The Truth About Princesses and Dukes (The Duke Hunters Club) Page 14

  “Well...” Rupert’s throat dried. “He convinced someone to write the letters on his behalf.”

  “Ah.” Demon nodded and scrutinized Rupert’s face.

  It suddenly occurred to Rupert that it might be inadvisable to assume that Demon was not very intelligent.

  “I suppose the duke probably paid someone to write those letters,” Demon said.

  Heat flooded Rupert’s cheeks. “Yes.”

  Demon scowled. “You shouldn’t have done that. You’re making things more difficult for the princess. She’s an angel. She doesn’t deserve this.”

  Rupert widened his eyes. Demon had discovered Rupert’s secret at once, and his opinion was clear.

  “I know,” Rupert said.

  “To think of all the men the princess could have married,” Demon mused.

  “There were many?” Rupert asked, and his chest tightened.

  Of course there were many.

  Princess Aria was Princess Aria.

  She was wonderful.

  Any man would have to be an idiot not to see that.

  “Oh, yes,” Demon said. “Every man at court in Sweden desired to marry her.”

  “Oh.”

  “And she often received letters from her relatives in India about potentially wedding someone there,” Demon added. “There were eager to matchmake her, but she would have nothing of it.”

  “India is far away.”

  “Yes,” Demon agreed.

  “Still, one of her suitors was the brother of the Crown Prince. She would have been at every royal event.”

  “How nice,” Rupert said.

  He’d never once visited Buckingham Palace. He’d never met the British royal family. He was poorer than all of Aria’s other suitors. She deserved so much more in this world.

  “And of course, there were many people here who were interested as well,” Demon said.

  “The Duke of Hammett, right?”

  Demon threw his hand up in the air. “I never took that man seriously. He was clearly smitten with his matchmaker. But there were some marquesses whom she might have married—young marquesses. Not to speak of all the earls and viscounts!”

  Rupert’s stomach toppled downward. “There were many of them?”

  “Oh, yes. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to marry a beautiful princess?”

  “I don’t know,” Rupert said.

  Demon narrowed his eyes. “You probably would like to marry her.”

  Rupert raked his hand through his hair. He’d felt guilty before, but now his stomach hurt. He imagined Aria eventually finding happiness with someone else and scolding herself for spending any time with Rupert.

  Demon chuckled. “I’m glad I got here. Think of the scandal if people heard that you were alone with the princess! They might assume you defiled her.”

  Rupert closed his eyes.

  “No,” Demon said. “I’ll make sure that everyone knows that we were together the whole time.”

  “But you weren’t,” Rupert said.

  “Who do they think would rescue her from a murderous husband? Me or you?”

  Rupert was silent.

  “You really shouldn’t have attempted to rescue her on your own,” Demon said. “I’m a trained professional.”

  “Yes.” Rupert shot Demon a tight smile.

  Demon leaned nearer him. “When we get to London, you need to be very quiet about your role. Do you understand?”

  Demon’s eyes flashed dangerously, and it seemed odd to imagine he could ever have flirted lightheartedly with the barmaid.

  “I don’t know why you wrote those letters, but it was a huge mistake.” Demon glared. “Massive mistake.”

  Rupert cringed. Demon was correct.

  “I want you to stay away from the princess,” Demon said.

  “Should I leave now?”

  “No.” Demon tossed his hair, and his nose wrinkled in obvious irritation. “She’ll think I chased you away and worry. She’s too kindhearted for her own good. I want you to remain quiet on the journey to London. Once we arrive, I want you to stay far away from her.”

  Rupert nodded.

  He understood.

  He’d imagined there might be a world where the princess and he could be together, but clearly, he should never have imagined such a thing. He’d been too romantic, just as his cousin had always warned him he was being. If he’d just been more suspicious about romance, he would never have agreed to write love letters on his cousin’s behalf.

