The Confessions of a Duchess (7 page)

“Fortunately not,” Laura said. “I should have jumped in and swum ashore but after I bumped my head I felt too sick.” She took a deep breath. “It was lucky that Mr. Anstruther was on hand to pull me out.”

There—she had mentioned Dexter’s name with barely a pang of emotion and felt proud of herself. In a little while, possibly months but hopefully only days, she might even be able to think of him without that complicated mixture of guilt and longing.

“Mr. Dexter Anstruther?” Alice said, eyes wide. “The mysterious gentleman who is staying at the Morris Clown Inn?”

“Yes. He was fishing nearby.”

“I thought so,” Alice said. “I passed him just as I arrived. He was wet and carrying several fish. That explains a great many questions I was asking myself.”

“Such as?”

“Why there was a pool of water on your front step and damp footprints in the hall for a start.”

“You have a talent for investigation,” Laura said. She hoped that Alice’s powers of deduction did not extend as far as working out what she had been up to with Dexter Anstruther in the warming room. She hoped none of her feelings showed on her face.

“I do.” A frown wrinkled Alice’s brow. “Mr. Anstruther is a little odd, do you not think?”

Odd
was not a word Laura would have used to describe Dexter. Wickedly handsome, sinfully tempting and very dangerous perhaps, but never odd….

“Laura?” Alice had her head on one side and was looking curious. Laura gave herself a mental shake.

“In what way is he odd?” she asked cautiously.

Alice waved a hand about in a vague way. “Oh, I am not sure. I sometimes think that he behaves like an older man, for all that he can be no more than seven and twenty.”

“He is only six and twenty, actually,” Laura said, before she could stop herself.

“What do you mean, older?”

“He seems very grave,” Alice said, “and responsible.”

“He may seem that way,” Laura said, “but it was only a couple of years ago that he was spoken of as one of the most reckless libertines in London.” A fresh wave of guilt assailed her. She had a terrible fear that Dexter’s fall from grace had been her fault.

“Though he was extremely responsible beforehand.”

“Before what?” Alice’s bright gaze was penetrating.

Before I took his virginity and ruined his character…

Laura swallowed hard. “Before…um…Before he became a reckless libertine.”

“So he was responsible before, and responsible after, and something happened in the middle that made him behave differently,” Alice said thoughtfully. “I wonder what that was?”

“Yes, I wonder.” Laura moved a few of the ornaments on the dresser at random.

Alice’s bright, intelligent gaze was fixed on her face. “Anyway, how do you know?” Laura’s confusion grew. “How do I know what?”

“Mr. Anstruther’s age. How do you know he is only six and twenty?”

“Because I know his mother,” Laura said, seeing that she needed to crush this line of conversation if she did not want to give away her feelings utterly. “We are of the same generation.”

Alice was diverted, as Laura had hoped she would be. “Oh come now, Laura, that must be nonsense,” she said. “You cannot be much above thirty yourself!”

“I am four and thirty to be precise, my child,” Laura said. She felt woefully irresponsible, for all her years. A bare thirty minutes before she had almost made love with Dexter Anstruther in her own drying room. How reckless and foolish—and, if she were honest, how utterly enjoyable—had that been?

But Alice had not finished with the subject yet. She lowered her voice and glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder. “The
on dit
is that Mr. Anstruther works for the government, you know.”

“There is no need to whisper,” Laura said. “Hattie and Rachel are upstairs and there is no one else about except Carrington and Mrs. Carrington, and they are as deaf as two posts.”

“You don’t seem very interested,” Alice said, crestfallen. “The trouble with you, Laura, is that you are so perfectly reserved and composed. Nothing seems to ruffle your calm. I suppose it is the natural consequence of being a duchess.”

“I am good at concealing my feelings,” Laura allowed. “
That
is the natural consequence of being a duchess.”

She privately reflected that she had not been either reserved or composed in Dexter’s arms.
Wanton
and
abandoned
were more accurate words to describe her state. But then Dexter was the only one who had unlocked a wild and passionate sensuality in her that she had never imagined existed. She had known passion in other areas of her life—no one who rode as hard as she did or took up the cause of injustice as fiercely as she had done could consider herself to be truly meek and conventional—but she had never imagined that she could make love with such unrestrained ardor. With Charles the idea had been laughable.

