The Secret Duke (7 page)

“Perhaps I’ll take a new name,” she said, testing the idea on Peg. “And live in a quiet place, far from fashionable circles. A village, perhaps, where I can be mistress of my life at last, but far from curious eyes.”

Peg snorted. “If you want to avoid curious eyes, miss, don’t go to a village. There’s nothing the gossips like more than someone new to pick over. And the better sort as can read and write, they’re soon writing to their cronies everywhere asking why a pretty young woman might be hiding herself away in a village, no matter what name you use.”

“Oh, you’re correct, of course. But then what am I to do?”

“Go to a town, miss. People don’t notice so much in a town.”

A startling thought struck. “Why not the Town? London. Anyone could go unnoticed there.”

“London! Lawks, Miss Bella, I’d bust me stays to go to London. I might even see the king. Such a lovely young man, they say. And his dear, sweet little babies.”

Bella fought laughter. “I’m not planning a fashionable life, Peg.”

“That’s a shame, then, but it won’t bother me. Where would we live, though?”

Bella was at a loss, but then an odd notion popped into her head. Could she help Lady Fowler not just with a donation, but with actual work? She knew that some women did help like that by writing out copies of the letter and by other tasks.

“There’s a Lady Fowler . . .” she said hesitantly.

“A lady, miss? That sounds suitable.”

“Perhaps not. Lady Fowler is a social reformer, Peg.”

“What’s one of those?”

“She wants to put right things that are wrong.”

Peg poured herself more tea and added four lumps of sugar. “That seems good, miss. More tea?”

Bella agreed. “I think Lady Fowler is frowned upon in the highest circles. She writes a letter every two months and sends it to many people around the country. In it, she details wrongdoing among the aristocracy. She encourages her recipients to spread the word so as to bring about change.”

Peg’s eyes were huge. “How many letters?” she asked.

That was a question Bella had never asked. “I’m not sure. I think over a hundred.”

“All that writing. What a wonder she must be!”

Bella was fighting not to laugh. “She only writes the original. She has helpers to copy it. I would become one of them.”

“Oh,” said Peg. “If that’s what you want to do, miss. But I’m no use at that. I can write a bit, but it’s hard work.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to do that, Peg, especially when it could be dangerous. Lady Fowler is merely sending letters, but some of the content must offend powerful people.”

Peg chewed. “Then why do you want to do it, miss?”

“Because Lady Fowler also urges changes in the law to protect women from male tyranny.”

“Ah, I see, miss.” Peg took another slice of bread and butter, then added a slice of cheese.

Bella thought Peg would soon be round as a tub without extra layers of clothes, but she was enjoying her servant’s appreciation of these treats. For her own part, she was considering the complications Peg brought.

Some of Lady Fowler’s helpers lived in her house, and she might have asked to do that, but she could hardly take a servant there. What was more, those resident ladies were the neediest, the ones left by fathers or husbands without enough money to survive. She couldn’t take a place.

She’d have to set up her own home somewhere nearby, with Peg as her housekeeper. That was a daunting task, but having a plan made her feel much steadier. Again, she tested it on Peg, who said, “If you can have your own home, miss, why bother with this Lady Fowler?”

“To support the work.”

Peg merely shrugged, but Bella accepted that her question had been a good one. The honest answer was that she was afraid to be in the world without acquaintances of any kind. Once she’d known and been known by half the county, and even had friends. Fair-weather friends, however, for none had attempted to support her in adversity.

Peg was chewing thoughtfully. “If it’s what you want, Miss Bella, but it’s not as it should be for a pretty young lady. You should be dancing and flirting and preparing to marry. Naughty of you to run off with a man, but—”

“Peg, I didn’t!” Bella should have realized that even the villagers would believe that story. “Oh, Peg . . . I was abducted. Snatched when out in the grounds.”

She told her story, but without hope. Why should Peg believe her when no one else had? As always, she skipped over Captain Rose. Another mysterious gentleman would only make matters worse.

At the end, Peg said, “Well, and it’s a sad business, miss, but it’s over now, so you put it out of your mind.”

