A Destitute Duke

by Patricia A. Knight

  “Hmm. That I think. Her phaeton is yellow. Blue always looks better with yellow.”

  “I am driving my phaeton?”

  “Yes, darling,” Lord Seville tsked. “Please do pay attention and try to keep up. .

  A half smile formed on her mouth and with a sense of bemused inevitability, she got dressed in her sky blue military-style driving outfit with a rakish sky blue hat sporting an enormous white ostrich plume—there’d been a heated argument about that, Henry for, Julian against—tan kid gloves, tan half boots and drove out in her yellow perch phaeton pulled by a prime pair of chestnut geldings named Mercury and Mars who possessed blazing speed.

  Of course, she eagerly bought them for the price Henry required. For, as she told Greyson later, they were worth far more—a hallmark of Lord Seville in his dealings with her. While he always warned he would pluck her of her money like a goose plucked for dinner, in actuality, he did the opposite. Her heart filled with gratitude when she recounted to herself the history of his generosity to her. She thought very few men his equal—his kindness hidden behind an urbane manner of disregard and sardonic wit—and regarded both him and Baron Anthony with affectionate love.

  Lord Seville and Baron Anthony’s intervention helped for a short time, but it wasn’t a permanent cure.

  She was not in the slightest surprised to see Lord Seville in her drawing room a week later.

  “Hello, Henry. Have you come to drag me out again?” she laughed.

  “No, darling Florence. I have come to ask you to marry me.”

  She stood and stared at him. “Ummm. You are asking me to marry you, as in be your wife? Lady Seville? To love and cherish until death do us part?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “I care for you very much, Florence, dear. I believe I even love you in my own way. You have spoken many times about your desire for a family, for children. Well, I can give you a very comfortable life that includes children.”

  “You can?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, dear. I am conversant with the mechanics involved, and all my parts are in working order.”

  “At the risk of seeming indelicate, have you ever been with a woman?”

  “Of course. On multiple occasions before I discovered my preference for men.

  “But your heart belongs to Baron Anthony, to Julian.”

  “Hearts come in all sizes, darling. Mine is big enough for two.”

  “Have you told him of your plans?”

  “Yes, we discussed it quite thoroughly.”

  “And what did he think?”

  Lord Seville rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t bear repeating. He will adjust.”

  “I should make you a dreadful wife, Henry.”

  “Quite possibly. In which case, we should simply live separate lives as many aristocratic couples do. The difference being you will live yours as Lady Seville with a child or children, one of whom will be my heir. I do need an heir, my sweet.

  “Yes. There is that. I don’t know, Henry. I cannot imagine how the baron will feel knowing you have been intimate with me. Were we husband and wife, should we share such intimacies… I don’t know how I would feel about you with him. In all candor… I’m not altogether sure I should care for it.”

  “Florence, my darling…” he paused and said cautiously, “you do realize that I will only lie with you for the begetting of an heir and perhaps a spare. The act will not be…romantic, nor prolonged, nor after the nursery is filled, repeated. Though I appreciate its beauty on an objective level, the female shape is not the form I lust after.”

  She dropped her head and examined her hands. “I should like some time to consider your offer.”

  “Of course. I’ll call again, say, three o’clock, Tuesday next? Will that be enough time?”

  “I should think so,” she said with a helpless shrug.

  “So what should I do, Greyson? Advise me.”

  “You understand he is a sodomite.”

  “Yes,” she rolled her eyes. “I don’t care.” She slumped on the sofa in her study, picking at the upholstery. Greyson sat across from her in Duncan’s chair. “Life with him would be comfortable. I could go on very much as I do now. He says he needs an heir and will give me children.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, my lady, other than to follow your heart.”

  “I don’t know that I have one anymore. Remarkably little moves me of late.”

  “If you are not marrying for love, then your answer should be simple. Lord Seville can offer you many desirable things. The protection of his name should not be underestimated. If you are not marrying for love, there is no reason to refuse him.”

  “So I shall say yes when he comes again.”

  “If you do not marry for love, that is a reasonable decision.”

  She arose the Tuesday morning of “the proposal” and dressed in a particularly becoming rose-colored morning gown with a lacy fichu making the décolleté respectable, arranged her hair in a charming version of “The Curls of Venus” with three satin ribbons intertwined amongst her tousled curls. She powdered her face lightly with rice powder, added rouge to her cheeks and lips and darkened her brows with a charcoal pencil. She daubed her favorite rose perfume on her wrists. She thought she looked as well as it was possible for her to look, though she felt none of the excitement that used to exhilarate her when dressing for an outing with Duncan.

  She paused in front of Greyson before she entered the morning room and twirled. “Well? Am I presentable?”

  “You look lovely, my lady.”

  “I have decided to say yes.”

  “If that is what your heart tells you, then do so.”

  She nodded her head affirming her decision. “When he asks, I am going to say yes.”

  She arranged herself attractively on the settee and prepared to receive Lord Seville’s offer of marriage. He was very prompt.

  “How adorable you look, dear Florence. Did you make the effort for me? Might I hope that means you have decided to accept my suit?”

