The Duke's Revenge

by Alexia Praks

  “Lady Westwood, I—”

  “Get out!”

  Murphy stood and placed his satchel in front of him as a barrier, just in case the woman attacked him. “I—”

  “I will not listen to you further. Just get out, now!”

  “But, my lady, I am not finished yet. Perhaps—”

  “We have no more to talk about, Mr. McDonald. Leave now. If you must know, sir, a rich earl has already asked for Ivy’s hands in marriage. Now, out with you, sir!” she said, stalking toward the door.

  “Please, my lady, please just listen to what I have to say first,” Murphy begged.

  “I will not!” she squealed and turned the door handle.

  Murphy looked at her angry face and knew he had no choice but to force his hand. “Lady Westwood,” he said slowly, “if you do not think this through thoroughly you will be sleeping in the street.”

  Grace turned to look at him. “What did you say?”

  “Your debt has been mounting,” the lawyer said. “You might know my employer; he is the Duke of Lynwood. I was not supposed to even mention his name, but you gave me no choice, my lady. You see over these past years you have been over spending yourself. I do not know if you know this but your loan has been increasing daily. Even this house and the land you have in the country would not even pay off half of what you owe the duke.”

  “Are you saying that the duke would kick me out? That I am to live in the streets like mere commoners?” she shrieked in dismay.

  Murphy nodded. “I know that would not suit you.”

  Grace felt her knees weakened as she shook her head.

  “There is a way out of this, my lady,” Murphy said, looking at her pale face.

  She turned to look at him and said very calmly, “Please take a seat, Mr. McDonald, we have much to discuss.”

  Murphy nodded and walked back to his seat.

  She did the same and said, “What is going to happen if I were to refuse his grace’s offer?”

  Murphy looked at her with his white brows raised. “Let me assure you, my lady, that the duke is not a greedy man, he is a man of justice.”

  “A man of justice?” she snapped. “He planned to kick me out of my house.”

  Murphy widened his eyes. “I assure you that I would do the same and no doubt, my lady, many others when their debtor does not pay the due amount, and not only that but has increases the debt ten times the amount in ten years. And that, my lady, does not include the interest.”

  Grace fisted her hands. “I assure you that I haven’t spent that much.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  She opened her mouth to reply but only to shut it again.

  Murphy knew she had no reply to that. “What say we get this done with?”

  She nodded with her face grim.

  “Now, if you were to agree His Grace’s proposal,” he cleared his throat, “and your daughter, of course, he will terminate all your debts in which the amount is, now what was it?” He took up his satchel, opened it, and dug his hand in to do some searching. A moment later he took out a piece of paper. He put on his spectacle over the bridge of his nose and scanned down the page. “Aye, the amount is one hundred thousand pounds.”

  Grace gasped.

  Murphy glanced up at her and then continued, “Not only that, my lady, he will also pay for the renovation of this manor to its formal glory.” He nodded and looked up. He saw the sudden spark of interest in her eyes. “And he will also give you an allowance of five hundred pounds a year,” he added.

  “Five hundred pounds?” she whispered, her eyes glinting in anticipation.

  “Aye, five hundred pounds, a very comfortable sum indeed,” Murphy confirmed.

  She turned to look at him. “Pray tell me a little bit about His Grace.”

  “I assume you’ve already know him.”

  “Nay, I don’t know him. Everything was arranged through my dead husband, Liam. I’ve never met the duke himself.”

  Murphy chuckled and nodded. “The duke is pretty famous for making his fortune. He did not inherit it though he did his title and a huge amount of debts from his great uncle who he had no idea existed. Not many nobles like him because they think him not a gentleman for working.”

  “A true gentleman should never work, Mr. Murphy,” Grace said curtly.

  “Is that what you think, my lady?”

  “Aye, according to Society.”

  Murphy nodded and dug his hand into his bag. He brought out another piece of paper.

  “What is that?”

  “A contract, my lady.”

  “A contract?”

