Love Letters From a Duke (20 page)

Felicity tried to speak, but the horror of that thought left her throat parched and the words lodged behind a giant lump. Hadn’t Jamilla once made the same offer to Josephine when Napoleon had gone straying? And look where that offer of “help” had landed the former empress! “Oh, no, Nanny Jamilla, that won’t be—”

“Oh, dearest, you mustn’t call me that, it makes me feel positively ancient.” She smiled. “I am just your dear princess now.”

“
Princess
Jamilla,” Felicity said through gritted teeth, “you can’t possibly think that—”

“But of course you will lend me the shelter of your hospitality, little Felicity,” the woman said. “For I have had word from your father.”

Thatcher had been about to march upstairs and finish his discussion with Felicity when a knock at the door stopped him in his tracks. A freight man was there with a wagonload of trunks and furniture, and it had been up to him to help the man and his sons unload them into the already crowded
foyer. By the time they were finished and he’d made his way up the stairs, it was to catch the last of their visitor’s announcement.

“I have had word from your father.”

He staggered to a stop. Lord Langley lived?

He strode through the door, his gaze going instantly to Felicity. It struck him that it wasn’t the news that her father lived that had her regarding her guest with blatant skepticism, but rather that her father would use this woman to send a message.

“And who are you?” their guest asked, sidling forward like a cat…one that scratched quite happily.

“Thatcher,” he replied, tipping his head to avoid her gaze. He’d met enough women in Portugal and Spain like this one, ladies who used their titles and looks to gain whatever they needed at whatever cost and from whatever side currently held control.

“This is our footman,” Felicity told her.

“Ah, yes, the livery!” she said, her gaze sweeping over the jacket with a bemused and calculating eye. “I remember it well.”

“See, I told you it was Nanny Jamilla,” Tally was saying, but no one was paying her any heed.

Felicity stepped between him and their guest. “Thatcher, this is our former nanny, the Duchesse du Fraine. And her servants, Nada and Aziz.” The pair bowed slightly to him, while the duchesse looked him over from head to toe, a sly smile forming on her bloodred lips.

“Princess Kounellas,” the woman purred, coming closer and bringing with her a tide of thick perfume. “Felicity forgets herself. Now I am Princess Jamilla Kounellas. I have just arrived from my dear departed husband’s kingdom.”

He swore he heard Thalia muttering, “Where she should have stayed.”

The woman not only looked like a cat, but apparently had
the same hearing. “Impossible, darling!” she declared. “I feared for my life.”

Nada’s gaze rolled upward, as if she had heard this story too many times to count.

Jamilla continued, “For some reason, his people blamed me for his sudden death! I explained that he was old, that these things happen, but no one would listen to me.” She gave a negligent shrug of her shoulders. “His advisors were calling for an inquiry, refusing to release my wedding settlement, calling for my arrest. Can you imagine such impertinence? So of course I was forced to flee.” She glanced around her audience and then let out a long, breathy sigh. “Now, on to more important matters. Aziz, the list,” she said, snapping her fingers. She took the sheets of parchment and thrust them at Thatcher. “I will need every thing here before nightfall. See to it. But before you go, send at least three of your best fellows down for my trunks.”

Felicity cleared her throat. “Jamilla, Thatcher is our
only
footman.”

“The only one?” Jamilla’s dark eyes widened.

“Yes,” Tally added. “So you see how impossible it would be for you to—”

The beringed fingers started waving them off. “Of course, of course, I see the situation now.” Jamilla appeared positively distraught. The girls smiled but only for a moment. “How can two innocent and inexperienced girls be expected to run a palace?”

“Uh, Jamilla,” Thalia said, edging over to the lady’s side. “This is only a town house.”

“I shall adjust,” she declared, drawing Tally into another hug. “We all shall.”

Thatcher suspected he was witnessing the Langley sisters’ own version of Corunna. Yet unlike the English army with Portugal behind them, the ladies had no place to which to retreat. Thalia remained trapped in the woman’s tigress-like
grip, while Felicity looked up at him, her eyes pleading for help. What the devil did she think he could do? Toss the lady and her trunks back into the street?

The French he could rout, but that immense Aziz fellow, with his pair of gleaming swords stuck in the belt of his robe, looked quite capable of hacking to pieces anyone foolish enough to try such a feat.

But the plaintive look in those eyes was clear.
And she’s asking you
. He had to imagine that such a request cost Felicity dear.

Jamilla made a clucking noise in the back of her throat. “Whatever are you still doing standing there, Mr. Fletcher—”

“Thatcher,” Felicity corrected.

“Thatcher, Fletcher,” Jamilla declared. “It matters not as long as he is standing about while my list is languishing!” She pointed one long finger at it, wagging it vigorously. “And make sure the octopus is fresh.”