  He had made an effort for her, also, and was dressed bang up to the mark in a superbly fitted cutaway coat of black superfine; a silver, figured Damascus silk, waistcoat; white shirt with attached collar of moderate points, crisply starched white cravat, dove grey trousers and black leather half boots. Lord Seville was an elegant and dreadfully handsome male possessed of immense charm and wit who traveled in the highest circles of the beau mondes. He would make her an exceptional husband.

  She laughed. “I do require that you actually ask me, Henry.”

  “Of course. On bended knee, my dear girl. Observe.” He opened his hands in a grand flourish and sank to one knee in front of her. She offered her hand, and he took it in his. “Dearest Florence, will you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife?”

  She framed her lips to say “Yes,” but to her immense shock, the word that came out of her mouth was, “No.” She clapped a hand to her offending lips, and her eyes flew wide. “Oh!”

  Henry regarded her with an expression of confusion on his handsome face.

  After that, the words just tumbled out, none of them planned, but all of them very much from her heart. “I am greatly appreciative of the honor you do me, and I do love you for it, Henry, but ours is not the sort of love to buttress a marriage. I want a marriage of companionship, of partnership, which you can give me, but I also want to be desired as a woman. Not to dress it too finely, I want the physical pleasures to be found in the marriage bed. My husband never touched me intimately. I remained an innocent and so did not know what joyous heights the flesh could provide and therefore did not miss it. It took a man I loved to awaken those passions which most fully express my womanhood and once awakened?” She held his gaze with a pleading look. “In all truth, I miss them. Sometimes, I cannot sleep I ache so—for the simple joy of a lover’s touch, the thrill of his kiss. I cannot in good conscience marry you when I know I would eventually be miserable and thus make you and Julian miserable as well. I am so
terribly sorry. I had fully intended to say, yes, but at the very last, I find I cannot.”

  He looked at her with a half smile that contained real disappointment. “I am sorry too, darling Florence. I had become quite enamored with the idea of you bearing my child.” He sighed. “I think we should have had handsome children.” He rose from his knee and sat next to her on the settee, his hat in his hand, his elbows on his knees, and both of them stared across the room in silence.

  “Henry…”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “What will you do for an heir?”

  “I suppose my cousin’s eldest will do. He has a pleasingly independent disposition and a good brain—not the sycophant and nodcock his father is.” He sniffed.

  “Might there be a possibility of a natural heir? Just…from another woman?”

  He stood and straightened his coat. The smile he gave her was gentle. “Assuming I could overcome the difficulty of finding someone I could tolerate, I should abhor the necessary deception of a respectable woman. You know of my preferences, and I do love you...as much as I am able to love a woman.”

  “I am sorry.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Don’t give it another thought, dear girl. With this decision, you have fixed yourself firmly in the baron’s favor.” With a crooked smile, he noted, “Julian and I will call tomorrow to take you driving. You have no choice. You will go—and wear something pretty. Harness your new chestnuts. We’ll jaunt to the countryside and put them through their paces.”

  She watched as Lord Seville strode through the door and then out of the house. As she remained on the settee and considered all that had gone before and wondered how she should move forward, a tranquility of spirit settled over her. In those quiet moments of reflection came a revelation. She had never considered that. A faint smile curled her lips.

  Greyson stood in the open doorway and regarded her.

  “I said no.”

  “I expected you would.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “Well, it was a great surprise to me as I fully intended to say yes.”

  Greyson’s lips curved into a gentle smile.

  “I am still terribly in love with him, Greyson.”

  His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “It would be far simpler if you were not, my lady.”

  “I know. I have tried not to be.”

  “Whenever you see him again, you know he will ask. Are you prepared to answer?”

  “I think so.” She quirked her lips in wry bemusement. “I cannot say for certain as lately the most astounding things come out of my mouth when I least expect it.”

  Life resumed its normal cycle. She saw to her businesses during the day and accepted invitations to such social events that were of interest to her. The gossip pages still buzzed with speculation about her intimate relationship with Lord Seville and Baron Anthony. She drove her hackney mares in the park and bought a specially built curricle with which she raced her chestnuts against whoever was foolish enough to take her on. After her first three wins, finding someone that foolish became harder and harder. Sitting at her desk and opening the morning post, she encountered a letter from Eleanor that brought some sadness.

  Dearest Florence,

  I must tell you my sad news. Father and Mother passed from life the day before I penned this note to you. It was quite peaceful. I had said good night to them the evening before and in the morning discovered they were gone. I had thought I would be stricken with inconsolable grief at their loss, but somehow, looking at them, I felt instead that they were together in death as they had always been in life. Father was holding Mother’s hand, and both had the sweetest smiles on their faces. It was as if in their moment of passing, each had found the other and had walked hand-in-hand through the gates of Paradise. I suppose it is fanciful of me to imagine it so, but I should like to believe such things can happen.

  Theirs was a great love story, from the very beginning to the very end, and I will be happy to tell it to you should you ever wish to know. I pray God will bless my marriage to Miles with a love such as theirs.

