“As far as I can tell.”
“In that case, let’s go to dinner,” said the duke. “I’ve a very important matter I want to discuss with you, and I can hardly do that on an empty stomach.”
Four hours later, they were still in prison, waiting for Julian’s release and the duke was getting hungry. “What did you want to talk to me about?” Julian asked him.
“Hmmm?” asked the duke, searching for crumbs in Julian’s food basket.
“You said there was something important you wanted to discuss with me.”
“Well, not very important. Viola’s getting married,” said the duke, giving up his search in disgust. He had eaten every scrap of food in the place and was now looking hungrily at the straw on the floor. The Great Dane had fallen asleep.
“But your sister has decided not to marry Lord Bamph,” said Julian. “She sent me a note.”
“Who said anything about Bamph?” Dickon shrugged. “No, I’ve found her a better man. You should see him on parade, Dev. You would not believe your eyes. He’s like a centaur, if a centaur could be arsed with regimentals and parades, which he probably couldn’t. Anyway, he’s like a god among men. Viola will be pleased.”
“Oh, she doesn’t know yet?”
“She’s in the country visiting a sick friend. But she likes Lord Simon. His mother tells me they get on very well indeed. And he adores her.”
“Lord Simon Ascot?” Julian said coldly.
“You know him?” Dickon said eagerly.
Julian laughed shortly. “He’s going to marry your sister?”
“Yes! Isn’t it nuts for us?”
“No,” said Julian. “No, it isn’t nuts for us! Lord Simon is the shameless home-wrecking rake who took Mary from me. Do you understand?” he shouted as the duke goggled at him.
“Dev, you’re not making any sense,” the duke complained. “Lord Simon hasn’t taken Mary anywhere.”
“Yes, he has. He—”
“No, Dev,” the duke said firmly. “You’ve just gone mad from the solitude of prison life, that’s all. Mary is with me, safe and sound.”
Julian scowled at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s not with me now, obviously,” the duke conceded. “I couldn’t bring a nice girl like that to a place like this! She’s at Gambol House, perfectly safe.”
“Mary is at Gambol House?” Julian repeated. “You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m going to adopt her.”
“No, you’re not. I’m going to marry her,” said Julian.
“I don’t think so,” said the duke, beginning to frown. “Mary wants me to adopt her.”
“No. Mary wants me to marry her,” Julian retorted.
“She never mentioned it. I’m sorry, Dev. But, as her father, I couldn’t allow it. You’re just not good enough to marry a duke’s daughter. I hate to be a snob about it, but, damn it! You’re only a stockjobber!”
“Why don’t we let Mary decide for herself?” Julian snapped.
Dickon shrugged. “You’re just going to get your heart broken.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will,” said the duke, determined to have the last word.
Eventually, the tall, thin man who had arrested Julian came in person. “Milord Duke,” he said, bowing to Dickon. “I understand you wish to withdraw the complaint against Mr Devize?”
“I never made any complaint,” Dickon said, thrusting out his chin belligerently. “Who says I made a complaint?”
“The Crown lodged the complaint on Your Grace’s behalf,” the bureaucrat explained.
“The Crown should mind its own business,” the duke observed.
The man smiled thinly. “If Your Grace insists that the money was taken from your account with your full knowledge and permission, then there is nothing I can do.”
“Knowledge and permission? Dev, what’s the man going on about?”
“Permission was understood, and knowledge…unnecessary,” said Julian. “I was acting well within the scope of my duties as the duke’s agent. I served his interest.”
“Ha!” said the duke. “I hope that answers your nasty little questions, my good man!”
“Not quite. What about Calais?”
“What about it?” demanded the duke.
“Didn’t he tell you, Your Grace? Two tickets for Calais were discovered on his person.”
“I’m not bloody surprised,” the duke retorted. “Why, this place must be full of fleas as well. Come, Samson!” he called to his dog. “Let’s get you out of here before you’re infested.”
“The government would like to know why Mr Devize was going to Calais, and with whom,” smiled the thin man.
“Then you should have let me go,” said Julian, smiling back. “You could have followed me. Who knows what you might have seen? Now you’ll never know.”
