The Wicked Duke

by Madeline Hunter

  Mama appeared at her elbow. “How generous of you, Your Grace. You also have my gratitude for encouraging Marianne to not belabor the fabric choices. Now the modistes can get to work. I feared, with her changeable mind on the subject, that we would not have our new dresses for six months.”

  He laughed lightly. Mama laughed harder.

  “It is a very generous offer, Your Grace,” Marianne said. “However, I promised to spend the afternoon with my cousin. I dare not disappoint her.” She winced as a pain shot through her foot. Mama had stepped on it, ever so invisibly.

  “I will have to find consolation in giving you both a ride back to your house. My coach is outside.”

  “My uncle’s carriage—” A sharp pain speared her side. She glared at her mother, who was all innocence and looked only at the duke.

  “We would be ever so thankful, Your Grace,” Mama said. “Allow me to have one word with the proprietor about sending the fabric to our dressmaker.”

  Mama made it a private word. Then she joined Marianne, and they paraded out of the shop with the duke in their wake.

  “You did not have to jab me so hard,” Marianne murmured.

  “You were about to turn down a ride in a duke’s coach. Sir Horace’s carriage will go back without us,” Mama whispered. “On the way, you are to recall that it was tomorrow afternoon that you promised to spend with Nora.”

  “I will not, because it is today.”

  Mama looked over her shoulder at Aylesbury, and smiled. She then bent her head close to Marianne’s. “Listen to me, daughter. He followed you here. To London. I am sure of it. Do not be too proud or he may lose all interest in you.”

  “I do not want his interest. As it is, if anyone in that shop recognized him, I may be the subject of gossip.”

  “Gossip of the best kind. I explained all of that.”

  “Mama, he stood there and helped choose my wardrobe. If you saw that going on, what would you think? What do you suppose Mrs. Wigglesworth would think, and confide to all she met?”

  Mama’s expression fell. “I would not think—”

  “Oh, yes you would.”

  Aylesbury’s coach was big, polished, and bore his escutcheon on its door. Marianne wished he had not brought this one. Everyone would know who had dallied over fabric with Miss Radley.

  He personally handed them in. Mama almost giggled when she settled on the fine velvet seat next to Marianne. Any concerns for her daughter’s reputation had disappeared.

  To their surprise, and Marianne’s relief, the duke did not join them. “I will send you on your way,” he said through the window. “Since I am deprived of company, I will shop myself instead of visiting the park.”

  Marianne began to thank him, but already he had walked away.

  “You handled that without any art at all, daughter. We could have been seen riding in the park with a duke. Instead we will be carried home like so much baggage.” Mama sniffed. “I am very disappointed. Very.”

  * * *

  Nora twisted her hands together on her lap as the carriage approached Hyde Park. “I am so excited. I hope he is on time, because I cannot wait.”

  The carriage had arrived at their house soon after the duke’s coach delivered its baggage. Marianne loitered on the first level so she could intercept it. The coachman merely nodded when she explained that she wanted to go out again soon.

  He would probably take her anywhere she wanted, at any time, she realized. He most likely would not feel any obligations to report any doings he thought Sir Horace should know about.

  Having a rather dull life, all she wanted to do was go to a park. Now they were entering it through a big gate.

  “You can see there is almost no one here,” she said to Nora, pointing out the window. “It is too early for the fashionable set to ride here, and too cold for many people to even take a turn.”

  “Not many people, but there are some. Must I really get out and walk?”

  “If you want to see Vincent, you must.”

  The carriage stopped a short ways inside the gate. The coachman opened the door and set down the stairs. Nora looked at that open door a long time. Marianne began to worry that her cousin would not leave, that even her beloved brother could not lure her to walk among society.

  Then Nora screwed up her face and lunged for the door, almost falling before the coachman could catch her and help her down.

  Marianne followed and together they strolled down the path toward the place where Vincent had written he would wait.

  Aylesbury had been right. The park in winter did possess a special beauty. Silver clouds muted the colors and created a palette of grays, browns, and darkest greens. Did he really enjoy that beauty, or had it only been an excuse to request her company, the way Mama thought?

  Mama’s other conclusions ran through her head. Had he followed her? Did he truly have an interest, even a temporary one? Would his attendance raise her worth as much as Mama thought?

  She found that hard to believe. Men were not stupid. When all was said and done, she would still be a woman on the shelf who had so little income as to be pitiable.

  Suddenly Nora bolted and began running. Marianne looked ahead and saw why. Tall, fair, and dashing in his naval uniform, Vincent hailed them from up ahead. Nora ran to him, threw her arms wide, and flung herself at him with joy.

  Joy filled Marianne, too, and not only because her cousin was so happy.

  * * *

  “How long will you be in London?”

  Marianne asked the question while Nora snuggled within Vincent’s embrace. He looked over her head at Marianne. “Only two days. Plans changed with my ship. I was lucky to get away at all.”

  Nora did not seem to hear. Vincent extricated himself from her arms and set her back a bit. “You are even more beautiful, Nora. I would not have said that was possible.”

