Page 90 of Never a Duke
How different Ned’s feelings for his family were from Rosalind’s. “I want to see Aunt Ida again,” she said, “but as for the rest of the Kinwoods…”
“If you marry me, Rosalind, Woodruff will likely ensure you’re ruined. He’ll get only close enough to you to give you the cut direct.”
“Ruined.” Rosalind disentangled herself from Ned’s embrace. “Is that when I no longer have to flatter aspiring cits who think marriage to a titled lady, any titled lady at all, should be the zenith of their ambitions? When I’m ruined, will I be spared the speculative leers and execrable dancing of the aging widowers?”
She waved a hand in the general direction of Mayfair. “In a ruined state,” she went on, “will my evenings be my own, or will I have to continue to hare about at my father’s whim—my father, who is not my father—and will two brothers continue to gossip about my many shortcomings behind my back? Explain this dire state of ruination to me, for I suspect ruin has much to recommend it.”
The fellow in the corner had glanced up at this tirade, as had the dog. The old sailors paused in their knitting, and the barmaid was no longer humming.
“That sounds about right,” Ned said, as several other patrons paused at the entrance to the common. “And in your ruined state, you might not even be married to a banker. A banker’s fortune rests upon his reputation, and my clients tend to be folk of middling means and sound morals. If Lord Woodruff digs deeply enough into my past, I could well end up out of a job, Rosalind. Walden destroyed the documents, but he can’t destroy people’s memories.”
Rosalind buttered a slice of bread and passed it to Ned, then buttered a second one for herself. The bread and butter, like the ale, were exceptionally good at this humble inn.
“I doubt Papa has the tenacity or connections to unearth the worst of the traumas visited upon you. What will your ducal family do if Papa proves difficult?”
Ned took a bite of bread. “From your tone, I gather they’d best take my part against Woodruff.”
“You gather correctly. Given that Papa is a mere earl, and the Wentworths are a ducal family allied with the Rothhaven dukedom as well, Papa had best tread lightly.”
Though to a surprising degree, Rosalind did not care how Papa trod, provided his steps took him someplace far, far away. And may George and Lindhurst join him in that distant location.
“Rosalind,” Ned said, “I am not a good bargain as a husband. I have a wicked past, my own family died in penurious and scandalous circumstances, and I have prospered only because of the charity of people who owe me nothing. But I promise you this…”
The other four occupants were goggling at him, as was the dog, and the newcomers remained in the doorway half-obscured by the afternoon shadows.
“I will love you to my dying day,” Ned said, “and I will bend my every effort to keeping you safe and making you happy. You might not have the finest coach, but you will have my constant devotion. I will never forsake you, and if we have differences…”
“We will resolve them,” Rosalind said, “and without anybody being banished, imprisoned, arrested, or starved.”
“Marry him,” the barmaid called. “Marry him quick, or I’ll steal him away for meself. A man talks to you like that, you don’t let him get away.”
“Heed the lass,” one of the sailors added. “And lad, get yonder miss before the parson posthaste.”
“Will you marry me, Rosalind? For I most assuredly do want to marry you.”
The setting was all wrong, with strangers for an audience, bread and ale for a meal, and an old dog presiding over the whole scene, but the right man was asking.
“I will marry you, Ned Wentworth. And if we end up keeping body and soul together by opening a tailor’s shop, that will suit me splendidly. Your embroidery alone should fetch a fortune.”
Ned kissed her, a sweet, sumptuous press of his lips to hers, which inspired a round of applause from the onlookers.
“Took ya long enough.” Artie swaggered forth from the door, plucked Ned’s bread from his hand, took a bite, and set it back on the table.
“Artie.” Ned got to his feet and offered Rosalind a hand. “And Walden and Lord Stephen. My lady, we have company, or possibly, reinforcements.”
“You are damned right you have reinforcements,” His Grace said. “My lady, good day. Ned, what the hell is going on?”
Lord Stephen was looking about with unabashed interest, while the dog had risen to sniff at Artie’s boots.
Ned kept Rosalind’s hand in his when she took the place beside him, which was just fine with her.
“The situation is complicated,” Ned said, “and more than a little dangerous.”
Walden swept the room with a gaze that should have left ice on the exposed surfaces. “You propose to a genteel lady in surrounds like these, abandon your duties at the bank without a word, and send young Arthur back to us spouting mendacious nonsense. Then Arthur lapses into lurid tales involving abductions, ears, and known felons, and we find you here, swilling ale and announcing your past to Wapping’s hapless denizens. Her Grace will not be best pleased with this state of affairs, and I am more than a little dismayed. Explain yourself, and be quick about it.”
Ned seemed amused at this tirade. “Thank you forHer Grace’sconcern, but—”
A gent with a battered hat had sidled up to Ned. He took off his hat and speared Walden with a look that promised dire consequences to loquacious dukes.
