The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)

by Stephanie Feagan

  All the more reason to enjoy the last three days of their peaceful interlude in Kent.

  ***

  He was ridiculous. He was besotted. He was falling deeply in love with Lady Lucy Bonderant. Sherbourne spent most days telling himself all the reasons why he couldn’t have her, why she needed a young man, why it was wrong, in myriad ways, for him to attend to her needful appetites with complete abandon. Despite his stern lectures to himself, every night found him in her bedchamber, doing just that. She was truly insatiable, and he’d found a hidden well of strength and stamina that allowed him to keep up. But it was an illusion, surely, bound to wane soon, and she’d be disappointed.

  He waltzed her across the Morrison ballroom just after midnight on Friday and debated his plan for the evening. Over the past week and a half, he’d concocted a number of inspired ideas for ways in which he could gain access to her bed without anyone the wiser –particularly Blixford’s servants –for all servants, even the most trusted and regarded, had a tendency to gossip. He would not subject Lucy to gossip.

  But he was all out of ideas tonight, and almost of a mind to simply take her home, follow her up to her chamber, close the door and stay until morning. He would love sleeping with her, nestling her sweet body close to his as they slumbered. He would love to see her of a morn, her hair mussed, her eyes sleepy, her body pink and warmed by his. He would love her all the days of his life, and attend to her with care and consideration.

  If he were not fifty years old, and she but four and twenty.

  In some ways, he regretted his impetuous decision to take her the day of Jane’s wedding. Had he but followed his head, he’d have gently discouraged her, sent her home, and that would have been an end to it.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he plunged himself into her soft heat, and subsequently, into her life. They had become fast friends, sharing a hundred and one confidences, allowing private, intimate views into the darkest recesses of their minds and souls. He’d discovered a great deal about her during their sojourns in and about London each day, William usually in tow. In the night, when they were complete and sated, lying in each other’s arms, he learned of the cloistered life she’d led in the days, weeks and years since Bonderant’s death, of her unfulfilled needs, and the fantasies and imaginings she’d concocted to pass the lonely nights. She confessed she didn’t buy her erotic books, but wrote them herself. He was astonished, intrigued, and exacted a promise from her that she would allow him to read one of her books.

  All in all, she’d had something of a sad and forlorn life. He admired her good nature and sense of humor, cultivated in spite of her somewhat gloomy circumstances. He loved to make her laugh, was captivated by her smile, her enjoyment of him. He was hopelessly in love. He wanted to pet her and spoil her and shower her with all the affection that had been missing from most of her life. He was pleased to know Blixford was, at least privately, an extraordinarily warm, kind man, who clearly loved her much.

  But he was only her brother, and it was very clear, Lucy needed a husband. A lover. A champion. A father for her son.

  His growing affection for William almost caused him pain, for he knew when it was over between him and the boy’s mother, he wouldn’t see the child again. He was a bundle of energy, a sponge who soaked up all that Sherbourne taught. He was mad about archery, and loved to go to the park each afternoon and practice with his wee bow, becoming better with every session. Sherbourne always promised an ice if he applied himself diligently, but he was certain no bribe was required. It made him feel good to see the boy exert his masculinity, then point out to his mama what an excellent archer he was becoming, or gift her with yet another sharp stick, whittled carefully and lovingly by his small hands.

  He also rather liked the way Lucy looked at him in those moments, as if he’d handed her a tremendous gift. She told him she could well understand how he’d ended up with such an accomplished, honorable brood, for he was surely the very best of fathers.

  It had taken every ounce of his self-discipline not to ask for her hand, right then, and promise to give her many more children, with whom he would be an equally attentive father.

  He had not. He was fifty, no doubt bound for the cold ground in twenty years or so. She wouldn’t recover from losing another husband, and he couldn’t put her through it. He wouldn’t. He had too much regard for her. Too much love.

  “Sherbourne, you’re not yourself,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes. “You’re almost brooding. Has something upset you?”

  Shaking off his mood, he smiled down at her. “No, my love, I’m only pondering how I shall come to you tonight.”

