The Infamous Duchess

by Sophie Barnes

  His request seemed to vanquish the effect he’d been having on her, for she turned her attention to the stalls and started walking again. “I do not call Huntley or Coventry by their given names and I know them better than I know you.”

  Well, that was a bit of a blow to his ego. Rallying, he argued, “Only because you are not friends with them but with their wives, whom I address as Gabriella and Amelia, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Of course I have, but you are family now that Florian and Juliette have wed.”

  “Fair point,” he conceded, and decided to let the subject rest. There were other battles to be fought today and this was probably the least important one of them.

  “Now here’s what I wanted to show you,” he said, indicating a tall wood cabinet with lacework carvings balancing across the top. “I believe you missed it.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” She moved toward the piece of furniture as if in a trance. “This is perfect!”

  Her amazement made his heart swell with pleasure. And then she glanced at him briefly with endless gratitude, and he found himself reduced to a green lad incapable of forming words.

  So he simply smiled and stuck his hands in his pockets to stop from reaching for her again. Because all he could think of right now was how he wanted to pull her into his arms and bask in her radiance.

  “How much is this?” she asked the vendor, an older man with bushy eyebrows and a portly belly.

  “Eight pounds, luv. Brought it all the way from Morocco.” The man smiled and smoothed his hand over the side of the cabinet. “Nothing else like it in these parts.”

  Viola’s brow knit, producing a row of furrows. Henry prepared to step forward and inform the man he was out of his mind to demand such a sum.

  But then Viola said, “I’ll give you one.”

  Henry whistled low and rocked back on his heels with a grin. The lady was clearly accustomed to haggling.

  The vendor’s eyes narrowed. He straightened his posture. “Are you deliberately trying to insult me?”

  Henry stiffened and prepared once again to come to Viola’s aid. As it turned out, she had the situation well in hand.

  Crossing her arms, she stared the vendor down. “Not at all, sir. I am merely telling you what I am willing to pay. But since it’s too little . . .” She turned to leave.

  The vendor glanced at Henry, who merely shrugged and said, “She’s the one who wants it. I’ll just as happily let you keep it.”

  He prepared to follow Viola, who was already several feet away.

  “Hold on,” the vendor called, halting Viola and bringing her back with what appeared to be great reluctance. “How about six?”

  She shook her head. “Two.”

  “You’ve got to do better than that,” the vendor told her. “Let’s make it five?”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s too much.” Viola started to turn away once again as if she meant to leave.

  The vendor threw up his hands in surrender. “Four pounds. That’s the best I can do. Final offer.”

  She seemed to consider while the vendor appeared to hold his breath. Slowly, she nodded. “If you include those glass lanterns over there and ensure delivery, you have yourself a deal.”

  The vendor flattened his lips, hesitated briefly, and finally gave a curt nod. He stuck out a grubby hand, and to Henry’s amazement, Viola shook it. She then reached inside her reticule and produced the money she owed.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” she told the vendor after writing down the rejuvenation center’s address and handing it to him. “I’ll expect these items no later than tomorrow afternoon.”

  Or you’ll have me to answer to, Henry wanted to add. Instead he merely implied the fact with a direct glare and a slightly raised eyebrow.

  “What fun that was,” Viola told Henry as they continued on their way. She was more animated now than when they’d initially arrived, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of her achievement.

  Mesmerized, Henry took a second to respond. When he did, it was to give her the compliment she deserved. “I must say, you bargained with impressive skill, Viola. I confess I did not expect it.”

  She moved toward another stand. “Why? Because I’m a woman or because I’m a duchess?”

  “Neither.” He already knew he’d be a fool to underestimate her grit on account of her title. “It’s because you’re so . . . and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way . . . but I was going to say unassuming.”

  She pursed her lips and studied a selection of fabrics that Henry guessed came from India. “When I started work on the hospital, I had no idea what I was doing.” She moved on to a pair of brass vases, picking them up and turning them over in her hands before returning them to the table on which they stood. “Many people took advantage of this.” She turned to face him more fully. “When I learned of my mistakes, I decided that in the future I would determine the value of something before beginning a negotiation and that I would always be prepared to walk away empty-handed instead of overpaying.”

  Henry stared at her as she moved on to a large chest with elephants and roses carved into the side. He watched as the vendor came to talk price, and for the second time that day he admired Viola’s ability to strike an incredible bargain.

  In a way, it was yet another thing they had in common, this awareness of money and the value of it. While most women in her position would have spent their fortune on pretty gowns and accessories without second thought, it appeared as though Viola spent hers sparingly.

  Unless of course she was choosing to be cautious for a different reason. Henry thought on this as they recommenced walking. Last night, Robert had said that he planned on contesting his father’s will. Was it possible he’d started the process already? It would certainly have put a damper on Viola’s mood if he had.

  Following her to another stand, he considered his options, and, after weighing the pros and cons, settled on complete transparency. “Viola.” His hand caught her arm, drawing her back toward him. Her eyes met his, wide and inquisitive. “I want to ask you something.” He took a fortifying breath. “Did your conversation with Gabriella earlier have something to do with Tremaine contesting your husband’s will?”

