“Even then.”

  They sat for a few minutes in silence as Samuel wrestled with whether this was the right time to share the information that Judge Smee had sent from London. He had to someday, he knew. It would be cruel to allow Lulu to continue under such a misapprehension.

  But was now the best time?

  Lulu sighed. “I just . . . I will never escape the guilt.”

  “Guilt?”

  “The harm I have caused by my actions.” Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. “All that information I shared, the damage it has surely done to those brave fighters in France.”

  Her voice trailed off. She gripped Samuel’s arm. It was the sign he needed.

  “Lulu,” he said gently. “I received a letter from London. A letter from a man—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Lulu said quietly. “I cannot bear to hear any news of the consequences of my actions,” she continued in a pained voice. “I am sure my imagination can fill the gaps.”

  Of course. She believed he had bad news for her—she would expect to hear what harm had come from what she had done, not hope.

  Samuel cleared his throat. “I think you’ll want to hear this. Aren’t you curious?”

  Lulu met his gaze and he saw the pain within. The regret. The certainty that what she had done was truly terrible, that she could never be fully forgiven for her betrayal.

  “Lulu, the information you shared—it was all false,” he said, as gently as he could.

  She stiffened beside him on the sofa. “F-False?”

  He nodded, trying to consider the best way to explain. Judge Smee had been harsh in his condemnation, despite the fresh revelations. He did not know Lulu as Samuel did.

  “It was discovered, after the very first message, that there was one in the encampment at Edinburgh Castle sharing secrets,” Samuel explained gently. “They discovered who it was within a day. Everything that man shared with you, everything you told the French . . . it was false information. Designed to keep the French interested. It didn’t—you didn’t do any harm.”

  He watched the dawning realization of what he was saying brighten Lulu’s face. She seemed to come to life right before him, the parts of her which had died returning to full vigor.

  “I . . . you mean, I did no harm by passing on the information?” she breathed.

  Samuel shook his head. “If anything, you did us a great service.”

  “A great—”

  “You helped uncover a traitor in the encampment, and allowed us to continuously distract the French,” he pointed out kindly. “Don’t you see? The army didn’t tell us in London the full story, they wanted us to hunt out the go between—”

  “Me,” Lulu said faintly.

  Samuel nodded. “But they were never truly worried, because they had stopped the betrayal at the source. You acted to best protect yourself, and you don’t have to blame yourself for anything, anymore. Your actions did no harm.”

  For a moment, he watched as Lulu attempted to take it all in. It was a great deal of information. He himself had found it astonishing when he had read Judge Smee’s letter.

  Lulu sagged with relief against the sofa. “You . . . you are sure?”

  “Certain,” Samuel said with a smile. “I am proud of you, you know.”

  She managed to laugh at that, and a little of the Lulu he knew returned. “Why, because I didn’t actually manage to do anything that I intended?”

  “Because you felt guilty,” Samuel said, kissing her on the forehead and wishing she could see herself as he saw her. “Because though you were pushed into an impossible situation, you felt remorseful. That says far more about you than the people who forced you into it.”

  Lulu took a deep breath. “With that in mind, I must see the rest of the house.”

  “Curious?”

  She nudged him in the ribs. “We have endured enough “curiosity” for a lifetime!”

  He groaned, clutching his ribs as though she had done him a great injury. “Oh, we’ll have the rest of our lives to explore the house. I’m more interested in exploring you.”

  “Samuel!”

  “Well, it’s my house,” he said fairly. “Our house. No one is going to disturb us here . . .”

  Epilogue

  18 June 1811

  “Oh, my dear, you simply must attend—”

  “No, I have the duchess coming to me on the twenty first, you must be patient—”

  “How can she, when I believe she already promised attendance at my ball!”

  Lulu smiled weakly as her stomach lurched and the doyennes of London Society happily argued around her. About her. Over her.

  It was like a dream. As though the Scottish manor were not enough, Samuel had informed her only the day before their journey to London was completed that he owned not only a townhouse in the capital, but some sort of castle in Cheshire and “a pile” in Devon. Lulu had been forced to ask Mrs. Winder for a map. Even then it had taken her a while to find it.

