It did not seem possible that Vaughn, of all people, should be aware of the truth of Lulu’s betrayal. The Vaughn brothers weren’t even supposed to be in Edinburgh, as far as he had known! The last Samuel had heard, they were for Brighton. So how—

  “Look, it’s an open secret, you understand?” Vaughn said awkwardly. “Most of Edinburgh Society know it, even if we don’t speak of it.”

  Samuel’s mouth fell open. How was it possible he had been in Edinburgh for weeks, and never heard about this? Why had no one warned him?

  “You cannot be serious,” he said slowly.

  Vaughn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, it was a long time ago—and the poor man hadn’t hurt anyone, had he? To be honest, I don’t see the problem. Two people, two adults of course, who consent to—”

  The man wasn’t making any sense. Samuel stared, utterly befuddled. Perhaps he’d had more brandy than he thought.

  “What are you talking about?” he said, interrupting Vaughn’s words.

  The man frowned. “Why, Miss Finch’s brother—I do apologize, the duchess’s brother. It’s well known, even if no one speaks of it out of respect to Miss Finch, that he was caught . . . even I know that, and I only heard last spring when I was visiting a relative. You mean you did not know?”

  Samuel laughed darkly. “No, but strangely enough, that wasn’t what I was referring to. No, I was thinking more of the military secrets she’s been sharing with the French.”

  Vaughn dropped his glass. It shattered on the hardwood floor. “Christ, I beg your—”

  It took but five minutes to clear up the glass as best they could, but an additional ten to fully explain the story.

  Samuel sighed as he leaned back. “So there you have it. My wife is a traitor.”

  “Is she?”

  Vaughn was frowning, as though he had been presented with a complex puzzle.

  “What the devil do you mean, is she?” snapped Samuel, pushed beyond all endurance. “The woman—”

  “Is not a traitor, at least not in my book,” Vaughn said slowly. “No, hear me out. She had no wish to share this information, she was blackmailed, wasn’t she?”

  Samuel scowled. “So she says. Over a brother.”

  “I’ve confirmed that part of her story,” said Vaughn fairly, as though he was sufficient.

  Stomach twisting, Samuel nodded briefly. He could not even bear to say aloud that his friend was right. Because if he was—

  “It sounds to me like the duchess didn’t think much harm would come from passing on those messages,” continued Vaughn, irritatingly calm. “Alone, no one to turn to . . .”

  His voice trailed off as he met Samuel’s eye, who had been carefully avoiding him for a full minute.

  Oh, blast. It all sounded so reasonable, when put like that.

  “You think . . . you think I should forgive her?” Samuel asked stupidly.

  Vaughn sighed heavily. “I’m not sure. I suppose the first question you have to answer is, has she done anything tangible to offend you?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  6 May 1811

  Lulu kept her voice as steady as she could make it. “I must say, I appreciate you seeing me at such short notice, Mr. Finlay.”

  The man shuffled papers on his desk with a sickly smile. “Not at all, Your Grace. Not at all.”

  Smiling at a man who did not deserve it had never been something Lulu had struggled with. All women could do it. It was a certain twist of the lips, a forcing in the eyes, the need to make the man before you truly believe that you were happy to see him. It had never failed her.

  Never until now had it been so awfully difficult.

  But Lulu tried. She really did, despite the fatigue in her shoulders, the angry throbbing in her head which had not let up since she’d lifted her it from her pillow that morning. That she had not slept probably did not help.

  “Thank you, Mr. Finlay,” she said aloud, injecting as much warmth into the words as possible. “That is most kind.”

  The trouble was, it was kind. That was why it was so frustrating that she sounded so insincere.

  The office she was sitting in was large, airy, and bright. The wide bay windows allowed sunlight to stream through onto the little cluster of chairs and sofas arranged around a magnificent golden yellow rug, and just to the side was a desk flanked with two large cabinets.

  Lulu had been impressed—but then, the recommendation had come from Fitzhugh, the butler, who she was sure would want to send her to someone who knew his business well. Fitzhugh’s direction to her that morning had been very precise.

