The Wicked Ways of a Duke

by Laura Lee Guhrke

The maid vanished into the dressing room and returned moments later with two evening gowns. “One of these might be nice for the theater tonight,” she said, holding up the ivory damask and the blue-black velvet.

  They were both lovely, but at the moment she couldn’t summon much interest in evening gowns. “What about the black and white outing dress? Did that come?”

  “The stripe?” Woddell sounded surprised. “Yes, miss, that came as well.”

  “Excellent!” Prudence sat up. “Bring that one out, would you? And the hat. It’s red straw, if I remember, with black, red, and white ribbons. It is red, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, miss, but—” The maid hesitated, looking uncertain. “It’s to the theater you’re going tonight, isn’t that right?”

  She didn’t care about tonight. “What a pity I didn’t order an outing dress in red,” she murmured. “Well, the red hat will have to do.”

  “Miss?”

  Prudence looked up and laughed at the maid’s obvious bewilderment. “It’s all right, Woddell. I haven’t lost my senses. Yes, I’m going to the theater tonight. But tomorrow I’m going on a picnic, and I want to try on my new outing dress to be sure it fits. By the way, I’ll be out all afternoon, so once you’ve finished your duties, you have my permission to take the remainder of the day for yourself.”

  “Thank you, miss,” the maid said, and returned the evening gowns to the dressing room. A moment later she brought out the dress her mistress wanted.

  A short while later Prudence stood before the long mirror in her pretty new outing dress and hat and gave a sigh of pure pleasure. The gown suited her figure perfectly, with its simple lines and vertical stripes. It was always wonderful to wear something she hadn’t had to make herself, and there was such bliss in fine silk lingerie and sheer silk stockings. She had never felt prettier.

  Satisfied, she had Woddell return the outfit to the dressing room. After changing into evening undergarments, she asked the maid to press the blue-black velvet, then she sat down at her dressing table.

  Red’s my favorite color.

  Prudence smiled, but before she could do any more daydreaming about a certain duke, the door to her bedroom opened and Aunt Edith came in.

  “My dear niece, I am so distraught.”

  That did not bode well. “Indeed,” Prudence murmured, and pretended vast interest in the toiletry articles of her dressing table. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’m feeling much better after my…ahem…nap. Perhaps you should follow my example and lie down for a bit.”

  Edith did not seem enamored of that suggestion. She bustled across the crimson, cream, and gold carpet and came to a halt beside the dressing table. “Robert has told me that St. Cyres accosted you at the National Gallery this afternoon.” One hand fluttered up to her heart. “To think that dreadful man dared to impose himself upon you again. Oh, what shall we do? Perhaps Stephen should speak with him.”

  “I should hardly describe the incident as an imposition, Aunt. I encountered the duke at the gallery, and we took a stroll together. Why would that cause you such distress?”

  She should never have asked.

  Edith reached for the nearest chair, an ornate, gilded affair with a straight back and a seat of emerald green velvet. She pulled it close to the dressing table and sat down beside Prudence.

  “Millicent has been telling me more about him. After he paid such attention to you at the opera, she felt compelled to make inquiries, and her information confirms what we suspected, and worse. My dear, the man is notorious. His affairs with women, his gambling.” She glanced toward the open door that led to Prudence’s dressing room, then leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Opium dens,” she hissed.

  Prudence pressed her lips together, ducking her head with a choked sound.

  Edith sat back with an aggrieved sigh. “You are laughing at me. No, no, don’t deny it,” she added as Prudence felt compelled to protest. “You do not take what I say seriously. I am not a good chaperone for you, I fear. Everything is so difficult nowadays. When Beryl and Pearl were coming out, it was so much easier.”

  It was obvious Edith had forgotten all the fretting and fussing she had done when Beryl and Pearl began attending balls and parties. Prudence murmured an innocuous reply and reached for her hairbrush.

