War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5

by Lynne Connolly

  Ruth pasted on a pleasant smile. “I’m afraid I can’t leave the nursery until Andrea wakes. She is the nursery maid and she was up with the boys nearly all night. They were fractious. They’re teething.”

  Lady Nerine shuddered theatrically. “I noticed they drooled rather more than I consider acceptable. When I have children, I will ensure they are well cared for, but I have no desire to wait on them personally. They will not recall their nursery experiences in later years, so I would be wasting my time, do you not think? I would rather concentrate on their welfare later.” She drifted around the room, touching a toy, straightening a book, occasionally glancing out of the window. Ruth folded her arms. “After all,” Lady Nerine continued, “It is likely my children will use this nursery. It is far enough away from the duchess’s bedroom, I think.” She turned to Ruth with a bright smile.

  Ruth frowned. “Why would your children use this nursery?”

  “Because I am betrothed to the duke.”

  Ruth swallowed. Lady Nerine could not mean it. She surely meant something else. Or did she mistake the matter?

  “When was this arranged?” she said, holding herself rigid. She touched the table with her fingertips, the smooth wood reassuring her with its solidity.

  “Oh, when we were children. At least, I was a child. The duke is six years older than me, the same age as my sister, but my parents wished the match for me.” Her ladyship shrugged, stirring the lace edge to her bodice. Her shoulders were soft and white, her throat bare except for a thin gold chain.

  In her numbness, Ruth noticed the details as she never before. Indeed she was a fool. She’d allowed herself to entertain all manner of idiotic imaginings. She’d let him into her bed, given him her virginity. If she fell pregnant, no doubt she would be shuffled away to a house in the country somewhere, visited occasionally, while Marcus got on with impregnating his young and lovely wife. “Did he remember?”

  “I care not. The contract was drawn up when the old duke wanted a parcel of land my father owned. They agreed the marriage as part of the contract. Of course we were too young then, but now my sister thinks it is time we were wed.” Her guileless gaze hardened, her brows lowering. “So we shall probably not require your services for too much longer.”

  She turned away, as if Ruth was of no matter. “To be frank, I will not object if Marcus wishes to establish you somewhere, but I will not be shamed. You will behave correctly, or I will get rid of you. I’m of no mind to allow a man to paw me more than once a week, and once I have done my duty with his child in my belly, I will not want him at all. My sister says I will change my mind, but I do not think so.” Such a sweet voice to utter such deadly sentiments! “I will find it useful to have you by, in fact. A man always needs a convenient, or so I understand. I would rather it was you than some of the grasping whores I read about.”

  Dipping in her pocket, she found her fan. After staring at it for a few seconds, she flicked it open and began to ply it before her face. “I find the heat unsupportable this high in the house. I wonder you can bear it. Do you have nothing to say, or will you stand there like a stick until I’m gone?”

  Ruth found her voice. Astonishment mingled with anger in her chest. “I fear I share my men with no one, my lady. If you marry him, then you must manage him on your own.”

  “You possess such a provincial attitude.” The sneering tone added a whining quality to her voice. Lady Nerine was not so beautiful, after all. She walked to the door, her steps jerkier than before. “However, if that is your decision, I will not attempt to change it. I wish there to be harmony where I am. I will engage someone to fascinate him and keep him busy for me. Who marries a duke for his person?”

  She was at the door now. Ruth forced herself to remain rigid, otherwise she might have kicked the lady out. Literally. With great pleasure she imagined putting her sensibly shod foot on Lady Nerine’s backside and impelling her out of the room. The nursery was her domain and she would not let this woman pollute it. She would talk to Mrs. Brindlehurst and see if there was a way to keep the visitors out of here.

  “I will be Duchess of Lyndhurst before next month is out,” Lady Nerine said, but her words sounded more like a taunt than reality. “So prepare yourself, Miss Simpson.”