Dickon guffawed. “Good answer, Dev!”
The bureaucrat’s smile disappeared. “I’ll get you next time, Devize,” he threatened.
“Don’t bet on it,” said the duke, clapping his hat on his head.
It was well after nine o’clock when the duke returned to Gambol House with Julian. A bevy of housemaids were scrubbing the grand staircase, but, undeterred, the butler and two footmen came slipping down to meet their master and his guest. Shedding his coat and hat as he went, Dickon took the door under the stairs, leading Julian through the servants’ quarters to the drawing room, where a pile of dogs lay sleeping in front of the fireplace. Yawning, they got up reluctantly to greet the newcomers.
“Lazy buggers,” the duke said affectionately. “Where’s Mary?” he asked the butler. “She usually reads in here after dinner.”
“I believe Miss Andrews has already retired for the evening, Your Grace,” Lover answered, unable to look at Julian at all. “It is quite late.”
“Wake her up,” said Julian. “Tell her Dev is here.”
“Well, go and get her, man,” said the duke. “Tell her Papa is here.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” said Lover, withdrawing.
Dickon kindly brought Julian a brandy. “Now we’ll see what’s what with our Mary,” he said confidently, pouring out a drink for himself.
Julian was equally confident. “Cheers,” he said, knocking back the brandy.
A footman passed by the open doors. “Jem,” the duke hailed him. “Go and find out what’s keeping Miss Andrews. This young man is waiting to propose to her. He’s very nervous, and if she doesn’t get here soon, he may run away.”
“No, indeed,” said Julian.
The footman shook his head. “You’re too late, sir,” he told Julian. “I’ve just heard it from the cook. You could have knocked me over with the proverbial. Miss Andrews, if you please, has run off to Hampshire with Mr Rampling, cool as you please! Eloped!”
The duke frowned. “What!” he cried. “That doesn’t sound like Mary.”
“Aye! She had me fooled, too, Your Grace,” the footman said angrily. “I thought she was mild as milk, and I pride myself on my ability to spot a bad ’un. I almost can’t believe it!”
“I don’t believe it,” declared the duke. “This is a girl who knows the Bible by heart! At least, I take it on faith she knows the Bible by heart. We’ve only gotten as far as Job.”
“Who is Mr Rampling?” Julian demanded, cutting in. “I know that name, don’t I?”
At that moment, Lover returned to report that Miss Andrews was not in her bed.
Julian was on his feet. “Who is Mr Rampling?” he shouted.
“He’s one of our clergymen,” the duke replied. “Or is he an M.P.? I always get them confused. Viola picks all my M.P.s and all my vicars. She likes good-looking young men for Parliament, and venerable old farts for the Church.”
“I believe Mr Rampling is a Member of Parliament,” said Lover. “However—”
“Where did you say he took her?” Julian demanded of the footman.
“Hampshire.”
>
“His mother lives there,” said Dickon, his memory improving. “Rent-free, in one of my houses, as a matter of fact. I remember my agent brought it to my attention a few months ago, but Viola said it was quite all right, because poor Lady Caroline’s husband had left her with nothing, and there but for the grace of God go I, and all that sort of thing. Well, Dev! It rather looks as though she doesn’t want either one of us. More brandy, Lover,” he commanded. “My friend has lost a wife, and I have lost a daughter. We must commiserate. Already, I miss the pitter-patter of her little feet.”
“So do I,” Julian said grimly, on his way out the door.
“Where are you going?” the duke asked in astonishment.
“I’m going to Hampshire, of course,” Julian replied.
When Miss Andrews appeared at breakfast the next morning, Dickon was surprised but delighted. “Mary!” he cried, jumping up to hold her chair. “I heard you’d run off to Hants with an M.P.”
Mary’s brown eyes widened. “No, indeed, Your Grace!” she exclaimed, horrified.
“We seem to have some practical jokers below stairs,” the duke said sternly, giving Jem a hard stare of ducal displeasure. “But you were not in your bed, Mary,” he chided her.
Mary blushed. “I’m afraid I fell asleep in the library. There are so many fascinating books here. May I—may I alphabetize them for you? Am I too presumptuous?”
