Duke of a Gilded Age

by S. G. Rogers

  “Wait here for me, please,” he said to Bartleby.

  The housekeeper answered his knock.

  “The Duke of Mansbury, to see Miss Oakhurst,” Wesley said. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t any calling cards yet.”

  The woman bobbed up and down in a flustered curtsy. “Please wait here, Your Grace.”

  Wesley was left on the doorstep, staring at the red door and its grape cluster knocker in the center, made of iron. At length, the door opened again and the housekeeper ushered him inside. He followed her to the drawing room, where she announced him before hastening off to her duties.

  To his shock, and great displeasure, Errol stood behind Belle’s wingtip chair, leaning against it in a possessive fashion. Although the man seemed very well pleased with himself, Belle’s expression was strained. She stood as Wesley entered the room and made a graceful curtsy.

  “How kind of you to call, Your Grace,” she said.

  “Thank you, Miss Oakhurst.”

  Wesley placed his hat upon a table and sat down in a chair directly opposite Belle. Sir Errol neither sat nor moved. “What a pleasure to see you again so soon, Duke,” he said, with a gentle curl of his lip.

  “Likewise,” Wesley shot back.

  “Errol was just telling me of your invitation to host our wedding breakfast at Caisteal Park,” Belle said. “I’m overwhelmed at your generosity, and I can’t tell you how much it adds to my happiness.”

  Despite Belle’s words, Wesley could discern no happiness within her whatsoever.

  “Miss Oakhurst, my mother and I hold you in the highest esteem.” Wesley paused. “May I inquire after your father’s health?”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, a glimmer of a smile crossed Belle’s lips.

  “He’s beginning to rail against staying in bed, so he must be improving.”

  “Good.” A flood of words were on the tip of Wesley’s tongue, but Errol’s presence served to check them. “Er…my mother would like your opinion on a few matters, Miss Oakhurst. Would you be free for lunch tomorrow?”

  “I’m afraid not, Your Grace. I’m traveling to London to buy my wedding gown and trousseau.”

  “Will you be away long?”

  “Perhaps a week. I’m uncertain.”

  In response, Wesley nodded. An involuntary movement of Belle’s hand drew his attention to the distinctive ornament on her finger. The sight of her wearing an engagement ring hit him in the gut, and he swallowed hard.

  “What an unusual ring,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  “It’s a family heirloom,” Errol said. “My father was heavily into diamond mines before he died.”

  “And your mother? Are we to have the pleasure of meeting her at your wedding?” Wesley asked.

  “Unfortunately, my mother travels a great deal and it’s difficult to reach her,” Errol said.

  The man seemed to be in no hurry to leave, and Wesley was certainly in no mood to linger in his company. He rose and collected his hat. “I must be going. Please give your father my best regards, Miss Oakhurst, and let him know I’ll check on him while you’re away.” Wesley bowed. “Good day to you both.”

  Belle stood. “Your Grace, please wait a moment. I-I promised to lend you a book, and I mean to keep my word.”

  The delicate scent of roses hit Wesley’s nostrils as Belle passed by.

  “A book?” Errol echoed, after she left. “I didn’t realize Americans could read.”

  “There are an educated few to be found amongst the savages,” Wesley replied.

  “Surely not.”

  “You should travel more, Sir Errol. It would broaden your horizons.”

  As the two men glared at one another, Belle entered the room carrying a leather-bound volume. “This is the book we discussed before, Your Grace,” she said. “Consider it a gift.”

  Errol reached out a hand. “May I?”

  As Belle gave Errol the book, Wesley was puzzled at the flicker of fear that crossed her face. Errol examined the title and burst into mocking laughter.

  “Etiquette? Why, that’s perfect. Well done, Annabelle.”

  Wesley felt his face flush with embarrassment, accompanied by a flash of irritation toward Belle. How could she give me a book on etiquette in front of Errol? If she meant to humiliate me, she’s succeeded quite well.

  “Perhaps I’ll return for the book after Sir Errol has finished reading it,” Wesley said. “He seems terribly amused by the subject matter and would no doubt find it instructive.”

