Love is not enough.
There had been a time when it would have been. When he had been all she’d ever wished for. All she’d ever needed. But he’d been too blind to see that everything she’d done had been for him. For their family. For their future. And by the time he’d understood, she’d already been fixed to the firmament.
He nodded, knowing what was to come next. Knowing that if it did not work, he would lose her forever. And knowing that he had no other choice.
He turned to leave, and Sesily stopped him. “Wait! Haven! What do we tell her?”
He replied without looking back. “Tell her I’m not marrying Felicity Faircloth.”
He crossed the street outside, needing air and a moment to think. Turning his back to the curved cobblestone wall, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, the tight ache in his chest threatening to consume him.
When he opened them, it was to find two brutal men standing in front of him, one tall and lean with a wicked scar down his cheek and a walking stick that looked like it was no more designed to assist in balance than it was to assist in flight, and the other shorter, broader, and with a face that would evoke Roman sculpture if he didn’t look a portrait of cruelty.
They looked too turned out for pickpockets or drunk blades, but it was Covent Garden, so he said, “If you’re looking for a fight, gentleman, I should warn you that I’m more than willing to give it. Find another bear to poke.”
The tall man didn’t hesitate in his reply. “We’re not here for you, Duke.” Mal was unsurprised that they knew him. They seemed the type of men who knew a fair amount. “At least, we didn’t come for you. But now that we’ve seen the way you fight . . .” The scarred man tutted his approval. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested in fighting for us. Good blunt in it.”
“I’m not.”
The other one—the one with the handsome, cruel face—spoke then, his voice low and graveled with what sounded like disuse. “Nah. You’d be rubbish at it.”
“Why is that?”
The tall one again. “My brother means that there are two kinds of fighters; the ones who excel at the fight no matter what, and the ones who only excel when something they love is on the line. You’re the latter.”
Like that, he knew who they were. “You’re the pair that pummeled Calhoun.”
The tall one tipped his cap, wide grin on his face. “Just a little how’d’y’do, welcome to the neighborhood. Calhoun fought back, and well. We’re friends, now.”
Mal nodded, even as he doubted every word. He paused, considering the two men and all the ways he might ruin them if they dared even look at his wife. Finally, he gave a little growl and leaned in. “You are right, you know. I am single-minded when something I love is on the line. And I assume you can tell that because you are cut from similar cloth.”
The men watched him carefully, but said nothing.
Mal held his fury and frustration in rigid control. “You listen to me. Everything I love is inside this place. If anything happens to it, I come for you.”
There was a beat of silence, after which the quiet man grunted and the tall man said, “Christ, I wish we could get you in a ring. Think of the money he’d make us!”
“He’s other bouts in mind.”
God knew that was right. Until that moment, Mal had fought for himself.
It was time he start fighting for her.
Chapter 26
Ducal Divorce: Decision Day!
October 12, 1836
House of Lords, Parliament
“I don’t see him.”
Sesily leaned out over the railing of the observation gallery and stared down at the procession of parliamentary members filing into the House of Lords, and Sera ignored the pang of disappointment at the pronouncement, which was validated with a longer, hanging look. “No, I don’t think he’s there.”
“Well, everyone can see you, so that’s what matters,” Seline pointed out dryly as Sesily righted herself and turned her back to the speaker’s floor.
“I’m not inclined to show deference to a passel of ancient, venerable men, you know. Not unless they give Sera what she wants.”
“Which won’t happen,” Seleste replied, putting her perfect bottom to the railing and crossing her arms over her chest. The position placed her posterior on full view below, not that she seemed to mind. “Clare says he has it on good authority that you haven’t the votes, Sera, which you know. Though, of course, you’ve Clare’s.”
“And King’s,” Sophie chimed in.
Sera knew she wasn’t getting her divorce. Indeed, she was still surprised that there was a vote at all on the matter. After all, Mal had spent weeks playing at plans for the dissolution of their marriage, ruining the summers of a half-dozen women and Sera’s, as well.
Lie.
She ignored the whisper and the truth that came with it. It was easier if she imagined the summer ruined. If she pretended she didn’t care for him. Then, perhaps, it would not hurt so much when he did as he’d always promised—kept the marriage and stayed away.
For three weeks, he’d stayed away, with no contact and no message other than the one he gave to Sesily at the Sparrow after nearly destroying the place. He wasn’t marrying Felicity Faircloth.
It seemed he was not marrying Lady Lilith, either, considering both women were returned to London and the marriage mart with the new session of Parliament, along with Lady Emily. Surprisingly, The News of London gossip column had already claimed them three of the brightest jewels of the Season.
So, it seemed, Mal would not marry another and, therefore, had no intention of divorcing her.
Three days after Mal left The Singing Sparrow without a word, Sera received word from the Lord Chancellor, indicating that that “the matter of the dissolution of your marriage to the Duke of Haven, by divorce” was to be taken up on the floor of the House of Lords. She was neither asked to make a statement about her request nor was she permitted to engage a solicitor for the proceedings. Wives were not legal entities, and so she was simply given a date and time.
October the twelfth, 1836, at half-eleven in the morning.
“Well,” Seline had declared when Sera had told her sisters of the missive. “At least we shan’t miss our morning ride.”
And so, here they were, each of the Dangerous Daughters having been allowed into the viewing gallery to sit beside their sister as her fate was decided below, by nearly two hundred men born into pomp and privilege. Well, nearly two hundred, and their father, who’d won his title at cards, which, if one thought too much about the current situation, might easily have been the reason they were all sitting there, in the current situation.