  Her expression was inscrutable when she said airily, “As much as I’ve delighted and progressed in my education, for which I’m most thankful to you, I don’t believe I’m ready to introduce a third party into my bed. Frankly, it isn’t something I find at all interesting. Perhaps I’m less adventuresome than I thought.”

  Confused, he swept her across the floor in a series of turns before he asked for clarification. “Did I suggest a third party?”

  Her gaze was fixed upon his shoulder. “In truth, you would be the third party, and a bit of an intrusion, as I’ve agreed to an assignation with one of your prospects. I’d thought him disinterested, but it turns out, he’s simply mad about me. Naturally, I can’t contemplate marriage unless I am certain he’s . . . up to the task, shall we say? I suggested we get to know one another in a more intimate fashion and he was decidedly amenable to the idea.”

  Without thinking, he waltzed her straight out the open doors and onto the terrace, to the far end, in the shadows. He brought them to a standstill, dropped his arms and faced her, determined not to throw his head back and shout, to scream or howl and vent the blood-boiling rage sweeping through him. “No doubt he’s amenable.” The sodding, bloody bastard! “Who’s the lucky fellow?” Amazing how calm he sounded.

  “I’d rather not say until I’m certain I wish to marry him.” She spun about and stared out at the gardens, lit by paper lanterns in the trees. “It’s clear you’re merely biding your time until the end of the fortnight, and that you’re frustrated by the lack of a suitable gentleman to take me to wife. I realize you thought the task would be fairly simple and quick, and didn’t foresee a protracted process, so I’m releasing you from your promise three days early, and taking the matter of finding a husband into my own hands. I daresay it’s better this way, Sherbourne. To continue as we have, knowing we will part, that our friendship will end –for surely, sir, I cannot be your friend after all we have shared –is self-inflicted cruelty. I will, of course, miss you terribly, but I really feel I must move on. I can’t go back to my lonely existence at Margrave Park, and I can’t have you, so I will instead marry a man who satisfies me, who can be an adequate masculine influence for William. The gentleman I speak of will do nicely, if he proves tolerable in bed.”

  Good Lord, he actually felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. “I see.” But he didn’t see, didn’t want to see. That another man would know her as he had known her would surely kill him. Ah, God, he couldn’t bear it. “I feel it’s my duty to Blixford to look after you in his absence, Lucy, so I would know with whom you’ve made an assignation.”

  “I’m not your responsibility, Sherbourne, now, or ever. It doesn’t concern you.”

  “Oh, but it does. Suppose you’ve conceived? If you lay with another, there will be a question of paternity. I assure you, if I have got a child on you, it will be raised by me, and no other. Have you learned nothing of me? Do you not see I place my family above all else, that any child of mine, and especially were he to be a child of yours, would bring me the greatest joy, and you couldn’t run from me, couldn’t find completion in another man’s arms without ensuring his immediate death?” He couldn’t help himself from grasping her slender shoulders and moving just behind her, pressing his belly against her back. “Lucy,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “please, God, don’t do this.” Sweet Chris
t, he was going to cry. He’d not done so since he buried dear Connie. “I shall die, truly.”

  “Oh? Why is that, Sherbourne? Is the thought of me finding pleasure with another man’s cock inside of me bothersome to you?”

  His hands squeezed her shoulders and he couldn’t stop his eyes watering. “Bothersome is far too small a word to express the depth of my anguish.” He would kill him. Whoever this man was, he would have to kill him.

  “You fail to see the problem, my lord. You deny me yourself, but you would deny me all others, as well. We’ve now considered every unmarried man in London, and even some beyond, in absentia, and none have lived up to your exacting specifications. Indeed, it would appear you’ve discarded any possible match for me, and in the end, there is only you. Yet, you will not have me.”

  So focused on his Lucy, her petite, feminine form, her lovely scent, her warmth beneath his hands, he forgot the humiliation of weeping and allowed a tear to roll down his cheek, unchecked. “You deserve so much more than me. I love you, Lucy, truly I do, and it’s because I love you that I won’t see you widowed again. You deserve a young man who will stay and grow old with you.”

