Dukes By the Dozen

GIVEN HIS SODDEN STATE, Maxwell entered Albemarle House through the servants’ entrance. If he was lucky, he could reach his temporary rooms unseen—and un-smelled.

Even in the country, he’d read about the big to-do in London last year when it was decided that the river which fed the Serpentine had become too polluted. The City had gone to much trouble to cut the lake off from the River Westbourne and instead, pump water in from the Thames. Well, perhaps the water smelled better, but the mud that now coated his boots and trousers?

He stunk to high heaven.

Thankfully it was still quite early. If he could just get through the kitchens—with profuse apologies to Cook, of course—he could take the back staircase and—

“Good Lord, what is that stench?”

Max froze at his cousin’s horrified query. Well, his cousin-by-marriage, that was. Damn. They’d only known each other a few weeks now, and under most unusual circumstances. They got on well, though, and he didn’t wish for her to think ill of him.

He turned to find Kate, Duchess of Albemarle, staring at him, aghast. She’d pulled the corner of her shawl up over her nose and mouth in an effort to block the odor. He winced.

“My apologies. I—” Max stopped short, wondering how to explain that while he’d left the house this morning intending to visit the Old Bailey, he’d found himself in Hyde Park fishing a pup out of the Serpentine instead.

He knew why he’d veered to the park. He missed home. London was an impressive city to be sure, but he didn’t belong here. He supposed he’d been hoping a walk through the fading greenery of the park might lift his spirits.

And it had, but for the most unanticipated of reasons.

Who was she? Heat spread through him at the mere memory of having had the stunning young lady in his arms, for even the briefest of moments. Would the duchess recognize her, were he to describe the woman?

“No, no,” Kate said, waving away his apology. She dropped the shawl and gave him a bemused grin, but then her nose scrunched and she quickly replaced the flimsy barrier. “I’m sure it’s not so bad,” she said, her words muffled through the fabric. “It’s just that my condition makes certain scents and tastes overly strong.”

Her other hand dropped to cradle her very-pregnant stomach through her widow’s weeds.

Max shook his head ruefully. “No, it is

that bad, I’m afraid. I can barely stand myself.”

Even with half of her face covered by black silk, Max could see the curiosity burning in Kate’s expression.

“I’ll tell you the whole story once I’m cleaned up, I promise.” He’d play up the farce of it all, for maximum laughter. He liked Kate. The duchess was as kind a woman as he’d ever met, and she’d weathered much these past few weeks. They both could use some levity.

Kate nodded, backing away from him. “I’ll meet you in the breakfast room then,” she said, and her eyes crinkled above her shawl in what must have been a smile. “Although, let’s be honest. It will be second breakfast for me and this little one.” She patted her stomach once more.

“Second breakfast it is,” Max agreed before bolting up the servants’ stairs.

“AND HOW IS MY NEPHEW TODAY?” Max asked as he entered the breakfast room three quarters of an hour later.

Kate was already seated at the long table, eating heartily from a heaping plate of eggs, sausages, kippers, and rolls slathered in marmalade—and that was just what he could see atop the mound.

She smiled sheepishly as she speared another forkful.

“Starving,” she said, then brought the bite to her mouth and resumed chewing.

Max laughed and went to the sideboard to fill his own plate.

Once he was seated, Kate said, “I don’t remember this constant hunger when I was confined with the girls.”

Max smiled as he swallowed. “All the more reason I’m certain he will be a boy.”

Hell, he prayed

her child would be a boy. Then the babe would become the new duke and he could return home and remain simply Maxwell Granville, country barrister.

“Perhaps,” Kate allowed. “Although the betting book at White’s apparently disagrees.” She rolled her eyes to the ornately plastered ceiling and back again. “My brother tells me that several wagers have been made and the majority believe that the child will be daughter number four.”

The duchess’s countenance was soft and serene, as if either outcome would make her equally happy. But he wondered if her smile was hiding the same worries his polite one did, simply in reverse.

They’d teased back and forth about it, but surely she hoped just as much as he did for a boy.

She’d never said, of course—she’d never be so gauche. And he would never ask her outright.

Just as she’d never asked him what his desire was, though he’d made it clear from the beginning. She likely didn’t believe him. She probably just thought he was being considerate of her feelings, given all she had to lose.

After all, who wouldn’t want to be a duke?

It was like an unspoken weight hanging in the air all the time.