“Oh, I am, to be sure, Duchess,” Mary assured her.
“Mary’s aunt is a Very Bad Woman,” said Dickon, shaking his head. “On no account is Mary to see her. Viola absolutely forbids it.”
“Yes, she is a bad woman. Have you thought of what you’re going to do next, my dear?” the duchess asked Mary. “I could help you find a position. I know simply everyone.”
The duke looked angry. “Do, madam? Mary’s not going to do anything. She’s going to stay right with the people who love her.”
The duchess’s brows rose. “The people who love her!”
“Viola and me,” the duke explained. “I’ve decided to give Mary the protection of my name, you see.” Rescuing Mary’s hand from the dogs, he kissed it fervently.
“Only if Lady Viola approves, of course,” Mary said anxiously.
“Well, she’s not likely to, is she?” the duchess snorted. “Any attachment between a Miss Andrews and the Duke of Fanshawe must be considered reprehensible. Miss Andrews, if you had any sense of propriety, you would not be so eager to advance yourself by such artful means! Presumptuous, ambitious creature! Shame on you!”
Mary burst into tears. “Now look what you’ve done, you old bat!” Dickon said angrily. “Viola won’t object—indeed, she won’t, Mary! Why, Viola and Mary are dear friends!” Taking out his handkerchief, he dried Mary’s tears.
“I would rather die,” Mary gasped, “than upset her ladyship!”
“I’m sure you would,” the duchess said incredulously. “Where is Lady Viola?” she demanded. “I collect she is not at home? Else she would have put an end to this nonsense!”
“Viola’s gone to the country to visit a sick friend,” Dickon coldly replied.
“Oh?” said the duchess, frowning. “Which sick friend? Which part of the country?”
The duke scowled. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he snapped. “Am I my sister’s keeper?”
“Of course you’re not,” the duchess said soothingly. “But poor Viola! She must be so upset, what with her wedding being canceled and all. I’m most anxious to condole with her.”
Dickon shrugged. “She doesn’t know the wedding’s been canceled. Not yet. But I doubt she’ll be upset at all. She never liked Bamph, you know, and, as it turns out, she was right!”
“Bamph!” said the duchess.
“Marquis of,” Dickon clarified. “A very fine fellow I thought him at first, but, as it turns out, he don’t wear well. I’m a tolerant man, Duchess. I could have overlooked a fault here and there, but when he practically assaulted poor Mary in St Albans…! He’s lucky I didn’t kill him!”
“Assaulted?” said the duchess, looking sharply at the girl on the sofa.
“He tried to kiss the poor girl!” said Dickon. “No better than an animal!”
“You must have encouraged him, Miss Andrews,” the duchess accused. “Perhaps you didn’t mean to,” she added generously. “But there it is. You allowed Lord Bamph to compromise you, and now you must marry him or be lost to all good society forever!”
“That’s just what I said,” said the duke. “But he flatly refused to marry her, the scoundrel! He said he was only seducing her to keep her from seducing me! Apparently, they was all afraid I was going to marry the gel. What nonsense! As though I could be arsed to marry a vicar’s child! I’m a duke, for God’s sake.”
“You mean…You are not going to marry Miss Andrews?” the duchess said slowly.
“Of course not!” said Dickon, quite shocked. “Marry Miss Andrews? You’re as mad as the Bamphs. Viola would have my guts for garters.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the duchess, experiencing a thaw. “But when you alluded to giving Miss Andrews the protection of your name, I naturally assumed…”
“I’m going to adopt her, of course,” Dickon said proudly.
“Oh!” cried the duchess, clapping her hands. “Oh, how delightful! In that case, I daresay Lady Viola will have no objection. No objection at all.”
“Of course she won’t,” said Dickon.
“I do hope her ladyship won’t be angry with me,” Mary fretted.
“She will not be angry,” Dickon assured her. “She never liked Bamph. I saw through him at once—well, almost at once. Good riddance, I say! I don’t want the father of my nephew and heir to be a man of such low character.”
“Your heir?” said the duchess, her ears pricking up. “You do not plan to marry at all, then, Your Grace? Ever?”
