Duke of Disgrace (Dukes of Destiny Book 3)

by Whitney Blake

  “It doesn’t, Jeremy.”

  “It’s wrong, though, isn’t it?”

  “What, specifically, is wrong?”

  “I shouldn’t even be entertaining…” But he was entertaining. Thoughts. Had been, honestly, almost since Miss Masbeck had entered his life. He was telling Paul only the most genteel notions that had entered his head.

  “You’re entertaining thoughts?” Almost gleeful, Paul snickered. “Jeremy, I do hate to say this because I know how seriously you take honor, but I would say you’ve earned the right to entertain as many thoughts as you’d like.” With more sincerity, Paul continued, “You have been so ill-used. I don’t think Isabel is evil and Lord knows that without women like her there’d be less for men like me to do, but she has behaved abominably.” Jeremy listened to him, eyes on the papers on the desk, reading nothing at all, staying silent. “Do you know why I can’t go after married women? I know what people say and I know what even Mother thinks of me, but I can’t—it’s because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I see how you are and how she’s boxed you into a corner, and… well… I never want to contribute to that in someone’s life, you see.”

  “She wouldn’t have gotten so brazen about it if I hadn’t been an absolute mess when I came back,” insisted Jeremy.

  “That’s neither here nor there. She might have. And how else were you supposed to be?”

  “Better than I was.”

  “You weren’t nearly as bad as some others. Don’t make this all your fault.” Paul was speaking in earnest, which Jeremy appreciated because Paul had been witness to some of his darkest moments. Even though Jeremy was far more functional than the majority of those who sought their comfort in various bottles, Paul had come to help him through the small handful of times when he couldn’t function. It was why Jeremy strove to keep his current use of laudanum a secret.

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Don’t mention it. But what I was going to say, was… look, if you’re having thoughts about Miss Masbeck… I would not judge you either for having them or for trying to see if she wants to act on them, too.”

  Slowly, Jeremy shook his head.

  He couldn’t make much of a moral pronouncement on his dear sibling, but he also couldn’t countenance what Paul suggested. Miss Masbeck had been seeking work, presumably without thinking it was that kind of a position.

  It would be one thing if they’d met in a brothel or a tavern, as the expectation might be there, he supposed. But it was entirely another for her to enter an agreement to become his secretary only for him to make advances upon her.

  Ah, but what if she wants those advances? said a tiny, snakelike voice in the back of his thoughts.

  He’d registered the way she looked at him, her interest. It became veiled quickly behind her keen eyes, but it was there.

  It didn’t matter if she did. He was married and he wanted to try to take that seriously, even if few others did.

  Even if they pitied him, for Christ’s sake.

  He also wondered about her jumpiness around abrupt movements or noises. It had happened only a few times from his observations, but he wasn’t sure why she’d become so paralyzed when Paul had come in, for example. Had she been mistreated? Or was she just easy to startle in general?

  This was all much more than he wanted to handle, and it had a simple solution.

  Don’t. Don’t wonder, don’t want, and don’t act.

  “Thank you,” said Jeremy. “But I won’t be going down that particular road.”

  Paul wouldn’t understand, but he also wouldn’t try to change Jeremy’s mind. Probably. And that was what mattered. “You’re going to be a wonderful influence on Luke when he grows up,” said Paul.

  “I can only hope.”

  “But, Jeremy, don’t be too hard on yourself over this.”

  “I’m not.” Yet Jeremy felt as taut as a drawn bowstring.

  “You’re only human, and there’s only so much you can be expected to take.”

  *

  Half an hour later, Charlotte was through one cup of tea and covertly watching, aghast, as the duchess and her companion flirted in public in broad daylight.

  Well, if not totally public, then definitely not private, either.

  Part of her was still watching purely due to morbid fascination. People did not generally surprise her and she supposed that anyone could be capable of just about anything. But she had never seen such enormous disregard for one’s life’s circumstances. Lady Hareden was conducting herself as though she had not a care in the world, and certainly not a husband and child.