  For what? Ruth would not be here to see any wedding take place. She would have fulfilled her obligations by then. She was damned if she was going to tell Marcus if she was pregnant or not. She would take care of her own herself, not subject them to being within ten miles of this creature. In fact, she was tempted to take the twins with her when she left. Even if she owned little money, love remained in her heart.

  She doubted Lady Nerine knew what love was or possessed a heart to put it in. Perhaps she was doing the woman an injustice, but she didn’t care very much. Lady Nerine wanted to take her lover away from her, and her instincts rose along with the fine hairs on her neck. She owned none of Lady Nerine’s advantages, not even beauty, which the lady wore like an expensive trinket, but she would do everything she could to stop her making Marcus’s life a misery.

  Would she? Would she sacrifice her respectability to give him what he needed if he was trapped into marriage with Lady Nerine?

  Ruth had no answer. Dumbfounded, she stared at the woman as she came to a most unfortunate revelation. She would not walk away, not as easily as that. She could offer nothing to Marcus, except for one thing—friendship. She did not regard herself as the type to sacrifice her life for someone else. If she had been so, she’d never have left home in the first place. She would have stayed and become the comfortable spinster aunt.

  “I would like to wish you well, but I fear I cannot,” she said, tight-lipped.

  “Why would that be, pray? Because you want him? I give you permission, in case that wasn’t clear. Have at him.” Lady Nerine waved a dismissive hand.

  Ruth would not lie, not even to this person, who did not deserve the truth. “Marcus deserves better than you.”

  Nerine laughed, but her voice contained a hard-edged quality that did not work well with merriment. “Be that as it may, I will have him. I desire to be a duchess, especially with one such as he.” She narrowed her eyes, and the amusement left her face. “What has he told you?”

  “Many things,” she said, unsure what the woman meant, but not willing to admit it. Some secret they shared? What did it matter, anyway?

  “About his birth, and what happened after? About what he is, and what he is meant to be?”

  “He’s a duke, and his parents died many years ago.”

  Lady Nerine smiled, but there was no more amusement in it than her laugh. “I see. He is whiling time away with you. Well, it is up to him. I will not stand in his way.” She drifted to the door. “Please feel free to continue in your position. I can see you make an excellent nursery maid. I would not like to keep you from your vocation.”

  If she had not left then, Ruth might have forgotten everything else and obtained satisfaction in the most visceral way possible. How would Lady Nerine appear with handfuls of hair missing from her head? Really, Ruth should not think in that way. Her mother would be shocked. That, more than anything else reconciled Ruth to the feelings of violence that surged through her then.

  * * * * *

  After indulging herself in thoughts of violence towards Lady Nerine, Ruth settled in the nursery until Andrea woke, then went down to the library and gave orders for her dinner to be served there at four. A few hours’ reading and perusing the other books on the shelves served to put her back in good heart. Perhaps spending so much time in the window-seat staring out the window could not be considered too self-indulgent, but nobody would know she was watching for Marcus’s return if she did not tell them.

  Seeking him out was out of the question, but she wanted to know so many things from him, and the library would be the best place. There was no bed nearby and they were assured of privacy here. He ha
d treated her shockingly. So when a footman came upstairs requesting her appearance at dinner, and informing her of the duke’s return, she was taken completely by surprise and needed to race upstairs in order to don something more suitable.

  Despite her anger, with Marcus and with Lady Nerine, she could not wait to see him. It felt like he had been away for weeks, not merely a few hours.

  However, when she went down to the drawing room, the same footman directed her to a grander room on the main floor. Not one of the state rooms, but an imposing room to be sure, and one that recently came out of covers. There she found several people. Not just the ladies Damaris and Nerine, but Marcus, looking resplendent in crimson velvet and gold braid, and three other people. Two gentlemen and a lady.

  Ruth slipped into the room, hoping vainly that nobody would notice her arrival. Marcus glanced at her and then smiled and came forward. “Ah, Miss Simpson. Allow me to introduce you.”

