The Desirable Duchess (8 page)

The duke’s relative was older than the duke by at least twenty years. He was a small, swarthy man with a yellowish complexion, which could mean either that he had spent some time in India, or, what was more likely, there was something up with his liver. He had heavy eyebrows, bulging eyes, and a yapping voice. His son was also small but very neat—neat little features, neat little figure, finicky, precise movements.

“You must excuse my bad memory,” said Alice. “I do not remember you at the wedding.”

“Traveling abroad,” barked Lord Werford. “Both of us. Grand Tour. Boy’s education. Important.”

“Quite. May I present Mrs. Duggan. Mrs. Duggan, Lord Werford and the Honorable Percy Burke.”

Lord Werford bowed jerkily, but the Honorable Percy swept out a huge silk handkerchief and waved it in the air in a series of descending swoops, bowing as he did so, until his nose almost reached the floor. And then he stayed motionless, doubled up.

“Do rise, sir,” said Alice, stifling a giggle. “I am not the queen.”

“But you are the queen of beauty,” said Percy, straightening up. “One glance from your eyes has pierced my heart.”

“I don’t like you,” said Oracle suddenly, from his cage in the corner of the drawing room. “I don’t like you
at all
.”

Alice blushed guiltily. She had been talking to the bird recently about Lady Macdonald, ending up by crying, “I don’t like you at all, my lady.” Oracle had omitted the “my lady,” and so it sounded uncannily as if the bird had taken a dislike to the guests.

“Do excuse my pet,” she said. “He parrots odd phrases that mean nothing.”

“If that were my bird,” said Lord Werford, puffing out his cheeks in anger, “I would have him shot. Shot on the spot, ma’am.”

The mynah began to laugh, swinging backward and forward on its perch, a devilish laugh, a laugh from hell. Oh, dear, thought Alice, who now knew all the members of her husband’s large staff. That must be Evans. Evans was one of the housemaids, quick and efficient at her work but possessed of a really evil laugh. Alice had heard that laugh once-sounding up from the servants’ quarters—and had asked the butler, Hoskins, who on earth was possessed of a laugh like that.

Lord Werford strutted up to the cage. “Be quiet,” he roared.

“Shan’t, shan’t, shan’t,” shouted the mynah. Lord Werford backed away and crossed himself.

Mrs. Tembil’s spoiled brat of a child, thought Alice, remembering a painful visit by a society matron. “The bird is not speaking to you, Lord Werford. It is merely stringing together odd phrases. Now may I offer you some refreshment?”

Oracle fell mercifully silent while Alice entertained Lord Werford and his son with cakes and wine. Mrs. Duggan chattered on about this and that and Alice was glad of it, as father and son studied her the whole time in an unnerving way; she was glad when the couple at last rose to leave.

Percy asked her to go driving with him and, when Alice explained that the afternoon was going to be taken up with fittings, he made a very long and embarrassing speech about the folly of gilding the lily, until his father edged him toward the door.

“Goodness!” said Alice when they had left. “The next time they call, I hope Ferrant is at home.”

The duke paused on his way out that evening. “Hoskins,” he said, “have there been any callers on the duchess today?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Lord Werford and the Honorable Percy.”

“The deuce! What did that old fool want?”

“His Lordship wished to present his compliments to the duchess.”

“Indeed! Anyone else?”

“Mrs. Duggan and then the dressmaker, Madame Duval.”

“And that is all?”

“All that Her Grace would receive.”

“You interest me. Whom would she not receive?”

“Sir Gerald Warby, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Hoskins. That will be all.”

So, thought the duke as he walked out to his carriage, his little bride was behaving just as she ought. He thought of the evening ahead and felt uncomfortable. He had enjoyed his light flirtation with Lady Macdonald, had even, just recently, toyed with the idea of divorcing Alice and marrying her instead. But at the opera, Lady Macdonald had begun to assume a proprietorial air that he did not like.

He had to admit that the wantonness of her dress, which had so charmed him, had begun to appear vulgar. And yet when he called at her home to escort her to the ball, the very respectability of her gown on this occasion alarmed him. Lady Macdonald was already beginning to behave as if she were the duchess, rather than Alice. Instead of feeling in control of things, instead of feeling he was punishing Alice, he felt very much in the wrong, very much like just another London roué hell-bent on shaming his wife. But none of these disturbing thoughts showed through the polite mask of his face.

