A Duke Deceived (The Deceived Series Book 1)

by Cheryl Bolen

  "I used to see your husband at many functions," Mrs. Miller said, stuffing a piece of cake into her mouth. "He was always in the company of beautiful women, but now I see he waited to marry the most beautiful of all."

  Bonny hated to acknowledge the woman's compliment. She hated to be reminded that Richard may have married her for no other reason than that she was a beauty. A trophy for his collection, she thought bitterly. She inhaled the herbal aroma of the specially blended Radcliff tea and mumbled her thanks.

  "I suppose since you're in mourning, you haven't made the acquaintance of the duke's crowd," Mrs. Miller said.

  "The only one I've met," Bonny admitted, "is Tw-, James Twickingham, who recuperates here from a serious injury."

  Mrs. Miller threw her head back and laughed. "Twigs Twickingham is said to be one of the most entertaining men in London. Quite a character, I'm told. Of course, I've never met him, nor the others in the duke's set. Most of them are still unwed, except for William Clyde. Pretty little wife he's got. She's confined, awaiting their third child. Not that that's settled him down any, I hear. The second child was his heir, and the boy being born, Mr. Clyde, who's enormously wealthy, is free to resume his alliances with light skirts."

  "Surely he wouldn't do anything of the kind while his wife is confined having his babe," Bonny protested.

  The matronly Athena waved her pudgy, bejeweled hands in the air. "My dear, you have a lot to learn about the ways of the ton. Their marriages aren't like my parents' or yours. Those in the ton marry to beget an heir, and their lives are chiefly a pursuit of pleasure."

  Bonny watched as Mrs. Miller's eyes lifted to the soaring, gilded ceiling, taking in the opulent surroundings.

  Cressida, who had been silent heretofore, leaned forward and whispered, "Pleasures of the flesh, if you know what I mean."

  That a maiden like Cressida Carlisle knew of pleasures of the flesh surprised Bonny considerably. What was in those Minerva Press novels? "Yes," Bonny lamented, "I've heard that men can be very immoral."

  Mrs. Miller set down her teacup. "Not just men, your grace. Many married women are unfaithful wives, though I fail to understand how a well-brought-up lady could welcome such intimacy with a man she's not wed to. I vow I'd be most happy myself to never have any man climb in my bed." She lifted her eyes heavenward, and Bonny felt herself most uncharitable for thinking no man would wish to climb into Athena Miller's bed.

  Cressida leaned forward again and whispered, "They say the Dowager Lady Jersey herself had an affair with the Regent."

  Bonny put down the cake she had not touched. She had lost her appetite, sickened by the people who comprised her husband's crowd. Sickened by those who broke sacred vows. But most of all she was sickened that her husband could be of like mind with the others. Did marriage mean nothing to him? Did he hunger after other women? Is that why he did not sleep with her?

  "It's very glad I am that my only daughter is wed and living quietly in Hampshire," Mrs. Miller said.

  Bonny nodded. "After what you've told me, I strongly wish to return to Hedley Hall."

  "Pooh!" Cressida said. "Richard's not like those others, I'll vow. I've known him all my life, and I'd say he'll make a wonderful husband–and father."

  Going into the marriage, Bonny believed Richard to be sensitive to the ties of family. She and Radcliff had been drawn together by their loneliness. Their shared loss of loved ones was one of the foundations upon which they were building their lives together. And he had shared with her his desire to have a child. If only she could make Richard a father, Bonny thought, her heart heavy. God help her if she were barren.

  She watched her guests, who by now had finished their tea. "I've had a sudden idea. With Mr. Twickingham, there would be four of us–enough for a rubber of whist. I would be ever so obliged if I could persuade you to play one game. The poor man is quite bored to death in his sickbed."

  Mrs. Miller's face brightened. "A most agreeable idea, to be sure." She hoisted her round body off the satin settee.

  "But, Athena," Cressida protested to her sister's back, "I am very poor at whist. I'm always getting admonished for not following suit."

  The woman patted her sister, threw a glance across the broad hallway toward Twigs's room, and whispered, "You'll do fine, Cressy. Men don't want women to be too clever."