“I wish I could, but you must see it means I can’t resume my place in society. So I will devote my time and some of my money to noble work. But if you don’t want to be connected to such things, I’ll arrange for you to return home.”

Peg considered for only a moment. “I’m not giving up my adventure so soon, Miss Bella, and from the sounds of it, you’ll need someone to look after you.”

Bella reached over to cover a work-worn hand. “Thank you, Peg. You don’t know what that means to me.”

“Reckon I do, miss. It’s not good to be alone in the world, especially for a woman. But it’s for my own benefit too. So we’ll live in London, will we? Where?”

Peg was cheerfully confident that Bella knew what she was doing, but Bella had hardly made a decision in her life more serious than the trimming for a bonnet. She was sure independence was what her great- grandmother had in mind, however, so she had best grasp this rare opportunity or she’d never be able to face Lady Raddall in heaven.

She tried to sound more knowledgeable than she was. “I’ll rent rooms in Soho—that’s where Lady Fowler’s house is. You will take care of things there while I assist Lady Fowler in her work.”

“Very well, miss.”

The wages of a cook-housekeeper should probably be more than the amounts fixed by Mr. Clatterford for a lady’s maid, but Bella didn’t know what would be right, especially in London. She didn’t know how they would manage things such as the purchase of food, fuel, and anything else they needed.

In fact, she knew nothing!

Very well, she did need some help. Tomorrow she’d discuss all this with Mr. Clatterford. She settled in bed, hoping for a sound sleep, but the mattress was lumpy, and after such a day, her mind roiled. She replayed the glorious moment when she’d received the news, but she also tumbled wildly amidst fears and doubts.

London! She’d been there, but only for escorted visits to fashionable spots and entertainments, and that in the last reign. She remembered how the bell tolling the king’s death had helped them escape from the Black Rat. . . .

She pushed that out of her mind.

Augustus made much of the new propriety at court, the boring prig. How he’d enjoyed lecturing her, both before and after the scandal. Enough of Augustus. Another subject to lock out of her mind.

Except that she still worried about what he’d do. Could he still claim she was mad, and lock her away? Clatterford had said no, but she couldn’t entirely dismiss the fear. All the more reason to take a new name and alter her appearance.

To be a new person, with no scandal attached, and no fear of her family.

She needed a new name. What would serve? Harriet, Sophronia, Jane, Margaret . . . They all felt too strange. Something close to Bella, then. Isabella was her real name, and Arabella was too close to that. Clarabella was too frivolous.

Bell . . . Bell . . . Bellona! The goddess of war.

She liked that.

Her new surname should be something equally warlike.

Bellona Sword? Hardly.

Bellona Cannon? No.

Bellona Gunn . . .

Bellona Flint . . .

Oh, yes, Bellona Flint. Hard, sharp, and a necessary part of murderous weapons.

Tomorrow she’d find out from Mr. Clatterford what she should do to become Bellona Flint, and what else she need do to protect herself.

 

The solicitor was most unhappy with her plans. He tried to persuade her that she would be completely safe in Tunbridge Wells, and would soon be accepted in the best society. When Bella expressed her doubts, however, he deflated. “But you are so young, my dear. I cannot condone your setting up your own establishment.”

Bella almost shivered at standing up to authority, but she did it. “As I understand it, Mr. Clatterford, you have no more power to condone my choices than my brother has.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear . . .”

At Clatterford’s insistence, they were taking breakfast together, leaving Peg to eat alone.

“But London,” he protested, his meal hardly touched. “I will not be on hand to advise you.”

“I regret that, sir, but surely you could arrange some other trustworthy solicitor.”

“But you are still too young to live alone. Only just twenty-one.”

Bella didn’t want to tell him about Lady Fowler, for he’d have to object. “I have Peg, and I know London a little. I intend to live quietly, and to claim to be older than my years. With sober dress and manner, I won’t attract attention. I intend to make myself unattractive as well. I took part in a play once in the role of a witch. I still remember how to make my skin sallow and stick on a wart.”

