Only In Her Dreams

by Veronica Towers

  “Sarah, I am staying at my aunt’s house,” he stated with a shrug as he helped her to her feet. “I could not possibly let you return to your cousin, a churchman, for the love of God, smelling like the floor of a taproom.”

  She looked at him with surprise and she chose to ignore the latter part of his statement, “But you are a Duke now, surely you have a town house…”

  “Actually I do, I am having some repairs done, as my great uncle has not been to town these twenty years. The place hasn’t had any coin spent on it in at least that amount of time.”

  “You are a young, unmarried Duke, I should think there were many things for you to do that would be inappropriate around young children and kindly aunts,” Sarah said delicately. “You surely could stay with some friends or at a hotel.”

  Marcus grimaced, “Trust me when I tell you my aunt’s house is the only option.”

  Since Sarah was still slightly dazed from her brush with a barrel, Marcus found her easier to coerce into a hackney. He gave the boys his aunt’s address and told them to go to the mews entrance. They and the dog would be welcomed with some hot food and clean clothes.

  He Sarah and Peter took the hack the short distance to Curzon St. He paid the driver with a guinea as the carriage now smelled strongly of ale. The driver tipped his hat, and smiled, “Pleasure doin’ business wi ya, gov. I wished I’d a see’d the turn up h’at ta Market. I hear it was fun ta see.”

  Marcus gave the man a dry look, not commenting as he and Peter assisted Sarah into the house. He brought her through the kitchen to the astonishment of the staff and escorted her into the hall. He sent Peter in search of the butler.

  Peter lead an impassive Bingham to his cousin; Bingham betrayed not by a flicker of emotion that he did not see ale soaked persons on a daily basis.

  “Bingham, is my aunt in the parlor? I wish to introduce this young lady to her and beg her assistance,” Marcus stated calmly.

  “Your Grace, her ladyship is in the parlor--”

  “Wonderful, I need to see her immediately,” Marcus said as he took Sarah’s hand and pulled her along.

  Sarah, dazed from her fall, was getting a little tipsy from the pungent aroma of their clothing as well. She did not recognize the snobbish voice until she was almost into the room.

  “…Lady Minerva, I tell you that young noblemen today have no sense of propriety, and he escorted the creature all the way to London.”

  Sarah knew that voice, she stopped and pulled back from Marcus. “Your Grace,” she whispered. “I will go wait in the kitchen. I am in no fit state to be seen by your aunt’s company.” She all but ran down the hall back to the kitchen.

  Marcus looked after her and then strode into the room as though he was dressed for Almacks. “Aunt Minerva, Peter and I have run into a spot of bother,” he studiously ignored Mrs. Harriman and her insipid daughter.

  His aunt Minerva was seated on a sofa her still blond ringlets bouncing with her quick double take of Marcus’ thoroughly disreputable appearance. Her blue eyes lit with amusement, “My God, Marcus, what happened—I suppose Peter looks is terrible as you do?”

  “Some ale kegs, fell and splashed us,” Marcus replied with a smile. “I brought a friend home with me and she refuses to be brought into your august presence in her current state of dishevelment. I sent Peter upstairs to be cared for by his governess.”

  Just then he heard a loud crash and a dog’s joyous bark. He looked behind him and saw the dog galloping into the room with Sarah, Ida, William and Peter running after him. The dog slid to a stop just before the tea tray and barked at Mrs. Harriman.

  “You see, that woman is now trying to ingratiate herself with his grace and has brought three of those bastard street children with her,” Mrs. Harriman cried triumphantly pointing wildly at the small group.

  Marcus saw Sarah turn red with humiliation, and hang her head. His aunt however was made of sterner material, with a cold glance at Mrs. Harriman, she turned to her son and said, “Peter, dear, would you care to introduce me to your friends?”

  “Mama, this is William and Ida says you already met him,” Peter said grandly. “The pretty lady is the one that pushed Marcus and me out of the way of those barrels so we wouldn’t get hurt.”

