by Cheryl Bolen
In ten minutes she was in Cavendish Square, looking up at Wickham House. All the windows were shut, and there were no signs of life within. Setting down her valise in the park area, Bonny decided to sit on a bench and wait another hour or so before waking Emily.
At the first signs of life in Wickham House, she presented herself at the door to a placid Styles. "Allow me to go up to Lady Emily's room, Styles," Bonny said with the full air of a duchess.
He moved aside, swept the door back and bowed–all seemingly in one swift movement. "Your grace."
She handed him her valise. "Put this aside for me, if you please, Styles."
"Very good, your grace."
Once in Emily's room, Bonny found her cousin hard to wake. "Go away, Martha," she barked.
"It's not Martha. It's me, Bonny."
Emily rubbed her eyes and sat up, groggily gazing into Bonny's fresh face. "Whatever time is it?"
"It's very early in the morning, but I had to leave before Richard or anyone in the house woke up, for I am leaving Richard and returning to Milford."
Emily jerked up, fully awake. "You cannot mean that!"
Bonny nodded.
"But you can't. You two love each other."
Bonny took Emily's hand and squeezed it, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Trust me in this. Richard does not love me. He has grown to regret that he married me."
"I will never believe that! One has only to look at him when he is with you."
"There was...an attraction in the beginning, but it has waned."
Emily gazed deep into Bonny's troubled eyes. "Can you tell me your love for him has cooled?"
Bonny shook her head. "But in the seven months we have been in London, he has chosen to share my bed fewer nights than there are in a single week."
Neither spoke for a moment.
Bonny opened her reticule and took out the letter. "I have written this letter to Richard. I want you to give it to him should he inquire about me. And if he doesn't, send it to him next week. I don't want you to tell him where I'm going, though I daresay he will likely guess I have gone to Milford. Where else could I live so cheaply?"
"As the Duchess of Radcliff, I should think you could afford to live anywhere in the world you wished."
"That is if I wished to infringe upon Richard's generosity, which I do not wish to do."
"But, Bonny, he's richer than a nabob. What would he care if you asked for a few hundred pounds a year? Or even a thousand?"
Bonny's lips were a straight line. "I wish nothing from him."
"What about his child?"
"I am persuaded that Richard does not care about the baby."
Emily pushed the stray blond hair from her face. "You cannot be describing the same duke I know. He could never be so insensitive."
"I find it difficult to countenance myself, but he has greatly changed since coming to London. If only we had never come. Things were so wonderful at Hedley Hall. I almost believed him..."
"In love with you?"
Bonny nodded solemnly.
"I cannot believe any of this about Radcliff."
The tears in Bonny's eyes now spilled. "Believe it. If there were any hope, I would never leave, but it's leave him or allow him to kill himself. He is so unhappy with me he is ready to sacrifice himself in service to his majesty and the Wellesley general in order to get away from me."
Emily got up and placed Bonny's letter in a desk drawer. "I suppose I must believe you."
"There is another matter that brings me to you," Bonny said.
Emily came back and sat on the bed beside Bonny, lifting her brows.
"I have talked to Lord Dunsford."
Emily thrust out her chin. "I would prefer that you didn't."
"Since you have not received him these dozens of times he has called on you, he came to see me. He is very distressed over not seeing you." Bonny watched Emily's face for a reaction, but her cousin's expression remained inscrutable. "He has been most unhappy since you refused him your company."
"I am sorry that he is unhappy, for he is a fine man."
"He's also in love with you."
"Pray, do not say such things," Emily begged, her voice shaking.
"I am not imagining it. He told me himself he is in love with you."
Emily's eyes widened. "Was this before he knew that I am not pure?"
"He has always known about you. Because you loved Harry, he looked favorably upon you since the beginning. Then he fell in love with you." Bonny reached for her cousin's hand. "He wants to make you his wife."
A look of stark grief passed over Emily's face.
"Em, just think! You two could marry, and Lord Dunsford would adopt Harriet. The three of you could be so happy."
"How would he explain Harriet?"
"He would say that Harry married a Spanish woman, who died during her lying-in with Harriet. Naturally, Lord Dunsford would be the baby's guardian."
"Nothing could be more wonderful," Emily said softly, "but I cannot allow him to throw himself away on me."
"I am persuaded if you don't accept his suit, he would most likely do away with himself. He is very deeply in love with you."
"But how can he be?"
"Why wouldn't he be? In his eyes, you've done nothing wrong. You loved the only person in the world he loved. Because of you, part of Harry lives still through Harriet. For that, I think he loves you even more."
"But I'm not pure."
Tears slid from Bonny's eyes. "Richard always told me that nothing that happens between two people who love each other could ever be impure."
Emily's face brightened. "But don't you see, Bonny, if Radcliff said that, it means he loves you."
"He never once said, 'I love you.'"
"Did you?" Emily's eyes held rebuke.
Bonny bit her lip and shook her head.
"Why can't you just talk to Radcliff before leaving? Tell him how you feel."
"He is too much the gentleman not to feel obliged to pretend an attachment to me."
