by Liz Tyner
‘Nonsense,’ her mother said. ‘I am quite sure she is honest. She told me the brocade in the sitting room is quite the wrong colour.’
‘I am not talking of fashion. I am talking of the deeper qualities of a person.’
His mother’s eyes widened. ‘She has some deep qualities. They are just deeply common.’
‘She has said—things about Father. Even suggesting he might have not seen you for a time after Geoff’s birth when you were ill.’
This time his mother put her hand over her open mouth. Her eyes fluttered.
Rhys knew right where this was heading. Bellona would soon be waiting at the door for the carriage to be pulled around.
The duchess clasped her fingertips as if her hands were cold and then whispered, ‘I do not know how I am going to teach her what is proper to speak of and what is to remain behind closed doors. A servant could have overheard. Not that I’m sure they… Well, you know how things get remembered like that.’
Rhys drew in a deep breath, studying the truth on his mother’s face. His father? His father had behaved so callously? ‘Mother. Did my father…?’
‘Well…Rhys, I thought perhaps your father had mentioned it to you before his death, or even Geoff. I know Geoff and your father spoke of it. I heard them. So I assumed you knew as well.’ She wilted against the sofa back. ‘I have just had so much on my mind. It is hard to think of everything.’
His mouth opened. Bellona had moved into his house and discovered family truths even he did not know of. And his mother was discussing these things with her instead of with him.
He took the matching chair.
Then his mother straightened and pulled her handkerchief from inside her sleeve and refolded the fabric, her eyes on the cloth.
‘Rhys, you understand…’ She looked up. ‘Geoff had just been born and it was a difficult birth. He was… I was… He cried so much and the nursemaids didn’t know what to do. My baby was small and didn’t want to grow at first. I felt I’d failed my husband. Your father and I did not always get on well. I may have…been harsh in some of the things I said. Your father was angry because I could not think of anything but the babe, so he left me. But then, Geoff started getting bigger and I became better and your father returned home, after a nudge.’
She daubed the handkerchief to her eyes. ‘That was a difficult time. And to think I would eventually lose them both… So near to each other.’
Rhys didn’t speak.
‘I had all a woman could hope for.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘My father…’ He shook his head.
‘Rhys, please do not tell me you are such an innocent. Sometimes, things happen.’
He stood again. ‘I am not an innocent, Mother.’ He straightened the sleeves of his coat. ‘I am just surprised that I never knew of this. That no one told me. It’s… You know how Father was. He was the perfect duke. Always.’
‘Yes.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘He was. And you know, Rhys—in some respects—nothing is forbidden to a duke.’
‘Miss Cherroll—a woman we hardly know tells me of this.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘How could you share this with her and not with me?’
‘She lost her own mother and has had so many trials. I understood much of the pain she felt and I told her. The words just escaped my lips.’
Since Bellona had been correct about that, perhaps she had spoken truth on one other thing, too. ‘You do not have to worry about my abandoning you, Mother, even when you become hale and hearty once more.’
‘I know, Rhys. I understand completely. I know you would never wish to leave me.’ She exchanged the fashion plates for the prayer book on the table beside her chair. Running her fingers over the lettering on the cover, she sighed. ‘But, Rhys, if you do not… If you do not go to London and find a wife, you will be abandoning your title. Your duty to your family. Your brother’s heritage. You have no choice.’
She raised her face. ‘I understand you must go. I do not want you to marry a wife only to make her unhappy. Togetherness in marriage, I believe, is formed by people who have the same background and the same interests. You must marry a woman you have something in common with. One who shares your dreams for the dukedom and can be at your side, a helpmate. I wish the same marriage for you that your father and I had, except, of course, for the one year when we could not stand the sight of each other.’
‘I know what I have to do.’ He did. A wife. House of Lords. A son to pass the title to. It did not have to be written in stone to be engraved in his head. Geoff’s heritage.
