The Secret Duke (50 page)

“Are you all right, love?” It was Lord Huntersdown, all concern for his wife because she’d sat down.

“Of course.” But then Petra admitted, “Just a little tired.”

He helped her up, so tenderly, with such concern. Love, wondrous and terrible, and not to be denied, but the sweetest gift of a lifetime.

So
, Bella thought, watching the couple move away, absorbed in each other.
Thus the tree grows, guard against it as one will.

She sat on the stairs amid the greenery of hope and the ribbons of celebration, with the bells of joy tinkling all around her. Everything now seemed perfectly clear. So much so that she couldn’t imagine why she’d ever seen it any other way.

Love was the key, and they had love. Captain Rose or the Duke of Ithorne—the man beneath was the same. He was the hero of the Black Rat and the generous traveling companion. He was her partner in revenge, her lover, and her friend.

Love glowed inside her. The same love he’d confessed to with perfect simplicity.

Such love was not delicate, to be crushed by trials and difficulties. It was like a plant, steady and strong, and able to move stones, even mountains. It was an oak.

Lady Thalia came to the bottom of the stairs. “Bella, dear, are you all right?”

Bella rose, smiling. “Perfectly.” She picked up some ribbon and another holly branch.

Except that her blindness might have cost her everything.

What if he’d changed his mind? A month had passed.

No, that couldn’t be, or their love was nothing.

But she’d rejected him. So definitively. If only she could go to him now, take back that rejection. It was impossible. She must wait. . . .

Why?

She dropped the greenery in her hands and hurried to the small drawing room, where she knew writing materials were kept.

March hare!
she thought, and laughed, covering her mouth before anyone heard her. She was laughing for happiness, but a giddiness was bubbling up in her at thoughts of future bliss.

She could rush out to go to him—she could even steal a horse!—but she wasn’t quite mad enough for that. He was too far away across wintry country. As it was, all she could do was try to put something coherent on paper.

She ruined five sheets, until she settled for absurdly simple words.

She made a mess of folding and sealing it, and then, in some idiotic lingering resistance, didn’t want anyone to know to whom she sent a letter. She forced her way through that and wrote the direction, then went in search of Lord Rothgar.

He was talking to Lady Calliope, and he turned a smiling face to Bella, but she saw the shadow of frightened love beneath.

The price of love.

One she’d pay, and willingly.

“I need to send this letter,” she said. “I know it’s Christmas, and I’m sorry to ask that a groom take it, but . . . but I must.”

He saw the address on the letter and his smile warmed and perhaps the shadow shrank a little. “Of course you must. I’ll see to it.”

Then there was only waiting, as she, as everyone played their festive parts.

As midnight drew close, Lady Rothgar came down, smiling and seemingly relaxed, which eased the mood. She walked awkwardly, however, as if her burden were becoming too much. A large wooden box was carried in, and Lord Rothgar turned to Lady Thalia. “Would you care to open it?”

Thalia was like a child with a present. “May I? How exciting!”

She raised the lid to reveal straw, and then dug in it. She pulled out a painted donkey. “Oh,” she said. “Is it a
presepe
? How wonderful. I was thinking how sad it was not to have one this year. Bella, dear, come help me. Genova brought one here last year. You remember Genova? Who married Ashart? Such games they played with each other last Christmas. Young love, young love. It never does run smooth, but that is part of the pleasure. Everyone help!” she called gaily. “We must have this set up so the baby can arrive exactly at midnight.”

She seemed unaware of the looks that flickered around. Lady Rothgar seemed undisturbed. She simply sat, stroking her belly, and watched.

Petra was almost as excited as Lady Thalia, for this was an Italian tradition. She chattered to her husband about it, about other
presepes
, about other Christmases, and he grinned, entranced by her delight.

Love multiplies
, Bella thought.
It multiplies pain, but also joy.

A table had been set near the fireplace for the nativity scene, and it was put together with time to spare. The pieces were beautifully made, but there were only the major ones—Mary, Joseph, the ox, and the ass. There were three shepherds and some sheep, but Lady Thalia and Petra insisted on placing them some distance from the wooden structure that formed the stable. There were also three kings on their camels, but apparently they must wait for the Epiphany.

“Genova had many more pieces,” Lady Thalia said, “but you will add more over time, as her parents did, as birthday presents for your child.”

This time, her words carried a certainty that soothed.

Then clocks chimed and distant bells rang, and it was Christmas Day. Thalia put the baby in the manger and they all sang carols.

The real baby hadn’t arrived, however, and as everyone went to bed, Bella wondered how long it would take for Thorn to reply to her note.

The March madness was seeping away, leaving room for doubts. Could love fade? Could it die?

 

 

 

 

C
hristmas Day brought sunshine, and after the service in the chapel Bella escaped outside. She needed to be alone for a little while.

Her prayers had mostly been selfish—
Let him still want me; let him say so quickly; let this agony of waiting be over
. But she’d remembered to pray for Lady Rothgar’s baby to come soon and come easily, so the worry could be banished from the house.

She walked briskly along a frosty path between evergreen hedges, and she was unsure whether she was attempting to race toward something or run away from it. Love, she decided, was madness. She did not feel sane. She walked and walked around the paths as if she could truly walk to Kent, but then made herself stop.

She must return to the house for the Christmas feast.

They used a small dining room, but the dishes were grand, and some were served on golden platters. Fine wine flowed and there were frequent toasts, but beneath it all, impatience and anxiety lurked. Bella began to think it would be better if they put aside festivity until the baby came.

Or did she mean, until Thorn came?

And then, just as the flaming plum pudding was carried in, Lady Rothgar said, “Ah.”

All eyes turned to her, and no one needed explanation. She did not look afraid or in pain; she simply looked relieved. “I really do think . . . at last . . .”

