Two Notorious Dukes (14 page)

‘Yes, Nana.’ He said softly, knowing that she was
talking about the death of their family. ‘I suppose you
and I were lucky.’ He whispered. ‘At least we weren’t
here.’ He looked up and saw the tears standing in her
eyes. ‘Now I’ll tell you about Abigail Beresford if you
want?’ he said to change the subject.
‘Is it your child, Boy?’ she demanded.
‘I have no idea.’ He said fairly, ‘and I won’t until
it’s born. Randolph was there before me and I was
sharing with Cranwell and Farrington, and Rathbone
was hot on my heels!’ He sighed. ‘Randolph, Cranwell
and Farrington are all blond and Rathbone is a redhead.
So if it’s a dark haired baby, then its mine!’
‘Roderick Beresford is not going to be happy
about this.’ She said slowly.
‘Then he shouldn’t leave his harlot of a wife
unattended!’ Robert said forcefully. He sighed deeply to
dispel his sudden anger at husbands who desert their
wives for foreign travel. ‘Having been to India, I can
appreciate its not a place a white woman would cope
with well. Especially as decorum makes you wear so
many layers, in India the Indian girls wear one petticoat
and a silk sari, draped over a short top.’ He said
thoughtfully.
‘Really?’ she asked fascinated. ‘And how much
material is in this “Sari”?’ she asked.
‘At least 20 yards, Nana, maybe more,
depending on how wealthy the wearer’s family is. And
they are so colourful, Nana, not sombre and boring like
the dresses worn by our girls. There is no comparison
for a pretty girl wearing peacock blue silk with an
orange top as opposed to a pretty girl wearing moss
green muslin. I had a housecoat made for Susanna while
I was over there.’ He said distantly. ‘It’s an aquamarine
colour and has a peacock embroidered on the back in
golden silk thread. All the buttons are carved from ivory
and the loops are fashioned out of the same golden silk
thread. I could see Susanna in it the moment I laid eyes
on it. I was keeping it for a wedding present for her, so
that she could dazzle her new husband on their wedding
night.’ She watched a tear roll out of the corner of his
eyes and leave a track down his cheek. ‘But I suppose I
should give it to Elizabeth, if she’ll have me.’
‘I’m sure Elizabeth will look fantastic in it and
Susanna wouldn’t want you to waste it, just because
she’s not here.’
‘I know, Nana.’
‘Have you had sex with her, boy?’ she asked
suddenly and he squirmed and then nodded his head.
‘But I didn’t seduce her, she seduced me!’ he
said indignantly as his Grandmother gave him a
disgusted look. ‘I woke up in the middle of the night and
she was there.’
‘And what was she doing?’ She demanded and
he looked at her with his most charming smile. ‘Paint
me no pictures!’ she said and shook her head. ‘Be off
with you, boy. There are estate matters to attend to.’
She said in dismissal. He got up and kissed her gently on
the cheek before he left the room.
He went to his study, knowing the estate
manager would be waiting and that the next weeks
would be full of work. He dealt with the immediate
things and then sat to pen a letter to Elizabeth.

The letter started auspiciously. It had arrived
with the midday post and Elizabeth was anxious to read
it. She hoped it was from Robert, but as she didn’t know
his hand writing yet, she couldn’t be sure. She went out
to the lake and sat under the oak tree and tore the wax
seal open unfolding the pages of good quality vellum
and looking first at the signatory which said

Your devoted suitor,
Robert Bosworth esq.,
Duke of Roding.

I miss you already. I do not think I ever really
understood the concept of love, until now. I suppose
when I was younger it was a more idealistic dream, an
ideal of how life could be, but as you grow you realise
life is not quite like that. Instead you find it is full of
horror, terror and heartache. The ones you love die,
sometimes horribly and the only time you have is now.

I have spent the last sixteen years living in the
now, without any real thought for the future, but now I
have to think of the future, because that is where you
will be.

