The Grace of a Duke (2 page)

That last comment forced a couple of gasps from her audience. They had both been under the impression that the Earl of Trenton had proposed and been turned down by Lady Elizabeth.

Elizabeth paused for a moment, absently rubbing a hand over her belly while a wan smile appeared on her face. “George kissed me because I asked him to, you see. And he was quite thankful for the honor of kissing me. And once George had quite thoroughly satisfied me with his abilities in that regard, I decided to give him a chance to prove himself in bed. I figured if I had to marry someone, I wanted to at least enjoy my time in the marriage bed with him,” she’d stated emphatically. “And, as you well know, he proved himself quite adept,” she’d added, patting the evidence of her pregnancy with the palm of her hand. “I am telling you this, Lottie, because I believe you should be sure your duke can satisfy you in bed. Or where ever you make love,” she’d added with a careless wave of her hand. “Before you meet him at the altar. And those hideous burn scars be damned!”

Charlotte had gasped at the suggestion, gasped again at the implication that Elizabeth had been making love somewhere other than in a bedchamber, and a third time at her friend’s curse. “But ... I love Wainwright!” she’d countered defensively, not thinking that anything done in the bedroom might have an affect on her feelings for the duke. And she’d already come to terms with his scarred visage when he was still in hospital.

“Love has nothing to do with it, milady,” Elizabeth had replied quietly. “Trust me.” The lack of conviction in how she made the proclamation suggested she might believe love had just a bit to do with it.

“That’s because men do not love their wives, Lottie,” Hannah had chimed in to say brightly, despite her tear-filled eyes. “For if they did, there would be no reason for mistresses.” 

Charlotte stared at her two friends, not believing half of what they claimed and hoping, for her own sake, at least, that they were mistaken. How simple Hannah’s situation is! she thought as she considered her own. She just needs to find an older man in need of an heir.

And, of all the women in the
ton
, how odd that the beautiful Elizabeth Carlington would marry a man based on his abilities between the sheets!

Charlotte wanted a father for her children, of course, but, secretly, she also wanted that man to love her.

And if he was a good lover, she would consider that a bonus.

Lady Charlotte Bingham was contemplating whether or not her host would oblige her in any of those situations when Gates suddenly returned to the parlor.

“His Grace will see you now.”

Angus McFarland had followed the Earl of Torrington’s coach from the time it had left a fashionable townhouse in Mayfair. His employer, a nattily dressed gentleman whom he knew from the gaming hells they frequented, had given him a crown and instructions to follow the coach to its final destination. “When you know where she’s staying, see to it she doesn’t live through the night,” the man had said, giving him another crown. “There will be more if you succeed. And, for God’s sake, man, make it look like an accident.”

McFarland’s eyes widened at the sight of the coins, and he nodded. “I’m your man,” McFarland replied with an eager nod.

Having been on the road for nearly five hours, McFarland was starting to wonder if the assignment would be worth it. He was tired, thirsty, dusty and saddle sore. The coach’s one stop had been to change horses in Guildford. McFarland had been forced to stay back in the trees and wait until the coach was on its way again before he could hurry into the coaching inn for a quick ale and a hunk of cheese and bread. Back on the road, he had forced his horse to a quicker pace and then, when he realized the coach had stopped to allow a herd of sheep to cross the road, he had been forced to ride on ahead in order to avoid suspicion. Once he was well in front, he pulled his horse off into a thicket and waited for the coach to pass again. It was another two hours before he sighted the coach pulling off the main road and into the half-circle drive of an estate home.

The house near Kirdford wasn’t a castle nor overly large; two wings on either side of a central hall. He noticed the wing on the west side looked a bit newer, as if the stones had been scrubbed clean and the windows had been washed. From his vantage point well away from the house, he watched as two woman departed the coach. The one dressed in a traveling gown would be the cousin, he thought, remembering his employer’s reference to the gel he was to off during the night. The other woman, dressed in black and walking behind the gel, would be the lady’s maid.

Footmen hurried to claim luggage and trunks from the back of the coach as he continued to watch from his hiding place. When the coach suddenly left, not even changing horses before it departed the estate’s drive, McFarland headed his horse toward the nearby village of Kirdford. With her mode of transport gone, the gel would not be leaving the estate anytime soon, he figured. Now he just had to decide on a method of seeing to it she left in a coffin.