Dickon shuddered. “Lord, no!” he said forcefully. “Viola’s always been the strong one. It’s up to her to carry on the bloodline. I’m just too squeamish for such exercise. I admit I had high hopes for Bamph,” he continued, sighing. “Who am I going to get for her now? I don’t know the first thing about arranging marriages—my father arranged the match with Bamph.”
“I certainly am not one for arranging marriages,” the duchess said modestly, “but this is a special case. The siring of a future Duke of Fanshawe is serious business, and must not be left to chance. Fortunately, I have a son I can give you.”
The duke blinked at her. “Madam! That is most generous of you.”
The duchess shrugged magnanimously. “The match is perfect. His father was a duke, and so was hers. He’s thirty-two, which is a good age for a man.”
“What about breeding?” Dickon asked suspiciously. “Can he do the job?”
“Would I offer him if there was any doubt?” she returned feistily. “And money is no object, of course. We are the Ascots, after all.”
“Money’s no object for us, either,” Dickon said belligerently. “We’re the Gambols.”
The duchess smiled. “What could be more natural than an alliance between two such rich, noble families of ancient lineage? They will breed.”
Dickon’s eyes narrowed. “Is your son good-looking, madam? I don’t want an ugly nephew!”
“Simon is devastatingly attractive,” said Simon’s mother. “He is tall, broad-shouldered…The pain of his birth was excruciating. But he looks a treat in his uniform, so I don’t complain.”
“Uniform?” the duke echoed.
“Simon currently holds the rank of lieutenant-colonel in the Horse Guards.”
“Regimentals!” Dickon sighed happily.
“He’s on parade this afternoon,” said she. “Why not come and take a look at him?”
“Oh, I love parades!” cried Dickon. “Don’t you, Mary?”
“I’ve never seen a parade,” Mary confessed.
Dickon gaped at her. “Never seen a parade!”
“Then it’s all settled,” the duchess said happily, climbing to her feet. “I’ll call for you at three o’clock. We’ll go in my barouche.”
“Oh no! I forgot to offer you tea!” cried Miss Andrews, struggling in vain to get up.
The duchess was now so well-disposed toward Miss Andrews that she stooped down to kiss her cheek. “That’s quite all right, my dear. We’re practically family now. We need not stand on ceremony.”
Cold, damp air poured through the bars of the tiny open window of Julian’s cell, along with a little gloomy gray light. While stuffing the opening with his coat, the young man had an excellent view of the gallows in the yard below. With the opening blocked, the room was black as pitch and no warmer. With a sigh, he pulled his coat on again. Rats had the run of the place, only bothering to scurry when Julian threw his shoe at them. The air was thick and foul with disease. In such unpleasant surroundings, it was not difficult to imagine the end was near.
The key scraped in the lock and the cell door swung open. Julian looked up, half-expecting to be dragged off to the magistrate, but it was only Hudson.
“I’ve written a letter to my father,” he greeted his servant. “I’ve asked him to look after you when I’m dead. He’ll do it, I expect.”
“Captain, they will not hang you,” Hudson said tremulously.
“Of course they’ll hang me,” Julian replied. “They hang a child for stea
ling a loaf of bread. Why wouldn’t they hang me?” He sighed heavily. “Any letters?”
“No, Captain. Just this bill from a Mr Grey, a jeweler.”
Hudson held it out to his master, but Julian merely shrugged. “He’ll have to get in line for his ten pounds, I’m afraid.”
“Ten thousand pounds, Captain,” Hudson corrected him.
“There must be some mistake,” Julian muttered, snatching the bill from his servant.
Hudson began unpacking the basket. “Did I say pounds? I meant guineas. In pounds that would be ten thousand, five hundred, I should think.”
“I thought it was ten pounds,” Julian said indignantly. “Where the devil am I supposed to get ten thousand guineas?”
“Try to eat something, Captain,” Hudson pleaded with him. “It’s only bread and cheese, but I think you’ll find it nourishing.”