  Viola almost tripped over her own feet. And then she froze, her breath stuck in her throat. Was it possible she might have misheard him? She didn’t think so. Tremaine was his friend. It wasn’t unlikely that he’d called on Mr. Lowell in recent days after his return and spoken of his intention to destroy her. It made perfect sense the more she considered it, which made her wonder if spending time with Mr. Lowell was wise, since his loyalty would probably be toward Robert, whom he’d known for much longer.

  Heart banging against her ribs, she turned to face the man whose companionship she’d come to enjoy. “When did he tell you?”

  “Last night. Shortly before you arrived at the club.”

  She winced and dropped her gaze. God! How stupid of her! Instinct had warned her to keep her distance from him and yet she’d allowed temptation to win. “You hid the knowledge well,” she told him bitterly.

  “It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing I could bring up over dinner. And besides, I didn’t want to ruin the evening by questioning you on a subject you clearly don’t want to discuss.”

  Raising her chin, she studied his face and was stunned to find sympathy rather than censure there. “You’re right. I don’t want to discuss it. Least of all with one of Tremaine’s friends.”

  A nerve at the edge of his jaw twitched. “It’s been years since he and I saw each other last. A lot has changed since then.” His eyes pinned her, holding her captive. “Having gotten to know you, I do believe I have a good sense of who you are as a person.”

  “Really?” She failed to keep the trace of disappointment she felt from her voice.

  Jaw tightening, he pulled her close to his side and spoke to her in low tones while leading her along. “Whatever your reason for marrying Tremaine’s fathe
r, I don’t think you took advantage of the old man and I don’t believe you deserve Tremaine’s wrath.”

  Viola sucked in a mouthful of air and gulped it down. “But—”

  “On the contrary, I believe you should have just as good a chance of winning this case as he has.” They strolled slowly, his grip on her firm yet soothing. It was lovely—the sort of closeness she could get used to if only she’d conquer her fears and allow it. “So if you agree and you haven’t already acquired a barrister, I would like to introduce you to one I happen to know. He’s a very competent fellow who’s helped me and my family with legal advice on countless occasions.”

  Viola could scarcely think of what to say besides, “Thank you.” He was trusting her without demanding an explanation. Her eyes grew uncomfortably moist and she suddenly feared she might cry. The kindness he was showing toward her when she’d initially thought the worst of him was simply too much.

  “Is that a yes then?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Tremaine wants to take everything away from me. He says he plans on selling the hospital once it is his, which is something I cannot allow.” Her hand gripped at his arm with a sudden need to steady herself. “After receiving a letter from his barrister this morning, I knew I needed my own representation.” She cut a look in Mr. Lowell’s direction and saw that he was listening with a grave expression. “That is in fact what I was discussing with Gabriella earlier. I just . . .”

  “You didn’t want me to know.”

  Embarrassed, she gave her attention to the stalls they were passing. “It is a sensitive issue for me, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I could trust you.”

  “I see.” He cleared his throat and said, “Few people would be so blunt. It does you credit.”

  Appreciating the compliment, she couldn’t help but smile a little. “You did say that he was your friend, and you and I have only known each other for just over a week. It made sense that you would choose to take his side over mine.”

  Dropping a look at her, he told her seriously, “Not when it is clear to me that he’s in the wrong.”

  They walked a few steps in silence before she said, “It means a great deal to me that you’re willing to help me with this, Mr. Lowell.”

  “And it means a lot to me that you’re willing to trust me to do so. Considering my reputation, I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I have an ulterior motive in helping you.”

  “Do you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. I want to help because I care about you, Viola, though I will admit that it pleases me to know we’ll be spending more time together.”

  She made a satisfied sound but said nothing further. They reached a cross in their path and he steered them to the left, toward a stall where ornate screens, rugs and tables seemed to fit the style she was looking for. “Let’s finish your purchases so we can meet up with the rest of our group. When we return home you can respond to Tremaine’s barrister and we’ll make plans for you to meet with mine.”

  Chapter 11

  Seated behind her desk in the office she used at St. Agatha’s Hospital, Viola added yesterday’s purchases to her ledger, tallied the expenses and calculated her remaining funds. She then double-checked her work for good measure and blew out a breath. There was still a good sum of money left—money she’d have to give to Robert if he won the case.

  A knock sounded at the door and Emily entered the room. “Mr. Lowell and Mr. Steadford are here to see you.”

  “Thank you, Emily. Please show them in.” Rising, Viola smoothed her skirt in a vain attempt to steady the sudden trembling of her hands. For some silly reason, Mr. Lowell’s opinion of her had started to matter a great deal, and when she’d dressed this morning, she’d dearly wished she had something cheerful and possibly even alluring to wear.

  But since she hadn’t, she’d asked Diana to set her hair instead, which allowed for a prettier style than the tight knot she usually wore at the nape of her neck. Her pulse quickened and her nerves jumped as she became increasingly wary of Mr. Lowell’s opinion. Would he even notice or . . .

