The moment Elizabeth entered the room, Aunt Prudence snapped her lids closed again, but her smile lingered.
Elizabeth was carrying a valise filled with Mary’s dressing table articles. She set it down beside the lone chest Mary was to take with her to her soon-to-be-husband’s home.
“I cannot believe you are really leaving us,” Elizabeth said as she crossed the room to Mary and took her hand. “How will we get along without you?”
Mary forced a small laugh. “Dear, you won’t have to get along without me. We can visit each other every day if you like.”
“Promise you will. I daresay Anne will spend every penny set aside for our household account within one month. Two at the most.”
Mary’s laugh was genuine this time. “Mrs. Polkshank is very thrifty, so I seriously doubt you will have anything to fret over.”
“When is the wedding? Have you heard anything more?”
“No, and I doubt I shall until the special license has been secured.” Mary squeezed Elizabeth’s hand as she folded her fan in her lap. “But I promise you, Sister, you will be the very first to know.”
Mary released Elizabeth’s hand as a soft, humid breeze blew through the window. Mary leaned against the chair back and closed her eyes as it blew across her cheeks. “Were I at home this night, I swear I would sleep in the courtyard for the cool night air.”
“Instead, you will be sleeping with a duke,” Anne said from the parlor doorway.
Mary’s eyelids snapped open and she sat up. “There is naught I can do about that, Anne. Would you prefer it if I stayed here and risked word slipping out that Blackstone and I were never legally wed?”
“No. I know you were only thinking of me and Elizabeth when you agreed to the duke’s solution.” Anne lowered her gaze to the Turkish carpet. “I hope you can forgive me. I just cannot stop fretting over the fact that you will no longer be here.”
“Oh, Anne. It was bound to happen someday. It just happened that circumstances required that it be today.”
The clop of horses’ hooves echoed against the row of houses as Rogan’s gleaming town carriage entered Berkeley Square and drew to a halt before the Royle sisters’ home.
Mary peered out the window, and with a sigh came to her feet. Her stomach was tied in tight knots as she saw Rogan and a footman walk up the short steps to the house. The door knocker sounded, setting Mary into panicky motion, hurrying past both her sisters to the door.
Mary opened the door for Rogan and the footman, then immediately turned back to her sisters and hugged them both. “Every day. Remember, we can see each other every single day.”
“And we must, for we have yet to locate Lady Jersey,” Elizabeth reminded Mary, as if this might be just the incentive to lure her home again. “We must confront her about the Kashmir shawl.”
“Lady Jersey?” Rogan asked.
Heat rushed into Mary’s cheeks as her gaze met his. “I told you, it matters naught.”
“It does!” Elizabeth countered. “The Kashmir shawl Lotharian held in the Turkish room belonged to Lady Jersey. We are sure of it, for she is wearing it in her portrait hanging in the Harrington gallery.”
Rogan blinked in surprise. “I remember that painting. I must admit, this mystery of yours, Mary, is quite intriguing.” Rogan’s tone was firm and even, not mocking at all. “Are you certain that the shawl you possess is the very same one?”
Mary drew a breath, punctuated by several tiny gasps. Too much was happening now. She did not wish to discuss this with Rogan, with anyone, just now. “I believe so.”
“It is.” Anne’s conviction was clear; Mary only wished she could share her sister’s unflinching belief. “There is no need to conceal anything from Blackstone any longer. He is to be your husband.”
Rogan flashed a pleased smile in Anne’s direction. “Thank you, Miss Anne.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “But remember, for all of our sakes”-he glanced at the footman removing Mary’s chest from the parlor-“we are already married.”
The duke snared Mary’s gaze and gestured toward the door. She kissed Aunt Prudence on her cheek, and each of her sisters. Then, with Rogan’s hand guiding her at the elbow, she slowly turned and walked through the door to the carriage.
When the carriage arrived in Portman Square a few minutes later, Mary glimpsed Quinn through that cabin window, caning his way down the front steps to an awaiting carriage.
A liveried footman hoisted a heavy portmanteau to a muscular coachman standing atop the conveyance to receive it.
Mary turned around in her seat to face Rogan. “Where is he going?”
Rogan leaned forward and peered out the window as the town carriage rolled to a slow stop before the house. He did not reply to Mary but rather flung open the door and stepped down into the road.
“What the hell, Quinn?” Mary overheard Rogan shout as she took the footman’s hand and descended the carriage steps to the ground.
Quinn leaned on his cane and rested his other hand on Rogan’s shoulder. “To the country. Thought I would stay there for few days to allow you…and the duchess…time to settle in.”
“You need not leave,” Rogan said, though to Mary’s ear, not too convincingly.
“Ah, but I do. Thought it high time I explore my new property. Survey the land…perhaps see what needs to be done in preparation to make the house suitable for a family.”
“Are you saying that you and Lady Tidwell-” A single brow lifted as Rogan smiled knowingly at his brother.
“Not yet. But I feel the time will come soon. Might as well be prepared, eh?”
Quinn lifted his hand from Rogan’s shoulder and walked to Mary. “Sister,” he bowed neatly to her, then pecked her on the cheek.
Mary leaned forward to do the same. “You do realize we are not truly married yet,” she whispered in his ear.
“Rogan explained everything this morning,” he told her quietly. “I am sorry about the announcement in the Gazette.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She leveled her mouth to his ear. “I am not opposed to marrying because I love your brother, and maybe someday he will love me too.”
A sudden blush crested her cheeks. She didn’t know what had come over her, or why she needed to admit her feelings for Rogan to someone, but she could not help herself.
Quinn’s eyes sparkled, and he turned around to look at Rogan, his white teeth gleaming.
“What are you two going on about?” Rogan blinked in bafflement.
Mary’s stomach tensed then and did not relax until Quinn grinned and waved a cane at Rogan as he started to climb up into the carriage.
“I shall see you Wednesday morning,” Quinn called out to his brother.
Then the footman closed the door and Mary watched the carriage wheels roll forward until the vehicle was no longer in sight.
Rogan waggled his brows at Mary. “Shall we go inside, my darling?”
A smile flickered on her lips as she took his arm and walked up the three steps to the threshold.
The footman passed by and opened the door for them.
Rogan paused and glanced her way most mischievously, then he suddenly scooped her up in his arms and stepped into the house.
“Welcome to your new home, my duchess.”
Chapter 19
The balance of the day passed more quickly than Mary could have imagined.
Sitting at a Pembroke table before one of her bedchamber windows, Mary stared out at the flame-colored sunset above the town houses of Portman Square.
Every room of the house was elegantly appointed with vibrantly colored, rich fabrics and unusual artwork. There were a number of pieces of oversized furniture, which, Rogan was quick to explain, had been specially designed to accommodate his extraordinary height.