Duke of Disgrace (Dukes of Destiny Book 3)

by Whitney Blake

  The path to Aldbury was quite beautiful, an old right of way dappled by sunlight and shadow. Yes, she really ought to take the rooms on Hanover Street. It would be better for her and better for Lord Hareden. She imagined that Lady Hareden was not the sort of woman who would look kindly upon her husband being decent to a female employee, and it was probably obvious to everyone who saw Lord Hareden and Charlotte together that they were on rather amicable terms.

  She saw it as simple: he was intelligent and a kind man at heart. She did not believe he harbored any ill-ideas toward her. However, she knew that a jealous wife would not necessarily see things that way. Even if the jealous wife is acting like a shrew.

  Perhaps she would find out why, in time. She did not dare to ask anyone. Wouldn’t dream of it. On the other hand, it could just be that Lady Hareden was one of those women who was always going to seek out other companions. Charlotte was not generally given to harsh judgements. She was just confused about what might have prompted Lady Hareden’s decision to begin taking lovers in the first place. Women were often mistreated by their husbands, which was one potential motive, yet she could see no evidence of Lord Hareden being cruel.

  Whenever it had started, Charlotte noted with some sadness for the duke that it was certainly before the birth of his heir. There was no way on earth that the little boy could be Lord Hareden’s. Not with those looks. He didn’t even look much like Lady Hareden. Whoever his sire, that man must look like him.

  You’ll do better to stay out of Lady Hareden’s line of fire, Lottie.

  Fancying refreshment after her walk, she ventured into the inn at the edge of the village and gratefully entered the cool, inviting space. It was filled with patrons seeking an afternoon meal, some who had completed a morning of shopping. She looked around for an unoccupied space and decided to give a leering, redheaded man in the corner a wide berth.

  He was clearly monied, with his fine attire, and he was arrogantly good-looking.

  As soon as he caught her eye, she frowned. He smirked.

  Charlotte ignored him and took a seat near the door.

  While Charlotte was waiting for one of the barmaids to draw near so that she could ask for some food, none other than Lady Hareden entered the taproom from a second door that seemingly led to the stairs.

  Chapter Seven

  Under normal circumstances, Charlotte probably would have assumed that Lady Hareden would not necessarily recall what she, an employee of the duke’s, looked like. But Charlotte also trusted that spite and the shock of having collided with a strange woman in her own domain could very well mean that the duchess would remember her and be able to spot her from across the taproom.

  That would be just my luck.

  Charlotte tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. It was no mean feat because the space was not immense. But she hoped that by simply not moving overmuch or attracting attention, Lady Hareden would not see that she was also present in the inn. If she tried to leave, she fretted that it might draw more attention.

  Not often drawn to thinking the worst of a situation, Charlotte tried to conjure up an innocent, plausible reason why the Duchess of Bowland might be in an inn without her husband. Aldbury was such a short distance from the manor and it was not far from London. Charlotte would think she was mad for trying to conduct an assignation here.

  She wouldn’t, would she?

  But perhaps she was foolhardy.

  Surreptitiously, Charlotte eyed the duchess. She wore plain—for her—attire, a relatively unadorned but still stunning forest green dress that set off her blonde hair and coloring to perfection.

  Then, as though drawn to him by a call only she could hear, Lady Hareden crossed the room to take a seat by the flame-haired man who’d smirked at Charlotte only moments before. Interesting, she thought. She could divine nothing from the pair’s conversation, which was veiled by the murmurs of fifteen others in the immediate vicinity.

  No one must know the duchess by sight, which Charlotte considered likely given Lady Hareden’s disposition. She did not seem to be the type of duchess to take much of an interest in the ordinary people near whom she lived.

  Or, Lady Hareden did not mind if they did know her.

  Regardless, it was obvious that she was a woman of quality. It was in her attire and her bearing. The innkeeper and barmaids seemed accustomed to that, at least, and didn’t appear to be nervous in her presence. Well-heeled travelers probably passed through on their way to and from London.

