Page 64 of How to Capture a Duke

A maid knocked then opened the door to wheel a tea tray and plate of scones inside before departing. The sisters remained silent until the maid quietly shut the door behind her, leaving them alone once more. Ellie poured tea into two teacups and handed one to Olivia.

“From what you have told me, I agree that the duke cannot move forward with his life with you until he overcomes his demons,” Ellie said.

“By his demons, you mean his stammering?” Olivia asked.

“Not just that, but who he has become because of it.”

Tales of his past would be hard to forget. “His mother, the duchess, hired a string of cruel and ineffective tutors. When they failed, she retained a physician who’d used leeches. And when that did not work, she sent him to Eton where boys like Lord Dumfries had mercilessly tormented him.”

Now she fully understood why he’d mistrusted her from the beginning. Why he’d thought she’d stolen the necklace and had planted it in her own baggage so that she’d have an alibi.

If it wasn’t for her interference, Tristan would have remained in Rosehill’s stables, safe with animals who would never judge him, and never make an appearance at his own house party.

Ellie touched her hand. “I hate to see a look of sadness on your face, Olivia.”

“I cannot help it. I wonder if our marriage truly is doomed. I had hope…had hoped for much more and—”

“I’ve told you before, the Raven Club has many resources,” Ellie said.

“Yes, and I’m grateful for the information you provided regarding Lady Ware. I befriended her, and she was able to influence her husband’s opinion on the bill in the House of Lords.”

“I’m glad, but that is not what I was referring to. I would not have bothered to inquire, but you are my sister, and I want nothing more than your happiness. There is a man who may be able to help Keswick.”

Olivia eyed her sister with rapt attention. “Who?”

“He is an unusual fellow, a man by the name of Mr. Horace Higgins. He’s treated people with speech difficulties similar to the Duke of Keswick’s. His techniques are unconventional, but he’s had success.”

“Where can I find him?”

“I shall tell you where he lives, but the true question is will your duke agree to see him?”

Olivia bit her lower lip. Tristan’s distrust would be a high hurdle to overcome, but she had no choice. “If Mr. Higgins can help, then I will use every means at my disposal to try to convince my husband.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Olivia stood outside a brick town house. A flicker of apprehension coursed through her, gnawing away at her confidence, as she climbed the front steps to the door.

Tristan would not approve. He’d be angry at her interference.

She stiffened her spine and her resolve. If they had any hope for their marriage, she needed to overcome the one obstacle in the way.

There is hope. There has to be hope.

After experiencing the intimacy of last night, she could never survive the long, lonely nights in her room without him. She was convinced, more than before, that she needed to take matters into her own hands. In her mind, there was no reason they couldn’t have children. Never one to back down from a fight or a challenge, she refused to do so now.

Taking a breath and filling her lungs with afternoon air, she lifted the lion-faced doorknocker and rapped twice.

A scuffling sounded behind the door before it swung open to reveal an ordinary-looking man of average height, receding brown hair, brown eyes, and thick spectacles. He blinked then gave her a questioning glance.

“I’m here to see Mr. Higgins. I had sent a note in advance.”

His bushy brows drew downward as he thought, then his face lit. “Oh, yes. You must be the Duchess of Keswick. I am Horace Higgins. Please come in.”

He held the door wide, and she stepped into a small vestibule. No butler came forth, and Higgins did not offer to take her pelisse. Without so much as a word, he turned and headed down a hall. She hurried after him.

She was led not into a parlor or sitting room, but into what she could only assume was his study. The room was in complete disarray. Books and papers littered the desk. A bookshelf, crammed with volumes, appeared as if it would topple over from the weight at a moment’s notice. More books were on the floor, some open and used to hold papers in place. The casement was cracked open, and a slight breeze blew into the room.

She was momentarily taken aback. Horace Higgins may be ordinary of appearance, but he certainly was not ordinary in behavior.