by Cheryl Bolen
"I am sure my cousin deserved it," Radcliff assured him. "Now, tell me what he told you."
Alfred took a puff of the cigar. "Well, he–Stanley– began by touching me for five quid. Said as how we were all family now. Then he acted sad and said something like how disappointing it was that your marriage to my cousin was going so badly." Alfred stopped, eyeing the duke ruefully. "I regret to say I told Stanley that I was sorry to hear...to hear of you running wild still with the same old bloods you ran with when you were single. That's when he said you and Bonny had an understanding. She had her affair with Dunsford, and you could cavort with any woman you chose. That's when I hit him. I'll not have anyone talk like that of my cousin. Bonny's as true as a saint, I'll vow."
Damn Stanley. He would do more than hit him this time. The vile creature persisted in menacing what Radcliff valued most. Radcliff had crashed his fist into Stanley's face when he found him trying to manhandle his wife. He'd told his wretched cousin he would never again be welcome at Radcliff House. He winced as he decided his next recourse.
Radcliff clasped a strong hand on Alfred's shoulder. "It's my fault," he said in a low voice. "My deplorable behavior has given rise to these wild rumors." He took a long puff on the cigar and slowly blew the smoke out into the cool night air. "I thank you for coming to me with this information. My cousin will not slander my wife anymore–thanks to you."
Once her stomach settled, Bonny left the house and rode to the square near Kepple Street. The day before, Dunsford's page had slipped her a note requesting her to meet him at eleven-thirty.
When she arrived, Bonny saw that Harriet already had her uncle making a cake of himself over her. He met Bonny with smiling eyes as she sat on the carpet next to Dunsford and planted a kiss on top Harriet's fair head. "This must be the last time you beckon me here," Bonny said. "I find deceiving the duke most distasteful."
"I may not have to come here again myself," Lord Dunsford said, throwing the giggling baby in the air and catching her.
Bonny shrieked. "I beg you will not do that again. I am quite terrified you will drop her."
"Nonsense." He nuzzled Harriet's plump neck and pretended to blow bubbles against her flesh, causing the baby to giggle anew. "Is she not the most beautiful baby girl ever created? Of course, I expect her mother was just as lovely as a child."
"Then you know who her mother is?"
"Since the night I met Emily, I have known."
"I think you should tell her."
"When the time is right, I will." He tossed Harriet in the air again. Catching her and holding her close, he turned to Bonny. "I called you here to ask your opinion. I'm mad about this baby, and I want her to live with me." He put Harriet down on the carpet and allowed her to crawl. Meeting Bonny's gaze, he said, "I shall admit she is my brother's baby, but that her mother was a Spanish woman who died during her lying-in. That way Harriet would have all the advantages she is due as my brother's child."
"It would be most wonderful for Harriet," Bonny said in a soft voice.
"But?"
"I shall have to break the news to Emily. She will miss her visits with Harriet most dreadfully."
His face clouded. "I hate to hurt Emily. I had not thought of that."
"But I am sure Em would agree that what you propose is in Harriet's best interest." Bonny chewed on her lip. "I shall first have to tell her that I have broken her confidence and told you of the baby." Bonny rose and walked to the window, pulling back the lace curtains and gazing out on the gray day. "She will not be happy to learn you know the truth. She believes herself tainted."
"Tainted indeed! She's everything a man could hope for. Why, she's more beautiful than...." He picked up Harriet again. "Like you are, my pet," he said to the baby.
If only Lord Dunsford knew he was in love with Emily, Bonny thought.
That afternoon Lady Landis welcomed her niece to Wickham House. As much as she wanted to believe the worst of that upstart niece of hers, Lady Landis no longer wanted to repeat Stanley Moncrief's wicked tale about Barbara and that nice Lord Dunsford. And she had told Stanley Moncrief a few nights ago at the Radcliff dinner that his wicked tales about dear Lord Dunsford and her niece were nothing but a pack of lies. Why, anyone with two eyes could tell the earl was besotted with her own lovely Emily. That is, anyone except Emily. Thank the Almighty, her daughter had at least been civil to the peer.