  When one of the older barmaids came closer to her, Charlotte beckoned her aside and said, “Pardon me, but… that woman in the corner with the redheaded man… who is she?” Without pausing in her light tone, she added, “I only ask because that is a simply stunning dress.”

  The barmaid had none of it, giving Charlotte an assessing, questioning look. Charlotte knew she herself did not look like she enjoyed the means to purchase such a thing.

  Still, the woman answered her question and there was no guile in her response that Charlotte could detect.

  “That is Mrs. Emily Rattray, a widow who recently moved here, Miss…”

  Emily Rattray? A widow? Well. Two can play at that game. The last thing she needed was for any word to somehow get back to the duchess that a Miss Charlotte Masbeck was asking questions about Mrs. Emily Rattray.

  “I’m Miss Laura Harrison.”

  “Miss Harrison,” said the barmaid. “Can I bring you something?”

  “Just tea, thank you.” She was suddenly too nervous to eat.

  As the barmaid nodded, then walked away to procure her tea, Charlotte pondered the thought that Lady Hareden had, at least within Aldbury, taken an alias. It signified two things to Charlotte: one, that she’d never bothered to get to know the villagers and kept well out of their way, at least as the “Duchess of Bowland”, and two, that she was up to something.

  The prior realization did not surprise Charlotte at all. While many ladies of the ton were reputed to be very involved in their local causes and their immediate communities, there were at least as many who never met anyone beneath their stations and preferred instead to spend their time strictly amongst their own sort. Lady Hareden did strike her as the latter sort of duchess.

  She’d probably never been introduced within Aldbury. That kind of omission did happen, or so she’d gathered from overhearing the Wenwoods’ conversations. With Lady Wenwood’s background, the fact of the matter was that she and Lord Wenwood often poked gentle fun at the ton in private. It was refreshing that Lord Wenwood did not try to evade her unflattering but true assessments of his peers.

  Charlotte shuddered to think of the Hareden wedding festivities, if there’d been any open to the public at all. She and Lord Hareden truly must not have been a love match, then. He’s so invested in what goes on here. I wonder if her reticence or disdain for these people has hurt him?

  Charlotte bit her lower lip. Focus, she instructed herself.

  The duke’s finer feelings didn’t have anything to do with whatever was going on here. He couldn’t have known what his wife was up to in Aldbury; he believed she was gone to London. Surely. It was probably as straightforward as it seemed—Lady Hareden, with or without foresight, must be using a widow’s persona to conduct liaisons. From what little Charlotte had seen of the woman, she surmised Lady Hareden was actually intelligent, but possibly too self-absorbed to give much attention to detail.

  It was horrid, really, to make such an assumption about a fellow woman, but Charlotte was choosing to read between the lines and also couldn’t think very warmly about someone who seemed to deride all in her path.

  Had life dealt Lady Hareden a hard hand? Charlotte nibbled the nail of her pinky finger in thought. She recalled Lord Hareden in his lurid, opiate-induced candor. What exactly had he been referring to?

  Maybe, just maybe, Lady Hareden’s most outrageous behavior had started after he returned home from war. It must have been hard to witness one’s husband changed, and perhaps he
leaned more heavily on the laudanum than he’d implied to Charlotte.

  She frowned, casting her vacant gaze on a group of old, toothless men who were playing cards in the corner. She shouldn’t stare so much at the rake and the duchess.

  The duke seemed a proud man, but what aristocrat was not, and anyway, what motive would he have to make himself appear any better in Charlotte’s regard? She did not want to believe he was lying about the laudanum, and it also wasn’t the chiefest of her concerns at the moment.

  Oh, dear.

  Lady Hareden was giggling over something her companion had said. He was kissing the back of her right hand with a gleaming look in his eye that was not hard to interpret even from this far away. Then he brought his lips to her wrist and nibbled.

  *

  Paul examined the shelves like he’d never been in the room. “Goodness, Jeremy, she really has performed a miracle in here.”

  “Mother’s instincts were right.”

  “They usually are. But how do you mean?”

  “Mother found Miss Masbeck.”

  “Found her?”

