Wild Passions of a Mischievous Duchess

by Violet Hamers

  She focused on the Duke’s eyes as he stood across from her while the music started up. Happily, the dance was simple, and even in her nervous, agitated state, she managed to follow along.

  “Miss Peaton, I have endeavored to give you the space you asked for,” he said quickly under his breath as their hands touched and they changed places in the line.

  Elizabeth’s head swam as she curtseyed to the unknown gentleman next to her and was twirled under his arm.

  “But I must speak to you again. Not here. Alone.” The Duke whispered as she returned to him. His fingers grasped hers and she tried to focus her attention on the sensation of his steadying grasp.

  “Yes, of course,” she mumbled automatically.

  She and another lady twirled around each other and Elizabeth found herself arm in arm with the Duke as they walked through the line of dancers in time with the music.

  “Miss Peaton, are you all right?” she heard him ask, though she felt as there was a thickening fog between her and the ball.

  “Yes, I…well, no. I feel very strange all of a sudden.” The words were clear enough in her head but when she said them out loud she was surprised at how slurred and confused they sounded.

  “Perhaps you need some fresh air,” the Duke said. There was a sound of concern in his voice that comforted her somewhat. Her disorientation was only growing worse by the moment, but she struggled to put into words what was happening. She clung to his arm, squeezing it tightly as he abruptly led her away from the dance and towards a door that opened to the grounds.

  They were nearly to the door, in fact she could feel the cool night air wafting in, when her vision swam before her eyes and she felt herself stumbling. She had the terrible feeling that she was going to be sick there on the ballroom floor in front of all of these fine ladies and gentlemen. The last thing she remembered was the Duke’s hands at her waist as she crumbled.

  * * *

  At first Gerard thought that she was merely nervous. Perhaps she was not confident that she knew the steps to the dance. Perhaps she was nervous to be with him again. She did not seem particularly eager to dance with him, but at the same time, she did not reject him outright either. A small glimmer of hope lighted his steps as the dance began, but in short order her demeanor changed. She seemed to whither before his very eyes.

  He was certain she was going to faint. Not knowing what had brought it on, he tried to hurry her outdoors in the hopes that the cool air would revive her. They only made it halfway to the door, however, before she stumbled over her own feet and toppled over. Luckily, he caught her around the waist as she fell and he was able to lower her down gently so that she didn’t hurt herself from the fall.

  Her limpness and the ghastly paleness of her face alarmed him as a call went up around him.

  “A physician!” he heard someone call out.

  “Miss Peaton,” he said, touching her face. “Miss Peaton? Can you hear me?”

  He’d been witness to a couple feminine swoons in his life, but it was not as common as the playwrights would have had one believe. And the swoons he had witnessed had been short ordeals, the women coming to almost immediately upon fainting. Elizabeth remained motionless, even as Bridget appeared at his side, procuring a jeweled vial of smelling salts that she thrust under Miss Peaton’s nose, to no avail.

  “I’ll send for a servant to carry her up to her room,” Bridget said quietly. “She won’t like to come to with everyone looking at her.”

  Gerard nodded, encouraged that his sister seemed to believe that she would rouse herself at any moment.

  “Take this. Keep trying once you get her up there,” she continued, thrusting the smelling salts into his pocket. “She doesn’t look well at all.”

  Gerard watched as a servant slid his arms behind Miss Peaton’s back and her knees, rising slowly. Her head lolled back alarmingly. She was limp as a rag doll and the lifeless look of her body made his pulse quicken with fear as he pushed past the concerned onlookers and followed them to her own room.

  The room was small and tidy, little touches of her personality scattered about the tight space. The sound of the ball faded away as her door swung closed behind him and the servant laid her gently upon her neatly made up bed.

  Bridget’s lady’s maid had arrived to take the place of the male servant who had carried Miss Peaton, and she hovered anxiously about the foot of the bed.

  Miss Peaton looked even paler up there in that quiet room, and he tried to stifle the panic building in his chest as he slid the vial of smelling salts under her nose again. She was absolutely indifferent to it.

  He could hear his own breath, but not hers. Putting the useless vial down on the little table near her bed, he reached for a hand mirror that was laid next to her hairbrush. He held it up to her face, and was only slightly relieved to see the faint clouds of her breath across the glass. She was breathing, but barely.

  He lowered his ear to her chest, which was more exposed in the borrowed gown than he had ever seen it. At first he couldn’t hear her heartbeat at all, but then the faint thumping came. He rested there, with his head against her breast, listening intently and trying to determine if her heartbeat was slowing, until the door opened.

  Bridget came in, her face flushed.

  “I’ve convinced everyone to carry on with the ball, and that she’s perfectly fine. But Mr. Reeve has been sent for. She doesn’t look well at all. Still unconscious?”