Julian began pacing the tiny cell. Abruptly, he stopped at the window. “This is the end of me, Hudson,” he said, looking at the gallows. “I’ll die on those gallows. I’m finished. I’m beginning to think I made a mistake,” he added dryly.
“Beauty is a snare, Captain. I knew that woman would be your ruination.”
“You might have mentioned it sooner,” Julian said, trying to smile. “No word from her, then? Nothing at all? No? She might at least have sent me my ring back!” He sat down at the table and tore off a hunk of bread. “Do you know what the worst part of it is?”
Hudson shuddered. “When the neck fails to break. Death by strangulation can very slow and painful, or so I understand.”
“I miss her.” Julian laughed harshly. “She’s left me for another man, and still I miss her. I lie here at night on my cold slab of a cot, and I remember the short, sweet time we had together. I wonder what she’s doing right now.”
“She is with Lord Simon. You know what she’s doing,” Hudson said brutally. “Don’t torment yourself, Captain. She isn’t worth the salt of your tears.”
Jumping up, Julian stalked the room. “I’ve got to get out of here, Hudson,” he said wildly. “Couldn’t we bribe the guards? I just want to see her one last time.”
“I’ve already pawned everything we had in order to get you into a private cell,” Hudson said apologetically. “She’s gone, Captain.”
Julian picked up the table and threw it against the wall. “I want out of here!” he roared.
“That can be arranged,” said a cold, familiar voice from the vicinity of the cell door.
“Mother!” Julian exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
The door creaked open. The baroness came in and threw back her veil. Walking up to Julian, she slapped his face. “That is for making me come to Newgate,” she explained as Hudson quickly set the table back on its legs. “And this is for calling me Mother,” she said, slapping Julian again. “Do you think I want people to know that I am here, visiting my son in prison?” she hissed.
“I’m sorry,” Julian said stiffly. “I was so surprised that I fear I became exuberant.”
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” she said, seating herself.
Julian remained standing. “Why are you here, madam? Have you come to gloat?”
“I’ve come to help you, of course,” she said. “How will it look if my son is hanged like a common criminal, after all? That would not be good for my social standing.”
“You’re getting me a lawyer?”
She smirked. “People like us don’t need lawyers, Julian. I can have the charges against you thrown out like that,” she said, snapping her gloved fingers. “My uncle is very well placed in government, as you know, and I’m his favorite niece. I know where all the bodies are buried, so he has little choice in the matter.”
“What do you want in return?” Julian asked, his fingers laced together behind his head.
“I want only what is best for you,” she replied. “You will not, of course, be marrying Miss Andrews. That is my first condition.”
“There is not the least possibility of my marrying Miss Andrews,” said Julian, shrugging. “She has left me to become Lord Simon Ascot’s mistress.”
“The Duchess of Berkshire’s son?” The baroness chuckled in unfeigned delight. “Why, that scheming little slut! How did she manage that little trick?”
“We’d be married now if you hadn’t used your influence to prevent me from obtaining the special license,” Julian said bitterly. “I’ve seen Colonel Fairfax. Madam, how could you?”
“It was for your own good, Julian,” she said smugly. “If Miss Andrews would rather be Lord Simon’s mistress than your wife—”
“Quite,” he interrupted sharply. “You will secure my freedom if I do not marry Miss Andrews. What else?”
“You will like this,” she promised. “I’ve had a visit from Lady Bamph. She is come back from Yorkshire. Apparently, the match between her daughter and the Duke of Fanshawe failed to materialize, and the match between Lord Bamph and Lady Viola is in a very precarious position. In fact, the duke has called the whole thing off!”
“The duke is back in London?” Julian asked with fresh interest.
“He is. Lady Bamph is quite desperate. She is willing to let you have Belinda, if you can bring about the marriage of Lady Viola and her son. And so my second condition is that you marry Lady Belinda.”
“Marry Belinda?” Julian said dully. “You must be joking.”
“She has a dowry of some thirty thousand pounds, Julian,” the baroness said, her blue eyes glinting greedily. “This marriage would be our ticket back into Society.”
“A pox on Society,” he said violently.
