Duke of Misfortune

by Blake, Whitney

  Mrs. Driffield was staring at her.

  “Have you taken leave of your own mind?”

  “I assure you that I have not.”

  Lee shifted so that he faced her directly. A sensation of desperation twisted through him. “Teddie, you don’t have to…” He couldn’t understand what had driven her to this. He thought he’d made it clear that she was different, that he did not want to simply use her like a pawn.

  Evidently, he hadn’t. But she must have felt it, even if he did not say it.

  “I think I should,” she said.

  “I don’t.”

  “Theodora, we will discuss this in private, away from…” Mrs. Driffield eyed Lee like he was something vile she’d stepped in on the street. He couldn’t quite see her doing it, but her gaze had a nearly physical quality. “Your Grace, I fear we shall have to bid you good day for the moment. Our carriage is nearby.”

  Chapter Ten

  Teddie was sure she was grieving too deeply for a person she had not known long. That was entirely the problem she was hoping to address. It didn’t stop her from staying with her convictions, as much as they wrenched at her. Better to be with a man who was open about his greed than be with someone who had such a deep hold on her—even when he hadn’t been completely truthful. She didn’t know if it was very safe, or advisable. It had to say awful things about her sense and what she wanted out of life that she could be so easily swayed.

  “Think clearly about this, Theodora,” Mother said.

  It had been five days since they’d left Lord Valencourt’s townhouse, and all five had been punctuated with her repeated desire to break things off with the duke.

  She was simply beyond new ways of explaining it.

  “I have,” said Teddie.

  “You will have to work very hard to find another husband.”

  Father was more empathetic, it seemed, to her choice.

  “My dear, what has happened to make you change your mind… especially after…” he looked sidelong at Mother.

  “It is as the duke said. A private matter.”

  “Yes, I had surmised that, given the… way in which… we… found…”

  “I understand that my behavior was neither ladylike nor advisable.”

  Mother dissolved into minor hysterics.

  “This may work for a while, but what if we do not find you a husband before you begin to… to…” she motioned oddly at Theodora’s midriff with her right hand.

  “I will not begin to anything,” insisted Theodora.

  “You will!”

  She refused to go into what they’d done to avoid her falling pregnant. Neither she nor the duke had been a fool. There wasn’t a chance. And thanks to Emma, who was not given to disclosing overt details but had explained the basic mechanics of sexual relations—Mother refused—she was confident she was all right. In that respect.

  Stubbornly, she said, “I will consider whoever shows an interest. That’s all. I won’t be difficult, any more. I promise.” Father appeared to be saddened by her adamancy, Mother unconvinced. “Truly. I shall obey all the rules, spoken and unspoken.”

  “And you trust the duke not to speak out about your…”

  “Yes.” She wondered, if it was so easy to trust him with that—and the invaluable task of not allowing her to get with child—why could she not trust him, otherwise?

  How insipid she had been to bed the man, then break off with him. Now all she had were the memories she’d so dearly wanted in the moment, from a person with whom she would never make more. There had not even been time to make an official announcement of the engagement in the papers.

  She supposed it could all die a quiet death if she kept her wits about her.

  She wished she could confide in her sister. Emma must be lurking about the house, somewhere.

  Among other matters, she desperately needed to figure out how she would explain to any future husband that she was, crudely speaking, spoiled goods. It was possibly the riskiest element of her refusal of Lord Valencourt.

  The only person she trusted enough to discuss it with was her sister.

  Emma might blush, but she had been married, and she was exceedingly pragmatic now that she was a widow. Even if she suffered discomfort while doing it, she would help Teddie reach a plan of action. Some of what Teddie had in mind came from rather lewd novels. There were all sorts of ways, apparently, that women could obscure their pasts from husbands.

  Perhaps, she thought, I could ask a harlot?

  But she had no idea how she would ever leave the house again without someone accompanying her. Bess might be the one designated to do that task, and she would probably go along willingly, yet there was no promise that any chaperone would be someone whom Teddie felt could keep their peace.

  It might, at this rate, even be Hilton sent to protect her.

  Only half-attuned to the conversation that was underway at present, she chewed at her lower lip, preoccupied.

  Teddie was sure Emma was going out of her way to avoid an encounter, but Emma needn’t have been frightened. She couldn’t muster the anger that she knew Emma feared. She felt too lonely and bereft to let her temper get the better of her.

  Naturally, that could change at the drop of a hat.

  It’s probably good, for now, that she stays out of the way. My way.

  Bess had actually hugged Teddie just yesterday. From her maid’s overall attitude, Teddie did not think that Bess was the one who gave up the key information about where she had disappeared.

  Anyway, a little thinking on Mother’s part might have led them to show themselves to Valencourt’s home. It was possible that she’d surmised on her own where to find Teddie.

  They had not remarked on the house’s state, yet, but her parents were not terribly astute people. They might never breathe a word about it.

  Well, she conceded that Father might have been clever enough to note that Valencourt’s townhouse was not in very good repair. He had to have been, anyway. But neither of her parents were particularly observant when it came to the ton and matters of taste, decorating, and abodes. Their own townhouse was probably far too ostentatious for anyone’s real liking, stuffed to the brim with expensive but generally tasteless items.

