An Unlikely Duchess (15 page)

“But I intend to go,” she said firmly. “They are my jewels, and Mr. Porterhouse is my enemy.”

He sighed. “Miss Middleton,” he said, “there is a house party in progress at Parleigh’s. All sorts of people might see us there together, and your name would be forever ruined. You must let me do this alone. I do not doubt your courage, ma’am, but this is a time for discretion, not courage.”

“Oh,” site said. She thought for a moment. “That is just what Grandpapa would say.”

“You can pretend tiredness after our journey,” he said.

“But you know the sort of comment Mr. Hennessy would make to that,” she said.

Their eyes met briefly, and they both flushed deeply.

“Perhaps I can be increasing and feel very bilious,” she said hastily.

He looked at her, aghast. “After three days?” he said. “I think it would take a little longer, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, thinking. “Yes, I suppose the sickness would take a little longer. Besides, I do not want to make any excuse, you know. I still intend to go with you.”

“Well, you can’t,” he said firmly. “I won’t allow it.”

Josephine did not argue the point further, though she would when the time came. She was not feeling nearly as tired and cross as she had done the evening before. It was true that men were tyrants and forever bullying the ladies in their charge. But then ladies had the wits to set against the dullness of men’s brains. She had never suffered particularly much from being female. She generally had her way when she wanted it badly enough.

“Are you going to remember to call me Jo when we reach Hawthorn House?” she asked brightly.

“Joe is a man’s name,” he said firmly. “A man servant’s name. I will call you Josephine.”

“Oh,”, she said. “Well, it is a good thing that Paul can not be changed in any way. We cannot argue about that.”

She had always hated being called Josephine. It was what Papa and Grandpapa called her when she had disappointed them in some way and puss and half-pint seemed inappropriate names. And her grandmother in London always called her Josephine, always in a somewhat impatient and irritated tone.

But Mr. Villiers made the name sound feminine and dignified and adult. Perhaps she would not argue the point. And it would be as well not to do so when there was a much larger point to argue.

She smiled ahead of her and resumed her comforting hold of his sleeve.

Chapter 9

Someone must have alerted the Hennessys to the fact that visitors were arriving, for the head of the house and his good lady emerged from the front doors of Hawthorn House as the Duke of Mitford was lifting his companion down from the seat of the curricle. He spotted them out of the comer of his eye.

And if this farce must be played out to its conclusion, he thought with a desperation bordering on hilarity, he might as well play the part well. He smiled fondly up at Josephine, bent his elbows, and slid her down along his length. And he bent his head and kissed her very briefly on the lips. Nothing totally beyond the bounds of decorum, of course, but merely what a fond husband might be expected to do with his bride of three days when he thought himself unobserved.

Unless, of course, the fond husband were the Duke of Mitford. That paragon of correct behavior would surely do no more than touch the fingertips of his bride beyond the privacy of their own apartments. And the Duke of Mitford would certainly not slide any young lady down his body and kiss her square on the lips. Not ever. Such a possibility would not even enter his head. .

But where was the Duke of Mitford? Paul Villiers seemed to have lost him back at a certain inn at approximately the time when his grace had been forming angles with his big toes.

And what did he know of fond husbands and brides of three days anyway? Mitford asked himself as Miss Middleton colored up prettily. But she must be as accomplished a little actress as he was becoming an actor if she had blushes so ready to her command. She was going to lead him a merry dance all right when they really were married.

He smiled and touched his nose to hers briefly before turning on some confusion to his beaming host and hostess, who had descended the steps to the cobbles of the courtyard.

“Ah,” he said, extending a hand, “do please forgive me. I did not know we were observed.” It really was frightening to discover at the age of eight and twenty that lying came so easily. He could not recall any untruth he had told prior to two days before. And when had his fingers come to be laced with Miss Middleton’s?

Mr. Hennessy laughed and shook his hand with equal heartiness. “I could have wished you had thought yourself unobserved for a while longer,” he said.

“What?” Mrs. Hennessy said, enfolding Josephine in a hug and looking back along the driveway. “No baggage coach? Never tell me that you have still not caught up to your servants.”