  “I deserve to be happy, and I won’t be happy without you, but I may, at least, find some outlet for my carnality in another man, and I’ve decided to begin tonight.”

  He couldn’t speak. Instead, he could only force an odd sound from his constricted throat, one of pain so great, he was dizzy with it. He’d felt thus only once before in his life, and that was the day Constance died.

  Her shoulders relaxed a bit and she sighed. “Ah, Sherbourne, you are a foolish man. You won’t believe that it doesn’t matter to me if I have you by my side for thirty years, or only thirty days. You won’t see what even a blind man could see, that the erotic side to our friendship is but a part of the bigger picture. You won’t trust me enough to know my own heart and mind.” At last, she turned, and slid her arms about his middle. “Does it not occur to you that I am wildly, insanely, completely, helplessly, hopelessly in love with you? That even the mere thought of another’s hands upon me is out of the question? Do you really believe I’d invite another into my bed?”

  He blinked in confusion before the reality of what she’d just done smacked him in the face with the force of a slap. “Well, you are scrupulously honest. What choice do I have but to believe you?” He gathered her close, bent his head and kissed her deeply, uncaring who saw, what they thought, whether it was right, or wrong. When at last he raised his lips from hers, he mumbled, “It was the very devil of a practical joke, Luce. I may never recover. I began to cry, for God’s sake. I believe my bollocks have shriveled to prunes.”

  “It occurs to me that a practical joke can sometimes be the best method of pointing out another’s decidedly ridiculous, wrong-headed notions. I’m sorry it wasn’t humorous, but I’m a novice, and didn’t know any way to go about it that would be funny. I felt I had to force the issue because I’m so impatient to begin a life with you that doesn’t require you dressing up as a matron, or attending to my pretend illness as a humpbacked, bespectacled physician. You’ll soon have to resort to climbing the ivy, or sliding down the chimney. I want you in my bed without risk to your life, Sherbourne. I want you there all the night through. I’m bereft after you leave me, and don’t wish to be without you, ever again. Besides, I wish to see if your boast of making love to me morning, noon and night is true.” She gazed up at him, expectantly. “Well?”

  His arms tightened convulsively, and he clasped her to him, the thought of losing her bringing yet another prick of tears to his eyes. “Marry me, Lucy,” he murmured, heart pounding, “and I’ll try not to leave you too soon, will be a good father to William, will give you more babies and live to raise them, and love you deeply, madly, until there’s no breath left in my body.” He kissed her again, uncaring of the audience they’d gained at the other end of the terrace. Looking down into her beautiful eyes, he solemnly said, “Please, marry me. I do love you so.”

  Someone in their audience called, “Oh, do marry him, Lady Bonderant! He’s a wonderfully marvelous man!”

  “Deuced havey-cavey, Sherbourne, casting about to catch one for the lady when it was you on the line all along.”

  “Lord have mercy, whatever will Blixford say?”

  “Won’t like it by half. He’s a stick, you know.”

  “I say, Sherbourne, congratulations!”

  He finally looked toward them, his face split with a grin. “She’s yet to say yes.”

  They broke out, all of them, into urgent directives. “Lady Bonderant, ‘tis a father the young viscount needs.”

  “Dashed fine father, Sherbourne is. You could do a lot worse.”

  “He loves you madly. Of course you must marry him!”

  “Isn’t this lovely? So romantic! Oh, do say yes, Lady Bonderant!”

  He looked into her sweet face and they both began to laugh. She boldly planted a kiss on his lips before she said, still laughing, “Yes! Oh, yes, of course I will marry you!”

  The impromptu audience applauded, rushed forward and surrounded them, gently directing them back into the ballroom. Before Sherbourne could protest, Morrison had been pressed into making an announcement.

  Within the space of half an hour, he’d gone from the depths of despair and a bleak future without her, to the pinnacle of happiness and a future certain to hold many lovely surprises, Lucy at the center of it all.