‘It’s harder for a duke with all his duties and responsibilities and the stewardship of the estate,’ she said. ‘And women notice the duke, Rhys, rather than the man, as I am sure you are aware.’
Rhys remembered the last soirée he had attended with Geoff. The women had fluttered around Geoff, and the brothers had jested privately afterward about the peerage being far more handsome than any visage. The next event Rhys attended after Geoff’s death, the perfume had choked him, the expanse of pale flesh had burned his eyes and the high laughter had been like spears in his ears.
Without Geoff, it was not humorous any more.
The door opened and Bellona walked in, wearing both boots and carrying the slippers. ‘They bite my toes,’ she insisted. ‘I cannot wear them.’
‘I know you must have slippers at Warrington’s estate,’ the duchess said. ‘Send for them or trim off a few toes.’
Bellona put the shoes on the floor beside her. ‘I will be considering which toes I can spare.’
‘Of course,’ the duchess murmured, ‘you do want your little niece, Willa, to be proud of her aunt…’
The tousled head darted up and her eyes could have flailed the duchess. ‘I do have some slippers my sister gave me. I suppose I could send for them and a gown that matches.’
‘I have a tutor planned for you tomorrow in the ballroom. Do not be late. He will not.’
‘I will not dance. I have a pain in my foot.’
The duchess spoke to Rhys. ‘She can practise archery for hours. A few moments’ dancing will not hurt her.’
‘I will not,’ Bellona said again, calling the duchess’s attention back to her.
‘It would mean a lot to your sister to know you are settled with a nice vicar or man of affairs. Perhaps a soldier who has returned and needs a wife to care for him? Your sister might even wish for a niece or nephew of her own. Someone her own little ones can call cousin. If you do not dance with a suitor… He will see you as thinking yourself above him and dance with someone more…pleasant.’
She held her fingers up as if dusting crumbs from them.
‘I will dance the country dance if you insist.’
‘Send a servant to me and I will give the order for your bow to be returned,’ the duchess said.
‘My foot is hurting more now and the pains are moving up to my head,’ Bellona said, turned and left.
Rhys saw the jutting chin as she stepped his way, but as she passed by him, the tiny wink nearly did him in.
The door crashed behind her.
The wench would be the death of him.
‘I would not say this in front of her, but if she carries on like this, that heathen child will never even be worthy of a tradesman as a wife. It’s just…she did lose her mother, as she is constantly reminding me,’ the duchess grumbled to Rhys. ‘I cringe to think what would have become of your sister had it not been for my firm hand.’ The duchess stared ahead. ‘This one is more like your father’s mother.’ She nodded and her lips firmed. ‘No one ever took that woman in hand and I will certainly not let this motherless child be so unruly.’
‘You gave her the gold earrings.’
‘Yes, and the matching necklace. I never really liked them. I’m trying to make a female out of her, Rhys. No man will ever give her a second glance if she does not present herself as a lady.’
Rhys turned to the door. He did not correct his mother on that
point. But she was very, very wrong.
*
Bellona grabbed her cape, shaking it in her frustration. She had to escape the house for a few minutes and practise her archery. The first dancing lessons with the tutor had gone well, but today he had insisted on a much more difficult dance. Bellona had refused. She was determined the man would not touch her.
The maid returned and slipped into the room. ‘Please, miss, the duchess is distressed.’
‘She must get over her temper fit.’
‘She is crying.’
Bellona stopped. ‘Tears of anger?’
‘Quiet tears.’
Bellona slipped the cape from her shoulders and tossed it on the bed. ‘I’ll speak with her.’
‘Thank you, miss,’ the maid said, backing away.
Bellona knocked on the duchess’s door and walked inside. The woman sniffled, but didn’t look at Bellona.
‘You know I don’t wish to dance.’ Bellona shut the door.
‘I know.’ The duchess stared at the embroidered bit of linen in her hands. ‘If you wish to be a heathen, then you may be a heathen. I wash my hands of you. My daughter. She loved to dance. Loved the dresses. The laughter. I just thought… I just thought you would, too.’
