Forbidden to the Duke

by Liz Tyner

  ‘I heard such shouting…’ the duchess said.

  The woman was not picking good times to leave her room.

  Her eyes closed, opened, and then closed again briefly as she spoke the first words. ‘My dear, you appear dishevelled.’

  Bellona nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘As if you have been…’ The duchess swallowed, examining her.

  Bellona met the older woman’s eyes. ‘I was thinking of taking a bath.’

  ‘It is always sensible to disrobe on such an occasion.’

  ‘I should also like a carriage readied…’ Bellona paused. ‘I will be returning to Whitegate.’

  ‘I agree.’ The duchess nodded. ‘But might I speak with you first?’

  The duchess stepped back inside the door, keeping her hand on the wood. Bellona followed and sat, pulling the covering with her, kicking it with her feet to clear it from the pathway.

  After shutting the door, the duchess stood across from Bellona. ‘And should I…should I assume you have been walking about my house like this? And perhaps even been seen?’

  ‘Yes. I heard the butler sputter just now so perhaps he saw me.’

  ‘Were you bathing alone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is there to be a marriage?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘My dear. Even being able to read, dance and embroider adequately will not rescue you from such actions if there is not to be a wedding.’ The older woman’s head tilted low, but her eyes remained straight ahead. ‘You have no choice. You rather agreed to that when you decided to bathe.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We must consider all options.’

  ‘I am only considering the ones which do not include your son.’

  She swayed and grasped the wall. ‘It is worse than I feared. Rhys. Rhys saw you dressed such?’

  ‘I assume he saw me quite well.’

  ‘In the servants’ quarters? The duke was with you in the servants’ quarters?’ She panted. ‘Well, you certainly made a fine kettle of fish. To trap him into marriage is one thing. But in the servants’ quarters?’ She made a fist. Her eyes narrowed in a way that said she could have easily tipped a boiling cauldron on to Bellona’s head. ‘I should never have let you step foot in this house. You planned this all along.’

  ‘Not all along. I waited until after I had met him.’

  ‘So you bathed with a duke and then walked around in view of the whole household?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that explains nothing.’

  ‘A maid did not knock…when I was unclothed. The bath was not a private matter any longer.’

  ‘Did you pay her to open the door? In all my years a maid has never interrupted my bath. Possibly because a decent woman knows to bathe at night.’

  ‘So do all decent men.’

  The duchess raised her hand and reached for the bell. ‘Do not move. I will send for your clothes to be packed. You will not believe how fast the servants can have the carriage readied when I am on a tear. You can dress or not for the carriage ride. It hardly matters.’ The duchess’s hand stopped. She struggled for words. ‘And there could be a little…’ She blinked. ‘Have you and Rhys been bathing together…regularly?’

  ‘I would not speak of such things with his mana.’

  ‘Nonsense. I am his mother. It is not as if I did not instruct his father how to handle that little indiscretion Rhys had with one of the servants.’ Her eyes narrowed and, this time, she used one finger to jab her own chest. ‘And I was wed to his father and that shackle had to be kept clamped on his leg.’

  ‘The duke and I have agreed not to marry.’

  Rhys walked swiftly through the doorway, the door knocking back against the wood. His cravat was looped in the most unsettling knot Bellona had ever seen. His hair had somewhat returned to its place and his waistcoat was buttoned. He had her clothing draped over his arm.

  ‘Mother, Bellona and I are betrothed. We must go immediately for the special licence.’ He looked at Bellona’s covering, took in a full breath and held out the dress. ‘And she forgot what she was to wear—in her excitement over the marriage.’

  ‘Rhys,’ his mother said, voice high. ‘We have more rooms on the upper floors than can be counted. You could have been in one of those where you wouldn’t be seen. I cannot believe this of you. I cannot believe it of her.’

  ‘However, it is done. Bellona and I are to be married. I have sent the maid to instruct the carriage to be prepared. Mother, please start writing notes to all your friends telling them how I could not wait a moment longer to make her my wife.’

