The Duke's Seduction of Lady M

by Raven McAllan

  ‘Then your employer is lucky indeed. Chicken?’ He held up a drumstick.

  ‘Indeed it is. Your powers of observation are amazing.’ Her lips quirked and her eyes twinkled.

  ‘What?’ He was confused for a second and then looked at her closely. She was teasing him. Lord, when was the last time anyone ever did that? ‘They are, aren’t they,’ he said deadpan. ‘It’s a ducal requirement.’

  She spluttered.

  ‘So would you like some?’

  ‘Some powers of observation? I have those, thank you.’

  He snorted. ‘Glad to know it.’

  ‘If you mean some more cheese? Later perhaps. I have enough here for now.’ She tempered her refusal with a smile, and Brody turned to refilling his own platter.

  They ate in a companionable silence and it wasn’t until the wine bottle was drained and the last scrap of bread crumbled and thrown to the birds that Brody returned to his theme.

  ‘Mary, I think you’re not indifferent to me? That you know any interactions between us, two people from different classes, will be remarked on and may cause unpleasantness. Nevertheless, I not only lust after you…’ he looked at his staff outline under his pantaloons and grinned, ruefully, ‘… which is obvious, I like you as well. Really like you. If nothing else I would be proud to have you as my friend. What do you say?’

  Lord I know we are poles apart but somehow we could make a friendship work, I am sure of it.

  Mary nibbled her lips and looked at him thoughtfully for so long that Brody’s stomach churned and his chest tightened. It was not going to be an answer he appreciated, he could tell. If she had intended to agree surely she would have replied immediately?

  ‘Friendship pure and simple?’ she asked finally.

  Brody strove to formulate his thoughts as a whoosh of gratitude threatened to overwhelm him. ‘For a start, anything else will be what we decide.’

  ‘I know I should say no and run a mile,’ Mary said slowly. ‘I’m not even sure if we both want the same things from life. Eventually you will marry, I probably won’t. You’re a duke, I’m just me.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘However, none of that is relevant to the here and now. Yes, Your Grace – Brody – friendship would be very welcome. One can never have too many friends. I certainly haven’t.’

  Brody acknowledged she was right. ‘Kindred souls then. So in the spirit of our friendship, do you want to ride to Collingby Lake tomorrow? The weather looks set fine and if you have no mount I can seat you.’ Oh lord would she think that innuendo as well? He hadn’t intended it as such.

  If she did she chose to ignore it.

  ‘I have a horse who suits me. Darcy is sweet natured, and well suited for the terrain. So yes, I’d love to go. It’s somewhere I haven’t seen yet.’ Mary stood and looked out of the window towards the castle, silhouetted on the skyline a few miles away. ‘Is it on your land?’

  ‘Just.’

  Brody moved behind her and without thinking about his actions circled her with his arms. She leaned back into him and sighed. ‘Being like this here, I can almost disremember life and responsibilities, and ignore convention. Are we really going to be able to do that?’

  ‘We can do whatever we want if we put our minds to it.’ He tightened his hold and kissed the top of her head. ‘Our time, our needs, remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You know? Sometimes I forget how often there are occasions when I need to just step to one side.’

  He gave into temptation and rested his chin on her head. ‘Everyone needs that at times. If I can give it to you, or even better, share it with you, then I am a happy man.’

  Mary was silent for a second then sighed once more. The sound, so deep and sorrowful, tugged at his heartstrings.

  ‘Do you doubt I can?’ he asked and stroked up and down her arms. Her skin was clammy, and she shivered. Brody hoped it wasn’t him who made her feel that way. Shivery and heated, because she was aroused – oh yes. Shivery and clammy and upset? Definitely not. ‘Mary?’ he probed. ‘Do I worry you?’

  ‘Worry?’ she repeated. ‘No… Oh, ignore me, I’m blue devilled at times.’

  He kissed the top of her head and hugged her tightly again. For once his body behaved and didn’t show how much he was attracted to her. ‘Then tell me why so I can help.’

  ‘Take me to Collingby Lake tomorrow.’ She twisted in his arms and he let her move back a step. ‘And thank you.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything.’ He bit back the word “yet”.