  Cheshire! Scotland! Devon! London!

  It was certainly a very different life from the one she had originally thought her future would contain.

  Not that she was complaining. Even if she was about to be torn apart by these ladies.

  “I think you will find that I have precedence in this matter,” said Lady Romeril icily. “It was, after all, under my guidance that His Grace, the Duke of Chantmarle was able to find such a suitable bride in the first place.”

  She affixed Lulu with a glare.

  Lulu smiled and curtseyed demurely, but she was sure to meet Lady Romeril’s eyes once more with just a hint of silent rebellion. She was indebted to Lady Romeril, it was true. But perhaps not quite in the way the older woman thought.

  “There, that’s settled,” said Lady Romeril with a supremely satisfied voice. “I suppose she will come to you, Mrs. Marnion, a few days later. After that—”

  “Thank you, Lady Romeril,” said Lulu sweetly. “I am grateful for your guidance and support in Edinburgh, but I believe your support can stay there. I am the Duchess of Chantmarle. I am able to accept my own invitations—or decline them, I suppose. If I wish.”

  The scandalized look on Lady Romeril was quite worth the bold statement, but Lulu would have made it no matter who she’d been faced with.

  She’d had enough of being controlled by others. Enough of being told what she should do, and how she needed to act to survive.

  That ended. Now.

  Lady Romeril raised an imperious eyebrow. “My word. Stepping into the role of duchess with both feet, are we? Killing off the old and on with the new?”

  Lulu swallowed, forcing down the nausea which had plagued her all morning. She was not sure just how much Lady Romeril knew about her past. Far too much, it appeared.

  “Just so,” she said with a smile as light and carefree as she could make it. “Now if you will excuse me, ladies, I must mingle with my other guests. I cannot let it be said that the Duchess of Chantmarle plays favorites this early in her marriage.”

  Lulu stepped away as the titters of the ladies she had been conversing with rose in the large drawing room.

  When Samuel had suggested they host a wedding reception upon their arrival at the townhouse, Lulu had initially thought him ridiculous.

  “A wedding reception? We’ve already had a wedding reception,” she had pointed out.

  “In Edinburgh,” he said fairly. “Not London—more than half my acquaintance is here.”

  And so Lulu had agreed. Something small, she had impressed upon her new husband. Nothing too ostentatious.

  Which did not explain why there appeared to be several hundred people clogging the stairwell.

  “Ah, Your Grace!”

  “Your Grace, how wonderful to—”

  “Is that her?”

  Lulu smiled as she descended the wide sweeping staircase in search of her husband. They had been forced to open the smoking room and the morning room to accommodate the large number of guests. Something that Fitzhugh—

  “Ah, Your Grace,” came the dry tones of the butler.

  Lulu hesitated, then halted in the corridor. It was quieter here, almost all the guests had made their way upstairs to the drawing room. It was just her and Fitzhugh.

  Wonderful.

  “I wished, if it is not too much of an inconvenience, to have a moment of your time, Your Grace,” said the butler darkly.

  Lulu braced herself. This could not be good. “Of course, Fitzhugh.” She almost continued with What is it? when the man did not appear to wish to speak. Which was most strange as he had been the one to accost her.

  Finally, the butler swallowed and drew himself up stiffly. “I wish to apologize. I—”

  Lulu blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  Fitzhugh affixed her with a stern look. “Please, Your Grace. Allow me to—”

  “Yes, yes, right,” she said hastily, raising her hands in mock surrender and pressing her lips together firmly.

  Surely she was dreaming. Fitzhugh did not go around apologizing!

  But it appeared that now, he did. “You will understand and appreciate, I am sure, that I was . . . suspicious of a woman of your rank—our rank, I may say—marrying His Grace.”

  Lulu nodded, hoping that was sufficient to demonstrate her understanding but simultaneously not interrupting.