  “Oh, let me do that, darling.” Edith took the silver-backed brush from her hand, rose from her chair and moved to stand behind her. “We weren’t in London when the girls came out,” she explained, as if reading her niece’s mind. She draped the dark strands of Prudence’s long, straight hair behind the chair back and began to brush it out. “Country dances and parties among friends are so much safer, I feel. London is filled with all manner of decadent goings-on.”

  Prudence did not point out that Edith hadn’t had any such misgivings about London when her niece had moved here, alone, to live unchaperoned in a lodging house and work for her own living. She had been quite relieved at the time. To remind her aunt of such things now, however, would only gain her that wounded spaniel look at which her aunt so excelled. So Prudence leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, leaving Edith to chat unhappily on about the evils of London and the stresses of being a chaperone, while she indulged in the far more pleasurable pastime of imagining her rendezvous with the duke.

  As she thought of it, anticipation rose within her like the effervescent bubbles in a glass of champagne. To spend an entire afternoon with him, to talk with him, to see him smile—

  Edith stopped brushing her hair, interrupting these delightful speculations. “My dear niece, you are most distracted today. I don’t believe you are listening to a word I say.”

  Prudence gave a guilty start and opened her eyes. “Of course I was listening, Aunt,” she lied, straightening in her chair. “You are a most conscientious chaperone, I’m sure. Look what excellent marriages Beryl and Pearl made as a result of your efforts.”

  The older woman brightened at once. “That is true. Beryl’s dear Winston is a barrister in London now, and although Pearl’s husband is still only a bank clerk, he is most respected by his employer, I’m told.”

  “There, you see? You must stop worrying so much.” She started to lean back in her chair again, but Edith’s next words stopped her.

  “Of course, my daughters didn’t have the dowry to tempt fortune hunters like St. Cyres.” She set aside the brush and put her hands on Prudence’s shoulders, gazing at her earnestly in the mirror. “Your situation is different. I feel such a strong responsibility to safeguard you, yet I fear I am not up to the task of keeping wolves like St. Cyres at bay.”

  “He is not a wolf!” Aware that her blissful mood was once again diminishing, Prudence took a deep breath. “I like him. And should he choose to confer his attentions upon me, I see no reason to discourage him. Nor should you. He is a duke, after all, and a most courteous gentleman.”

  There was a long pause as the gazes of the two women locked in the mirror. She expected her aunt to exercise her authority as chaperone and forbid her to see St. Cyres. At which point she would have to openly defy her, and that would make everything during the coming two months terribly difficult.

  But to her surprise, Edith gave a gentle nod and patted her shoulder. “I understand, dear.”

  Prudence was astonished at such easy capitulation. “You do?”

  “Of course I do. Marrying a duke would be considered by many to be quite a coup, and of course, being a duchess is something every girl dreams of.”

  “That isn’t the reason I would—”

  “And the man is quite good-looking. Even I can appreciate that. Charming manners, too. His attentions would turn any girl’s head, I am sure. But you have always been such a responsible young woman, and wise beyond your years. Prudent, you know, like your name, without the reckless, immoral nature of your mother.”

  Prudence tried very hard not to grind her teeth.

  “I’m sure that when the time comes,” Edith went on, “you will make a wise mat
rimonial choice.”

  “Of course.”

  Edith nodded, as if they were in complete agreement about everything. “You know as well as I that to abandon the sphere into which you were born and raised is seldom wise. We are simple gentry folk, Prudence, and your upbringing makes you wholly unprepared for and unsuited to the rigorous burdens of being a duchess. And marriage for the purpose of rising to a higher social position would be a grievous thing, and most unworthy of you. It is a course I cannot, in good conscience, approve.”

  Prudence bristled at that. “I believe it is the trustees, Aunt, who must give their approval.”

  A dull flush crept across Edith’s cheeks. “They would hardly approve a fortune hunter.”

  “And Robert’s interest is pure?” she countered before she could stop herself. “Even though he’s never paid a jot of attention to me? Why, I might have been living in America, instead of a few miles away, for all the notice he has given me over the years.”

