The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)

by Stephanie Feagan

  The second week of her stay at Eastchase, she received a letter from Miriam, indicating her direction, a lovely, cozy manor house near to Twykham, in Shropshire. Blixford said he’d purchased the home from Lord Twykham, along with several surrounding acres. Jane was pleased and wrote to Miriam, sending along the wee baby boots she’d purchased in Kent, and expressing her good will and hopes for the safe progress of her pregnancy, reminding her to advise Jane if she required anything at all.

  They settled into a routine, as they had at Beckinsale House. They rose early and rode, returned for breakfast, then went about estate business, Jane going along at Blixford’s insistence. She was amazed and impressed at the vastness of Eastchase, and couldn’t help but admire her husband’s evident talent for managing it. The tenants’ respect for him was clear, and the two stewards he employed, Mr. O’Brien and his assistant, Mr. Perkins, were able and competent and obviously thought much of Blixford. He made a point of telling each of them, if he was ever absent and they needed any sort of direction, they were to come to her, for she was knowledgeable and capable. Despite her enduring dislike of him, she was warmed by his praise and confidence.

  In the afternoons, she worked about the house with the Dashings while Blixford closeted himself in his study to work on his investments and to read his sheep literature, published monthly by a fellow farmer in Yorkshire. They took dinner early and after a relaxing sojourn in the drawing room, where they read to one another, or played cards, or discussed estate matters, they retired usually by ten o’clock. Sometimes he made love to her, sometimes he simply gathered her close and they drifted off to sleep. He never failed, however, to wake her of a morn with a strong erection and passionate kisses.

  It seemed they were biding their time, waiting for word from Wrotham that they could move on to the next part of Blixford’s plan.

  She was surprised one night when, as they went off to sleep, he mumbled against her hair, “I love you, Jane. Pleasant dreams.” She did indeed have pleasant dreams, and wondered if he was aware he’d spoken aloud to her. He didn’t repeat it, so she thought perhaps not. He continued to call her love, however –had done so since that horrible day she learned of his betrayal. In fact, his whole manner seemed different, as though he did, most truly, love her. But he never said so.

  She was content, despite an underlying sorrow that her husband would not make his betrayal right, that he wouldn’t budge from his certainty that he’d done nothing for which to apologize.

  Not that she asked. She avoided the subject and retained a cool demeanor toward him. He appeared not to notice, maintaining his cheerful disposition, acting as though nothing was wrong. At least he was kind enough not to point out how very much she did not dislike him in bed. She was ashamed enough of her lack of self-control and discipline. It would pain her to be audibly reminded of it by him.

  Every Sunday they went to services in the nearby village of Blixford and the third Sunday, Jane invited the vicar, Mr. Pool, and his daughter, Miss Bella, to tea. Mr. Pool was a pious man, given to sermonizing even when not in the pulpit, and it was a dreary, long afternoon before he and his painfully shy daughter finally took their leave. Jane remembered Miss Bella from her stay at Eastchase Hall during Annabel’s confinement, but it had been a long time ago and she’d tried to put it out of her mind, for it was painful and sad to remember. Mostly what she recalled of Miss Bella was how she read scripture all that long day when Annabel was laboring, and in so much pain. Something about the girl had set her teeth on edge, though she could never quite discover why. She gained no additional insight during tea, simply because Miss Bella scarcely spoke, keeping her eyes downcast almost the entire time.

  The Sundays following, she didn’t extend another invitation, although Miss Bella always made a point to seek them out before they left the church, clearly angling for an invitation. Jane felt guilty, for surely the poor girl had little enough of a social life. Her father was overprotective of her and wouldn’t allow her much freedom to leave the vicarage, unless he accompanied her. At four and twenty, Miss Bella was on the shelf, and her prospects dismal. Blixford was a wee village, and her father appeared to have a stranglehold on her movements, disallowing her to venture out. Otherwise, she might have struck up a friendship with Mr. O’Brien, or Mr. Perkins, the stewards at Eastchase, or perhaps Mr. Ball, the steward at the ever absent Viscount Radcliffe’s neighboring estate. Jane thought Miss Bella would benefit from clothing not so drab and brown, perhaps a new hairstyle, and a smile upon her face. She was such a dour woman.