  In a way, Charlotte grudgingly admired her boldness. The very least she could say was that Lady Hareden had gumption.

  At this rate, they might even disappear upstairs. Charlotte poured herself a second cup of tea. A new flood of questions was emerging in her mind. The chiefest of which was, Do I tell Lord Hareden?

  She didn’t even know what she would say. Snorting, Charlotte set down the slightly chipped, serviceable teapot. “Your grace, Lady Hareden was cavorting in Aldbury with a redheaded jackanapes!”

  No, that wouldn’t do.

  Honestly, what she probably should do was nothing. It would reflect badly upon her if it seemed as though she liked to spy on people. At even just the thought, she bristled. All she’d come here to do was have a spot of tea before calling upon her prospective landlady. In truth, if the lady in question wasn’t Lady Hareden, she would have hardly spared either her or the man another glance. It wasn’t for her to say what everyone should get up to on their own time.

  But this was the woman who’d careened into her, made it her fault, and was stepping out on the duke.

  Charlotte hated that she cared.

  When she was younger, she might very well have gone up to the couple and brought Lady Hareden to task. Well, if she’d been younger and an aristocrat. Luckily, she hadn’t been an aristocrat—her childhood temper would have settled her mother and father with a shroud of shame—and luckily, she was older.

  She just sat, stewing in her own indecision and hemmed in by politeness and obligation. She needed this job, or it was back to the Wenwoods, back to home, back to where memories of the worst decision she’d ever made lingered like a bad cough. You need this work, and Lord Hareden is not your friend.

  He said he could be a confidante!

  Yes, but he’s a duke. And this is about his marriage.

  She studied her saucer. No, she had no right to tell the duke any of this. Not out of any respect for Lady Hareden, but out of respect for everything else. Decorum. Whatever acquaintanceship that they did have. Keeping the peace.

  Why, she couldn’t even imagine how the dowager duchess would react to this choice bit of—

  You could tell her, instead!

  To what aim? She clearly had few qualms over interfering in her son’s life. It was entirely possible that Lady Margaret Hareden would draw Charlotte into it, too, and that would make life less than peaceful. She shuddered at the very idea. Thankful for all the days she had been at Rosethorpe and not seen the duchess, Charlotte nonetheless knew that she was not on the woman’s good side. Not so much knew, as conjectured from the ways Mrs. Snow, Mr. Snow, the dowager duchess and even the duke himself referenced Lady Isabel.

  The dowager duchess was by far the most scathing.

  All right, so she would not tell her.

  It was probably best just to move on before she was seen.

  Her ethics weren’t happy with the scene, but her pragmatism said there was nothing she could do, or should be expected to do, with the knowledge of its existence. Were the duke a true friend, she would have made the decision to go to him directly. But since that wasn’t the case, there was too much at risk of upsetting if she were to tip the apple cart, so to speak.

  She tried to watch as covertly as possible when the rake reached out and stroked Lady Hareden’s arm, then leaned in and kissed the side of her neck.

&
nbsp; She was certain, though, that if they were to look at her, they’d see disbelief and disgust on her face.

  *

  Late afternoon and then early evening came before Jeremy realized that he had not seen Miss Masbeck since Paul’s arrival. He knew that he had given her the day off, but that still didn’t explain why she hadn’t come back from, he guessed, Aldbury.

  It felt off, so he summoned Mrs. Snow to the second parlor where he and Paul were playing chess.

  “You just want to interrupt us because I’m winning,” said Paul.

  Paul always won when they played, which never seemed quite real because it required the sort of mind he mistakenly assumed his brother did not have. Chuckling at Paul, Jeremy shook his head. “Mrs. Snow, have you seen Miss Masbeck since, oh, about eleven this morning?”

  The housekeeper thought, then shook her head. “Why, your grace? Is something the matter?”

