The butler shook his head. “No, miss. I happened to notice the on-dit column in the newspaper this morning.” He opened the newspaper and tapped a column on the front page. “There it is.”
Elizabeth snatched up the newspaper and read the heavily inked head of the column. “Miss Royle Weds Duke in Surprise Ceremony.” She looked up at Mary. “Was there…perhaps another surprise ceremony?”
Mary shook her head slowly, then sank down into the nearest chair at the table.
Anne slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, no. Mary, your name will be ruined once it is known that the wedding was false. Our names will be ruined. No one will desire a connection to the Royle family!”
Just then, there was a hard knock upon the front door.
The sisters exchanged a circle of worried glances, then as one, they called out to the butler, who had already disappeared into the passage headed for the entry hall. “Don’t answer it!”
“Too late,” came Rogan’s rich voice from the doorway of the dining room.
Mary looked up at him in disbelief. “Rogan.”
“May we speak privately?” he asked. In his hand was a copy of the Gazette.
Mary set her palms on the surface of the table and pushed up. “We can talk in the parlor.” She glanced up into his warm brown eyes as she passed him, gesturing for him to follow. “This way, please.”
Rogan thrummed his fingers atop the folded newspaper he’d balanced atop his knee. “Mary, I don’t know how anyone learned of the ceremony at the Argyle Rooms. But there is nothing we can do about the column now. By now, everyone of consequence has read of our wedding.”
Frustrated, he leaned his head backward, but the settee had been constructed with tiny misses in mind and was consequently too short for him. This only added to his annoyance.
“We could ask for a retraction.”
“That would only bring more scrutiny and interest in our situation.” He leaned across to Mary and took her hand. “No, I fear we have but one course to avoid the ruin of both our family names-we must marry.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I am sorry, but we must, and we must do so quickly and quietly.”
Mary’s eyes were as round and golden as the sun as she stared up at him. She nodded dutifully. “If there…is nothing else we can do.”
Suddenly, Rogan’s heart felt very heavy. He had hoped she would be somehow happier about the prospect of sharing their lives together. “There is nothing else,” he finally replied.
“Very well.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Was his offer so terrible that it made her cry? Rogan swallowed hard and came quickly to his feet. “I shall instruct my solicitor to go to Doctor’s Commons and secure another special license the very instant the archbishop’s office opens on Monday morning. Meanwhile, I shall find a minister. Do you have a preference?”
She smiled meekly. “Anyone but Mr. Archer will do.” Then, as if something had just broached her mind, she took hold of the wedding ring on her left hand and tried desperately to twist it off. “It won’t come off. I’m sorry, Rogan, but I’ve tried, but now my finger is swollen. It is as if it wants to remain there forever.”
“And so it shall,” Rogan replied softly. “I shall send the carriage at three this afternoon. Is that sufficient time for you?”
Mary rose and followed him toward the passage. “Time enough for what?”
“Why, to pack your belongings.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked, her eyes growing wider.
“Until we are truly married, if our families’ names are to be spared, we must give all appearances that we already are husband and wife.”
Then, so there would be no misunderstandings, Rogan spoke very plainly to her. “Mary, you must remove yourself to my house. Into my bedchamber.”
“Your bedchamber!” she sputtered and slapped her palm to her forehead. “You are not serious.”
“Servants talk, and since we do not know the source of the column’s information, we cannot afford to take any unnecessary chances.”
Mary just stared at him.
“So, three o’clock then?”
“Y-yes.” Mary rubbed her fingers to her temples. “I will be ready.”
A harsh sun beat down on London, sending crowds to Hyde Park to sit beneath the trees near the Serpentine and savor what breezes were to be had.
On most any other day at three o’clock, this is where Mary would have been.
But not today.
Today she sat beside the braced-open parlor windows fanning herself as she awaited Rogan’s carriage to take her, and what few belongings she owned, to Portman Square.
Cherie plumped a pillow and eased it behind Aunt Prudence’s back, then she removed the empty cordial glass from her hand. She started to leave the room, then seemed to change her mind, for she rushed over to Mary and squeezed her hand. The young maid’s eyes were threaded with red, as though she’d been crying.
“Do not be sad, Cherie. We shall see each other quite often, I promise.” Mary set her fan in her lap and patted the top of the maid’s hand.
Cherie shook her head frantically. She poked her chest with her index finger.
“I-I do not understand. What are you trying to tell me?”
The maid slipped her hand away. She rushed from the room, then returned two minutes later and handed Mary a scrap of foolscap with something written on it.
Mary held it to the light shining through the window.
Lord Lotharian sent me to watch over you.
What was this? Mary turned her gaze upon Cherie.
“You were sent here to spy on me…and my sisters, for Lotharian?”
“I told you she was a spy,” Mrs. Polkshank said as she entered the parlor and settled a tea tray on the table beside Aunt Prudence. “Ask if she’s French. I bet she is.”
“Mrs. Polkshank, please summon my sisters,” Mary said. “I should like to speak with Cherie privately, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, Miss Royle.” Mrs. Polkshank walked into the passage, glancing over her shoulder as she moved.
Suddenly Mary realized she had seen Cherie once before. “Zeus! You served tea the day my sisters and I visited the Old Rakes Club.”
Cherie nodded, then lowered her gaze to the floor.
“And you have been reporting to Lotharian all of this time?”
The maid shook her head furiously. She raised a single finger in the air.
“Once. You reported to him once.” Mary nodded thoughtfully. “One time. What did you tell him?”
Cherie slowly reached out her finger and touched the wedding ring Rogan had given Mary, then she lifted that hand and placed it atop Mary’s heart.
“You told him…that I loved the duke?” Cherie didn’t truly answer, but Mary could see it on her face.
This was how Lotharian knew her feelings. Likely how he read the true nature of people as well. He spied.
He was a gambler, gamester, and a good one, apparently. He knew that to win, one must leave as little to chance as possible.
The elfish little maid suddenly grew very still, as though she had heard something.
And then Mary heard it too. She turned her notice toward the passage. One of her sisters was descending the stairs.
Mary turned back to Cherie. “That’s all you told him?”
Cherie mouthed word “yes.”
“Do you wish to stay on here, with my sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Then this must remain between us. And you must promise to never again share what goes on in this house with anyone. Do you understand?”
Cherie nodded and smiled, then hurried through the parlor door.
Just then, Mary noticed that Aunt Prudence was peering at her through half-open eyes.
“Aunt Prudence, were you listening to me?”
“You would be surprised at how much I hear when others think me asleep.” The old woman smiled mischievously. “But do not fret, Mary. I am inclined to forget whatever secrets I uncover before I next blink. So carry on.”