My Last Duchess

by James, Eloisa

  “I’m no happier than the next person,” she said, looking startled.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Were you madly in love with Sir Peter?”

  “That is private.”

  “Yet you never succumbed to bitterness or ennui,” he said, ignoring her unhelpful response. “You built a life with him, a man whom you’d known for the space of two dances. He enjoyed London, so you accompanied him here.”

  “That is common for married couples,” she pointed out.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been in an unhappy marriage. My wife was unwilling to be in the country for a day more than she had to, although my responsibilities did not allow me to always live in the city. She returned to London without me.”

  “If you would like to marry me because I would put your desires ahead of my own,” Ophelia said, “I think you should return to your former theme.”

  “I will put your desires above my own. You love dancing; if you wish it, we can engage a dancing master to bring me up to snuff. What I am saying is that if I was lucky enough to win your hand, you would be my partner, Phee. I know that Sir Peter would agree with me that a true marital partnership is a gift from God.”

  “Partnership suggests friendship,” she said. “You declined to be my friend.”

  “I wasn’t clear,” he said, frowning. “I want to be so much more than merely a friend. You would be my closest friend, but also my lover. The person I wish to walk beside for the whole of my life.”

  “Hmm,” she said. Her eyes were shining, and Hugo felt a flash of hopefulness. “Let’s go back to the question of whether I am more beautiful than Maddie, which is plain absurdity.”

  He walked closer to her, unable to resist her smile. “To me, you have the perfect nose.” He kissed it. “I adore your chin.” He kissed it.

  “Now I know you’ve lost your mind!” But she didn’t move away.

  “Your lips are exquisite,” he whispered, and dropped a kiss on them. “Your eyes are like deep, like . . . like pools of hot chocolate.”

  She started giggling again.

  “I’m not a poet,” Hugo said. “All I can say is that I am putting my life, my title, my family at your feet, Phee.” He caught her hands in his. “Everything that I am. And fair warning, I shall keep trying to convince you. Last time I saw you, you were adamant that you would have nothing to do with me. But now . . . you allowed me to escort you on this ridiculous errand. You walked into this room with me.”

  He held his breath, hoping.

  “I don’t like seeing you with another woman,” Ophelia confessed, a delicate wash of pink rising in her cheeks. “I didn’t like it at the Frost Fair either.”

  “I won’t marry the lady.” He stated it calmly. “There will never be another woman, if you won’t have me.”

  “You had good reasons for courting her, I’m sure.”

  “Your refusal was not a good enough reason,” Hugo said. “Lady Woolhastings doesn’t deserve a man who is more than half in love with someone else.”

  “Perhaps you deserve more as well,” Ophelia suggested. She took a step toward him. Now they were close enough so that the hem of her skirt brushed his shoe, and he caught a whiff of sweet lemon from her hair.

  “I love that you don’t wear a wig,” he said. “Damn it, you make me feel as unbalanced as a lad of fifteen.”

  Watching her eyes carefully, he took the last step toward her and his arms closed around her. “If you marry me, you’ll lose a part of your freedom,” he said, his voice roughening. “The life of a duchess is not easy, although I will do everything in my power to provide you as much privacy as I am able. I own a large castle and the grounds are protected from the public. We can do as we wish there.”

  Ophelia met his eyes and then cupped his face in her hands, came up on her toes, and brushed his lips with hers. “I think I might give up my freedom for you. What would I miss?”

  “Had I met you while I was married to Yvette and you were married to Sir Peter, I would have said freedom was the right to love you, body and soul. Beautiful, wanton body and proper, delightful soul,” he clarified.

  “I may choose to use my minutes learning how to love you.” Her eyes twinkled. “Or I may not.”

  Her hands fell away and she stepped back. “Your Grace, we must return to the drawing room or our absence will be marked.”

  Blood was running hot in Hugo’s veins. He had a cockstand that was definitely not hidden by his cutaway waistcoat, and probably wasn’t going anywhere as long as Ophelia was within an arm’s length.

  She raised a finger. “We cannot embarrass Lady Woolhastings. You must extract yourself from your obligations, no matter how ephemeral, before you pay me so much as a morning call.”