  “Oh, Miss Masbeck’s father is Wenwood’s steward,” said Jeremy, watching his little brother pace from shelf to shelf as he eyed the books and files with some wonder. Jeremy could relate. Miss Masbeck had unearthed things he’d thought long lost to the disorganization brought about by his distracted mental state. “He trained Miss Masbeck, and apparently Wenwood brought her to Mother’s attention.”

  “So, Mother was interfering,” said Paul, and Jeremy didn’t have to see his face in order to know he was grinning.

  “More or less.”

  “She worries about you, you know.”

  “Bit difficult not to notice.”

  “Shouldn’t she worry?”

  “Paul, why are you here?” Jeremy leaned back in his chair and feigned a yawn. The idea that anyone worried for him was a distinctly uncomfortable one. He also could not get over the way Paul had insinuated he and Miss Masbeck were having an affair. It was an incredibly rude thing to do in front of an unknown woman.

  The way Jeremy himself had responded to the insinuation was also alarming. He liked the suggestion.

  He was, in short, trying not to muse on it.

  “Well… I simply got homesick. Again.”

  “Nonsense. Of course, you’re always welcome…”

  Paul stopped his restless meandering and finally looked at Jeremy head-on. “Lady Rosin’s father caught us in the library of their townhouse and I need to make myself scarce for a bit.”

  Jeremy groaned. “You are incorrigible. You do realize?”

  He loved his brother. He did. And luckily, Paul was not often caught in his indiscretions, of which there were far too many. But he was getting too old to be so free with his affections. Their mother had given up trying to persuade Paul to settle down, so the task had passed to Jeremy. Not that he was particularly good at accomplishing what Mother had not. So far, even Jeremy had not helped Paul to see sense in that aspect of life.

  And Father would be no help if he were still alive. But perhaps it was better that he’d passed before being able to reinforce the notion that Paul’s behavior was fully acceptable. Jeremy had never wondered too much about why their father was so strict with him—that seemed obvious enough. He was the heir. He had to maintain certain façades and undertake responsibilities that, God willing, Paul would not have to.

  Jeremy envied Paul his carefree outlook and freedoms. Not that I’ll ever admit it.

  “It’s been said.”

  “You haven’t ruined this woman, have you?”

  “I’m not a cad, Jeremy.” Paul pretended to be offended, clutching at his heart.

  “You rather are. Look, I’m being serious. Have you compromised someone’s prospects? That’s hardly fair.”

  They’d been over this before. Jeremy had made his peace with Paul’s rather omnivorous pursuits of carnal excitement, but he also made sure to point out that Paul was lucky not to be the Bowland heir. His allowance and maintenance would be revoked if he were to make trouble. True trouble, anyway. As it transpired, the lad was good-hearted, if spirited and unrepentantly interested in pleasure.

  He had managed not to cause any real grief for his lovers, which was something of a feat in and of itself. He was both chivalrous and wolfish, which should have been a contradiction, but each existed elegantly in his demeanor.

  “No, Father,” said Paul with a smirk. “The only witness was her unfortunate sire. We weren’t at a ball or in public. She’d assured me her parents were away until the evening but, apparently, she was wrong.” Paul sat down in the chair previously occupied by Miss Masbeck. “It’s not a crisis, Jeremy. Truly. It’s just that her younger brother recently took rooms at the Albany and I don’t want to deal with seeing him.”

  “Has she told her brother about you?”

  “No, but I’m sure her father has told him,” said Paul airily. “He seems like a nice enough chap, but I’m not willing to risk it. People can get so funny over family.”

  It took Jeremy considerable strength of will not to roll his eyes. “The blue room is yours as long as you need it. Consider it your haven,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Splendid,” Paul said, beaming. “I’ve already told Mr. Snow to have my trunk brought there.” Paul stretched and brought his long arms behind his head. “So, has anyone met your Miss Masbeck?”

  “Anyone? And she’s not mine.”

  “Clients. Fat local farmers. Peers of the Realm.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Do you plan on having her interact with anybody?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, for one thing, she’s quite pretty—”

  “Paul…”

  “I’m not saying it for a salacious reason! Just, you know how men are—no matter how well she works, how competent she is, people will always see that first.”

