The Duke's Daughter (2 page)

‘Social appearances must be kept,’ he muttered under his breath.

It began to rain and the priest hurried through the graveside service.

‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’

The rest of the mourners, though few in number, each picked up a handful of the soft graveside soil and tossed it onto the lowered coffin. They walked away, some giving Avery a final offer of condolence while others departed silently.

Finally, he was left standing alone beside his brother’s grave.

He picked up a handful of dirt and for a moment stood looking at it, sorely tempted to spit on it. He looked toward the churchyard gate and saw Lord Langham and Ian Barrett sheltering under a tree, waiting. He gave them a nod.

In the long years since he had fled his home, he had made every effort to be a better man than his father and brother. Until that fateful day on the battlefield at Waterloo, he’d thought he had succeeded.

He threw the dirt onto the coffin. He would not embarrass either gentleman by showing what he truly thought of his brother.

‘Goodbye, Thaxter; sleep well,’ he said, and turned from the grave.

A small wake was held at Langham House, attended almost exclusively by the Radley and Langham families. Ian Barrett stayed for just one drink. As he had other business matters to attend to whilst he was in London, Avery accepted his apologies with good grace.

‘It was kind of you to come all this way, sir; I know you don’t make it up to London that often, so I appreciate your coming today,’ he said, shaking the major’s hand.

‘Yes, well, considering the delightful young lady I have met today, perhaps I should change that habit for a new one,’ Ian replied. He nodded in the direction of Lady Lucy.

‘Yes, she is rather pretty and she has been kind to me,’ Avery replied.

He had caught her looking at his hands during the funeral service and wondered how much her brother David had told her of him. It didn’t take much for a casual observer to note that Avery favoured his right hand over his left.

He turned away from Lucy.

Ian raised an eyebrow.

‘So how long do you intend to mourn your brother?’ he asked.

Ian knew the full story of Avery and Thaxter’s relationship and why Avery had falsified his age in order to join the army a full two years before he was eligible. Avery shrugged his shoulders. The idea of a month with a black armband didn’t appeal to him greatly, but he suspected with his elevation to earl-in-waiting, his every move would be scrutinised by London’s elite.

‘It’s a pity I couldn’t come back to Rokewood Park with you,’ Avery replied.

He knew it was impossible. He had a new role to fulfil. New responsibilities which he could not in all good conscience avoid by hiding away in the countryside.

‘Well, perhaps next time you are over Northampton way, you could call in and see us. Best of luck, Avery. Lord Langham is a good man; I think you will do well. And don’t be too hasty in dismissing those who might be the kind of friend you need in the
haute ton
. Lady Lucy Radley is very well connected. Not to mention unwed.’

Lucy had caught Ian Barrett and Avery Fox looking in her direction and knew instinctively they were talking about her. She was in two minds as to whether she should go and talk to Avery once she saw Ian Barrett making his farewells.

The effect Avery had had on her during the funeral left her unsettled. She couldn’t remember having ever felt that awkward, nay, vulnerable when she looked at a man. To her mind men were usually overstuffed peacocks or boring as house mice. Descriptions that matched closely to the two suitors whose proposals of marriage she had rejected the previous season.

The perfect man with the right mixture of intrigue and social grace was yet to cross her path. Or so she had thought until the night she met Mr Avery Fox. He was an entirely different and more alluring prospect from the norm.

There was something in the way he carried himself, compared to other men. At times a stiffness appeared in his gait which at first she had thought to be a sign of uncertainty. Now, as she observed him from a distance, she was not so sure. Was he perhaps possessed of a sharp mind and therefore constantly reassessing the situation and how he should approach others?

‘We should go and pay our final respects before we leave,’ Lady Caroline said. Roused from her musings, Lucy did as her mother bade and followed the duchess over to where Avery stood.

‘Mr Fox, once again may I offer my and my family’s condolences for your loss,’ the duchess said.

‘Your Grace,’ he said.

Lucy swallowed back a tear as a wave of pity washed over her. She saw pain in the depth of his eyes and her heart went out to him.

Avery’s strong Yorkshire accent was clipped with something else she could not put her finger on. Was it perhaps Spanish? Whatever it was, she liked it. The flutter in her stomach when he spoke was strangely enticing.

