The Confessions of a Duchess (13 page)

Laura thought it was extraordinary. Silk mixed with worsted, trade with old money.

They chatted and laughed together, united in a single cause. Laura had never seen such a degree of social acceptance in her life. The only exception was her cousin by marriage, Faye, Duchess of Cole, who was looking down her nose in horror at the need to mingle with the common people. Since Henry and Faye did not even live in Fortune’s Folly, Laura was tempted to suggest to Faye that she spared herself the unpleasantness of associating with the masses and simply went back home to Cole Court.

Holding up her hands, she called the meeting to order and the room fell obediently silent.

“I didn’t expect,” she said slowly, “to see so many of you here.”

“We thought we would all come to show support,” piped Mrs. Lovell, a pert blonde who had been married to a local solicitor for barely more than a year. “After all, if my dearest Archie were to have an accident and die, I would be in the same situation as the rest of you. What Sir Montague is doing is appalling!”

“Thank you,” Laura said. She though it unlikely that Archie Lovell, a timid young man whose idea of a dangerous activity was to walk home rather than take the carriage, would meet with a fatal accident in the near future but she appreciated the vote of support.

“My husband is trying to use the opportunity of the Dames’ Tax to get poor Mary off our hands,” said Lady Wheeler, the faded wife of a minor baronet, with a fond smile at the plain daughter who was sitting blushing at her side. “He is welcoming all kinds of rogues to the house because he says it is the only way to get her a husband. It’s iniquitous!” A murmur of sympathy arose in the room, though Laura was not sure whether it was for Mary Wheeler’s plight in being married off by a hardhearted father or being blessed with so insensitive a mother. Lydia Cole reddened and cast a sideways glance at her own mother and Laura remembered the assembly the previous night and Faye’s determined attempts to throw Lydia in the path of any man who looked her way. Poor Mary Wheeler was not the only one.

“I am sorry to hear it, ma’am,” she said.

“Sir Montague is a toad,” Mrs. Broad opined. “He sent his estate manager around this morning to warn me I’d lose one of my chickens and half of the sheep.” She folded her arms belligerently. “I asked him which half he wanted, front or back. I’d rather cut my tongue out than marry again, and so I told him. It took Broad long enough to die and leave me in peace!” She looked around the circle of faces and her gaze softened as it fell on Lady Elizabeth Scarlet. “Bless you, child, I’m sorry to speak ill of your brother, but what he is doing is a scandal!”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Lady Elizabeth said cheerfully. There was a spark of humor in her green eyes. “Monty is being an absolute cad but he will be sorry for it when I have finished with him!”

“Quite,” Laura said hurriedly, remembering the lemonade incident. “I do think, Lady Elizabeth, that whilst direct action may be all very well in some cases, we do need to be careful how we approach this problem.”

“Of course, your grace,” Elizabeth said with a demureness that did not fool Laura in the least.

“I have been searching the old books in my grandmother’s library,” Laura continued,

“and I have found some countermeasures that may be useful. When Sir Montague invoked the Dames’ Tax, he also revived all the other medieval laws of the village, you see.” The ladies did see. Another flutter of debate and speculation swept the room as they discussed which old village customs might be suitable to revive.

“There’s pannage,” Mrs. Broad said suddenly. “I remember that from my father’s time. He used to let his pigs roam in the lord’s woodlands.”

“I do not see why it should just be pigs,” Elizabeth said, brightening up. “We have plenty of horses in our stable. They would love to graze Monty’s flower beds. His autumn planting is his pride and joy and I am sure the flowers taste as sweet as they smell.” She looked around. “Does anyone else have any livestock to graze?”

“You can borrow my sheep with my blessing, Lady Elizabeth,” Mrs. Broad said, beaming.

“I believe there is also a custom called foldage, by which the sheep manure the lord’s land in return for provision of a sheep fold,” Laura said.

“My sheep’s good at manuring,” Mrs. Broad said proudly. “Reckon she could make quite an impression on Sir Montague’s lawn.”

