Boudreaux’s Lady

by Smith, Lauren

  “Fear would explain such a thoughtless lashing out… yet I find it hard to imagine that man has any conscience to torture. I want to see this girl at once,” St. Albans announced.

  Beau had expected this reaction. “Tonight, dinner at my home. She’s resting this afternoon.”

  “Is it proper to have this woman at your home? You are a bachelor, after all…”

  “Lennox and I have concocted a story to protect her. As far as anyone knows, she is my ward.”

  The duke turned pensive. “Why didn’t Lennox keep her?”

  “Given the danger, it was best for her to stay with me. I have no wife or young children to endanger should Monmouth make a play for her again.”

  “You could always send her here. I can look after her.” The hope in St. Albans tone made Beau’s chest tighten.

  “Your Grace, I didn’t wish to burden you with this. Albina is gone, taking in this young lady would not bring her back.”

  The duke flashed him a frown. “I am old, Beau. I have no granddaughters. Perhaps this woman is my chance to spoil someone. I adore Roddy—thank God that boy doesn’t take after his father—but it’s far less amusing to spoil a boy than a girl.”

  “Even if you wish to, I cannot give her up,” Beau said.

  St. Albans eyes narrowed. “You are interested in her. What of your mistress? The opera singer?”

  “Please, Your Grace. This is not the time to talk about such things. This girl is still in danger. I must keep her under my watch until Lennox and I can expose Monmouth. In the meanwhile, I will not let the girl endanger anyone but me.”

  The duke clapped a hand on Beau’s shoulder. “All the same, I would love to meet her tonight. In fact, bring her here.”

  “Dinner with a duke, that might terrify the poor creature,” Beau mused.

  “Nonsense. Your plan requires her to socialize, does it not? You might as well start with a private affair with someone you consider a friend rather than a large party of complete strangers. Besides, women are the braver sex. It’s no wonder you haven’t married if you haven’t realized that.” The duke shook his head with a wry smile. “Now, no more protests. Bring her here at eight tonight and let me look this child.”

  “Very well. But remember, I wished to keep this pain away from you.”

  “And I appreciate that, but pain is a part of life. Without pain, a man never appreciates pleasure.”

  Beau looked upon Albina’s portrait once more. But this time he saw not a dead woman, but Philippa, alive and smiling. Happy, safe. Fear swept through him, raking his soul. Keats’s poem about melancholy returned to him and he murmured the stanza aloud.

  “She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

  And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

  Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

  Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:

  Ay, in the very temple of Delight

  Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,

  Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue

  Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;

  His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,

  And be among her cloudy trophies hung.”

  The duke’s eyes went bright. “Keats understood. Pain, pleasure, hate, love, sorrow, joy, they are all part of the same ineffable equation. Whenever I feel weary and my heart cold, I read Keats and am reminded that we all have our journeys, some long, other short, and it’s up to us to brave the rise and falls that come with this glorious thing called life.”

  Beau’s throat constricted as he looked at the older man, so much unsaid resting upon his lips. “You’re a good man, Your Grace.” That was all he could say. Pain from the past, love from the past, all threatened to choke him from further speech.

  “As are you, my boy.” He emphasized the last two words, and this time in them he heard a father’s love. It made his heart ache in a way it hadn’t in years.

  “Now, off you go. And bring that girl to dinner this evening.”

  Beau left St. Albans’s home, feeling more lost than ever, yet he didn’t feel alone. He was torn between an older man’s fatherly affection and a young woman’s budding passion and trust. Love would come and he could not escape it or the pain it would cause him and everyone around him. The very pain he had tried to avoid from the day his father died.

  Chapter 10

  Philippa stirred at the sound of someone moving about in the room. She opened her eyes and saw a curvy maid bent over the hearth, adding a few logs. Even though it was October, the weather had been warm until the last few weeks. Now Philippa welcomed the heat of a fire. She sat up and a blanket fell off her body. She stared at it, puzzled. She hadn’t remembered going to sleep with that over her. The maid must have done it.