  They are to be buried in the family cemetery three days from this date. Penwick Elsington is coming from London, and two days following their internment, he will read the official will and invest Miles as the Eleventh Earl of Rutledge. There will be a small garden ceremony—should the weather cooperate—if not it will be in the grand ballroom. We would both dearly love it if you would come. Miles and I consider you part of our family, and our joy will be even greater if you are present to share this notable occasion with us.

  With the greatest of affection,

  Eleanor

  She put down the letter and sat considering. How deep would love have to be to love as Eleanor’s parents had loved? What amount was sufficient? How could one gauge? How would the nature of such an enduring love display itself? There must be some distinguishing characteristics. She knew the depth and immutable quality of the love she held in her heart for Duncan, and she had witnessed the extraordinary lengths to which love for her would drive him. Is that how such great love appeared? She thought perhaps it might. If so, it seemed there was nothing left but to leave the past in the past and commit her heart to the future, forgiving all and reserving nothing. Her mouth curved in a faint smile. Well, then.

  “Greyson, I am going to Rutledge for several days. Florence has written that her father and mother have died and Miles will officially become the Eleventh Earl of Rutledge. There will be something of a small family celebration two days after the funeral, and she has invited me. I will leave in the morning.”

  “Very well, my lady. I will cancel your engagements for the coming week.”

  “Please tell Barnaby I will require him as I’m taking the phaeton and my chestnuts.”

  Greyson nodded. “This is a gathering of the entire family.” His gaze rested on her.

  “Yes.” She knew what he was intimating. She gave him a reassuring smile. “I will be fine.”

  Duncan, mostly concealed from sight, stood inside the great study at Rutledge and looked through one of the French doors that opened into the garden. He’d come to Rutledge for the funeral and had stayed on for the celebration of Miles’ investiture as the Eleventh Earl of Rutledge. He was keenly aware when Florence arrived, but plagued with indecisiveness, he had kept a very low profile. He vacillated between a grim determination to just walk up and ask her and an unaccountable loss of nerve which resulted in his slipping out of sight every time she was near enough to approach. Her response to him at the christening still rocked him. She hadn’t seen him as yet, but she must know he was there.

  All the official speeches had been made, and now it was just the family and close friends enjoying themselves around tables of champagne, cakes, and savories. If he was ever to approach Florence, it might be best to do it now. He hoped more time had been able to temper her pain. Taking a deep breath and firming his determination, he strolled out of the door and across the grass, casually looking for her lovely face—and he saw her. She stood by herself somewhat off from the group, leaning over to smell an early blooming rose.

  He started towards her and cleared his throat trying to think of how to begin, what to say. She looked up and saw him. He could read nothing from her pleasantly ambiguous expression. His steps slowed as he drew closer. He hadn’t given her enough time. She would reject him again. This was a mistake. He should retreat and plan to approach her when he had a better chance of success. He stopped several feet from her and with a nod of polite acknowledgment began to turn away to return to the house.

  “Your Grace.” She smiled sweetly and strolled casually toward him.

  At no time during his military career had he ever been more fearful or beseeched heaven more ardently than he did then. He screwed his courage to the sticking place and did not move. He felt positively ill with apprehension.

  She stopped perhaps two feet from him and took a deep breath, her face still composed in a pleasant expression. “May we begin again? M
ay we pretend we have never met and are just this moment introduced?” She curtsied. “I am Lady Florence Lloyd-Smith—”

  His memory flew back to the first day he’d met her. His heart leaped with unrestrained joy, and he interrupted her with a choked exclamation of, “Thank God!” Falling to his knees in front of her, he clasped her hands. “Florence, please do me the vast honor of being my wife. I don’t deserve you. I will never deserve you, but life is insupportable without you. I love you beyond all reason. Please, Florence, I have no pride left. I am begging you to please say yes.” He closed his eyes and armored himself for the worst. After a long moment of silence, he ventured a glance upward to see her gazing at him with a soft smile. Perhaps he had misunderstood the meaning of her introduction? Had she not heard him clearly? “Florence? I am asking, no… I am beseeching you to be my wife.”

  “Mmm.” She nodded and cocked her head while continuing to silently consider him.

  “Florence… please give me your answer, be it yea or nay, and end this torture. Will you be my wife?”

  “How often do you plan on asking me to marry you?”

  “Until you say yes, God-damn-it!” he bellowed. He closed his eyes on a groan of self-disgust and muttered, “Forgive me for the heated profanity, but you drive me to excesses of emotion of which I had not thought myself capable.” His gaze rose to hold hers. “I meant what I said,” he warned. “I will never stop asking until you agree. I cannot live without you. I love you as I will never love another. You have become necessary to my happiness, and I shall pursue you relentlessly.”

  Her face wore a gentle expression and she withdrew her hand from his to caress his cheek. “Relentlessly?”

  “Relentlessly.”

  “And I am necessary to your happiness,” she stated, her eyes shining with love.

  “Fundamental.”

  “Well, as you are essential to mine, my answer is yes.”