Page 86 of Cherish and the Duke
She cast him a stubborn look.
He chuckled and kissed her. “Fine, Brighton it is.”
Cherish insisted they stop first at the registry office, where they received their first good news of the day: it turned out that Northam Hall and its farms had quietly been deeded to her by her father several years ago. “He must have done this shortly after my mother died. Why did he not tell me? All of this misery could have been avoided.”
“He must have wanted it to be a surprise for you, and never considered that his trusted solicitor would collude with his own brother to hide this asset from you. I would not be surprised if they were in the midst of forging a conveyance from you to your uncle and were just waiting for a suitable moment to have it recorded.”
She pursed her lips as she contemplated the possibility. “Why do you think they waited?”
“Your father might have used a local solicitor instead of turning to his London man. They might not have realized your father had already transferred it to you. Or they knew and were just waiting for the right moment to record a forged deed. They had to be worried that news of this transfer would reach your ears. Perhaps the solicitor balked at actually forging a conveyance deed. Who knows? I’m just glad it is legally yours.”
They drew the rig up next in front of the local apothecary, a place Cherish knew quite well from her time spent tending her parents during their illnesses. “I won’t be a moment,” she said, hopping down to run into the shop.
The proprietor, Mr. Drake, was a kindly older gentleman who greeted her warmly. “What brings you here today, Lady Cherish?”
“A terrible headache, Mr. Drake. Would you have something that might ease it?”
“Never you worry. I have a shop full of remedies. May I be so bold as to ask…are the rumors true?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Which rumors?”
He raked a hand through his thinning hair. “Well, I’ve heard several that seem quite unbelievable. The first is that Lord Northam and his wife have absconded.”
She smiled. “Yes, they’ve run off to the north. I do not expect we shall ever see them in Brighton again.”
He cast her a hopeful look. “And they’ve left you all on your own?”
Cherish laughed. “Yes, thank goodness.”
“Indeed,” he said with obvious relief. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but good riddance to them.”
“I heartily agree,” she said with an emphatic nod.
He removed a glass jar filled with a white powder from one of the shelves and set it on the counter. “I’ve also heard… But it seems so unlikely… And yet I see the Duke of Bromleigh seated in the conveyance just outside my window. Have you… Are you…”
“Married to the Duke of Bromleigh?” She cast him a beaming smile. “Married to him and desperately in love with him. Yes, I am now the Duchess of Bromleigh. It is a love match, Mr. Drake. Isn’t it wonderful?”
His broad smile matched hers. “I always knew you were someone special and deserving of the very best, Lady Cherish. Well, you are now a duchess, and I must address you as Your Grace. You shall become a legend in these parts, for you’ve caught yourself a Silver Duke.”
She laughed again.
“Let me prepare this for you. I’ll be right back,” he said, skittering behind a curtain into his workroom.
Cherish had been standing beside the counter for perhaps a minute when a maidservant rushed in. The woman had a grim look on her face and was quite rude in ignoring Cherish whenshe politely moved aside and smiled in greeting. She received a dour huff in response.
“Where is that useless fellow?” the woman muttered when the apothecary did not immediately step out of his workroom. She rudely peered behind the counter and huffed again when she saw no package waiting for her on the counter.
Mr. Drake probably had it safely stowed in a drawer or on a shelf in his back room. He wasn’t about to leave his medicinals out in the open for anyone to grab.
“Mr. Drake!” the maidservant shouted, frowning at him when he emerged from the back of his shop. “You assured me that the potion would be ready. My mistress needs it now.”
The man obviously did not like her tone and was going to make her wait, but Cherish urged him to attend to the unpleasant woman first. “You are too kind,” Mr. Drake grumbled, setting aside Cherish’s powder in order to be rid of this rude patron.
The woman grabbed her package and walked out without so much as a nod of gratitude.
“An ugly business,” the apothecary muttered.
Cherish had seen the markings in Mr. Drake’s book and knew the woman had picked up an oleander potion. But Cherish made no comment, for it was none of her business. She should not have been looking over the dear man’s shoulder.