  Mary bobbed a curtsey and grin. A swift gamine expression that made his heart miss a beat and his pulse speed up.

  ‘Exactly, which is why I’m saying thank you.’ She touched his arm, simply and with no pressure. ‘It means a lot not to be cribbed, confined or pushed and pressured.’

  ‘Mary, I promise you I will never do anything against your will,’ Brody said seriously. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to steer her into the same frame of mind as him, but that was a differently thing entirely. ‘If I try, I’m sure you will overpower me.’

  ‘With an elbow somewhere delicate?’

  He reacted without thinking and put his hands over his groin. Mary giggled. Brody shrugged, shamefaced. ‘Automatic reaction.’

  ‘Needed often?’

  He chuckled. ‘Luckily not. I choose my…’ He paused, not sure how to continue.

  ‘Victims?’

  Brody dipped his head to acknowledge her sally. ‘I prefer to call them willing accomplices. Apropos of that, I’ll just say before I find myself floundering in the mire, I have had no recourse to accomplish such an act before.’

  ‘There is a first time for everything.’

  Did she always have to have the last word?

  ****

  An hour or so later, it was with mixed feelings that Mary watched Brody saddle his horse and ride away.

  The walk back to the Grange, hand in hand, was pleasant and uncomplicated. They talked of innocuous things. Of the harvest, the school and Mrs Beddows about to give birth to her fourteenth child. Whether the proposed canal would ever reach Uppingham, and what a terrible condition the highways were in once you left the Great North Road. Little things, important to the area, and to Brody as the Duke, but in the grand scheme of things, irrelevant.

  It had been, Mary decided, fun. And fun was something that had been in short supply this last while. She needed it.

  It was with jumbled emotions that she watched the horse and rider until they turned out of the drive. This feeling of missing someone was new to her. It had seemed as if she’d been alone for so long, she didn’t need anyone. Now she was confused. Had she merely been scared to embrace another person and let them into her life in case they left?

  Everything ends. That’s life.

  On a whim, Mary found pencil and paper, took a jug of lemonade into the garden, and sat down on the grass next to the fishpond. She accepted that Brody would be part of her near future to a greater or lesser degree, so all she had to do was decide what that degree was. With that thought entrenched in her mind she began to write her journal.

  By the time the Nivens arrived back from market, she’d finished her account of the day so far and was idly trailing her hands around the lily pads in the tranquil water, unable not to think of what had transpired.

  Mrs Niven bustled up to her and clucked disapprovingly. ‘Where’s your hat?’

  Mary put her hand to her head and noticed just how many strands had escaped the confines of her simple bun. ‘Ah…’ Where was it? ‘I walked to the gazebo with a picnic. I must have left it there.’

  ‘Hmm. Any visitors?’

  So obviously someone had seen Brody ride away. As he’d said, he’d go home through the village and act as if he’d been out and about all day.

  Mary smiled. ‘Why yes. His Grace the Duke of Welland called to pay his respects.’

  ‘There now.’ Mrs Niven crossed her hands over her ample bosom. ‘That’s good. And did you explain why the village calls you Miss?�
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  ‘There was no need other than to say the children started it. He wasn’t really interested. It was a courtesy call, no more.’ She thought rapidly. ‘And he kindly invited me to ride with him to Collingby Lake tomorrow. I was sketching here.’ Something she enjoyed, was quite good at and luckily she had sketched the pond a few days earlier. ‘He saw the sketch, asked me if I had been to the lake, and when I said no, kindly offered to show me it. As he is who he is, I was taken aback but thought it politic to accept his kind offer.’

  ‘He’s getting out and about again,’ Mrs Niven said happily. ‘That was the right thing to do. He’ll soon be as busy as anyone, with no time for such things.’

  ‘Then, of course, he may send his factor, and I will be equally happy.’ Mary discovered her throat was dry, lifted her glass of lemonade and drank deeply to quench her thirst.

  Liar. He wouldn’t, surely? The thought that he might have been speaking in a polite neighbourly way was too depressing. Surely not?

  ‘He’s a duke.’ Mrs Niven sounded scandalised. ‘He knows his role in local life. Did you tell him who you are?’