“My dear Mary, you may burn them for all I care! Now then,” he went on, flourishing his napkin as he resumed his seat, “since you have not eloped, are we still on for the adoption? Or would you rather be married?” he asked, scowling.
“Adopted, please,” Mary replied instantly. “But only if Lady Viola approves, of course. We could not possibly go against her ladyship’s wishes.”
“Of course not,” the duke said quickly. “It’s too bad about Dev, isn’t it?”
“Who?” Mary asked innocently.
“Oh, nobody,” the duke said happily. “Nobody at all!”
Chapter Eighteen
Dressing Lucy for Lady Cheviot’s little assembly was far too important a task to be relegated to servants. Viola did the work herself, and on Thursday evening, Lucy stood meekly in her bedroom as Viola studied her with a hypercritical eye. Once brown and flat, Lucy’s hair was now golden and expertly curled. The slender gown of transparent, shimmering violet gauze with its slip of sapphire blue underneath suited Lucy’s tender complexion perfectly and made her gray eyes look blue. Rather unusually, the dress had no sleeves, just a little beaded fringe where the sleeves ought to have been, but, as Viola pointed out, one should always do something a little shocking for a ball. Looking at herself in the mirror, Lucy hardly dared to breathe.
Meanwhile, Viola pawed through Lucy’s jewelry. “Where are Miss Lucy’s good pieces?” she demanded of Bramwell.
“I’m afraid that’s all there is,” Lucy apologized. Her jewelry had been sold long ago to pay her father’s gambling debts.
Viola sent for her own jewel case and, with Bramwell’s assistance, scattered tiny diamond pins all over Lucy’s gown, with a concentration on the bodice. Then, as Bramwell knelt down to adorn Lucy’s skirts, Viola stepped back to study the effect. “A little more random, if you please,” she instructed the maid. “I want her gown should resemble the evening sky.”
Lucy could not suppress a nervous giggle. “It’s not a masquerade, Lady Viola.”
“It never hurts to have a theme,” Viola replied firmly, taking out a glittering diamond tiara fashioned as a series of stars, with the largest star in the center. This she carefully placed in Lucy’s hair. “There are earrings as well,” she said, frowning, “but your ears are not pierced. It’s very vexing, because it’s much too late to pierce them now!”
Lucy was relieved. The thought of hot needles being driven through her flesh was enough to make her feel light-headed.
Long silver satin gloves and a silver fan set with peacock eye feathers completed the ensemble. As a final touch, Viola sprinkled a light dusting of gold powder over her friend’s face and shoulders.
“If you please, Miss Lucy,” said Bramwell, “I’ve told Lady Cheviot I’d be at Cross Mere early to help attend to her female guests. The others are leaving now, in the wagon….”
“Go, go,” Lucy assented. A ball represented an opportunity for all the servants in the vicinity to make extra money, and Lucy would not dream of interfering in the time-honored tradition of lending one’s servants to one’s neighbors for such an event.
“I feel like an imposter,” Lucy breathed when Bramwell had gone.
“Then you are well-prepared to meet your future husband,” Viola laughed.
Lucy paled. “Do I look like I’m thinking of marriage? I do, don’t I?” Full-blown panic seized hold of her. “I’m far too old to be thinking about marriage. I look like an aging spinster pretending to be a young girl! I’m not going! Lady Viola, I can’t!”
“Of course you’re going,” Viola said sharply. “I’ve worked too hard to be disappointed now. Besides, you’ve accepted the invitation. You must go.”
“Lady Cheviot only invited me as a courtesy. She won’t care if I’m there or not. I’m not going,” Lucy repeated, beginning to hyperventilate.
Viola brought her a glass of water. “Would you feel better if I gave you a bosom?” she asked kindly. “I found some shapes in your mother’s dressing room. You’d be amazed what a large chest can do for a lady’s self-confidence.”
“I think,” Lucy said, summoning her dignity, “that you have done enough to me. You have turned my hair yellow and covered me with diamonds…. My dress has no sleeves! There is a crown on my head! I don’t even recognize myself!”