  “No, no, Mrs. Snow… at least I would think not. I just wondered, that is all. She set out to Aldbury shortly after Paul arrived.”

  “I can inquire amongst the others, of course.”

  “If you wish.”

  When Mrs. Snow had turned and gone from the room, Paul cocked his head quizzically.

  “There’s nothing odd about spending that much time away from Rosethorpe, you know, even if she’s just gone to Aldbury. Or, isn’t she from some part of London, if her father works for Wenwood? She could have gone to see—”

  “I don’t think she’d go all the way to London just for an evening,” said Jeremy. “And besides, I just…”

  “Just?”

  “Have a feeling.”

  “Oh, my, a feeling.”

  “Don’t act like a child.”

  “I’m sorry, Jeremy. It’s very chivalrous of you to ask after this secretary for whom you decidedly do not carry a tendre.” Wickedly, Paul beamed. “Do you ask if anyone has seen Isabel after she’s been gone a few hours, or do you wait a few days?”

  “Neither. I know when anyone sees her because there’s often shouting at some point. And if Mother sees her first, there’s usually shrieking.”

  “Very savage, Brother,” said Paul. “There may be hope for you, yet. Now go on. It’s your turn.” He nodded toward the chessboard, smiling expectantly. “This is the only thing I’ve ever bested you in, and you’d best believe that I relish the sensation.”

  “That isn’t strictly true,” said Jeremy, sliding a pawn.

  “No?”

  “You’ve got a much better eye for tailoring than I have.”

  “Why, thank you, Jeremy.”

  “It’s the only thing that’s gotten you so much feminine attention,” said Jeremy slyly.

  “You are two for two this evening,” said Paul approvingly. Though his wit had seen better days, Jeremy prided himself on being quietly and quickly deadly when it came to repartee. He allowed himself a small grin. A knock came from the archway between the second parlor and the foyer. That had to be Mr. Snow—he’d been doing the same sort of knock for almost thirty years. It was a sound embedded deeply within Jeremy’s childhood memories.

  “Yes, Mr. Snow?”

  The older man said, “Your grace, Sarah says that Miss Masbeck has been in the manor for at least half an hour by her reckoning.”

  “Oh? Well, that’s all right, then,” said Jeremy. Paul smothered an unmanly giggle from across the table. “I’d wondered if she decided to stay in Aldbury, or…”

  But Mr. Snow hesitated. “I think it’s probably just something or other, or perhaps Miss Masbeck has a megrim? But Sarah did mention that she looked… what was the word the lass used? Ah, strained.”

  Jeremy had suspected that Miss Masbeck was getting on well with the staff, despite being neither true staff member nor servant. Mr. Snow’s concerned words confirmed it. In a house that often felt rather strained, itself, it was no small blessing to have someone new fit in harmoniously.

  “Oh? I am sorry to hear it.”

  “Yes, your grace. I expect it’s due to her still adjusting,” said Mr. Snow kindly.

  “No doubt.”

  “Did you need to see her?”

  “No, thank you. Today did not turn out to be a working day.”

  Paul took all of this in with nearly unrestrained amusement. After Mr. Snow quit the parlor, he declared, “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “It’s hard to put into words,” said Paul, feigning a squint at him. “Almost like a very possessive mother cat.” Paul had retained his fanciful way of framing things well into his adulthood. By the time Jeremy was his age, four and twenty, he would never have dreamed of likening a grown man to a mother cat.

  “Mother cat?”

  “Fine, a possessive tom.”

  That was worse because it was more accurate. “Don’t let Isabel hear you saying anything like that.”

  Though, it was probably what she wanted or possibly how she saw him, anyway. He had no idea where he stood in her regard any more. She consented to share a roof with him, but much of that probably had to do with her comfortable circumstances.

  “Whyever not?”

  “She’s already fairly soured on me. I don’t need to give her more of a cause because she overhears you and thinks I’ve taken up a tryst with my secretary.”