  Gerard nodded mutely as Bridget came and kneeled next to him.

  “The smelling salts didn’t do anything?”

  He shook his head. “She’s breathing but very faintly.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Bridget replied, but her voice was thin and unconvincing. “Let us get the pins out of her hair, it wasn’t styled for laying down and it may be uncomfortable.”

  Until the physician finally arrived, the brother and sister occupied themselves with other such small measures they could think of to make Miss Peaton comfortable or rouse her. A cool damp rag was placed on her forehead, her gown was loosened, and her slippers taken off, but by the time the physician arrived she was still as motionless as ever.

  “Mr. Reeve, thank goodness,” Gerard said, jumping up as the physician pushed open the door and shut it behind him.

  “This is the lady?” the short, bespectacled physician asked. “I hear that she just collapsed without warning?” He went to the bedside and began laying out his tools on the bedside table.

  “Not entirely without warning.” Gerard corrected. “I noticed that she seemed unwell as we were dancing. She had a glassy look in her eyes and her words were slurred when she tried to speak. I tried to get her outside for fresh air but she collapsed before we made it there.”

  “Had she been drinking?” Mr. Reeve asked.

  “Half a glass of champagne, if even that. Certainly not to excess,” Bridget responded.

  The room fell silent save for the faint shuffling sounds of the physician as he examined his patient. Gerard and Bridget stood back anxiously, sharing a couple glances, not knowing what else to do but stand there dumbly.

  The physician pried open Miss Peaton’s mouth, sliding his finger across the inside of her cheek. He pushed up her eyelids, one at a time, to examine her pupils. He listened to her heart and checked her breathing. After what felt like an age, the physician straightened up, twisting his hands in a way that made him look anxious.

  It was a look that brought the panic bubbling back up as the physician turned to face them.

  “I would advise for a constable to be called at once to the house,” Mr. Reeve said gravely.

  “Constable? Whatever for?” Bridget asked.

  Gerard’s hairs were standing on end at the back of his neck as he predicted, with mounting fear and anger, what the physician would say next.

  “I’ve reason to believe that this woman has been poisoned. I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think it was a lethal dose, at least.”

  “Poisoned?�
� Bridget cried, her wide, shocked eyes darting to Gerard. “Are you quite sure?”

  The physician was also looking at Gerard warily. “Yes, quite sure.”

  For a moment, Gerard thought that he would soon join Miss Peaton in fainting. The ground shifted beneath his feet as the room seemed to tip to one side, then another. He gripped the back of a chair, trying to focus on his breath. Steady, in and out.

  It is happening again.

  “I shall fetch the constable myself,” he forced himself to sound strong as he straightened up again. “Bridget, please stay here with Miss Peaton. Do not let anyone in this room. I’ll send a man to guard the door.”

  Bridget nodded fearfully and Gerard rushed out of the room. Down in the ballroom, he gathered up three trusted friends. One to stand in front of Miss Peaton’s bedroom, and two to keep guard by the front door.

  “Do not let anyone leave,” Gerard instructed.

  “What’s happening, Your Grace?” one of the men asked.

  “A crime has been committed. Do not spread word of it, but no one must leave until the authorities arrive.”

  Having a mission to complete at least gave him an outlet for the energy that was coursing through him. As he climbed into a carriage, the cool night air mussed up his hair. He’d not spared a thought for his hat, and soon he was tearing off into the city.

  Flashbacks haunted him as he approached the home of Detective Collins. The wind seemed to work its way through his waistcoat and whisper in his ear, “Remember this? Remember this?”

  He knocked impatiently.

  “Your Grace,” Detective Collins said, opening wide the door. “It’s been some time. I didn’t know you were in London.”

  “It’s happened again, Detective Collins. You must come with me.”

  The lanky detective’s eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I will explain on the way. Hurry, please.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Detective Collins said as they rode back to Stonehill.

  Gerard could not sit still. He perched on the edge of the seat, drumming his hands on his knees as he prayed that the coachman would drive the horses faster.

  “There is a ball underway at Stonehill.” Gerard began. “I was dancing with a lady. A lady I’m…interested in. And suddenly this awful look came over her, as if she was going to be sick. In the middle of the ballroom, she collapsed. We brought her up to her room and the physician was called. Mr. Reeve believes that she was poisoned.”

  “Her room? Is the lady a guest at Stonehill?” Detective Collins asked.

  Gerard shook his head agitatedly. “No she’s…she’s Lord Limingrose’s governess.”

  “I see,” Detective Collins said coolly, though Gerard wondered if he was forming opinions about Miss Peaton. A governess involved with a Duke. Gerard had worried about how such a relationship would reflect upon himself, but had considered less the things that people may think of her.

