Duke of Havoc

by Blake, Whitney

  Bellamy Bingham, to the dismay of the genteel members of the ton, had shunned all invitations to wait upon him now that he had come into his title. He knew already that mothers sought to exhibit their daughters before him.

  Instead of enduring this socially acceptable manner of coming out with his new title and holdings, he had declared a fortnight of partying, gaming, and whoring for his closest of friends.

  After the failed gathering at The Thornlands was relocated to one of Reeve’s country houses in North Riding, the friends had all gone to Salisbury to celebrate with Bellamy.

  At the moment, Reeve could only look into each of his friends’ faces, frowning as he did. Unthinkingly, he blurted the first thing that preyed upon his mind.

  “Do you not think that, perhaps, we might be in folly to be partying and gambling as we are? Have we any thoughts for the future as to the consequences of our actions? Could there… perhaps… be some repercussion in wait for us?”

  Reeve, you are drunk.

  His friends listened to him with the quietest of attentions, but when he ceased talking, there were expressions of utmost confusion on their handsome faces.

  “We don’t harm anyone,” said Jonathan. He was not annoyed by Reeve’s musing, but his dark features were shifted into a look of concern for his friend. “Why then should there be harm in wait for us?”

  The others nodded their consent.

  “We are not criminals hiding from the law, Reeve. We are titled lords, and we pay our duties,” Bellamy added. “Why should we fear for the future?”

  Reeve shook his head to express his frustration with his friends. He was certain that they would understand him in time, but they were all so inebriated. They would be unable to fully understand now. “Have you ever given a thought to getting married and having children of your own? What will happen to our lives… our parties… after you all settle down in matrimony?” he said, determined that they should somewhat see his line of thought.

  Of the four, he was the only one who had ever been married. His friends had shown no particular interest in the process.

  “Ah, Reeve, marriage is highly overrated. You always were the one to say that,” said Ashton, after exchanging a nonplussed glance with Bellamy. He raked his fingers through his shock of ginger hair.

  The count was right. Reeve’s marriage had been a marriage of convenience, a strategy that he had carelessly and relentlessly pursued in order to come into his inheritance eight years ago. There had been no love between him and the daughter of his father’s friend, William Devereux. Their marriage was only a means to an end.

  His father, seeking to harmonize his family with Devereux’s, had stipulated in his will that his dying wish was to see his only son married to his late friend’s only daughter. There was also a financial motive underpinning this wish. Daisy Devereux’s husband would also come into possession of the vast Devereux fortune and lands, and William, though untitled, was in possession of great wealth acquired through trade and farming.

  Reeve had seen nothing wrong with fulfilling his father’s wishes. He proceeded immediately to court and eventually wed the heiress.

  A few months into the marriage, he started to wish he’d acted differently.

  He would never have dreamed that Daisy was spoiled rotten, conceited, cunning, and selfish by design. But her true nature soon revealed itself. Her allies, the sisters Mrs. Humphrey and Miss Ball, manipulated her for their own gain and supported her schemes and plots. She proved to be uncommonly without regard for his welfare and took no responsibility for the household as the lady of the manor.

  Her main concern was in emptying their coffers for expensive trinkets, attending balls wearing the latest fashions, and frequenting the theatre. Having children had done nothing to alter her disposition. Daisy would have nothing to do with her own daughters.

  As soon as they were not within her body, thought Reeve bitterly, she handed them off to the maids and the wet nurses.

  In the presence of his gentleman friends, Reeve had confessed many times that marriage was a lie, a trap that he had fallen into. Now, he found himself wondering if, with a woman other than Daisy, a woman who was perhaps more like Miss Sedgwyck, it could be different. The kind of idyllic, happy thing he used to contemplate as a young lad.

  Hearing his words flung back at him so abruptly, Reeve could think of nothing to say that would convey his exact misgivings at the moment. He might have been the most sober of his friends, but that said very little. He was not actually sober at all.

  “I believe that I am well acquainted with Reeve’s woes,” announced Jonathan, gathering the interest of his friends at once.

  Reeve was delighted that somebody was taking him seriously when he himself didn’t quite understand the melancholy that had befallen him. In anticipation of the revelation about to be disclosed, he gazed at Bellamy, then Jonathan, with a grin.

  “Do you not observe that our fine friend here has not spoken to any of the girls from Madame Foxy’s since we came to Salisbury?” said Jonathan.

  Ashton and Bellamy both nodded heartily.

  “Oh, I am in doubt of that, Jon,” said Bellamy, teasing, with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. “I saw this very pretty, dainty thing at The Thornlands the night I arrived, and I have never set my eyes on a lovelier woman. I thought she was one of the girls who had come to wait upon us but, alas, I gleaned nothing about her before our removal from the manor. Reeve, here, has been having a good time, I tell you!”

  This newly revealed intelligence excited the gentlemen and they begged Bellamy to describe the lady in question in clearer terms.

  Reeve anticipated it, too, for he had no idea what the duke was going on about.

  Bellamy indulged their requests, describing a temptress with the fieriest hair, clearest skin, and brightest green eyes he had ever seen. He mentioned that they held such fierce, fearless mischief that he would not mind if she gazed at him all night.

