“I gave her too much as it is,” Tony said bitterly.
“You gave her money!” cried Perdita, furious. “How much?”
“Fifty pounds.”
“What is fifty pounds, if it rids you of a Miss Shipley?” Viola said, shuddering. “I shall never forget the insufferable, smug look she gave me.”
Perdita gasped. “I know that look! She gave me the same look the night of the ball, when I first found them together. She was in bed with her skirts up.”
Viola snorted. “Of course she was,” she said tartly.
“I never touched her skirts,” Tony said stoutly. “I only popped her buttons.”
“Oh!” said Perdita.
“Perdita,” Viola said gently. “You can’t possibly think that Cheviot and Miss Shipley…! Why, the woman’s not even attractive. She has a mustache!”
“For God’s sake, Perdita. Listen to Lady Viola. I am innocent!”
“I want to believe you, Tony. I really do. But I—”
“Shall I tell her about you and me, Tony?” Viola offered.
“Only,” Tony said grimly, “if you think it will help!”
“What about you and my husband?” Perdita demanded.
“Oh, it’s nothing bad,” Viola assured her. “About four or five years ago, when I was sixteen, Dickon invited him to come to Lyons for the shooting.”
“Yes, I know,” Perdita said impatiently.
“Well, I’m afraid I got the most ridiculous idea in my head that I was violently in love with—with your husband,” Viola confessed.
“With Tony?” Perdita said incredulously.
“Of course I wasn’t really,” Viola said quickly. “It was only calf-love. But I didn’t know it was calf-love at the time, so, naturally, I put everything I had into winning his affections. Of course, he ignored me. But that only made me bolder. I’m not proud of it, but I…Well, I…” Viola approached Perdita and whispered in her ear.
Perdita’s blue eyes started from their sockets. Her cheeks turned white. “No!” she said.
“Oh, yes,” said Viola.
“And he—he rejected you?”
“Most cruelly,” said Viola. “Believe me, if Tony was going to betray you, it would have been that night with me. Not in the wilderness with some beastly, ugly governess.”
“Viola!” Lucy protested, scandalized.
“What?” Viola said innocently. “I was young and foolish. Of course, I never looked at another man after that until Julian, because, you see, after Tony, I had standards. I hope that helps?” she added, turning to Perdita.
“Oh, Tony!” said Perdita.
“Perdy!” said Tony, taking her in his arms.
“Come, Lucy,” Viola said quickly.
Baroness Devize rose late, as was her habit when in London. Whilst drinking her tea, she scanned the society columns, hoping in vain to find some mention of herself. Disappointed yet again, she completed her morning toilette and went down to see what gifts the post had brought.
She was reading a most exciting letter when the butler came in and announced Lord Devize. “Good morning, madam,” said her husband.
Lady Devize held up one finger and continued to read her letter.
“The Honorable Mr Alexander Devize,” announced the butler.
This was too much. Reluctantly, the baroness set aside her letter. “You idiot!” she snarled. “No! No! No!”
“For God’s sake, madam,” the baron complained. “Is that any way to talk to your son?”
“I am not addressing my son,” she snapped. “I am addressing the new butler. The ‘Honorable’ is never to be spoken aloud, Bentley. One sees it in writing, of course, but in speech it is considered to be understood. Such errors are painful to me. If it is ever repeated, I will turn you off without a character. You will never work in this town again. Now, get out.”
The butler practically ran away.
The baroness smiled coldly. “Well, Alexander! Have you come to your senses?” she inquired. “Have you come to London to find a suitable wife?”
“Not quite,” said Alex. “I have found a suitable wife, and I have brought her to London.”
“The wedding’s tomorrow morning,” the baron informed his lady. “Nine o’clock sharp.”
The baroness sniffed. “You are with your father. Does that mean you have decided to marry Miss Peacock, after all?”
Alex took a deep breath. “The bride is Miss Lucy Rampling,” he said simply.
“What! That penniless little nobody?” The baroness glared at her husband. “The girl has no beauty, no fortune, no connections. Nothing to recommend the match!”
“I take a different view,” Alex said quietly.
“George? Are you going to allow this?”
The baron shrugged. “His mind is made up.”
“It would be a great compliment to my bride, Mama, if you would attend the wedding.”
The baroness sniffed. “I’m afraid you must excuse me, Alexander. I have a very important engagement tomorrow morning. I cannot disappoint my friend.”
“Engagement! Damn it, madam! What could be more important than your son’s wedding day?” Lord Devize demanded angrily.
The baroness picked up her letter fondly. “Lady Viola Gambol,” she said reverently. “Her ladyship writes to invite me to a breakfast tomorrow morning at Gambol House. It is her ladyship’s first time in London, you know. The event is sure to be attended by the most illustrious members of Society. I shall be among my peers, at last.”
The baron began to laugh. “Gambol House!”
Alex quickly laid a hand on his father’s arm. “Don’t, Father,” he said. “There’s no point, and we have much to do before tomorrow.” He bowed stiffly. “Good-bye, Mother. I hope the breakfast tomorrow is to your liking.”