The poor man had lost his brother and had been thrust totally unprepared into the world of London’s elite. His voice, while alluring, also stamped him as an outsider. Her empathic heart sensed he might be struggling with the changes in his life.

‘Mr Fox, if there is anything I can do to help, you only have to ask. We are close enough for you to consider us family,’ Lucy said.

The instant Avery took her hand and awkwardly bowed, Lucy made up her mind. There was something she could do for him, something she was uniquely skilled to manage. She would become his champion and help him find his way in the world of the
ton
. Her search for a husband had come to naught this season, but here was a new and worthy charitable cause. Or at least something to keep her mind occupied until the family left for their estate in Scotland later in the month.

She ignored the odd look of suspicion which appeared on Lady Caroline’s face at that very moment. Let her mother make what she wanted of Lucy’s words, her cause was a true and just one.

In the short carriage ride home to Strathmore House, she began to formulate a plan.

‘I want you to move in here,’ Lord Langham said.

The wake was now over, the mourners all gone, and Avery was seated on a high-backed leather Chesterfield sofa in Lord Langham’s private sitting room.

Avery shook his head.

‘I’m perfectly fine where I am, across the river. If I need to journey up here to see anyone, I can cross over at Westminster Bridge. If it’s urgent I shall pay sixpence to the watermen and they can row me across.’

He prayed he would never have to urgently cross the Thames; for one he didn’t like the dangerous waters, and two, the few coins he had in his possession were rapidly dwindling. At this juncture, he didn’t feel comfortable in asking Lord Langham for funds, but he knew the subject would eventually have to be broached.

Lord Langham frowned.

‘It’s not the done thing, Avery. My heir should be resident at Langham House. How am I to teach you how to carry on the estate after I am gone if you are on the other side of the Thames?’

Whether he meant it or not, Avery caught the disapproving tone in Lord Langham’s voice when he mentioned the south side of London.

Not that his room at the Queens Head on Black Prince Road was anything to behold. It certainly wasn’t as elegantly furnished as Langham House. A single, narrow wooden bed and a small washstand were the only pieces of furniture in the room. In the time he had been in London, he had spent most of it in search of Thaxter. He returned at night to the public house in Lambeth only to wash and sleep.

He sighed.

Now that Thaxter had been found, and buried, he was at a loss. He had little in common with the likes of Lord Langham and his family. He was an outsider. A fortuitous interloper, nothing more.

Lord Langham put a fatherly hand on Avery’s shoulder. He flinched at the touch.

‘Sorry,’ the earl said, and quickly withdrew his hand.

‘Old habits,’ Avery replied.

He wasn’t going to mention that the only time his own father or brother had laid a hand on him during his childhood was with either a belt or a clenched fist.

Adding to his discomfort was the knowledge that the offer to move into Langham House had not been extended to Thaxter. Whatever his brother had done to offend the Langhams must have been grave indeed. Henry Langham did not strike Avery as a man caught up in the inconsequential details of life.

‘I know you have spent most of your life alone, Avery, but it won’t help your transition into London society if you stay away. As a soldier you must have learnt much of the rules of engagement. The
ton
is little different. The best adage to live by is to know thy enemy. And surround yourself with friends.’

Avery nodded. ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘There is one other very important reason for you to take your place among us. You will in time need a wife,’ Lord Langham added.

Avery’s breath caught in his throat. A wife was near to the last thing on his mind.

‘Even your brother had accepted the need for a suitable partner for his future role. Though the way he went about trying to woo a potential spouse left a lot to be desired. You, on the other hand, I am confident will have more success.’

He met Lord Langham’s gaze. Was now the time to press for more information on the deeds of Thaxter Fox? To get to the truth of the matter?

He straightened the front of his jacket and considered his position. He finally had a bargaining chip at his disposal and he intended to use it.

‘I will move to Langham House if, once I am here, you disclose all that happened between your family and my late brother. It is obvious that Thaxter did not hold your good favour at the end. If I am to live under your roof there should be no secrets between us,’ he replied.

Lord Langham hesitated briefly. Avery gritted his teeth, determined to get his way.

‘Agreed, but I must also add a condition. If I tell you what happened between your brother and my daughter, you must never breathe a word of it to another soul. Only a handful of people know about it, and it must stay that way. I will not have Clarice hurt.’

