The Desirable Duchess (7 page)

“What do you want?” asked Alice, fighting down her nervousness and remembering Mrs. Duggan’s words that the duke was now the guilty one. “Have you been waiting there long?” she added in a milder voice. “You should have told Betty to wake me.”

“I came in only a few moments ago,” he said. He was in his undress, a long banyan of cloth of gold wrapped about him over a nightgown trimmed with more lace than Alice’s own. “I wish to speak to you.”

Alice settled herself more comfortably against the pillows and regarded him steadily. “What about?”

“I thought we had more or less agreed to attend separate functions.”

“I will do so in future. Had I known the reason was because you wished to attend certain events with your mistress, Lady Macdonald, then I would not have changed my plans.”

“How dare you! Lady Macdonald is a friend.”

Alice blinked at him and said, with pretty surprise, “La, sir. When a gentleman squires a lady of overblown looks, immodest dress, and doubtful morals about London, the gossips will chatter so.
But I see now you have only been kind to an aging lady long past the first blush of youth.”

“You little hellcat. Have you no shame for your own behavior?”

“That was in the past,” said Alice calmly, although her heart was hammering. “Lady Macdonald is in the present. I am to attend Vauxhall this evening with Mrs. Duggan. I tell you that in case you fear we might meet.”

“I have no fear of our meeting socially.”

“Then what is this conversation about? Ferrant, if you are trying to tell me that you wish to divorce me and marry Lady Macdonald, please say so and stop this tiresome sparring.”

Amazement flickered in his eyes. Where was the crushed Alice, the guilty Alice now?

“I do not wish to discuss such weighty matters before breakfast,” he said, his voice sounding unbearably pompous to his own ears.

“As you wish,” said Alice politely.

He gave her a baffled look and rose and stalked from the room.

Alice lay still after he had gone, fear warring with a certain triumph in her bosom. They had crossed swords, but, oh, how much better
that
was than to creep about this great mansion, frightened of meeting him.

The duke went to his club that afternoon. He had promised to take Lady Macdonald to the opera that evening. For the first time he began to worry about Lady Macdonald’s thoughts. She could surely not expect to marry him. And yet, that was an idea he had been toying with since he first met her.

Edward Vere was lounging in a chair in front of the fire in the coffee room. “Delighted to see you,” he cried when he saw the duke. “My poor Lucy is not very well and I have been sent out.”

“What is the matter?” asked the duke sharply. “Have you called for the physician?”

“Lucy is being sick in the mornings, due to her condition, or so I’m told, but it worries me greatly.”

“Congratulations. So you are to be a father.”

“Do you think it will be a boy?” asked Edward anxiously. “Should I put his name down for a good regiment?”

“Too premature,” said the duke, with a laugh. “It might be a girl.”

“A girl! Well, that would be splendid, too. I shall be quite the doting father whatever comes along. Did you ever think to see me married?”

“No, in truth, I thought you would remain a bachelor.”

“That was until I saw my Lucy. How goes Alice?”

“Well, I thank you.”

“Heard she was belle of the ball last night. Fellows are writing poems about her.” Edward shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “In fact, lots of gossip about that ball.”

“Ah… and are the gossips saying that I was there with Lady Macdonald?”

“Well, yes.”

“
Tcha!
I do not care what the gossips say.”

“You don’t? Demme, the way you’ve been going on since your wedding one would think you cared for little else,” exclaimed Edward.

“Explain yourself.”

“No, I won’t. Work it out for yourself. I ain’t telling you, for you’d only call me out—and I have a mind to live long enough to see my child! Your affairs are your business.”

“Exactly.”

“So let’s have a bottle of port and talk about something else.”

It was not Alice’s first visit to Vauxhall, but it was turning out to be the most enjoyable one she had experienced. In Mrs. Duggan’s party were two young Irishmen, Lord Dunfear and Mr. Donnelly, both easygoing rattles who paid her such extravagant compliments, they made her laugh. Lord Dunfear was tall and gangling and Mr. Donnelly was small and black-haired, with those intense blue Irish eyes fringed with heavy black lashes.

They listened to the music, promenaded in the walks under the lanterns, and then returned to their box for supper, where Mr. Donnelly tried to demonstrate his expertise in juggling with two wineglasses and a fork and dropped all of them—and looked so outraged that Alice giggled.