  Six weeks into their sojourn in Devon, Miss Bella pulled her aside before services, when Blixford was engaged in conversation with the vicar, and asked, quite bluntly, “Your Grace, are you with child?”

  So startled by the young woman’s rude question, Jane was too sunned to speak.

  “I only ask because you’ve that look about you. The other duchesses looked just like this, and so I wondered.” She didn’t smile. “If so, if you are to bear the duke’s child, I will pray for you.”

  What a strange one she was. Unsure how to respond, Jane finally said simply, “Thank you, Miss Bella.” She cast a sidelong glance at Blixford. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe we should take our seats now.” Discomfiture overrode guilt and she didn’t invite Reverend Pool and Miss Bella to tea that afternoon, as she’d planned.

  She didn’t mention the incident to Blixford, primarily because she didn’t want to get his hopes up, if indeed she wasn’t pregnant. She was late, but she wanted to be certain, so she said nothing.

  Later that week, on Wednesday, he seemed even more cheerful than usual at luncheon, and as soon as she’d rested her knife and fork, he came round the table and produced a wooden box from behind his back. “I’ve your wedding gift here, Jane.” He set it upon the table, just next to her plate. “Open it.”

  A gift? She suspected jewels, but the case was rather large for jewels. She lifted the gold latch and opened the hinged top, gasping in surprise. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft linen, was a small pistol. The stock was inlaid with mother of pearl, and the barrel engraved in an intricate design. Jerking her gaze to his, she didn’t attempt to hide her shock. “Blixford, this is most unexpected.”

  He grinned as he nodded toward the box. “I had it made especially for you, Jane, to fit your smaller hand. It was delivered just this morning. Do you like it?”

  “Of course.” She was stunned. “It’s lovely, and such a thoughtful gift. Thank you.”

  “Come along and we’ll try it out, shall we?” He reached inside the box for the pistol and handed it to her, his teeth white in his tanned face as he beamed at her.

  She accepted it, then went to retrieve her apron, to protect her clothing from any loose gunpowder. Following him outside, they passed through the extensive, formal gardens until they reached the rolling expanse of lawn south of the house. A target had been erected some distance away. “I’ve long heard of your prowess, but have never seen it for myself. Will you demonstrate, Jane?”

  With calm hands, she loaded the weapon with a bullet he produced from his pocket then eyed the target, remembering her father’s many lessons. Be the missile, travel along as the missile and find your target. Aim is everything. Make your hand, your eye, the missile and the target as one, in harmony.

  She fired and a hole appeared in the target, just left of center. She reloaded again and that bullet hit close to the same spot. “It fires a bit left.” She corrected her aim by moving to the right ever so slightly, and hit the target dead center. “Now you try.”

  He did, but his shots were several inches to the left of center. “It has less of a kick than I’m accustomed to. Quite nice, don’t you think?”

  “Extremely nice, Blix. It isn’t so heavy as my father’s pistols.”

  He reloaded and handed it to her, expecting her to take another shot, his smile slight, his look a bit anxious. “Do you really like it, Jane, or are you only being kind?”

  It was impossible to
remain cool toward him in that moment, he was so very anxious to please her. How could she not express her gratitude? She took the pistol and smiled her pleasure. “It is, without a doubt, the very best, most wonderful gift I’ve ever received. Yes, it is a very fine piece and I shall be proud to own it. I’m astounded you would give it to me, as I thought you disliked my enjoyment of pistols.”

  He became very sober and looked away, toward the target. “I wish for you to be happy, Jane. Anything that gives you pleasure is a good thing, to my mind. Sherbourne shed some light on the reasons behind your unusual interests, that he wanted you with him, instead of learning to stitch, or play the pianoforte. How ignoble it would be of me to dislike anything you learned to enjoy under those circumstances. He’s terribly proud of you and loves you very much. I’ve come to respect him a great deal, for many reasons, but perhaps most of all because he raised you.” His dark gaze turned to hers. “As we go on, I only become more fascinated with you, for you’ve so many lovely surprises. I see now that you are, indeed, a crack shot. How many men can claim anything so marvelous as to be married to one such as you? I foresee myself the envy of every male of my acquaintance and suspect it will become all the rage for wives to take up pistols.”