“Paul thinks that he sent them to London by mistake,” Josephine said with a smile. “Don’t you, Paul?”

Did he really? And how might that highly unlikely possibility be explained? He waited with interest. But she was regarding him with raised eyebrows and parted lips. She was waiting for him to deliver the explanation.

“Yes,” he said, laughing. “Did you have to say that out loud to complete my mortification, Josephine? It was the original plan, you see, ma’am, my wife having a grandmother in London, not to mention other relatives, that we go there after our wedding. But at the last moment I decided that I could not possibly share her on our wedding trip. I decided to bear her off to Scotland. Unfortunately, I forgot to inform the servants of the change in plans. I am afraid love has muddled my brain.”

And if they were convinced by such utter nonsense, then they would be convinced by anything at all.

And how had he got himself into this mess, anyway? What on earth had happened to his life? He had been staying at that inn, the only difference from usual being the fact that he was traveling incognito and without his ducal train. He had been quite blamelessly minding his own business. He had even removed himself from the taproom because life there was becoming somewhat too raucous for his taste. All quite exemplary. All he had been looking for was a little adventure. A very little.

And yet here he was three days later, smiling like an imbecile at an insane and brainless little creature and lying his head off to a pair of perfectly decent gentlefolk. He could be back in London by now, looking about him for a bride worthy of his own upbringing.

“Paul,” Miss Middleton was saying, lowering her voice as if she thought she would not be overhead, and tilting her head to one side, so that any normal unsuspecting mortal would think her the innocent and sweet bride of three days that she affected to be, “I am glad you did not take me to Grandmama’s even if l am without my maid and my trunks.”

Mrs. Hennessy clasped her hands to her bosom. “And so am I,” she said. “How wonderful it will be to have two lovebirds staying at Hawthorn House, will it not, Harvey?”

“But we will not impose on your hospitality above a day or two, ma’am,” Mitford said hastily. “It is just that I remembered that I have a particular acquaintance living not four miles away—Parleigh, you know, sir. I feel I must pay my respects. And it seemed the perfect opportunity for Josephine to have female companions to take her shopping for new clothes, I hope I may impose upon you to lend her your assistance tomorrow, ma’am, while I pay my call.”

He bowed and smiled to Mrs. Hennessy and avoided noticing Josephine’s look of reproach.

She was not given a chance to voice her disapproval. Miss Caroline Hennessy chose that moment to come hurtling through the door and down the steps, shrieking, and Josephine started squealing, and Mrs. Hennessy started talking, and Mr. Hennessy started bellowing with laughter.

And the duke stood on the cobbles, rocking on his heels and wondering if it was his former dull and decorous life that he had dreamed up or whether it was this present mad one that was the unreality. Whatever the truth of the matter, he found himself now laughing as heartily as his host; though he would not for the life of him have been able to say what it was he laughed at.

***

Sam had given what sounded like good advice the first time he had been forced to stop the carriage. Look off to the horizon, he had told Susanna, so that she would be unaware of the motion and the swayings of the carriage.

Sam was so very kind, and far more understanding of her problem than Bart was. Susanna tried very hard not to be a nuisance to anyone, and of course she knew, even without Bart’s telling her a dozen times a day that time was of great importance, that if they were to catch up to Jo before she was utterly and irrevocably ruined—if she were not so already—then they must not delay by even one unnecessary minute.

But there was nothing she could do about her weak stomach. She had almost died of mortification the first time they had stopped that morning because the auburn-haired and handsome gentleman who was taking them to Jo had looked at her with concern and asked if there were any way in which he could be of service to her. She had been unable to answer but had only grabbed gratefully for his hand when he had vaulted to the roadway to help her out. She had had to rush on past him. It had been very humiliating indeed.

And now it was happening again. “Bart,” she said weakly, looking at him with wide and pleading eyes and clamping a hand to her mouth as soon as the word was spoken.

“Deuce take it, Suke,” he said, exasperated, before poking his head through the window and bellowing to Sam.

Sam, the dear giant, stopped immediately and had the door open and blessed fresh air rushing in only one moment later.

