The Truth About Dukes (Rogues to Riches #5) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,26
amazed?” he asked. “Constance seems likeable, if a bit…”
“Exactly. She seems likeable. She’s perfected the art of seeming. Seeming sweet, biddable, agreeable…but with her family, she can be quite blunt and often is.”
“Can’t we all?”
As soon as they were around the corner of the house, Althea pulled Nathaniel in close for a kiss. The sheer wonder of being free to share affection with a man she desired, the glory and joy of it, left her with a sense of chronic inebriation.
“We must be married soon,” she said. “Promise me.”
Nathaniel made no reply, but instead held her a moment longer.
“What is it?” She drew away enough to study him as she hadn’t studied him in the library, the potting shed, or over lunch. “Something troubles you.”
“A detail, merely a detail. I’m sure it will soon be sorted out.”
“You are sure of no such thing. Tell me, Nathaniel.”
He took her hands. “You know I love you.”
“And I love you.” Althea had never said those words to anybody else, not to her siblings, not to her reflection. She said them to Nathaniel as often as she could without sounding foolish.
“I love you and I will marry you as soon as possible, but Rothhaven has pointed out a potential issue. He raised this issue with His Grace of Walden, and your brother is in agreement that the problem must be resolved before we speak our vows.”
“A pair of dukes are deciding when you and I will be married?”
“I suspect a duchess was also consulted. I can ignore my brother’s good intentions, I could probably reason around your brother’s inherent caution, but Her Grace of Walden has been brought into the discussion.”
And all of this had transpired without anybody speaking a word to the bride? Althea stepped back.
“The news must be terrible indeed if you discuss the situation with your brother, my brother, and my sister-in-law, but not with me.”
“I am discussing it with you now. I am not the Duke of Rothhaven.”
“God be thanked.”
“But the proper duke, the real duke, has not yet observed the usual courtesies involved with a titular succession, nor can he.”
Althea sank back against the cold granite wall of the manor house. “Robert cannot observe the courtesies because he cannot heed the parliamentary writ of summons. He nonetheless can and has succeeded to the title.” Why must polite society be afflicted with so many inane rules?
“I succeeded to the title as well. In error—because I believed Robert dead—but I did. If the wrong names and titles appear on our marriage lines, our union could be invalid. Our issue could be illegitimate, and assuming Rothhaven has no sons, the title could revert to the Crown.”
“This is tedious.” Frustrating, infuriating, and bloody stupid.
“That’s all it is—tedious. Walden is using his influence with the College of Arms to address the matter. He’s already sent a pigeon south, with directions to send another north when a decision has been made. The king is usually quite attentive to matters involving the peerage.”
“My happiness rests in the hands of a self-indulgent, lazy, supercilious…” Althea let the tirade die aborning, because beneath her temper lay the more honest emotion. “I am afraid, Nathaniel. I finally find you, I wade through years of arcane social conventions, and yet another pointless convention stands in my way. I know who you are, you know who I am. What do I care if at the time of our wedding you are still officially wearing some dusty old titles that have nothing to do with us?”
He kissed her, a swift, “That’s my Althea” sort of kiss. “I want the matter resolved for us, but also for Rothhaven. If he ever thinks to marry, his union must be unassailably legal.”
“I would like to know Robert has a companion in life,” Althea said, running her fingers through Nathaniel’s hair. “She’d have to be a woman of extraordinary tolerance.”
“Or she’d have to be extraordinarily in love. It happens, you know. The most unlikely people—”
Althea smacked his arm. “If Rothhaven is to take his place as duke, he needs the dullest, most blue-blooded, unremarkable, conventional duchess ever to wear a tiara. His past must fade under a cloud of boring decorum and his illness must become an insignificant footnote at the bottom of a monotonously ducal life.”
“I believe you have divined his strategy, or part of it. He’s already set about creating a proper façade and front drive for the Hall, and I expect he will soon be receiving callers.”