  Upon such a description, Reeve was quick to come to the realization that there was only one such person under his roof.

  It was Miss Sedgwyck, the tutor who had so bluntly told him her thoughts not even three days into their acquaintance. He had thought over that afternoon often. He should have been more embarrassed that she caught him in such a delicate situation with one of the ladies, but all he could wonder was whether she’d been intrigued.

  I daresay she was, he thought.

  There had been anger in her expression, and mortification, too. She was young and probably rather sheltered due to her secluded life.

  But the pink in her cheeks didn’t just hint at righteous disgust.

  Had she been wondering what it might be like to be in my lap? He shook his head. That sort of thinking would not do well for him. He was already troubled enough by the fact that Miss Sedgwyck was, as Bellamy had exclaimed, notably beautiful.

  All she had done was berate him for the sake of Phoebe and Sophie, which she’d been right to do. That had edged out any potential curiosity on her part, hadn’t it?

  He had left The Thornlands, truth be told, because he was mortified himself. It was only in this moment that he understood exactly what had motivated him to make himself scarce.

  He was not ashamed at having been caught out. He had done too many things like bed a woman in a garden to feel shame at just being seen.

  He was ashamed at the thought of disappointing her.

  With that rather alarming thought, Reeve knew that Miss Sedgwyck was responsible for his considerable melancholy in all the present time he had been away from the manor. His head beat painfully at this realization and, suddenly, he had no wish to drink another drop of ale.

  How could he salvage this? She had made her opinion of him clear. From where she stood, he was nothing but the Duke of Havoc.

  He had even told her never to play his pianoforte again, a show of temper that he could neither forgive himself nor apologize to her for. The cause did not matter. Such an uncouth display
of emotion could not be explained away, and Reeve did not generally apologize for anything.

  His friends were far removed from the thoughts wandering in his head, and they turned to him with curious eyes.

  “Tell us, who is she? Have you gone and obtained a mistress for yourself now, Malliston?” asked Ashton.

  Reeve was quick to disappoint them as he explained Miss Sedgwyck’s presence under his roof. All three men made noises expressing their disillusionment, and the subject of discourse returned to the state of Reeve’s present circumstances.

  As he often did, Ashton claimed to be in possession of the solution to Reeve’s ailment. Leering, he whistled one of the ladies over to their table.

  “Reeve here will be in need of your genteel services all night long,” said Ashton to the courtesan, much to the others’ delight. “If you can get him to stay in bed well till tomorrow night, then consider yourself fortunate, for I shall reward you personally and most handsomely.”

  “Hear, hear!” called Bellamy and Jonathan, slapping their cups of ale against the table.

  The lady of the night was immediately upon Reeve with a come-hither smile. She placed a hand against his chest and leaned closely toward him.

  “The manner in which you address every concern is so characteristic, Ashton,” Reeve said.

  Like the reprobate he was, Ashton threw Reeve a jaunty salute. The others laughed as the woman pulled on Reeve’s hand.

  Reeve acknowledged that his friends would no sooner allow him to escape the situation than they would quit drinking. It was evident, too, that he would only be free of their teasing remarks when he was away from their company. Thus, Reeve allowed himself to be guided away by the lady.

  Once above stairs in one of the many opulent guest bedrooms, Reeve removed himself from her grip and regarded her with grave eyes. Their surroundings were very fine, full of plush furnishings.

  “You may take your leave now, Madam,” he said, fishing for some money. “I have no wish for your companionship.”

  The woman was buxom, with long auburn hair that was let down all the way to her waist, and her dress was nothing but a sheer poppy red material that clung beautifully to her body, announcing her profession for all to see. Reeve guessed that she must be new in Madame Foxy’s employ, for he had never seen her before. She was a beautiful woman of around thirty or so, but he found no excitement at her presence.

  Hearing the firmness in his voice, she was quick to accept the payment and it quickly disappeared down her ample bosom.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said, raising her eyes to his.

  There was still an invitation to indulge in a long night of decadence, but the invitation was not all that Reeve saw within them. The color of this woman’s eyes was a dark green with golden flecks.

  It stunned Reeve into breathlessness and he almost changed his mind about bedding her until he was reminded again of the reason he did not want to avail himself of her pleasures, no matter how willingly they were offered.

  The truth was that he had been challenged by a similarly beautiful woman. A woman with green eyes and the most intelligent of smiles.

  He set about dismissing the lady as gently as he could, but for good measure, he locked the door after she had quit the room. Then, he sat upon the bed and, for the first time since he left The Thornlands, permitted his mind to wander in thought of the subject of his fascination.

  His daughters’ tutor was both intrepid and candid. Her courage was one he never witnessed in any female of his acquaintance.

  Nobody, not even the self-righteous Mrs. Humphrey, had brought him to task over his parties. While Reeve knew with absolute certainty that his actions were not altogether exemplary for his daughters, he had never really considered that they might be impacted by them. That they might see or experience something untoward. They were still, to him, too young to notice anything at all.