  “Hello,” Philippa greeted.

  The maid spun, her curly red hair escaping her cap. “Oh! Pardon me, miss. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s fine. Thank you for the blanket.” She removed the blanket and folded it.

  “Oh, that wasn’t me, miss.”

  “Oh.” Philippa frowned slightly. She wondered who had. “I’m Philippa, by the way.”

  “Louisa, miss.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Louisa. Please, I insist you call me Philippa.” She knew only too well how ingrained it was in the service to use the correct forms of address, and Louisa had been told she was a lady from the country. But Philippa desperately needed a friend if she was to endure this, so she would insist the maid learn to say her given name.

  “Philippa,” Louisa’s freckled face deepened with a blush.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after six in the evening.”

  “Heavens! I’ve slept the day away!” Philippa struggled out of the warm confines of the ornate bed.

  “The master told me to let you sleep. He’s been worried about you.” Louisa opened a tall Rosewood armoire and began unpacking the dress boxes on the floor.

  Philippa recognized the ready-made gowns from the modiste. She had truly overslept if the clothing had arrived. She had only meant to take a brief nap.

  “Do you wish to bathe before dinner with the duke?” Louisa asked calmly as she worked.

  “The duke?” Philippa’s voice came out an octave higher than usual.

  The maid turned to face her. “The Duke of St. Albans. He and the master are very close. He’s like a second father to Mr. Boudreaux. Practically raised the master as young man, or so I’ve heard.”

  The Duke of St. Albans. She had heard of him. The duke was a good and kind man and the Lennox family liked him immensely.

  “Is there a reason we are to dine with him?” Philippa asked as Louisa pulled a bell cord to summon the footmen.

  “None that I know of. The master dines with him at least once a week, when he isn’t with his…” Louisa didn’t finish her sentence.

  “With who?” Philippa asked.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t tell. It isn’t my place.” The maid hedged.

  “Please, Louisa,” Philippa begged.

  “His… mistress. Although…” The maid’s face reddened. “Mrs. Gronow was saying to Mr. Stoddard that the master has gone his separate way from his latest mistress a few days ago.”

  Was that when he pulled away from her? Was he still pining for his former mistress?

  “I don’t know if it’s true. He’s been with so many over the years. He’s likely looking for his next lady if that’s the case.” Louisa opened the bedchamber door for a pair of footmen carrying buckets. One of them tripped when he caught sight of Philippa. He was young, perhaps her age, and his face turned a deep ruddy red.

  “My apologies, miss. Please forgive me.” He recovered and poured the remaining water into the tub in the adjoining room before rushing back to mop up the spilled water with a cloth.

  “Don’t mind Tobias. He’s shy around pretty ladies.” Louisa smirked and Philippa couldn’t help but laugh a little as she smile
d at Toby, which only made him stumble again as he tried to leave.

  Louisa gave an amused sigh. “Oh dear, it’s going to take them ages at this rate to fill your tub.”

  But in truth, it only took fifteen minutes until she was sinking into a hot bath. The large copper tub had a tall back which went above her head by several inches. She’d never really bathed like this before. She and Ruth shared a shallow tub and they managed lukewarm baths at best. It was simply too difficult to get hot water when the footmen had no time to assist them. Now she leaned back and almost groaned in delight as the water heated her tired, aching limbs.

  “Soaps and perfumes?” Louisa offered.

  Philippa accepted it all, feeling a measure of guilt as she knew she shouldn’t be indulging herself like this. She felt like a fraud. But it was so nice to be cared for after all this time as a servant caring for others.

  Once she was washed and feeling fresh, she dried off and watched Louisa sort through her gowns.

  “How about this one? It would look stunning with your eyes and coloring.” She displayed the silver evening gown that Jessica had sold her.

  “Yes, if you think so,” she replied.

