Page 43 of The Duke Meets His Match

“It matters not who the blackguard was,” Jennings said. “I will not lower myself to speak his name.”

“Very well,” George said. He rang the bell that sat on the corner of his desk. A footman stepped inside the room. “Please inform Henshaw that he may rejoin us, and have Talbot inform Mrs. Bradley to prepare luncheon for the three of us.” The footman nodded and left. George turned his attention back to Jennings.He must do his best to contain this contretemps now and not let it escalate.“We have been through much together, my friend,” George said, “and have had to trust each other in the most extreme of circumstances. Trust me now. I fullyintend to wed your sister, and your support—for her and for me—would begratefully received by us both.”

“I cannot bear the thought of her marrying for anything less than love,” Jennings said. “Susan is clever and strong, and that is what people see. They don’t know her heart as I do. She is my little sister.”

“She is a woman who knows her own mind,” George replied. “If I have learned nothing else, I have learned that about her. I will be frank; I cannot afford the luxury of marrying solely for love, nor have I ever had that luxury. But marry I must, and I have delayed doing so for too long. I have proposed to your sister, and she has accepted. There has been no deception on my part with her regarding this marriage. She has agreed to be my wife with full knowledge. But if it will appease you, I shall make you a vow: I shall do all in my power to make her happy and to see that she has no regrets over this. This will have to suffice for now.”

“You will be accountable to me in this, Aylesham, I guarantee it. And I shall be watching you closely.”

There was a soft knock at the door, and Henshaw stepped inside.

“Come in, Henshaw,” George said, watching Jennings closely. “First item of business is to go through the calendar and the various invitations that have been received thus far. This is going to be a busy week.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Henshaw said, seating himself in the chair next to Jennings’.

Jennings scowled at George but said nothing, so George proceeded to go through the invitations that had arrived from all and sundry. The Season waswell underway, with the hint of victory over Bonaparte on the air. It was George’s plan that he and his betrothed be seen about in public a great deal this week.

He hoped that Jennings would join them as much as possible but only if he came to terms with the inevitable.

***

The week had been a blur thus far. Not that it had flown by—in some ways, Susan thought it had been tediously long, but so much was happening, so much was changing, that she was having trouble keeping up with it all.

On Monday morning, the duke, along with Mr. Henshaw, had arrived atAunt Margaret’s house, as promised, to meet with Susan. Aunt Margaret hadjoined them, and the four had outlined a schedule for the week, which had includedassemblies and balls and the like, and had also made time for correspondence to be written. Aunt Margaret had informed the duke that while she had been more than willing to provide Susan with her current wardrobe—and hadn’t it made a wonderful difference in her appearance?—as a soon-to-be duchess, her wardrobe needed to be increased much further.

“Aunt Margaret,” Susan had tried to interject, “I really don’t think—”

“Hush, child. I know of what I speak here. You may claim modesty and frugality all you like, but it will do you no good.”

“She’s right,” the duke had said. “I shall entrust that to you, Lady Walmsley, if I may, since I have no expertise in that particular area. Have the bills forwarded to Henshaw.”

Apparently, Mr. Henshaw had been tasked previously with sending anannouncement of the betrothal to the paper, which he’d informed the duke had been done. Susan had written to her parents Sunday evening and had sent it off to be posted; she had asked them to inform her brothers and sisters since they all lived within a reasonable distance of each other in Lincolnshire. She had also posted a note to Simon at the last known address she had for him here in London.

Monday evening, Susan, the duke, and Aunt Margaret had attended a musicale hosted by the Earl and Countess of Iverson, which had featured aviolinist, whose name Susan could not now remember, for there had been too many other people and names to try and remember instead. She wished she had been able to concentrate on the performer and the music being played, but it had become clearly obvious as soon as they’d arrived that there was to be more interest in the Duke of Aylesham and the lady at his side than in the violinist. The two of them had endured more congratulations, the duke hadtaken jibes about the end of his bachelorhood, and Susan had smiled andnodded and answered any questions about their courtship with brevity.

On Tuesday, Susan and Lady Walmsley had spent the entire morning with an ecstatic Madame Veronique. “I told you so, did I not, Miss Jennings? Madame Veronique, she knows zees sings,” Madame had exclaimed joyfully. “‘I see in Miss Jennings zee highest of quality and will make her see eet too,’ I say to myself. Did I not say just zees very sing to you?”

Her seamstresses had all nodded in agreement.

Thankfully, Susan’s measurements had been taken during their first visitto the shop, so Susan had only to endure being draped with velvets and satins and laceagain while Aunt Margaret had pored over fashion plates and MadameVeronique had offered her opinions and waved her arms and directed herseamstresses hither and thither.

Upon leaving Madame Veronique’s shop, Susan and Aunt Margaret had then proceeded to the milliner and the shoemaker before Aunt Margaret hadannounced they would take refreshment at Gunter’s. By the time the two of them had returned home with Lady Walmsley’s coach filled to the brim withdress boxes and hatboxes and glove boxes and shoe boxes, Susan had beenoverwhelmed and speechless—and she wasneverspeechless. Or, at least, rarely. She had been more speechless in the past week than in her entire life.

And to think the receipts for all of these purchases would simply be sent on to Mr. Henshaw, and that would be the end of it! The notion of what Aylesham’s wealth must actually be boggled her mind.

On Tuesday evening, Susan and the duke, again with Aunt Margaret, had gone to the Opera House, with its stage and gallery andfivetiers of elegantly ornamented boxes. When they’d arrived at the duke’s box, Susan had sworn that every eye from every box on every tier and from the entire gallery below had all turned as one and looked specifically at the two of them.

“Such a sensation you’ve become!” Aunt Margaret had exclaimed as she’d settled into her chair. It had been obvious to her too.

“You’re not smiling,” the duke had murmured to Susan.

She’d smiled.

On Wednesday, Susan and Aunt Margaret had been invited to tea by noneother than the Duchess of Atherton. Aunt Margaret had casually informedSusan that the duchess was a close friend of the Marchioness of Ashworth, and Aunt Margaret had a family connection to the Ashworths. “My dear great-niece Amelia is married to Lord Halford, the Ashworths’ son, you know.”

Susan had known, but that hadn’t made taking tea with the Duchess ofAtherton—and the Duchess of Wilmington and Lady Bledsoe and Lady Melton, to name just a few—any less confounding.

She’d already known the duke’s strategy behind these events: the more people,especially of the higher ranks, who acknowledged Susan as an acquaintance and the two of them as a couple, the less likely the Prince Regent would be to change his mind.

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