The baroness’s thoughts were elsewhere. “Now, what shall I wear?” she murmured almost giddily as she got up to ring the bell.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Viola and Lucy returned to Gambol House later that afternoon, trailing parcels and dressmakers. The doors were wide open, as flowers were being delivered. Viola just managed to catch the Dalmatian by his collar as he was slipping out the door. “Where is my brother?” she demanded of a passing footman. “His dogs are menacing my delivery people!”
Lover appeared to take control of the dog.
“I don’t mean to complain, Lover,” Viola said, waving for Lucy to go upstairs without her, “but Gambol House is in chaos! Has the ice arrived at least?”
“Yes, my lady,” Lover replied, dragging the dog by its collar. “His grace has been asking for you. He’s in his study.”
“I’ll take the dog,” Viola offered. “You must have a hundred things to do.”
The duke sprang up nervously as the door to his sanctuary opened and the Dalmatian bounded in. “Viola! Thank God!” he cried, collapsing in relief when he saw it was his sister. “Where have you been?”
“I’ve been shopping,” she answered, surprised by his emotional state.
“Shopping! At a time like this?”
“Lucy needed a dress,” Viola said defensively. “Why, what’s happened?”
The duke chewed at his fingers. “Dev’s here,” he said, his fingers in his mouth.
“Where?” Viola demanded instantly, looking around.
Dickon crossed the room in leaps and bounds and seized his sister’s hands. “He wants Mary,” he said, his mouth quivering. “He is threatening to keep all your money if I don’t let him marry her! Viola, what are we going to do?”
“Oh, my goodness!” said Viola.
“Mary doesn’t want to get married,” Dickon said wretchedly. “She doesn’t even know Dev. I can’t very well ask her to marry a stranger, can I? She’s not strong like you, Viola.”
“Don’t worry, Dickon,” Viola assured him. “She won’t have to marry Dev.”
“But your money, Viola!” he cried, panicking. “He’s got your money, and he’s threatening to take
mine, too. This is a side to him I’ve never seen before. He was always so gentle with me, so kind and patient. Why, the man is absolutely ruthless. He’d skin his own grandmother, I do believe! You should have seen his eyes!” The duke shivered uncontrollably.
Viola smiled. “I have seen his eyes,” she said.
“Then you know!” he said, clutching her. “Viola, we can’t let Mary fall into the hands of such a man. Then again, we need our money, don’t we?”
Viola patted his hand. “I’ll take care of Mr Devize,” she promised.
Dickon sighed in relief. “I knew I could count on you, young Viola! You never let me down. But what are you going to do? You’ve never met a villain like this, I assure you.”
“It’s really quite simple,” Viola replied. “I’ll just marry him myself.”
“Who?” the duke asked in confusion.
“Dev, of course.”
“You can’t marry Dev!” he protested. “Dev is a Very Bad Man. Besides, it’s Mary he wants.”
“I’m sure he’d rather have me,” said Viola.
Dickon frowned. “What about Lord Simon?”
“What about him?” she asked, surprised.
“Aren’t you going to marry Lord Simon?”
“Certainly not.”
“You’d really give him up for poor Mary’s sake? You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all, I assure you. You see, Dickon, I like Dev.”
“You like him?” Dickon repeated incredulously.
“I love him.”
“You LOVE him?” Dickon repeated even more incredulously.
“Yes,” she said simply. “I got to know him very well when I came to London.”
“But he’s only the younger son of a baron,” Dickon protested. “He has no money.”
“He’ll have our money,” she pointed out.
“You know what I mean. He’s only a stockjobber.”
Viola shrugged. “He’ll be Chancellor of the Exchequer in ten years.”
“Everyone hates him!”
“I know,” said Viola. “Isn’t it nice for me? Now, don’t worry,” she went on soothingly. “Think of what a handsome, clever devil your nephew will be.”
Kissing his cheek, she slipped from the room.
His face set and grim, Julian paced back and forth in front of the big marble fireplace in the drawing room. He was so lost in his thoughts, that he did not hear Viola come in.
“Hello, Dev.”
He pounced on her, swinging her up in his arms and claiming her mouth with his. “I thought you were still in Hampshire,” he said when he could kiss her no more.
“You’ve not seen your brother,” she guessed. “He was supposed to tell you.”
“I have been out all day,” he said. “Then I came here to see the duke. He seems to think you don’t want to marry me.”
“He’s a little confused,” said Viola. “Shall we sit down?”
“Of course! My God, your ankle. I haven’t asked you how it is. How is it?”
“It’s very good,” she assured him, taking his hands as he sat next to her. “It’s only slowed me down a little. Dev, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Julian sat next to her. “You don’t want to marry me,” he guessed.
“Of course I want to marry you,” she said quickly. “You may not want to marry me when I tell you what I have to tell you.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing you could say that would change how I feel.”
“That’s good,” Viola said, relieved. “I’m not Mary, Dev. I’m Viola. Viola Gambol.”
Julian merely looked at her.
“I’m the duke’s sister,” she clarified. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” he answered, pulling his hands away.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” she demanded.
“No,” he replied shortly. Standing up, he walked to the fireplace, his back to her.
