Page 11 of Good Duke Gone Rogue

“She was picked up by Davin, her betrothed. They shall be married by the end of this year.” He grunted.

“Are you not happy for her?” Bernadette asked.

“Of course. It’s just all these blasted weddings.”

“You could have the decency to look sheepish at your choice of words.”

“What,weddings?”

“Yes…that.” She eyed him reproachfully. Perhaps they could pick up where they left off several years ago, before the last two meetings, before everything got too complicated. “Weddings.”

He huffed. And that was the end of their profound discussion on weddings. It was also the end of the carriage ride.

Reggie offered his hand, and the two walked in together. Like a couple. But not.

He was too close to her. He was too young for her. Gossip would abound if she even considered him. The last thing she wanted was more gossip. The former earl had given the gossip mongers enough fodder with all his hidden gambling debts. More gossip was the last thing on her list to check off. And the first item on the list was to get some space from him, so the second they stepped inside and were introduced, she did just that.

It was all too predictable though. Being a young, beautiful widow, obviously she would be propositioned. In more ways than one. And with more than one duke asking for a dance, she ended up with a full dance card. The Duke of Wellingford. The Duke of Somersby. The Duke of Ennit. The Duke of Beauford. They were good, of course, but did Reggie even know men that weren’t dukes? Apparently not. Dukes abounded. At least she was somewhat relieved to know that they were all married, or close to it. The other offers to dance came quickly and without reprieve. After several rounds on the floor, her feet were sore, having not danced this extensively in a while.

Each dance had kept her far from Reggie, yet each dance had drawn something inside of her closer to him. This was trouble. Big trouble.

After the last note of her dance, it was time for refreshments. So she made her way over to grab some lemonade. There, she was greeted by an old acquaintance of Reggie’s. “It’s so lovely to meet you Lady Simcott,” the Duchess of Somersby said.

“Please, call me Bernadette. I understand you and Reggie are very close.”

“It is true. We have all had such a wonderful time, at more than one house party. Call me Margaret.” She turned to a woman at her left. “This is Her Grace, Duchess of Wellingford. I’m sure she’ll have you calling her Mary.”

Mary tilted her head. “Yes, please call me Mary.”

“The Duchess of Wellingford?”

“Mary,” she encouraged.

“You are the playwright, are you not?” Bernadette was shocked, but she shouldn’t be. She should have put two and two together before. But really, sometimes it felt like there were three kinds of people in the world, those who could do math, and those who couldn’t count in front of other people.

“Yes, I am,” Mary gave a shy smile.

Bernadette wasn’t expecting such humility. The woman was a duchess and a famous playwright.

“It’s an honor to meet you. I love your work.”

“Thank you,” she demurred again.

“You must have an incredible husband to allow you to pursue your passions.”

“Yes,” Mary turned her head, in an obvious attempt to steal a glance at her husband, a tall dark haired man a few feet away. He gave her an adorning smile. “He is wonderful.”

“Of course he’s wonderful. He’s my brother.” Margaret put in. “It took you two long enough to figure that out.” She chuckled.

“Yes, Bernadette. If you ever find a good man who supports your dreams, don’t let him go.” Mary smiled encouragingly.

“If I ever find that man, I’ll be stupefied, since I don’t even know what passions I have.”

Margaret placed a hand on her forearm. “I didn’t know my passions either. I had to figure it out. Don’t worry. It’ll come to you.”

“Oh my, yes.” Mary took a step closer, as if to reveal a secret. “Margaret now has the most incredible paint therapy program in London. Perhaps England. In fact, it might be the first of its kind.”

“Oh, stop,” Margaret grinned. “Yes, it is pretty amazing. Though it took me long enough to discover my passion. All it took was some amnesia.”

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