  “From what the duke had conducted, he has a contract for you and your daughter to sign.” He handed the paper to her. “What do you say, my lady? Of course, we’ll give you time to absorb this, but His Grace want an answer in about a week and no more.”

  “Such haste?”

  “Aye, that is what he wanted. I shall come back in a week time in which I hope the answer will be ready.” He picked up his satchel and stood.

  “Yes, Mr. McDonald, I shall see you then?”

  “Thank you, my lady, until then,” Murphy said and walked to the door.

  Grace returned to the desk and sat down. She looked at the paper and then picked up the quill.

  ***

  Mrs. Johnson drummed her plumb fingers on the kitchen table as she stared up at the ceiling. Tracy, the kitchenmaid, walked back and forward impatiently with her hands on her hips. Rena, the parlourmaid, leaned against the table top. She looked relaxed but the fact was that she was in as much nervousness as was the rest of the staff.

  Finally, the signal came. Gray poked his in through the kitchen door and said in bravado, “All right everybody, the coast is clear. Her Ladyship and Ms Gale are gone.”

  Rena and Tracy rushed toward the sliver trays sitting on the table. Mrs. Johnson slid her plump body off the chair and walked out the kitchen. The two maids trailed behind her toward their destination.

  They came to a door on the first floor, and Mrs. Johnson produced a key from her hidden pocket. She inserted it into the lock and did a click. The door opened, and they filed into the room. Gray was the last to enter. Once inside, he search about the hallway again from left to right, nodded with satisfaction that all was safe and shut the door.

  Ivy was standing at the window, watching Uncle John driving her mother to the Staffordshire Town. They had left in the new landau in which Lord McNeill had given to them as a gift only a few months ago. She had no doubt also that her mother would be buying more gowns and accessories again, with money from their creditors. She wondered how her mother could do such a thing when they were getting poorer everyday and the fact that their debts were mounting everyday also.

  Aye, her mother was an extravagant woman. She did not care how much money she owed people just as long as she got her fashionable gown and showing it off to the ton, she was satisfied.

  Ivy turned as Mrs. Johnson and the maids walked in through the door.

  Mrs. Johnson came to her and hugged her. “Oh, m’ lady, why just look at you, so thin.”

  The two maids placed the trays on the table and they uncovered the silver lids, introducing delicious breakfast. There were toasts, rolls, a jar of raspberry jam, and butter in one tray, and the other tray contained tea set.

  Ivy mouth watered for she had not eaten since yesterday afternoon when the maids had sneaked her food.

  “Mrs. Johnson, Gray, Rena, and Tracy, I don’t know how to thank you all,” she said. She wanted to cry and her heart constricted by the care these people bestowed upon her. If only her mother would do the same.

  With that thanks, the four people just mumbled something like ‘it’s all right,’ ‘a pleasure,’ and a nod from both Gray and Rena.

  Mrs. Johnson pulled out a chair for her and said, “Now you sit down and have your food, m’ lady, we don’t want you to go and get sick, you know.”

  Ivy sat down and began to eat in l
eisure, tasting the flavor and smelling the aroma of the delicious simple meal that Mrs. Johnson had prepared for her.

  “I saw ye went into the study ‘tis morning when that man came, Mrs. Johnson, did ye hear anything?” Rena asked suddenly.

  “Who came, Mrs. Johnson?” Ivy turned to look at the housekeeper.

  “I don’t know, m’ lady. Do you know who the man was, Gray?” Mrs. Johnson turned to the butler.

  “Aye, he’s a solicitor.”

  Mrs. Johnson glanced at Ivy. “I brought them tea. They were talking but they stopped when I was there.”

  “What about ye, sir, do ye know anything?” Tracy asked Gray.

  He shook his head. “I left afterward, of course, I thought nothing of it.”

  “That’s a shame then. I thought Mrs. Johnson might know something since she went in.” Rena looked at the housekeeper.

  “They didn’t talk when I was there, but I didn’t say I didn’t eavesdrop on them now, did I?” Mrs. Johnson looked at the parlourmaid with her brows raised.

  “You eavesdrop on them?” Rena asked, astound.