  “It would be massively hypocritical of her to take issue.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think she sees it that way.” Jeremy had the sudden compulsion to call for some wine to be brought.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, and I know when I asked, I was still a bit green. Well, the last time I asked, I mean. What… was it always… like this?”

  God, it felt like it had been. Knowing that his brother was obliquely referring to the infidelity, Jeremy said, truthfully, “It was never what I imagined my marriage would be like, but there was loyalty on both sides. For a little while.”

  “But not long enough for Luke to be…” said Paul, not callously, but frankly. “He’s…”

  “You don’t have to say it. I’ve never said it in as many words. Saying it would make it worse.”

  “Jeremy, we love him. I mean, I love him. And I know Mother does, too. It isn’t his fault who his father is, is it? Or who his mother is.”

  “I know,” said Jeremy, watching as a fox ambled its way through the green patch of garden that he could barely see through the window. “I wish things were different.”

  To his surprise and pride, Paul was uncharacteristically somber. “Me, too. Because I know how much better it would be for you.” He hesitated. Jeremy raised his eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “By Jove, don’t hit me for wondering…”

  “I outgrew that. Go on.”

  “Why do you tolerate it?”

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “You do,” said Paul earnestly. When Higgins came in with the wine, Paul poured both himself and Jeremy generous measures. “You don’t have to keep living like this.” He passed one glass to Jeremy.

  “If you’re thinking what I think you are thinking… it’s arduous, and rather degrading.” Jeremy took a very long drink of claret. “I would know better than you.”

  “Luke is all the evidence you’d need, isn’t he?”

  That gave Jeremy some pause. In theory, Luke might be enough, but the ecclesiastical courts were full of such sticklers that he’d probably need to be able to show them Isabel fornicating with a lover on the street. In person. He shook his head. Parliamentarians might be more sympathetic, but that didn’t console him.

  “It would ruin his life.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. Well, he wouldn’t be your heir if he was deemed to be illegitimate, but wouldn’t a lot of his circumstances be up to you, in the end? Isabel wouldn’t want him. You could keep him. Maintain him. Bring him up. Look at me—I’m fine not being a duke.”

  “You’re also not a bastard,” drawled Jeremy. “In the li
teral sense.”

  “Hush, I’ve a heart of gold,” said Paul with a grin. “I’m only saying, why should you have to be miserable? It’s wonderful that you’re thinking of Luke, but what about your life? Haven’t you been through enough?”

  It wasn’t just Luke, if Jeremy were to be honest. The thought of going through anything needed to produce an end to his marriage soured his stomach.

  Too much notoriety. Too much bother. And he was so tired.

  Chapter Eight

  There wasn’t any reason to sequester herself in her room because Lady Hareden was not in the manor. Charlotte tried to be logical.

  She was still at the inn in Aldbury.

  Just before Charlotte had stood up to leave and ideally see the woman on Hanover Street about those rooms, Lady Hareden’s companion nodded to her, pointing her out to the duchess, and Charlotte found she was pinned to the spot by several emotions coursing through her.

  One was fear, of course, which didn’t entirely make sense. They were in public; what could Mrs. Emily Rattray hope to do?

  The rest of her feelings were comprised of a strange mixture of loathing, confusion and annoyance. She and the duchess were scarcely acquainted. They were, almost without exception, strangers. She had seen neither hide nor hair of Lady Hareden since coming to be in the duke’s employ, and she preferred it that way.

  Swallowing, Charlotte did not get up from her chair and she waited for the imperious woman to come to her. Her lack of deference galled Lady Hareden, she could tell by her expression, but Mrs. Rattray and Miss Harrison, unlike Lady Isabel Hareden and Miss Charlotte Masbeck, were on nearly equal social ground.

  Charlotte tilted her head curiously, waiting to see if Lady Hareden’s charade would end because she felt due a respect she did not deserve. The charade didn’t end or even falter, though a becoming blush spread across her unblemished cheeks.