With Dexter it was a wild reality.

But now for Hattie’s sake as well as her own she knew she must turn her back on Dexter and all that might once have been. She had to be the perfect dowager duchess once more, restrained and cool, gracious, a little distant and reserved. Violent passion was in the past.

Alice had brightened again. “At any rate, that was not what I came to talk about. Are you going to offer me a cup of tea?”

“I shall go and make it myself,” Laura said, moving toward the servants’ stair.

“Is Mrs. Carrington having another of her bad days?” Alice asked sympathetically, trotting along beside her as they went down the stair and into the kitchen.

“I fear so,” Laura said. “She was in so much pain that she could not lift the pans at breakfast, so I sent her back to bed with a hot brick.”

“You should get some more servants,” Alice said, “competent ones. You cannot be forever making the tea yourself.”

“I have Molly and Rachel, and they are perfect,” Laura pointed out. Molly was Rachel’s sister and acted as both maid of all work and Laura’s personal maid on the rare occasions she required it. Both girls were capable, good-humored and an asset to the household. “And then there is Bart to do the garden.”

“Bart is so old and lame he can scarcely bend,” Alice pointed out. “You do the garden yourself, Laura. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. With the exception of Rachel and Molly you run a home for incapable servants here.”

“Well, there is no reason why I shouldn’t make the tea myself,” Laura pointed out, a little defensively. She lifted the copper kettle and placed it on the hob. “There is no great mystery about making tea—or about cooking or dressing oneself, or growing vegetables, for that matter.”

“But you are a
duchess,
” Alice said, in horrified tones. “It is not right.” Laura laughed. “I am a penniless dowager. And that is the marvelous thing. As a dowager duchess I can do as I wish. My relatives cannot interfere and tell me what to do—

though they try—and I have no social obligations now that Henry and the dreaded Faye are Duke and Duchess of Cole. And after all, Queen Marie Antoinette played at being a milkmaid, did she not?”

“And look what happened to her,” Alice said gloomily.

“I have no intention of losing my head,” Laura said firmly, “either metaphorically or practically.”

“I almost forgot—I have shocking news.” Alice leaned her chin on her hand and fixed Laura with her bright brown gaze. “There is uproar in the town. We are in the most tremendous fix and it is entirely my fault. You will remember that I refused Sir Montague Fortune’s offer of marriage in July?”

“Of course,” Laura said, reaching for the tea caddy.

“Apparently in revenge he has dug up some ancient law that entitles him to take half our fortunes,” Alice said. “Oh, Laura, all unmarried women in Fortune’s Folly have either to marry or give Sir Montague their money!”

Laura put the caddy down slowly. “Surely you jest? That cannot possibly be legal.

It’s iniquitous!”

“Apparently it
is
legal.” Alice looked tragic. “Even if we all sold our property and left the village we could not escape because it applies to all single women living here
now.

So I am wondering whether I should marry him in order to save all the other ladies of Fortune’s Folly.”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Laura said, stifling a smile as she measured tea into the pot.

“You refused Sir Montague for a reason, did you not?”

“Yes. I don’t like him.”

“Quite so. You would like him even less if you felt blackmailed into marrying him.” Laura took the singing kettle from the hob and added the boiling water to the pot. “Besides, I suspect that now Sir Montague has realized he can take half of the fortune of
every
woman in the village without matrimony, he will not settle for just one woman in wedded bliss.”

“I suppose not.” Alice raised her eyes to Laura’s face. “What is to be done?” Laura reached the biscuit tin down from the shelf and pushed it toward her guest.

“Try these—oaten biscuits from Mr. Blount.” She sighed. “Well, for my own part, Sir Monty will make very little money out of me, for I have nothing but this house and a pittance to keep it up. But that does not mean I wish to give any of it away and I can certainly help the rest of you if you would like me to.” She smiled reassuringly at Alice. “I will write to my lawyer at once for advice on countermeasures that we may take. Then we will rally the ladies of the village to oppose Sir Montague. There must be plenty of steps we can take to thwart him. A meeting at the circulating library within the next few days, perhaps…” She felt an unexpected rush of excitement. It was a small thing to be organizing a revolt against their grasping lord of the manor but it made her feel as though she was doing something active and worthwhile. For too long she had lacked a cause.

