Page 36 of The Duke of Deceit

Jess

No polite greetings, no unnecessary rambling. Just right to the quick of the matter, which was for the best, too, although as Jess stared down at the letter, her heart was torn. Part of her didn’t want Lucien to be the father. But if he wasn’t, then that meant Amanda had been lying to her for months.

She had no idea which one of them she wanted to be telling the truth.

She fanned the paper in the air to dry it, then folded and sealed it. Fighting to keep her hand from trembling, she wrote the direction on the outside. She gave a firm nod of determination, pushed herself away from the desk, and took it through the house to the front hall.

Simms and the other servants had long ago started their day, even if the sun had been up for only an hour, with Auntie still tucked warmly in her bed where she would remain for several hours more.

She gave him a tired smile. “Good morning, Simms.”

“And you, Miss.” He gave her a polite nod. “Shall I tell Cook to prepare your breakfast?”

“Only a chocolate pot, please, sent to the garden room. And when you ask Cook for the chocolate, could you please ask her to heat up water for a bath when it’s convenient?”

“Of course.”

“And this.” She handed him the letter. “Would you put this into the morning post? I’ll also need you to arrange a hackney this afternoon to take me to Lady Holkham’s garden party.”

“Of course, Miss.” He paused. “You have a delivery.”

“Oh?” She glanced out the sidelights. The street was still empty, the neighborhood around them not yet awake. She wasn’t expecting anything, certainly not this early. Good heavens, had she ordered more of those silly pamphlets by mistake?

“I’ve put it into the drawing room for you,” Simms told her.

“Thank you.”

She went into the drawing room and stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. A gigantic flower arrangement sat on the tea table. She blinked, then scowled. Surely, it was from Sir Percival for her work on the illustrations, yet not so much a thank yougift as sheer bribery to hurry up and finish her illustrations so his book could be published sooner.

Her mouth twisted as she picked up the card tucked into a burst of pink roses. Hmm…only her name, no message. But beside the arrangement was a neatly folded copy of the most popular gossip rag in London, a broadsheet Jess would never have been caught dead reading but one which Matilda read as religiously as the Bible.

How odd.She picked it up. Perhaps it had been left here for Auntie by mistake.

A letter fell out onto the tea table. Her brow tightened into a sharp frown. It was the letter from Mr. Stevenson which she had misplaced as soon as it had arrived. But how on earth had it gotten here? She looked back at the broadsheet, and her heart stopped.

A news item halfway down the page was circled in red pencil. A rumor that Lucien Grenier, Duke of Crewe, had become secretly engaged…

To Miss Jessamyn St Claire.

The paper slipped from her stunned fingers and landed on the floor at her feet.

*

That afternoon, Lucienrapped the brass knocker on the front door of Lord and Lady Holkham’s new Palladian villa.

It was a lovely house, he had to admit. More than a house—a figurative bridge. Located at the edge of Marylebone, it sat just far enough into the fields beyond London proper that Holkham was able to snatch up the property for far less than other lords were paying for similarly sized parcels in the more fashionable areas of Mayfair, yet close enough to the park tomaintain a certain respectability among theton. Oh, it was nothing compared to Brixton House, the St James’s townhouse of the Dukes of Crewe for the past one hundred years and where Lucien currently resided.

But then, Holkham actually owned his home. Thanks to his father, Lucien was simply usurping his.

The house also bridged Holkham between the world of the peerage and the wealthy middle-class Cits that seemed to be popping up everywhere. The baron was part of the newly rich and not-yet influential who hadn’t found their foothold among thebeau monde, which meant they had to look further down the social ladder to find people to lord over. Which was precisely why Jessamyn St Claire had been invited to today’s garden tea, because she was considered lesser, although Lucien knew the frustrating gel would outshine every other woman present despite their jewels and finery.

The door opened. The butler swept an assessing glance over Lucien from hat to boots and immediately recognized him as part of the quality…although qualitywhat, exactly, Lucien had always been tempted to ask.

“Lucien, Duke of Crewe,” he told the man without preamble.

The butler’s mouth fell open. Then he recovered himself and shook his head apologetically. “His lordship is away for the afternoon and will not—”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here to see her ladyship.”