‘Add in your lands, Your Grace and you’re head and shoulders above him. Plus his money is not all my money.’ A red mist covered her eyes. How dare he judge her? ‘And of course I did not think that, and fie on you if you have it in mind that I did. Oh, and while I’m at it, let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t want to be known as Lady McCoy who married and is rich as Croesus, or who married an old man for his money. Because I didn’t. Did. Not.’ She stamped her foot. ‘I heard that until I wanted to scream. I married for love. In my – admittedly female and therefore foolish to some – mind, that is the only reason ever to marry. Therefore, to that end I insisted on one thing. If, and I stress that word, if I remarry then I have a pittance.’ Not precisely true but it would do. She clenched her fist together to stop herself reaching up and slapping the sneer from his face. The fact she might have deserved his contempt she ignored. If she chose to keep some of her life to herself that was her own affair, surely?
‘That’s just as well, because I don’t want your money when we do.’
Mary looked at him with horror. A strange scary itch began to creep up her spine. Surely he does not mean… ‘Do what?’
‘Marry.’
Oh sweet lord, he does. ‘We’re not going to marry.’ It hurt to say that, but Mary wasn’t prepared to compromise her ideals.
‘Oh yes we are. I have bedded you. Now I’ll wed you.’ His words were flat and defied her to argue. Of course she intended to do just that. She had no plan to remarry, especially like this. Cold blooded was not for her. Even if deep inside she owned that what they did together was anything but cold blooded.
‘Not if I say no.’
‘But why should you?’ he asked silkily. Sparks showed in his eyes and Mary wondered how on earth he kept his temper. She held on to hers by a fine thread.
‘Think on,’ Brody continued in that same hateful tone. ‘That will give you the chance to enjoy all of me all of the time. Be a duchess.’
‘Maybe that’s why.’ Mary said as she cursed the wobble in her voice. She was becoming ever more emotional. I will not cry. ‘I’m happy as I am. I like what we have. I don’t want to spoil it.’
“Well I’m sorry to say my dear you already have,’ Brody told her, mockingly. ‘By lying.’
‘It was not lying, I just chose not to divulge everything about me.’ As did you.
‘Then lying by default. You know if I had known who you were I wouldn’t have pushed for what we had.’
That statement made her blood boil. How dare he intimate only a certain class of woman could be enjoyed as such? ‘So if you thought I was a nonentity, a mere Miss or Mrs, you could play with me, but as a Lady, I was out of bounds? That’s not what I’d heard of rakes. Or of most gentlemen of the ton. A title is no barrier.’
‘I didn’t say that. I said… oh hell…’ He ran his hand through his immaculately styled hair. ‘…. I don’t know what I said now. You are twisting everything I say. Intentionally I suspect, but it matters not. We will be wed.’
‘How?’ she asked sarcastically. Damn him, he seemed so certain, and she had to appear exactly the same but with the opposite view. She had to. ‘By dragging me to the altar and using ventriloquism skills to hear me say, “I do?” Not a chance. Thank you for your oh so…. so whatever…. offer, but no thank you. Now I’ll bid you good day.’ She curtseyed and walked past him. To her amazement he let her go. It was very tempting to slam the door, but she closed it very carefully so the click of the latch was barely audible.
‘Well?’ Desmond asked, was hovering in the hall with an expectant look on his face.
Mary waved her hand in the direction she had come from. ‘See him out, I don’t wish to be disturbed.’
‘Do I offer my good wishes?’
She shrugged. ‘If you want. I’ve turned him down. It is probably a lucky escape for both of us.’ With that, she ignored the look of dismay on her brother’s face, turned on her heels, made her way to her bedchamber and indulged in a hearty bout of tears.
Mrs Niven found her an hour or so later, blotchy faced and miserable, and tutted. ‘I told you to tell him. You’re headstrong that’s the problem. Oh he didn’t need to know all the ins and outs of your inheritance, but at least who you were. Now don’t you pucker up at me, my lady, you know I’m right.’ Mary nodded. She felt three inches tall.
‘He’s feeling scorned,’ Mrs Niven continued. ‘You know as well as me what touchy creatures men are. Let him be and get over it.’