"There is no pretending to it, you idiot."
"I pray that you believe me when I say he desperately seeks to remove himself from my presence."
A light rap sounded at the door to Radcliff's library. He put down his ledgers. "Come in."
Marie, her head bowed, slowly entered the room and quietly closed the door behind her. Curtsying, she asked, "Does yer grace have another post for me while 'er grace is away?"
Radcliff's brows lowered. "Her grace away? What are you talking about, woman?"
"Then ye didn't know no more about her leaving than I did?"
"What do you mean?" Radcliff snapped. "What makes you believe my wife has gone away?"
"She wasn't there when I took up her breakfast this morning, nor 'as she returned all day."
"Most likely she is spending the day with her cousin."
"Why would she need a valise to visit Lady Emily?"
Radcliff's heart stopped. "Her valise is gone?"
Marie nodded.
"What else is missing?"
"Not one of her new gowns from Madame Frenchy. Best I can figure, she's wearin' that old black dress she arrived in at 'edley 'all. The black serge. The former duchess's pretty jewels is still 'ere. And the new duchess's pretty nightgowns, too. But 'er old ones is all gone."
Radcliff leapt to his feet, stormed from the room and up the stairs, leaving Marie standing in the library staring after him.
In Bonny's room he went straight to the wardrobe, flinging aside the gowns Madame Deveraux had fashioned. The blue cloak–his Barbara's old blue cloak–was not there. He slammed the door and stalked to the dressing table. On the center of its glass top rested her wedding ring. Had one of his own limbs been severed and served up there, he could not have hurt any deeper.
He fell into her chair. Though he had lost her long before this day, he had had the satisfaction of knowing she was his wife. He had had the torturous pleasure of gazing upon her. Now he had nothing. He
had allowed Dunsford to win. Why hadn't he fought harder for her? His heartless treatment of her had only made it easier for her to leave. A lump formed in his hollow chest.
And for the first time since his mother died, he buried his head in his hands and wept.
From outside in the hall, Evans listened to the duke's deep, racking sobs. He was most alarmed but restrained himself from going to his master. How painful it would be for the rugged duke, a leader among his peers, to let his valet see him crying like a woman.
Evans knew his grace's state of distress was intrinsically linked to the duchess's disappearance. His first reaction to her absence was disbelief. The woman was far too much in love with his grace to leave him.
A pity for both of them, Radcliff did not realize that.
As surprised as he was that the besotted duchess could leave her husband, Evans was more surprised over his master's reaction to her departure. Radcliff had sadly neglected his wife–to such an extent that Evans had grown to believe the duke was no longer in love with her.
But the broken man sitting in his wife's empty room was most assuredly a man in love. And most assuredly thoroughly miserable.
As a father hurts for his wounded son, so Evans hurt for Radcliff.
That fool woman. Why did she have to go off and leave? She deuced well loved the duke–as he did himself. It was that very affection, their mutual love for Radcliff, that had just recently forged a solid bond between the duchess and himself.
And didn't she know a woman in her condition was not supposed to lift things like valises? She might jeopardize the future duke.
Perhaps it was too late to win her love, but it wasn't too late to claim what was lawfully his. Radcliff would be dead before he would let Dunsford take possession of his wife. He should have called out the earl long before, but always he had wanted to keep Bonny's reputation unblemished.
Now she had chosen to tarnish her name and the House of Radcliff. For that, he would blow off the smirking head of the Earl of Dunsford. Or die trying.
He would start at Dunsford House on Half Moon Street. Of course the earl would not be there, but a few quid properly dispersed should sufficiently loosen the servants' tongues as to their master's destination.
Radcliff wondered if Dunsford would be off to his country seat. He did not even know where it was. Perhaps the earl had carried Bonny aboard a ship bound for the Continent. If that were the case, Radcliff might have to employ Bow Street runners to aid in his search.
At Dunsford House, Radcliff dismounted from his stallion, giving the reins to a footman. Handing his card to another footman, Radcliff said, "Announce to your master that the Duke of Radcliff wishes to speak to him."
"I am sorry, your grace, but Lord Dunsford is not in."
Radcliff raised an eyebrow. "Left London, has he?"
"No, your grace."
He's lying. Dunsford, naturally, would have instructed his staff not to divulge his whereabouts. "I am interested in purchasing his barouche. Could you direct me to the stables so that I might examine it?"
"His lordship's equipage is stabled just around the corner," the middle-aged footman said, pointing to his left.
To Radcliff's surprise, Dunsford's barouche was, indeed, stabled around the corner. He sought out the groom. "What mount did Lord Dunsford take today?"
"'E's riding 'is gray," the lad said.
"How long ago did he leave?"
"Noon straight up."
Now Radcliff was more baffled than ever. Clearly, Bonny had left around dawn. And if Dunsford were on a single horse, he could hardly be spiriting off a pregnant woman.
Radcliff walked off, looking up at the blackening sky.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The man beside Bonny in the crowded stagecoach stank of onions and several weeks without bathing. She wasn't so sure now she had done the right thing by not taking a cheap seat on top of the stage, but when they ran into torrents of rain along the way, she held her breath and gave thanks for a dry seat.