  She was beautiful right now. Alert, happy, and full of life. Marianne prayed that three days hence even a fraction of that vitality remained.

  “Papa does not know we came,” Nora said. “We snuck away, and will again too. Marianne arranged it all. She was very sly.”

  “I was sly? You are the one who found a way to have the servants intercept his letters once we came to town.”

  Nora smiled. “I suppose I was sly, wasn’t I?” She hooked her arm through her brother’s and they all walked together. “I had to agree to get a new wardrobe so we could come to London. At least Marianne gets one, too, so I suppose I can suffer it.”

  Vincent laughed. “Suffer a new wardrobe? What a gem your father has in you, that you do not cost him thousands a year on clothing.” He looked over at Marianne. “You also grow more lovely, Marianne.”

  He said it sincerely, perhaps. However, there was something lacking in the way he looked at her. Oh, she saw gratitude, for her care of Nora. And appreciation of her character. She had always seen all those good things in Vincent’s eyes.

  What she had never seen was love, or even fascination. She had never seen a spark of intimacy that went beyond their closeness due to his sister. Even now, as he flattered her, nothing about him hinted at a man’s interest in a woman.

  She remembered how she used to mind that deeply, how she had cried over him, too, because he never displayed any special affection for her.

  She no longer cried or dreamt. That had stopped three years ago, when Nora changed. He arranged to visit them all in Wiltshire as soon as he could, and he wept after spending an hour alone with his sister and her blank, lifeless stare.

  Marianne had comforted him, and seen his grief and his anger. What she had not seen, even as she embraced him while he wept, was a man thinking of her as more than the only chance Nora had of the help his career meant he could not give himself.

  He looked over at her now, with warm affection, but nothing more. It was still enough to ra
ise her heart, however. To bring her some joy. Still enough for her to rather wish things had been different. It is better to have loved and lost . . .

  “I have been gardening,” Nora told him.

  “Have you now? Mucking in the dirt and such?”

  “Don’t be silly. That would never do. I garden in my chamber. I have some pots there with plants in them. I take care of them.”

  “It sounds to be a good pastime. Perhaps you will have one of those glasshouses just for your own plants someday, or convince your father to add a conservatory to the house.”

  Nora considered that. “I wonder if Papa would agree. Probably not. He is cross with me because I would not get married.”

  Vincent almost stopped walking. His expression darkened. He looked quizzically at Marianne.

  “He has given up the idea,” she reassured him.

  “Was he mad?”

  “I would say he was too optimistic. Nora convinced him to abandon the notion, I think. At least for now.” She did not want to promise that Uncle Horace had given the idea up for good. For all she knew, once Nora’s attempted suicide became history, her father would warm to making a good marriage for her once again.

  “Papa is in love,” Nora said. “I think he hoped I would marry well enough to raise him enough for the lady he wants.”

  That astonished Marianne. For someone barely noticing the world, Nora had surmised a great deal.

  “Is that true?” Vincent asked Marianne.

  “Fairly close, I think. I do not always understand my uncle’s reasons for what he does.”

  “You are not alone. I never understood the man.”

  “Perhaps, if you called, I could convince him to receive you. It would be better if your relationship with your sister were not a matter of subterfuge.”

  Vincent looked at Nora, then at her. “The last time I called, he would not allow me to see her, despite her illness. Had he not sent her to live with you in Cherhill—” His jaw tightened. “He only did that for his own purposes, but good came of it. She has you, Marianne. You cannot know what comfort it gives me to know she does still.”

  She strolled on while Vincent described where his ship had been. He regaled his sister with descriptions of foreign lands and people. Marianne listened, but her thoughts dwelled on Vincent’s last words to her.

  He assumed she would always be there for Nora. He thought she would never marry, would never be faced with a choice between her cousin’s care and life with a man. He had no reason to believe it would go that way, but he did.

  To Vincent, she was not almost on the shelf. She had been nailed there by her age and her lack of fortune several years ago.

  * * *

  Vincent arranged a ride on the river the next day. As a naval officer, finding a vehicle that floated was easy. He procured a fancy pleasure boat that looked like a barge decked out for a party. On it they floated up the river as far as Vauxhall Gardens.

  “I want to go with you when you go back to your ship,” Nora said, right in the middle of Vincent’s explanation of the fireworks held in the pleasure garden on some summer nights. “I can dress like a boy, and be your servant.”

  Vincent laughed. “That would be a fine thing. What if you were found out?”

  “I suppose I would be sent home.”

  “Indeed you would be. Alone. I could not accompany you on the voyage back.”

  Nora pursed her lips. “We could make very sure I am not found out, couldn’t we?”

  He realized she was serious. “Darling, it is not done. You can imagine why. Sometimes, on very large ships, the captain’s wife joins him if the voyage will be a long one. No one else has such privilege.”

  “Does your captain bring his wife? Maybe I could be her servant. She surely does not use a boy for it.”

  Vincent looked at Marianne helplessly.

  “Nora, you are only sad because your brother must leave us today. You do not really want to do this, do you? Who would take care of the plants in your chamber then? I will not have the time for it.”