  A smile burst over his face, together with a wild surge of lust. “After we marry, we shall retire to my castle and live there for a month—six months!—no society, just the two of us.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And a nursery full of children?” But she looked pleased. “I shall take your request into consideration.”

  “May I kiss you, please, Phee?”

  She shook her head. “I would not kiss a man who is nominally another woman’s.”

  A duke always realizes the limits of his power.

  Hugo bowed and kissed his lady’s gloved hand.

  His heart sang.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When had Ophelia decided to marry Hugo? What was the precise moment when she decided to take on eight children, a duchy, and—most importantly—a man who tempted her nearly to madness?

  A man who wanted to live for the next six months in a castle in Cheshire?

  The duke paced along the corridor at her shoulder, seeming as quiet and tame as a house cat. But she could feel the wild energy coursing through him. The air she breathed felt like new wine.

  Hugo knew what a marriage based on that excitement was like; she didn’t. But now she had a glimpse of it, a sense of it, and it was intoxicating.

  Returning to the drawing room, she saw Lady Knowe seated with Maddie and Lady Woolhastings, telling them such an engaging story that they were both leaning toward her. Lady Fernby passed them on her way to the kitchen to address a small problem.

  No one paid attention as Ophelia slipped into the seat beside Maddie; her cousin just squeezed her hand and said, breathlessly, to Lady Knowe, “Then what happened?”

  “They were playing at pirates,” she said now. “Horatius, bless that child, has grown up to be as pompous as a sixty-year-old barrister, but as a boy he could never resist an eye patch. Now he’s eighteen and far too mature to play a pirate.”

  Hugo seated himself beside his sister, ignoring the empty seat next to Lady Woolhastings.

  Lady Woolhastings paid him no attention. Her eyes were round. “You are describing extraordinary behavior,” she said, obviously choosing her words carefully.

  “Not for those varmints,” Lady Knowe said cheerfully. “I often have to send them to bed with only bread and butter for supper. The nursemaids keep honey in the nursery and I pretend not to notice. Am I right, dear Edith, in thinking that your two children are both female?”

  Lady Woolhastings nodded.

  “Boys—particularly Wildes—are a completely different breed,” Lady Knowe said. “Mothering them is a Sisyphean task. Some days I lurch from crisis to crisis.”

  Maddie was patting her stomach as if there truly were a child there. “Oh! I hope I am carrying a boy,” she cried. “I should love to play pirates! Wouldn’t you, Lady Woolhastings?”

  Ophelia squeezed her hand again. Maddie’s irrepressible good spirits would be such a gift to the child she didn’t carry, but who would be her own.

  “No, I certainly would not,” the lady stated, “but I have no objection to children playing whatever games they wish in the nursery. Most nurseries are on the third floor precisely so that noise does not disturb the household.”

  Lady Knowe wasn’t finished. “After they burned down the vicarage—a
n accident, I assure you, and thank goodness, no one was hurt—the vicar asked me, most earnestly, if I thought they should be exercised.”

  “Exercised?” Hugo repeated.

  Ophelia glanced at him and had to look away in order to stop herself from laughing. The duke’s eyes were dancing.

  “Oh, whatever it is you do to evil spirits,” Lady Knowe said, waving her hand.

  “Exorcised. He thought they were possessed?” Lady Woolhastings said. She looked perturbed. “I, for one, would not welcome such an impudent suggestion from a cleric.”

  “A metaphor, I assure you,” Lady Knowe said. “Help me, Duke. Defend your children. Leonidas, for example, isn’t nearly as naughty as the older boys were.”

  “I hate to mention it, but dead chickens come to mind when one thinks of Leonidas,” her brother said cheerfully.

  “That is true,” Lady Knowe acknowledged.

  “Isn’t he merely six years of age? What did he do to the chickens?” Maddie gasped.

  Apparently chicken carcasses were occasionally taken from the kitchen and made their way under the covers of dislikable guests staying at the castle, thanks to little Leonidas, who would tuck them carefully under the coverlets.

