Stephens looked dubious, but answered, “Yes, Your Grace, perfectly clear.”
Two hours later, Duncan slipped out through a window in the back of Bentley’s. Had anyone seen him, he would have been arrested for a thief or a housebreaker as he in no way resembled the elegant man who had returned to Bentley’s earlier. Changing his walk from the erect stride of a gentleman into the rolling back-and-forth gait of a sailor, pulling a dirty wool cap low on his head and slouching a bit, he transformed from duke to dock worker. He found The Mermaid’s Tail Tavern and slumped into a chair, ordering a pint from the barmaid when she approached his table.
“Squinty Fred been in recent?” he mumbled around his beer.
“He’s here every day about this time,” she said. “He stops in when he gets off for a pint or two. Bide awhile. You’ll see him.”
Duncan relaxed back into the chair and nursed his beer for the better part of an hour. He had about concluded that Fred was not sticking to his routine and was just about to ask the barmaid to leave a message when the man he waited for walked through the door. Fred scanned the interior of the tavern, passed over Duncan, returned to him, and then moved on again. Grabbing a heavy glass mug from the bar, he sauntered over and sprawled into a chair at Duncan’s table.
“You be a sad dog, Capt’n. Heard you now a square cove come all a nob, a duke or some such, even got yourself a rum doxy, gonna get leg-shackled.”
“For the love of God, Fred, the King’s English if you please.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“I have a little something I need you to do for me.” He surreptitiously slid some large denomination banknotes folded in half toward Fred.
The man subtlety disappeared the notes from the table into his filthy wool jumper. “Thought you was out of the hugger-mugger game.”
“Not entirely. This is personal. I need you to find a man.”
Fred leaned forward. All trace of the docks vanished from his speech. “You have my attention.”
He slipped back into Bentley’s the same way he left and crept up the stairs to his chambers where he stripped rapidly out of his plain clothing. There was no need to wake Stephens. He desperately needed sleep. He’d not had any in almost forty-eight hours. Had he allowed himself the emotion, he could easily sink into despondency contemplating the actions he would take on the morrow. Rather than feel anything at all, he lay on his bed and passed out.
He awoke the next morning and had his valet rig him out in an elegant set of attire consisting of a deep blue wool cutaway coat; silver figured-damask waistcoat with silver buttons; black silk cravat tied in the ‘cascade’ with silver stick pin; and a high-collared white linen shirt with moderate points and cuffs with gathers but no lace. He added his pocket watch and chain, and the valet added several silver fobs as “all the gentlemen are sporting them these days, Your Grace.” Trousers of buff-colored wool, drawn tight by a stirrup under the arch of the foot and his feet in half-boots of brown leather completed his ensemble.
“You look bang up to the mark, Your Grace,” admired his valet. “Excellent choice in attire.”
“Thank you.” Florence had chosen all the items he wore that day. The pain from that thought was brutal.
“Stephens, I will not need you for the next three days. Here.” He handed his surprised valet two pounds. “Take yourself somewhere on a brief holiday. I do not want you here when I come back. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Ah…thank you, Your Grace.”
Duncan picked up his gloves, hat and walking stick, descended the stairs and left through the front door. The cab he had flagged brought him to Florence’s doorstep entirely too fast. He stepped out of the cab and instructed the jarvey, “Wait for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
A smiling footman answered the door and swung it wide, indicating he should enter. “Good morning, Your Grace. Her ladyship is in the morning room.”
Duncan stepped through the threshold while the footman closed the door behind him but went no further. “I am not coming in. Please ask Lady Lloyd-Smith to come to the door.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Florence appeared shortly thereafter, her face alight with joy. “Duncan, how fared you at Chelsony? Take off your hat, your coat. Surely you can stay? I haven’t seen you in over two days, and I missed you, terribly.” She reached for his gloved hands, and her gay laughter rang down the hall. “We’ve had the sweetest notes of felicitation from Major Abernathy and Julia. Word of our engagement has traveled on wings if it has reached Bath, and I have engaged a French modiste to design my gown. I am determined to outshine all other brides this season.”