  No one had taught her mother to be discerning, so Mother overcompensated. Teddie could not blame her and it was not actually a shortcoming, but it did grate.

  “Will you not just go through with things as planned?” Mother asked. She was, for the first time in years, wheedling and not overbearing.

  “I think it is best if I don’t. What sort of duchess would I make?”

  Father, the sweet man that he was, said, “A fine one, Teddie. But will you not rest on this decision a little longer? Just to be certain it’s what you want?”

  Reluctantly, Teddie nodded. She could keep her peace for a few more days. There was little that it would hurt, because she’d already broken her own heart.

  *

  A week after the fiasco in his house involving almost the entire Driffield family, Lee was preparing to go out. Mason hovered around him.

  “Your Grace, she may yet come around,” said Mason, in reply to an offhand remark about fate that Lee didn’t quite realize he’d voiced aloud. Lee tried to look askance at him. They were roughly the same height, but Mason was busy tying his cravat and ensuring his coat was straight.

  He had not really offered an opinion on anything so personal, which Lee didn’t think much of. He hadn’t hired Mason. Thomas had. Therefore, if Mason did have some kind of bias against Thomas and serving another Valencourt male that led him to be more silent around Lee than he naturally might be around friends or social equals, he was entitled to it.

  Nonetheless, the quiet valet seemed to be cultivating a fondness for his new employer.

  “Do you believe so?” Lee said. His wheeze had redoubled in the last couple of days, no doubt due to the stress of recent events. He felt he deserved it, but he sounded rather like he was dying.
r />   Mason finished tying his cravat. “I do. I could see it when she arrived here.”

  “See what?”

  “She is smitten, Your Grace.”

  “She has a funny way of showing it.” Lee did not begrudge anyone the freedom of choice where they saw fit to exercise it, but he failed to see what explanation there could be for a woman passing over his marriage proposal, but also choosing to bed him while they were unmarried—without any plans of ensuring they became so. It boggled his mind.

  Then, perhaps it shouldn’t have. Men did that all the time.

  “I would imagine that she is in an odd position as someone whose family has only just climbed to this echelon. She must be confused.”

  Not for the first time, Lee considered how Mason sounded so educated. He wanted to ask how, but worried that it might be taken the wrong way. People were always full of hidden depths and they interested him, but the interest was not always viewed as kind.

  “I agree, Mason. That’s perceptive of you.”

  Mason stepped back and eyed his handiwork.

  Lee was not going somewhere where he thought he’d be noticed, but it was good practice to be well-groomed. And you don’t really know what Teddie will do—don’t count on her recanting. He’d learned one thing: he felt more deeply about this woman than he had anyone else, and her rejection stung.

  He knew that he’d betrayed her trust, but it was not as though he’d murdered twelve people in his basement or been a grave-robber for the money. On a list of things to despise someone for, he was fairly certain that misleading them about his means was middling-to-low.

  It might have been callous to think, but he needed to look just intriguing enough so that if any other eligible women saw him, they’d think twice about him. He’d give Teddie space for a time, but he needed to have a secondary plan in mind. She didn’t know that he would think of her when he touched another woman, if it came to that.

  More crucially, she didn’t know that their night together had meant something to him. He hadn’t said it. He was petrified that if he had, she would take it to mean he was evading any discussion of what he’d declined to tell her in the first place. He couldn’t remember feeling so mixed up about another person. It was utterly disarming. He was also generally gifted when it came to talking to women, though for a long time—since childhood, most likely—he had not exactly gone after love.

  Passion, yes, and sensory pursuits of almost any kind. Not falling in love, if such a thing existed in the first place. His longest female companion had been Belle, and he had not seen much of her since coming back to England. He hadn’t slept with her since his return, either. It hadn’t felt as necessary as before.

  But if anything, he considered her his most intimate friend who was also a woman. Maybe she would have some advice.

  Getting that advice meant he would have to tell her about his new identity.

  Perhaps he should. She probably already knew, if she was paying attention.

  You need to be more honest.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. If I may be so bold, I think Miss Driffield will surprise you.”

  “She did, and that was the problem.”

  “Then she has the capacity to do so again,” said Mason, nearly smiling.

  Falling silent, Lee considered this. She was not changeable in the sense that she was flighty, but she valued authenticity more than appearances. He had failed to give her that and now she doubted him. That was the crux of her dismay.

  “Did my brother ever have any… anyone?” asked Lee. A grimace crossed Mason’s features. It was the kind of reaction Lee expected. He’d driven everyone away. He didn’t want to make the assumption, but it seemed evident. “No one, then.”

  “I don’t think you will have the same fate.” Mason took a breath. “I am sorry, Your Grace, about what he left you. How he left it, rather. Try not to judge him too harshly.”

  Far from offended, Lee was curious about what he meant. It didn’t feel like a rebuke, but rather, a plea from a friend. But Mason had told him that Thomas was not a kind man. Why was he now speaking with a note of pity? Was it pity?