Or not. Mary sniffed, gave a watery smile and wiped her eyes. Crying wouldn’t help.
‘Now wash your face, tidy your hair and show your brother you’re still alive,’ Mrs Niven said, robustly. ‘He’ll not leave without you unless you exhibit to him all is well. You don’t want to go with him, do you?’
‘Lord no.’ That was the last thing – no, she amended to herself, the second last thing – she wanted.
‘Then show him you’re fine, and let him leave reasonably happily. He’s due elsewhere, but he’ll fret if you don’t reassure him.’
Mary nodded. She’d had enough of Desmond and his prodding. In fact she’d had enough of men altogether. ‘You’re right. Let’s hope he’ll accept it and leave. I could do with some peace.’
Mrs Niven patted Mary’s shoulder awkwardly. ‘It’s been a bit of a topsy turvy year, for you so far, my lady. Maybe now you can have a few weeks of time to regroup.’
‘Mary, please,’ Mary pleaded. ‘Just because His Grace knows who I am, I hope he won’t broadcast it. Let me stay as Mary for as long as possible.’
‘No man will want to show he’s been duped,’ Mrs Niven said with assurance. ‘He’ll keep it quiet. According to Mrs Loveage he’s a good man, who’s had a rough deal. She was delighted you two got on so well. So nice for him to have someone to ride out with.’
At least she said ride out and not on. Mary went hot and cold at the thoughts of what both their servants thought – or knew – they got up to.
‘Yes well… right.’ Mary straightened her shoulders, pushed her hair into its topknot and washed her face in cold water. ‘His Grace has left?’
Mrs Niven nodded. ‘With a face like thunder and a very terse goodbye to his lordship. Young Susan and me got a bare nod. You could tell he wasn’t himself.’
Such a stupid expression. Who was he then, the vicar? However, Mary inclined her head to show she understood. ‘Then I’d better go and reassure Desmond that I’m hale, happy and not about to go into a decline. And to brush aside his invitation – or is it demand – that I immerse myself in the season.’ She brushed her skirts into some semblance of tidiness and opened the door. ‘Let battle commence.’
Two hours later, after a definite fight with Desmond, which resulted in Mary victorious, but exhausted, and Desmond saying he hadn’t given up, Mary waved her brother away, and shut the door with a sigh of relief.
She could hide herself away and sleep for a week. Not that she would. Retreat was never her answer. Instead she went for a brisk walk around the garden, gathered the last of the windfalls to give to Mrs Niven for a pie, and noted just how few leaves there were left on the trees. Their route through the woods to Blissland would soon not be concealed by the foliage.
Not that it mattered any more. Mary glanced up at the grey sky – it matched her mood – and turned back to the house. It looked like they were in for a storm and she’d rather be undercover than at the mercy of the elements.
As she made her way past the rose garden, and around the pond, the path towards the gazebo snaked away to her left. It reminded her of Brody and it was enough for her to mourn the fact her visits to Blissland would be over. Blissland was well named. Their time there together had been bliss. And due to her idiocy she has spoiled it all.
Enough. Had is the operative word. It’s over. End of. The time for wallowing is done. Time to move on. A tiny worry wormed its way into her mind and lodged there. What if their trysts became common knowledge in the village and it made life so
uncomfortable she felt compelled to move? How would she cope?
That thought brought her up short and did more to make her lift her spirits – and determined to stop moping – than anything else. She was a strong woman, not a meek and mild milksop. She would cope very well. If a move were needed, a move she would make. Not to the arms of the ton, her brother or a husband. Not even another lover. Mary admitted she was now spoiled. Nevertheless somewhere – not someone – else would suit. Somewhere she wanted to be. Yes this was where she wanted, but if it became untenable, somewhere else would take its place.
And I’ll call it that. Where do you live? Oh, Somewhere Else. The absurdity made her smile. ‘Today is the first day of the rest of my life,’ she said loudly to the carp in the pond. A crack of thunder seemed to answer her, and Mary laughed. A genuinely mirthful sound. ‘Well at least the heavens seem to agree.’ The first drops of rain hit her on the nose and cheeks. She picked up her skirts and began to run towards the house she called home.