“You needn’t thank me, dear. I’ve enjoyed myself.”
Lucy’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Lady Viola,” she began, horrified by her outburst. “But please believe me when I tell you I cannot go!”
Unmoved, Viola dragged her out of the room. Cornelius was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “About time, too,” he grumbled, hardly glancing at his nervous sister. “We’ll be late, and I promised Lady Cheviot I’d dance the first dance with Miss Brandon.”
“It is customary,” Viola said frostily, “for a gentleman to compliment a lady’s appearance when she first enters a room.”
“I b-beg your pardon, Lady Viola,” Cornelius stammered. “Your ladyship’s appearance is…is…very good. Very good, indeed! I compliment you on it. Indeed, I do.”
“I see now why you are not married, Mr Rampling,” Viola said dryly.
Lucy licked her lips nervously. “Corny, would you be terribly upset if I don’t go?”
Cornelius gaped at Lucy. “Not go to the ball? When Lady Viola has spent the last four hours dressing you? Don’t be daft. Of course you’re going. Do you want me to lose my seat in Parliament?” he added in a harsh undertone.
Thirty minutes later, the Ramplings arrived at Cross Mere in Viola’s barouche. The dancing had already begun, with at least half the couples already formed. Always glad of an extra man, Lady Cheviot instantly seized Mr Rampling and put him to work amongst the wallflowers. A superfluous female, Lucy was left to fend for herself.
Lucy at once began to look for Lady Cheviot’s children. She caught sight of the six-year-old twins watching the ball from the gallery, their feet dangling between the spindles of the ballustrade. She started toward them, making her way through the hot, crowded ballroom.
A young man in a scarlet coat, crossing the room in a different direction, accidentally collided with Lucy. Fortunately, there was no punch involved.
“I beg your pardon, miss!” he said, stopping to stare at her. “Miss…?”
Lucy smiled at him. “Why, Arthur Bourne! It is I, Miss Rampling. Lieutenant Bourne, I should say,” she corrected herself after looking more closely at his regimentals. “I did not know you were back from France.”
“And I leave for India next week,” he replied, devouring her
with his eyes. “This is my last chance to see my parents, Miss Rampling. I shall be gone ten years. You are not dancing?”
“I arrived late,” Lucy explained.
“So did I,” Arthur said, sighing. “My hostess has commanded me to dance with one of her wallflowers. I see Miss Garner there…. Duty calls,” he groaned.
“Off you go, then,” Lucy said cheerfully.
“Are you looking for your partner?” he asked her suddenly. “He should be looking for you. May I find him for you? Confidentially,” he added, “I’d much rather find your partner for you than have to dance with Miss Garner. She flutters her eyelashes at me, you see.”
“I’m afraid there’s no escaping your duty, Lieutenant,” Lucy answered, laughing. “I have no partner for you to fetch. I was just going to sit in the gallery with the children.”
As Lucy pointed the twins out to Lieutenant Bourne, Elizabeth caught sight of her. “Look!” she cried, elbowing Henry in the ribs. “There’s Lucy!”
Henry scowled at the beautiful golden-haired lady with the tall, handsome officer. “It doesn’t look like Lucy,” he complained.
“Ladies and gentlemen look different at a ball,” Elizabeth explained. “Isn’t it exciting?”
“You wicked girl!” Arthur Bourne teased Lucy. “You mean to tell me you don’t have a partner, and you were going to let me throw myself away on Miss Garner? I’d much rather dance with you, and you know it. What a lucky thing for me you arrived late, or there would have been no room for me. Shall we join the set? It’s not too late.”
Lucy was startled by the onslaught of masculine attention. “It’s very k-kind of you to offer,” she stammered, blushing, “but I think you should dance with Miss Garner. She’s only just come out, you know.”
“Someone should put her back in,” said Arthur. “I’m going to dance with the prettiest girl in the place. Now, stop teasing me,” he added, grabbing her hand.
“Oh, Arthur, really,” she chided him. She barely had time to wave to the twins before being swept off to join the line.
“Who is she, do you know?” the girl next to her hissed angrily.
The Heiress In His Bed Page 29