“Out you come, little lady,” he said gently, his huge hands spanning her waist and lifting her gently to the roadway before Sir Thomas could jump out himself.

She was gulping air and touching the backs of her hands to cold and clammy cheeks when he descended.

“Deerview Park is but a mile off,” Sir Thomas said gently, “if that is of any consolation to you, ma’am.”

Susanna threw him a grateful look. “I am very foolish,” she said. “But if we catch up to my sister, all this will have been worthwhile. You are very kind to show us the way, sir.”

He looked somewhat uncomfortable and bowed slightly. Susanna remembered that some gentlemen did not like to be praised.

“I hope you will not be disappointed,” he said. “It is possible that I misunderstood, you know, or that they changed their minds.”

“Villiers,” Bartholomew said, jumping into the roadway to join them. “Who the devil is Villiers, do you suppose?”

Sir Thomas said nothing.

“I think I am well enough to go on,” Susanna said, looking ahead of Sam, who was doing something with the horses.

“Allow me, ma’am,” Sir Thomas said, and he picked her up by the waist and lifted her back inside the carriage again.

Susanna forgot about her biliousness for the remaining mile of the journey. She was concentrating on not blushing and revealing to either Bart or the handsome gentleman across from her how discomposed she was feeling. Bart would make fun of her.

And she completely forgot about both her health and her embarrassment when they arrived at Deerview Park and were shown into a salon to await the arrival of Lord Parleigh. She was eager to see Jo. She did not care what Jo had done or who Mr. Villiers was or why Jo was traveling with him as Mrs. Villiers. Once she saw Jo and they were together again, everything would be all right.

But Lord Parleigh, when he came, though he was kind and amiable and quite delighted to see all three of them, did not have comforting news. He had not set eyes on either Mr. Villiers or Jo.

“I am most dreadfully sorry,” Sir Thomas Burgess said, glancing uneasily at Bart and crossing to Susanna’s side to raise her hand to his lips. “I have taken you seven miles out of your way and all for nothing, it seems.”

“It was not your fault, sir,” Susanna said. She knew just exactly how dreadful he must feel, but he ought not. He had tried to help.

“Confound it,” Bartholomew said. He was pacing about the room. “They must have continued traveling north after all. I might have guessed it.”

“Villiers,” Lord Parleigh was saying, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Villiers. Sounds familiar. Can’t think I invited him here or I would surely remember. You heard them say they were coming here, Burgess?”

“They must have changed their minds,” Sir Thomas said. “I most sincerely beg your pardon.”

Susanna smiled at him, though her mind was feeling almost numb with dismay. Would they never find Jo? And who was the dreadful man she was with?

“But the landlord at the Swan Inn said the same thing,” Bartholomew said with a frown, taping one finger against his teeth. “He said Villiers was coming here, too.”

Susanna noticed Sir Thomas’s eyebrows shoot up. She was glad for him. He was not the only one who had been deceived.

“Well,” Lord Parleigh said heartily. “I would suggest, Middleton, that you and your sister stay here for a few days before returning home. Always glad to have guests, you know. I have some now. Good company, I do assure you.”

Susanna looked at Bartholomew. How very good it would be to rest in a real house for a few days, to get up in the morning and not have to face a journey in the carriage.

“We must go, Bart,” she said. And she felt the tears spring to her eyes as she tried to swallow them. “We must find poor Jo.”.

“Lady Hedgeton is here,” Lord Parleigh said as if he had not been interrupted at all, “Sir Crawley Fabian and Miss Fabian—an acclaimed beauty—Mr. Seymour, Lady Dorothy Brough, Mr. Porterhouse, Mrs. Hope and her two daughters...

“Porterhouse?” Bartholomew said sharply as Susanna felt the blood drain from her head.

“Handsome devil,” Lord Parleigh said. “You know him?”

Susanna’s eyes locked with her brother’s. “He is here?” she asked.

“
Was
here,” Lord Parleigh corrected. “He went off today to visit an aunt. Should be back tomorrow. Now, ma’am, do allow me to persuade you and your brother to honor me with your company for a few days.”