It was very remiss of me really, because I told
you that I love you, just like I will in this letter, but I
didn’t actually ask you to marry me and I should have
done. But you were packing and the look in your eyes
was enough to make me leave, because I could see how
afraid you were. So here is my proposal.

Will you consent to be my wife? So that I can
love, cherish and keep you all of your days?
There are two ways to look at a marriage
proposal. One is coldly as a monetary alliance or title
amalgamation and that is easy to do. Which would you
prefer an Earl or a Duke? You would take the Duke,
more money and more prestige. The other way is more
difficult for everyone. It is rare in our world that
somebody can marry for love, especially a woman. Most
of the time you are ‘sold’ to the highest title or purse,
and the one person you genuinely love is not even
considered. And if you are lucky, you end up with a man
who respects your individuality and will even give you a
certain amount of freedom, to follow your dreams or
passions. However, if you are unlucky, you end up in a
loveless marriage with a brute that treats you worse
than a rabid cur!
I do not know what it feels like to be sold into
slavery. But I do know what it feels like to be a soldier,
to have to follow orders you do not agree with, to
witness the plunder of a town, because the soldier’s
blood is up and you, as one officer among many, cannot
stop them from raping and pillaging.
I love you, Elizabeth Audley, but do not ask me to
tell you why, because I do not know. I just know that it
has crept up on me from the moment you walked
through the door at the Opera. You have captured my
heart and I have delivered it into your keeping. Please
try not to break it.
I would ask, no beg, one favour from you? Would
you remain at Boscombe Manor until I return? If you go
back to London without me, I shall be afraid for your
safety. I do not trust Craanford and neither does my
Grandmother, who knows the family quite well.
She is anxious to meet the woman who has
finally ensnared my heart and sends her felicitations.
Unfortunately she is too frail to travel to London
anymore, the journey would probably kill her, and so she
will remain at Roding Hall, where she hopes that you will
visit, if you choose to be a Duchess. My Duchess. The
Duchess of Roding.
Sorry, I am being fanciful. I think I have rambled
enough and my steward is frowning at the length of this
missive. I still have a lot of work to do and I have not
toured the park yet.

She leaned back against the tree and looked
over the lake. She watched the ducks bobbing in the
water and the geese trimming the grass. There was
nothing for it; she had to read it again.

All in all she read the letter four times. She was
impressed with his penmanship. His handwriting was
totally masculine in execution, but stylish all the same.
There were no corrections or accidental ink blots. The
wax seal had the ducal coat of arms on it. But the
content kept her attention.

She could feel his love coming off the pages in
waves, just as she had felt it the last time they had
made love. She would remember that for the rest of her
life. As if his love would consume them both in an
inferno. It was slow and erotic and as they climaxed
together, she wrapped her legs about him and crushed
his body to hers. ‘I love you,’ he’d gulped out while he
was still trembling in rapture as their sexes spasmed.

Admit it!
She berated herself.
It frightened you
the moment he said it! Didn’t it!
She sighed deeply as
she admitted that it did. It made her afraid, afraid of
belonging to another man. Being at his mercy.

All right! Let’s look at this marriage proposal.
He’s offering a Duchy, not some squalid house in a
rookery. You already know he’s not a particularly violent
man, probably because he’s been in the army and seen
all that war has to offer. You’ve proved that he doesn’t
need violence to get aroused.
And she sat with a wicked
smile on her face as she thought about his arrogant
manhood, what it felt like and the taste of it.
Don’t think
about it!
She berated herself again as her body
squirmed with desire.
And that’s another good point!
How often have you had such satisfying sex?
And she
had to admit, never before Robert.
Ask yourself this
question then? Is there any real reason to turn him
down? He said he loves you, you know you love him and
you already hope you are working on your first child. If
you reject his offer what will you do? You have no
money, no prospects. You will end up on the streets or in
a rookery living by your wits. Or worse, at the mercy of
Alexander. If you marry him, you will live in splendour,
with unlimited wealth, so long as he stays away from
the gaming tables, he will be devoted, because reformed
rakes are like that; there is no need for him to look for
sex elsewhere and after all, I’m no blushing bride. I
already know what it’s all about!