  Aunt Minerva turned to Mrs. Harriman, “You will excuse me, I find I have some pressing family obligations.” She reached up to the bellpull and gave it a quick pull. The impassive butler appeared immediately. “Bingham, please see Mrs. Harriman and her daughter out.”

  Mrs. Harriman looked like she just swallowed a goldfish, Marcus thought. Bingham handed the ladies their bonnets and guided them out of the room. Aunt Minerva turned to her nephew and pointedly looked at Sarah with eyebrows raised. He hastily cleared his throat, “Lady Minerva Warrick may I present to you Miss Sarah Montague, daughter of the finest quartermaster that I ever knew. Sarah, my aunt Lady Minerva Warrick.”

  Sarah curtsied and said in an undertone, “That is Miss Montague to you, Your Grace.”

  “So, before I carry Miss Montague off to repair her state, tell me what happened to you. But first one of you go and get Jamie the pot boy to take this pony out to the stables,” said Aunt Minerva pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and waving it at the dog. Marcus looked at his aunt uneasily, as she was breeding the oddest things might cause her to cast up her accounts.

  “Oh no, Mama, it’s not a pony,” Peter said solemnly. “It’s a dog. Ida and William said they wanted to name it Brian Baru on account of it being an Irish Wolfhound.”

  She stood up and walked over and gave the boy a hug, “Of course dear, I stand corrected.”

  “Aunt Minerva, Sarah hit her head pushing us away from the barrels,” he said. “Do you have any salve?”

  “Miss Montague, your cousins run a mission down in Whitechapel?”

  “Yes, they do,” Sarah said. “I do not know what they will think when we come home like this.” Marcus watched as Sarah rubbed her temples. Her head must ache from the knock and the fumes.

  Aunt Minerva laughed, “I can imagine, but if I know Bingham and Mrs. Crosby I believe there is already some bath water ready for you upstairs. All we need to do is set it up in Emily’s old room.”

  “Emily? I thought your cousins’ names were Beatrice and Phoebe,” Sarah stated, puzzled.

  “One of my other cousins, she was orphaned a few years ago Emily Blakely, now Viscountess Althorpe,”

  Sarah looked astonished, “Did she happen to go to the Bath School for Girls?”

  Now it was Marcus and his aunt’s turn for surprise, “Do you know her?”

  “Oh my, yes, I would never have been able to pass needlework class if she had not helped me. I helped her with her French and Italian. I am so happy for her,” Sarah said clasping her hands in front of her.

  Aunt Minerva shooed Sarah upstairs and sent all three boys to the nursery to be cleaned up by one of the footman.

  She turned to Marcus, “Marcus, you need to make sure that Jamie the pot boy takes Brian Baru into the stables and washes him thoroughly. I will wager that dog has fleas.”

  He tried to make himself seem haughty and austere, ”My dear aunt, I am above such things, I am a Duke now.”

  “Marcus, you will always be the little boy who slid down the banister and tore my new white dress at my come out ball,” she said as she looked him over. “Especially now, you look like you slept under a stile.”

  She sailed out of the room and turned to someone in the hall, “Bingham send a footman to the Mission down in Whitechapel. Tell Miss Montague’s cousin that Miss Montague will be having luncheon with us today. Oh and Bingham, we are never to be at home to that woman again. She strode up the stairs, muttering to herself, “Imagine calling my Peter a little street bastard, well I never…”

  Marcus smiled faintly; it seemed that Sarah’s nemesis made a powerful enemy this day.

  Chapter 6

  Marcus walked outside to supervise the stable lads washing the dog with the inept as
sistance of Peter, William and Ida.

  “I thought you three were going to get cleaned up for luncheon,” Marcus said firmly.

  Peter replied for the three, “We told Mama that it was our responsibility to clean the dog as it belongs to us.”

  The other two boys nodded their heads in agreement. William being the largest of the boys went and fetched some water from the pump, while Ida and Peter tied the dog to a post. Marcus helped them scrub the dog down and it seemed that the gentlemen received more water and soap than the dog did. Marcus reflected later that he had not had so much fun in weeks, since he ascended to the Dukedom, in fact.