  Wesley’s annoyance was ill-disguised, but he didn’t care. He turned on his heel, and left without a backward glance. Just as he was climbing into his carriage, the front door burst open and Belle darted out. “Wait!”

  With the book in one hand and her skirt in the other, she ran to him. Tears were glistening in her lashes, but he was so angry he looked away.

  “Wesley, please take the book,” she pleaded. “There’s information in it which may be interesting to you in the future.”

  Although a sharp retort was on the tip of his tongue, Wesley could hardly say what was on his mind with the coachman watching. With a feeling of distaste, he accepted the volume. “Thank you, Miss Oakhurst. I’m sure it will prove most edifying. Drive on, Bartleby.”

  Belle stepped back as the carriage rolled down the drive. Wesley thought for a moment he heard a sob escape Belle’s lips, but when he looked back, her face had become a mask. Goodbye, Miss Oakhurst. Perhaps you and Errol deserve one another.

  When he returned to Caisteal Park, Wesley stormed into his manor, tight-lipped, and mounted the stairs two at a time. After he reached his room, he almost hurled the etiquette book across the floor. Instead, he contented himself with dropping it into a drawer where he didn’t have to ever look at the thing again. Why had Belle chosen to embarrass him in front of Errol? Even more baffling was why she was marrying the man in the first place. Could she be so blinded by his dazzling appearance that she was willing to overlook Errol’s self-centered, narrow-minded meanness? The comparison between Stephen Van Eyck and Errol Blankenship was marked. Stephen Van Eyck had seemed superficial at first, but like an iceberg, he’d proven to have a great deal of depth under the surface. Errol, on the other hand, was as shallow as an ice slick, and twice as dangerous.

  Morose, Wesley stared through the leaded glass pane window at the vast garden outside. How was he supposed to snatch Belle from the jaws of an unwanted marriage? He was so confused, he wasn’t even certain she wanted to be rescued…and yet her unhappiness that afternoon had been obvious. He’d been intending to woo Belle, to tell her of his feelings, and beg her to break her engagement. If Errol hadn’t been there, would she have listened? If he were to be honest about it, she’d given Wesley no incontrovertible indication that she returned his affection—just a few tender moments which he had interpreted in his favor.

  Frustrated beyond measure, Wesley went in search of Cavendish, with an eye toward a riding lesson. Perhaps if he were thrown off his horse a time or two, the concussion would knock Belle Oakhurst from his head.

  Nothing, however, will ever remove her from my heart.

  Belle was so angry with herself as she packed for her trip to London that she wanted to slam the lid of her trunk down on her hand. She settled for hurling the box of chocolates she’d intended as a gift for Errol against the wall. The afternoon hadn’t gone like she’d planned. In anticipation of Wesley’s visit, she’d spent all morning in the library, composing a letter to him. She’d slipped the letter inside Etiquette for Gentlemen precisely because she knew he wouldn’t look at it right away. In fact, she’d rather counted on him not opening the book for months, or perhaps even years, at which time the sentiments she’d expressed would bring Wesley peace.

  The inopportune arrival of Errol, with his news about a wedding breakfast at Caisteal Park, had upset her so badly she couldn’t think straight. Then, when Wesley came to call, Errol’s cold manner had driven him off almost i
mmediately. In a panic, she’d run off like a complete ninny to retrieve the book from the library. It would have been just as easy for her to tuck the letter inside a volume of Shakespeare, and just as logical. Why in heaven’s name hadn’t she kept a cool head and done so? She’d embarrassed Wesley with the etiquette book, and made him the butt of Errol’s scorn. From the look of resentment on Wesley’s face as he left, he would never forgive her. In all likelihood, Etiquette for Gentlemen would find its way into the fireplace, and her letter would be burned, unread. Belle sank to the carpet and wept.

  Maybe it’s better this way.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wedding Jitters

  AS BELLE STOOD BEFORE the full-length mirror clad in a white wedding gown of uncommon beauty, Aunt Meg clasped her hands together and exclaimed with delight. The gown’s taffeta underdress was covered with a sumptuous layer of gathered chiffon which billowed out behind in a glorious waterfall of fabric. The rounded neckline was edged in a flounce of delicate wired lace, and on one shoulder a spray of tiny wax lilacs added texture and feminine appeal. Chiffon formed dainty puffed sleeves.