  Demon puffed out a breath of air, then lumbered into the bed. Demon blew out the candle, and Rupert was ensconced in darkness and with his own thoughts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Aria had thought Rupert cold before, but now he barely spoke with her. He focused his attention entirely on Lady Octavia.

  Finally, the landscape changed. The sky grew grayer, and the street was lined with carriages. They moved at a fast pace. There were no more holes in the lane to avoid, and the road was sufficiently broad that they didn’t need to halt if a carriage came from the opposite direction.

  The area grew even less interesting. The fields had clearly not been carefully sculpted by centuries of landowners, and there were few fluffy sheep to admire.

  Houses appeared at ever-more-frequent intervals, and finally, Aria realized they were actually in London.

  This wasn’t her first time in the capital. She loved London, but now her heart didn’t beat with excitement. No immaculate barouches or curricles glided on the path, the speed dictated so passersby would have time to sufficiently admire the carriages. No birds chirped merrily from trees—there were too few trees for them to do that. And any chirps, however merry, would be drowned by the sound of hollering workmen, wheelbarrows being pushed across streets, and workhorses clomping their imperfectly hooved feet against the tile stones. The people here couldn’t be described as elegant. Not with their grimy hair.

  This wasn’t Mayfair or Kensington. This was the East End. Did people in Sweden live like this as well?

  Her chest ached. Heavens, she’d been so naive about the world before.

  The carriage halted in the dockyard.

  “Have you been here before?” she asked Rupert.

  The man shifted his legs, as if wary of being spoken to.

  “Yes,” Rupert said tersely.

  Well.

  Aria had had better conversations.

  “Let me see when the next ship to Sweden is.” Demon opened the door to the carriage. He glanced at Rupert. “Don’t let her get out. And don’t let anyone see her alone with you.”

  Aria rolled her eyes. “Just go.”

  Demon hesitated. “And—er—don’t—”

  “I won’t,” Rupert said in an irritated voice.

  Aria wrinkled her forehead. What exactly were Demon and Rupert speaking about?

  “What are you discussing?” she asked.

  Demon shut the door rapidly, and the slam echoed through the carriage. Aria crossed her arms and pressed them against her chest. She directed her best glare at Rupert, but the man’s gaze remained fixed on the window. Never mind that the window was covered by a thick dark curtain.

  “You’re acting strangely,” she said finally.

  “I only want to do what’s best,” he said.

  “People don’t normally laud the virtues of acting strangely,” she replied.

  “There are exceptions to everything,” he said with a tight smile. “You’re going to get on a ship here and have a very happy life.”

  Aria stared at him doubtfully.

  She’d thought she’d been happy with him before, but he’d been cold with her ever since Demon arrived.

  Finally, the door opened, and Demon stepped into the coach. He squished his body into the carriage awkwardly. Lady Octavia yowled, and Demon glared at her. Lady Octavia sashayed toward him, then sat down on his lap abruptly. Demon sneezed and began to pick long white strands of hair from his coat and drop them onto the floor with a di
sgruntled look.

  “So,” Demon said. “Apparently, we missed the ship to Sweden.”

  “You mean my father isn’t in London anymore?”

  “I’m sorry,” Demon said.

  “I wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway,” Aria said, but a wave of disappointment moved through her anyway. The prospect of remaining in London would normally be enticing, but now her stomach hardened.

  What would she tell people who congratulated her on her marriage? What if the duke appeared? What if he tried to murder her?

  London might be a large city, but now it seemed far too small, and just a collection of small streets where any sighting of her could bring her immediate ruin—one that not only destroyed her reputation but which risked her physical well-being.

  She swallowed hard as her heart beat awkwardly.

  “What do you suggest I do?” she asked.

  Demon sighed. “If you know someone in town...”

  “Perhaps your friend Miss Banks?” Rupert suggested.

  “Oh.” Aria’s shoulders sank in relief. “I suppose I could see her.”

  “Do you know where she lives?” Demon asked.

  Aria nodded. “Grosvenor Square. They’ve rented a place.”