  Lee said, “I don’t want to think so ill of him that I forget he was just a man. Subject to his own demons. But he and I were never close, and I never knew why. I tried my best.”

  He shouldn’t be unburdening himself to a valet he hadn’t even hired, but he was so tired of weighing his every decision based on its outcomes. He wanted to talk as other men could—as Judd could.

  Christ, how he missed being Judd.

  Mason nodded as though he understood completely and, somehow, it didn’t seem absurd or presumptuous for him to look so knowing. “I am sure of it. Do you know when you will be back? Remember that Mr. Clyde asked after your evening—I think he has some updates from the estate.”

  Until Lee got things truly sorted, Mason would be serving as a secretary, butler, and valet. It was a combination that he seemed oddly used to, but since Thomas had been impecunious for a length of time, Mason was probably used to assuming it.

  Clyde had been in Whitwell for several days now. The estate was enormous and known for its self-sufficiency. Father passed while Lee went abroad and, apparently, it had only taken Thomas a little over a year to bleed things profusely. He’d preferred London life and had since he was a boy, so Lee suspected that it had been easy for him to turn a blind eye to any problems that arose because of his addictive habits. He was never around to see the people he allowed to go without.

  Feeling that he needed to stay in the city, Lee sent Clyde, whom he trusted, to ascertain the state of things. It would also help for the tenants and servants to see a familiar, calm face, and Clyde was that.

  Lee had not been to Whitwell in over two years and while they all must know he was the duke, he didn’t know how he would be received. It was doubtful that tenants, at least, knew the extent of the rift in his family, even if some servants or employees might. The last thing he wanted was to be tarred and feathered with the same brush as Thomas. Father, at least, had always done right by Whitwell, cleverly adding to its strength and value over time.

  “I should think within the next hour or two. I’m just restless.”

  Hopefully, Belle would still be amenable to him dropping in on her.

  It wasn’t the first place he thought of going, but he could use her perspective if she saw fit to give it.

  *

  Belle’s name was Mary Bright and few people knew it, these days. She used a concocted Parisian accent that was exactly what clients wanted to hear. Even now. Although being or posing as French could be a liability, she found that it only enhanced her business. The accent wasn’t realistic enough to see her accused of being a spy, but it was pronounced enough to take in men who felt that a Parisienne was a better experience than an Englishwoman.

  Which she was, by way of Manchester.

  She kept sumptuous rooms not far from the Pall Mall and had a roster of clients whose collective governmental and legislative knowledge could bring down the Empire if used for that purpose. Luckily, she was too fond of her freedom to ever do something that nefarious. Lord Emilian Valencourt was the last and least politically impressive man she expected to see in her foyer, but when her housekeeper told her who called, she allowed him in. He was not an unwelcome sight, she had to admit.

  Approaching him from a sitting room where she had been reading, she said warmly, “Your Grace.”

  “So, you know.”

  “I do know.”

  He smiled. “Of course you know. Am I taking you away from anything or anyone? I don’t want you to lose income on account of me.”

  “Not at the moment, no. I’ve time for a friend. If you make it quick,” she teased.

  “I shall try,” he replied, uncharacteristically grim. “I need your thoughts on something.”

  There was a first time for everything. She arched her groomed, slightly darkened eyebrows. “Diseases aren’t my strongest suit, Valencourt.” She cou
ld identify them and used that skill as a screening measure. But she did not have the stomach for it.

  Shocked, he said, rubbing his face, “Lord, do I have that air? No, thankfully, this is not that kind of call. Although, if I needed an educated eye, I would trust no one else.”

  She chuckled, relieved. “Come through and sit. You do seem rather unwell, and it’s been ages since we’ve seen one another, so what other assumption was I to make?”

  Valencourt had met her as such several years past, when he’d been in the company of Lord Paul Hareden. The two had just begun their exploration of London’s less prim nightlife. The best she could figure, the three of them were around the same age. Both men had met her as Mary, but she trusted them. She knew of their double-lives, too.

  When he had been acting, she was always careful if they were in company that did not know he was also the son of a duke. She called him Mr. Judd or just Judd, depending. She’d been interested to recently see his true name attached to the title that had once been his father’s, then his brother’s. Neither of whom he’d particularly loved.

  “That I am positively without the means to support myself, much less a woman such as you,” he said, sitting down only when she did. “I did not wish to waste your time… though I do believe we’re friends.”

  “The rumors about the duke were true, then,” she said, shaking her head. “Some of them, anyway.”

  She was not just privy to the secrets of politicians.

  Lord Thomas Valencourt had never been one of her men; he had different tastes. But men always talked about other men, especially if they were powerful and thought women did not have minds capable of understanding the depths of their speech.

  It was their mistake.

  Belle knew, through no special effort of her own, that the late Duke of Welburn was woefully invested in bets and games to a completely detrimental effect. She suspected that the ton did not know the bulk of this, or at least they did not know all of this while he was alive. He was a duke, and that still commanded the pretense of respect. Now, though? It was not the case.

  “Rumors?”