Page 104 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

Next order of business:Thomas Macey’s special license. Leo tracked down the archbishop’s secretary to a crowded coffee house.

With the excessive politeness unique to an Englishman who feels unfairly imposed upon, the secretary informed the duke he would not be opening his office for another hour, as he meant to enjoy his morning ritual of breakfast and newspaper first. An excellent program, Leo agreed, and sat and stared at the man, while the other residents of the coffee house took turns staring at Leo. It turned out that a ducal stare improved the secretary’s reading speed vastly, and the man, still grumbling, soon rose to open his office early.

With the special license tucked into his pocket, Leo went in search of Thomas Macey. He found him at his club, where he and St. Blaise were engaged in their post-duel breakfast.

“Come along, then,” he said, and Macey, startled, sent a forkful of sausage into his chin instead of his mouth. “I have acquired the special license. The wedding will be today.”

Silence fell over the neighboring tables. Interest rose from every gentleman in the club like steam off a galloping horse. He ignored them; he was giving London all sorts of entertainment these days, and he wasn’t even close to finished.

St. Blaise grinned over his ale, but Macey looked around, panicked. “Please, Dammerton, do lower your voice,” he whispered. “I don’t want a scandal.”

“He doesn’t want a scandal!” Leo laughed. “Why, Macey, you do have some wit after all.”

The silence had erupted into murmurs.

“Besides,” Macey added, “there’s no time to make arrangements to hold it today. It really ought to take place in a church.”

Leo seized the fork from Macey’s hand and threw it onto the plate. “Today, I say! He who hesitates is lost! Between the three of us here, we have a special license, a groom, and two witnesses. We need only collect the bride and I assure you, somewhere in London is a vicar willing to open up his church and say the right words. There will be a wedding today, Thomas Macey, mark my words.”

* * *

Leo arrivedhome after Macey’s wedding at the same time as a footman bearing a letter from Lord Renshaw.

He fumbled it open, shakily unfolded the page. The letter was a furious torrent of phrases such as “disgraceful behavior” and “shame on my family and your own” and “undeserving.” Leo agreed with every word, the sum total of which was: The engagement was off.

But no sooner had he read the last word than Susannah Macey herself marched into his study, a cowed-looking butler in her wake.

“Is that the letter from my grandfather?” she asked.

“It is.”

Without breaking stride, she ripped the page from his hand, tore it in half, then in half again, and again. She tried to tear it a fourth time, but the pieces were too thick.

“Would you like me to light a fire so you can burn it?” he offered.

With an exasperated look, she slapped the pieces down onto a table. They fluttered about in indignation.

“My grandfather is being premature.”

“He is also right,” Leo said. “I have behaved dishonorably, I have disgraced my name and my title, and I shall do it all again before the day is out.”

She gave an impatient huff. “And again, when one of my relatives challenges you to yet another duel.”

He considered this. “Renshaw won’t. Your father would, but by the time he returns to England, I’ll be gone, and I believe your eldest brother is hunting in Scotland.”

“Then Thomas—”

“Doubt it. An hour ago, he married the daughter of a warehouse clerk with my help.”

“What on earth…?” She sank into a chair. “What a mess.”

“I know. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “This is about that woman artist, isn’t it? Spare me that look, Dammerton. Everyone knows. Right now, every lady in London is donning her best bonnet so they can crowd into my grandmother’s drawing room full of gleeful commiseration. And yes, if I remain engaged to you, they’ll laugh at me. Then next week, there will be someone else to laugh at, and then they’ll leave London for the summer. By next year, I’ll be a duchess and everyone will have forgotten.”

“Susannah. Forgive me but I cannot—”

She stood so abruptly the chair rocked behind her. “I’ll not release you. I shan’t. You’ve been swept away by one of those peculiar passions people get into. All the excitement of duels and so forth, and perhaps you are panicking about the wedding; I hear that happens. This is nothing more than the effect of hot blood and cold feet. You simply need to calm down. In a few days, this whole frenzy will be over.”

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