  “You think it could be the same person?” the detective asked.

  “It has to be,” Gerard broke in. “What are the odds that it isn’t?”

  Whoever did this, the man who ruined my life, the man who murdered Christine…he is there. Right now. At Stonehill. Milling about the ballroom as if nothing had happened…

  “Where is this governess now? Secured?” Detective Collins asked.

  “Her name is Elizabeth Peaton.” Gerard said. “She is upstairs in the room off the nursery. My sister is with her and there is a man stationed outside the door. Also, I put two men at the entrance to the house and told them to make excuses to prevent anyone from leaving.”

  Detective Collins smiled weakly at Gerard. “You’d have made a fine constable, Your Grace.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Walking back into Stonehill was like stepping into a strange world. The ball was still in full swing. It seemed that everyone had already forgotten the unknown lady who had fainted in the middle of a dance. Faint, jaunty music wafted through the manor as the men hurried up the stairs towards the nursery.

  Jonathan was standing just outside the door to Miss Peaton’s room, looking anxious.

  “There you are. Bridget has just told me what’s happened. No one has come or gone. Good evening, Detective Collins.” His words came all in a rush.

  “Good evening, Your Grace. So sorry to meet again under such circumstances,” Detective Collins responded as he was led into the small room.

  When Christine had died, the investigation into her murder had been expansive. Everyone who knew her or was connected to her in any way had been questioned. The stalled murder investigation cast a pall over London society all those years. The unanswered question, the knowing that a murderer was among them still, was something people had grown tired of talking about.

  But now the threat was back in full force.

  As they walked in, Bridget stood from where she had been kneeling next to Miss Peaton. Rosaline had joined them and grasped Bridget’s hand.

  “There’s been no change. The physician has left and said he will return in the morning to check on her again, but there’s nothing to be done really except to wait.” Those words of helplessness clearly frustrated the Duchess, who was herself a lady of action. Patiently waiting for Miss Peaton to wake up and tell her story would be difficult, indeed.

  “I shall take up a position at the front of the manor. As people begin to leave, I’ll get everyone’s names. Everyone’s. Your Grace, I assume that you have drawn up a guest list for this evening?”

  Bridget nodded, already heading to the door to go and retrieve the list from her desk.

  Gerard cast one lingering glance at Miss Peaton, so still and pale on the bed, before following the detective downstairs. He could be of more use than in that little bedroom. As the younger man took down names, Gerard could at least watch people’s behavior, and see if anyone was acting nervous or strange.

  The sight of a detective at the door did cause a bit of a stir as the crowds began to disperse and head home for the night. Gerard kept his expression stony as he fielded idle questions about what had happened.

  The night dragged on interminably. Around one in the morning, Detective Collins returned home with his lists and whatever leads he’d come up with, along with promises to return when the victim was awake.

  Gerard returned to the room off of the nursery. Bridget was still there, though she had then taken up her vigil in the chair rather than kneeling at the bed.

  “You should get to bed, Bridget,” Gerard said, his voice gravelly.

  “I’ve had Dorothy help me to undress her and get her nightgown on,” she replied, as if she had not heard him. “I’m afraid to leave her alone.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” he responded. “The maid and I. She won’t be left alone until we find whoever did this.”

  Bridget nodded solemnly, standing up. She crossed the room and reached up to touch Gerard’s shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, Gerard,” she said gently.

  He frowned, not knowing what to say as she left. Quietly, he pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, loosening his cravat with one hand as he slouched, settling in for a long, wakeful night.

  * * *

  The following day saw no change in Miss Peaton’s condition. Gerard was still in the same spot when Bridget knocked softly and came in as the sun was rising.

  “Gerard, you look terrible,” she whispered.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve arranged for Jonathan to take Thomas out with him today. He’ll be happy for the break from his lessons, at least. Jonathan said he’d make an excuse for her, that she’d just fallen ill with something minor. Thomas doesn’t need to know that she…” Her face looked tight and drawn and she didn’t finish her sentence. “Has she stirred?”

  Gerard shook his head. “No, but her breathing is not quite so faint anymore.” He rubbed his eyes and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I’ll just go wash up and change my clothes.”

  �
�I’ll stay here,” Bridget said with a small smile. “Please eat, too.”

  Mr. Reeve arrived shortly after Gerard had splashed his face with water cold enough to rouse him from the sleepless fugue that had fallen over him in the night.

  “Her condition has improved already,” the physician assured them. “Thankfully, it seems that the dosage she received was not strong enough to harm her very much. She’s just sleeping now, nothing worse than that. Call for me again when she awakens, but until then, let her rest and don’t worry. All will be fine.” This last he said with a meaningful look at Gerard.