  Mary bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, suddenly uneasy at her deception. ‘That I was Lady Mary McCoy? No, it’s irrelevant.’

  ‘He won’t think so when he finds out.’

  Not if, Mary noted, but when. ‘Why should he?’

  ‘He’s a duke,’ Mrs Niven said, as if the titled bestowed him the ability to know everything. ‘Mutton for dinner?’

  The change of subject made her choke. Mrs Niven obligingly patted her on the back and passed a square of linen over so Mary could mop her now streaming eyes. By she finally stopped spluttering, and could once more speak, the linen was more than damp. “P…please.’ Mary blew her nose and sipped some lemonade cautiously.

  ‘I’ll be in shortly. Do I have time for a bath?’ she asked and then stopped speaking abruptly. ‘Mrs Niven, I think it’s time I increased the household a little. Someone else to help you. A personal maid for me – part time,’ she added hastily. ‘To give an extra pair of hands round here. Someone to help Mr Niven? What do you think?’

  The beam on Mrs Niven’s face said it all. ‘There now, didn’t I say to Niven once you’d been here a while you’d settle and want more people to look after you. Do you want me to set up times?’

  ‘Times?’

  Mrs Niven nodded. ‘To see people. There’s young Susan Foulkes in the village. Word has it that Ronnie, him who works with the horses up at the castle, is sweet on her. They’ll be wed before too long, but she’ll do fine in the meantime, and I reckon she’ll make a good little maid for you. And Niven’s nephew, him whose parents moved down to run Berridge Farm for Lord McCoy, is ready to move on from the farm and his missus as well. Ah…’

  ‘They’d like the cottage next to you?’ Mary suggested.

  Mrs Niven looked relieved. ‘It makes sense. And Jacob has a sound head in him.’

  It did make sense, especially if she arranged for her maid to also live out. Mary liked the house to herself.

  Or I did. Where had that thought come from? When everyone left, and she locked the doors behind them, it was her time. Usually she wrote her journal, sketched – often scenes of things that had happened during that day – read and tatted, but who knew what might happen in the future? Was she actually admitting to herself that at times she was lonely? Mary was aware that she was.

  ‘Oh.’ Mrs Niven looked stricken. ‘I’ve just remembered. Young Susan wouldn’t be able to live in, not yet. Her ma’s sickly and she likes to be around to help her pa when she can. Could you work around that?’

  Mary might feel lonely at times, but she still valued her privacy. Could she say that would be a relief? Perhaps not. She hoped her expression was a mixture of regret and compassion.

  ‘Of course. If she’s suitable in other ways.’ It would be perfect. Time on her own as well, with no explanations needed. ‘It would be during hours suited to us both.’ Mary thought rapidly. She wasn’t going to cancel her ride the following day, but the day after would work perfectly. Even if Brody asked to meet her on that day, she intended to offer her regrets. Too much too fast would not be correct. Already she was partially regretting her forwardness. Over eagerness had often been her downfall. If she wanted this relationship to work, as she desired, then she’d have to be firm. Brody was someone who was so used to having his own way; she decided he’d think nothing of getting her to agree to his diktats in any manner possible. That was not what she intended. It would be an equal partnership or nothing. She hoped she was able to resist his cajoling. She might not like the way they were both so matter of fact about what might be about to happen, but equally she didn’t intend to be a doormat.

  ‘Can you set up the meetings for the day after tomorrow?’

  A beaming Mrs Niven nodded and headed indoors with a spring in her step. Mary followed slowly, went upstairs and made do with what her mama would have called a lick and a promise. Then she slipped on a long sleeved gown in a pale green, brushed her hair out, braided it and tied it with a ribbon of a darker hue. Mourning was now over.

  By the time Brody was due the following morning, Mary had retrieved a smart, although now sadly dated riding dress and jacket in red and pink stripes from a trunk in the attic and prevailed upon a happy Mrs Niven to press it. Mary matched it with a jaunty bonnet of the same shade of deep red, with pink and red ribbons to hold it in place, and paler, soft as butter gloves. It was lightweight, comfortable and, she thought, the ensemble suited her. She hitched her battered leather satchel over her shoulder – her constant companion since her schooldays – and settled it so her pencils and sketchpad didn’t dig into her body. Then she leaned against the side wall of the house, where she could see in all directions towards the village and watched out for Brody to appear. Hoydenish? Probably. Unladylike? Definitely. However, as only she and her horse were around to see, Mary could not have cared less. Today, she decided, was the first day of the rest of her life. Her new – as a no longer mourning widow, nor a merry one, and definitely not one on the lookout for a husband – life. One ready to embrace her life as she chose.

