“What are you doing here?” Alyssa asked when she entered the morning salon and found the Duke of Sussex in it.
“I was in the neighborhood and wanted to pay my respects,” he told her.
Alyssa narrowed her gaze at him. “According to my last calculations, Park Lane is an eight-hour drive by coach. I hardly think you were just in the neighborhood.”
“Touché, Lady Abernathy.” Sussex applauded. “At another time your calculations would be correct, but as it happens I am your nearest neighbor.”
Alyssa groaned. “Don’t tell me that Haversham House is your county seat.”
“All right,” the duke replied agreeably, “I won’t. I will tell you, however, that Haversham House traditionally belongs to the Dukes of Sussex, the sovereign’s right trusty and most beloved cousin.”
“Mama was right,” Alyssa muttered, beneath her breath. “I should have memorized Debrett’s before I married.”
“Pardon?” he inquired politely.
“Touché, Your Grace.” Alyssa curtsied.
“Pax, Lady Abernathy.” Sussex held up his hands. “I come in peace.”
“As you appear to be our nearest neighbor, I appreciate the peaceful overture, Your Grace,” she said. “But I am puzzled by why you would deign to come at all. Especially without invitation.”
“I have an invitation,” he informed her. “Your charming mother bade me call upon you when she learned I was traveling this way. She’s been concerned about you.”
“She could not have been too concerned,” Alyssa remarked, “or she would have come in person.” The smile she gave the duke told him, in no uncertain terms, that she knew how false his statement was. In fact, the last thing Lady Tressingham said to her youngest daughter before Alyssa boarded the coach that would bring her to Abernathy Manor for her honeymoon had been: “I did my best by you. You could have been a duchess, but you made your bed, Viscountess Abernathy—now lie in it.”
“She did ask me to call upon you,” he answered, truthfully this time.
“No doubt hoping that I’ve become a widow already.” Alyssa looked up at the duke and met his unrelenting gaze.
He cocked an eyebrow. “There is always that possibility.”
“Yes.” Alyssa closed her eyes and counted slowly to ten. There was no question that the Duke of Sussex was one of the most gorgeous examples of the human male she had ever seen. But he also appeared to be one of the most arrogant, most ill bred, most obstinate and obtuse peers of the realm she had ever met. The man simply could not take a hint. “There is always that possibility, Your Grace. It’s called war. And it makes a great many widows. But I am married. You are not. That means that it’s quite improper for you to call upon me in spite of your lofty rank.”
“Not at all, my lady,” he replied. “For a duke is welcomed in any household. And it’s quite proper for me to call so long as we are properly chaperoned and so long as I bring a wedding gift.”
“We are not chaperoned.” She glanced pointedly at his empty hands, and then turned her attention to the morning salon. There wasn’t a sign of a wedding gift anywhere in sight. “And I don’t see a wedding gift.”
“Outside,” he told her. “My wedding gift is outside.”
Alyssa narrowed her gaze at the duke. “It had better not be a horse,” she warned. “Or a foxhound.”
Sussex laughed. He reached out to take her by the elbow. “Come, Lady Abernathy, let me set your mind at rest.”
Intrigued in spite of herself, Alyssa allowed the duke to lead her out of the morning salon and through the front door.
A beautiful bay stallion stood tied to a wagon.
“He’s not yours,” Sussex informed her. “He’s mine. What’s in the wagon is yours.”
He led her closer. Inside the bed of the wagon were two canvas-covered squares, one larger and one smaller. A carefully packed crate sat beside the covered squares.
His Grace lifted the canvas aside to reveal the two wooden cages beneath it. Inside the larger of the cages was a pair of mute swans.
The duke grinned. “I heard, my lady, that your intent is to transform Abernathy Manor and its gardens and grounds into an estate to rival Sussex House’s gardens and grounds. Since every magnificent garden comes complete with swans, I found these very apropos.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, they’re lovely,” Alyssa answered honestly.
“They are that,” His Grace agreed. “But swans can be very ill-tempered creatures. Especially when they’re mating…” He gave Alyssa a meaningful look. “They mate for life, you know.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I know.”