  Miss Sedgwyck had brought this error in judgement to his attention. Though he neglected to acknowledge the accuracy of her words and assessment of the situation, they had remained with him and prevented him from participating wholeheartedly in the party.

  What was fascinating about her, however, was that she possessed this sense of ethics paired with an underlying interest in naughtiness. He was worldlier than she was and he could see the unspoken desire in her eyes. He understood it for what it was.

  In a rare moment of self-reproach and candidness, Reeve agreed with Miss Sedgwyck that he was neglecting his daughters. He did not know if this was because of something the war had done to, or taken from, him. But he did know that it was supremely difficult to connect with them. To love them.

  While she lived, he took perverse pleasure in accusing Lady Malliston of failing to care for her daughters. She had failed. But he had done no better after her death. While his battlefield injuries were perhaps a cause, he could not excuse his actions entirely. Sophie and even poor, shy Phoebe had both tried in their ways to draw him back, to involve him in their little lives, after he had returned home. After their mother had died.

  Instead of letting them, he kept running off to the gambling tables and the arms of strange women.

  I really may be the worst father, thought Reeve without any self-pity.

  Reeve wondered how Miss Sedgwyck was faring with his daughters. He knew their welfare would be at the forefront of her mind.

  He would do well to return home and see for himself, he decided.

  Selfishly, he wondered if he could repair his standing in her regard.

  Chapter Eight

  In the days following their expedition to town, Caroline was close to overseeing The Thornlands herself, or as much as someone in her position actually could, at any rate. This, of course, did not sit well with the Witch Sisters.

  It all started with the growing layer of dirt on the floors.

  Caroline had noticed, the more acquainted she became with her new home, that it was often – in a word – filthy. At first, before the Witch Sisters had engaged her in an all-out war, she did not remark upon the slovenly housekeeping. After all, it wasn’t her manor.

  Though she, Aunt Lydia, and her father were poor, their house had always been clean. Knowing this, it was hard not to bring the state of things to Mrs. Humphrey’s attention. Originally, Caroline still felt it was not her place to criticize the housekeeper.

  As time went on, she did not give a fig about offending either sister.

  The mantelpieces were laden with dust. The handrails were, too. The wood flooring was scuffed. The marble floors had no sheen. The curtains were as dusty as the mantels. The chamber pots were ghastly.

  Caroline knew the small herd of house servants was not to blame. No, as soon as the duke had disappeared, Mrs. Humphrey was content to laze about, giving no direction to any of the servants who nonetheless valiantly tried to attend to their duties while lacking a reliable overseer. Edgar, whose duty was not to be a housekeeper at all, did his best to keep things in hand. However, he could only accomplish so much.

  Exactly thirty days after Caroline had arrived, she and the girls were coming downstairs in anticipation of dinner. The happy trio had been in Caroline’s room – Phoebe and Sophie were helping her compose a letter to her father.

  The girls, who had never received letters from anybody, not even the duke, were always eager to read Caroline’s post. They constantly begged to have their words written in her notes. Caroline saw no harm in indulging them.

  It is good for them to practice letter writing, and who writes to them? Caroline thought, watching as they trundled down the stairs. Perhaps, she would ask her father if he could write specifically to the girls. It might ease some of his own loneliness.

  “Sophie, mind the hem of your dress,” she said. “It was just laundered.” Sophie had been scuffing it along the ground, which was, as it perpetually seemed to be while the duke was gone, dusty.

  Phoebe, who had become more outgoing in the last few weeks, trotted ahead of her sister and tutor.
The maid had said it was her favorite dinner being served this evening: pottage, vegetables, and soup. As such, she was very keen on arriving to the table before everyone else. Caroline didn’t have the heart to tell her that good manners would dictate she needed to wait to eat until all were served.

  Suddenly, Phoebe slipped on the third to last stair.

  Struggling not to curse, something she’d only done so much since beginning her employment with Lord Malliston, Caroline rushed forward and caught her before too much damage could be done. It would not have been a long fall, but Phoebe could have been quite hurt.

  She was already so startled that she sobbed loudly in the way only small children could manage. It was an enormous sound from such a small being.

  “Hush,” said Caroline softly, as she scooped Phoebe into her arms. “It will be all right, Phoebe. I promise.”

  Sophie looked ready to cry, too, so Caroline allowed the girl to clutch at her skirt.

  Still upset, Phoebe would not leave the sanctuary of Caroline’s arms after they arrived in the dining room. Caroline scowled when Miss Ball and Mrs. Humphrey, already in their seats, hardly reacted to the crying child.

  They could have been eyeing a cloud flitting across the blue sky for all they were concerned.

  “My! Whatever happened to the child?” Duckie, roused from the kitchen, flew into the room as quickly as her short legs could carry her.

  “She slipped on the stairs, I’m afraid,” said Caroline.

  With a frown, Duckie quit the room, but only after peering closely at Phoebe to ascertain whether she had been badly hurt.

  The Witch Sisters merely offered icy platitudes that supplied no comfort.

  “Do stop crying, Phoebe,” said Miss Ball. “It would appear you have no injuries. You must cease sobbing this minute.”

  Caroline glared at her. “She’s had a frightful scare, Miss Ball.”