Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(77)

He tossed back a large swallow of brandy, feeling it burn all the way down.

Payne approached him and spoke in confidential tones. “Listen, Halford. My wife can be protective, but we’re truly not here to grill you on your life choices. We’re just concerned for Pauline. I spent many dark nights in that village tavern. It’s not much of a stretch to say her friendly smile and quickness with a pint saved my life a time or two. She’s a sweet girl, and she means well.”

He bit back a curse. “You don’t know her at all. You never took the time to learn anything about her.”

“I know her family situation. I know she hasn’t anyone to look out for her.”

“She does now,” Griff said. The words came from his gut.

Payne’s eyebrows lifted meaningfully. “Oh, does she?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re certain that’s what she wants, too?”

“She’s an intelligent, free-thinking adult. Ask her.” With a gruff sigh, Griff moved away from his conference with Payne. “Miss Simms, if you are concerned about my personal history, or unhappy with the terms of our arrangement—if you want to leave this house for any reason at all—I will write you a bank draft this moment, and you can go with Lord and Lady Payne.”

Her gaze alternated back and forth between him and their visitors. As though she were giving it close, thoughtful consideration.

Good God. Perhaps she did want to leave him.

“Well?” he asked again, somewhat hoarsely this time. “Do you want to go?”

Chapter Twenty-one

Pauline halfheartedly wished she had the strength to say yes. It would be the easiest way. She and Griff would have to part eventually, and the parting would only grow more difficult.

But she couldn’t go this morning. Because she loved him. She loved him, and she couldn’t let him go just yet.

“No, your grace,” she said. “I want to stay.”

“Well, then.” He turned to Minerva. “I assume you’re satisfied.”

Lady Payne didn’t even speak to him, instead approaching Pauline. She pushed a small square of paper into her hand. “Here is our calling card. I’ve written our direction on the back, and Lady Rycliff’s as well. If you need anything—anything at all—you can always come to us. Day or night, do you understand?”

Pauline nodded. “You are very good, the both of you. I’m grateful for your concern.”

Even if she didn’t need it, it felt good to know they cared.

Griff showed them out. When he returned, he was glowering. “What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. They seemed to have the wrong idea.”

“Well, you didn’t leap to correct them. You barely spoke at all, except for all that ‘your grace’-ing and ‘my lord and lady’-ing.”

He was angry with her? “What else should I say? He is a lord. She is a lady. And you are a duke.”

“But on intellect and character, you are the equal of anyone in the room. Why would you defer so easily to them, when you’ve never been anything but impertinent with me?”

“It’s different with you. Everything’s different with you. But you can’t blame this all on me. You were rather standoffish yourself. It’s not as though you jumped to tell them we’re having a deeply passionate affaire.”

He waved at the door. “Because I knew how they’d receive it.”

“Precisely. The same way everyone would receive that news. As an impossibility, at best. At worst, something shameful and sordid.”

Pauline understood why he was upset. She felt the same way. The people who’d just visited them were the closest thing they had to mutual friends, and if even they wouldn’t credit a relationship between Griff and her, it was truly hopeless. No one would accept them together. No one.

She sighed. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. It didn’t matter what the poems said. There was no other England, no other London with its Tower. There was only this world they lived in, and it was unyielding on matters of class.

“There are thirty-three ranks of precedence between a serving girl and a duchess,” she said quietly. “Did you know that? The chart takes up three pages in Mrs. Worthington’s Wisdom. I have it all in my head. Duchesses are at the very top—after the queen and princesses, of course. The order goes duchesses, marchionesses, countesses . . .”

As she recited the ranks, she ticked them off on her fingers. “ . . . then wives of the eldest sons of marquesses, then wives of the younger sons of dukes. Then come the daughters. Daughters of dukes, daughters of marquesses. Next viscountesses, then wives of eldest sons of earls. Then daughters of earls . . .”

“Pauline.”

“ . . . that’s ten ranks already, and I’m not even to baronesses yet. Let alone all the orders of knighthood and the military ranks. And below those, you have—”

He approached her and tipped her face, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Pauline.”

“I’m not even on the chart.” She blinked hard. “A girl like me, Griff . . . I’m so far below you. When we’re alone together, we might be able to forget it. But no one else will.”

“Forget it? You think I forget who you are when we’re together?”