How everything he had ever wanted in life could be embodied in one woman was past his understanding. That he was about to inflict upon her an incredible hurt slayed him beyond measure and made him more curt than he should have liked. He pulled his hands from hers and held them behind his back. “Florence, stop talking. I have something to say to you, and I need you to listen.”
She straightened in surprise but composed herself pleasantly. “Behold, I am listening.”
He fixed his gaze over her head. He could not bear to look in her eyes. “Our engagement is off. I am ending it. I cannot marry you.” He set his jaw and willed himself to stand in place.
“What? Are you serious? You cannot marry me?” When he did not answer her, she backed away and studied him. “You are serious.” Incredulity infused her voice. “Why won’t you look at me? Duncan? What do you mean you cannot marry me? Why?”
He was vicious in his pain. “What word is unclear in meaning? I cannot marry you. There will be no wedding. A two-year-old could comprehend.” He had to leave. Now. He nodded stiffly. “Good day, Florence.”
He opened the front door and hastened to the cab still waiting on the street followed by Florence, her voice pleading, “I don’t understand. Please, talk to me. Give me a reason. Please, Duncan!”
He leaped into the cab and slammed the door while shouting orders to the jarvey, “Bentley’s, St. James Street. Quickly. Don’t spare the horse.”
In his chambers, he sat down with a bottle of whiskey and uncorked it. Foregoing a glass, he upended the bottle and downed swallow after swallow, intent on draining the bottle as rapidly as possible. He planned to stay comprehensively drunk for the immediate future.
Chapter Seventeen
“And he gave no reason?” Eleanor sat next to Florence in the morning room of Eleanor’s townhouse on the afternoon following Duncan’s devastating pronouncement and held Florence’s hand in commiseration.
“None.” Florence looked at her friend’s compassionate face through swollen eyes that would not stop shedding tears. “That is why I am here, to beg you to ask Miles to speak with him. Give me a reason for his change of heart. Have I done something unforgivable? Have I said something that has given him a disgust of me? I have worn myself thin cudgeling my brain for the slightest hint of cause. I have gone to his rooms at Bentley’s, but they turned me away. Women are not allowed, nor would they admit Mr. Greyson. He will not answer my many written requests to speak with him elsewhere, nor respond to my pleading for a simple line of correspondence stating his reasons. Please, Eleanor, will you please ask Miles to speak with him?”
Her friend’s arms wrapped her and held her as she sobbed into her handkerchief. She had exhausted herself with grief and the futility of her efforts to obtain any communication of any sort from Duncan. Appealing to Miles for intercession was her last hope for getting an answer to the questions that bedeviled her.
“Of course. I will ask him now. Do you wish to come?”
Florence shook her head. “If you, whom he adores, cannot sway him, I have no hope to, and men dislike crying women above all things.”
“Miles, I need to speak with you. Are you busy?”
“Whatever else I do, it is never more important than you, Eleanor.” He put down his pen and smiled at her.
Eleanor considered the
inordinately handsome man sitting at the writing desk in her library, and wondered all over again that she, an aging spinster firmly on the shelf and of only moderately pleasing looks, should have had the good fortune to become his wife—a good fortune that Florence had had a strong hand in assisting. She determined, even more, to convince or cajole Miles into discovering the reason Duncan so abruptly and hurtfully terminated his engagement to Florence.
His smile slipped. “Has it to do with the babe?”
She huffed in amusement. “No. The babe and I are quite fine.” She sobered. “It is Florence.”
He sighed back into his chair. “Ah.”
“You have heard your brother has ended their engagement?”
“Yes.” He paused for a long moment and considered her. “Duncan told me that was his intention.” He rose, walked around the desk and took her hand. “Come, dearest.” He led her to a large wing chair, sat and pulled her into his lap.
