force me.” Marce stood, turning her glare on him. “I was well aware of my options. You forced me into nothing.”

“That is my girl,” his mother thundered, slapping her palm onto the padded bed at her side. “It is an utter shame that it took so long for the two of you to wise up and see that you belong together.”

“Mother, are you saying you knew Madame Sasha?” Rowan demanded.

“Not exactly. I was acquainted with Lady Buckston before her husband died and that rascal of a son, Benton, threw Sasha and her children to the streets.”

“Oh, dear,” Miss Pearl mumbled, exiting the room and pulling the door closed behind her.

“Lovely woman with the cutest pair of fair-haired youngsters hanging on her skirts.” His mother looked at the hearth, a faraway look entering her eyes. “It was such a shame—and a scandal.”

Rowan reached out for Marce’s hand when she fell back into her chair. “You knew my mother?”

“I more than knew her. I sent my husband round to find her and set her up in a suitable house as soon as I heard what that stepson of hers did. Imagine, casting a widow and her children to the streets during her time of mourning.”

The duchess sniffed, shaking her head in sorrow.