  It was a ludicrous notion, but she understood his point. Far from disliking her ability at pistols, he was proud. “Thank you, Michael.”

  They stared at each other for several long moments and she had the feeling he was about to say something terribly important, but the moment passed and he looked away. Clearing his throat, he turned toward the stables and strode off, leaving her alone with the pistol, the target, and the sudden realization, he was waiting for her to speak. In his way, he had apologized, and she had missed it, hadn’t forgiven him.

  Men were, indeed, very strange, driven, it seemed, by pride. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was sorry, she was certain. She was also very sure he loved her. Why, then, would he not speak it? Did he fear she would reject him, that she wouldn’t return his feelings? Good Lord, what a complicated man she’d married. Tonight, she decided, they would talk. She would begin and see where it led, if perhaps they could put the past away and start afresh. She was weary of the fight, yet unable to move forward until he acknowledged the wrong he’d committed by betraying her confidence.

  With a deep sigh, she tucked the pistol into the pocket of her apron and wandered back to the house, lost in thought.

  As she reached the back terrace and climbed the steps to the door, Mr. Dashing came out and greeted her. “Your Grace, you’ve a caller. The vicar’s daughter, Miss Bella Pool. I’ve put her in the drawing room while I came to see if you are in.”

  Remembering the woman’s strange demeanor of Sunday, Jane almost said no, she was not in. But Miss Bella had most likely walked all the way from the village, and she didn’t have the heart to turn her away.

  “No, Dashing, it’s quite all right. I’ll go and receive her.”

  Inside, she made her way to the drawing room, but didn’t remove her apron. She and Mrs. Dashing planned to reorganize the vegetable cellar that afternoon, and the sooner she said goodbye to Miss Bella, the better. Her apron would send a message that she was busy, so perhaps the woman would take her leave that much quicker.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bella,” she said as she came into the drawing room.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace.” She didn’t apologize for her unannounced arrival, nor did she explain the reason for her visit.

  Fearing it was to be a long hour ahead, Jane invited her to sit, then rang for tea. Within minutes, she knew exactly why Miss Bella had set her teeth on edge, all those years ago. Perhaps age and experience had lent her further intuition, or perhaps Miss Bella’s character was more pronounced. She was a different person by herself, without her stern, starchy father’s presence. No longer a girl, of course, two years older than Jane, six years of maturity had unfortunately not made Miss Bella more attractive, for she was decidedly plain, with a strong overbite and a weak chin, underscored by a thick neck and body. As the minutes ticked past, whatever sympathy Jane had felt toward Miss Bella vanished. Her haughty, brusque, and decidedly antagonistic manner didn’t lend itself to sympathy.

  They exchanged stilted pleasantries and Miss Bella interjected a few hidden barbs until the tea cart arrived. Then she leapt from her chair and insisted Jane allow her to pour, that she would be most honored. It was an unusual request, but the woman appeared enamored of the idea, and pleaded in a far kinder tone than she’d previously expressed, “It’s so rare I’m able to perform the service. My father doesn’t allow me to entertain at the vicarage. I’d consider it a great favor, Your Grace, if you’ll permit me to serve you.”

  She acquiesced, all the while thinking Miss Bella was a strange sort. She was, quite simply, unlikable.

  Almost as soon as she’d handed Jane her cup and seated herself on the chair opposite, she asked after Mrs. Daniels. “She and I were particular friends,” she said with a sniff after Jane informed her the housekeeper had been replaced, “and as our village is so very far removed from other villages, it’s not a simple endeavor to acquire friends. My father is very particular about who I associate with, and Mrs. Daniels was one I could visit without his knowledge, when he goes on his Wednesday visits to the orphanage. I do wonder how I shall go on without her companionship?”