Alice was looking at her with admiration. “How splendid you are, Laura! So practical! We will soon have Sir Montague retreating in disarray.”

“That explains Mr. Anstruther’s presence in Fortune’s Folly,” Laura said, struck by a sudden thought. “He must be here to look for a rich wife.” She felt her temper bubble up as she thought about it. The nerve of Dexter Anstruther, coming to the village with the intention of finding a bride and propositioning
her
to be his mistress at the same time. And he had once been a man of principle. He had been right. He
had
changed.

“The blackguard!” she said, her indignation growing. “Everyone knows he is as poor as a church mouse. He is no more than a fortune hunter!”

“He is not the only one,” Alice said. “I was tripping over gentlemen down from London on my way to visit you. I could scarcely make my way across the market square without being importuned by some adventurer or other.”

“Well,” Laura said, stirring the teapot so viciously that the liquid inside splashed onto the table. “They will find that the ladies of Fortune’s Folly are no easy target. The arrogance! To think that they can come here with their town bronze and sweep some heiress or other to the altar.”

She reached for the cups with a violence that put her ancient china at risk. So Dexter Anstruther had come to Fortune’s Folly hunting a rich heiress. Well, she would show him his mistake. He would rue the day he had come seeking a wealthy wife. She would see he did.

DEXTER WAS HOLDING
in his hand a letter from the Dowager Duchess of Cole. It reminded him of the Laura Cole he had known four years before, who had been the perfect duchess, elegant and gracious.

Dear Mr. Anstruther,
it read,
thank you very much for the service rendered to me
earlier today when you rescued me from the river…

Dexter sighed. Laura Cole was, as ever, presenting the perfect facade of propriety.

But what had he expected it to say?

Dear Mr. Anstruther, thank you very much for your offer to be my lover on the basis
of mutual convenience and pleasure. Having given the matter my consideration, I fear I
must decline. Although I took you to my bed in the past, I no longer have any romantic
interest in you…

On calm and mature reflection, Dexter felt that trying to seduce Laura had not been the most intelligent thing that he could have done. He needed to remember that he was in Fortune’s Folly to work first and foremost, and also to find a rich wife. Laura Cole was a penniless widow and unsuitable to boot. The fact that he wanted her in his bed now as much as ever was distracting and irrational and he needed to ignore it, particularly since she had made her disdain for him so very clear. Even so, the urge to seek her out again, the need to see her, speak to her, simply be near her, plagued him and would not go away. It felt like a burr against his skin. He shrugged irritably.

“Are we to go to the assembly or not?” Miles Vickery drawled, lounging back in the chair. “Or are you to sit here rereading that note all evening?” Miles had arrived an hour before with fresh instructions from Lord Liverpool and the express intention of finding himself an heiress as swiftly as possible. News of Sir Montague’s dastardly plan to reinstate the Dames’ Tax had spread like wildfire around the town even as the place filled up with adventurers from London.

With a sigh, Dexter folded Laura’s note and placed it in his inside pocket. “I beg your pardon. I had no notion you were in such a hurry.”

“Need to find myself a rich wife,” Miles pointed out. “Thought you were in the market for a bride, too.”

“Since the ladies have just heard that they are to lose half their fortunes if they do not enter wedlock within a year, I doubt we’ll get a very warm welcome,” Dexter said dryly.

“We’ll persuade them,” Miles said. “Seduce them to our point of view if we must.

Compromising a lady is a very effective way to secure her fortune.”

“And a very dishonorable one,” Dexter said. Sometimes he thought that where women were concerned, Miles had neither scruples nor principles.

Not that he could afford the scruples and principles that beset him. Miles had also brought with him a letter from Dexter’s sister Annabelle. Written in Belle’s loopy, extravagant hand, it had reminded Dexter of all the reasons why he needed to marry money—if reminder was needed.