Bellona sighed. ‘If you will help me, I will try.’
The duchess dotted her eyes dry. ‘The tutor is waiting.’
‘No. You must help me. I cannot do it without you. I cannot.’
‘You are being ridiculous.’
‘I am asking for no more than you are from me.’
‘Very well.’ The duchess stood. ‘I am too old and tired to fight you any more.’
Chapter Five
Muffled pianoforte music wafted down the hallways. Rhys stopped, listening. That wasn’t his mother playing. She’d long ago ceased, claiming her fingers hurt if she even looked at the pianoforte, though she wasn’t above persuading someone else to play for her.
Rhys trekked to the ballroom and then stared.
His mother sat in a high-backed chair similar to a queen’s throne. She held her arm out and hummed above the sound of the music, as she grasped a fan like a sceptre and let it bounce in time with her hums. A man at the pianoforte had the music before him, but his eyes were closed as his fingers moved.
Rhys recognised the other man, the dancing master who had tutored every child from every estate in the area. The man danced, his lips in a grim line as he held Bellona and led her through the steps around the room. His hair was smooth at one side and the other stood out as if someone had tugged him around by the white locks. The wench had a disastrous effect on hair. Rhys’s own was beginning to grey since he had met her. Only the duchess’s hair stayed locked in place.
But when he looked closer, his mother’s eyes were red-rimmed and he wasn’t sure Bellona’s didn’t follow suit.
‘Shoulders back,’ his mother commanded, between hums, her voice reaching a crescendo. ‘Bellona, the hand. Stop pulling your fingers from his. You are causing the tutor to miss his steps to keep you close. Hum-hum-hum. Hum-hum-hum. One-two-three. Feet. Feet. Feet. Remember the— Stop. Stop. Stop!’ Her voice rose and her fan-tip jumped up.
Bellona immediately stepped back from the man.
Standing, the duchess moved to Bellona and the dance instructor. ‘Bellona, you must simply refrain from pulling away from him. You were doing so well in the country dance, but you cannot manage one step of this dance.’ She walked behind the man and straightened his back. He winced.
‘Mr Mathers, you must, must, must pay attention as well. You do not have quite the grasp of the dance as I had hoped or Bellona would be able to do better. I will demonstrate for her. Dance with me, Mr Mathers…’ She raised her hand and stepped into his grasp.
The dance continued, with his mother and the tutor.
Bellona stood at the side. Her eyes showed dark against wan skin.
The duchess and the tutor danced round the room. Bellona breathed deeply.
‘It’s not truly difficult,’ Rhys said, walking to her side. ‘Perhaps I could show you since the instructor is lacking.’
He would hold her only for a moment. That would not cause any problems within him. He could not even remember all the women he had danced with.
Her head jerked around, as if she’d not known he was in the room. She moved back, increasing the distance between them. ‘I know. But I hate this dance. I hate it.’
‘It’s so elegant and the music is beautiful.’
‘This dance is… Your mother said some people think it improper. They are wise. To be in a man’s grasp like that…’ She shuddered.
Rhys talked softly, leaning towards her. ‘Has the tutor behaved badly to you?’
‘Just in the same terrible way he is with the duchess.’
Rhys’s head darted and he watched the couple swirl, his mother’s voice slightly louder than the music as she instructed the tutor.
‘They’re just dancing,’ Rhys said. ‘If anything, Mother is holding him too close.’
‘I cannot.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I will tell her that I cannot do this…unsuitable dance.’
He studied Bellona’s face and he reconsidered where his eyes had roamed on some of his dance partners. He raised his chin and slowly nodded downward. He moved his view over her shoulder and kept his eyes away from her breasts, but spoke in an undertone. ‘I am sure, if you tell my mother, she will see that you have someone to fashion a gown for you with an adequate…bodice.’
She looked at him, studying his deliberately neutral expression. ‘I don’t understand?’
He furrowed his brows. ‘Wasn’t that what you were talking about?’