She snuggled into him and laid her head on his broad shoulder. “Did he tell you why?”
Her husband’s chest rose and fell under her in a long inhale and exhale. “Yes, but I am not at liberty to share his reasons.”
“Hmm.” She thought for awhile as her fingers traced his mouth. “Knowing his reasons, did you agree with his decision?”
Miles was silent for many ticks of the mantel clock. “Though it gave me no pleasure, yes. Ultimately, to end his engagement and not see her again was his only recourse.”
“Does he still love her?”
“Yes. It is because he loves her that he will not marry her.”
“Are you certain you cannot tell me? This is Florence, Miles. Her heart is breaking and mine with hers to see her in such an agony of unknowing and despair.”
He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back of it. “I gave him my word. Would you have me be foresworn?”
She sighed. “No. Though it seems too cruel to afflict Florence with such heartbreak and bitter disappointment and not tell her why.”
“He also suffers, dearest. I think no less than she. No matter how you feel about his treatment of Florence, I would ask that you be kind to him when next we see him.”
“I will.” She settled further into his chest, and silence descended as she basked in the strong arms that wrapped her in love and security. She felt guilty for doing so and wondered how she could console her friend.
“That is the end of it?” He chuckled. “How unlike you.”
She sat up on his lap and looked at him eye-to-eye. “You are an honorable man not given to unkindness of any sort. If you say Duncan’s decision was unavoidable, I believe you. If you say you cannot tell me.” She lifted a shoulder. “I will not have you foresworn.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss on his mouth. “I suppose I am saying I trust you to do what is best.”
He smoothed her hair from her face. “I love you, Eleanor. Thank you for trusting me.”
“I love you, and you are welcome.” She gave a sad smile and rose with some difficulty due to her ungainly belly. “Now I have the thankless task of trying to console my inconsolable friend.”
Florence studied Eleanor’s face through bleary eyes. “Miles will not speak with him,” she accused.
Eleanor settled into the same position beside her and once more took up her hand. “Miles has already spoken with Duncan. Duncan discussed with Miles the reasons that led him to breach his promise to marry you, and Miles agreed that his decision was his best recourse.”
Florence stared at Eleanor in disbelief. “Duncan told Miles he was going to jilt me, and your husband supported his decision? My God, Eleanor, I had no idea Lord Miles held me in such strong dislike.”
A pained expression filled Eleanor’s face. “He does not dislike you, dearest. Miles holds you in the greatest of affection, and it is because of that I trust his decision is the correct one. You know Miles, Florence. He is good and kind and generous. No matter how close he is to his brother, he would not support Duncan’s action if he did not feel it was the right one.” Eleanor squeezed her hand. “Miles did tell me that there has been no altering in Duncan’s sentiments toward you. While it makes no sense to me, Miles stated it was because of his love for you that Duncan took such a dishonorable action.”
Because of his love for her? The bitter pain Florence felt incapacitated her. She could not draw a breath. Spots appeared before her eyes and for the second time in her life, she fainted.
She regained consciousness lying on the sofa of the morning room. Miles sat in a chair next to the sofa and held one of her hands. Eleanor hovered anxiously next to him.
She jerked her hand from his and stared at Miles. “Why do you hate me so?”
“Eleanor said you thought as much. I don’t hate you, Florence. Nothing could be further from the truth. As Eleanor loves you dearly and you have been the staunchest of friends to her, I love you as well and want only what is best for you.”
Tears welled in her eyes and streaked down her temples. Sobs caught in her throat. “And the Duke of Chelsony is not best for me. Is that what I am to believe?”
He studied her, frowning slightly, his features arranged in a compassionate expression. After some consideration, he said, “At the moment, no.”
“At the moment, no,” she parroted and spat, “Whatever that means.” She pushed herself up to a sitting position. “I am to believe it was in my best interests that Duncan destroyed my heart and publically humiliated me, though I cannot know the reasons, and furthermore, I am to believe this was done from his surplus of love for me? God defend me if the man should ever come to hate me, for if what I suffer now comes from his love for me, I should not survive his hate.”