  Mrs. Johnson nodded.

  “Well then?”

  “Aye, ‘tis bad, very bad indeed,” the housekeeper said, turning to Ivy who was staring up at her.

  Ivy felt a tight uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach at the way Mrs. Johnson was looking at her. Something was not right.

  “Tell us what ye heard,” Rena urged.

  Mrs. Johnson came round to Ivy and took her trembling hands. She said, “My dear, ‘tis indeed bad.”

  Ivy stared up at the housekeeper and whispered, “Tell me.”

  “This lawyer, you see, came on behalf of his employer, some duke or other. He told Her Ladyship that his employer is asking for you.”

  “Oh dear, that does sound very bad indeed,” Tracy put in.

  “It can’t be that bad. I mean this duke might be young and perhaps better looking than that old Lord McNeil’,” Rena interjected, nodding her head as if her thought was sound.

  “Rena’s right, m’ lady, perhaps this duke is young and perhaps Her Ladyship might consider that ye take him instead of that Lord McNeil’,” Tracy agreed, nodding her head.

  “Nay, ‘tis not good I say,” Mrs. Johnson interrupted.

  “Why so?” Rena turned to look at the woman. “Is he not as rich as Lord McNeill?”

  “Nay, ‘tis not that, he is richer so I’ve heard from what the lawyer told Her Ladyship. To me, she seems very please.”

  “Then what could be worst than that Lord McNeil?”

  “Well, I heard the lawyer said he is a very close friend of this duke.” She nodded her head as if that should answer their question.

  They looked at one another in confusion.

  Ivy griped her hands and whispered, “I don’t understand, Mrs. Johnson.” Her distress was apparent on her pale face.

  The housekeeper turned to Gray. “Haven’t you seen the lawyer?”

  “Aye,” Gray answered.

  “Then you should understand.”

  Gray looked at Mrs. Johnson blankly.

  “Ho, Gray, describe what the lawyer looks like.”

  “Nice man; decently dressed in a lawyer type of way, quite old, around fifty odd years. He’s bald, of course,” Gray said, proudly touching his own hair that was still dark and thick.

  Ivy felt sick. The food in her stomach started to protest.

  “He’s old,” Rena said, nodding her head.

  “Aye, he’s old, and he said his employer is his friend, might I say a very good friend. Now, how old do you think this duke might be?” Mrs. Johnson asked no one in particular.

  “He will be as old as this lawyer is or even older,” Tracy said, shivering at the thought of the baldhead.

  “Oh, God!” Ivy whispered.

  “That’s not all,” the housekeeper said quietly.

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  “What do you mean?” Ivy asked.

  “Oh, m’ lady, I’m sorry to be the barer of bad news.” She sighed heavily as though she was carrying a big burden on her plum shoulders. “M’ lady, this duke is asking for you but not for marriage.” She took a deep breath and said, “He is asking you to become his mistress.”

  Ivy gasped. Her heart started to beat so fast she thought she was going to die.

  “Oh God Almighty!” Rena whispered and did the cross sign.

  Ivy stared at Mrs. Johnson. She didn’t blink and tears started to flow down her pale cheeks.

  “M’ lady,” the housekeeper said, putting her arms around Ivy’s shoulders. “You should clear away these dishes,” she said to the maids.

  Both Rena and Tracy hurried to clear the table. Once they were finished, Gray left with them.

  “Oh, Mrs. Johnson...” Ivy sobbed. Her distress was so deep it hurt.

  “Hush, m’ lady, it’s going to be all right,” the housekeeper said, patting her back.

  Later, after Ivy had had a good cry in her arms, Mrs. Johnson left and locked the door as if no one had ever gone inside.

  CHAPTER 5

  Waves of amber liquid slashed itself against the crystal wall as Max twirled the wineglass about in his hand. The study was in quietness except for the occasional crackling of coals that were being devoured by the hungry fire.

  He placed the wineglass on the table beside him and relaxed back against the chair. He smiled.