  She was forced to curtsey and smile gracefully while she met Lord and Lady Ormshaw. Marcus introduced them as old friends who owned a house near York, and taken the opportunity of the fine summer evening to come to dinner. They were of late middle age, well turned out and of superior bearing. Mr. Aubrey Carrick was their son, a chinless man of about the same age as Ruth. All were dressed well, but not as finely as the two lady guests, who were sitting side by side on a long sofa, holding court. Mr. Ormshaw gave Ruth a smile and a bow and went back to dance attendance on Lady Damaris.

  “Miss Simpson is staying here?” Lady Ormshaw repeated, giving Ruth the kind of comprehensive but dismissive perusal Ruth was well used to from assemblies at home.

  “She is indeed. She is kindly helping me establish the nursery for my wards. She is their aunt, so perfectly qualified to do so.”

  “She brought a duenna?” Lady Ormshaw asked. Of course, she would be bound to ask that, since any other answer would put Ruth in the shockingly fast category. Ruth almost smiled to think of herself in that context, but she remained calm.

  Marcus answered for her. “Unfortunately the lady was taken ill. The nursery maid, a respectable woman, is acting in that capacity.”

  Andrea could not be more than eighteen, hardly an age to be a chaperone.

  “I am here,” Lady Damaris said.

  Ruth stared at her, shocked. She did not expect support from that quarter. Lady Damaris smiled graciously. “There can be no objection, I am sure.”

  “Of course not,” Lady Ormshaw said. She met Ruth’s gaze, after having avoided it before. It appeared she was prepared to ignore the twins’ scandalous conception. “The duke was extremely gracious to extend his hospitality to the children.” She spoke in a challenging manner, lifting her chin.

  Ruth was at least prepared for that. “Indeed he was. I am aware we owe him nothing. We heard nothing of the matter until his grace informed us he had taken the boys into keeping.” She put up her own chin. “He cast my sister off, but I wasn’t prepared to do so.”

  “Very Christian of you, my dear.” Lady Ormshaw did not sound as if she approved, but she probably didn’t wish to upset Marcus, who must be the superior ranking person in the room.

  Even if Marcus did not care for that consideration, she did. She kept flicking glances at him, as if checking her behaviour was right. He continued to smile, but it did not warm his eyes until he turned to Ruth. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Simpson. You must tell me how your plans for the nursery are coming along.”

  “They are complete.”

  “I found a suitable woman in York to act as head nursery maid, so I must thank you sincerely for helping me.”

  She nodded. “It was the least I could do.” Dismay filled her. She had fulfilled the first of her promises to him. When the boys were bigger, in a few months, they might require another assistant, but this new person would take care of that.

  “Consequently I have arranged for the removal of your belongings to a more suitable room.”

  She stared at him, mouth open. When had he decided on that? “I am perfectly happy where I am.”

  “I am not. You are a lady, Miss Simpson, and the room you occupied did not reflect that. Now it does.”

  What had he done? “So when I am ready to retire?”

  “Ask any footman. I trust you will be comfortable in the room I’ve assigned to you.”

  Before she could answer, he turned away when Lady Nerine called his attention to something trivial, a matter of fashion in which she must know Marcus owned no interest. He answered civilly enough and left Ruth standing with the Ormshaws, to try to fill the gap in the conversation.

  “I take it you have not known his grace for very long?” Lord Ormshaw asked. “You must forgive his abrupt manner. It is his way. We have known him for many years. We knew his parents before he was born, and those tragic events—”

  His wife interrupted him. “The old duke was most particular in his ways. In his day the house was filled with guests. It seems a shame to waste such a beautiful place as this, but Lyndhurst prefers his privacy.”

  What was Lord Ormshaw about to say? What tragedy? His parents’ death? That was all she could think of. Indeed it was a pity to leave a child so young alone, but they would hardly have a say in the matter. She had not enquired about their deaths. It was such a long time ago, and none of her business. Bringing old tragedies back did not seem right. Her curiosity roused. What had happened, and why had she not read about it?