  It appeared it was. “I see now that you make His Grace truly happy, and that is all that anyone who knows him would wish,” continued the butler in rigid, clipped tones. “I misjudged you. Given the gossip about you, I thought you would destroy his reputation—”

  “Ah,” said Lulu helplessly.

  “—but if anything, I do believe you have improved it,” said Fitzhugh with a hint of a smile. “The man comports himself like an idiot. On purpose, I am given to understand.”

  Lulu forced down a smile. “I am given to understand that also.”

  The man nodded. “As long as we understand each other.”

  Lulu could hardly believe it. This stiff, stern servant who had made her feel so isolated, who had himself pointed her in the direction of a lawyer as she sought a divorce . . . apologizing? Admitting he was wrong?

  Well, not entirely. But it was halfway there.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fitzhugh,” said Lulu softly, adding the honorific and seeing immediately it was the right decision as he swelled with pride. “I hope to continue impressing you, and of course, serving His Grace in any way that I can. We share that, I think.”

  The butler nodded, and without another word, stepped along the corridor.

  Lulu stood there for a moment in genuine shock. Well! You could have knocked her down with a feather. That was certainly not what she had expected from the gruff older man.

  When she entered the morning room, it was to see her husband standing with a man she did not recognize. He had close-cropped dark hair, a heavy expression, and a commanding presence.

  Samuel looked around. “Ah, there she is! Come here, Lulu.”

  Lulu flushed as she approached the two gentlemen. Try as she might, she had been unable to convince Samuel to only call her that pet name in private. He just could not help it.

  “Your Grace,” bowed the stranger.

  “This is Daniel Vaughn, Lulu,” said Samuel happily. “Vaughn, my wife, Lucy.”

  Grateful he had at least introduced her by her proper name, even if it was strange to hear it in his mouth, Lulu smiled at her guest. “You are very welcome, Mr. Vaughn.”

  Mr. Vaughn smiled. “And I am very grateful to be so welcomed, Your Grace. It is a . . . well, a pleasant distraction. At the moment.”

  Now she came to look at him, Lulu could see the man looked unwell. Oh, nothing serious. A drawn look around the eyes, a heaviness across the shoulders. He seemed to be a man who was overly tired, or tired of something—she could not tell which.

  “Vaughn,” she repeated. “I believe there are two Vaughn brothers, are there not?”

  Immediately, Lulu saw she had made a mistake but didn’t know what it was. Samuel’s eyes had widened and the others in the morning room swiftly left, closing the door with a snap.

  Lulu looked at the two gentlemen who remained. “I—I am sorry, I did not intend—”

  “It is quite all right, Your Grace,” Mr. Vaughn said with significant reserve. “My brother is the elder. The Duke of Thornfalcone.”

  “Not that you’d know it to look at them,” Samuel quipped.

  Lulu shot him a look. Why on earth was her husband being so cruel about Mr. Vaughn’s appearance? No younger son, surely, would like to be jested that he looked older than his sibling!

  But for some reason, Mr. Vaughn chuckled. “Your poor wife, Chantmarle, she doesn’t know what you mean. I am a twin, Your Grace,” he said to the bewildered Lulu. “We’re identical twins.”

  “Identical twins?” she repeated. “Goodness.”

  It was the sort of thing one read about in stories, not met in a morning room.

  “And how is your brother?” Samuel was saying.

  Mr. Vaughn winced, though why Lulu had no idea. “You know, I think I’d rather not talk about it. Not now, not today. Soon I’ll come by for a visit, and we can talk then.”

  Lulu hid her smile. There were still plenty of Samuel’s friends and acquaintances who were uncertain of her, and most of the others still preferred to meet with her husband in private.

  She could not blame them. A woman of no name, no family, no connections? No fortune, dowry, or expectancy of inheritance? No title? Where had the Duke of Chantmarle found her?

  But this appeared to be different. Mr. Vaughn was not being rude in cutting her from the conversation, Lulu was certain. No, this was a private pain, one he had no wish to share.

  Now that, she could quite understand.

