He continued to stare out. A minute ticked by. She waited.
“No.” After a moment, he added, “I will.”
“Just do it.” She softened her voice. “You know it has to be done, and urgently.” Realizing that he was at sea-on a storm-tossed emotional ocean he, of all men, was poorly equipped to navigate-she went on, “Get your secretary to pen it, then show it to Minerva and get her consent. Regardless, it must be on the mail coach to London tonight.”
He didn’t immediately respond, but then he nodded. Curtly. “It will be.”
“Good.” She bobbed a curtsy, turned, and walked to the door.
He stirred, glanced at her. “Can you tell Margaret she’s hostess tonight?”
Her hand on the doorknob, she looked at him. “Yes, of course.”
His chest swelled; for the first time he met her eyes. “Tell Minerva I’ll come and see her in a little while-once I’ve got the announcement drafted.”
Once he had his temper in hand. As a Vaux, Letitia knew all about temper-and she could see his roiling in his eyes.
He went on, “We’ll dine in my apartments.”
“I’ll keep her company until then. Clarice, Jack, and Penny are going to mingle, to make sure there’s no…uninformed talk.” She smiled, anticipating doing the same herself-and putting a not-so-tiny flea in Susannah’s ear. “I’ll join them once you come for Minerva.”
“Thank you. All of you.”
Turning to the door, she smiled rather more delightedly, knowing he couldn’t see. “Believe me, it’s our pleasure.” She paused, hand on the knob. “We can discuss the wedding tomorrow.”
He grunted.
At least it wasn’t a snarl. She let herself out, closing the door behind her. Glancing at Royce’s footman standing utterly blank-faced along the wall, she smiled gloriously. “Despite all, this is going to work out very well.”
With that, she hurried back to the morning room, to relate to Minerva all she’d seen, heard-and deduced.
Minerva had assuaged a great deal of her anger by the time Royce joined her in the morning room. Having successfully dealt first with his sisters, and then the assembled ladies, having ensured all knew precisely how unamused she was over Susannah’s misplaced meddling, and having made her expectations, as the soon-to-be Duchess of Wolverstone, of their behavior over the matter abundantly plain, she was feeling much more settled as she stood looking out of the window, idly surveying his domain.
Royce’s gaze locked on her the instant he opened the door, but she didn’t turn around.
Seated on the sofa facing the door, Letitia rose. “I was about to go down.” She glided forward.
Royce held the door open for her. She touched his arm, glanced back at Minerva. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Without looking around, Minerva nodded-a tense, brief nod.
With a pat for him, Letitia left. He closed the door, hesitated-sent a prayer winging to any god that might be listening that Minerva wouldn’t cry. Feminine tears usually left him unaffected, but her tears would shred his control, rupture his tenuous hold on his temper-and the gods alone knew who he’d strike out at, or how. Not her, of course, but…
Breathing in, mentally shoring up his defenses, emotional ones he rarely used, he walked to her side.
It was early evening; beyond the window, the shadows were lengthening, laying a purple wash over his lands. Spine poker straight, arms crossed, she was looking out, but he’d swear not seeing.
Halting beside her, he angled his head the better to see her features. She turned her head and met his gaze.
Her expression was controlled, composed, more so than he’d expected; her eyes…were unusually hard, and more unreadable than he’d ever seen, but…he could detect not a hint of tears.
Chin firm, she tipped her head toward the door. “They’re really quite remarkable-Letitia, Penny, Clarice, and Jack. I’m sure between them they’ll have the entire company in well-rehearsed order come morning.”
Her tone was crisp, briskly businesslike. Determined. Steady assurance shone through her composed faзade.
Confusion swamped him. Didn’t she feel…betrayed? By fate, by his sister, by circumstance? By him? He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry.” He felt his jaw harden. “It wasn’t supposed to have been like this.”
Her eyes locked on his. “No, it wasn’t, but what happened was neither my fault nor yours. Regardless, however much we may wish matters otherwise, we’re faced with the situation as is, and we need to deal with it-to make the best of it. To take control and make it work for us, not against us.”
He mentally blinked. She was behaving as if what had occurred was some minor hiccup along their road. A challenge they’d deal with, vanquish, and leave behind.
She couldn’t be that understanding. She had to feel forced…had to resent the situation as much as he. He was missing something here; he didn’t try to hide his frown. “You’re a lot less upset than I expected.”
The look she returned was all cold, hard steel. Her features tightened; her diction grew more precise. “I am not pleased- I’m angry, nay furious, but I am not of a mind to allow Susannah to play fast and loose with our lives.” Strength of a kind he’d assumed was there but had never before encountered in her-the kind he associated with Lady Osbaldestone-radiated from her. “I am not going to let Susannah steal from us what we, both you and I, deserve. I know you don’t understand, but I’ll explain later.” Alight with purpose, her eyes lowered. “Is that our announcement?”
He glanced down at the sheet of paper he’d forgotten he held. “Yes.”
She held out her hand, fingers wiggling.
He handed over the excruciatingly generically worded statement he and Handley had labored over.
Turning, she held it so light from the window washed over it. “Royce Henry Varisey, tenth Duke of Wolverstone, son of the late Henry Varisey, ninth Duke of Wolverstone and the late Lady Catherine Debraigh, daughter of the fourth Earl of Catersham, announces his betrothal to Miss Minerva Miranda Chesterton, daughter of the late Lieutenant Michael Chesterton and the late Marjorie Dalkeith.”
She frowned. “A lot of lates, but…” Face clearing, she handed the announcement back, met his eyes. “That will do.”
“So why, exactly, are you nothing more than ‘not pleased’? What is it I don’t understand?”
Halting before the wide window in Royce’s bedroom, facing the night-shrouded hills, Minerva let her watchful tension ease. Finally.
Finally they were alone; finally she could tell him on her own terms, as she’d intended.
At his decree, they’d dined privately in his sitting room; she’d come into the bedroom to allow Jeffers to clear the table and set the room to rights. Royce had followed; closing the door on the clink of cutlery and plates, he’d prowled to halt just behind her.
She drew a deep breath. “I know you thought, by remaining apart, to spare me the ordeal of facing the undoubtedly avidly curious company downstairs-I agreed not because I felt fragile or distressed, but because your temper was so aroused that I had no faith whatever that your sisters or one of their friends wouldn’t have said something to make you lash out-and that wouldn’t have aided our cause.” She swung to face him. “Our cause. From this morning on, it’s been our cause.”
She tilted her head, considered him. When he’d joined her in the morning room, his rage had been palpable, resonating in the words he’d ground out: It wasn’t supposed to have been like this. “I understand why you were so angry. Being forced, trapped, into marriage shouldn’t have mattered to you, but it did. Because you knew it mattered to me. You were enraged on my behalf-yours, too, but less directly.”