  “You leave here—you are leaving here, aren’t you? Excellent, so take a left from the front door, straight along the road until you reach Marchant Street, then turn right. A second left takes you onto Union Street, and you’ll see the sign on your right.”

  “I’m not usually—I mean, His Grace likes me to be accompanied whenever I—”

  “I shall see to that. Just go.”

  She’d been worried she would struggle to find the lawyer’s office, but it was hard to miss. Lulu wasn’t sure whether the Finlays had something in particular to prove, but the large gilt bronze sign outside the office proudly proclaimed: Finlay, Finlay, Finlay, and Sons Ltd.

  Lulu had blinked, almost dazzled by the reflection of the sun.

  Goodness, they were so important that there were three of them?

  She had been ushered into the office by a flushing footman then by a bowing clerk who looked just as dazzled as she had felt outside. It was only when Lulu had been carefully seated in an armchair in Mr. Finlay’s office did she realize, with a sinking heart, why.

  “Such an honor to receive a visit from nobility,” Mr. Finlay was saying. “If I can be of any assistance, I would be greatly honored . . .”

  Of course he would. Lulu’s shoulders slumped as she realized just why the bowing, scraping footmen had been so eager that she see Mr. Finlay straight away.

  What lawyer in Edinburgh would turn away a duchess for a client?

  “—helped many fine people in my time, so I am sure whatever service it is you are looking for, Your Grace, we can help—”

  Though it was on the tip of her tongue to ask which one he was, the first, second, or third Finlay emblazoned on the front door of their office, Lulu managed to hold her tongue. Aside from it being far too rude to say aloud, she needed him.

  The Finlays were the only ones who could help her now.

  “So,” said Mr. Finlay, after his long monologue that Lulu had barely heard. “You grace us with your visit today, Your Grace, ahaha, no pun intended, because . . . ?”

  His voice trailed off in what he evidently thought was a tactful manner.

  Heat scalded Lulu’s cheeks as she attempted to collect herself. This needed to be done delicately. She would have to trust, naturally, that the man could be discreet, but even so. She couldn’t just come out with it. The last thing she should say was—

  “I want a divorce,” Lulu blurted out.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Mr. Finlay’s bushy eyebrows rose so high, they were almost lost in the ridiculous looking legal wig the poor man was wearing. It looked most uncomfortable to Lulu, but nothing like the discomfort he was clearly now feeling.

  “Ah,” said Mr. Finlay awkwardly.

  Lulu’s stomach twisted. She probably should not have been so blunt—but what else was there to say?

  She could no longer force herself onto Samuel—onto His Grace, the Duke of Chantmarle. That was how she needed to remember him.

  Pain shot through her heart, but Lulu did her best to push it away. It was what was best for Samuel. He would see that, one day. Society may deride him, but that would be temporary. It would be nothing to the scandal once they all discovered her true actions.

  “D-Divorce?” stammered Mr. Finlay, slowly sitting on the sofa opposite her and wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “Forgive me, Your Grace—”

  “Please, don’t call me that,” said Lulu.

  The sooner she grew accustomed to being plain old Miss Finch again, the better.

  Mr. Finlay swallowed. Obviously that was a step too far. “Forgive me if I have recalled this inaccurately, but by my reckoning . . . I mean to say, you were only married to the Duke of Chantmarle a week ago.”

  Lulu tried to smile. “Yes, that’s right.”

  She was banking on that. Such a short time, she had argued in her mind all night long. Surely any lawyer would understand she had made a mistake—a big one—and recognized it swiftly enough. Divorce was not so difficult in that circumstance, was it?

  “I suppose then you will actually be wishing for . . . for an annulment,” the lawyer managed.

  Lulu frowned. “An annulment?”

  She had heard the term before but never been entirely sure what it consisted of. Was that a sort of divorce only available to the wealthy and titled?

  “Yes, an annulment,” the man continued. “It—well, a divorce ends a marriage, but an annulment says in legal terms that the marriage never happened at all.”