Viola hung her head. “I should have told you before,” she said miserably. “I came to London in Mary’s place…to meet her aunt.” She looked up at him, hoping he would at least look at her. When he did not, she began to babble. “I wanted to be sure Mrs Dean would be a fit guardian for the child, which, of course, she isn’t. I thought you knew at first who I was. Because you work for my brother, I naturally assumed you knew who I was. I thought you were spying on me, to be honest. You must have thought me so conceited.”
He threw her a quick, unsmiling glance over his shoulder.
Viola went on, encouraged by his attention. “When I realized you didn’t know who I was, I was afraid to tell you.”
“Afraid?”
“Well, you might’ve held me for ransom or something. Then I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid, if you knew, you’d send me away. I didn’t want you to send me away.”
She paused, but he still said nothing.
“Then, when you couldn’t get the license, I thought you didn’t want to marry me. I knew if I told you who I was, then you would marry me, but perhaps not because you wanted to. I didn’t want that. Then Lord Simon came…Then, in Hampshire, I thought…”
Here she paused, putting her hand over her eyes. “I don’t know what I thought in Hampshire. It all happened so fast.”
He still did not speak.
Viola did not know what else to say. “Dev, I know you’re angry, but you’ll have to talk to me. You must say something!”
He turned to face her. “Thank you for being honest with me, madam,” he said. “Now I shall be honest with you.”
“All right,” she said uneasily.
“I know who you are. The first thing I saw when I walked into this house was that gargantuan portrait of your mother. I thought it was you at first. She was very beautiful, your mother.”
Viola started up angrily. “You knew? And you let me go on, burbling like a frightened child!”
“Yes,” he replied, glowering at her. “I let you go on.”
“I suppose I deserved that,” Viola said grudgingly.
“What happens now?” he demanded.
Viola was bewildered by his anger. “What do you mean? You still want to marry me, don’t you?”
He glared at her. “Do you want to marry me?”
“Well, y-yes,” she stammered. “If you want to marry me, that is.”
He looked suspicious. “What about Lord Simon?”
Viola blinked in surprise. “What about him?”
“Well, aren’t you going to marry him?” he wanted to know.
“How could you even imagine such a thing?” she whispered, horrified.
Julian crossed the room to stand in front of her. “Answer the question, madam!”
“No! I’m not going to marry Lord Simon,” she said. “I’m going to marry you, if you’ll stop being an idiot.”
“Oh, I’m an idiot, am I? Your brother seems to think you’re going to marry Lord Simon.”
“I told you he was confused,” said Viola. “He’s even more confused than I thought. Dev, you of all people should know I’d never marry Lord Simon. I’d never marry anyone but you.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Of course I mean it,” she assured him, taking his hand.
Julian fell to his knees. “I thought you were going to marry him and try to keep me on a string—a pet, a lover,” he confessed. “I was so angry!”
“Darling!” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Julian laughed shakily. “I’m glad I didn’t. I wanted to throttle you. I wanted to die!”
“You know I don’t approve of adultery.”
“You know,” he said, fingering the silk of her skirt, “it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Not if he kisses her,” Viola replied.
Miss Shipley entered Gambol House shielded by a delivery of flowers. Swept along, she made her way down the length of the great hall before being stopp
ed by a liveried servant.
“Musician, seamstress, or cook?” he asked, then departed abruptly when she answered “Governess” out of habit.
Farther along down the hall, she spotted a stout, bald man dragging a Great Dane by its collar. “Excuse me, kind sir,” she called to him sweetly. “Could you help me, please?”
“Who are you?” the Duke of Fanshawe asked, regarding her with suspicion.
Miss Shipley tried a different approach. “I’m looking for Lord Cheviot,” she announced haughtily. “I was told he was here.”
“Tony? I suppose he’s here somewhere,” the duke replied.
“Would you mind awfully telling him I’m here?” Miss Shipley said coldly.
“Is he expecting you?” Dickon wanted to know.
“If he isn’t, he should be,” she answered, smirking. “Pray tell his lordship that Miss Shipley desires to see him. He will know what it is about.”
“Oh?” said Dickon, giving her a wink. “You’re the governess, are you?”
Miss Shipley sniffed indignantly. “I am. And who might you be, sir?”
“Me? I’m the Duke of Fanshawe,” he replied. “Tony and I were at school together.”
“Your Grace!” she squawked, growing sweet again. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t recognize you, Your Grace.”
“That’s because we’ve never met before,” he explained. “Why don’t you come in here and sit down?” he suggested kindly. “You shouldn’t be on your feet more than necessary, you know. You’ve got to think of the baby.”
Miss Shipley preceded him into his study. “Your Grace is very kind,” she said, fluttering her eyelids at him.
“I’ll go and find Tony for you,” he offered. “You’ve got his letter, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace,” she assured him. “I’m prepared to be quite reasonable.”
“Good, good. Now, don’t mind Samson,” he said, releasing the Great Dane. “He won’t bite you unless you try to leave the room.”
“What?” cried Miss Shipley as the door swung closed.
The Heiress In His Bed Page 39