Chapter 3

His Grace and Lady Charlotte Contemplate Matrimony

Joshua’s breath caught as he realized why Lady Charlotte must have come. To pay her respects, no doubt. To offer condolences and ask if there was anything she could do.

A pang of guilt shot through him as he remembered meeting her for the first time. She had sought him out, his brother not being in attendance at a ball several Seasons past. Dressed in an apple green and white gown of satin that displayed her décolletage to his advantage, she had curtsied to his bow and smiled as if he were the only man on the planet. And while dancing, she was poised and confident whilst asking him about his life. And he kept up his end of the conversation, realizing too late that their happy moment was shattered when he brought up the topic of his brother, and she said she looked forward to the day when he would become her brother by marriage.

His father once admitted that, as Earl of Grinstead and heir to the Chichester duchy, John Wainwright II had no choice as to whom he would marry. The daughter of an earl, Charlotte Bingham was arranged for him when he was but ten years old. Knowing he would one day become the Duke of Chichester, John accepted the fact that he would marry the woman to whom he was betrothed. And he planned to do so when she turned one-and-twenty. She would bear his heir, and he would continue to see his string of mistresses and Cyprians and an occasional trollop, one of whom would infect him with the French pox before he was twenty.

The thought of Lady Charlotte Bingham marrying his brother was not one that Joshua Wainwright entertained very often, however. It made him angry to think that such a beautiful, refined and well-educated woman would be wasted on his unappreciative brother.

And now she was here.

And her betrothed was dead and buried in the small graveyard on the eastern edge of the ducal property.

The implication of that last thought hadn’t quite been considered when Gates entered and bowed. “I apologize, Your Grace,” he said, almost in a whisper. “There is a ...”

“Send her in,” Joshua responded quickly, his attention back on the coach that was making its way back to the main road. Grandby’s? he wondered, surprised it was already leaving. Perhaps arrangements had been made at a nearby coaching inn for the horses to be watered and fed.

Finally moving away from the window and back to the library desk, he remembered his mode of dress. “Wait. Is my topcoat around here somewhere?” he wondered aloud. At least he was wearing a waistcoat, he considered, thankful he had donned more than his usual breeches and soft linen shirt that morning. The problem with burn scars was that clothing tended to bind and scrape them during the day. The less he wore, the faster his skin seemed to heal.

“Should I send a footman for one, Your Grace?” Gates inquired, noting the suddenly nervous behavior of his master with a cocked eyebrow.

“No,” Joshua replied with a quick shake of his head. He reached up to ensure his leather mask covered the worst of his facial burn scars. “Please send in our guest,” he said, trying to take on an air of casual interest. “And be sure she’s given a suite of rooms appropriate to her rank.” With her mode of transport gone, it was obvious she intended to stay.

“As you wish,” the butler replied as he bowed and disappeared, not reminding His Grace that there was only one apartment available in the entire house; the east wing included only three on the second floor, and two of those were being used by Joshua and Garrett. At least there were several servants’ quarters available near the kitchen. Gates would see to the lady’s maid as soon as her mistress was shown to the study.

Stunned at how quickly she’d been escorted to the study, Charlotte made sure to afford the Duke of Chichester her very best, deepest curtsy followed by a brilliant smile and the words, “It is so very good to see you again, Your Grace.”

Although a simple nod of his head would have sufficed, Joshua bowed, his vision taking in the woman he had often dreamed of having as his own. She seemed even more beautiful than when he’d last seen her. At a ball, no doubt, her honey blonde hair shimmering under the candlelight of the ballroom, her infectious smile wiping out the glum he’d felt at his continued losing streak in the card room.

He rather doubted her comment, though, knowing that to see him now was not nearly as pleasant at it had been before the fire. He still had the strong jawline and a wider than normal nose for an aristocrat, and his features were balanced by broad cheekbones and a mouth that smiled easily. At least, it used to. With a leather mask covering most of the left half of his face and the side of his head to just beyond his ear, he looked as if he was about to attend a masked ball. If one looked closely, it became apparent that his left eyelid was pulled a bit, misshapen by the tight, scarred skin under the mask. “And you, Lady Charlotte,” he answered, his face brightening. He stepped forward and took her hand in his, lowering his lips and lightly brushing them over the knuckles. “I am honored that you have come.”