When she had boarded the stage at Piccadilly, Bonny had tried to cover her belly so no one would know she was pregnant. Those who held to the old ways might have refused to seat her had they known of her condition. Old wives' tales had it that coach rides would jostle the baby out prematurely, but Emily had assured her these suspicions were totally unfounded.
"Why, I traveled from Badajoz up the Pyrenees not a month before Harriet was born," Emily had said. "And you have seen for yourself how perfectly she turned out."
Now confident that she would not jeopardize her baby, Bonny took a cue from the shapeless flower sellers at Covent Garden and wore most of the clothes she possessed on her back. This disguised her maternity quite well. She planned to do embroidery during the trip to keep something over her lap to hide the roundness that was her child, but gazing at the tiny pattern made her feel sick. It would not do to be sick on her fellow passengers, she decided.
It tore at her heart to remember the last time she had left London. The night she sat beside Richard for the first time. Even now her breathing quickened when she remembered him offering his shoulder for her sleepy head. Tears sprang to her eyes. She ached with a deep emptiness, an overwhelming urge to feel him next to her right now. She would trade all her tomorrows for that one yesterday.
She remembered those raw stirrings that Richard had aroused from the first time she saw him. What could she have done to earn his love?
Many times throughout the long days of the journey, she fought the lulling caused by the monotony of the road. She tried to force herself to stay awake but would find her head drooping as she dozed.
Looking at the odious men on either side of her, Bonny thought how repulsed she would be if either of them offered her his shoulder to sleep upon. But it was as if they sensed something highborn in her. And they knew their place.
Had Richard been attracted to her that first night? Is that why he had offered his shoulder? She remembered when she apologized for robbing him of sleep. With warmth spreading over her like a woolen blanket, she recalled his words that hazy dawn. I don't know when I've ever been more comfortable, he had said.
It was those little reflections that would sustain her in the years to come in Milford.
While Emily had spurned him, refusing to see him, Dunsford took consolation in the fact her mother had been especially fond of him. Of course, he could see through her like fine crystal. The woman clearly wanted an earl to court her daughter.
So the scheming Lady Landis would become his ally.
By now Dunsford had become familiar with the routines of everyone at Wickham House. Lord Landis left at precisely one every afternoon on his gelding. Lady Landis entertained callers at noon and frequently left Wickham House at two. Emily, since he had began stalking her, had left the house less and less.
On this day, Dunsford timed his arrival at Wickham House to coincide with Lady Landis's leaving. As she descended the steps, a liveried footman holding a parasol over her to repel the sprinkling rain, Dunsford stood at the bottom step and extended his greetings.
"Why, Lord Dunsford," a beaming Lady Landis said. "Such a pleasure to see you. Such a stranger you've been lately."
He gave her a sweeping bow. "Not by choice, I assure you, my lady. In fact, I wish to appeal to you today. Can you contrive to help me have a private audience with your daughter?" He wasn't sure if Lady Landis's eyes squinted from the sun or from undiluted pleasure.
"Pray, my lord, come ride with me. I am sure we can devise a plan to get you two together."
Like his heart, the day had been so wretchedly black Radcliff could scarcely tell when night began to fall. He turned his mount off Piccadilly onto Berkeley. He would have to get out of these wet clothes, dress for the evening and begin again his search for Dunsford. Thus far, his queries had proved futile. The earl had not been to Jackson's, Radcliff had learned after a casual inquiry there. A trip to Tattersall's also yielded no information on the whereabouts of Lord Dunsford. Radcli
ff had even gone to Brook's where being a duke afforded him admittance, although Radcliff was not a member of Dunsford's club. But Radcliff's offhand inquiries there about Dunsford had also proven fruitless.
Handing his bay to a hostler, the duke scurried up the steps to Radcliff House, shed his drenched coat and handed it to Mandley. It felt good to be within a warm house. He shivered through every limb. But he must not get too comfortable. He could not stop until he found Dunsford. Even if it took all night.
On the way to his chamber, Radcliff passed Bonny's door and his heart caught. He paused, then knocked on the wistful hope that she had returned. Only black silence answered. He opened the door and stepped into her room. It was in total darkness. Not even a fire in the hearth. How quickly word of the duchess's departure had reached the servants, he thought grimly, stalking through her chamber to the dressing room.
He did not know if it were his imagination or reality that scented the room with her floral fragrance. He thought of lying with her in this very room, surrounded by the dark stillness he now felt. But then he had had the comforting beat of her heart. And now there was nothing.
With that bitter reminder blackening his mood, he opened the door to his dressing room, which was lit by a brace of candles. And there he faced Evans.
"Your grace!" Evans exclaimed. "You will surely take a lung infection. Come, let me help you into dry clothes."
"I regret to say it would be no great loss were I to take a lung infection and depart this world, Evans."
"Do not say such things, your grace," Evans said, removing Radcliff's shirt. "A great many people would grieve exceedingly if anything should happen to your grace."