She welcomed the fiery rage that suffused her as it burned her grief to ashes. She held Eleanor with a steady gaze. “I do love you, Eleanor, and I will not be the source of dissension between a wife and her spouse, but I bitterly dislike your husband’s disdainful treatment. I am not a child to be managed by ‘wiser’ men. I will have a say in the direction of my life. It would be best if we did not see each other until I can temper my emotions.” She rose and with a stricken Miles and Eleanor looking on, gathered her things and left.
Eleanor turned worried eyes to her husband. “Dearest, are you very sure you cannot tell me?”
“Eleanor…” He shook his head, his face a pained expression of regret. “I cannot.”
She sighed and offered him a weak smile. “I will call on Florence in a week or two. Perhaps by then, she will have forgiven me for marrying you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Greyson had the good sense not to say a word to her. She threw herself into the plans for her Calcutta shipyard. That the success of that venture rested on a surety given by a man who had proved faithless didn’t concern her overly. The Duke of Chelsony would find it difficult to extricate himself from a binding legal document, and she would fight him viciously in court should he try. As opposed to say, a proposal of marriage, which was merely an oral commitment and while men had been sued in court for ‘breach of promise’, she had no stomach for it. She wanted to mend her shattered emotions and move on. As such, she kept to her full social schedule, not missing a single affair, soiree, musicale, invitation to the theater, opera, or drive in the park. What hours of the day not spent on business, she threw into the distraction of ‘the season’. At this time of year, it was at its height, and invitations to a vivacious, beautiful woman were not lacking. Plus, there was the delicious scandal of Lady Lloyd-Smith’s groom jilting her to be gossiped about wherever she went. She could see the conjecture on people’s faces, noted the abrupt hush and sudden change in topic when she joined a group. They probably theorized reasons for why he had left her; speculated on what unforgivable breach of behavior she’d committed that caused him to cast her off. She’d happily tell them the truth if it meant she’d know herself.
It was nothing for her to be out until three or four in the morning and rise at ten that same morning to spend h
ours in her study. She’d have a light dinner, dress for whatever function she would attend that evening and leave her house by seven. When Eleanor called on her two weeks after her tempestuous departure, she graciously received her and invited Eleanor and Miles to dinner as an offering of peace.
She should have collapsed into her bed in the small hours of the morning in emotionless exhaustion. How she wished. Instead, she reached for him when half-asleep, she sought out his smell in the pillows where his head had lain and kept a cravat he’d left behind in the drawer with her perfumes and scented soaps. A hollowness grew inside her that had previously been filled with Duncan, and she on more than one occasion dashed inappropriate tears from her outwardly smiling face before her host or hostess could comment. Her grip on her emotions was dubious at best.
“My lady…you cannot continue like this.” Greyson had looked up from the circular table in her study where they both sat to look over final hull designs and found her gazing into space, lost in memories of a happy evening spent with Duncan doing this very same thing. Afterward, he’d made love to her on the floor. Tears trembled on her lower lids. When she blinked, they fell to her cheeks.
“How else shall I go on, then? I cannot think of a way other than distraction or fatigue. How would you have me go on?” she asked with genuine sincerity. “Tell me. I will do it.” She dashed the tears from her cheeks only to have them replaced by more. “Anything is better than missing him so terribly.”
“I do not know what to say, my lady, other than I wish you would take better care of yourself.”
Her laughter flirted with hysteria. “Short of removing my heart and feeling nothing at all, I cannot think of how I might alter my present condition for the better.”
“Perhaps feeling nothing at all might offer you a needed respite … if you can accomplish such a thing.”
“I think it is inevitable. As a cruelly beaten horse will arrive at a point where he no longer feels the fall of the lash, so will I arrive at a point of such pain I will no longer feel the loss of him.”
A Destitute Duke Page 15