  Lulu’s heart skipped a beat. A week ago she would have thought the idea monstrous, but now—now, did she have much choice?

  “Well, that sounds like just the thing,” she managed to say. “Yes, I would like an annulment, please.”

  Mr. Finlay cleared his throat. “Goodness, I wish my wife were . . . Your Grace, an annulment can be offered to a couple if the marriage has not been . . . if it wasn’t . . .”

  Lulu leaned forward, eager to hear the rest of the sentence. If the marriage had not been what?

  But it appeared the lawyer found the annulment itself a difficult thing to stomach. Swallowing hard, and perspiring even harder, the man wiped his brow again, then he wrung the handkerchief in his hand.

  “ . . . if the marriage has not been . . . consummated,” he whispered.

  Lulu immediately leaned back and tried not to notice just how her cheeks burned.

  Not consummated? Oh, bother. The marriage had been consummated, several times.

  He tried valiantly to continue. “And if it has—”

  “I am afraid it has,” said Lulu, flushing furiously. Oh, if only there were lady lawyers! Then at least she would be able to talk about this without boiling like a lobster! “Does that mean an annulment—”

  “Completely out of the question, I am afraid,” Mr. Finlay said, almost in relief that the conversation about an annulment was formally over. “Now, a divorce will be tricky. Scottish laws and English laws, very different. You yourself are English yes, you and your husband—but a Scottish wedding. Unless we can secure a Scottish divorce, it will leave the duke unable to marry directly, you see, and he will need to pay you a pension . . .”

  The man droned on as Lulu stared in horror.

  Was it truly that difficult? She had always imagined a wealthy man, a noble man, one with such charm and standing in Society could procure a divorce as others bought a horse. With a little money, to be sure, and a little effort. But the idea it would involve so many problems?

  It had never occurred to her.

  The lawyer was still rattling away. “But if that is what you and the duke decide—”

  Lulu swallowed. She couldn’t make this decision now, not after discovering the complexity of the thing. She would need to think about it, consider other options to release Samuel from the burden of being married to her.

  “I think I will need to consider this further,” she said quietly, rising to her feet.

  Mr. Finlay rose immediately, relief apparent on his face. “Of course, of course, Your Grace. My door is always open, come for any additional advice at all.”

  He was very kind, very well meaning, and excruciatingly embarrassed, Lulu could see as Mr. Finlay waved her off at the door. No, she could not return there. Not if she wanted to be able to hold her head high.

  The spring air was crisp and bright, the scent of flowers dancing along it. Lulu leaned against the wall and closed her eyes for a minute, trying desperately to think.

  She needed to end her connection with Samuel, that was obvious. She had caused him such pain—such agony. The words he had uttered, they rolled around her mind time and time again, inflicting pain with every remembrance.

  “You came to Edinburgh to look . . . to look for the person—”

  “For the traitor, yes. Oh God. And I married her.”

  Lulu swallowed and opened her eyes, gripping the reticule her lady’s maid had chosen.

  There was something she could do—something she had believed impossible before she had been wed, but now the comforting weight of the reticule reminded her that had changed.

  She had placed the two pounds she had carefully saved into the reticule days ago, desperate for a chance to leave the house alone, but Mrs. Winder and Samuel combined had made that almost impossible.

  Until now.

  Lulu tried to smile. Well, the butler may have it in for her, but he had permitted her the first opportunity she’d had to leave Dellamore House without a chaperone. This was her chance to end this blackmail, once and for all.

  It was only when she stepped onto Union Street, however, where Mr. Gregory and Mr. Gillingham conducted most of their affairs, that she became suddenly conscious of what she was doing. It would hardly do if someone saw the newly minted Duchess of Chantmarle going to meet such ruffians. The scandal! The outrage would be immediate, and she would have no recourse to defend herself. Samuel would know . . .

  Lulu blinked and halted, leaning against a wall as her legs quavered.