  ‘Never. I don’t need grandchildren after all. In fact, I’ve decided I don’t like babies at all. They’re never well mannered. Cast up their accounts. Spit on silk. Then they grow up and—it—gets worse.’

  Bellona took the chance to turn to the door, but Rhys was between her and the exit.

  He spoke softly. ‘We must wed.’

  ‘I have never heard of so many proposals in one day.’ She spoke more words, in Greek, and from the tightening of his eyes, he had certainly learned those from his tutor.

  ‘Bellona. Consider…what we have done.’ His words were soft and his eyes gentle, but she had heard the harsh tone from him when the maid had opened the door. The one that came from his heart. That one she agreed with.

  ‘I am not thinking of the past,’ he said. ‘I am thinking of the future.’

  ‘Mine is in Scotland,’ Bellona announced.

  ‘Sometimes travelling is very good for you,’ his mother grumbled. ‘It is a pity it just did not start soon enough.’ She held her hands up. ‘And none of this would have happened if not for my fall.’

  ‘I must go.’ Bellona struggled to reach out her hand while keeping her breasts covered. ‘I need…the dress…’

  He moved forward and she extended her hand, taking care not to hold it out too far. He placed the garment near her and she fumbled to hold everything together. He frowned, waiting while she managed.

  ‘I would have liked to have wed you, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘But—you will spend your days looking at me as if I am less than you. As if I trapped you.’ She shook her head. ‘I knew every moment we were together you did not plan to marry me. Only because of the maid outside the door did you finally consider it.’

  ‘Rhys. Did you not learn anything from that past indiscretion with the servant?’ his mother asked. ‘Did your father not explain the word mistress means to pay and go away? One does not soil one’s own home.’

  He frowned at her. ‘It is not like that, Mother.’

  ‘You took advantage of Bellona.’ The duchess swept forward as if she’d suddenly gained strength from all the disappointed mothers of the world, the silver knot of her hair shaking as she walked to him. ‘You took advantage of…a woman practically alone in the world and her supposedly under my guidance and care. I can forgive her more easily than I can you.’ She stared. ‘You were not raised to behave like this.’ With each word her voice strengthened. ‘You know better. I cannot believe you did this.’

  She stopped in front of him. Her hand swung out, palm open, and she slapped his cheek. ‘Get out of my house.’

  He didn’t flinch and his expression did not change. ‘As you wish, Mother.’ He turned and left.

  The loudest thing in the room was Bellona’s thoughts. The duchess had her head averted and stood away from her.

  ‘It wasn’t like you think,’ Bellona said to the duchess finally. ‘He didn’t take advantage of me. I needed… I wanted…’

  ‘Do not say it. The two of you created this wrangle and I cannot slap you because you are not my child.’ The duchess sighed. ‘The only thing I want to hear from you is that you will leave immediately.’

  ‘If the servant hadn’t heard Rhys drop something in the room and walked in to discover what made the noise, no one would know. Nothing would have changed.’

  The duchess turned to Bellona and the lines at her eyes and mouth had deepe
ned. ‘And if the black plague hadn’t happened—well, then we would have missed all that death and dying.’ She put a hand to her chest. ‘I would not usually compare this to the destruction of so many lives, but right now, it feels about the same to me. Get dressed. I have had enough of being a mother for one day. For one lifetime. I am going to have some wine and lie down. And if I wish to speak with you when I wake up, I will take a carriage to visit you at Whitegate.’ She made a flitting movement with her hand, as if sweeping Bellona out through the door. ‘I would not stand by the door and wait if I were you.’

  *

  Rhys sat at his desk, examining the black-ink mark Bellona had made on the page he’d kept. One smear, with another beside it. A heart, or rather two halves of one. Not joined. He tried to find the right oath for how he felt. There simply wasn’t one strong enough and even stringing all the ones he knew together hadn’t worked. Whoever invented swearing did not make words strong enough.

  His father had once said that being a duke was no different from anyone else except one had to always appear perfect. Wise words. Not quite accurate, however.