  Twigs's pallid face brightened when the ladies entered his room. One would never know he was mending, since he was fully dressed in the latest fashion, including the rather loose-fitting pantaloons.

  After she made the introductions, Bonny proposed that Cressida be partners with the skillful Twigs, and she would take Mrs. Miller for her partner.

  If Mrs. Miller had expected to be entertained by Twigs, she must be sadly disappointed, Bonny thought, noting the young man's stiff demeanor and formal address. He scarcely said two words to the three women seated around his bed.

  True to her word, Cressida was an extremely poor player. Her sister, while not outstanding, made up for skill with a fierce competitiveness. She was quick to notice that Cressida did not play her trump. "I declare, Cressy, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were cheating. Just put that three of diamonds back in your hand and throw out your jack of clubs."

  Cressida gave her sister an incredulous stare. "You must be positively clairvoyant. It quite reminds me of Rosemary in The Lost Bridegroom of Ravensport."

  "More likely she drew out everybody else's clubs when she led with the ace," Twigs said.

  Cressida turned her delicate face to Twigs and fluttered her eyelashes. "If only I had your skill, Mr. Twickingham. Do you think if I played often with you, it would rub off on me? I do so want to be good at whist."

  "Daresay you'd be good as gold in no-no time," Twigs said, stammering. "Not that you play badly now, Miss Carlisle. Don't see why women need to be skillful at whist."

  "My sister wants only to be well rounded, Mr. Twickingham," Mrs. Miller said sweetly. "She's quite accomplished on the piano, and you should see her watercolors."

  "Regret to say I wouldn't know good from bad," Twigs mumbled.

  Cressida sent a pert smile toward Twigs. "I don't for a minute believe that, Mr. Twickingham. I am sure you're a fine judge of talent."

  "Well, when it comes to pugilism or riding..."

  "I imagine you're a whip of the first order," Cressida said, tossing out a card and smiling sweetly into Twigs's face.

  Bonny was only too happy to get the hand going again, but the remainder of the game continued with Cressida praising Twigs's playing, admiring his pearl-encrusted snuffbox, complimenting him on the fabric of his coat and the tie of his cravat, all of which left Twigs quieter than normal. Bonny remembered Twigs telling the duke he didn't know how to act around females, and now she realized it was time he learned.

  Simple little Cressida Carlisle had completely flustered this buffoon who so entertained the bloods of the ton.

  That night Bonny was to meet the young bucks when they came to call on Twigs. She even met William Clyde. She had not known they would be coming because she had neither seen nor spoken to her husband all day. She had taken dinner with Twigs at his bedside. Just the two of them. She had been silent, only picking at the veal cutlet and French beans. Her husband's absence made her morose.

  Twigs tried heartily to cheer her. "Mark my words, Richard's just been delayed at White's."

  "Were he that close, I'm sure he would have sent a note round to tell us not to wait dinner," Bonny said, her potatoes sticking in her throat.

  "Believe you're worried about the man."

  She worried far more that her husband was with another woman.

  "Why don't you send a man round to see if his phaeton's at White's?"

  "I could never do that. It would appear I was spying on him, that I didn't trust him."

  After dinner, she did not feel like playing games with Twigs and retired to her room, where she paced its cream-colored carpet. She was still wearing the gown she had on for dinner, its t
rain skimming over the gold fleur-de-lis pattern of the carpet. Her activity and the blazing fire in her hearth spread a heated flush over her body.

  Her worry mounted. Had her husband already grown tired of her? Had he found a woman of greater beauty?

  While in the midst of her gloomy thoughts, she heard noises from the first floor. She ran to inspect her face in the mirror and was displeased with her hot cheeks. A little powder should cover them, she decided. Before she went downstairs she dabbed perfume behind her ears and inside her wrists.

  As one servant came out of Twigs's room bearing a tray with two empty decanters of Madeira, another walked into the room carrying a tray with three more full decanters.

  Bonny followed the fellow into the room in time to see her husband lift his glass in a toast. "To Twigs's total recovery."