He reflected bitterly that since he had become a duke, he had become used to thinking that everything that he did was above censure, and he had been helped in that, he thought, by London society, who toadied to him quite dreadfully. And so he was taking his mistress to an old friend’s daughter’s ball, and, up until that moment, had not thought much about the enormity of his behavior. He had been so hurt by Alice, so humiliated. He had treated her like glass during their engagement, never pressing kisses or embraces on her. Edward and Lucy were to be at the Taylors this evening—Edward, who had asked him not to do anything so tactless as to introduce Lady Macdonald to Lucy, “for she’s in a delicate condition,” he had said awkwardly, “and I do not want to do anything to upset her.”

The fact that the duke was in a very bad mood, indeed, did not communicate itself to Lady Macdonald, who was so narcissistic that her pleasure in her own beauty had armored her effectively from the feelings of others. To spend an evening in her company, she judged, was an event of such high order than no man could fail to be delighted.

It was perhaps unfortunate that the Taylors had decided to enlarge the appearance of their saloon, where the ball was being held, by having long sheets of looking glass along the walls.

Alice was performing the quadrille with Mr. Donnelly. She was facing one of these sheets of mirror when Lady Macdonald entered, and so the duke had a perfect reflection of himself and Lady Macdonald—and also of Alice and Mr. Donnelly. Lady Macdonald’s reflected face wore an uncharacteristic look of sour uneasiness. Alice was smiling at Mr. Donnelly, the thin folds of yet another gauze overdress, this one spangled with gold, floating out from her body. Her hair was soft and gleaming and held in place with two delicate stems of gold corn. She looked very fresh and lovely. Mr. Donnelly, with his black curls and merry blue eyes, was, the duke judged, as young as Alice. He felt old and dirty.

His eyes turned back to where Mr. Taylor was standing at the door with his wife, and Mr. Taylor mouthed ruefully, “Not my fault.”

And then to add to the duke’s sourness, Sir Gerald Warby was announced.

The gossips were having a field day. Fans were raised over painted faces and voices hissed and whispered while Alice and the reflected Alice danced on, apparently without a care in the world.

Alice saw the duke, but her steps did not falter. She had also seen Sir Gerald Warby. “Sure, we’ll not be letting the fellow near you,” murmured Mr. Donnelly.

Left to her own devices, Alice would have found it hard to avoid Sir Gerald. He was persistent in trying to secure a dance with her. But anytime he tried to approach her, she always managed to elude him by accepting the hand of the nearest gentleman who asked her to dance. Across the room, he saw Lady Macdonald sending him a gimlet look.

The duke heartily wished the evening over. He could not help noticing the deft way Alice avoided Sir Gerald, or the way Mrs. Duggan directed those two Irishmen, Donnelly and Dunfear, to Alice’s side when it looked as if Sir Gerald were about to come too close to her.
He
should have been the one to protect his own wife.

While Lady Macdonald was dancing with a dazed-looking youth, he took the opportunity to ask Mr. Taylor, “Why did you ask my wife?”

“Demme, that was Lady Macdonald’s idea. Loretta said you wanted your wife to have an invitation. I thought that Loretta did not mean to attend. I did not know she was mischief-making.”

“Nor I.”

He waited until Lady Macdonald had finished dancing and then approached her. “We are leaving,” he said abruptly.

“So soon?” The eyes that looked into his were searching and wary.

He forced himself to smile. He did not want to have a scene with her in the ballroom. “I would be private with you,” he murmured.

She gave a slow smile of triumph. Her moment had arrived. She would have him in her bed… and then at the altar.

But no sooner were they seated in the privacy of his carriage than the duke said, “What prompted you to tell Taylor to insist on my wife’s attendance?”

“As to that, Sir Gerald Warby is back in Town, and it is known your little wife is enamored of him. Do not look so!” Lady Macdonald studied his grim face anxiously in the bobbing light of the carriage lamp. “Surely what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Everyone in society accepts us as a couple.”