Laura laughed. Faye Cole’s face contracted in disgust and she moved her skirts aside as though the sheep were already making its presence felt. “This is very childish,” she murmured. “Surely one should simply accede to the lord of the manor’s authority?” She looked at Lydia. “I came here today to say that this is an excellent opportunity for a matchmaking mama who wants what is best for her daughter. Indeed—” she shot a venomous look at Alice Lister “—certain ladies from humble beginnings should not have been so quick to turn down Sir Montague’s generous offer in the first place.” There was an awkward silence. Alice took a deep breath and looked fit to burst but Elizabeth forestalled her with a smile. “For my part,” she said, “I have always seen Miss Lister as a sister. She need not sacrifice herself to Monty in wedlock in order to make it a formal arrangement.”

There was some laughter at this and Faye subsided, looking huffy. She was not going to be seen to contradict an earl’s daughter in public but her boot-faced expression made her opinion clear on outspoken chits who needed a firm hand.

“Thank you,” Laura said. “It is always useful to hear opposing views. Now, shall we take a vote? All those in favor of introducing pannage and foldage?” Every lady in the room raised her hand, with the exception of Lydia and Faye, whose hands remained locked firmly in her lap. After a moment Lydia tentatively put her hand up, as well, only for Faye to grab her arm and wrestle it down again. A small struggle ensued with Lydia’s agonized gasp of
“Mama!”
a fair indication of Faye’s surprising amount of strength.

“The vote is carried,” Laura said briskly, ignoring them. “Lady Elizabeth, may we rely upon you to discuss grazing with all the ladies who possess livestock and arrange for the transfer of animals to Sir Montague’s gardens?”

“Certainly,” Elizabeth said, her green eyes sparkling. “It will be a pleasure.”

“We will call another meeting in a few days’ time,” Laura said, “when we shall discuss further action. All ideas welcome, ladies. I leave the matter with you.”

“It is a disgrace to see you chairing a meeting like this!” Faye hissed in Laura’s ear as the ladies of Fortune’s Folly filed out of the circulating library into the autumn sunshine of the market square. “Really, Laura, I wonder at you! You are the Dowager Duchess of Cole. A few years ago you were mixing with the hoi polloi at the Harrogate horticultural society. That was bad enough but now this group of miscreants and renegades! I am shocked.”

“It is no wonder that you and Sir Montague are in such agreement, Faye,” Laura observed, trying not to feel too irritated. “You are kindred spirits.” She picked up her file of research papers and tucked it under her arm. Faye’s snobbery had been a thorn in her side from the very first time Charles had invited his cousin and his wife to visit Cole Court. “Your attitudes are positively antediluvian,” she continued. “The
ladies
of Fortune’s Folly are not miscreants. It is Sir Montague who deserves the reproof.”

“Nonsense!” Faye claimed, puffing across the market square at Laura’s side, dragging a reluctant Lydia in her wake. “If Miss Lister had been properly grateful for Sir Montague’s condescension in offering marriage, none of this would have happened. I could not believe that she dared show her face at the meeting today.”

“Why should she not?” Laura said crossly. She hated Faye’s appalling snobbery.

“She is as much affected by the Dames’ Tax as the rest of us.”

“Yes,” Faye said, “but she is not a
lady,
is she?” Laura gritted her teeth to physically keep in her response.

“Anyway,” Faye continued, blissfully oblivious to Laura’s anger, “I suppose that now this has all happened it is the perfect opportunity for girls such as dear Lydia to find a husband. Mr. Anstruther could barely tear himself from her side at the assembly and he walked with us in the Promenade Gardens yesterday, as well. He was complimenting Lyddy on being in excellent looks. Why, he was quite
épris!
”

“Really?” Laura said. She tried to keep her voice steady even though she had no desire to be treated to every last detail of Dexter’s courtship of Lydia and felt decidedly snappy. The autumn day suddenly seemed less sunny and the wind had a biting edge. She told herself that this was no news to her—she had seen Dexter and Lydia together at the assembly, after all—but the sick feeling inside her did not go away.

“He has been paying my Lydia a vast amount of attention from the first,” Faye said complacently. “He mentioned how sparkling was her conversation and how pleased he would be to visit Cole again now that you are no longer there, Laura—”

“I don’t think he said anything of the sort, Mama,” Lydia said. She was still rubbing her arm where Faye had grabbed her earlier and was looking a little defiant. “We had one dance together at the assembly and yesterday he asked after my health very politely, but that was all.”

