How To Seduce A Duke

not as jolting as what he saw next.”

“What did he see? Tell us, please,” Elizabeth pleaded.

Lilywhite’s eyes widened. The tension in the library grew very heavy. “In the shadows of the room stood Lady Jersey-and Queen Charlotte.”

“The queen?” Elizabeth’s feet tapped excitedly on the carpet.

“Indeed. In fact, when your father inquired about Mrs. Fitzherbert’s altered faculties, it was the queen herself who confessed that Mrs. Fitzherbert had dosed herself with a goodly amount of laudanum at first pain and that she had been unable to stop her. Royle lifted her lids, and indeed her pupils were black and large, but when he asked for the bottle of laudanum she had used, hoping to ascertain how much she had taken, it was not produced.”

Anne’s brow wrinkled with concern. “Someone else drugged her?”

Lilywhite sighed and shrugged. “Royle suspected as much but was in no position to question the queen’s account. Two long hours later, though Mrs. Fitzherbert was barely conscious, she delivered three stillborn babies.”

“Stillborn?” Elizabeth gasped for air, as if it seemed her faery tale dream of being a princess had just been torn away from her. “Then…then we could not be those babies.”

“That’s enough, Lilywhite. I shall finish.” Lotharian strode back to the settee and slowly, in three attempts, managed to kneel on one bony knee before Elizabeth.

“Dear, they appeared stillborn, but your father, even though known as London’s finest physician, was not permitted to examine the babies, even for a moment. He begged for a chance to revive them, but the queen would not hear of it. She proclaimed the children dead. If they were not yet, they soon would be, and that was the way it must be.”

Anne cupped her hand to her mouth. There were tears in her eyes.

“Though she expected Royle to follow her edict, she took no responsibility for it,” Gallantine broke in. “Instead, she tasked Royle with penning a missive to the prince, informing him that Mrs. Fitzherbert would soon be well and would harbor no traces of her earlier illness.”

“Her…illness? Oh my word, she meant-the babies.” Elizabeth’s jewel-green eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Lotharian gazed down at the Turkish carpet for several seconds before continuing. “Then, at the queen’s direction, Lady Jersey wrapped the bluish babies in her own shawl and deposited the still bodies in a lidded basket, which she hurriedly pushed into your father’s arms. He was to remove the bodies to the country, bury them, and never tell of their existence. Ever. The future of the Prince of Wales depended on it.”

“But the babies weren’t dead,” Gallantine added excitedly. “Not yet.”

“Devil take you, Gallantine. You are ruining the drama of the story!” Lilywhite balled his hand into a chubby fist and thumped it on his own knee.

Lotharian extended his arm backwards toward Lilywhite and snapped his fingers. “Assistance, please.”

“Oh, certainly.” Lilywhite helped Lotharian stand. When the tall gentleman sat down in Lilywhite’s chair, Lilywhite was left standing, mouth agape.

“Do stand at the opposite end of the settee, my friend, so I may see the gels’ lovely faces as I put a period to the story of their birth and second chance at life.”

Gallantine grumbled but did as Lotharian, the obvious commander of the Old Rakes, had asked.

“Royle was nothing if not loyal to the Crown, and so he left Margate to do as the queen had commanded. But as the carriage rolled off into the night, he heard a weak mewl coming from inside the basket.”

“The babies!” The tears in Anne’s eyes breached her lashes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Yes,” Lotharian told her. “Royle lifted the lid to see three sets of blinking eyes peering up at him. He ripped open his shirt and held the three shivering babes to his bare chest for warmth, then wrapped his coat around them all. They were not dead, but if he returned the infants to Margate, and the queen, he was certain they would not survive the night.”

Gallantine clutched his brandy crystal tightly in his hands, as though gathering up his courage, as he usurped the role of historian. “Your father knew what must be done, so he whisked the babies to his family’s cottage, where he immediately engaged two wet nurses.” He smiled at each of the women. “And, well, you know the rest of the story. He raised them as his own into three fine young ladies.”

“In the morning, Royle-likely after realizing the danger of what he had opened himself and the babies to by sharing the story-recanted everything. Blamed it on the brandy and his penchant for storytelling,” Lilywhite sighed. “But we had only to look in his eyes to know his poignant words the night before had been the truth. So then, when he asked us that if anything were to happen to him, we would see to your future, we vowed we would.”

“And so we shall.” Gallantine swallowed the last few drops of his brandy and settled the goblet on the tea table. “So we shall.”

Lord Lotharian leaned forward, took Mary’s hand in his, and curled his fingers around it. “And there you have it, Miss Royle, the true story of your birth.”

Mary felt numb.

No, it is impossible. The story cannot be true. It cannot!

It is far too outlandish. Far too grand.

And yet, she had to admit to herself, there was a part of her that did believe.

Wanted to believe.

Oh, not the bit about being daughters of the prince.

From everything she’d heard, Prinny was a spoiled, loathsome oaf, and good heavens, being found to be his child would be naught but an embarrassment to her-even if the same could hardly be said for her sisters.

No, the part Mary longed to believe was her father’s heroic actions-even when it meant refusing to do as the queen commanded. Saving the babies, despite the very real threat of reprisal from the Crown, was in precise keeping with the character of her father. He was exactly the sort who would do whatever he could to save innocent lives.

As Mary sat silently, considering these amazing revelations, she belatedly noticed that her sisters had her pinned with expectant gazes.

“So, what say you, Mary?” Anne seemed very impatient with her for some reason.

Had she missed a bit of conversation while mulling over her thoughts?

“I can see that you are still not fully convinced.” Lord Lotharian pressed down on the chair’s wooden arms and hoisted himself up from its seat. “No matter.”

The tall lean gentleman returned to his place beside the hearth and gestured for the other two elderly gentlemen to join him.

For nearly a full minute, the Royle sisters sat quietly, their ears straining to overhear the low buzz of conversation taking place before the mantel.

To her surprise, Mary caught her name mentioned, twice, but she could not understand any other part of what seemed to her to be a most serious conversation. At last the three old rakes rejoined the sisters.

Lotharian smiled at each young lady in turn, then fixed his eyes upon Mary. “We shall begin with you, my dear, if that is acceptable.”

What is this?

“Er…begin what with me, my lord?”

“Why, see to your future, gel. Promised Royle, I did, and despite my reputation…in other areas, I assure you, I always keep my word.”

My future? No, no, no-

Lord Lotharian took Mary’s gloved hand and drew her up from the settee. “Mrs. Upperton has seen to the preparations. Everything should have been delivered to your lodgings by now.”

His eyes twinkled excitedly, making Mary wonder exactly what sort of readying Mrs. Upperton had done.

“My town carriage will fetch you and your sisters from Berkeley Square at nine o’clock this eve for Lady Brower’s rout-where you and your sisters will be launched into London society.”

Good heavens. Mary’s tongue felt thick in her mouth, but she somehow managed to lace together a few words of protest. “My lords, you are very kind, but we are not acquainted with Lady Brower.”

Lord Lotharian waved his free hand dismissively. “My darling, you know no one in London. So you must trust my