  “It isn’t the smell that’s vile,” Lady Knowe said judiciously, “as much as the feathers. They paint them red, you see, so when someone puts their feet down in the bed, they encounter a disagreeably sticky, wet object. When they remove their feet, they appear to be covered with blood. Shrieking invariably ensues.”

  Maddie winced.

  “Naughty,” Lady Woolhastings stated.

  “I believe you know the Bishop of Halmarken, Lady Woolhastings?” Lady Knowe asked.

  The lady’s eyes narrowed. “These children behaved so disgracefully toward a man of God?” For the first time, she seemed genuinely affronted. “I should send them to bed without any supper at all.”

  “They also played the dead-chicken trick on a scion of the Swedish royal family,” Hugo said. “I do not blame Leonidas; after all, he’s only six years old. My older sons planned the trick, even if Leo was dispatched to the royal bed with the infamous chicken.”

  “I know what I’d do,” Maddie exclaimed. She was obviously enjoying herself immensely. “I’d make those boys sleep with a dead chicken at their feet for a whole night. Perhaps a week.”

  Lady Knowe shook her head, her eyes twinkling. “Dearest, think of the nursemaids. They are the most valuable members of a household, as you shall soon learn. They won’t tolerate odor, let alone stray feathers, and one can hardly blame them.” She lowered her voice. “They have much to put up with, as it is. I am loath to admit it, but His Grace’s children have been very slow to learn to use the privy.”

  “Well, that I will not put up with,” Maddie said, nodding her head as if she had the faintest idea how to train a child.

  “Wetting the bed,” Lady Knowe said with a melodramatic groan. “Day and night. During naps until the age of five. We have three more years of it ahead, given that little Joan is scarcely two.” She heaved a lugubrious sigh. “But, of course, they are darling children. Edith met them yesterday and I’m certain she agreed with me.”

  “Indeed,” the lady stated.

  “I brought all eight of them to London. If you don’t mind plain speaking, they are tired of my oversight. I am always having to punish them for this or that.”

  “The boys are at Eton,” Lady Woolhastings pointed out.

  “When they are at Eton. They’re constantly being sent down for some prank. I can’t decide whether Alaric or Parth is the naughtier, but on balance, I think Parth wins. We had to pay the barkeeper after that most unfortunate episode with his daughter.”

  “One of your sons cavorted with a barmaid?” Lady Woolhastings said, turning to Hugo. Her brow was furrowed.

  “‘Cavorted’ is a strong word,” he said.

  It was clear to Ophelia that Hugo knew nothing of the barmaid, and Parth didn’t either. In short, Lady Knowe had begun to embroider the truth in an elaborate effort to alarm Lady Woolhastings.

  “I never share such trifles with the duke,” Lady Knowe said, leaning over to pat Lady Woolhastings on the knee. “A good half of each day is spent soothing the anguished spirits of those who have fallen victim to His Grace’s children. I cannot wait until he takes a third duchess. I mean to retire to an estate I have in Kent and try to recover my lost youth!”

  For the first time, Lady Woolhastings looked appalled. Ophelia saw her assessing Lady Knowe’s wrinkles.

  “They have turned my hair white,” Hugo said with a shrug.

  Ophelia rolled her eyes. She’d seen Hugo’s hair at close range. Perhaps there was a little silver over the ears, but only enough to make him look distinguished.

  Lady Knowe smiled sympathetically at her brother. “As we have both learned, when one has children, particularly so many children, one must give up on life’s vanities.”

  “I did not neglect myself while raising my daughters,” Lady Woolhastings stated.

  “I am hoping that I carry a boy for more than one reason,” Maddie chimed in. “Nothing is crueler than the contrast between the unlined skin of a young girl in the first blossom of youth and the mother who chaperones her.” She clasped her (cotton-filled) belly. “If I carry a daughter, I only hope I shall face the disparity with good grace! Humiliation is too strong a word.”

  “The Wilde girls are, of course, extraordinarily beautiful,” Lady Knowe said innocently. “As you yourself noted yesterday, Lady Woolhastings, Betsy will certainly grow up to be a beauty, and she’s nothing compared to Joan. With her golden hair and perfect features, she will cast everyone in the shade when she debuts.”