A shiver passed through Charlotte’s hand as she felt his warm lips actually touch her. To see him up and about, apparently in charge of ducal matters, was a huge relief. And to see that his scars were easily hidden by the mask he wore meant he was probably back to living a somewhat normal life. If she didn’t know that the entire left side of his torso and arm had at one time been engulfed in flames, she would not know it from looking at him now. He leaned a bit to the left, no doubt due to what the doctor had explained was a tightening of the skin when it healed. If he was following the regimen recommended by the doctor, though, eventually he would regain full use of his arm and body, perhaps even regain the feeling in the damaged skin.

Gates cleared his throat and Joshua tore his gaze from Charlotte for a moment. “Yes, Gates?” he prodded, wishing the butler would leave them alone. He then felt a bit of panic at the thought that he would be left alone with her.

“Your Grace, Cook is in need of a menu for this evening’s dinner,” he intoned, using a quiet voice and a manner that suggested he had made the query earlier and, now that they had a guest, dinner would need to be more than a casual affair.

Joshua closed his eyes for a moment, a small headache suddenly forming at the front of his head. He used his right hand to rub his temple. He’d forgotten to do menus for the week and then put off requesting anything in particular because, well, it was just Garrett and him eating in the dining room these days.

Charlotte noticed his discomfort. “If I may, Your Grace?” she offered quietly.

He opened his eyes, wondering at first what she meant, and then realized with a sense of immense relief that she might be about to save him. “Please do,” he replied, his voice an exaggerated plea despite his not knowing exactly what it was she was offering.

Turning to the butler, Charlotte thought for a moment. “Let us start with walnuts and coffee in the library. Then, at the table, let us do a beef broth soup followed by a plate of cheese and breads. Leg of lamb with mint sauce and herbed new potatoes, and whatever vegetable is ripened in that beautiful garden I saw as we drove up. For the fish course, sole in a light butter sauce, and for dessert,” she paused to regard Joshua for a moment, “Chocolate bread pudding with just a small dollop of vanilla crème.”

Eyes widening, Joshua listened to her recite the menu. My favorite meal, he thought, wondering how she could possibly remember – if, indeed, she ever knew. He nodded at Gates’ questioning glance in his direction. “What she said,” he spoke quickly. “And could you have Mrs. Gates bring tea, please?” As he hoped, the butler bowed and left the study.

“Thank you,” he said as he regarded Charlotte, a bemused expression on his face. “You have saved me from my cook’s wrath.”

The brilliant smile reappeared. “You are most welcome, Your Grace.”

Joshua nodded, suddenly ill at ease. “Have you just come from London?” he wondered, hoping there was more to her visit than just condolences for his departed family.

Charlotte nodded. “Indeed. I hope I have not caught you at an inopportune time,” she spoke quietly, and then glanced at a nearby settee as if to suggest they be seated.

“Please,” he said as he held out an arm. Once she had taken her place on the deep green velvet upholstered settee, he took the adjacent chair to her left, wanting to be sure the right side of his face was most visible to her. It wasn’t just vanity that had him sitting to her left. The hearing in his left ear was still somewhat lacking, although a nearby doctor had assured him it would probably return in time.

“If it would be more comfortable for you, please feel free to remove your mask,” Charlotte suggested, her hands folded loosely in her lap. The deep blue of her gown set off the creamy skin of her face and neck, and it’s snug fitting bodice showed off just a hint of décolletage. “Your scars do not offend me.”

Surprised by her suggestion and even more so by her statement, Joshua shook his head. “I could not,” he replied sternly. “Certainly not in the company of such a beautiful woman as yourself.”

Stunned by the comment, both by the compliment and by the realization that he seemed to have forgotten that she had already seen him in a much worse state, Charlotte stilled herself. Perhaps he doesn’t remember, she thought suddenly. “As I recall, Your Grace, you were in hospital for nearly a month,” she said quietly, not wanting the footman near the door to overhear her comment.