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” he said, entering her office with the confidence of a man who knew his purpose.

  The “Your Grace” threw her a little, but she supposed he did it for the benefit of the gentleman who followed him into the room.

  A second of silence ensued, and Viola realized Mr. Lowell was staring at her with bemused interest. His lips quirked, tilting slightly to the right. And then he said, “I like what you’ve done with your hair.” Her stomach flipped over. “And those spectacles do suit you remarkably well.”

  Viola sucked in a breath. Her hands flew to her face, ridding herself of the spindly metal frames perched upon her nose and setting them on her desk. She needed them for work and had forgotten all about them when she’d asked Emily to show her guests in.

  Mr. Lowell grinned. The annoying man was clearly savoring her discomfiture. She frowned at him and he immediately sobered. “May I present Mr. Dorian P. Steadford? I’ve apprised him of your situation to the best of my ability, but perhaps you can offer further explanation and insight into your marriage and your relationship with Tremaine.”

  Viola stiffened and reached for the edge of her desk, clutching it for support. If there was one thing she did not wish to delve into, it was this. But she could hardly expect not to, all things considered. Not if Mr. Steadford was going to help her.

  So she squared her shoulders and gestured toward a pair of chairs facing her own. “Please have a seat, gentlemen. May I offer you some refreshments?”

  Both declined. “I think it best if we get on with this,” Mr. Steadford said. He eyed his pocket watch. “We’re due to meet Tremaine and his barrister in just over an hour.” Steadford pulled a notebook from a satchel he’d brought along with him. “Can you tell me the name of the man Tremaine has hired?”

  Viola returned to her seat, claiming it so the men could sit as well. “Mr. Hayes.” She looked at Mr. Steadford to gauge his response to that name.

  His face, however, remained inscrutable as he produced a pencil from his jacket pocket and proceeded to jot something down in his notebook. “He has a good team of clerks,” Mr. Steadford said. “If you’ve something to hide, I can guarantee you they’ll find it.” He raised his gaze to Viola, who’d begun to feel slightly faint. “So my advice to you is to tell me everything. From the beginning.”

  A wave of tiny shivers assailed her. She stared back at Mr. Steadford and Mr. Lowell. Perhaps this had been a mistake. It was at the very least a terrible bind, because she knew she needed the help and yet she was very uncertain about telling these men everything. Especially where her mother was concerned, since her identity could potentially influence their opinion of her, if they didn’t approve. But she would tell them what could easily be discovered by Mr. Hayes so as not to put Mr. Steadford at an awkward disadvantage.

  “My father’s name was Jonathan Marsh and he was the Duke of Tremaine’s physician,” she began. “Over the course of their decades-long acquaintance, the two became friends. Peter—my late husband, that is—valued my father’s advice and sought his counsel often. They also met to play chess and to simply talk about all manner of things between heaven and earth. After my grandmother died, I accompanied my father on all of his visits to Tremaine House. I was five when I first met Robert and his father.”

  “What about your mother?” Mr. Steadford asked. “Was she not able to take care of you during these visits?”

  “She died when I was born,” Viola quickly told him.

  “So you knew the former duke very well,” Mr. Steadford noted.

  She nodded. “Yes. He became something of an affectionate uncle to me.” Seeing Mr. Lowell’s eyes go wide, she realized her mistake and hastened to add, “He didn’t take advantage of me if that is what you think. The duke was kind to me. He and I never . . .” She closed her eyes briefly and fought for strength, then forced the necessary words past her lips. “We never
consummated the marriage.”

  “Because he was too infirm?”

  “Well yes, he was. The poor man was dying and drew his last breath the day after our nuptials, but even if that hadn’t been the case, he would not have made such a demand of me.”

  Silence followed, interrupted swiftly by the scratch of Mr. Steadford’s pencil. Unable to look at either gentleman, Viola kept her gaze firmly on the surface of her desk. Her cheeks had grown unbearably warm and her dress had started to itch.

  “When my father got sick,” she said when Mr. Steadford prompted her to continue, “he went to Tremaine and asked for a favor, even though I never knew about this until later.” She pulled a shuddering breath into her lungs and released it, then carefully raised her gaze to the two men sitting before her. “I was fifteen when my father died. After the funeral, I learned that Tremaine had promised him he’d always look out for me because I had nobody else left in the world who would care enough to do so.”

  Tears pricked the corners of her eyes but she forced them back. “Four years later when Tremaine caught a serious case of influenza and it became clear he would not live much longer, he suggested we marry.” She could still recall his pained expression and the fear he’d had of failing her and her father by not fulfilling his promise. “I was against the idea at first because I knew the rest of his family would resent me.”

  “But he convinced you?” Mr. Steadford asked.

  “He believed a powerful title would open up doors for me, and the more he talked about it, the more I started believing it might be true. And then when he told me of the idea he and my father had once discussed, of creating a well-run hospital with free care, and that I was the only one able to fulfill this dream, I felt I had no choice but to accept.”

  Mr. Steadford frowned. “Do you remember if his will specified what the money he left you was meant to be used for?”