Her lids dropped a bit and her face changed. The eyes narrowed. ‘What is wrong with my bodice?’
‘Nothing.’ It was the truth. He spoke dismissively and assumed the privileged bearing that usually stopped all questions. Whoever had fashioned her close-fitting garment should have been well paid.
Her gaze widened, and he could see the thoughts working away behind her eyes. She grumbled a word he could not make out.
‘I thought,’ he emphasised, ‘you might prefer a more concealing dress—because you think the dance improper. A thicker fabric might give more of a feeling of distance—propriety—of all those things—important things—necessary for a dance. I am just trying to assist.’ He heard the soothing tone of his voice and reminded himself he had meant no offence. He did not need to grovel to her.
One of her feathers unruffled. ‘I will consider what you said.’ She crossed her arms, and patted one hand just at the top of her capped sleeve. Her arm now draped over her chest. ‘I will never, ever dance in this dress now.’
‘Just wear a dress that’s more—less fashionable.’
Her eyes, if they could, became even more lustrous with disapproval. ‘I was not speaking of that, although I will certainly take what you say into account when I choose my clothing.’
‘Miss Cherroll… You must accept the norms of societal behaviour if you are to live in England.’
Her face didn’t lighten. ‘No. He holds my hand and around my waist and I cannot… In a moment he could clasp me tightly. I could not pull away if I wished.’
He looked at his mother and the instructor. ‘The tutor did not hold you closer than that?’
‘It was still too close.’
Oh, this woman was surely unsuitable for any man’s wife. He felt sorry for her and the man she might wed, assuming she didn’t geld him with an arrow first.
‘I’ve held women in that manner and none seemed to mind.’
She shuddered. ‘I cannot speak for them. But I cannot tolerate any more lessons.’ The intake of her breath spoke of her determination.
She grasped her dress, lifted the hem enough to show those unsightly boots and darted from the room.
His mother must have been watching. She stopped in mid-step and shouted a command to the man at the piano. The music ceased. The two men and his mother we
re both looking at him.
‘What did you say to send her away?’ His mother stepped away from the tutor. She waved a hand. ‘You would not believe how much effort this day has taken to organise.’
This was not the place to mention the bodice discussion. ‘I may have made her…doubt her…ability to learn the dance.’
His mother’s fingers splayed and her hands went up. ‘Rolleston, I cannot believe…’ She caught her words. ‘I had to near drag her from her room just to get her here at all.’ She pointed a finger at the ceiling. ‘Just one moment.’
The tutor dropped his head, and a small moan fell from his lips. ‘I so must beg your pardon, but I have another appointment, and I do not think I will be able to continue… With the greatest of regrets and sadness. Not today or tomorrow.’
‘See what you’ve caused…’ She looked at Rhys. ‘We had made an improvement.’
Before she’d finished the sentence, the tutor was out through the door. The musician stood and tucked his music under his arm, turning to leave.
The duchess raised her ringed fingers, stopping his departure. ‘Stay. We will try again. Do not think to tell me you also have another meeting.’ She turned to Rhys, her eyes showing the little lines at the side which could grow into quite huge ones depending on her temper. ‘Rolleston, you do not realise how very important this is. Wait here,’ she muttered. ‘I will get Bellona and we will continue and, Rhys, you will show her that she is quite the dancer.’
*
Bellona sat in her room. She had taken country dance lessons at Whitegate with her sister and no one had ever minded that she did not participate in other dances. She’d merely taken the lessons to appease Melina and the women always practised together. Sometimes even the children partnered them.
The duchess didn’t understand, and when she’d mentioned dancing to Bellona, Bellona expected no more attention to the matter than she’d given with her sister.
When the man touched her, she could not think of feet or music or dance. All she could remember was the feel of hands clasping her neck on the ship—all the more terrifying as it had happened after they had escaped Stephanos and his men, and the captain had promised her her safety. Or the night she and Thessa had escaped Greece—when Stephanos and his men had stolen her from her home.