Susan Johnson - Again and Again

“I don’t know if I’m worried or not.”

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t live without her. But he couldn’t so he understood a measure of her incomprehension. “We’ll see Bothwick first thing,” he promised, offering her an indulgence sure to please. “What do you think?”

She nodded, jettisoning her apprehensions about the viciousness of the ton, and Simon’s patterns of amusement. He was offering her a lavish world and a place by his side. She’d be foolish to refuse on principle. And Bothwick. She couldn’t help but smile.

Twenty minutes later, they were traveling south.

The news of Simon’s marriage had raced through the ton within hours of their arrival at Hargreave House. But all the curious callers were turned away until the new duchess had a suitable wardrobe-a process much accelerated by Simon’s wealth.

In the meantime, though, as promised, the publisher, Martin Bothwick was sent for immediately. And for the occasion, Simon presented Caroline with an at-home gown he’d had the modiste who made her wedding gown deliver to Hargreave Home in his absence.

“How did you know I’d be coming back?” Caroline asked, her life one of uncertainty and transience for so long, she still didn’t think in terms of the future.

“I was hopeful, of course.” The ultimate politesse from a man who would have abducted her from the dungeons of hell. Try it on. We can have some adjustments made before Bothwick arrives if need be.“

“Bothwick is really coming here today?” she said, still in awe. “Do you know how important he is- how influential?”

“He must have had time in his schedule,” Simon replied casually, more aware than she perhaps of a wealthy duke’s position in the hierarchy of influence. The moss green silk gown fit well, as did the matching kid slippers; and the cashmere paisley shawl that was all the rage was so delicate and fine it could be drawn through a ring.

“You look good enough to eat,” Simon said with a wolfish grin, lounging in a chair in Caroline’s dressing room while she finished her dressing with the addition of beaten gold earrings. “A shame we don’t have time.” He glanced at the clock. “Although…”

“Don’t you even dare think of it,” Caroline interjected, shaking out the folds of her shawl so they draped over her arm properly. “I’m not going to meet the important Mr. Bothwick with my hair all atumble and my face flushed from lovemaking.” She pointed a finger at him. “You stay right there.”

“Yes, ma’am. And if I behave, will you lift up your pretty green skirts for me later?”

“I may if you don’t embarrass me with Bothwick.” “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” he murmured, grinning.

Her look was one of reproof. “I mean it, Simon. This is very serious. I don’t want any of your sardonic or disparaging comments.” “Me?”

“Simon!” She turned back from the mirror. “Promise me this instant or you’ll have to stay in your room.”

He laughed. “Now that I’d like to see.” Her answering smile was seduction incarnate. “And I know just what to offer you to have you

His mouth quirked. “I suppose you do at that. Very well. I promise to behave.” He had something to say to Mr. Bothwick as well, although his conversation would be by necessity, private.

The duke was extremely kind to their visitor when he arrived. He went to meet Bothwick in the entrance hall and personally escorted him into the drawing room to meet Caroline, a mark of distinction that didn’t go unnoticed by the publisher who was never invited to ducal homes.

Martin Bothwick was a plump little man, clearly nervous despite Simon’s amiability, but as he and Caroline began discussing several of the authors he’d published, his disquietude subsided. They spoke at length of various books that he’d brought to prominence; Caroline had read them all. They spoke of plots and dialogue and pacing through several cups of tea while Simon listened and occasionally offered a comment. Caroline was surprised Simon was so well read in terms of the newest fiction; she would have considered him too busy with carousing.

Martin Bothwick was equally surprised. He hadn’t thought the Duke of Hargreave dedicated to intellectual pursuits. But apparently, he’d read a great deal of contemporary English literature as well as that of France and Germany. There was absolutely no doubt he knew the best tailors. Even a man of Bothwick’s background who professed no interest in sartorial matters found his gaze returning to the Duke’s elegant lounging form. He might have such a coat made for himself, he thought, sitting up a it straighter to hide his paunch. Black would be slimming too.

Sometime later, when Simon brought up the subject of Caroline’s manuscript, she immediately blushed. “It’s not in the least ready yet, Simon. Really, Mr. Bothwick, it’s in the very earliest stages.”

“When you’ve finished it, Lady Hargreave, please allow me to have the first look.”

“There’s no need to be polite, sir. I’m the most rank amateur,” she protested, all her dreams of writing paling into insignificance against this man’s accomplishments.

“Nevertheless, I’d be remiss as a businessman if I didn’t take advantage of this meeting with you. You understand, writers from the ton are very rare. And of great interest to the world.”

“There, you see, darling,” Simon interposed. “Mr. Bothwick has a point. And who better than he to know the literary landscape?”

“Thank you very much.” Caroline could scarce catch her breath. “I’m thrilled, of course.”

The manuscript is in Yorkshire at the moment, but we’ll have it brought to London,“ Simon remarked.

“It’s not at all ready, though,” Caroline quickly noted.

“When it is, Lady Hargreave, I’d be delighted to read it”

And for the remainder of their visit, Caroline was floating on air.

The men spoke briefly once again as Simon walked with the publisher to the front door. And whether His Grace could actually read minds or whether Bothwick’s inspection had been too obvious, the duke said, “Let me send my tailor to you. You’ll enjoy him. And it would give my wife pleasure.”

The publisher attempted to refuse, but the duke was ingratiating and winning and Bothwick was ushered from the house, quite charmed.

Hargreave was in love with his wife, Bothwick understood as he paused curbside a moment later, waiting for a footman to open the door of the duke’s carriage that was there to drive him home.

Although he wasn’t sure His Lordship realized it.

Perhaps he’d been the byword for vice too long to recognize the gentler emotions.

Simon’s reputation gave pause to many in the ton as well, when at the end of the week, the duke and duchess were finally at home to visitors. The shock of Simon seated in the drawing room beside his new wife was almost as astonishing as news of his marriage.

Many might understand a man’s eventual need for a wife. Or more pertinently, a man’s need to marry an enceinte lover, but for the Duke of Hargreave to actually make an appearance at tea was definitely in the nature of a miracle. Not that he went so far as to actually drink tea-the brandy at his elbow his preferred choice-but his mere presence spoke volumes.

His choice of Caroline Morrow for his wife caused enormous tittle-tattle and rumor. Was she not already married? Although certainly, the duke had enough money to buy off a husband or two. But five years wasn’t so long and everyone recalled the circumstances of their parting. That scandalous little story had spread through the ton like wildfire.

So, where had he found her?

And where was her other husband?