  Rupert smiled.

  “Is something about that amusing?”

  “No, no,” Rupert said. “It’s just, it’s expensive. No one rents a place there.”

  Demon arched an eyebrow. “Miss Banks is rich.”

  “Right, of course.” Rupert settled back into his chair.

  Aria frowned. There certainly seemed to be an odd tension between Demon and Rupert.

  “Before we go to Grosvenor Square, can we please see if it’s possible to annul my marriage?”

  “Very well,” Demon said.

  Demon handed Rupert Lady Octavia, then left the carriage, squeezing his bulky frame through the door once again. Aria held Galileo to her, though it was less for Galileo’s sake than her own.

  Soon the carriage jolted to a start. Finally, it stopped before a large courthouse. Aria gazed up at the intimidating building. Her throat dried, but she marched from the carriage and entered the building, conscious of Rupert and Demon trailing behind her.

  A young man sat at a desk. “How might I help you.”

  “I need to annul my marriage,” Aria announced.

  The man widened his eyes and raked a suddenly quivering hand through his hair. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” Aria said.

  “Like Henry the Eighth,” the man murmured in wonder.

  “This is the main courthouse, is it not?” Aria asked.

  “Er—yes.” The man shuffled through some papers. “Er—you’ll want to see Mr. Alfred Deanwood. His office is in the basement. Just go down two flights of stairs, take a left, and I believe it’s the last door on your left.”

  “Thank you.” Aria marched to the staircase. Though the staircase leading up to the next floor was marble, the quality of the stairs that descended downward decreased, and Aria was forced to hold onto the banister, lest she fall on the uneven steps. The staircase that followed diminished even further in quality, and she blinked into dim light. She turned left, then, after a long corridor, came to a door.

  She knocked.

  “Come in!” a surprised voice said.

  A gray-haired man wearing spectacles stared at her. “You’re not the maid.”

  “Of course I’m not,” Aria said.

  He shook his head rapidly. “Naturally. It’s not time for the maid to be here.”

  “I would like an annulment,” Aria said.

  “Dear me.” Mr. Deanwood removed his spectacles, as if he’d thought they’d malfunctioned and were sending him false visions. “That is highly unconventional, young lady.”

  “I know,” Aria said miserably.

  “Why would you ever agree to marry only to come to ask for an annulment?” Mr. Deanwood asked.

  “I thought I loved him,” Aria said. “I thought he loved me.”

  “When did you marry?”

  “Saturday.”

  Mr. Deanwood’s eyebrows lurched upward, and Aria’s shoulders slumped. The clerk leaned toward her. His expression was not aggressive, not cruel, but Aria’s heart still sank. “My best advice to you, my dear, is for you to return to your husband. It is common for women to have jitters.” The man moved his gaze to Rupert. “Take your wife back to your home and reassure her.”

  “She’s not my wife,” Rupert said.

  Mr. Deanwood blinked. “Not? But your demeanor?” He frowned. “Brother?”

  Rupert shook his head.

  Mr. Deanwood’s expression no longer exuded calm. “You’re not attempting to seduce her away from her husband.”

  Rupert’s face whitened.

  “My husband, the Duke of Framingham, is trying to murder me,” Aria explained.

  “She’s a princess,” Demon said helpfully. “With jewels.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Deanwood patted his brow with a handkerchief. “Well, that is unconventional. Obviously, we in England do not want you to get murdered.”

  “Murder is bad,” Demon agreed merrily.

  “Er—yes,” Mr. Deanwood agreed, putting his spectacles back on.

  “And messy,” Demon added.

  “Yes. I would imagine.”

  “I know.” Demon‘s chest broadened somewhat. “I’ve murdered people before.”

  Mr. Deanwood halted his paperwork. “You’re not her husband by any chance?”

  “No, no,” Demon said. “I just meant that I knew how bloody it can be.”

  A nervous look appeared on the clerk’s face. He was clearly unaccustomed to people telling him about their murder victims. Most people who came to him to ask for annulments likely didn’t mention such matters. Most people probably didn’t murder anyone at all.