  Paul was watching Jeremy closely; Jeremy didn’t like it.

  “I don’t know what you’re implying… and I know how you are…”

  “I’m not implying. I’m saying.” Like a cat pouncing on a mouse, Paul said, “I’ve never denied how I am. That’s your penchant. Self-denial. Have you not noticed it, yourself?”

  “Noticed what?” But Jeremy knew where this was heading. He was just stalling for time.

  “That she’s pretty.”

  Of course he had. He’d noticed on the first day she’d come here—when he’d saved her from a nasty collision with the marble floor. The problem wasn’t that she was pretty. It was that she was more than that. Intellectual, observant, astute, and not just pretty, but beautiful.

  Bugger.

  Paul must have watched all of this play itself out on Jeremy’s face, for he said, before hearing any of the many plausible responses Jeremy was trying to formulate, “Oh, no, Jeremy.” He shook his head, smiling lopsidedly, and tsked. “Has she turned your head? What a cliché. Or not. I do suppose she’s not Luke’s governess. That would be even worse. But Jane is rather stern, you’ll be happy to know, or a—”

  “I’ll thank you to keep out of my affairs.”

  “You don’t have affairs. That’s precisely the point I am trying to make. What is it about this woman that has caught your attention?”

  Glowering, Jeremy huffed and shuffled a few of the papers on his desk. He never had had an affair. Isabel’s unfaithfulness had only started to rankle after he’d returned home, or so he liked to tell himself. It was hard to acknowledge the truth, which was that it had always smarted. He had not known before Luke that she was being adulterous, but once he realized the baby was not his, it did sting.

  Privately, he thought he had reason to be as complicit in her infidelity as she was. He had come back to her a jumpy, sullen, quiet creature with one less hand and a troubling interest in intoxicating substances.

  They had never been close or particularly warm, but they’d been cordial. Luke was born a summer befor
e Salamanca, and he became living evidence of the sham that was his parents’ marriage. Jeremy sighed. How vulgar, putting it like that. Yet he couldn’t help it.

  He ached for companionship, both physically and spiritually.

  Still, in his view, it had taken him coming back broken and scattered for Isabel to be pushed into taking lovers in the plural. Lots of them, if the gossip was to be believed. Before then, she’d had the one.

  He bore it like penance. If only his mind were stronger, less fragile. But he’d never wanted to be a soldier. Not really. He’d liked the training, the learning. He’d even liked the way his body changed, how he felt more powerful as he pushed himself past various limits. His mind seemed to be the trouble. When all was said and done, the lack of his right hand didn’t embarrass him as much as people thought it did. It wasn’t the most grievous injury he had seen by far, and he counted himself lucky.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So you’re admitting that she has caught your interest. Don’t bother denying it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “She’s different.”

  “From Isabel? I should say so.”

  “Yes, but… in general.”

  “That can’t be the only thing. She’s a female secretary. I knew she was different as soon as you introduced her as such. But the world’s full of bluestockings these days, so perhaps she isn’t so very singular because of that.” Paul leaned forward, watching Jeremy’s face. “Have you spent much time with her since she’s been here?”

  “Enough to explain what needed to be done… the estate, inasmuch as she needed to know about its affairs… some of my clientele in London…”

  “So, definitely more time than you have with your wife.”

  “That isn’t a difficult mark to surpass,” said Jeremy flatly. “If that were my measure for liking anyone, I would like everyone.”

  “My poor brother,” said Paul, with no small amount of sympathy.

  “I feel… safe, with her,” said Jeremy after some deliberation. “I feel understood.” He shrugged. “I know that must sound idiotic to you.”

  But as soon as he said it aloud, he knew that was it. Miss Masbeck did not judge him. She did not seem to want anything from him past employment and respect. She conversed with him freely in a way no woman really had, regardless of station. While she was guarded and did disclose only what she meant to, she was not nervous around him, either. He got the sense that, somehow, she did empathize with him. He didn’t understand how that could be or why, but he appreciated the quiet strength and warmth that she emanated.