  His father did not mention days when one did not know exactly how one could be so imperfect and not decipher any of it. He could not jump over a broom and then try to leap back to undo the action because then two errors had been made.

  ‘Your Grace.’ A footman stood at the doorway. ‘The carriage is readied as you requested and Miss Cherroll—’ His gaze dropped. ‘She is also asking to be taken to Whitegate.’

  Rhys felt no surprise. If he did not miss his guess from the flustered servants who had been darting to and fro, his mother was trying to manage the tales to reflect her family in the best light. Bellona would not fare well.

  But he would change that. ‘We will travel together,’ he said. ‘Let her know the vehicle is ready.’

  The footman darted away.

  Rhys stood and walked to the front of the house. He stepped outside and into the carriage. In a few moments, the door was opened. Bellona was half-inside the carriage when she saw him. She halted, but then continued and sat beside him, or rather as close to the other side of the carriage as she could get. She pulled her reticule into her lap and crossed her arms over it.

  ‘Lovely dress,’ he commented.

  ‘Thank you for returning it.’

  ‘I see your reticule does not have a blade poking from it.’ The carriage jolted forward.

  She ignored him.

  ‘Are you going to London?’ she asked.

  ‘Eventually.’

  ‘I’m going north.’ She looked out of the window.

  ‘Not in this carriage.’

  ‘I do not need your carriage. I must tell my sister goodbye and arrange the trip.’

  He grunted. Warrington might have other ideas. And he wagered her sister would as well.

  ‘Are you…wearing a weapon anywhere about your person?’ He watched her face carefully.

  ‘Will I need one?’ she asked. She didn’t turn from the window.

  ‘I might wish to borrow it from you. I don’t think Warrington is going to be pleased when he hears of the recent…events.’

  ‘I expect him to be more upset when he discovers his carriage missing and on the way to Scotland.’

  ‘Bellona. Do not be surprised if he is aware something has happened before you even arrive. My mother had many servants scurrying to make sure she got in her side of the story first.’

  ‘No.’ Her head snapped around. ‘Surely the news…would not travel that fast.’

  ‘I think it moved as fast as it could be written on paper and carried through the woods by the fastest runner at Harling House. Accept that we are to be married.’

  ‘I accept that you are to be married. That is no surprise to anyone. You have no choice, Your Grace.’ She smiled and touched her earring. ‘I do.’

  He studied her. ‘Well, it is best I find out your disagreeability before we wed. I would hate to be surprised.’ He studied his palm before glancing at her. ‘Again.’

  He was not sure he wanted any wife at the moment. A woman could appear as sweet as the finest confectionery, but then one error at the wrong moment and she stubbornly refused to do the sensible thing and correct it.

  ‘You know that no one can force me to marry you.’

  ‘Fine. That might be safest,’ he said. ‘Don’t marry me. But Warrington will not be pleased. Your sister will not be pleased. Your niece and nephews will miss you.’

  ‘I can write enough words now to send them letters. It is how I will practise.’ She tapped her hand to her head. ‘Thank you for helping me read. It will be very useful now.’

  The face which had been so soft in his hands earlier had changed. Her eyes no longer had the sparkle he’d seen in them before.

  He tried to think how he would advise someone else to sort out this problem, after he’d told them they were an arse for getting in such a bramble.

  Fine. He knew he’d been foolish, but he couldn’t condemn himself for that.

  He glanced at his puckered palm, wondering if his senses had bled out with his humours. The memory of her would go with him to his grave. And if he ever needed to be reminded he could simply hold out his hand.

  ‘I don’t regret what we did, Bellona. I only regret the knowledge of it being something for people to whisper about. If you wed me, and continue in the ways of a duchess, then society will accept you well enough. Your sister, the countess, is quite adept at moving in society. You can be as well.’

  ‘No. If you think because we are sisters, that we are similar, you are wrong. To be a sister means only the faces are near the same. Our thoughts are our own.’

  ‘What is wrong with you that you do not relish the chance to put yourself in the highest tiers of society for ever? To wed me?’

  ‘As I said, I can do better.’ She spoke. Quiet words. His second slap of the day.