  Twigs, his face alight, lifted his glass in agreement, while three other fashionably dressed young men also toasted the return of Twigs's good health.

  Radcliff briefly met his wife's gaze before he brought the glass to his lips and drank the whole at once.

  Something about his eyes disturbed her. A certain glassiness. And his speech, too. His pronunciation was not as crisp or as thoughtful as normal.

  "Ah," he said, looking back at Bonny, "my beautiful wife. I must introduce you to my friends, my dear."

  Smiling shakily, Bonny crossed the room to her husband's side and stood gracefully rigid as he leaned to kiss her cheek. And then she knew why his eyes and voice disturbed her. He smelled strongly of liquor.

  Radcliff introduced Bonny to William Clyde, who was taller than her husband and rather handsome with dark auburn hair; to Huntley Harrington, who was short and jolly, with a red nose and red eyes; and Stephen Langford, a nice-looking young man who couldn't seem to remove his eyes from Bonny.

  What was William Clyde doing here drinking with her husband if his poor wife was being confined? "Do I understand, Mr. Clyde," Bonny said, "that you are to be congratulated on the impending birth of a third child?" Make him feel guilty, she thought.

  He coughed. "Thank you, your grace."

  "Your wife stays in London?" Bonny asked.

  "No. In Fairfield with her mother."

  Bonny stiffened, then held out her hand to the other two young men, who assured her they were single.

  "I had heard the duchess was beautiful," Langford told her, "but you are beyond anything I expected."

  She saw a smug look pass over Richard's face at this comment and she thanked Langford, then turned to her husband. "We missed you at dinner."

  "Our first dinner apart," he said snidely.

  By his tone, she feared it would be the first of many dinners apart.

  "If you ask me," Twigs said, "she was damned–" He cast an apologetic glance toward Bonny. "Pray, forgive my language, but, Richard, the duchess was deuced worried about you. Couldn't you have sent a note around?"

  Radcliff's eyes met hers. "Were you worried that highwaymen slit my throat for my purse, my dear?"

  His cool manner sent a chill along her spine. "I filled my head with all manner of worries about you, sir."

  A flicker of warmth lit his eyes as he trailed a finger over his wife's smooth cheekbone. Then he stiffened and spoke casually. "Pray, don't worry about me tonight, for I intend to spend the evening in the company of my friends."

  When the three bottles of Madeira were dry, Radcliff and the blades took their leave of Twigs and Bonny.

  Although she was downcast over her husband's behavior, Bonny determined to play cribbage with Twigs, who was quite low himself.

  Like Bonny, Twigs's thoughts were not on the game. "I say, would you mind dreadfully if I don't finish the game?" he asked. "That fox of a husband of yours knows how to restore my health."

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Deuced well made me want to walk, he did." Twigs swung his legs round the side of the bed, and holding on to the table, he removed himself from the bed.

  Bonny jumped to her feet to assist him.

  "No, Duchess, I've got to do this on my own," he said, gritting his teeth. He put his weight on both legs and stood there for a moment as Bonny watched in silence.

  After a minute, he took a step on his good leg, then dragged his injured leg behind him. He followed by taking another step, but this time he lifted the mending leg off the carpet and set it back down as if he were walking.

  He proceeded to cross the long room slowly.

  Bonny felt helpless as she watched. What if he fell and reinjured himself?

  He did neither. Slowly and not without a great deal of pain, he came back to the bed and collapsed.

  Bonny turned to Twigs, her eyes flashing with excitement. "I can't wait to tell Richard of your progress."

  A troubled look swept across his face. "You'd best wait till tomorrow. Don't expect to see Richard tonight."

  Hours after her husband left the house with the three rakes, Bonny called for Marie to help her undress. Marie took the pins and plumes from her hair and brushed it out, black ringlets falling over the ivory lace nightgown. Before she left the room, Marie stoked the fire for the night and put a fresh candle beside Bonny's bed.