Chapter Eleven
‘Moping won’t do any good you know.’ Mrs Niven glared at Mary, as they stood either side of the long oak table in the kitchen. Mary was – or wasn’t – peeling potatoes, and Mrs Niven was rolling out pastry. The force she put on the rolling pin as she spoke didn’t bode well for the texture of the pastry. ‘Look at you, like a wilting rose you are. You’re not increasing are you? My sister Camden, her with the eleven, looks like you do every time for the first three months. She swears by my tisanes. Do you want me to sort you some?’
‘No need. I swear I’m not about to add to the household. Well unless you count a kitten from young Cissy. She’s most insistent I have one.’
Mary hadn’t known whether to be pleased or upset when her monthly curses had appeared as regular as ever. Of course a child was unlikely, after all nothing remotely like a pregnancy had happened ever in her life, but she really had felt a pang of regret when her back and stomach had ached to herald her menses. ‘So I hazard a guess we will have Cicero in our midst soon.’
Mrs Niven’s hands stilled. ‘Cicero?’
‘Cissy’s choice. She says he looks learned.’ Mary smiled. ‘Who am I to disagree? The kitten apart, we carry on as normal.’ Whatever normal was.
She finished the last of the potatoes and washed her hands. Since Brody had left, Mary had taken to helping out in the kitchen more and more. She’d never ever admit how much she missed hm. It was like losing a limb. Fanciful she decided but true.
‘I’ll walk to the gazebo and back,’ she decided on the spur of the moment. ‘A brisk half hour or so and then I must decide what to teach the children on my next visit to school. Some – as in young Cissy – are galloping ahead and I must make sure I keep their interest. I think I need to donate some form of reward for those who excel. I wonder what?’
‘Best ask his grace when he comes back,’ Mrs Niven said comfortably. ‘He’ll know what would work here.’
‘Is he coming back then?” Mary asked as nonchalantly as she could. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Ah well no one does really. But as Mrs Loveage said, he’ll be back for Christmas no doubt. It’s a big thing up at the castle and after all these years he won’t want to miss it. Now then, let me have those potatoes and off you go. Dinner at six?’
‘Perfect.’ Mary untied the pinafore she wore and slipped out of the back door, across the herb garden and into the garden proper. She was restless and whatever anyone thought the reason, only she knew the answer. She missed Brody. Not as the Duke as did the rest of the area, but as the man. The man who held her, talked to her, loved her and made her whole.
That man had gone. She wasn’t sure he’d be back. Oh she accepted she had chased him away. She and no other, but she didn’t know what else to do. He’d marry her, there was little doubt of it… or, she wondered suddenly, had he changed his mind? No, he was honourable, and she had no doubt he’d press her again at some time, perhaps with Desmond’s backing. However, he’d want children and after so many barren years, she doubted her ability to conceive.
It was such a guddle. Mary struck out up the hill and reached the gazebo in record time. At this time of the year it looked cold and unloved. The wickerwork furniture, cushions and rugs had been removed and taken back to the house. All that was left was a bare room with one hardy chair and an even older wobbly and scarred table. Nevertheless, the moment she entered the building, Mary knew it was a mistake. It reminded her too much of Brody. Even though their visits there had been minimum, it was still redolent of him and his persona.
She swore, turned around three times and sighed. She had to buck up. There was nothing else for it. He was gone and she was no doubt forgotten. If he was in the capital as it had been suggested, once more involved with all elements of the ton, no doubt there would be plenty of willing women to take care of his every need. His every need. As her mama had wont to say, she’d made her bed and now had to lie on it, lumpy, bumpy or whatever.
On that morose note Mary left the gazebo and retraced her steps back towards the house. A hundred yards or so outside the rose garden, Freddie, the young man Niven had employed to tend the said gardens, hurried towards her. Ronald, Susan’s beau, was close behind.
‘Miss er ma’am, you have visitors.’ He bobbed a bow as he panted out his message. ‘Mrs Niven sent me to find you.’
Brody? Her heart missed a beat. ‘I do? Do these visitors have names?’
‘My Lord and Lady Bennett, with the most right bang-up carriage and four I’ve ever seen.’
Her heartbeat returned to normal and she mentally chided herself. Of course it wouldn’t be Brody. Both men would have said so if it was.