  “He was in the war,” Aria said hastily.

  “Ah.” Mr. Deanwood still gave Demon a skeptical glance, but he no longer looked like he might faint or succumb to a sudden heart murmur.

  “There must be a way for her to receive an annulment.” Rupert stepped forward. “It’s very important.”

  “It’s not easy to dissolve a marriage,” the clerk said. “Marriages are sacred binds.”

  “Perhaps you could explain the procedure for annulment?” Aria asked.

  Mr. Deanwood bristled. “Well, there are three methods.”

  Relief moved through Aria. Three different ways to get the marriage annulled. One of them must work, even if her husband was a duke.

  “A bishop in your district will try the case,” the clerk said. “Where were you married?”

  “Staffordshire,” Rupert said. “Near Keele.”

  “Ah. That’s helpful.” Mr. Deanwood padded toward a corner and found a stack of papers. “I’ll just find your banns.”

  Aria scrunched up her forehead, not certain what the man was looking for, then decided it didn’t matter. Learning about the procedure to have her marriage annulled did matter.

  “Was fraud committed during the wedding?” Mr. Deanwood asked. “Perhaps he gave you a false name?”

  “He’s truly the Duke of Framingham,” Aria said.

  “Oh, that’s unfortunate.” Mr. Deanwood tapped his fingers along the table’s surface. “Perhaps, though he didn’t receive the appropriate dowry? In that case, your husband could seek an annulment. Obviously, we can’t have people getting married if they don’t receive a full dowry from their new bride’s family.”

  “Of course, she received a dowry,” Demon said. “Her father is brother to the King of Sweden! And there’s no question that it wasn’t exactly what the duke expected. Her father is extraordinarily rich.”

  “That’s the problem, you see,” Aria said hastily. “The duke didn’t really want to marry me. He simply wanted my dowry.”

  The clerk scrutinized her. “To be clear, there was no problem with the actual dowry.”

  “No!” the princess exclaimed. “Of course not.”<
br />
  “Well,” Mr. Deanwood said. “It seems the marriage was not committed through fraud.”

  “Even if the princess received love letters that she thought were written by the duke but which the duke in fact hired someone else to write?” Demon asked.

  Aria’s cheeks pinkened.

  “Even so,” the clerk replied.

  “But there’s still hope.” Aria’s voice trembled.

  “Er—let’s see,” the clerk said, evidently somewhat frazzled by the desperation in the princess’s tone. Explaining why things couldn’t be done was perhaps rather less appealing when the words truly affected someone.

  “Well, there’s always incompetence.” Mr. Deanwood forced a bright smile on his face. He leaned toward the princess. “Are you insane?”

  She widened her eyes. “Would it help me get the marriage annulled if I said yes?”

  “It would,” the clerk said, “though I feel it important to tell you that it would also cause me to have to have the authorities lock you up.”

  “Indeed?”

  He nodded. “Most certainly. We cannot have insane people mixing with the general population.”

  “What’s the last reason?” Rupert asked hurriedly. “You said there were three reasons. What’s the third one?”

  “Right, right,” the clerk said. “I was getting to that one.” He tilted his head. “Is your husband impotent?”

  “Impotent?” Aria blinked. “I’m not familiar with that term. Lacking power? He is a duke and a magistrate.”

  “The word is—er—rather indelicate,” the clerk said. “I don’t think I can explain.”

  Indeed, his cheeks were rather rosier than before, and beads of sweat glimmered on his brow.

  “Her husband and she never spent a night in bed before,” Rupert said.

  “Ah. So he might be impotent.”

  A strange look appeared on Rupert’s face. “I doubt that.”

  The clerk shut his book. “Still, that’s the best way for you to get an annulment.”

  Aria beamed. “Oh, thank you!”

  Mr. Deanwood smiled back, and his eyes softened. “I’m only happy to help.”