The duke glanced down at the toes of his boots. “Well, in any case, I thought you and Lord Abernathy would appreciate that quality.”
“I do.”
“I, on other the other hand, appreciate the fact that these particularly nasty tempered creatures are mute,” Sussex elaborated. “Unlike their new owner.”
It was Alyssa’s turn to laugh.
Sussex exhaled the breath he had been holding. “Oh, and I brought you these.” He nodded toward a pair of peafowl—a male peacock and his hen. “A bit of competition just to make certain the swans don’t become too full of themselves.”
Reaching into the wagon, the duke removed a delicate looking potted plant from the padded crate, then untied his horse from the back of the wagon before nodding toward the driver of the wagon and the laborer who had accompanied him. “Take the peafowl around to the… He turned to Alyssa.
“West lawn,” she answered.
“West lawn,” he repeated. “And take the swans to the pond. Don’t worry,” he said to Alyssa. “Their wings have been clipped.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Alyssa waited until the wagon rumbled down the drive toward the west lawn and the pond at the far end of it. “And thank you once again, Your Grace,” she murmured. “What is a garden without swans and peacocks?”
“Or exotic plants.” Sussex handed Alyssa the plant. “This is for your conservatory. It’s an orchis plant.”
Alyssa smiled. “Yes, Your Grace, I recognized it as such.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “The head gardener at Sussex House developed this one. It’s a new variety. The only one of its kind.”
“You should keep it for your conservatory, Your Grace. It’s much too valuable to give away,” Alyssa protested.
Sussex held up his hand to forestall her. “This one no longer belongs in my conservatory,” he informed her. “You see, my mother had it registered with the Royal Botanical Society as an Orchis alyssium.” He winced. “A bit prematurely it seems, but she intended the flowers to be used in your bridal bouquet. At our wedding.” He shoved the pot toward her. “Please, take it. As you can no doubt imagine, it’s best, under the circumstances, that there be no reminders of my failure to bring that plan to fruition.”
Alyssa accepted the plant. She motioned for one of the gardeners’ assistants, then asked him to carry it to the conservatory.
“Give it the care it needs,” Sussex instructed, “because it’s as unique as its namesake.”
“Your Grace…” she began, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn of conversation.
“I have to ask.” He met her gaze. “Out of curiosity. Nothing more.”
“Ask what, Your Grace?”
“Why Abernathy and not me?”
“You know the answer to that, Your Grace. Everyone who knows my father knows the answer. You don’t keep a kennel.”
“I’m not asking why your father refused me; I’m asking why you did.”
Alyssa sighed. “I have nothing against you, Your Grace. But I didn’t want to be a duchess. I wanted to be my own person, and duchesses are rarely allowed that freedom.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Don’t you?” she asked. “Because I would think that you of all people would understand.” Alyssa paused. “You’re perfect on paper, Your Grace. No one in her right mind would refuse a young, wealthy, handsome du
ke, but I didn’t want a perfect world that’s existed in much the same way for generations. I wanted a world I could perfect. For me. I didn’t want to fit a mold,” she explained. “I want to make one.” She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture her mother would frown upon, but one she’d come to associate with Griffin. “Lord Abernathy was willing to give me that opportunity and I—” she broke off as a carriage came up the drive.
Shielding her eyes with her hand, Alyssa strained to see who it might be.
Sussex ignored the approaching carriage. “You were saying…” he prompted.
But Alyssa wasn’t listening. “I’m not expecting anyone, unless it’s—”
“It’s Lady St. Germaine,” he told her.
Alyssa blinked up at him.
“It’s Lady Miranda St. Germaine, come to cheer you up and to act as chaperone.”
“How do you know?” she sputtered.
The duke took a deep breath and then exhaled. “I passed her carriage on the road yesterday. We stayed at the same coaching inn.”
“Together?” Alyssa was surprised.
“Of course not,” the duke replied. “The marchioness and I dislike one another. We simply happened to choose the same inn. I recognized her coach and driver when I left at first light this morning for Haversham House. She apparently got a late start, or she would have arrived sooner.” He stared as the coach rolled to a stop, and Miranda alighted from it.