  Soon his plan for vengeance would be fulfilled, and Lady Grace Westwood, the woman responsible, would face justice and suffer as he had suffered.

  “Your grace, Mr. McDonald is here to see you,” Donald announced at the doorway.

  He nodded, and the butler left.

  No doubt, he thought, Murphy was here to report of their progress in his plan. His eyes twinkled with amusement. A good report he hoped, from Murphy.

  A few seconds later, he heard foot steps as Murphy entered the room. He nodded at the older man. “’Tis late for such a visit, is it not, my friend?”

  “Indeed, your grace, ‘tis late but I must admit the report I am about to give you is worth this very late meeting.” Murphy smiled merrily and took the seat opposite Max.

  “Good news I hoped, Murphy?”

  “Indeed, your grace, good news indeed,” the older man said and chuckled, thinking about his dinner that had just past four hours ago with Lady Grace Westwood.

  Lord, but the lady was a very enchanting host indeed. She was wearing a yellow gown that was snuggly fitted against her shapely body and that daring décolletage of hers had enable his eyes to feast upon her white cleavage.

  “And what good news is this, pray tell, Murphy,” Max said, his face turning hard in the flickering light from the fire near him as he looked intensely at the solicitor.

  “‘Tis about your proposal, your grace, as you had predicted the Lady Westwood has grabbed this offer with both hands. I must say ‘tis unusual that Her Ladyship did not discuss such arrangement with her daughter.”

  “I do not care whether she discussed of such offer to her daughter or not, Murphy.”

  “But still, ‘tis obvious that she did not mention of her daughter’s decision.”

  “No matter, Murphy, I say as long as they signed the contract that is all I care.”

  “Ah, the contract, that puzzles me indeed. Her Ladyship has signed both agreements.” Murphy bent down to open his satchel. He took out a piece of paper and handed it over to Max.

  So it was done, Max thought, as he stared down at the paper in his hands. The very first step of his plan had been successful. He smiled. It was too easy.

  “It worries me, your grace.” Murphy raised his white brows and his wrinkle face scrunched with concern.

  “Worried about what, Murphy?”

  “I am worried that there might be something wrong.”

  “I failed to see what you are worried about, Murphy.” Max rested his head back as he stretched out his muscular legs.

  “I find it hard to believe that
Lady Westwood would allow her daughter to become a man’s mistress. After all, they are of noble blood and--”

  “And that worries you, Murphy?” Max laughed, his timbre voice echoed loud in the study.

  “Aye, I believe that she was only too grateful to offer you her daughter because...the daughter might be improper.”

  “What do you mean, improper?”

  “The daughter might be an invalid or that she might be very ugly and that no man wanted her.”

  Max laughed. “My friend, you need not worry of such thing.”

  “But I’m still concern, for I have asked to have a look at Lady Ivy this night, but Her Ladyship had refused my advance.”

  “You should not worry yourself, my friend. I have all that under control. I have only met the girl herself recently.” Max smiled cynically; his mind went back to that day when he had returned home to find her in his bedroom.

  She had touched his bed, the very bed he was sleeping in. That act alone, he decided, had already condemned her to become his mistress.

  Again, he saw her staring up at him as she stood before him. Her ugly grey gown was clutching to her small frame, her thick, black curls hung in disarray about her back, and her violet eyes, as she gazed at him, showed fear and surprise.

  He thought about her generous lips. He felt his groins tightened with desire. Why, just the very thought of her brought lust to his wild blood--it angered him.

  “You have seen her? I must ask, your grace, is she as beautiful as her mother?” Murphy wanted to know. His interest sparked for he leaned forward, staring at his young friends, begging the man with his grey eyes to tell the tales.

  “She is beautiful, Murphy, the very image of Lady Grace Westwood herself.” Max laughed at his friend’s eagerness.

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Dear me, too bad I won’t be meeting her. I’m sure you would not be introducing your young mistress to the ton, would you not, your grace?” Murphy laughed. “She would be ruin if they know, of course, poor thing.”

  “Murphy, tell me, friend, what is the date that I will be able to see my future mistress?”