The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Devlin, Barbara (that summer book .TXT) 📖

“Her Grace and I are proud to announce the engagement of our son Anthony, the Marquess of Rockingham, to Lady Arabella Hortence Gibbs, daughter of Lord and Lady Ainsworth, in nuptials to be officiated by the Archbishop, at my home, eleven days hence.”

The room erupted with applause, and she teetered on the brink of hysteria but mustered a glance of adoration at Anthony. “Smile.”

Not for a minute did he fool her, because he offered what could best be described as a brittle, lopsided grin. Exposed and vulnerable, he cast a silent plea, and she prayed he didn’t swoon or scream. It was at that very instant she lifted her glass, if only to break the grip of fear clawing at her throat, and the duke called to order the group.

“To Anthony and Arabella.” Oblivious to the unrest he inflicted on his son, His Grace faced her. “May they be blessed with many strong sons.”

Her knees tingled, and she gulped the champagne, while Anthony drained his glass and signaled for a refill. Despite their plan, she surmised they enjoyed no escape, and she reclaimed her seat as resignation set in with a vengeance, because the announcement was tantamount to a marriage, barring a massive scandal. As far as society was concerned, the ceremony was but a formality.

And so the meal commenced, but it passed in a blur, as an army of servants delivered course after course, yet she hardly tasted the food. Although numerous guests extended congratulations, the words did not penetrate the imaginary but impermeable fog that enveloped her in a cold and lonely prison, and Anthony, her unfortunate cellmate, fared no better.

Every time he carried his fork to his mouth, his hand shook, and more than once he dropped a morsel in his lap. The strain manifested in his jerky movements and habitual coughing, and she expected him to vomit at any minute. When the footman cleared the dishes, and the butler rolled in a trolley, bearing brandy and her father’s cigar box, Papa stood.

“Gentlemen, let us bid farewell to our ladies, that they might enjoy their tea and gossip in the drawing room.” Papa assumed an air of superiority. “And we shall remain here, to discuss the latest news from Parliament.”

“Please, do not leave me,” Anthony whispered. “Without you, I am lost.”

“But I must.” Numb, yet fighting her own demons, Arabella pushed from the table. Drawing on Dr. Larrey’s expertise, she composed a suitable response to reassure him. “However, you are safe. And what of your friends? Whatever they discuss, keep reminding yourself that you sit in my home, in London, and I am just down the hall.”

“All right.” His strained expression did not inspire confidence. “I can do that. Although I suspect my fellow veterans will only make things worse.”

Reluctant to part from her fiancé, because he needed her, and she feared His Grace might commit Anthony sooner than later, she dragged her feet and followed the women. In the drawing room, the requisite hounding almost drove her over the edge, until a familiar and much welcomed face beckoned.

“Arabella, it has been too long since our last luncheon.” Patience Wallace, Arabella’s longtime friend and co-conspirator in women’s causes, provided much-appreciated succor in a hug and a reliable shoulder. With blonde hair and green eyes, Patience commanded a small army of admirers, but none paid suit given her father was but a general in the army, sans noble rank. Still, Arabella promised to help her trustworthy chum secure a good match. But first, she needed to save Anthony from his father. “And why did you not write me of your impending wedding? I should be angry with you, because we never keep secrets from each other. So, tell me about the tragic but inexpressibly beautiful Lord Rockingham, because he reminds me of one of Shakespeare’s doomed heroes.”

“Really?” Arabella wiped her brow and noted Her Grace occupied a lone chair in the corner. “I was thinking more of Odysseus. And all of this happened so suddenly that I had no time to write you, but I planned to visit and strategize, tomorrow. Believe me, I require your wise counsel.”

“Oh, no. I supposed the previous Lord Rockingham’s demise ended the contract between your family and His Grace.” Patience wrinkled her nose and clasped Arabella’s hand. “And the marquess is far too elegant for Homer.”

In concert, they giggled.

“Oh, Patience, if I confessed everything, I should turn your hair white, but you are the only one I can trust with the entire ugly truth.” With a sigh of relief, Arabella related the details, withholding naught from her closest confidante. “So, you see, it is not necessarily a match made in heaven.”

“But you are contracted, thus love never entered the arrangement. Given your partiality for reason and logic, which I know well, I don’t understand your reticence.” Patience claimed the chaise and patted the spot beside her. As usual, she reduced the situation to bare facts bereft of emotion. “Your mother appears overjoyed.”

“Indeed, she is thrilled and thrives on the attention.” In the center of the room, Mama held court, and Arabella frowned. “But I cannot stop thinking of the duke’s plot, and I don’t get your meaning.”

“The answer is simple.” Patience shrugged. “If Lord Rockingham is as emotionally unbalanced as you describe, I do not presume His Grace has any other option, so why do you not give him a choice or an alternate solution? You are an intelligent and enterprising sort, and I know you can devise another course of action that suits your purpose.” She wagged a finger. “But I caution you to remember His Grace must protect the future heir to the dukedom, even if that requires commitment to a mental institution, and the law supports him.”

“I will not allow it, because Anthony deserves so much more.” Arabella gnashed her teeth and then checked her tone, because Patience was not the enemy. “In moments of clarity, he is the kindest, gentlest man blessed with an enormous heart. Indeed, he