“You will marry her, Julian,” Lady Devize said coldly. “If you do, you will live to be a very rich man. If you don’t, you will hang. The choice is simple.”
“Yes,” Julian agreed, smiling. “The choice is very simple. I’m afraid I can’t accept your conditions. Sorry.”
“What?” she cried, frightened by his smile. “Are you mad? Hudson, is he mad?”
Hudson’s face was white. “He cannot marry Lady Belinda because he is already married—to Miss Andrews,” he explained sadly.
“Married already?” she whispered. “Then you will surely hang. Guard!”
She left his cell without another word.
“If only you hadn’t married that deceitful strumpet!” Hudson mourned.
“I didn’t,” said Julian. “Sorry, Hudson. I lied to you. I wanted to marry Miss Andrews very much, but I never had the chance. She is not my wife.”
Hudson did not know whether to laugh or cry. He settled for something in between. “But sir! Lady Belinda! You could be free!”
“Free is the last thing I’d be,” Julian replied with a snort. “I’d be better off selling my soul to the devil than to my mother. Cheer up, Hudson! The duke is back in town. Let us hope he is in a forgiving mood.”
It seemed to Julian that Hudson had scarcely departed for Gambol House when the duke himself appeared at the cell door, demanding admittance. Julian was laying down on his bench with his eyes closed. Before he could sit up, a Great Dane was licking his face, and the duke was peering down at him.
“Dev!” he cried, flinging up his arms. “Guess my surprise when I heard you was in prison! They’re saying terrible things about you—worse than usual!”
Julian sat up, despite the best efforts of the Dane to keep him down. “Is Hudson not with you?” he asked, puzzled.
“Hudson? Who is he?”
“My man,” said Julian. “I just sent him to Gambol House with a note for you.”
“I wasn’t there,” Dickon said. “I’ve been out looking for you, Dev. I even went to the Exchange. They told me you were incarcerated. I couldn’t believe it!”
“Neither could I at first,” Julian said ruefully, petting the dog.
“Don’t say the law’s caught up with you, Dev!” the duke pleaded.
“I’m afraid so.”
“But…you’re not guilty!”
“I suppose tha
t depends on one’s point of view.”
“They’re saying you took some money,” the duke said gravely. “I don’t believe a word of it, of course. Why would you steal, when you have access to all my accounts? It makes no sense, and so I shall tell them at your trial.”
“I did take some money,” Julian confessed. “Seventeen thousand guineas, to be exact.”
The duke stared. “But why? I’ve got plenty of money.”
“I know. I took it from you.”
The duke was taken aback for a moment. “Did you? Oh, I see,” he murmured, frowning. “Well…You must have had a good reason,” he said, after a moment.
“I had a very good reason,” Julian assured him. “There was a young lady in trouble. I believe you know her. Her name is Mary Andrews.”
The duke’s voice was hushed. “Mary? My little Mary?”
“Her father was the Vicar of Gambolthwaite,” Julian prompted him. “You gave him the living. She’s an orphan now.”
“I know all that,” Dickon said impatiently. “You said Mary was in trouble! What sort of trouble?”
“Her aunt, Mrs Dean—”
“A Very Bad Woman,” Dickon interrupted.
“Yes, a very bad woman, indeed,” Julian agreed. “She was going to sell Mary.”
“Sell Mary? She can’t do that, can she? Aren’t there laws against that sort of thing?”
“I told you she was a bad woman.”
The duke jumped up from the table. “Well, don’t just sit there! We’ve got to stop her!”
“I’ve already done so, Duke. I bought Mary from her…with your money, of course. I made Mrs Dean sign a paper relinquishing all claims to her brother’s child. Mary is free.”
The duke sat back down, heaving a huge sigh of relief. “And this is what they arrested you for?” he said in disbelief. “What a pile of manure! They should be presenting you with the Order of Knighthood. Instead, they treat you like a criminal.”
“It’s only a crime, Duke, if you say it’s a crime,” Julian said mildly.
“Of course it’s not a crime,” the duke said. “Is that all they have on you?”
The Heiress In His Bed Page 28