  Darcy was saddled and waited patiently in the shade of an elm tree, flicking her tail at the flies, which flew around in frenzied circles. The fringed cap Mary had settled over the horse’s eyes to keep insects at bay added a dash of whimsy to the scene. The buzzing of the bees on the rose bushes and the scolding of a blackbird in a nearby bush entertained her as she waited. The heat was soporific, and Mary hoped they would soon be away, or she might just nod off. Once on their journey she should get the chance to cool off as the wind brushed over her as they rode. Would it be too forward to mount and meet him? Probably, which was just as well, as there was one thing wrong with that scenario. She had no idea how he intended to approach the house. By the front drive as befitting his status, or via the stable access in optimism he would arrive unnoticed.

  A few minutes to the hour she got her answer – boldly and openly along the front drive. He halted his horse, with its two bulging saddlebags fastened securely by their straps, and whimsically three daisies in its bridle, a few feet in front of her. He dismounted and let the reins drop before he bowed.

  ‘Well met my dear. You are…’ he paused and she saw a flash of naked desire cross his face so briefly that if she had not been looking she would have missed it. Her mouth went hollow. As on their previous meeting, it was no rake or man of excess who bowed over her hand, but an elegant and simply dressed gentleman. Why would she think it would be any different? Whatever anyone said to the contrary, to her eyes he had changed from the times people spoke about. Of course he had. Whatever he’d experienced during his years away, he was now a man. One who, to all intents and purpose, had put pranks and high spirits behind him, and grown up.

  Or had he? Perhaps not all of his past was over and done with. The glint in his eyes indicated that.

  Mary was under no illusions that he wouldn’t attempt to seduce h
er, the quickly supressed glimmer told her that. Nevertheless, she also accepted that he’d retreat as soon as there was one word from her – he was a man of his word. What he didn’t know was she was not averse to a little seduction, but she had her own line and has no intention to cross it. However, she was uneasily aware that the line was not set in stone, and could be easily bent, or breached.

  Brody kissed the back of her hand, and handed her a posy of daisies similar to those worn by the horse. ‘Next time I might be bolder. Will you let me?’ His eyes signalled his admiration and pleasure in her outfit. Mary mentally applauded herself for not wearing her plain riding bonnet but choosing instead a frivolous one, which matched her riding dress perfectly.

  ‘Try it and see.’ She tucked the posy in her lapel. ‘Thank you. Strange though it may seem to many, daisies in all their guises are my favourite flowers.’ She smiled at him, and was pleased to see his eyes narrow. He was now the one to wonder, what next? Next was to divert his attention away from her. ‘You haven’t tethered your horse. I need a few minutes to get Darcy and join you.’

  ‘Jason won’t move with the reins like that. A helpful thing over the last few years.’

  ‘It must have been. Ah, Darcy is over there under the elm. One moment and I’ll ready.’

  ‘Good.’ Once more, his expression didn’t hold back on his admiration for how she looked. ‘You, my dear, are a sight for sore eyes. I’m almost tempted to go somewhere to make others envy my good fortune. Almost, but not to a depth of desire that I will act upon it. Our time is just that. Ours. Now if you’re ready, may I throw you up?’

  Mary nodded and within minutes they cantered down the drive and then into the lane. Here it was wide enough for two abreast. As they slowed to a trot and then a walk to skirt the village, and head across the flat valley, Brody moved Jason closer. ‘I decided by riding thus, and showing the world we are friends, our day out wouldn’t be seen as overtly significant.’

  She hoped his words were true, but determined not to think of “what if.” It was much too nice a day to worry over anything except were her freckles increasing, and even that didn’t bother her. Her papa had called them her “angel’s kisses”, and she’d go with his description.