  “My dear, I’ve never seen a more lovely bride,” Aunt Meg said. “What do you think?”

  Belle turned to examine her reflection in the floor-length mirror.

  “Truly, it’s everything I ever dreamed of in a wedding dress, Aunt Meg.”

  The older woman beckoned to the seamstress. “I wonder, should we take in a little around the waist, Mrs. Lemon?”

  “The waistline can only be adjusted by pulling in the laces, Mrs. Mills, but if we tighten them much more, we’ll have unsightly bunching in the fabric,” the seamstress replied.

  Aunt Meg frowned. “Annabelle, dear, if you lose any more weight, the dress won’t fit. You’re to eat extra bread with lunch and dinner, and dessert too.”

  “Yes, Aunt Meg,” Belle said. “I’ll try.”

  “Now that that the matter of the wedding gown is settled, we can go shopping for your bridal nightdress.”

  Panic at the image of her bridal night with Errol caused Belle to blanch and her eyes to widen. “Must we? I can’t bear the thought!”

  Aunt Meg gave her a sympathetic look before turning to the seamstress. “Will you excuse us, Mrs. Lemon?”

  “Certainly. I’ll be out front.”

  Mrs. Lemon disappeared, but Aunt Meg lowered her voice nonetheless.

  “It was the same with me, dear,” she confided. “As repulsive as the whole procedure is, you end up with a baby in the end. Just have several glasses of wine at the wedding breakfast, and you won’t mind so very much what happens after.”

  Tears welled up in Belle’s eyes. Her aunt would be very much shocked if she knew how much she secretly longed to share Wesley Parker’s bed in a night of wedded bliss. With Errol, however, a whole bottle of wine will be necessary to render me insensible! As her tears crested and began to flow down her face, Aunt Meg gasped.

  “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “Tilt your head back, Annabelle, before you cry on the dress!”

  Aunt Meg ran to the curtain which separated the dressing area from the shop. “Mrs. Lemon, you’re needed!”

  With the seamstress’s help, a sobbing Belle was quickly freed from the wedding gown before any damage was done. Clad only in her chemise and petticoat, Belle sat on a three legged stool and cried. Clearly distressed on Belle’s behalf, Aunt Meg knelt beside her and stroked her hand.

  “The secret is to get with child as soon as possible and then your husband will let you alone,” she whispered.

  Belle sobbed harder. She could hardly imagine Wesley abandoning her bed, whether she was enceinte or not. “How horrible,” she wailed.

  Aunt Meg misunderstood. “I know, but try not to think about it anymore. Let’s get you dressed, dear, and go out to an early lunch, hmm? Perhaps a few glasses of champagne right now would be beneficial.”

  Saddle-sore, Wesley soaked in a large, claw-footed bathtub filled with hot water and bath salts. Afterward, he donned his breeches gingerly. Cavendish’s lips twitched underneath his mustache as he assisted Wesley with a shirt and waistcoat.

  “You will grow accustomed to the saddle, Your Grace. It takes time.”

  “This gentleman business is tougher than it looks,” Wesley muttered.

  “You’re doing splendidly, but why don’t you take a break from lessons today? You’ve been working hard for three straight days, and there’s no need to become an expert equestrian immediately.”

  “I shall take a break from lessons, but that doesn’t mean I won’t ride this afternoon. I promised to check in on Mr. Oakhurst while Belle is away, so I’ll take Kelpie. Tomorrow, however, we’ll go twice as long with lessons. Next week, I’d like to try some jumps.”

  “Not on Kelpie, you won’t. I’m informed he’s skittish when it comes to jumps.”

  “That’s too bad. I’ve become fond of him, but I’ll have the groom pick another horse for jumping, then.”

  Cavendish peered at him. “You can ride to the Malagasy Protectorate and back but it won’t lessen your feelings for Miss Oakhurst one iota. I speak from personal experience.”

  Wesley sat to pull on his boots. “I have to do something to keep occupied, or I’ll lose my mind.”