She sat under the tree for an hour, just thinking
of the possibilities as the Duchess of Roding, and not all
of them were financial or personal, there was title,
lands and money for her children, her first son would
become a Duke, not an Earl and all of them would be
titled. If she got fed up with London, she could retire to
Roding Hall and become a recluse. She would get to
have her own balls and soirées and if she didn’t want to
go out all the time, she was sure Robert would be happy
to stay in. He had enjoyed her playing and he had a fine
voice.

You would be stupid to turn him down!
She
concluded and went into the house to reply to his
missive.

Robert saw the vellum with a plain wax seal and
his heart leaped into his mouth. His Grandmother
smiled knowingly at the eagerness in his face as he
snatched the parchment up and shot out of the
breakfast room. ‘Are you sick, boy?’ she called after him
and then cackled like a witch. ‘Love is the worst sickness
of all!’ she shouted after him.

He ran to his study, the letter burning in his
hand. He sat down at his desk and laid the missive on
the blotter and just looked at it.
Will it be yes? Or no?
He asked himself.
There’s only one way to find out and
that is to open it!
He picked up the parcel and cracked
the wax seal with his fingers. His hands were shaking so
much that the pages rustled as he unfolded them. To his
utter surprise the first page was covered in yes’s. Every
conceivable size and colour, every fraction of the page
had a yes painted on it. All done in water colours and in
the centre was one yes in black script. He laughed as he
read the first line of the next page.

I must apologise for a few things. First let me
apologise for the front page of this missive, but I could
not contain my enthusiasm for your proposal and I had
to put paint to paper to show you how affected I am by
it.

I also must apologise for my behaviour your last
morning at Boscombe Manor. I was afraid. Your
admission was a shock at such an intimate moment and
that is what convinced me of your sincerity.

My fear was real, but I was not afraid of you,
only what you represented. Another controlling male to
dominate my life. I know you will never beat me and I
shall endeavour not to make you so angry that you even
think about it.

You were right about my deliberations. The offer
of a Duchy is quite an inducement for accepting a
proposal. But I cannot think in just those financial and
title terms. I have to choose the right course of action
for me. If I am stupid and churlish enough to turn down
your proposal, then when I end my days in a squalid
rookery, I would have nobody to blame but myself. And
in that said rookery, all I would find would be pain and
suffering, for my freedom. Freedom to starve and be
treated worse than Edward treated me. To accept
Alexander’s offer is out of the question, but he seems to
have difficulty taking no for an answer. I can only hope
that he loses interest when I become a Duchess. Your
Duchess. The Duchess of Roding.

As I am neither stupid nor churlish, I therefore
accept your proposal and look forward to meeting your
Grandmother at your earliest convenience. I would come
to Roding Hall now, if you ask me to. I would marry you
tomorrow if I could.

Now, this is very important, my love.
Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my
heart. Since you left the Manor I have not had a single
nightmare. Mary is relieved that she can actually sleep
at night for a change. I have apologised to Mrs.
Simmons, but I keep stealing into your room in the night
and I sleep in your bed when I feel lonely.
Lady Verity and Sarah have gone back to London,
but John is still here. I get the impression that he will not
leave because he made you a promise? I think you
should write and release him from it, he has a wedding
to organise and he cannot do it from here!
Better still, allow me to return with him to
London and then I can start organising our wedding,
assuming we are getting married in London? Write to
me with your thoughts and wishes.
Goodness, I am so happy! I cannot believe how
happy this event has made me. I love you Robert
Bosworth and like you I cannot possibly tell you why. For
me it was the moment you handed me my handkerchief
at the opera. I looked into your eyes and my heart nearly
stopped beating.
The days are passing so slowly and I am
impatient for us to be together, forever. So hurry home,
my love. Hurry!