The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(20)
“He must have gone mad,” Meagan said faintly.
“To fall in love with you? Nonsense, my dear. You are a change from all those stiff-necked European woman. Why should he not fall for a quaint English rose?”
Michael broke in. He was not a fool, and Meagan knew he smelled something wrong in this proposal. “We do not know for certain what his intentions are, Simone.”
“Of course we do. His intentions are perfectly clear. He wants to marry Meagan and make her a Grand Duchess. She’ll live in that beautiful mansion on Berkeley Square and no doubt have a palace of her own in Nvengaria. Think of it, my love. We’ll visit Nvengaria and be invited to two palaces now.” Simone lost her dreamy look and became brisk once more. “We must be off at once.”
Michael stared at her. “Off? Off where?”
“To Berkeley Square to call on Grand Duke Alexander. Meagan, darling, your hair is frightful. Rose! Quickly, you must dress Meagan’s hair and get her into something presentable. Hurry now.”
She thrust Meagan at Rose, who’d come up from the servants’ hall to see what the fuss was about, and shooed them both toward the stairs.
Michael put himself in the way of Meagan’s retreat. “Simone, the Grand Duke has extended no invitation for us to call.”
Simone looked astonished. “Do not be silly, he would not have sent the carriage otherwise. He expects us to answer this letter in person. Oh, Michael, darling, you cannot wear that frock coat. Change to your best, do. I must rearrange my hair as well. Rose, wait for me!”
* * *
In less than an hour’s time, Meagan stood with her father and stepmother in front of the most intimidating door in London.
The Grand Duke’s opulent, porticoed mansion lay in the heart of Berkeley Square, opposite lush gardens that reposed behind iron railings and flanked by other mansions that were only slightly less opulent.
Maysfield House, built seventy-five years ago by a duke to be one of the most ostentatious houses in London had been hired by the Nvengarian government for Alexander, its ambassador. The décor inside was a marvel, or so the newspapers and magazines that discussed it claimed. Every member of the ton wanted to have a look inside the house but the Grand Duke’s invitations were few and far between. He might be an ambassador, but without a wife to act as hostess, the ladies of the ton pined for admission in vain.
The front door itself was enough to make Meagan turn around and run all the way back to Portman Square. The tall double door of shining black with an arched fanlight of beveled glass and a knocker carved like a many-toothed serpent haughtily indicated that the casual visitor was not welcome.
Simone never considered herself a casual visitor. She’d ridden regally in the carriage with the Grand Duke’s coat of arms emblazoned on it, making certain her face appeared in the window so any acquaintance who happened to be out and about would see her. The carriage was not the one in which Meagan had ridden home the night before, which implied the Grand Duke kept two or possibly more conveyances. Meagan had grown up in the country with a father who could afford one rather elderly barouche and count himself fortunate.
The young man who’d brought the letter, Gaius, as pleased as Simone with the impromptu visit, smiled broadly as he hopped down from the top of the carriage, flung the front door open, and gestured Meagan and her family inside.
The first thing Meagan saw upon stepping into the house was an oval hall with a checkerboard tile floor that stretched a long distance to a sweeping flight of stairs. The second thing was a haughty English butler hastening from the back of the house, a man whose nose was raised so high he couldn’t help but look down it.
“Yes?” he said to Michael in tones of chill disapproval. “How may I help you?”
Gaius snapped his fingers at the man, his look as imperious. “You—inform my master the great lady has arrived.”
The butler skewered him with a freezing glance. “His Grace does not wish to be disturbed this morning.”
Gaius scowled at him. “He sent me to take a letter to the honored lady. He will not want her to be kept waiting.”
“Yes, he sent a letter,” the butler interrupted. “Which means he wishes the matter to be settled in writing.”
“You dare keep His Grace from his beloved?” Gaius said, a dangerous look in his blue eyes.
“It is all right,” Meagan said, stepping hastily between them. She’d witnessed explosive Nvengarian tempers last year with Prince Damien’s entourage and knew the men could start a blood feud over who went first through a door. “We will go.”
She pivoted for the front door, but Simone stood resolutely in her way.
“Nonsense, my dear. Grand Duke Alexander will be ecstatic to see you. He wishes to marry you after all.”
Simone pushed past Meagan and the startled butler and made for the stairs that wound upward in a marble spiral. “Halloo, Grand Duke! We are here, Miss Tavistock and her family.”
“Simone,” Michael hissed, starting after her.
Meagan debated making a run for it. She could dive back into the carriage, put her shawl over her head, and beg the coachman to take her to Portman Square. Or better still, home to Oxfordshire.
But Meagan knew in her heart that running would do no good. Alexander would simply send another efficient Nvengarian servant after her and drag her wherever he wanted her to go. He had arranged everything last night, and no doubt he had arranged everything today.