  “I do. You should wear these with it.” Louisa displayed a pair of silver slippers that were embroidered with bolts of lightning. Another clever choice that Jessica had offered.

  “These would be perfect,” Philippa agreed.

  When it was nearly a quarter to eight, Philippa was fully dressed in the silk satin gown and the silver slippers. Her hair had been pulled back in a loose Grecian style and while ringlets around one’s face were more in fashion, Louisa had said such a style would spoil Philippa’s natural beauty.

  When Philippa had seen herself in the mirror, a lady she didn’t recognize stood before her. A strange pulse of excitement and dread shot through her. It felt as though someone had trod across her grave. The eerie feeling only dissipated as she turned away from the mirror and focused on Louisa’s instructions about being in the presence of a duke.

  “Remember, it’s Your Grace.”

  “Yes,” she echoed, remembering from years ago when she’d learned the proper modes of address. She was relieved, however, that Louisa had guessed she lacked the knowledge that most ladies would have about things like seating arrangements and conversation topics. Apparently, very little was acceptable for women to discuss with men. The weather and social gossip—such dull choices!

  When she felt ready, she walked down the corridor and paused at the top of the stairs. Was this truly happening? Was she really going to attend a dinner at the duke’s home masquerading as a lady?

  Beau and Mr. Stoddard stood in the foyer below her. She watched them unobserved for a moment. The butler was listening intently to Beau. They spoke in low tones but suddenly Stoddard said something, and Beau burst into laughter. It lit up his face and for a moment Philippa forgot to breathe.

  She remembered his lips on hers, felt them conquer her body and soul. She was entranced by the sight of him, but it also sent fear skittering through her. Because of her looks, she lived her life in dread of what men wanted from her and what they might do to get it. She’d never once considered how she would feel about a man like Beau in return.

  Stoddard noticed her and cleared his throat. To Beau, he gave a little jerk of his head in her direction. When Beau looked upon her, his face quickly paled.

  “Ghost…” The word seemed to echo as she descended the stairs toward him. He quickly recovered and reached for his neck cloth, tugging at it slightly.

  “You look…” But he was unable to finish his thought.

  “Exquisite?” Stoddard offered just behind Beau.

  “Yes… Exquisite seems to be the only word one could think of, but it somehow doesn’t seem to be enough.” He twirled a finger. “Turn around, let me see.”

  She picked up her skirts in one hand and spun in a slow circle.

  Beau nodded. “Yes… Yes, Jessica did well… You look…” He caught himself and whatever he’d been about to say. “Well, let’s fetch a cloak for you and we’ll be off. You don’t mind walking, I assume? It’s only at the other end of the street.”

  “Not at all,” she assured him. Honestly, she would have walked across town if he’d asked. She loved to be outdoors and move about. She’d just had so few opportunities while in service.

  Stoddard had a footman fetch her new cloak, a lovely dark blue velvet with a white ermine trim. She put it on and left her hood down as she followed Beau to the door.

  The night was cold but not unbearable. It was the perfect temperature to make one wish to move more briskly. She held her hands in her ermine muff as she kept pace with Beau who, despite his long lean legs, made his strides considerably short while still appearing natural. He must have walked often with women to have perfected such a skill. Louisa’s comments about his mistresses came back and she frowned.

  “What’s bothering you?” Beau asked, intruding upon her thoughts.

  “Oh, ’tis nothing.”

  “You need not always close the door to me, Philippa. I hope you remember that.”

  “Close the door? What do you mean?”

  He exhaled a weary side. “To your thoughts. You shut me out, but you need not.”

  “Oh…” She hadn’t meant to do that, but since she’d gone into service, she’d gotten used to keeping her own counsel. Not everyone liked a pretty girl. In the past, other servants had hurt her feelings when should she’d dared to share her thoughts. It was simply safer not to open her mouth unless necessary. Lord Lennox’s home had been different. She’d been welcomed there far more than she ever could have expected.