Joshua turned his head slightly, eyeing her with a bit of suspicion and wondering when a footman had come into the study. Or is he always there? he thought absently. Like he’s turned to stone and become part of the furniture. “Twenty-nine days,” he affirmed with a nod, his lips forming a straight line that suggested he was not the least bit pleased she knew anything about his time in hospital. To remember those days was to relive a kind of torture he couldn’t wish on his worst enemies. To remember those days meant he had to admit that, whenever he had been conscious, he had wished he could simply die. The pain had been excruciating. Death would have been a welcome respite. “And from whom did you learn this information?”

Charlotte lowered her gaze, wondering if she should admit her part in those first few hellish days of his hospitalization and the even worse days that followed. “I was ... I visited, of course,” she said in a whisper, forcing Joshua to lean in closer. He caught the familiar scent of jasmine, and as much as he wanted to inhale deeply, he forced himself to remain still. “I was already volunteering in the children’s ward several days a week. Once you were brought in, I made it clear to your physician that you were to receive the very best care.”

Joshua’s brows knitted together, the implication of her statement slowly sinking into his brain.
Christ, did she see me  without the bandages?
Had she seen every last gruesome burn and the raw wounds he sported for so many weeks after the fire? He thought not, for here she sat, as if he had only been in hospital recovering from a fever. “But, why?” he wondered aloud.

Lady Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “We were ... we are betrothed now.”

Although he heard the words, Joshua didn’t immediately comprehend them.

“You had to survive. You are the sole heir to the duchy. I had to be sure you were treated well. Sometimes those with burns are ...” Charlotte paused, not wanting to say, “Treated horribly,” but knowing that’s what she had witnessed while volunteering at hospital. “... Poorly,” she finally finished, trying to hide the awkwardness of her statement with a shrug.

Suddenly very self-conscious, Joshua shifted in his chair. “So, you are aware of the ... extent of my injuries,” he countered in almost a question, his eyes not making contact with hers.
Betrothed?  Matrimony?
Given the events of six months ago and the subsequent work he’d had to do to recover and then see to the recovery of the Chichester duchy, the very last thing he was considering was marriage.

I cannot allow this woman to think she must marry me!

It was Charlotte’s turn to furrow her brows, thinking at the time that Joshua had been spared from the truly gruesome burns that resulted in the deaths of three others and the debilitating injury and burns suffered by a groom who had lost an arm to amputation. “I am, but Your Grace ..,” she started to reply uncertainly, wondering why he made his wounds sound worse than they were. He had lost no limbs, the burns were on the side of his chest and shoulder and the top of his hip and ... his face. Can he be that vain?

“Then you know why I cannot take you as my wife,” he interrupted, the tone of his voice making it sound as if there was no need for her to make an apology and that she was spared of having to ask to be relieved of her duty to marry him.

Shaking her head, Charlotte regarded him. “Your Grace, I fail to see how your wounds would prevent you from marrying me,” she replied, trying hard to keep the growing panic she felt from coloring her voice.

If Joshua Wainwright refused her as his wife, Charlotte would have no where to go. She had spent the last six months claiming, quite publicly, that she would be married to him after her twenty-first birthday. The fact that she’d been betrothed for nearly eighteen years meant that there were no suitors for her hand, certainly none she knew of at that very moment. To be rejected by the duke would mean a stain on her character. The members of the
ton
would shun her.

Joshua reached out to grip her arm, a move he’d forgotten was forbidden with an unmarried woman. But Charlotte allowed him the impropriety and merely glanced at his hand as he held onto her gently. He leaned in and said, in a very quiet voice, “I have no intention of subjecting you, or any woman, for that matter, to a life with an abomination,” he countered, his impatience growing.

Despite her very best attempt at decorum, Charlotte gasped, her mouth open in an expression of shock. How can he think such a thing? Despite the mask he wore, he was still a handsome man. His wavy dark hair had grown a bit too long. His brown eyes, which at the moment looked nearly black, were framed with dark lashes and set upon broad cheekbones split by a wide nose. And that mouth. She had often thought of that mouth and how it would feel to have it pressed against her lips. She practically shivered at the thought of it. “And I have no intention of not fulfilling my obligation to this duchy,” she retorted in a hoarse whisper, suddenly angered at his stubborn attitude.