  At once, Edith’s face crumpled into lines of distress. “Now I’ve made you cross,” she said, a tremulous note entering her voice. She sank into her chair and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “I knew this would happen. I knew we would quarrel. It’s just as it was when you were a girl. Oh, dear!”

  She gave a sob and buried her face in the hand kerchief. “I’m making such a mess of things. Perhaps you would be better chaperoned by Millicent.”

  And have Robert hovering over her at all hours of the day? Prudence felt a pang of alarm. “I don’t believe that’s necessary, Aunt.”

  Edith lifted her head with a sniff. “I only wish for you to make a match for the right reasons, Prudence, as my own daughters have done. For love, if that is possible. Or if not, then for shared affection and like minds. Which is why Robert would be a good match for you. He has been elevated to baronet, but that’s not too high for a girl of your background. He has been brought up in the same social circle as we. He is family, someone we can trust, and it’s perfectly acceptable for second cousins to marry. And he is fond of you. Oh, yes, he is,” she added as Prudence started to protest. “He is, though you don’t see it. He feels slighted by you, which is why he never called upon you in Little Russell Street. You criticize his inattention, yet you have made no effort in that regard, for not once have you called upon his mother here in London.”

  “Nor has she called upon me,” Prudence shot back, stung. “I have at least written letters inquiring after them. Millicent has never reciprocated even that. Not once. Amazing that she is so attentive to me now! I wonder why.”

  She might have been talking to the wall.

  “Your snub quite hurt Robert’s feelings,” Edith went on. “Yet you are ready to throw him over, and for a disreputable cad like St. Cyres. Oh, it pains me to think of it.” She lowered her head with another sob.

  Prudence pressed her fingers to her forehead, feeling a genuine headache coming on. Chaperones really were the most inconvenient thing ever invented, and Edith was impossible. “The duke has expressed a polite interest in me, nothing more,” she said. “If he were to demonstrate a deeper regard…” She paused, a quiver of excitement replacing her aggravation as thoughts of tomorrow flashed through her mind. Would he touch her again as he had today? He might even kiss her. How wonderful that would be.

  She took a deep, steadying breath, and told herself not to let her imagination run away with her. “Even if he were to demonstrate a deeper regard, it does not follow that I would be inclined to reciprocate his feelings.”

  But as she spoke those words, Prudence knew they were rot. She feared she was half in love with the duke already. Since she’d only known him a week, that put her rather in the suds. “You may rest assured, Aunt, that I intend to marry the man whose regard for me is genuine.”

  What a prig she sounded, but her aunt didn’t seem to notice. “It relieves my mind to hear you say that, dearest.” She dabbed at her eyes, lifted her head with a final sniff, and stood up. “My only wish, you know, is for your happiness.”

  After Edith had gone, Prudence breathed a sigh of relief and returned her thoughts to someone who was already providing her with far more happiness than Aunt Edith ever would.

  I’d best escort you back to your cousin before I forget I’m a gentleman.

  The memory of those words brought back her smile. Resting her elbow on the dressing table and her cheek in her hand, she began to imagine what the duke was like when he forgot to be a gentleman.

  It was a bit tricky to arrange an afternoon away from the cloying attentions of her family, but she managed it, stating that she and several of her friends from Little Russell Street were going on a picnic in Hyde Park. She emphasized the damp ground and the presence of Mrs. Morris to act as chaperone, thereby convincing Edith there would be no harm in her remaining behind to spend the afternoon shopping with Millicent. She then left the Savoy and walked to Charing Cross Station.

  The train to Richmond took less than sixty minutes, but it seemed a much longer journey than that, for she was in such a dither of excitement she couldn’t sit still. She fidgeted and tapped her feet and drummed her fingers, firmly telling herself the entire time not to be nervous.

  He was waiting for her on the platform. She saw him through the window the moment the train pulled into Richmond Station. He wore no coat, for the day was fine, and he looked so devastatingly handsome in his shirtsleeves, dark brown trousers, and riding boots that her throat went dry. As her train stopped, she watched him give a nervous tug to his tweed waistcoat, adjust his necktie, and rake a hand through his hair, and those efforts made her smile. She wasn’t the only one who was nervous, it seemed.