“Octopus?” Pippin inquired.

“For the calamari,” she declared. “Your chef is French, is he not?”

Felicity groaned and covered her face in her hands, while Thalia, who’d finally gained her freedom, dropped to the settee and looked ready to be sick.

Though Thatcher had led his troops out of some really tight corners, this was one he wasn’t about to wade into. He suspected Felicity, once she caught her breath, would have this faux princess packed off. But in the meantime, he had an easy escape and wasn’t so much a fool as not to take it. With the list in hand, he fled from the sitting room and bolted down the steps.

Better that than be around when this Jamilla met Mrs. Hutchinson.

But when he got outside, he realized mayhap he was in
over his head. Where in the hell did one find an octopus in London?

Then it struck him as he glanced over the sheets of paper—French lavender oil, Spanish olives, a basket of lemons, a crate of oranges, along with a list of wines, cosmetics, and sundries that could break even the Rothchilds’ legendary bank—that if anyone in London could procure all this, it was Staines. The bored and scandalized Hollindrake butler would most likely fall over in a joyous fit of apoplexy at the idea of being given such an impossible task.

Why, it would make Thatcher seem almost ducal in the poor old man’s eyes.

Cutting through the mews, he thought he would slip into the back of his house—so as to avoid the line of carriages parading around Grosvenor Square—when from the dark shadows of an alcove sprang a figure who quite quickly and easily slid a knife under his chin.

The touch of cold steel was followed by a stern order. “Move, you rutting bastard, and I’ll happily slit your throat.”

“Why did you let her in?” Felicity demanded of her cousin, once their “guest” had gone to tour the house to determine which rooms she would need opened for her use. Standing with her hands fisted on her hips, still wearing her cloak and hat from her trip to the draper’s, Felicity shook with rage.

Pippin sat before her, nearly in tears, but not even that could assuage Felicity’s ire.

“Duchess, that is hardly fair,” Tally shot back. “You weren’t here. One minute the bell was ringing, and the next the house was filling with trunks and she just sort of swept in on us—”

“Like the plague,” Aunt Minty muttered. “We have a word for them types down in the rookeries. That’s what we call a—”

“Auntie, now is not the time,” Pippin whispered.

“Well, I’ve me opinions,” she huffed, and then went back
to her knitting with an air of indignation, punctuated now by the
clack
of her needles.

“Tally, you should have sent her packing,” Felicity said, turning uncharacteristically on her sister. She lowered her voice and said, “You know what she is like.”

“What is she like?” Pippin asked.

The sisters shared a glance.
Should we enlighten her?

“A vulture,” Felicity replied, tugging at the strings of her cloak and then dropping it on a nearby chair, deciding it was about time that Pippin’s innocence lost some of its luster. Next she pulled off her bonnet and gave her hair a quick check in the mirror. “Father always said he regretted his arrangements with her.”

“A bad influence,” Tally added.

“Harrumph,” Aunt Minty snorted. “Could of told ’im that the first moment I laid eyes on her.” She shook her head. “Men! As if they can judge these things. Probably all he saw was them pair of—”

“Enough, Auntie!” Felicity sputtered as she paced about the room. She had to think. There must be some way to evict their former nanny. “What I can’t determine is how she found us. Believe me, her arrival is no mere coincidence.”

“She did say she has word from your father,” Pippin suggested. “And she knows he’s alive.”

Tally sighed and shook her head. “Even if she’s discovered that his death was a ruse for the Foreign Office, I doubt Father would trust her to bring word to us.”

“Exactly!” Felicity said. Their father’s “death” was a trial—but she knew that Lord Langley would never have sought Jamilla’s aid—no matter how dire his situation might be. “She’s bluffing. Still, I can’t see how she found us.”

“Well—” Pippin began, then snapped her lips shut and shifted in her seat. After a few moments of squirming, she continued, “She was a
duchesse
…and I thought…” Her cheeks pinked.

“Pippin, no!” Felicity sputtered. “You invited her?”

“I didn’t mean to. Well, I didn’t think it would hurt. And I wrote the letter so long ago, I had forgotten that I’d even sent it.” She glanced from one sister to the other. “You both spoke so fondly of her that I thought it would be like having a real mother here to help us.”

“Nanny Jamilla?” Felicity said. “When have we ever spoken fondly of her?”

“‘Use kindness always and keep it in your heart for it will shine from your eyes,’” Pippin quoted. “You repeat that all the time. And what about that other piece of advice…” She paused for a moment. “Oh, yes, ‘Measure your anger as you would gold, sparingly and with a sharp eye.’”

Tally rubbed her fingers to her temples. “Pippin, dear, that wasn’t Nanny Jamilla.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No,” Felicity told her. “’Twas Nanny Tasha.”