  Nora’s eyes misted. “If you become a captain someday, could you bring your sister instead of a wife?”

  Vincent hesitated in answering. Marianne assumed that meant that perhaps maybe he could. Only he did not want to, did he?

  “I expect someday I may have a wife, Nora. I could not leave her behind and take a sister instead. She would not like that.”

  “When? When will you have a wife? I keep waiting but you never do it,” Nora said. “You promised once that when you married, you would take me out of Papa’s house to live with you. Remember?”

  Nora’s good memory discomforted Vincent. “I will marry when I meet the right woman, I suppose. That often takes a long time.”

  “A very long time, it appears.” Nora chewed on her lip, thinking. “I think you should marry Marianne. She would be perfect, and she is very pretty. Then we could all live together.”

  He did not laugh. Marianne gave him that. Instead, bemused, he looked at her with an expression that assumed she saw the humor in such a notion as much as he did. He expected her to jump into the conversation and tell Nora her suggestion was too strange to be tolerated.

  Marianne said nothing. She just waited for Vincent to get himself out of this.

  His expression fell. He looked away, embarrassed. “I do not think Marianne thinks of me as a potential husband, Nora. We have been like brother and sister for too long. Besides, she can do much better.”

  Nora reacted little. After a few minutes, she spoke as if no time had passed. “That is true, I think. She can do better. After all, she has danced with a duke. With a wicked Hemingford duke. With the new Duke of Aylesbury.”

  It was Vincent’s turn to just wait, with astonishment in his gaze. Marianne rather liked his dumbfounded expression.

  “Do not put too much weight on that dance, Nora,” she said. “He was only being polite, since we had met. Although Mama insists that thus does a woman’s value improve, I doubt that is true.” She looked at the bank of the river. “What is that over there, Vincent, with the big garden?”

  He returned to explaining the sites, but for the rest of the day, Marianne would find him looking at her in a different way than he had in the past.

  * * *

  At dinner that night, Uncle Horace announced he would be returning home in the morning, but that the ladies should remain in London for the full fortnight so they could have some fittings.

  “How good of you, Papa, and how generous.” Nora’s response took Uncle Horace by surprise. She never spoke at meals, let alone to him.

  Marianne could see that the time with Vincent had yielded wonderful fruit. Nora remained animated and talkative. She did not stare out her window. She seemed very normal this evening.

  “Thank you, daughter. I am glad to indulge you. Perhaps one day when you are ready, you will in turn indulge me.”

  Marianne wished she were close enough to kick him under the table. Could he not just accept his daughter’s gratitude, and be glad in turn that Nora had shown improvement?

  As she expected, that vague reference to his plans for Nora sent Nora back into silence.

  “That is too bad, that you must depart, Sir Horace,” Mama said, her eyes glittering the way they did when she was fit to bursting with something too delicious to keep to herself. “I was so hoping that you would be here, so I could share anything we learned when we dine with Aylesbury.”

  Marianne stared at her mother. Uncle Horace did as well. Nora ate her dinner.

  “When will this illustrious event occur?” Horace asked.

  “In three days. I received the invitation today. By messenger, no less. It will be an informal dinner. His brothers will be there, and their wives. And Marianne and me.” Mama said the last triumphantly. “Lord Ywain’s wife is hosting, but she assured me,
in her private letter written in her own hand—and a very good hand it is—that the duke himself would bring his coach here, and escort us personally.”

  Uncle Horace’s fork had paused midway to his mouth while he listened to this litany of aristocratic condescension. He set the implement down. “Then I must stay, it appears.”

  “It is not necessary. The invitation was to me and my daughter.”

  “I still must stay. To hear all about it, as you said.”

  “I can write to you.”

  “It would be rude not to welcome the duke when he calls for you.”

  “I do not think he plans to sit and chat.”

  “I will stay.”

  Mama shrugged. “As you wish. Of course, our new dresses will not be ready in time for this dinner. We will have to buy a few items to update our old ensembles. I know you won’t mind. You will want us to do you proud, I am sure, and not look like women from a family of no means.”

  Uncle Horace’s eyes narrowed on Mama. Marianne could almost hear the rude things he thought, and the calculations he made. There goes another fifty pounds, at least.

  Mama locked her gaze with his, daring him to object. She knew she had him cornered. He did too.

  “Just try not to overdo it,” he muttered. “I want to see two-thirds of it spent on the girl, not you, too.”

  Marianne assumed she was the girl. How generous. How fun. How odd.

  She returned to her meal, picturing a coveted, expensive headdress that she had denied herself up until now.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Please do not insist on this.”

  Lance ignored the request as he hopped out of the coach. If he did not know it was Gareth with him instead of Ives, the words alone would have told him. Ives would not have included the Please.

  “It is necessary. It is the only way to deal with such ill-formed gossip.” He headed into the gambling hall that he knew too well.

  Gareth caught up. “It is only that last spring this is where Ives thrashed a man to protect your name. There is too much drink and not enough good sense here. Why not brave it out in your club instead?”