Miranda walked toward Alyssa, but came up short when she saw the Duke of Sussex.
“Your Grace.” She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Are you following me?”
“I arrived first, Lady Miranda,” he pointed out. “I cannot be following you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“A pleasure to see you, too.” Sussex chuckled.
“Then the pleasure is all yours,” she retorted.
The duke fought to keep from smiling at her turn of phrase. Miranda St. Germaine was known for her intelligence and wit as much as for her inability to snag a husband. “I’m surprised you gave up on the season so soon.” He smiled at her. “What are you now? Four and twenty?”
She returned his smile with a too-sweet one of her own. “I’m the same age as you, Your Grace. As well you know.”
“You left London prematurely,” he said. “There were a few likely prospects left. If you’d stayed for the duration, you might have finally managed to walk down the aisle as a bride instead of an attendant.”
“And if you’d invested in a few hounds, you might have managed to please your mother and become a bridegroom.”
Alyssa stepped forward, embracing Miranda, defusing the scene between her two guests before it became more heated. “Miranda, how good of you to come!”
“It was good of you to invite me,” Miranda replied. “Unfortunately, I didn’t realize you already had a visitor.” She glared at the duke.
“His Grace stopped by to present us with wedding gifts,” Alyssa explained. “He brought us a pair of swans, a peacock and peahen for the gardens, and a plant for the conservatory.”
“That was nice of him.” Miranda spoke as if the duke had already left. She sighed. “And I only came bearing letters.”
“Letters?”
Miranda grinned as Alyssa’s eyes lit up. “Lord Weymouth received a packet of letters in yesterday’s military dispatch pouch. They were all addressed to you, Lady Abernathy, from your husband.”
Alyssa couldn’t contain her squeal of delight as Miranda reached into her reticule and brought out a bundle of letters and handed them over.
“Oh, thank you.” Alyssa flung her arms around Miranda’s neck and hugged her.
“You’re welcome, Alyssa.” Miranda smiled down at her friend. “Why don’t you go read them?”
Alyssa hesitated, torn between indulging her greatest need and entertaining her guests. She glanced from the Duke of Sussex to Lady St. Germaine and back again. As Miranda was the Marchioness of St. Germaine and a peeress in her own right and Sussex was a duke, protocol forbade Alyssa from withdrawing from their presence without their permission.
“Go on,” Miranda urged. “I can entertain myself while you read your letters.”
The duke nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Abernathy, I’ll take my leave of you and your guest as well.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Alyssa breathed, clutching the packet of letters to her chest. She curtsied and withdrew, practically running up the front steps and into the house in her haste to read the letters.
Sussex tipped his hat. “Lady Abernathy.” He waited until Alyssa had disappeared inside the house before turning to Miranda and adding, “That certainly cheered her up. It seemed your letters trumped my gifts, Miranda.”
“Letters from a husband have a way of doing that, Your Grace,” Miranda replied.
“So you’re an authority on husbands, are you?”
“Only on what I see from my vantage point at weddings,” she answered in a low, pained voice.
The duke felt a flush of red creep up his neck. “It was nice of you to bring the letters and to allow her privacy in which to read them, Lady Miranda.”
“Once upon a time, most of my friends and acquaintances thought I was a nice person, Your Grace. But that was before I learned to hide my bitterness and disappointment with a sharp wit and an acid tongue.”
“I apologize for my cruel words, Lady Miranda,” he said quietly.
“No need, Your Grace. You only said to my face what others say behind my back. Now, if I may have your leave?” Miranda replied in a dismissive tone.
But the duke wasn’t to be dismissed so easily. “How long will you be staying?”
“Three or four weeks at least.”
“Then, I’ll be certain to stop by again.”
“Don’t bother on my account,” Miranda jibed.
“Don’t worry, my dear marchioness,” Sussex drawled. “It’s no bother. Now that you’re here and we’re all suitably chaperoned, paying a call on Lady Abernathy is no bother at all.”
Miranda let him have the last word, but she stuck her tongue out at him as he turned his back to leave in a gesture that was completely immature and immensely satisfying.
Chapter Twenty-five