“Oh dear,” Pippin whispered, glancing back toward the door. “And she didn’t say, ‘Modesty is the provision of the young and virtuous’?” The sisters shook their head. “Oh, heavens, I’ve made a muddle of things.”

“You can say that again,” Felicity said, throwing her hands up in the air. “That woman single-handedly caused Napoleon to set aside Josephine. Why, she caused riots when it was discovered she wanted to be the next empress.”

‘Truly?” Pippin asked.

“Yes,” Tally said. “And I don’t doubt she left Greece under similar circumstances.”

Felicity snorted. “And now she’s launched her latest caper. Planting herself so firmly in this house that it will take the Royal Guards to evict her. I suspect she discovered by chance that Father is still alive and decided to come here and await his return.”

“This father of yours must be something for her to come all this way in hopes of having another toss—”

“Aunt Minty!” Felicity protested.

Apparently, Pippin wasn’t willing to concede defeat just yet either. “What if she is here, as she said, to help us. She has had two husbands after all, one of them a prince.”

“Dead husbands,” Felicity pointed out. Oh, wait just a moment.
Dead husbands?
Which left Jamilla in need of a…

Not another lover, as Aunt Minty avowed, but something else. She hurried over to her desk, pulling open the drawer and retrieving her
Chronicles
. When she found the entry she wanted, she stuck her finger on it.

Tally came and stood by her elbow, Brutus sitting down at the hem of her gown. “You can’t mean to—”

“I do.”

“But—”

“This is war,” Felicity declared. “I must find her a new husband immediately so she won’t—”

“You don’t think she’d—”

Felicity turned and looked at her sister, one brow cocked. Hollindrake needn’t be handsome for Jamilla to set her sights on the man. He’d need only a pulse and a hefty bank account, and that much Felicity did know about the man.

Tally nodded in concession. “Yes, I suppose she would.”

“Perhaps you’ve misjudged Nanny Jamilla,” Pippin offered. “I don’t think she’d intentionally interfere with your arrangements with Hollindrake.”

Both sisters shot her a withering stare. Then Felicity said, “Shall I tell our cousin about the incident with the Archduke of Prussia and Jamilla or should you? Or how about the envoy from Rome? Or the Russian prince?”

Pippin’s color drained, leaving her already fair features as white as muslin. “Oh, what have I done?”

“Quite possibly handed my Hollindrake over to her!” Felicity said. “Well, she can’t have him. He’s my duke.”

“Your duke!” Aunt Minty snorted. “Heard enough about him to fill me ears, I have. Starting to wonder if this fella’s
even real.” She got up and bundled up her knitting, Pippin leaning over to help her. “And don’t particularly care to hear any more.” She left, Pippin taking the opportunity to slink out as well, under the guise of carrying the lady’s work basket.

With the room cleared, Tally spun around and faced her sister. “But the real question is, do
you
still want Hollindrake?”

Felicity’s head swung up. “Of course I do!” she snapped. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because I saw you from the window before I opened the door.”

Now it was Felicity’s turn to pink.

“Duchess, whatever were you doing letting poor Thatcher kiss you?” Tally caught up Brutus and held him to her chest. “And from what I could see, you had no objections to the arrangement.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you back there,” Thatcher told his adversary as they settled down in a back booth of a nearby pub.

Mad Jack Tremont grinned at his old friend. “You’re lucky I haven’t slit your throat. What the hell are you doing posing as Felicity Langley’s footman?”

His friend’s fierce protectiveness took Thatcher aback. But only for a moment. “From what I understand, I should be the one emptying your gullet for setting that little marriage mad chit on me. ‘Try Hollindrake’s heir,’” he quoted.

Jack didn’t even look embarrassed to be found out. “You’d be lucky to have her.”

“Lucky to have that little title mad, managing, conniving—” he stammered, resorting to his original supposition about his nearly betrothed.

“Smart, brave, demmed good to have at your back in a fight,” Jack countered. “You want some simpering miss, then you’ve come to the right place, London is full of them. But a girl like Felicity…” Jack shook his head. “You should hear
Temple on the little duchess! He’s quite mad about her.”

“Why doesn’t he marry her then?” he asked, taking a long drink from his glass.

“You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Temple’s married. Ran off to Gretna, what, five years ago. Got hitched to Lady Diana Fordham.”

“Temple’s married?”

“Contentedly.”

“I never thought—”

“No, no one did,” Jack said. “But he and Diana suit.”

“Like you and your bride?”

Jack laughed. “Wouldn’t be the happy man before you if your little duchess hadn’t worked her mischief.”

“She seems to have a talent for it,” Thatcher agreed. “And she’s not my duchess.”
Not yet
,
anyway
.

“She will be.” Jack pushed his glass out in front of him. “But if you are toying with her, I’ll be the first one in line to meet you at dawn. So you had better convince me that whatever you have planned won’t break her heart.”