  He saw her the moment she stepped down from the train. As he came forward to greet her, the pleasure in his face warmed her like sunlight, and all her nervousness slid away. “You came.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “I am,” he admitted. “Most women wouldn’t have, you know. It’s not quite the thing to go picnicking alone with a man. I thought you either wouldn’t come at all or that you’d bring a chaperone with you.”

  “I thought carting Aunt Edith along would put a damper on things.”

  “Rather,” he agreed with feeling. His gaze lifted to the top of her head and his smile widened. “Nice hat.”

  She touched a hand to the red straw boater, feeling a little self-conscious that he knew she’d worn it for him, and yet ever so pleased he’d noticed at all. Most men wouldn’t have. “Thank you.”

  “We’d best be on our way.” He turned so she might take his arm. “It’s about five miles, so I have a carriage for us.”

  “Did you come down by carriage, then?” she asked as they left the tiny station. “Or did you hire one?”

  “Neither. When I cabled last night to see if Cam was in residence, I learned that he’s not. The house is let to some rich family from America. I’ve no idea who they are, but they sent me back an invitation at once to spend the weekend. Dukes always seem to impress Americans. There was such a to-do when I arrived this morning, I’ve never seen the like. I fear I quite let them down by provisioning my own picnic hamper, and they kindly lent me a carriage, even though I’m being quite secretive about the identity of my companion. Got to protect your reputation, you see. Here we are.”

  He brought her to a halt beside a carriage where a liveried driver stood waiting. The driver bowed to her and bent to roll out the steps as St. Cyres took her hand.

  “Mind the basket,” he warned her as he assisted her into the two-seated vehicle. “Had to put it in front. What with the blanket and the fishing rods and tackle, there’s no room in the back.”

  She stepped over the enormous picnic basket on the floor of the carriage and sat down. “Rods and tackle?”

  “I intend to teach you to fish,” he explained, following her into the carriage. “I hope you don’t mind? I can’t stand the thought of a country girl not knowing how.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Fishing and a picni
c sounds delightful.” She bent forward for a look at the basket, and when she saw the monogram on its wicker surface, she gave a cry of delighted surprise. “Fortnum and Mason? Oh, how lovely!”

  “I’m glad you think so.” He glanced up at the driver. “Take us to Greenbriar’s boathouse, Halston, will you?”

  “Aye, sir.” The driver released the brake and snapped the reins, sending the carriage into motion.

  “Are we boating, too?” she asked.

  “Well, we have to for a bit,” he explained. “Rosalind’s Pond is in rather a remote spot and there’s no road, but there’s a stream runs to it. I could have ordered horses instead, but I didn’t know if you rode. Do you mind a boat?”

  Prudence hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in a boat.”

  “Never? Not even a punt?”

  She shook her head. “I could never work up the nerve. I don’t know how to swim.”

  “I’m an excellent swimmer, so you needn’t worry. As long as you trust me?”

  “Of course I trust you. I’d trust you with my life. After the way you saved Sally, how could I not?”

  He gave her an odd look, one she couldn’t quite define. “As long as you’re not nervous about the boat,” he muttered and looked away.

  The carriage bypassed Richmond itself and turned off the main road, going down a lane lined with trees and shrubbery. After a few miles, he pointed to a manor house of gray stone in the distance, barely visible through the thick grove of trees. “That’s Greenbriar,” he told her. “It’s a small place, but quite comfortable.”

  Small? It was at least three times the size of Uncle Stephen’s house in Sussex and seemed huge to Prudence, but she supposed a duke might think it small.

  “Americans are a strange lot,” he went on. “They received Cam’s permission to install gaslights in the house just because they’re staying there through the year and find lamps and candles inconvenient. They probably regard it as an investment since they’ve made an offer to buy the place from Cam’s family. Want to marry off their daughters to English nobility, I expect, and want a house near London.”