  Lady Woolhastings had the look of a woman who has made an important decision. She rose to her feet. Hugo stood, and Maddie jumped up, which caused her “belly” to jiggle alarmingly.

  “I am feeling unwell,” the lady announced.

  “If you’ll forgive me, you do look rather sallow,” Maddie said. “I well remember when your daughter and I attended our first balls together, my mother often retired to bed exhausted.”

  “At your age, dear lady, it is always best to retire early with a restorative,” Lady Knowe said sympathetically. “My own dear mother—”

  Lady Woolhastings bridled. “I am not the age of your mother!”

  “I trust you will feel much improved on the morrow, Lady Woolhastings,” Ophelia said, intervening.

  After a round of courtesies, Hugo led his visibly irritated fiancée toward the door in search of their hostess.

  Lady Knowe, Maddie, and Ophelia said nothing until Lady Woolhastings and the duke had left the room.

  Then Lady Knowe said, with a cackle of laughter, “I thought all the naughtiness would be effectual, but you found the perfect weapon, Lady Penshallow!”

  “Please, call me Maddie,” she said, reaching out and taking Lady Knowe’s hand. “I have a feeling that we might become much better acquainted in the near future. Phee is my dearest relative and I cannot bear to lose her to the wilds of Cheshire.”

  Ophelia felt herself turning pink. “I believe this conversation is uncalled for,” she said. “Nothing . . . That is . . .”

  “Surely my brother has thrown himself on his knees and declared his love? Because he does, you know.” Lady Knowe regarded Ophelia with bright eyes. “He’s in love. Simply dizzy with it.”

  “I don’t know why,” Ophelia said, glancing at the door, but their hostess had not reappeared, and neither had the duke. Presumably he was escorting Lady Woolhastings to her house.

  “I’ll leave the whys up to him,” Lady Knowe said. “If I know my brother, he’ll be able to convince you of his reasoning. All I can say is that I haven’t seen him so happy since Marie died. He made a mistake with Yvette, but he had the best of intentions.”

  “He was trying to find a mother for his children,” Maddie said, nodding. “I thought that was why he asked about Phee. But then it turned out he didn�
�t even know that Phee is an excellent mother. He didn’t know who she was at all.”

  “He’s not in love with her for that,” Lady Knowe said. “Mothering is the least of it. I will warn you, my dear, that my brother seems to be extraordinarily potent. Yvette complained endlessly and swore he wasn’t allowed to come near her without a French letter, but to no avail.”

  Ophelia discovered that she didn’t want to hear anything more about Yvette. Or Hugo’s beloved first wife either.

  Lady Knowe apparently read her expression, because she turned to Maddie without taking a breath. “So, tell me, when will your child be born?” she asked, gesturing toward Maddie’s pillow.

  She turned a little pink. “Three months. Or so.” She cleared her throat.

  “Maddie will stay with me until the child arrives,” Ophelia said, giving Lady Knowe a look that told her the subject was closed.

  Lady Knowe broke out laughing. “In case I didn’t think that you had the gumption to be a duchess, the glance you just gave me would have proved me wrong.”

  Ophelia felt herself turning pink again. But there was one question she had: “Will you really be leaving the castle and moving to Kent?”

  “I would not wish to be in my brother’s household if it would cause the least disquiet in his marriage. It can be difficult if two women share domestic duties.”

  “Oh, please,” Ophelia said, putting her cards on the table. “I adore my daughter. I am growing . . . fond of the duke. But I think about walking into the castle and eight children . . .” She stopped hopelessly.

  “You will grow to love them, because they are vastly lovable,” Lady Knowe said, smiling. “Even when they are naughty.”

  “I was charmed by them yesterday,” Ophelia said. She turned to Maddie. “The three youngest had made up some questions to determine who would be a good mother. Unfortunately, I failed all three.”

  Maddie blinked. “I can’t imagine a better mother than you!”

  “She doesn’t have any false teeth, she would like another baby, and she doesn’t care for the idea of a pet rat,” Lady Knowe said. “Flat failure on all counts and yet, you’ll be happy to know that the nursery was unanimous in their declaration that Hugo should choose you. Horatius announced their decision at dinner last night.”