  Women had been dropping handkerchiefs and twisting ankles in front of him on an almost hourly basis. Fellows he knew from the clubs started to invite him for dinner when it never would have occurred to them before. He felt like a fox during hunting season.

  He stopped in his reverie to note that his charges had taken Brian Baru to dry off in a stall. He heard a dry voice speak in a top lofty tone, “Your Grace, her ladyship has instructed me to escort you gentlemen to appropriate facilities that you and the boys may go and don clean linen. Luncheon will be served in half an hour.”

  He turned and saw Bingham, the amusement in his gaze belied by his dry voice, holding clean drying cloths. The boys from the mission looked at each other in surprise. They turned to Peter who shrugged, “Mama can not abide a quiet luncheon table, she says the quiet fair gives her palpitations. Beatrice is out and Matthew is at the club. I’ll introduce you to my sister Phoebe, she’s okay as sisters go. She’s not as silly as Beatrice.”

  When they returned to the dining area the boys and Marcus were met by a dainty little girl. Peter ran up to her and introduced her to his new friends,” This is my sister Phoebe we were born at the same time…that means twins. We hope that when Mama has the new baby that it will be twins like us.

  Marcus’ Aunt Minerva came into the room at this last and rolled her eyes, before Peter saw her. She quickly erased all evidence of her displeasure if she were to deliver twins, “Yes, dear, we want twins only if they are just like you and Phoebe.”

  “Phoebe, will you please get your father out of the study,” Aunt Minerva asked. She turned to Marcus, “Your uncle just received those new architectural papers you have been wanting.”

  Marcus said to Sarah, “The Ducal town residence is so outmoded I think it still has no pump in the kitchen. I have heard of devices that heat your water upstairs and rooms dedicated to bathing. I plan to have all of the modern conveniences installed.”

  Sarah was secretly appalled and she tried to not let it show on her face, “In those papers do they say what problems they have with the new devices? I should talk with someone who actually has them installed before purchasing them.” Belatedly she added, as she realized that she overstepped herself, “Your Grace.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow at her effrontery but chose to ignore her statement, as his uncle entered the room. Sir Horace was a white haired, bespectacled gentleman of some forty-five years. When he smiled, Sarah could see his likeness in the two children.

  “What have we here--guests for luncheon?” he looked enquiringly at his wife.

  “Marcus and Peter are able to come to the table today because Miss Montague and the boys saved them from being crushed under some barrels at Covent Garden,” his wife said with asperity. “Further, Miss Montague’s father was the man who stopped looters from murdering Marcus on the battlefield after Waterloo at the cost of his own life.”

  “Seems that I missed all of the excitement, the next time you two go out you should invite me along,” Sir Horace smiled at his youngest son.

  “Papa, you would have been distracted by the old book seller we saw and missed the entire incident,” Peter protested.

  Sir Horace smiled ruefully, his head nodding in agreement. Sir Horace, while an excellent father and husband, was inclined to be absent-minded and easily distracted in public. In private, he had single minded focus and determination for finding information. This made him an excellent investor and a superlative information operative in the war effort.

  “Uncle, I was wondering if you knew the reputations of any of the builders in London,” Marcus asked. “I need to know which of these gentlemen have experience with installation of these modern plumbing devices.”

  Sir Horace looked sharply at Marcus, “As a matter of fact Marcus, your interest sparked me into investigating the possibility of installing those here on Curzon Street. I have a list in my study, I have some people gathering information right now.”

  After the luncheon, at his aunt’s insistence Marcus took Sarah for a stroll in the garden. Sarah was puzzled by Marcus obsession with modernizing that plumbing, “Your Grace…”

  Marcus grimaced at the address, “Yes, Sarah?”

  She glowered at him, “It’s Miss Montague as I am neither your servant nor your intimate…I am consumed with curiosity as why you are insisting on troubling and inconveniencing yourself to install these innovations in plumbing.

  While Marcus despised explaining himself he felt that after what Sarah had been through today he could indulge her, “I mentioned before that we would occasionally visit my great uncle’s seat…”

  “Yes, I recall you saying something about those visits,” Sarah stated.