  ***

  Jane didn’t get her three days, thanks to her father. The day after she received his letter, the man himself arrived. It was late in the afternoon and she and Blix had only just returned from a lengthy sojourn at the lake. The weather was especially warm and they had bathed and made love on the grassy bank, especially amorous as this was the first opportunity they’d had since she’d done with her courses. Later, they’d wandered through the wilderness, searching for a gigantic, bright, yellow butterfly she claimed to have seen and he would not believe. They eventually gave up when they found themselves in the small clearing with the boulder and their interest turned from butterflies and focused on each other.

  She’d not braided her hair, but left it loose to dry. She carried her damp chemise in one hand and held her husband’s hand in the other. He was in his shirtsleeves, his coat and waistcoat slung across one shoulder. Anyone happening along who caught sight of them would have no doubt how they’d spent their afternoon. But Beckinsale House was well off in a world of its own, offering privacy and seclusion, so they had tended to relax further as time passed.

  How could they have known Sherbourne would arrive without notice, or that Hester would situate him in the parlor, and after he tired of waiting, he’d take a stroll in the garden? They could not know, of course, and thus it was that as they tripped up the garden path, grinning at one another and exchanging suggestive remarks, headed for the garden door and ultimately their bedchamber, where they had plans for the remainder of the day until dinner, they instead ran into Sherbourne.

  Her face flaming, she curtsied and greeted him. “Papa, how nice to see you. Isn’t this a lovely surprise.” She suspected she knew the nature of his visit and her stomach instantly tied itself into knots. Blixford was certain to go off, very soon.

  Sherbourne shook Blixford’s hand before he swept her into his arms and embraced her tightly. “I’ve a guess that you’ve been swimming, daughter.” He set her back and smiled down at her. “How is your backstroke these days?”

  It had always been what gave her the most trouble, and had taken years to perfect. Beaming with pride, she announced she’d gone halfway across the lake on only her backstroke. “I aimed for a target and swam directly to it, instead of going about in circles. You may ask Blix if you don’t believe me.”

  He petted her hair and nodded approval. “Took to the water like a fish, almost from the time you could walk.” He smiled and nodded toward Blix. “Not that I don’t trust your husband, but he’d naturally sing your praises, whether you swam
competently, or sank like a stone, eh, Blixford?”

  Appearing to relax a bit from his initial stiff, obviously horrified stance, Blix gave a short nod and waved toward the house. “Won’t you come inside, Sherbourne, and have a refreshment?”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

  Looping her arm through his, she walked with her father as they followed Blix to the door. “Will you stay for dinner and spend the night as our guest, Papa?”

  “I hate to intrude, I do, but yes, Jane, I believe I will. Something has come up and I felt it best to come and discuss it with Blixford immediately.”

  They stepped inside, into the central hallway that led to the front hall and the stairs. “Does this have something to do with my sister, and your recent attempt to find a suitable husband for her?”

  Sherbourne nodded solemnly. “It does, indeed.”

  “Have you met with any success?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. She received an offer, only last night. I felt it incumbent upon me to come and discuss it with you, posthaste.”

  “I appreciate it. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll just go and freshen up, and meet you in the parlor directly.”

  “Of course, please, take your time. I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

  “Do not concern yourself,” Blix said, heading for the stairs without waiting for Jane.

  When he was out of earshot, she whispered to her papa, “Did you propose to Lucy?”

  He was clearly shocked. “Why do you ask?”

  “I read between the lines. So, did you? And did she accept? Oh, Papa, he isn’t going to like it. He’s so very protective of her.”

  He looked decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s neither here nor there, Jane, and I won’t discuss this with you until I’ve spoken to Blixford. In fact, perhaps you might send him down and remain above stairs an extra while. I’d like to get this done and over so that I may enjoy our visit.” He smiled then. “You look very happy and content, child. I’m so glad.”

  “Thank you, sir, yes, I’m happy. He’s a complicated man, but I believe we suit quite well, and time can only bring a better understanding between us.” She turned toward the stairs, but stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “I wish you well, Papa. Do try and not lose your temper.”