  The carriage rolled up to Whitegate and she jumped out before the door was properly opened for her.

  She ran towards the steps. He would not chase after her. At a sedate pace, he followed. The groom watched from the corner of his eye. The servants would discuss this tonight. At least she had looked lovely draped in bed clothing. He hoped that had been noted.

  The butler opened the door for her and waited for Rhys.

  Bellona was not in sight by the time Rhys crossed the threshold. ‘Summon the earl,’ he said to the servant.

  ‘I do not think it is necessary, Your Grace.’ The butler spoke in the distant way of a well-trained servant, showing no awareness in his face of any upheaval in the household. ‘He dispatched a message summoning you at half-past and he did not speak quietly.’

  Rhys brushed by the man, not waiting to be announced, and moved up the stairs as easily as if the home were his own. He slowed at the sitting-room door.

  Bellona sat on the sofa, not speaking. Spine firm—lips the same.

  Warrington stood, arms clasped behind his back, staring at a painting of the three children playing. One chair was overturned.

  ‘Rhys.’ Just the one softly spoken word. Warrington didn’t move.

  ‘War.’ He paused. ‘Would you like to travel with us to procure the special licence?’

  The pop of Warrington’s jaw preceded his answer. ‘I don’t think you need do so, Rhys.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No one will expect you to.’

  Bellona’s chin tilted a bit, defiant, but her knuckles were white as she gripped the reticule.

  Rhys stepped inside and shut the door.

  Warrington exhaled sharply. ‘She tells me she led you to the room. When you suggested marriage, she refused.’

  ‘I will leave England,’ she said.

  ‘You cannot run away from this, Bellona,’ Rhys challenged.

  ‘My sisters and I ran from Melos.’ She shrugged. ‘It has not turned out too badly for them.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to turn out badly for you either.’ Rhys gestured with his rig
ht hand for emphasis.

  Warrington’s eyes locked on his palm. The earl gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘Arrow?’

  Rhys immediately dropped his hand, turning the wound away from the earl’s gaze. He shook his head in answer and kept his eyes on Bellona. ‘Do not make this worse for yourself.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘I’m leaving.’ She paused for a second. ‘It will be best for you, too. You will not have to concern yourself that you could do better.’

  ‘I have never said such a thing. You are the one who keeps saying that. Not me.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  Warrington huffed. ‘It is as if I have my children standing in front of me. You both need to listen.’ He righted the chair, thumping the legs on the rug. ‘I have known for a few days, but I hoped it would disappear. It hasn’t. Lord Hawkins has been drinking. The man appears to be losing his mind—perhaps he is succumbing to some sort of illness. Unfortunately, it is also loosening his tongue. He claims Bellona has been trying to get money from him. Claiming she will say she is his daughter to discredit him unless he pays her.’

  She jumped to her feet. ‘He is my father. The funds have been organised by his wife and she gives them freely.’

  ‘I know that,’ Warrington said. ‘But he is splattering every handful of mud he can in your direction.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Warrington snorted. ‘Don’t look so…gutted, Rolleston.’ Warrington’s eyes narrowed. ‘Neither my wife nor Bellona can help their birth. None of us can, Your Grace.’

  Your Grace. He heard the sneer in Warrington’s voice, but it reminded him of who he was. And he realised who Bellona was. He’d never cared about the on dits that Hawkins had a mistress he visited when he left England. When he found out Hawkins was Bellona’s father he’d not really cared. But the truth had been secret for so long and now Hawkins was spouting it everywhere.

  Warrington closed his mouth and paused before speaking to Bellona. ‘Perhaps you should consider the special licence. Even Rhys can’t change a marriage after the deed is done. His property joins mine. You would be close to Melina. And when Thessa returns from sea with Ben, you will be near to her as well. If you go away now to Scotland, it will be assumed there is a child. If you stay here and wed the duke—perhaps you can geld him.’ He shrugged and gave a pointed look to Rhys’s hand. ‘Just a thought. I’m sure she’d eventually think of it on her own.’