  “What I did not say is that my great uncle’s and now my main ducal estate consists of a keep. What I did not tell you is that my great uncle, the fourth Duke was fanatical about maintaining the traditions at Allendale.”

  “Traditions?” she asked.

  “The place is cold, damp and drafty, my uncle would not so much as even purchase a few more tapestries to warm the place up. Nothing, which has not been there for ages,” Marcus said with a shrug. He guided Sarah over to a bench in the rose garden.

  “Not even a carpet?” Sarah said aghast. As frugal as she and her father had lived, they had had an oriental rug in camp. It was one of the things she had sold to come home to England from Belgium. She was momentarily distracted from her thoughts as Marcus took her hand. She gazed at their two hands. His hand was still the hand of a man who had led soldiers. In time she knew the calluses from handling guns and his saber would disappear. Her hand was the work roughened hand of a woman who had worked hard all of her life and would remain so.

  “Sarah,” he said using his other hand to tilt her head up. “I would like permission to call upon you at your cousins’ house from time to time. As a friend,” he smiled as he said the last.

  Sarah felt it would open herself up to more hurt if she gave him permission to call. It was wrong to even dream of such things, she thought sadly. Sarah pulled away from Marcus and tried to skirt the truth a bit, “Your Grace, I have been receiving gentlemen callers. I would not wish to discourage any of them.”

  “Oh, really,” Marcus commented with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, really,” Sarah said trying to put some enthusiasm into her voice. She wracked her brains attempting to dredge up a name, and she looked over at the boys playing with the dog, “One of the gentlemen might take me out walking.”

  “What is his name?” Marcus asked clearly not believing her.

  Sarah’s eyes widened, and glanced at the roses and the dog again, “Uh, Ross Wulfman.”

  “I feel that as someone who owes you and yours not one but two debts for saving my life, I need to check this gentleman’s credentials,” Marcus said abruptly. “Were it not for me, your father would still be alive to investigate your suitors.”

  “I am almost five and twenty,” Sarah said pursing her lips with annoyance. “I am a good judge of human nature. In fact-”

  “Marcus!” Peter shouted. “We really need to ask you something.”

  Marcus and Sarah both turned to look as Peter and his two new friends ran up to them.

  Marcus looked into the earnest faces of the young boys and lifted his brows enquiringly.

  Peter gave Ida a shove forward, “It was your idea you ask him—“


  “Peter, I can’t talk to him, he’s a blasted Duke,” Ida protested. “That’s almost the King…”

  “Well, someone had better ask me, even a Duke can’t read minds,” Marcus interjected.

  Peter shoved Ida forward giving him an encouraging look, “Uh, Your Grace, Miss Sarah says as how the dog is an Irish Wolfhound and nobody under an Earl can have one.”

  “Yes?” Marcus said guardedly.

  William interrupted, “Peter says your better’n an Earl yer almost ta King…”

  Sarah had to hide a smile as Marcus responded, “Not quite, but I would go into dinner before an Earl.”

  William looked confused, “Dinner? ‘Oo said anything about dinner?”

  “No, William, that’s just the order of presidents like they have over in the Colonies,” Peter corrected with a knowledgeable air.

  Sarah felt like she should take a hand, “Precedence, young man, not presidents. Then she prompted, “You wanted to ask his grace something about the dog?”

  All three boys looked earnestly at Marcus as Ida continued, “If you could be the named owner of the dog for us—we could take care of it. Truly Your Grace, we could gets into trouble for keeping a nobleman’s dog.

  “Unless it was yours,” Peter concluded.

  Marcus stared at the boys with astonishment written plainly on his face. Sarah could see that Marcus was thinking carefully about it. “If I agree to this, what do I receive?” Marcus asked cautiously.

  The three boys looked at each other; they had not thought he would want anything. William was the first to speak, “Wha’ cher want?”

  Marcus appeared to ponder that question a moment and then he said, “If he were my dog, I would need to see he received a proper diet, so I would want send food to him.”

  Sarah gave Marcus a dry look, he gave her back an amused look, “I would want regular access to him, the right to come over and walk him any time I want.”