  Jane might have said then that Miss Bella could count on her friendship, but she did not, for it was untrue. She disliked the woman, could feel a strong sense of hostility emanating from her, and wished she would make her visit short. She was also possessed of a great need to answer nature’s call, as she’d been very frequently of late. She set aside her tea after only a few sips, thinking it best not to encourage her need of the privy. “I hope you’ll convey to your father how very much his grace and I enjoyed his sermon, Sunday last. It’s regrettable we’ve not had the opportunity to invite him to call again, but we’ve been rather inundated with getting the household in order. As you know, hard work is its own reward, but it appears there’s been a lack of any sort of work here at Eastchase, hard or otherwise. Much remains to be done.” In only a few statements, she gave Miss Bella a setdown for her temerity in calling without invitation and aired her low opinion of Mrs. Daniels’ competency.

  Miss Bella’s back went up and her gloved hand obviously tightened about her teacup. “Perhaps Your Grace’s standards are higher than most. I believe the previous duchesses were pleased with Mrs. Daniels’ abilities.”

  “It’s of no consequence, Miss Bella, as those dear ladies have all departed from here and ascended to God, have they not?”

  “One would hope so, but who can say? It’s said in the Bible, we must not judge, lest we be judged, and whether for good, or bad, I believe this holds true, don’t you?”

  “I daresay one’s hope of a departed soul’s ascension to Heaven cannot be considered passing judgment, but we’re all entitled to our own interpretation of God’s word.”

  Miss Bella looked quite superior in that moment, as though she were the duchess and Jane a mere underling. It was bizarre in the extreme. “I’d not expect a woman of your reputation to be learned of the Good Book, nor to comprehend its significance to the souls of good, decent, Christian folk.” Her brown eyes were cold and hard. “Blixford is a small village, but not completely shut off from the world. I have heard of your ruination, of the sin in which you lived while in Scotland.”

  Jane was astounded by her bold, rude insult. She was about to remind Miss Bella of her place, and ask that she leave, immediately, but before she could say a word, Blixford strolled into the drawing room. Dressed in his riding breeches and a coat of blue superfine, he looked handsome and fresh, his cheeks and nose pinked by the sun, his dark hair overly long at the moment and tousled by the breeze. “I understand Miss Bella has come to call,” he announced as he came in, heading directly toward the vicar’s daughter, a wide smile upon his lips. “How good of you to come, Miss Bella. How are you?” He bowed
to her curtsy and grasped her extended hand most courteously before releasing it to step back and beam down at her.

  Astonished, Jane watched the change in Miss Bella’s demeanor. She retook her seat, blushed, and batted her lashes at Blixford as she said very prettily, “Simply marvelous, Your Grace, and oh, so much better now that I have seen you. It appears you are in the very best of health, for which I am glad.”

  “You’re also looking fit, Miss Bella. How go things at the vicarage?”

  While Jane watched in complete fascination, Miss Bella expounded on the good works of her father, the progress of the village school, and plans being made for a spring fete, to be held for the benefit of the orphans. “I do hope you’ll extend your help, Your Grace. We require the support of our benefactor to make it a success.”

  “Of course!” He looked toward Jane. “You’ll lend your aid, certainly, won’t you?”

  She could hardly refuse, and she nodded her head. He looked a bit confused at her lack of enthusiasm, but turned back to Miss Bella and said, “The duchess is quite accomplished at organization, having grown up in a houseful of many brothers. With her assistance, I’m certain you’ll do quite well.” He smiled again. “I say, it is good to see you, Miss Bella. I must leave you now, though it pains me to depart good company, but I’ve promised to attend Mr. O’Brien on an estate matter. Do give my best to your father, won’t you, and tell him how very much the duchess and I enjoyed his sermon, Sunday last.”

  “Oh, yes, of course I will,” she said, a bit breathlessly. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”

  Good heavens, she was in love with him! No wonder she was so hostile toward Jane. A part of her wanted to be sympathetic. Surely unrequited love was a stone about one’s neck, but the greater part of her couldn’t be sympathetic. Those with two faces had always bothered her. MacDougal was such a person, extending a jolly good nature to the world, while harboring a nasty side he kept hidden. Miss Bella was her enemy, she was certain, and her clear hostility toward Jane was alarming.