  “In that case, we will not speak of it,” said Samuel happily. “Not on a day when we are celebrating! Which reminds me, have you heard about old Gilroyd? Man has made the most ridiculous vow . . .”

  Lulu allowed the conversation to wash over her for a few minutes. She had never heard of Mr. Gilroyd, let alone met him—though now she came to think about it, she supposed it was possible the man was also a duke. Samuel did not really seem to differentiate. It was one of the things she adored about him.

  Affection for him expanded, filling her completely. It did not seem possible that she had found a man like this in the whole world—let alone that she had convinced him to love her. Though as she recalled, it had been Samuel who had begged her to marry him . . .

  “A marriage of convenience is the only way to—”

  “Absolutely not. Samuel, no!”

  “—and why did you not marry in London, Your Grace?” Mr. Vaughn asked politely.

  It was because she was thinking of such wicked and lustful things, Lulu told herself later. That was why she responded so boldly.

  “Why, because Samuel simply couldn’t keep his hands off me,” Lulu replied with a smile.

  That smile faded as her cheeks burned. Dear God, what had she said?

  But though Mr. Vaughn was evidently surprised by her direct response, he laughed with Samuel. “Dear me, how refreshing to meet a woman who speaks openly!”

  “Perhaps a little too openly,” Lulu said ruefully as her stomach lurched.

  “Well, much as I would love to stay and hear all about it, I have to be back to meet with Doctor Walsingham,” Mr. Vaughn said, and he truly sounded regretful.

  “A drink in a few days’ time, Vaughn?” Samuel called after him.

  “Count on it,” said Mr. Vaughn with a nod to them both.

  And then they were alone.

  Lulu groaned. “I cannot believe I just said that! Aloud! With my mouth!”

  “Neither can I,” chuckled Samuel, shaking his head. “My word, I think you frightened him away!”

  She groaned again, dropping her head into her hands. Here she had been, determined to make a good impression on the people of London—to impress Samuel’s friends, most of all. And what had she done?

  “Do you think he will tell anyone?” she said, peeking out from between her fingers. “Will I read about that in the gossip pages tomorrow?”

  “Oh, never fear, Vaughn is far too noble for all that,” Samuel said cheerfully. “Besides, you spoke nothing but the truth. I was far too curious to taste your lips, wasn’t I?”

  Lulu shivered as she recalled that moment. That heady tension, the growing desire both of them had attempted to ignore. The opportunity at Lady Romeril’s ball, the sudden shock of Samuel’s crushing kiss on her lips, and the knowledge—oh, the sincere knowledge that she wanted to feel his kiss every day for the rest of her life.

  “Lulu?”

  She blinked.

  Samuel was looking at her, face full of concern. “Are you quite well?”

  “Oh, perfectly well,” said Lulu with a bracing smile even as her stomach lurched. No, she could overcome it this time.

  It would be a great shame, after all, to destroy a perfectly good rug. Though that did not mean she had to quell everything. Why not, in this moment, with all their guests upstairs in the drawing room happily entertaining themselves, reveal the truth?

  “Although,” she said slowly, “I must say I have been surprised at your lack of curiosity since we arrived in London.”

  Samuel frowned, his handsome forehead crinkling. “Lack of curiosity?”

  Excitement was rushing through Lulu’s body, intermingling with the nausea that was ever present at the moment. “I mean, you haven’t wondered why I haven’t been myself?”

  “Yourself?” Samuel appeared to be completely lost. “Well, the journey was difficult for you. You felt so unwell, I felt so sorry for you—”

  “And you weren’t curious about other things?” Lulu prompted.

  Surely the man could not be this dense!

  But then, were gentlemen taught about such things? Was this one of the areas where she was fully informed, and it was Samuel who would need to be told?

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” said Samuel repentantly, shaking his head. “Curiosity could kill a duke! Especially when it comes to you!”

  “Well, that would indeed be a great shame,” said Lulu, beaming. “But then, as it appears there could be an heir on the way, I am not so concerned about the Chantmarle line.”