How To Seduce A Duke

said it yourself though, it’s ruined. Ain’t worth nothin’ anymore.”

“It mightn’t be worth much money anymore, but it may be worth quite a lot to Anne and Elizabeth.”

Mrs. Polkshank grunted.

Mary bit her lip, not really believing what she, frugal Mary, was about to say. “Would you take…a guinea for it?”

Mrs. Polkshank’s wide face began to glow, and a sly smile tilted her lips. “Well, it is Kashmir, like you said. The edges might be worth something. Did you see the gold threads?”

“Mrs. Polkshank, the shawl was found in this household. Rightfully, it already belongs to me.”

“Very well. Thank you, Miss Royle. A guinea is fair compensation for my savin’ the shawl.”

“You are welcome, Mrs. Polkshank.” Mary stepped past the cook and into the passage and peered up at the tall case-clock for the hour. “Where are my sisters? Have you seen them of late?”

“Oh, they’re in the library lookin’ over some papers. Shall I tell them that you are inquirin’ about them?”

Mary started for the library. “No, thank you. I am headed there myself.”

When she reached the library, she stopped just outside and spread the ornate crimson shawl carefully over her arm.

This is madness.

Utter madness.

But even she had to admit that with each day that passed, the tale of Mrs. Fitzherbert’s babies was getting harder and harder to deny.

Mary arrived at Lady Upperton’s Cavendish Square home two hours later.

She was not alone, for both Anne and Elizabeth were with her.

Nor did she arrive empty-handed. Carefully folded and concealed inside the basket swinging from the crook of her arm rested the Kashmir shawl.

Quite possibly, the shawl Lady Jersey had whisked from her own shoulders and used to swaddle the secret babies.

But they would need Lady Upperton and Lord Lotharian’s assistance to be sure.

When the Royle sisters were ushered into the library, Lady Upperton was, as she was oft found, sitting on the settee serving tea.

“Do not move your cup, Lotharian. Leave it still on the tabletop.”

“I heard you the first time, dear lady.” Lord Lotharian glanced up. Noting the presence of the footman waiting to announce the sisters, he brought a finger to his lips to silence the girls.

“All I need to do is touch this cord and…” She reached out and gently pulled a piece of corded silk.

She wrung her hands and held her breath as a metal contraption of some sort wheeled forward until it bumped the tea dish.

Elizabeth, unable to restrain her curiosity, crept forward and stood behind the settee where Lady Upperton sat.

“Watch now.” The old woman began to giggle with excitement. “The tea server has not spilled even one drop since I made the adjustment to the handle tension. Not one drop, I tell you.”

Though Mary was near bursting with the news about the Kashmir shawl, she knew that at this moment, nothing was more important to Lady Upperton than her tea-pouring mechanism.

Lady Upperton’s invention stood at least two feet high, quite large for such a small tea table. At least a dozen or more metal wheels spun and connected and resembled, more than anything else, the moving workings of a grand clock.

The server lowered a thin wire a finger’s width into the cup. A tiny bell began to ring, and a silver teapot tipped forward and poured steaming tea into the dish until the liquid met the wire tip.

Abruptly, the teapot was righted, and four small wheels transported the server to its starting position on the far end of the table.

“Brilliant!” Lotharian cried out. “Why, ladies all over England shall be clamoring for a mechanized tea server.”

“Well.” Lady Upperton angled her head, making her appear very proud indeed. “They can clamor all they like. No one shall have a server such as this but me.” She giggled again. “Honestly, I have begun working with the power of steam. I have finished with tea servers for now.”

“My lady, if I may.” The footman cleared his throat. “My lady, Lord Lotharian, the Misses Royles have arrived.”

The elderly inventor raised her brows. “Yes, I see that. Do be seated, gels.”

She looked at the young women and reached out her hand to greet each one, before returning her gaze to the footman once more. “Mayhap I should begin designing a mechanized announcement system.” She lifted a white eyebrow at her inperturbable footman.

Mary hurried to sit down on the settee. “Lady Upperton, I must speak with you on a matter of great importance.”

The lady and Lord Lotharian shared a private, knowing glance.

“No doubt you do.” She settled her hand atop Mary’s and squeezed it. “I have already had one young visitor this day. Would you care to guess who that might have been, Miss Royle?”

Confusion was plain on Anne’s and Elizabeth’s faces.

Mary had not yet decided how to admit to her sisters what had happened between her and the Duke of Blackstone. But she did know that doing so now, and in the presence of Lord Lotharian, one of the most famed rakes of all, was not the best way.

“Lady Upperton,” she began. “I will venture to guess that the Duke of Blackstone called upon you. But please, let us not speak of him now. Please.” Mary hoped her pleading gaze imparted the meaning she hoped.

Elizabeth rose and snatched Mary’s basket from her. “We have stumbled upon a clue…no, more than that-we may have evidence of our noble birth!”

“Evidence?” Lotharian leaned forward, his interest highly piqued. “What have you got there in the basket?”

Elizabeth plunged her fingers into the basket, but before she could withdraw the shawl, Mary stilled her sister’s hand.

“First, we need to know if you can get us into the Harrington gallery without raising suspicion.” Mary looked pointedly at the elderly pair.

“Why, certainly.” It was clear that Lady Upperton could not wait to have the contents of the basket revealed to her. Her words came forth in a torrent. “I can appeal to Sir Joseph’s pride in his paintings. And Lord Lotharian, here, is a master of distraction. But why, dear, do you need to enter the gallery?”

“Because we found something hidden inside one of Papa’s document boxes,” Anne announced.

“Last night, during the musicale,” Mary explained, “I might have seen something in Lady Jersey’s portrait that quite closely resembles-this.”

Mary gave Elizabeth a nod, and her sister slowly lifted out the fragile Kashmir shawl and laid it across Anne’s awaiting arms.

Lord Lotharian lifted his stunned gaze from the ornately patterned crimson shawl and looked straight into Lady Upperton’s widened eyes.

“Good Lord. Could it be?” he asked.

“I daren’t allow myself to believe it.” Mary swallowed deeply. “But, yes, this may be Lady Jersey’s shawl.”

“Do you know what this may mean, gel?” Lotharian asked.

“I do,” Mary replied solemnly.

Chapter 13

Mary would never have guessed that Lady Upperton’s clever way of gaining entry into the Harrington’s gallery that evening would have involved Rogan, the Duke of Blackstone.

But it did.