Already, Lady Landis's imagination had run wild. My daughter, the Countess of Dunsford. She liked the sound of it.
Now she walked her daughter and her niece to the Radcliff barouche. "I daresay you two never will sit down and have tea with me. Always you must go off together. One would think you were plotting to rob the crown jewels."
"Nonsense, Mama," Emily said, giving her hand to the footman, who assisted her into the coach. "We just like to be together."
Bonny instructed the coachman to take them to Hyde Park. After they were away from Cavendish Square, Bonny asked, "When you were increasing with Harriet, were you allowed to walk, Em?"
Emily's head spun around. "Are you with child?"
Bonny's eyes sparkled. "I think perhaps I am. I'm dreadfully sick every morning. Were you?"
"No. I had a very healthy appetite. I had absolutely no idea I was increasing until I realized I had not had a monthly flow in far too many weeks. So, of course, I walked and did everything as I had before. Then, when Aunt Camille found out, she would not allow me to do anything." Emily took Bonny's hand. "I'm so happy for you. I know how much you love Harriet and how much you have wanted a baby of your own. What does Richard think?"
"I haven't told him yet. I just realized this morning." A contented smile settled on Bonny's face.
"I'm sure he will be delighted."
"Perhaps we had better not walk today. I suppose I need to save the little energy I have. I haven't been able to have a really good visit with you, since I've been sick every day."
"Poor Bonny. I should have come to visit you."
"Nonsense. I understand you've been spending a good amount of time with Lord Dunsford."
"I had not meant to. It's just that I so enjoy being with him. At first it was because he looked so very much like dear Harold. But now I realize they are quite different. Lord Dunsford is much more reserved than Harold." She averted her gaze and spoke softly. "I like him very much."
Bonny's heart began to hammer at what she was going to say. "Em, I have a confession to make."
Emily gave a little laugh. "A confession? Now you sound like Mama. Have you stolen the crown jewels?"
"No. I told Lord Dunsford about Harriet."
Emily whirled around, her eyes like hot coals. "You what?"
"I confirmed what he already knew. Harold's man had told him that Harold and a woman named Emily had conceived a child."
"Then...Higgins knew," Emily said softly, her eyes brimming with tears. "Tell me everything," she whispered.
"The first night I met Lord Dunsford I made the mistake of telling him a friend of mine knew his brother in Spain. I said my friend was a female. Lord Dunsford knew of you from Harold's letters. After that, Lord Dunsford hounded me. He wanted to know if his brother's child was a girl or boy. He pressed me into allowing him to see Harriet."
"He's seen her?"
Bonny nodded solemnly. "Many times. He's grown very fond of her. He...he loves her very much."
Emily sat dazedly staring in front of her.
"Oh, Em, I'm so sorry, but really, Lord Dunsford needed to know about his own niece. He's in a position to see that she gets what she is entitled to as the niece of an earl."
"To be sure," Emily said distractedly.
Emily turned to Bonny. "I shall never again be able to see him. I should die of shame."
"But all these times he's been with you, he has known, and he thought no less of you. If you ask me, he's falling in love with you."
"I could not look him in the face."
This was not a good time to tell Emily about the ear
l's scheme to adopt Harriet, thought Bonny. Emily was distraught enough.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Radcliff heard the sound of draperies sliding back and closed his eyes tightly against the sun. "Good God, man, what are you doing?"
"Perhaps your grace has forgotten that your solicitor is to meet you here at one o'clock," Evans said evenly.
Radcliff opened first one eye then another to the harsh sunlight. "What ungodly hour is it, pray tell?"
"Fifteen past twelve, your grace."
"Blast Mr. Willingham." Radcliff attempted to lift his head from the pillow but was overtaken by great pain. "Be a good man, Evans, and bring me a tisane. I'm afraid I'm not feeling quite the thing."
"I already have it, your grace."
