Cherie shook her head frantically. She poked her chest with her index finger.
“I-I do not understand. What are you trying to tell me?”
The maid slipped her hand away. She rushed from the room, then returned two minutes later and handed Mary a scrap of foolscap with something written on it.
Mary held it to the light shining through the window.
What was this? Mary turned her gaze upon Cherie.
“You were sent here to spy on me…and my sisters, for Lotharian?”
“I told you she was a spy,” Mrs. Polkshank said as she entered the parlor and settled a tea tray on the table beside Aunt Prudence. “Ask if she’s French. I bet she is.”
“Mrs. Polkshank, please summon my sisters,” Mary said. “I should like to speak with Cherie privately, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, Miss Royle.” Mrs. Polkshank walked into the passage, glancing over her shoulder as she moved.
Suddenly Mary realized she had seen Cherie once before. “Zeus! You served tea the day my sisters and I visited the Old Rakes Club.”
Cherie nodded, then lowered her gaze to the floor.
“And you have been reporting to Lotharian all of this time?”
The maid shook her head furiously. She raised a single finger in the air.
“Once. You reported to him once.” Mary nodded thoughtfully. “One time. What did you tell him?”
Cherie slowly reached out her finger and touched the wedding ring Rogan had given Mary, then she lifted that hand and placed it atop Mary’s heart.
“You told him…that I loved the duke?” Cherie didn’t truly answer, but Mary could see it on her face.
This was how Lotharian knew her feelings. Likely how he read the true nature of people as well. He spied.
He was a gambler, gamester, and a good one, apparently. He knew that to win, one must leave as little to chance as possible.
The elfish little maid suddenly grew very still, as though she had heard something.
And then Mary heard it too. She turned her notice toward the passage. One of her sisters was descending the stairs.
Mary turned back to Cherie. “That’s all you told him?”
Cherie mouthed word “yes.”
“Do you wish to stay on here, with my sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Then this must remain between us. And you must promise to never again share what goes on in this house with anyone. Do you understand?”
Cherie nodded and smiled, then hurried through the parlor door.
Just then, Mary noticed that Aunt Prudence was peering at her through half-open eyes.
“Aunt Prudence, were you listening to me?”
“You would be surprised at how much I hear when others think me asleep.” The old woman smiled mischievously. “But do not fret, Mary. I am inclined to forget whatever secrets I uncover before I next blink. So carry on.”
The moment Elizabeth entered the room, Aunt Prudence snapped her lids closed again, but her smile lingered.
Elizabeth was carrying a valise filled with Mary’s dressing table articles. She set it down beside the lone chest Mary was to take with her to her soon-to-be-husband’s home.
“I cannot believe you are really leaving us,” Elizabeth said as she crossed the room to Mary and took her hand. “How will we get along without you?”
Mary forced a small laugh. “Dear, you won’t have to get along without me. We can visit each other every day if you like.”
“Promise you will. I daresay Anne will spend every penny set aside for our household account within one month. Two at the most.”
Mary’s laugh was genuine this time. “Mrs. Polkshank is very thrifty, so I seriously doubt you will have anything to fret over.”
“When is the wedding? Have you heard anything more?”
“No, and I doubt I shall until the special license has been secured.” Mary squeezed Elizabeth’s hand as she folded her fan in her lap. “But I promise you, Sister, you will be the very first to know.”
Mary released Elizabeth’s hand as a soft, humid breeze blew through the window. Mary leaned against the chair back and closed her eyes as it blew across her cheeks. “Were I at home this night, I swear I would sleep in the courtyard for the cool night air.”
“Instead, you will be sleeping with a duke,” Anne said from the parlor doorway.
Mary’s eyelids snapped open and she sat up. “There is naught I can do about that, Anne. Would you prefer it if I stayed here and risked word slipping out that Blackstone and I were never legally wed?”
“No. I know you were only thinking of me and Elizabeth when you agreed to the duke’s solution.” Anne lowered her gaze to the Turkish carpet. “I hope you can forgive me. I just cannot stop fretting over the fact that you will no longer be here.”
“Oh, Anne. It was bound to happen someday. It just happened that circumstances required that it be today.”
The clop of horses’ hooves echoed against the row of houses as Rogan’s gleaming town carriage entered Berkeley Square and drew to a halt before the Royle sisters’ home.
Mary peered out the window, and with a sigh came to her feet. Her stomach was tied in tight knots as she saw Rogan and a footman walk up the short steps to the house. The door knocker sounded, setting Mary into panicky motion, hurrying past both her sisters to the door.
Mary opened the door for Rogan and the footman, then immediately turned back to her sisters and hugged them both. “Every day. Remember, we can see each other every single day.”
“And we must, for we have yet to locate Lady Jersey,” Elizabeth reminded Mary, as if this might be just the incentive to lure her home again. “We must confront her about the Kashmir shawl.”
“Lady Jersey?” Rogan asked.
Heat rushed into Mary’s cheeks as her gaze met his. “I told you, it matters naught.”
“It does!” Elizabeth countered. “The Kashmir shawl Lotharian held in the Turkish room belonged to Lady Jersey. We are sure of it, for she is wearing it in her portrait hanging in the Harrington gallery.”
Rogan blinked in surprise. “I remember that painting. I must admit, this mystery of yours, Mary, is quite intriguing.” Rogan’s tone was firm and even, not mocking at all. “Are you certain that the shawl you possess is the very same one?”
Mary drew a breath, punctuated by several tiny gasps. Too much was happening now. She did not wish to discuss this with Rogan, with anyone, just now. “I believe so.”
“It
Rogan flashed a pleased smile in Anne’s direction. “Thank you, Miss Anne.” He lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “But remember, for all of our sakes”-he glanced at the footman removing Mary’s chest from the parlor-“we are already married.”
The duke snared Mary’s gaze and gestured toward the door. She kissed Aunt Prudence on her cheek, and each of her sisters. Then, with Rogan’s hand guiding her at the elbow, she slowly turned and walked through the door to the carriage.
When the carriage arrived in Portman Square a few minutes later, Mary glimpsed Quinn through that cabin window, caning his way down the front steps to an awaiting carriage.
A liveried footman hoisted a heavy portmanteau to a muscular coachman standing atop the conveyance to receive it.
Mary turned around in her seat to face Rogan. “Where is he going?”
Rogan leaned forward and peered out the window as the town carriage rolled to a slow stop before the house.