Her husband was by her instantly, helping her to her feet and from the room. It left an awkward dislocation, but Lord Huntersdown took over. “Good news, and yet more reason to celebrate. Sit, my friends, and let us continue the feast.”

They did so, but Bella suspected most people’s attention was partly on what was happening elsewhere. The birth of a child did not always go smoothly. Sometimes babe or mother, or both, died. The celebration continued, however, moving to the drawing room for cards.

Bella was disconcerted to find herself at a large table, expected to play a gambling game. It made her think of Augustus, but the game was rather silly, and played for ivory fish. Everyone, even Lady Calliope, was soon exclaiming with excitement or disappointment, and enjoying themselves.

Bella couldn’t help being aware of the birth, however. She wished someone would send reports, but all she could do was concentrate on the cards to distract her mind.

Someone said, “Bella?”

She looked up impatiently.

She stared, hardly able to believe what she saw, but then she rose to fling herself into Thorn’s arms. At last, at last . . .

She emerged from a starving kiss, hearing cheers and happy laughter, and turned, blushing, to face the company. But they weren’t looking at her. They looked at Lord Rothgar, with a bundle in his arms.

Starry eyes, she thought, bright with another kind of love. And with happiness. “I’m blessed with another daughter,” he said. “And all is well.”

Whatever the normal traditions of Christmas at Rothgar Abbey, they were shattered that day. More wine was brought out so they could all toast the baby, and then Petra and Thalia went upstairs with Lord Rothgar to visit the mother. The card game was abandoned for relieved chatter.

Bella and Thorn slipped out into the evening, hand in hand, wanting only to be alone. To press close, to kiss again and again, and again

He cradled her face, looking into her eyes. “You have a room?” he asked.

Bella knew what he asked and she knew she had stars in her eyes. “Come.”

She got lost on the way, which made him laugh, which made her laugh, so they kissed there in a corridor; did more than kiss, so her low gown was lower and her hair was escaping its pins. Thank heavens there were so few people in the great house, and all were elsewhere.

She tried again, and at last found the right corridor, and her bedchamber.

He undressed her skillfully and she allowed it, enjoyed it, especially with all the interesting touches and kisses along the way. She was swaying on her feet, her knees scarcely strong enough to support her when he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed, to the sheets he’d already cleverly exposed.

Talent and training. As she watched him strip, she smiled. She felt she was all smiles, all happiness, all pure joy, brimming over with a kind of triumph that despite all, they were here; they were one. He came to her, and she saw the same triumphant possession in his expression. It completed everything. This man, this hero, this duke, truly did love, want, and need her as much as she did him.

“I’m sorry for making us wait,” she said.

He laughed. “At this moment, I am not.”

He joined her in the bed to touch her in that way he had, that skillful way, but she sensed the difference, and saw it in his eyes. When she recognized it, she caught her breath. This time it would be complete.

“Make me yours,” she said. “Seal this for eternity.”

And so he did, and whatever she’d thought the final joining would be, it was not, for it was beyond anything she could ever have imagined, taking the searing pleasure he’d given her before and carrying it, carrying them both, impossibly higher.

Much later, she lay against him and had to blink away tears that this could be hers, would be hers. “I too will become skilled,” she said.

Perhaps she expected that to be dismissed, but he said, “How delightful.” He turned serious, however. “I should have been wiser at the Hart. I should have accepted the gift of you then.”

She shifted to look at him, so beautiful in all his disheveled glory. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I thought who I was was important. But this is it in the end, isn’t it? We are our nakedness.”

Bella chuckled. “I think not, for we’ll have to put on our disguises again. Every stitch of clothing is a disguise. Perhaps I’ll become Bellona.”

He grinned. “I’ll throw away your wart.”

Much later, sometime in the middle of the night—and Bella didn’t care that the whole household must know what they were doing—she said, “I’ll learn to be a good duchess.”

“You’ll be a splendid duchess, my love, exactly as you are.You will not need to match other duchesses. You will set the pace.”

“I’ll be outrageous, you mean?” She still worried a little about that, but she’d pay the price.

But he said, “Oh, I do hope so.”

He left the bed, as magnificent as a classical statue, and picked up his breeches from the floor. He took something from his pocket and turned. “You permit?”

It was a ring.

Bella found herself tongue-tied, which made no sense.

“You really must, you know,” he said, and she heard a touch of worry behind it.

The Duke of Ithorne was still just a little uncertain of her?

She jumped off the bed and into his arms, and he swung her around and around. Then he brought her to earth and slid the ring onto her finger. It was not particularly large, but held a single stone. A ruby.

“I thought of a skull design,” he said, “but perhaps we don’t want to be quite so outré.”

“We don’t?” she teased. “After this?”

He laughed again. “Undoubtedly we do. The outrageous Duke and Duchess of Ithorne.” He kissed her again. “Outrageous, in particular, for their everlasting love and devotion.” He led her back to the bed. “We’ll fly high, you and I, but when the heights weary us, we’ll be outrageous in another way. We’ll run away to the
Black Swan
—Captain Rose and Buccaneer Bella, free on the high seas.”

 

 

 

 

I
hope you’ve enjoyed
The Secret Duke
, the finale of the Rakish trilogy set in my Georgian world centered on the Malloren family. The first two were published recently:
A Lady’s Secret
(Robin and Petra) in April 2008 and
The Secret Wedding
(Christian and Caro) in April 2009. But these are just the most recent stories from my Malloren world, set in Georgian England.

I call it my Georgian “world” because it is peopled with my characters plus some historical figures of the time, all of whom become real to me. Just as I know King George is there even when I don’t mention him in a book, so too I know that if my characters don’t reappear in a subsequent story, they live on.