“Well,” Faye said, viciously spiking a stray leaf with the tip of her umbrella, “I am sure he
would
have paid you compliments if you had been a little more forthcoming with him, Lyddy. A gentleman likes a little encouragement.”

Laura thought of the brazen encouragement that she had given Dexter that day in her warming room and felt rather hot at the memory. It was not the sort of response that a gentleman looked for from his suitable, virgin bride. Could she be any further from Dexter Anstruther’s ideal of a wife? She doubted it. But then beneath the surface Dexter was nothing like the austere and rational man he appeared on the outside. It was simply that he denied that part of his character because he was so determined to be the responsible man his father had failed to be. But one thing was for sure—his suitable virgin bride would get the shock of her life if treated to the volcanic passion Laura had unleashed in him.

“Mr. Anstruther should be grateful to have the opportunity to marry into the Coles of Cole Court,” Faye continued. “He is a pauper and when all is said and done, has no more than good looks and an old name to his credit and some pointless job as clerk to that old fool Liverpool. His father was a sadly unsteady fellow and Mr. Anstruther himself seemed to be heading the same way a few years ago with his courtesans and his actresses and his liaisons with married women—”

“Mama!” Lydia besought, blushing to the ears. “I cannot believe that you wish me to marry a man you seem to hold in nothing but contempt.”

She had a fair point, Laura thought, but Faye, with her elephant hide, saw no contradiction in her attitude.

“Nonsense, Lyddy,” she said bracingly. “A female is nothing but a fool if she does not expect a man to have his little fancies and you must remember that he is marrying you for your money and you are marrying him for…” She paused, as though she were trying to come up with a good reason.

“To escape your mother,” Laura said under her breath.

“Because he is the only one who will have you!” Faye finished triumphantly. “There he is now!” she trilled, speeding up toward the entrance to the pump rooms. “Cooeee! Mr.

Anstruther!”

Laura’s heart sank. She had hoped to have a few more days’ grace in which to regain her composure before she was obliged to see Dexter again. Her awareness of him had been so intense that night at Half Moon Inn. She had told herself then that she was only meeting with Dexter because Lord Liverpool had the means to twist her arm, but seeing Dexter—

talking over times past—had inevitably unleashed memories that were barely buried at all.

“If you will excuse me—” she began, but Faye caught her arm in a clawlike grip and dragged her forward.

“Must you be so selfish?” she hissed. “Show some family feeling and help us to catch Mr. Anstruther for Lyddy!”

Since the only alternative was to indulge in an undignified tussle in the street—a temptation she just managed to resist—Laura gave in with what good grace she could muster and allowed Faye to pull her along to the pump room steps. Dexter and his companion, Nat Waterhouse, paused obligingly as Faye bore down on them like a galleon with the wind in its sails. Both gentlemen were impeccable in morning dress. Laura tried hard not to look at Dexter but it seemed impossible. The more she tried to look away, the more her gaze was drawn to him: to his fair hair, ruffled by the autumn breeze, to his broad shoulders encased in an elegant coat of green this morning and down to the muscular thighs beneath the skintight pantaloons. Suddenly she felt more than a little weak at the knees. She closed her eyes for a second in defense against the awareness he aroused in her.

When she opened her eyes again and raised her gaze, she realized that Dexter had caught her staring and, even worse, read her mind with disturbing accuracy. His brows lifted in a look of quizzical inquiry that was not particularly friendly but was certainly challenging. There was a flame of sensual arousal deep in his eyes that made Laura feel even more flustered. She licked her lips nervously, saw his gaze drop to her mouth and felt her stomach quake.

“Oh, Mr. Anstruther,” Laura heard Faye say, “Lydia has been looking forward to seeing you
so
much this morning! Did we not all have a
delightful
time at the park yesterday?”

“Delightful,” Dexter said. He wrenched his gaze from Laura at last and sketched a bow. “You have arrived most opportunely, ladies. I had promised to introduce Lord Waterhouse to the pleasures of the sulphur water spa, but he seems strangely reluctant to sample it. Now that you are here, though, he will no doubt yield to a sweeter persuasion than mine.”

“You must excuse me from your excursion,” Laura said. Dexter’s gaze had swept the group and included her briefly and impartially in the invitation and his sudden switch from arousal to apparent indifference made her feel decidedly cross. She had no wish to sit and watch him make eyes at Lydia across a beaker of mineral water.