“I have behaved very badly,” he said. “To you, and to my wife. It must stop.” His lips curved in a bitter smile. “If I have led you to believe that my intentions were other than dishonorable, then I beg you to forgive me for that, too.”

“What is this?” she demanded, fanning herself vigorously. “The great Duke of Ferrant is content to be cuckolded by his own wife?”

“You go too far. My wife was indeed at one time in love with Sir Gerald. I would not have married her at all had her parents not misled me as to the nature of her affections. Loretta, all this is very painful. You should never have interfered. To have managed to get both my wife and Warby—yes, I am sure you were behind his invitation as well—to this ball was a cruel trick on all concerned, and the person who is perhaps going to be most hurt by the outcome is you yourself.”

“Ferrant, forgive me. What was I to do? You showed all you preferred me to your milksop of a wife. What else could I think? I thought if you saw her together with Sir Gerald, it might prompt you to action, to divorce.”

“It did not work,” he said heavily. “I behaved disgracefully… and my wife behaved just as she ought.”

“Damn her.” Lady Macdonald clutched the fan in her hand so hard that the ivory sticks snapped.

“We have not been lovers,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “We can still be friends despite the trick you have played on me.”

She forced herself to smile. The game was not over so long as she still had access to him.

“I thank you,” she said. “Your friendship is of great value to me.”

Alice had noticed him leave with Lady Macdonald, had noticed the triumphant smile on that lady’s face, and had found herself hard put to remain apparently cheerful. She was half tempted to escape from her guard and talk to Sir Gerald. Sir Gerald had loved her. But somehow she could not recapture the soft memories of that first love. Sir Gerald had spent some time in the card room, gambling and drinking, once he had seen there was no hope of getting near her. He had just come back to the ballroom. He looked much older and harder, and, with a little feeling of emotional treachery, she could not help noticing that he was a trifle short in the leg.

The headache she had thought of pleading to as an excuse to go home became a reality. Mrs. Duggan, noticing her white face and glittering eyes, readily agreed to go as well, and Mr. Donnelly and Lord Dunfear escorted them.

Outside the duke’s house, she politely invited them in for refreshment, but Mrs. Duggan said soothingly that she had done very well and should go straight to bed.

A footman who had been on the backstrap of the carriage had already hammered on the great door for admittance, and another footman was letting down the carriage steps. Betty, Alice’s maid, silently walked behind her mistress, carrying her fan and reticule.

Alice had been brought up surrounded by servants and so was used to them, but in that moment, she wished she could be somewhere entirely alone. Watching servants meant one could not betray any emotion—a lady never did so in any case—and for the first time Alice felt this lack of privacy acutely.

When she reached her quarters, she dismissed Betty, saying she had a mind to put herself to bed.

Betty studied her mistress’s face and then curtsied obediently and withdrew.

Wearily Alice sat down at the toilet table, took the gold ornaments from her hair, and began to brush it with long strokes.

The door behind her opened and her husband stood on the threshold. She stared at his reflection in the round mirror in front of her, the brush poised.

“It is late,” he said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. “But I would like to talk to you.”

Alice swung round on the stool. “Yes, Ferrant,” she said wearily.

He was formidable and remote in impeccable evening dress, dark blue coat, white waistcoat, white cravat, dark blue silk knee breeches, and clocked stockings. A dark red ruby blazed from among the snowy folds of his cravat and a larger ruby burned with somber red fire from an antique ring he wore on his middle finger.

Those odd, slightly slanting eyes of his studied her for a moment. His hair gleamed guinea gold in the wavering candlelight.

He pulled forward a chair and sat down, stretching out his legs, which were long enough to please even Alice’s mother.

“That was an unfortunate evening,” he said.

Alice sat, very still, waiting for him to go on.

“I shall explain matters like this. You were, I believe, in love with Sir Gerald Warby.”

Alice winced.

“I am not going to berate you. Do you love him still?”

“No. No, I don’t,” said Alice, the naive note of surprise in her voice betraying the truth of her statement.

“But I assume he was your first love. I want you to remember the sweetness of that for this reason. You, Alice, were
my
first love, and I loved you deeply and tenderly… and I never thought that you did not love me. I thought that only poets believed that love was blind. But think on that and then realize what my feelings were when I found you, on our wedding day, with Sir Gerald in the rose garden.”