Avery offered his hand in agreement.

The following morning he paid the last of his rent for the room at the Queens Head and left. His brown leather army bag was slung over his shoulder; within it were his meagre possessions, including his old army rifle.

Halfway across Westminster Bridge, he stopped. Looking out over the Thames, he indulged in the simple pleasure of letting the river breeze ruffle his hair.

As he stood looking back down the Thames, the Houses of Parliament on his right, the top of Lambeth Palace in sight on his left, he sensed he had reached another major turning point in his life. As a member of London’s high society he doubted he would get many opportunities to venture back to drink at the riverside pubs.

Pity.

His life had been a short series of identifiable milestones, all revolving around the one thing he held dearest to his heart: his honour.

The first time he had attempted to run away from home, his father beat him to within an inch of his life. As the wounds slowly healed, he vowed never to take up the family trade. Thievery and skulduggery were not how he wanted to live his life.

All throughout the long years of his army service he had used honour to judge each situation in which he was called to make a decision. If a course of action was dishonourable, he would find another way to handle matters.

On the murky river below he could see two of the familiar black waterman boats passing one another. The cries from the crews as they hurled good-natured, foul-mouthed insults across the water had him laughing. London certainly had a flavour all of its own.

He pushed away from the stone wall of the bridge and gave one last backward glance to the southern side of London before continuing on his way toward the West End. In his pocket jangled a few coins the Langham household butler had pressed into his hands when he left Mill Street late the previous night.

‘His lordship would like you to make a suitable arrival at Langham House. He asked that you arrive in a well-set hack rather than on foot,’ the butler had said.

Social standards and expectations were to be the norm from now on. As of this day he belonged elsewhere.

Outside the hallowed halls of Westminster Abbey he hailed what he hoped would be an acceptable hackney coach and gave the driver his new address. As he climbed inside and settled back against the leather bench seats he felt his heart beating strongly. A dryness in his mouth confirmed his thoughts. He was nervous. All his training and years living rough in the army had not prepared him for the elegant ballrooms and homes of the parish of St James. He was back to where he was when he ran away from home. An inexperienced, green boy.

‘Sit still and observe quietly,’ he muttered, repeating the words of his first rifle sergeant. By watching what others did and said, he could learn their ways.

‘And perhaps not make a complete and utter fool of myself.’

Once he was alone in his new suite at Mill Street, he closed the door behind the Langham House footman. The man’s offer to unpack Avery’s bag had been well received, but politely declined. When he dug in his pocket for a coin to tip the man, it was quickly explained that this was not how things were done in private homes.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he put the bag down on top of the enormous four-poster bed. At least the footman had the decency to laugh about Avery’s awkward social skills and make the newest member of the household feel more at ease.

His gaze roamed over the gold-and-black checked silk counterpane. Looking up he saw that the fabric of the draped canopy matched. He had never seen a bed so big. It could easily sleep five people. His theory was quickly proved by the pile of six pillows stacked at the bedhead. Running his hand over the fine bedcover, a wicked thought captured his mind. Having at least one other person in this bed would be a godsend.

Preferably naked and most definitively female. How long had it been since he had felt the soft, warm touch of a woman? His body began to harden at the thought of the gentle laughter which came when he placed hot, teasing kisses on the nape of his lover’s neck.

The girls in Portugal had been friendly, but complicated. Always asking when he would come to supper and meet their brothers. A few extra coins in their hands and talk of their numerous
brothers
would miraculously disappear.

The English girls of the village close to Rokewood Park had been far more obvious in their desires and demands. A roll in the hay, a kiss afterwards and no eye contact if they passed you in the street had been their hard and fast rule. He would give anything right now for one of those women to knock on his bedroom door and bring relief to his lustful needs.

‘You are not lord of the manor just yet. I doubt Langham would appreciate you bringing a lady into this house to share your bed,’ he cautioned himself.

An image of Lady Lucy Radley sprang to his mind. The memory of her blush-reddened cheeks as their gazes met in the church had him swallowing deep. Her pale pink lips had held the promise of soft, sensual kisses. He longed to bury his face in her long blonde tresses.

‘Steady on, Fox; she is a duke’s daughter. You just caught her off guard. Don’t go thinking anything more of it. She is not for the likes of you.’