  “I’m not certain you would wish to hear my thoughts,” she finally replied.

  “I won’t be upset if you’re honest with me. We are to be together for a time, and I wish for you to feel comfortable being yourself around me.”

  Philippa doubted that, but she took the chance anyway. “I was thinking about your mistresses. You keep pace with me so effortlessly. You must have learned that while walking with them.”

  “Ahh,” Beau chuckled. “So, you’ve heard about my sterling character?”

  “Oh! I didn’t mean any offense.” Panic shortened her breath.

  “I’m teasing. I have had mistresses, a number of them over the years. But I do not have one now. Does that make you feel more at ease?”

  Philippa didn’t look at him. “I never said I was ill at ease.” She kept her gaze on the moonlit houses.

  “Then what worries you?”

  “Nothing,” she said firmly, letting him know she had no intention of speaking anymore on the subject.

  “Very well. Here we are.” They reached one of the larger houses on Pall Mall Street and walked up the steps. The door opened for them as they arrived.

  “Evening Jarvis,” Beau greeted the man who faced them.

  “Please come in, Mr. Boudreaux. Miss Wilson.” It was clear that even the duke’s butler adored Beau. The man was beaming as if he was an old friend.

  “His Grace is excited about dinner. He’s talked of little else since you left this afternoon,” Jarvis said.

  Beau’s solemn expression brightened. “That’s good to hear. I was worried I left him in rather poor spirits.”

  Philippa surrendered her cloak and muff and before accepting Beau’s offered arm as he escorted her deeper into the beautiful house. Where Beau’s home was warm with hints of Italy and Greece, this palatial house was more reserved with white marble and old English tapestries. There was a more mysterious feel to this place compared to Beau’s home, which beckoned one in with its promised wealth of exotic adventures. Philippa wondered what the duke was like. Would he reflect his home in style and manner the way Beau so clearly did his?

  “His Grace is in the drawing room,” said Jarvis.

  “Thank you.” Beau led her down a corridor lined with portraits. She felt his body tense, but he said nothing until they had passed through into another corri
dor. She kept her gaze on the floor, an unexpected tension building within her as well.

  “The duke is a kind man. Do not be afraid of him.”

  Philippa nodded, but she was still nervous. Beau ushered her into the drawing room, where she saw a figure standing facing the fireplace with one hand resting upon the tall marble hearth.

  “Your Grace,” Beau said, announcing the two of them.

  The Duke of St. Albans looked their way and Philippa’s breath stopped somewhere between her lungs and her lips. The man before her…she was certain they’d never met, and yet it was as if she knew him. The duke’s silver gray eyes mirrored hers and there was something about the way he stared at her that made her lips tremble. How could a total stranger affect her so?

  “Your Grace, allow me to present Miss Philippa Wilson to you.” Beau had to tug her to get her feet to uproot themselves from the floor.

  She dipped into a curtsy, her hands shaking. “Your Grace.”

  The duke beckoned her closer. “Come here, Miss Wilson. Come closer to the light. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  She released Beau’s arm and moved toward St. Albans until she was next to the warm, crackling fire. The duke’s silver eyes moved slowly over her face, his expression solemn, perhaps even perplexed. He seemed to be seeking something within her features, but she didn’t know what.

  “My God, Beau, she’s…” He faltered and his voice roughened with unexplained emotions. Was he responding to her beauty as other men did? No. There was no lust in his eyes. There was desire, but not of an amorous kind. It was more like wonderment. A need to understand what his eyes were taking in.

  “I told you, Your Grace.” Beau offered Philippa a small smile of encouragement.

  “You did, but I didn’t believe you.”

  “Pardon me, but what are you talking about?” Philippa broke into the conversation.

  The duke looked at her. His eyes were gentle in a way that made her heart still.

  “You look exactly like my daughter.”

  “Your daughter? You mean…?” She looked to Beau. “Monmouth’s wife?”