  At first Bonny tried to read, but she could only think of Radcliff. The strong smell of liquor on his breath had repelled her. She wondered if her husband had been foxed. She had little experience with drunkenness save for Mr. Woods back in Milford, who beat his wife when he was in his cups. Many a time her father had been called to assist Mrs. Woods after her husband had imbibed.

  Would Richard beat her? That was a stupid question. She knew her husband could never harm anyone. This was the man who took the orphaned Rusty off the streets and gave him a job as groom, the master who was revered by his adoring servants, the duke who gave his title to the penniless daughter of a country cleric.

  She remembered a hundred kind gestures from her husband and wanted so much for things to be the way they had been during the first weeks of their marriage. She wished so very much that he was beside her this very minute. How she longed to feel his arms around her, to have his life spring passing into her body, to feel his lips against hers. Even if he did smell of liquor.

  If tonight he remained in his room as he had done last night, she decided to let herself into his chamber. She would say she was excited to tell him that Twigs walked on his own. And then, maybe, her husband would see her in the soft nightgown and want to make love to her.

  Bonny plumped up her pillows, picked up her book and read. At three in the morning her eyelids became heavy. She blew out her candle and went to sleep.

  The next morning, after Marie had done her hair and helped her into a muslin day dress, Bonny went through the dressing room to her husband's chamber.

  He was not there, and the smooth silk bedspread indicated his bed had not been slept in.

  Evans entered the room, gave a Bonny a stiff greeting and proceeded to the dressing room to gather up his master's boots.

  Bonny followed him and sat down in Richard's gilded chair. "How long have you been in service to the duke, Mr. Evans?"

  He continued about his task of polishing one boot and did not look up. "Since the fourth duke died. I was valet to the father before the son."

  "Then you knew my husband when he was a child."

  "Yes, your grace."

  "Was he an affectionate child?"

  Evans glanced up from the already shiny black boot and gave her a quizzing gaze. "He was much like his father. The Moncrief men do not speak of emotions except by their actions."

  "The old duke was fond of his son?"

  "He never spoke of it. Nor would he boast of the young duke's many accomplishments, though those who knew him could see he was proud of his son. We always knew when the young master was coming home from Eton or Oxford by his grace's levity."

  How very much Richard must be like his father, Bonny thought. Obviously, something troubled him, but he had been schooled not to allow anyone past the cool barriers he had erecte
d around his heart.

  She watched Evans rub more polish onto the boot. "I know you could not welcome the idea of his grace taking a wife, Mr. Evans, but I do assure you that you and I have the same goal. We both want his grace to be happy."

  "Quite so, your grace," he said placidly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  His blond head towered over everyone on the dance floor, and he was coming straight toward her. Emily's knees began to quiver. She looked away from him and feigned interest in her mother's conversation.

  "My poor daughter needs to sit this one out, Lady Sutton, for she's quite fatigued from dancing every dance."

  "But, Lady Landis," the other woman said, "it appears Lord Dunsford wishes to dance with your daughter."

  Three pairs of eyes turned to examine Dunsford as he stood shyly beside Emily.

  "I have waited all night for the opportunity to ask you to stand up with me," Lord Dunsford said to Emily.

  At first she merely sat in her armed chair looking at him, stunned that his voice was not Harold's voice at all, though he looked so much like Harold. Then, she cast her gaze at her satisfied mother, got to her feet and moved silently to the dance floor with the earl, her breath ragged and her insides shaky.

  "Allow me to introduce myself," he said to her as he clasped her hand. "I am Henry Blackburn, the Earl of Dunsford."

  "And I am Emily Wickham," Emily said softly.

  "Alfred's sister?" he asked as he held her at arm's distance to begin the waltz.

  "Yes, do you know my brother?"

  "We were at Oxford together, but he was ahead of me."

  Emily found it difficult to converse with the earl. Had he asked her to dance because she had been staring at him all night? She had tried to look away quickly every time he directed his gaze toward her. Now, as it had throughout the night, his presence evoked painful memories of her dead lover.

  The earl's tongue was as unskilled as his clumsy dance steps. He spoke no more until the waltz was nearly finished. "How is it that I've not seen you before, Lady Emily?"