Page 11 of Denying the Duke (Lords and Ladies in Love 3)

Subdued conversation led him to the room where they had all gathered. At least sixty people were assembled in small groups, plates of food in their hands. His eyes immediately scanned the area, landing first on his mother, and then on Pa

tience.

He drew in a quick breath. She was as beautiful as he’d remembered. Marriage had not damaged her, or so it appeared. Her young girl’s figure had matured into full woman’s curves. Her breasts were larger, her hips more voluptuous. He immediately looked away when she raised her head to glance in his direction.

Refusing the food a footman offered, he walked across the room to approach his mother. He bowed in her direction. “Mother.”

Her raised eyebrows were her only greeting.

So that was how it was going to be. “My condolences on the loss of the Duke and Cyrus.”

“Cyrus was the duke.”

He flushed at her rebuke, his stomach muscles tightening, feeling once again the animosity that had been always present in his relationship with his parents. “I referred to my father.”

“Ah yes. You did ignore our message, did you not?”

He offered her a slight smile. “Indeed. I was busy in His Majesty’s service where we do not have the luxury of correspondence on demand.”

She waved her hand in dismissal, as if fighting Boney had been a mere garden party. “You must make your way around the room and greet everyone. You are the duke, now.”

He studied her for a minute. “Yes. I am the duke now. Much to your chagrin, I am sure.”

Her lips tightened, and her chin rose. He gave her a slight bow, and turning on his heel, left the room.

And the house.

…

Patience watched the cold exchange between Alex and the duchess. Then, to her surprise, he turned and left. He hadn’t even spoken to her.

Well, what had she expected? He’d had no contact that she was aware of, with his family, since the night he’d walked out on her betrothal announcement.

She remembered that night as the beginning of days, months, and years of unhappiness. Days spent in her bedchamber, draped across the bed, weeping. Upon their return home from the Abbey, she’d gathered the courage to ask her father to cancel the betrothal. When he’d brushed her off, she had stood two feet from him and declared she would never marry the Marquess of Tavistock.

Patience never saw the back of his hand coming. He hit her so hard she fell to her knees, black dots dancing in her eyes. She shook her head, but before she regained her senses, he reached down and gripped her arm to pull her up, practically ripping it from her shoulder.

“You will marry whomever I tell you to marry.” His eyes bulged and the vein at his temple throbbed. When she didn’t answer him, he slapped her again, but this time she didn’t fall since he still had her in his grip.

He shoved her away from him, and she again landed on her knees. “Get up and go to your room.”

Patience climbed to her feet and unsteadily walked away. Mother stood outside the library door, wringing her hands, and helped her to her bedchamber. Once she applied a cold cloth to her face, she led Patience to the bed where they both sat.

“It is best not to anger your father. He wants this marriage, and I have learned over the years that what he wants generally comes his way.”

“But, Mother, I don’t want to marry the marquess. He scares me.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked. “Besides, Lord Alex and I have made plans.”

Her mother sucked in a sharp breath. “I never should have allowed the two of you to spend so much time together.” She placed her hand on Patience’s chin and turned her toward her. “Please do not tell me anything happened, the result of which could thwart your father’s plans for this marriage?”

“No, of course not. He is too much of a gentleman.” She wished, at this point, that she and Alex had done more than kiss. If she were carrying his child, her father would be forced to break the betrothal. Along with most of her bones, she imagined.

Just to be sure Father’s demands were firmly fixed in her mind, Patience had been forced to spend a week in her bedchamber, behind a locked door, with only bread and water twice a day. She shuddered, even now, remembering the depression of spirits she’d suffered for months after that.

“Lady Patience, may I offer my condolences on the passing of your betrothed.” Lord and Lady Sterling stood in front of her, interrupting Patience’s musings.

She offered them what she hoped was a semblance of a despondent expression. What could she say? That she was so happy Cyrus had died that she insisted on going to the funeral, even though ladies did not attend funerals? That she had to make sure he was dead and placed into his grave to plague her no more? That she had spent the last four years dreading the day she would find herself joined to him for life?

“Thank you. I appreciate your thoughts.” Ever the lady, Patience said all the proper words to everyone who approached her, despite the humiliating circumstances surrounding Cyrus’s death, and her joy at his demise. Most of the mourners who presented themselves regarded her with sympathy and curiosity. But she held up.