And that was how Sir Gerald Warby saw her. She was simply dressed in a white muslin gown with a blue silk pelisse and was wearing a frivolous confection of ribbons and flowers in her hair.

He had been strolling along with a noisy party of bloods, but with a hurried excuse, he detached himself from his party and approached the box.

Before Alice had even introduced him, Mrs. Duggan could tell by her blush and sparkling eyes that this was Sir Gerald Warby. Mrs. Duggan looked at him in surprise, for how could such a man even begin to compete with Alice’s husband? He had a handsome face, but it was marred by a rather weak and sensual mouth. His clothes were of the best, but the diamond in his cravat was made of paste.

Alice, after the introductions had been made, asked him to join them. He entertained the company with some of his adventures abroad and then, when Mrs. Duggan turned to talk to the two Irishmen, he said in a low voice to Alice, “How can you ever forgive me? Walk with me for a little and I will explain.”

“There is no need for explanations,” said Alice, with a lightness she did not feel. “You forget I am a married lady.”

“An unhappily married lady, if the gossips have it aright.”

“I never listen to gossip,” said Alice coldly. “My marriage is no concern of yours, sir.”

He put his hand on his heart. “Would that it were,” he breathed.

Alice felt uncomfortable. There was something very stagy about that gesture. Her initial rapture at seeing him was fading fast. She was now more experienced in the ways of the world than when she had first met him. And he had changed in a subtle way. There was a glittering, hectic look in his black eyes and he smelled strongly of the Gardens’ rack punch and tobacco smoke.

“I am feeling faint,” said Mrs. Duggan, looking remarkably hale and healthy. “Forgive me, but I must go home.”

Alice immediately rose to her feet. “We will all go,” she said, picking up her fan and reticule. “My apologies, Sir Gerald.”

He bowed over her hand and said huskily, “I shall call on you tomorrow.”

Alice withdrew her hand and said gently, “No, that would not be wise. Good night, sir.”

Gerald sat on in the box and finished the rack punch. He was joined by his friends.

“So that’s the Duchess of Ferrant,” said one. “Had I such a charmer as a bride, I would not waste my time on Lady Macdonald.”

Sir Gerald sobered on the spot. “Who?” he demanded, and then listened eagerly. When they had finished, he lay back in his chair, his eyes half-closed, and thought hard. He had led a rackety life abroad and had become greedy for money to satisfy his desires of high living and gambling. He had almost run through the generous amount of money paid to him by Alice’s parents to stay away. Alice must have changed. She was no longer a virgin… and it was well known that unhappy wives in London society took lovers. If he could enjoy her favors and then somehow let Mr. and Mrs. Lacey know about it, perhaps they might pay him again.

The following day, Sir Gerald waited across the road from the duke’s town house until he saw him driving out. Then straightening his beaver hat, he strode across the road.

A haughty butler opened the door. Sir Gerald confidently presented his card and asked for an audience with the duchess. The butler put the card on a silver salver and mounted the stairs. Gerald waited eagerly. After what seemed too long a time, the butler came back. “Her Grace is not at home,” he said.

Gerald could not believe she would not see him. “When will she return?” he asked.

“I do not know,” said the butler stonily.

There was nothing else for Gerald to do but take his leave.

He went to a coffeehouse in Pall Mall, wondering what to do next. Then he thought of this Lady Macdonald. Would it be possible to get her to help him? By asking about among his friends, he secured her address and went there.

He was told that Lady Macdonald did not rise until four in the afternoon. Gerald looked at his pocket watch. It was quarter past three.

“I will wait,” he said grimly.

He was shown into a saloon on the ground floor, a little-used saloon from the look of it, the sort of room where doubtful callers were placed instead of being taken upstairs to one of the less public rooms.

There was a French clock on the mantelpiece. He watched impatiently as the minutes ticked by. Finally at four o’clock exactly the door opened and the butler said, “If you would be so good as to follow me, sir.”

For one short moment before he mounted the stairs, Gerald remembered a younger, cleaner, more hopeful Gerald who, for a brief, heady time, had been deeply and sweetly in love with Alice Lacey. But debts and social snubs had crept in between, souring his disposition, making him feel like a spoiled child whose glittering toys had been snatched away from him by a cruel fate.