There were some more “oh, dears” and protests, but Bella stood her ground, and in the end he said, “I see you are determined, and I can’t deny that your story is known in Lady Raddall’s circle. As you surmised, she did speak of it, being much agitated over your situation.” He buttered some bread, remarking, “I see the dear lady was correct. She said you were as strong-minded as she.”

“Did she?” Bella asked, surprised. “I was the epitome of frivolity when we met for the last time.”

“You met through your correspondence, my dear.” He ate a piece of ham, still looking unhappy, and then fixed her with a stern look. “If you are determined on your rash plan, I must warn you about men.” When Bella looked a question, he said, “Fortune hunters, my dear. There will be men—sometimes handsome, pleasing men—who will seek to marry you for your money.”

Bella laughed dryly. “I assure you, sir, I have learned my lesson about pleasing scoundrels.”

“You may not recognize the scoundrel in them.”

“I’ll be very wary, I promise. But are you saying I can never marry?” Bella was surprised to find some romantic yearnings still lurked deep inside.

“No, no, only that you must be careful. Do not marry in haste, and especially without trusts and settlements. Be wary of love, for it traps many a lady—and some gentlemen too—into folly. A clever rascal might claim that sensible precautions deny your love, and thus urge a hasty marriage, even an elopement. Pay attention, young lady.” He pointed his fork at her. “That is the absolute mark of a bad man. As is any attempt to seduce you into the sort of behavior that would trap you by its natural consequences.”

Bella blushed, but she nodded. “Yes, I see that, and I thank you. I will certainly follow your advice. But I am still set on my plan of establishing myself quietly in Town. Will you take me to London and set me up there in comfort and safety?”

He sighed. “You are very like Lady Raddall. Yes, Miss Flint, reluctantly, I will.”

 

 

 

 

 

“H
ow we suffer for our friends,” said the Duke of Ithorne, gathered late at night with his cousin Robin, Earl of Huntersdown, and his foster brother, Christian, Major Lord Grandiston.

“I give you elegant surroundings,” said Robin, gesturing at his bedchamber. “Fine brandy”—he raised his glass—“and the very best company.”

“In the lair of the Dark Marquess,” Thorne replied.

“Rothgar hasn’t poisoned you yet. And your stiff-necked hostility must tempt him at times.”

“I’m sure the devil knows slow-acting poisons.”

Robin gave him a warning look, and Thorn raised an apologetic hand. It was the eve of his cousin Robin’s wedding to the lady he adored, and no time for rancor. Thorn would much rather the lady were not the Dark Marquess’s daughter, but if Robin wasn’t deterred by Petra’s being a bastard Italian Catholic, a cousin’s discomfort with her sire was hardly likely to weigh with him.

He was a disgusting example of love’s insanity.

“I hereby ban all talk of politics,” Christian declared from where he lounged like a panther, all blond, muscular elegance. He’d been as lithe as Robin when he’d sailed off with the army at sixteen, and even now Thorn was sometimes surprised by his physique. It had been a true shock to see him on his first return, five years older, strongly muscled and accustomed to command and killing.

Robin and Thorn were cousins and had known each other from the cradle. Christian and Thorn had been inseparable for six wonderful years.

Thorn had always been an orphan in effect. He was an only child born after his father’s death, and two years later his mother had wed a Frenchman and moved to that country. By his father’s will, she hadn’t been allowed to take him out of the country, so his upbringing had rested with guardians and trustees.

He’d been ten when they’d decided he should have a companion of his own station. At first, Thorn had been wary of the cheerfully energetic invader who cared not a scrap for higher learning, political geography, or the philosophy of princes. Instead even as a boy Christian had been a genius at anything physical, especially mischief.

Thorn had soon been swept along, farther than his guardians had ever intended. Riding had gone from exercise to daredevil contests. Christian had drawn him into inventive games that involved climbing trees and crossing streams on rickety makeshift bridges, not to mention bows and arrows and a cleverly devised ballista. His taste for warfare should have been obvious from the first.