  No, it wasn’t possible. It was a trick of the light. One gentleman looked very much like any other at a distance. It was easy to be mistaken, to see something that wasn’t there.

  They must use the same tailor, Lulu told herself firmly as she peered across the street at the man who had just stepped out of Mr. Gillingham and Mr. Gregory’s residence. That must be the reason for the intense similarity between the man before her and Samuel.

  But as the man turned to glance to his left, Lulu’s breath caught in her throat.

  It was him.

  She put out a hand to the cold brick wall beside her but even its cooling effect was insufficient to calm her. Heart beating wildly, stomach lurching, Lulu stared as Mr. Gillingham also emerged from the building and carefully shook Samuel’s hand.

  Shook Samuel’s hand?

  Lulu could not understand it. Everything she believed was crumbling around her.

  Did Samuel know Gillingham and Gregory? Was that why he had no compunction in approaching her at the Assembly Rooms? But how was he involved with them? The blackguards had no acquaintances, only associates. Only people just as tangled in wrongdoing as them.

  An awful thought rushed through her mind that she could not ignore. Was it possible . . . oh God, was it possible Samuel had been involved with them from the very start?

  She had to get away.

  The thought flashed scarlet in her mind. Lulu knew she had to follow that instinct, and at once. The last thing she needed was to be spotted here by either of them. She had to get away, return—well, not home, for Samuel’s residence could never be home. But certainly she must remove herself from this street, where at any moment—

  Samuel turned and his gaze locked on hers.

  Lulu gasped. Her visceral reaction surprised her, roaring through her veins like wildfire. Pain, and shame, and anger. It was a heady cocktail that would surely end in tears.

  But of course, Samuel would not be so foolish as to—

  “No,” Lulu breathed.

  After saying a final short word to Mr. Gillingham, Samuel turned to her and started to cross the road.

  What did he think he was doing? What could possibly be gained by—

  “You are alone,” said Samuel curtly as he reached her.

  Lulu swallowed, mouth dry, throat hoarse, and bit down the retort she wished to make. Yes, I am alone. I have always been alone. Even married to you, I was alone.

  “What was Mrs. Winder thinking, allowing you to—”

  “Mrs. Winder is not my keeper,” Lulu managed to say, highly conscious of the other people passing them on the pavement.

  Oh, did this argument have to be this public? Perhaps it was a blessing. Perhaps it would prevent them from losing their tempers and disgracing his name once again.

  “I told you before,” Samuel said stiffly. “I’d prefer it if you were in company all—”

  “What, afraid I will transport another secret to the French?” Lulu exclaimed, unable to hold in the bitterness and the pain. “Afraid I will disgrace you once again?”

  Samuel’s eyes flashed, his whole face contorting with pain. It was a pain mirrored in her. Oh, she had never intended to hurt him, and yet all she seemed able to do was injure!

  Perhaps she should have spoken to another lawyer. Perhaps it would be better, easier, kinder even to leave Samuel Dellamore, Duke of Chantmarle, behind. Being married to him was surely a cruelty. Did that not make divorce a kindness?

  “Lulu,” Samuel growled, dropping his voice and taking a step closer to her.

  Lulu instinctively took a step back—at least, she would have done if there were not a very inconvenient wall in the way.

  “Samuel,” she breathed.

  And for some reason, that appeared to have an effect on him that was most unexpected. The darkness in his eyes disappeared, melting into—that could not be affection. He could not still care for her after everything she had revealed!

  “Samuel!”

  Lulu had not intended to shout his name, but she had been much provoked. Samuel had suddenly grasped her arm and pulled her, without a word, along the street and into an alley.

  The alley was dark and damp. There were only about three feet between the two walls, and the dead end to her left meant it was quiet. The noise of the street had disappeared as swiftly as though someone had removed it from Edinburgh completely.

  Lulu’s lungs hurt. She’d not taken a full breath in quite some time.

  “S-Samuel,” she stammered, trying to pull her arm free of his grip. “Why are you—”

  “I ask you to travel with someone as I care for your safety. And—”