  She could hardly ask him here, or anyone else, so she nodded and resolved to investigate the volumes in the library. Perhaps she’d find something there.

  The company paused when d’Argento made his entrance. Dressed in different shades of silver and dove-grey, he was worth looking at. His coat and waistcoat buttons glittered with brilliants, as did his waistcoat when he moved. A single large diamond solitaire gleamed in the folds of his perfectly tied neckcloth. By now Ruth considered herself immured to his glories, but she’d been wrong. His magnificence surpassed her imagination. If he declared he’d thrown on his clothes, she would not believe him. He even smelled good, as she discovered when he bent over her hand.

  He glanced up at her, his eyes dancing. Something had put him in a good mood. Was it her seeming acquiescence to the marriage he promoted by bringing the ladies here?

  “I’m happy to see you in such good heart, ma’am,” he said. “I trust you will continue to prosper.”

  “Thank you sir,” she said, reclaiming her hand. “My charges are equally robust.”

  “So I understand.” He threw a laughing glance at the ladies on the sofa, drawing Lady Damaris’s attention. Lady Nerine was too busy being fawned over by Mr. Carrick to pay Ruth any mind.

  “I admit I have never seen a lady romping on the floor with babies before. I have lived a sheltered life and I rarely come across children so young.”

  “The boys are crawling. They need to exercise their legs ready for walking in a few months,” Ruth explained.

  Lady Damaris nodded. “I must remember that. I may yet bear children of my own, decrepit though my sister regards me.” She possessed a reticence, a stiffness of bearing that had at first deterred Ruth, but that might be her nature. Lady Damaris had the polish of a society lady, which explained why Ruth had not noticed before. She had not the upbringing to manage such a veneer, but she would certainly try to develop it. In highest society, it was considered necessary. To demonstrate shyness in public could be a sign of ill breeding, since the aim was to make others feel at their ease.

  Ruth had long accustomed herself to appearing comfortable propping up the wall at assemblies, and in that capacity she learned to smooth her expression to she could look as if she was positively enjoying the experience, not bored to tears. The few gentlemen who could stand up with her without her overtopping them preferred the company of shorter women.

  Ruth was certain that was not the only cause. Her mor
e serious turn of mind meant she preferred to talk about politics rather than fashions, poetry instead of gossip sheets. The fact that she enjoyed a good novel did not seem to matter. By the time she turned to them, people had labelled her a bluestocking.

  Her consequent fate was as much her fault as it was her mother’s. Now it did not matter as much to her, she could admit it.

  They went through to a dining room resplendent with the silverware and porcelain. The set was different to the one from her first night, but just as fine. Gold-edged plates decorated with delicately painted flowers and insects met her gaze. She loved them, but she could hardly say so.

  Or could she? Would that be acceptable? She hated not knowing, but she had nothing to lose. “These are lovely.”

  Lady Damaris paid more attention to her place setting. “Indeed they are. Meissen?”

  Marcus spared them a glance. He seated Lady Damaris on one side of him and Lady Nerine on the other side, so he was surrounded by beauty. To her embarrassment, as hostess, Ruth sat at the other end of the table. She must make the best of it. She doubted she would attract much attention wherever she sat.

  Marcus met her gaze directly and smiled at her, far too intimately for her liking. She shifted in her seat and pretended to arrange her skirts. The skirts of the lovely gown she’d fashioned from the clothes in the attics. Apple green tonight—she loved it, finer than anything she’d ever owned before.

  “My mother collected porcelain,” Marcus said. “We have a collection of them somewhere.”

  “Oh, you should display it,” Lady Nerine said. “A fine display of porcelain is most eye-catching. I would help. I display our own treasures.”

  “You do it most prettily,” her sister put in. She flicked out her napkin in a gesture Ruth could only admire for its style. “Perhaps his grace has other plans.”