His head aching abominably, Radcliff managed to sit up and drink the elixir in one long gulp.
"May I say that it is good to have you home, your grace. In your own bed. It has been quite some time." Humming happily to himself, Evans went to Radcliff's dressing room and came back with a clean shirt and breeches.
"Thank you, Evans. Town was deuced dull last night, and at one time I did remember that I had to meet with Willingham early today." Radcliff threw off his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Tell me, has her grace had breakfast yet?"
A smirk came over Evans's face. "It has been quite some weeks since her grace has eaten breakfast."
Radcliff shot a quizzing glance at Evans, his brows low. "She doesn't eat breakfast anymore?"
"No, your grace. She appears to be very sick each morning, but her tolerance for food will improve." The valet held out a crisp white shirt.
"How do you know so much about my wife?" Radcliff slid his arm into the shirt Evans held open for him.
"Oh, the whole house knows about the baby, your grace."
"The baby?" Radcliff could not understand what a baby had to do with poor Barbara being sick. And who had a baby around here, anyway? Then, like a shot from a cannon, the meaning hit him. Barbara was with child. The thought made his insides go mushy, a warmth spreading from his heart. He thought of how thin Barbara had been looking, and he ached to think of her being so sick.
And everyone in Radcliff House knew except her husband. He must not let the servants think Barbara had not shared the news with him. He sprang from the bed and threw on his trousers, stalking toward the dressing room that linked with Barbara's room. "I must tend to my wife, Evans. I will dress myself later."
The sight of Bonny sliced into Radcliff's heart. Thin and pale, she lay rigid, several lace-covered pillows propped behind her. Her arms looked like twigs poking from the snow white muslin gown. Shadowy gray circles hung under her tired eyes and her cheeks were hollow.
"You look terrible!"
A wan smile touched her lips. "Thank you, your grace."
Radcliff sat on the bed beside his wife. "I'm told you've been sick for some time."
"I realized yesterday that it might not precisely be sickness. It seems the entire household knows more than I about my own condition." She took Radcliff's hand. "I believe we're going to be parents, Richard." Her face transformed–her eyes no longer tired but lively, a smile playing at her pale lips.
He withdrew his hand. It suddenly occurred to him that the babe might not be his. He had not shared Bonny's bed in months.
"I was very surprised, since we have not been together. Then I remembered that night." Her eyes softened. "Not that I had forgotten it."
That night, Radcliff thought. That night the brandy had numbed his brain and he allowed himself the luxury of sinking into Bonny with a hunger that gnawed at him even now.
Then he thought of Dunsford lying with Bonny, and he wanted to skewer the man on his saber.
He lightly touched his fingertips to her cheeks. It was strange he did not want to kill her. Only Dunsford. Barbara had done everything he asked of her. She had agreed to become his wife. She had opened her body to him completely and without inhibition. She had once even used the word love. He would carry to his grave the memory of her meeting his gaze and saying, "Did it never occur to you that I might be in love with you?"
He had known when he asked her to become his wife that she had given her heart to another. He had taken advantage of her mother's condition to force her into marriage.
And she had been a good wife. Except she had not kept her vow to "forsake all others."
He kissed her hand and got to his feet. "I am very sorry that you have been so unwell, my dear, but I must hurry. My solicitor awaits downstairs."
As he walked toward the door, she called to him in a shaky voice, "Are you not happy about the baby, Richard?"
With his back to her, he swallowed and said, "It is just that it is such unexpected news. I daresay it will take me a while before I get used to the idea."
As he descended the broad marble staircase, Radcliff cursed to himself. "Damn her eyes!" No matter how hard he tried to purge Barbara from his thoughts, the image of her long black lashes shading aquamarine eyes, her sensuous mouth beneath the aristocratic nose crowded everything from his mind. Now he thought of her with Dunsford, her lovely ivory body beneath his.
And he recalled the words to the ballad of "Bonny Barbara Allan."
On his deathbed lay
for love of Barbara Allan.