He forced himself to put away all notions of amorous pursuits, for the time being at least. There were other, more pressing matters to command his attention.

He opened the battered travel bag and took out his spare linen shirt, and a few other odd, well-repaired pieces of clothing. He took his army rifle, still wrapped up in a regimental jacket, and placed it safely under his bed. Keeping his rifle close by was one old habit which would die hard.

At the bottom of the bag he retrieved the last item, a small, nondescript grey bag. He stood holding it in his hand.

This second bag was a fairly recent purchase. It blended in perfectly with the bottom of the larger bag. While Avery very rarely let his travel bag out of his sight, he found comfort in the added protection this simple act of camouflage afforded. Any rogue rifling through his belongings would more than likely overlook the dull, grey, sock-like thing at the bottom of his travel bag.

‘Come on then, let’s have a look at you,’ he muttered.

The expansive bedroom window allowed the room to be bathed in sunlight. Another sharp contrast to the tiny windowless room in which he had been sleeping under the rafters at the Queens Head.

From out of the bag he pulled a pocket watch. A ray of light caught the gold cover of the watch and cast a glint. He smiled lovingly at it. His imagination whispered that the handsome timepiece had likely once been owned by someone who lived in such a fine house as this.

‘I promise you no more chilly attics,’ he murmured. He lay the watch down on the bed.

A knock at the door roused him from his thoughts. He quickly threw his spare shirt over the watch and called. ‘Enter.’

Lord Langham’s smiling face appeared around the door.

‘All settled?’ he asked.

Avery nodded. He did not have a lot of things to unpack or get settled.

‘Good. In that case I was wondering if you would indulge me and allow my tailor to attend you. We cannot have you getting about in borrowed clothes any longer.’

Lord Langham strode into the room followed by a stout, middle-aged man with a length of thin fabric in his hand. Behind the man several household footmen carried large boxes covered in striped fabric. The man pointed to a spot on the floor near the French doors and the boys deposited the boxes before withdrawing from the room.

‘This is Mr Swain. Mr Swain, Mr Avery Fox.’

Mr Swain bowed low. It was clear he knew who Avery was.

‘Mr Fox. A pleasure to meet you. I hope I may be of service to you today and in the future,’ he said. He stood back and placed his hands by his sides, an expectant look on his face.

Avery scowled. He had never dealt with a tailor before; what was he supposed to do?

Lord Langham cleared his throat. ‘Mr Fox has had a long military career; he is not used to having the services of a gentleman’s tailor.’ He turned toward Avery. ‘Mr Swain will need to take your full measurements, so you will have to remove your jacket.’

Lord Langham wandered over to a nearby chair and made himself comfortable. Avery slowly removed his jacket and laid it on the bed over the spare shirt. The pocket watch remained hidden from sight.

The second Mr Swain stepped forward and put his hands on Avery’s waist, he knew it was going to be an interesting afternoon. He looked at Lord Langham, seeking reassurance that having this man’s hands all over him was what was supposed to be happening.

Henry Langham sat chuckling in the chair.

‘You wait till he measures you up for new trousers, Fox. I bet five pounds you hold your breath when he takes your inside leg measurements.’

Mr Swain took the measuring tape from around his neck and went silently about his business. When he did get to the point where he had Avery standing, legs akimbo, while he ran the measuring tape around his thigh, Avery began to feel faint.

‘Done,’ Mr Swain finally announced.

‘Excellent,’ Lord Langham said.

‘Is Friday soon enough, milord?’

Lord Langham nodded. ‘Yes, I think we can hide Mr Fox away from society for a few more days.’

The tailor made his bowed farewells and left. Avery stood staring at the door, a deep scowl between his eyebrows. Why was he being hidden from society?

‘Relax, young man. Mr Swain will have the basics of your new wardrobe ready by Friday, then you can start to circulate. The season is coming to a close, but it will do you good to make at least a few appearances in the coming weeks. Selective ones, of course, given the circumstances,’ Lord Langham said.

Avery picked up his jacket and considered the black armband he had hastily sewn around the left arm. David had assured him he was fine with Avery sewing it to the jacket when he lent it to him. Lord Langham still wore his piece of mourning cloth on his sleeve, but it was only held on by pins, almost as if it were a mere afterthought to social propriety.