‘Proper prime ‘uns they be.’ Freddie continued. ‘I wish we had some like that to show off.’
Ronald sniffed. ‘His Grace’s are better.’
‘Well ‘course, he’s a Duke.’
Mary stifled a grin. The young lad was fresh off the farm and unlikely to have had the chance to view many thoroughbreds close up. However, if it was Lord Bennett’s equipage the lad was probably correct.
‘Mrs Niven said to say it looks like they be stopping the night, ‘specially at this time of day.’ Freddie said earnestly. ‘If they are d’you think I can go help settle the horses?’
Ronnie shook his head. ‘Bet they be cantankerous beasts.’
Freddie paled and Mary took pity on him, and turned to Ronnie. ‘Ronald, why are you here?’
He reddened. ‘Ah, His Grace eh, well he said to make sure all’s well. I haven’t kept Susan from her duties, honest, Miss.’
‘Good, now off you go. As I must I. And tell him things couldn’t be better. Freddie? Ask Mr Niven.’ Mary began to run. On the one hand it was the worst scenario possible, on the other the best. Lady Bennett – Clarissa – and she had been friends when younger and still stayed in touch. Mary hadn’t seen her since Horry’s funeral, and this visit was an unexpected pleasure. Just what she needed to lift her out of the doldrums. Not that she intended to explain what was going on to Clarissa, but Mary was uneasily aware Clarissa had a habit of ferreting things out of people even when they had no intention of sharing them.
She reached the doors into the parlour just as Clarissa came out, followed by a tall and impossibly handsome man and an elegant whippet.
‘Mary, I thought as you wouldn’t come to me, I’d come to you instead,’ Clarissa said with a grin. ‘We’re heading to town eventually, but Ben is about to call on the Duke. I thought I’d make my excuses and stop with you instead, if you’ll have me. And Brodie of course.’
Mary’s head was spinning. ‘The Duke? Brody?’ Brody is here?
Lord Theodore Bennett, known to all and sundry as Ben, shook his head in mock reproof. ‘As ever, my beloved makes any simple explanation, complicated.’ He bussed Mary’s cheek in the manner of a friend. ‘You’re looking somewhat frayed around the edges my dear. Is anything amiss?’
‘Ben,’ his wife expostulated. ‘How rude.’
‘Not at all, I worry.’
The twinkle in his eye reminded her of Brody. Rakes both, although she should add “ex” to the word in Ben’s case, as, as far as she knew, he and Clarissa were happily married.
‘I did not,’ Clarissa said, indignantly, ‘make things complicated. Did I?’ she appealed to Mary, who just grinned.
‘I’m not getting involved.’
‘Sensible. The Duke and Brodie?’ Ben asked quizzically.
‘Ah.’ Clarissa laughed. ‘Well, not much. The Duke is Welland which you know,’ Clarissa said to Mary. ‘This is his namesake.’ She lifted the golden haired whippet up. ‘I forgot you haven’t been introduced.’
Mary stroked the dog and was rewarded by a lick and a soft woof. ‘Yes you are gorgeous aren’t you, though I don’t see the resemblance myself. And I’m sure Mrs Niven will find you a bone.’ She turned to Clarissa. ‘How long can you stay?’
‘Just two nights, we need to get to London. Ben wants to vote and I want to make sure the house is as it should be for the season.’
‘Don’t lie,’ Ben said, ‘You want to be nosy and see what’s going on with Madame Belle, and order new clothes. And luckily the dog was not named after Brody, or I fear there could be ructions. He’d not be best pleased to be likened to a cur.’
‘Ah pooh to that,’ Clarissa said, seemingly not one whit abashed. ‘And Brodie, my Brodie, is “ie” not “y” – and is a pedigree, not a cur.’
‘I stand corrected,’ Ben said meekly but with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘As ever, my love, you are right.’ He flicked her nose. Such a man thing it seemed. ‘Even so it might not be a good idea to mention Brodie to ah, Brody.’
Mary was struck with a pang of something so unfamiliar it stopped her breath for a split second. The love between her friends was so obvious she couldn’t help wishing she could experience the same. Ah well, life is not played out just as we want. Therefore, grow up and move on.
The Duke's Seduction of Lady M Page 19