A few blocks away, Dunsford skipped up the steps to Wickham House and rapped on the door.
It was opened by Styles.
"Please tell Lady Emily that Lord Dunsford has arrived to take her riding," Dunsford said cheerily.
"I regret to say her ladyship is not in, my lord."
"But..." Emily had agreed to ride with him in the park at five o'clock today. He pulled his watch from the fob and glanced at it. Five o'clock. She had not sent him a message canceling their meeting. He had just come from his house. Vastly disappointed that he would not get to see her and concerned over the cancellation, Dunsford handed his card to Styles. "Please leave this for Lady Emily."
Radcliff sat behind his desk and directed his gaze at Jonathan Willingham, the white-haired gentleman who had been solicitor for Radcliff's father before Radcliff succeeded. And Willingham's father before him had served the House of Radcliff since the days of the third duke.
"I have asked you here today, Jonathan, because I do not wish the title to go to my cousin Stanley Moncrief."
Willingham coughed, and his bent-over shoulders straightened. "But, your grace, it is out of my hands. It's the law of the kingdom. Primogeniture. In kindredship, Stanley is the closest male to you in the Moncrief line. The only way to prevent him from succeeding is for you and the duchess to have a male child."
"My good man, we are working on that, but in the absence of my yet-to-be-born son, I desire that you find a way to cut Stanley out."
"Your grace–"
"And while you are working on that, draw up a will that is exceedingly generous to my wife." Radcliff stood up and held out his hand. "Good of you to come, Jonathan."
"Really must go before you win the cravat off my neck." Twigs shot a disappointed glance at Radcliff, threw down his cards, and rose from the whist table in the card room at White's.
Old Lord Higby also got to his feet. "What's that you say? Winning a habit with Radcliff? Upon my word, fellow's got devilishly good luck."
Stanley Moncrief was by no means ready to leave. Quite the contrary. He had waited all night to get his cousin alone. When the others were safely out of earshot, he leaned toward the duke and said, "I say, would you have any objections to my calling on the lovely Lady Lavinia?"
Radcliff's eyes studied Moncrief with blatant insolence. "You ask that of a newly married man?"
"Well, when I saw your wife with Dunsford the other day, I quite naturally assumed..."
Radcliff did not move an eyelash as his gaze hardened. "You assumed incorrectly."
"Then this marriage of yours is a love match?" Moncrief's spirits sank. If the two loved each other, surely an heir would be produced within
the year, cutting his likelihood of succeeding to the dukedom.
"Did you suppose I married Barbara for her dowry?" the duke replied mockingly.
A sly smile curved Moncrief's lip. "It is widely known she had no dowry, your grace, but I thought you might merely want to possess her because she is undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in all of London."
"In all of England," the duke amended, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "And I will thank you to keep your hands off her in the future."
"I daresay if I were married to the most beautiful woman in England I would not be sitting at White's tonight, nor all the other nights of late."
The duke leveled cool green eyes at Moncrief. "Your appetite for gossip is not unlike a woman's, Stanley." He leaned toward Moncrief, his gaze brittle, his voice chilling, and said, "The story about the duchess and Dunsford had best not reach my ears again. I would hate to have to call you out."
That said, the duke scooped up his winnings, nodded at his cousin, and left.
Though it was a cool night, Moncrief wiped fresh beads of perspiration from his brow. He knew he balanced on a very thin wire between victory and oblivion. He would have to be most careful to avoid vexing his cousin any further. The duke's skill with the sword and with pistols was as well known as his appreciation of beautiful women.
A moment later, Radcliff returned, hat in his hands. "And one more thing, Stanley. The duchess and I are to be parents." He turned on his heel and left.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sound of violent retching woke Radcliff the next morning. Not accustomed to sleeping in his own bed, he sprang up to see where he was. Who in the bloody hell could hold his liquor no better than a blade in his first season? The warm claret velvets and rich dark woods of his own chamber made him realize where he was. He shuddered as he listened to the waning sounds of his Barbara's agony.