Thatcher glanced up at the man who was more brother to him than his own two siblings had ever been. “I don’t know what I am doing with her, quite honestly,” he admitted. “I went to cry off and she mistook me for a footman candidate from an agency.”

Jack, who had been taking a sip from his glass, sputtered. “She truly thinks you’re a footman?”

“Aye.”

Jack shook his head. “You have to tell her the truth immediately. She’ll shoot you if she discovers from someone else that you’ve been misleading her.”

“A Bath miss with a pistol?” Thatcher mocked. “You must be joking.” But in the back of his mind he still hadn’t forgotten that punch from yesterday.

Then Jack sobered him up further by telling him the story
of how Felicity had once aided him in regaining the freedom of two English agents from a rogue privateer, Captain Dashwell. Not that he was surprised—Felicity truly was the most unique miss he’d ever met.

“You should have seen her,” Jack was saying, “down on that beach, pistol in hand. Believe me, Felicity will put a bullet between your eyes, or lower still, if she thinks you’ve played her false.”

“I’ve been shot at enough to know when to duck,” Thatcher replied. “I was just wishing my grandfather was still alive. Because if he knew that the lady he’d chosen for me could shoot the ballocks off a man, I’d have the pleasure of seeing him drop dead yet again at the very thought of such a chit as the next Duchess of Hollindrake.” He took a swig from his glass.

Jack sat back, a smug smile on his lips. “He knew.”

Thatcher stilled. “What?”

His friend glanced up and looked him in the eye. “He knew.”

A shiver ran down Thatcher’s spine. He wasn’t a man who believed in fate or coincidences, or any other such superstitions. A practical man who’d looked death down the barrel of a rifle and tip of a sword more times than he could count, he’d never once considered that his grandfather could have known.

And still given his consent.

“You’re telling me my grandfather knew that the bride he chose was a reckless, conniving—”

“Oh, yes. All that and more,” Jack told him. “Two years ago he summoned me and Miranda to Baythorne for a full reckoning. He’d already interviewed Temple, and I believe even their teacher, Miss Emery, was trundled up north for an interview. That was in addition to what that secretary of his—”

“Mr. Gibbens,” Thatcher supplied.

“Yes, Mr. Gibbens. Efficient fellow, that one. He’d man
aged to gather quite a volume on Lord Langley’s work for His Majesty.”

“That should be interesting reading,” Thatcher commented, thinking of Lord Langley’s questionable liaisons with his daughter’s “nannies.” Jamilla alone would give poor, fussy Gibbens nightmares for a month.

“Your grandfather wasn’t a man to leave anything to chance…” Jack paused. “He wanted to know Felicity.”

“I still can’t see how he could have chosen her if he—”

“Thatcher, he knew. Miranda gave him a complete accounting of Felicity. Her faults, her penchant for matchmaking, her meddlesome, high-handed, sometimes illegal—”

Thatcher shook his head. “The man I knew would never have—”

Jack stopped him again. “But he also knew the truly important things about her.”

All Thatcher had ever heard his grandfather go on and on about was honor, and duty, and proper decorum. He hardly saw how Felicity fit into that mold. “Such as?”

“That you’d never find a more brave, intrepid, determined, and loyal bride, no matter how far you roamed, no matter how far you fled. He knew someday you would have to come home and he hoped that…” Jack paused and shrugged. “…that you’d forgive him.”

Thatcher’s throat caught. Forgive his grandfather? He didn’t think he even knew who the man was any longer. The Duke of Hollindrake had been like a dragon in the family cave, ruling over the finances and proceedings with a fiery personality that had singed anyone who crossed him. Everything he did was measured toward keeping the family firmly afloat and in its rightful place in English society.

“And
he
told you all this?”

Jack nodded. “Good man, your grandfather. Knew he’d made mistakes in his life. Confessed to them one night over
too much whisky and some fine cigars.” He smiled at the memory, then leveled his gaze at Thatcher. “He envied you. Your honesty, your bravery.”

Thatcher blew out a long breath. “I don’t think—”

“He did. He was especially proud of your courage. Said he’d never had the chance to make such choices, and he envied you for them. He also knew the weight of the responsibilities and expectations he was leaving you and what they could do to a man. Thought perhaps someone like Felicity might…” Jack grinned. “…keep you on your toes.”

And suddenly that odd voice in the back of his head, the one that had urged him to play this masquerade, to save Felicity from Lady Lumby’s threats, and more to the point, to kiss her, sounded more like that of the domineering old man who he had spent the last twelve years putting an ocean and a war between them.

Still, it was hard to fathom that his grandfather had chosen
her
—a reckless, too-smart-for-her-own-good, meddlesome, and barely proper chit.