His eyes gleamed when he saw Lady Loretta Macdonald. She was in her undress, a lacy wrapper over a lacy nightdress. Her flaming hair, thick and shining with oil, cascaded down on her white shoulders.

“Such beauty,” murmured Gerald, kissing her hand.

“Charmed,” she said in her throaty voice. “I do not think we are acquainted. State the reason for your call.”

“I will be brutally frank,” said Sir Gerald, flipping up the long tails of his coat and sinking down into an armchair opposite her. “I am in love with Alice, Duchess of Ferrant.”

“So!” Her eyes widened slightly. “I have heard gossip about you, that the little duchess’s pet bird cried out your name on the day of her wedding. But what is that to me?”

“I have heard that the Duke of Ferrant is courting you.”

“Indeed. Many men court me, Sir Gerald.”

“Of course, of course. But do you hope to marry Ferrant?”

“That is my business, not yours.”

“I think you could do with my help.”

“Sir Gerald, I find you impertinent.”

“Alas, it is my love for Alice… I mean the duchess, that has made me so bold.”

She studied him in silence for a moment. Then she said slowly, “And how could you help?”

“I am sure I could reanimate the duchess’s affections toward me. I met the lady at Vauxhall last night.” He kissed his fingertips. “What a welcome! Ferrant is a proud man. It is all right for him to be unfaithful, but what duke would tolerate similar behavior in his own wife?”

“And yet such things go on,” murmured Lady Macdonald.

“In a couple so newly wed and without the heir to the dukedom being secured?”

“And all you want in return is the love of the duchess?”

“As to that,” he said awkwardly, “I find myself sadly short of the readies… and that is a certain barrier to courting the duchess.”

She threw back her head and laughed. Then she looked at him, her eyes glittering with amusement. “A man after my own heart. So we are talking business, hey?”

Gerald spread his hands in a deprecatory gesture.

“Well, I shall look on it as an investment,” said Lady Macdonald. “But see you do your work well. I make a bad enemy.” She rose and crossed to a desk, then sat down and began to write busily.

Then she rose and handed him a slip of paper. “That is a draft on my bank.” Gerald blinked at the large sum. “Now, shall we discuss strategy? It is time your little duchess saw me with Ferrant again. Miss Taylor is to have her come-out ball tomorrow night. Although the family is not
bon
ton, Ferrant has agreed to go because the father is an old army friend. He is taking me. It is up to us to see the duchess goes. I myself will engineer an invitation for you, and I will tell Mr. Taylor that it is Ferrant’s wish that his wife should accept an invitation. I believe Taylor discreetly did not send her one. You play your part and I will play mine.”

Alice duly received a pressing invitation from Mr. Taylor to attend his daughter’s ball. In his letter he said he was an old friend of her husband’s. Alice showed the letter to Mrs. Duggan, along with the accompanying invitation card. “Very strange,” said Mrs. Duggan. “I myself have an invitation, but then, I have known the Taylors this age. Had you anything else planned for this evening?”

Alice shook her head. “I planned to go to bed early. Madame Duval is going to spend most of this afternoon fitting me for all sorts of ensembles.”

“But nothing ready yet? No? Then she had better refurbish something for this evening, for it is my belief you should go.”

“What if Ferrant is there with Lady Macdonald?”

“All to the better. To arrive escorting one’s mistress when one’s wife is present is just not done.”

“What if Sir Gerald Warby is there?”

Mrs. Duggan looked at her thoughtfully. She wanted to say that such as Sir Gerald was not a patch on Ferrant, but she said instead, “He is not invited anywhere much.” Mrs. Duggan had been making inquiries. “But Lord Dunfear and young Donnelly are to attend. I suggest they escort us. You will therefore have two safe partners, and one of them will escort you to supper.”

The butler entered. “Lord Werford and his son, the Honorable Percy Burke,” he announced.

“I do not think I know them,” said Alice.

“If it pleases Your Grace, Lord Werford is His Grace’s second cousin.”

‘In that case, I had better see them. Is His Grace not at home?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Then you may show them in.”