  “Have you thought about the best way to win her back?”

  “That’s all I can think about, but when Belle humiliated me in front of Errol, she made her choice clear.”

  Wesley despised the note of anguish in his voice.

  “Such callous behavior doesn’t sound like Miss Oakhurst.”

  With a pang, Wesley noticed the loathsome book of etiquette was lying on top of the bureau. “So you found that, did you?” He made a dismissive gesture toward the offending tome. “Belle insisted on giving me that book like I was some sort of American rube in need of remedial education. Errol enjoyed himself tremendously at my expense.”

  Cavendish folded his arms across his chest and regarded Wesley with something approaching disdain. “Are you quite finished feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, and why would you say such a thing?” Wesley asked, wounded.

  “You haven’t slept for days, you barely eat, and you’ve ridden until you can’t sit down. Your self-pity is blinding you, lad.”

  “That’s uncalled for, Cavendish.”

  “I disagree. Besides which, the next time someone gives you a gift, you may want to look at it before hiding it away.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Cavendish picked up Etiquette for Gentlemen and pressed it into his hands. Wesley peered at him, confused.

  “Come now, Your Grace. Don’t make me spell it out,” Cavendish said. “Open it.”

  When Wesley opened the leather bound volume, he discovered a sealed envelope wedged between its pages. He shot Cavendish a startled glance. “It’s addressed to me, in Belle’s handwriting. You knew about this?”

  “I was organizing your drawer while you were taking your morning bath, and discovered the letter when I leafed through the book.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me right off?”

  “I just did.”

  Wesley opened his letter and brought it over to the window seat to read. As he drank in the words written on the page, the muscles in his throat tightened so much the pain radiated into his clenched jaw.

  Dear Wesley,

  Please understand, I do what I must to protect my family. Since you and I are never to be together except as distant acquaintances, I feel free to confess a most passionate admiration and respect for you without regard to whether my feelings are returned. You’re undoubtedly the bravest and most thoughtful gentleman I’ve ever met. Nevertheless, I made a promise that must be kept, else dire consequences will ensue. I don’t wish for you to acknowledge this letter in any way, nor should you attempt to interfere with my marriage. Just know that I’ll always care for you.

  ~ B.

  Poignant despair was laced with pure ela
tion. Does a majestic eagle feel the same way as I do now—joy while he soars on the wind, just before a hunter’s arrow pierces his heart? She loves me. Belle Oakhurst loves me, but she’s to marry Errol.

  Wesley read Belle’s letter over again. Two phrases in particular, when taken together, gave him pause. “I do what I must to protect my family.” The only member of her family she could be protecting would be her father. Why would Mr. Oakhurst need protection, and from whom? “I made a promise that must be kept, else dire consequences will ensue.” The promise Belle was referring to must be the one in which she agreed to marry Errol, but if she did not keep that pledge, what calamitous outcome would follow? I must find some way to help her out of this mess. She never gave up on me when I was stranded on the Apollo, and I won’t let her down now!

  “More is going on here than meets the eye,” he told Cavendish. “Errol has some sort of hold on Belle which she won’t reveal.”

  Cavendish stroked his mustache and goatee, in contemplation. “There is something odd about that man, I’ll grant you.”

  “You don’t have to tell me! The preening, vainglorious Errol seems bent on emulating Lord Byron.”

  “I’ve been asking discreet questions in the servant’s quarters regarding the fellow. Nobody seems to know much about him, except that he moved to Mansbury from London this spring. Usually, servants know everything about everyone.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me to learn he was birthed from a reptile egg.”

  “Nevertheless, it can often be said that a man without a past is a man with something to hide.”

  Wesley nodded in agreement, but in the back of his mind he suddenly realized the same sentiment could apply to Cavendish. Although he trusted the man implicitly, his past was nothing if not murky. What was he hiding, and why? With more pressing matters to attend to, he pushed his curiosity about Cavendish to the side.

  “I’ll visit Mr. Oakhurst right after breakfast,” Wesley said. “It may be ill-mannered to call on him so early in the day, but I don’t think he’ll mind. He doesn’t like Errol much more than I do.”