He leaned forward and rubbed his temples, as if he could rub out the memories. He had done all he could, knowing full well he could never make up for the loss of her honor, her happiness or her child.
“My dear duchess! How distressed you must be!”
Adrian turned his head so swiftly in the direction of the main drawing room that a pain shot through his neck.
It was the Reverend Canon Lyton Smeech, the vicar of the local church. He had held that living for several years at the discretion of the duchess, and apparently he still felt beholden enough to fawn over the woman.
Adrian heard another feminine voice murmur a greeting, and thought he recognized it as Hester Pimblett’s.
A rare smile crossed his face. A most surprising young woman, Hester. Outwardly so timid and demure, obedient and pliable. But only outwardly, for it took no small inner strength to ignore his stepmother, and no small courage to enter the Dark Duke’s bedchamber, even if he was ostensibly asleep, given his reputation as a lascivious libertine.
Well, perhaps not courage. Perhaps nothing more than feminine curiosity. Or a passionate nature beneath the self-effacing facade.
He rose slowly. He had met that type of woman before, the kind who used the trap of sweet modesty to get a jaded cad’s attention. Once he got her alone, she would say they were acting most improperly, all the while pressing her lithe, shapely body against his. It was hypocrisy at its finest, and he knew hypocrisy very well indeed.
Another voice responded, that of a younger man. He wasn’t aware of any visitors expected today, which was not surprising really, considering his hostile relationship with the duchess. Who could it be?
Maybe it was someone to be avoided, like the Reverend Canon Smeech. Or maybe it was a gentleman with some interest in the quiet Lady Hester. There was a fascinating course of speculation, and one worthy of further investigation, if for no other reason than to provide some necessary distraction.
Adrian smiled grimly as he limped into the house.
Chapter Three
“A, um, most trying surprise for you, I’m sure, Your Grace, the Reverend Canon Sraeech intoned pityingly.
“Nobody knows how I suffer,” the duchess responded plaintively. “Hester,” she snapped in an aside to her companion, “I need my fan!”
Hester, seated in a small chair to the right and slightly behind the duchess’s sofa, reached forward with the necessary article. The canon strolled to the windows, and Hester smiled at the curate who had arrived with the august clergyman, Reverend Hamish McKenna, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. Whether it was because he was overwhelmed by the magnificence of his surroundings or not sure how to respond to the robust duchess’s claims of illness, Hester wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, he managed to smile briefly in response.
“Yes, nobody knows how I suffer!” the duchess continued. “Another scandal! The name of Fitzwaiter—which my son also possesses!—dragged in the mud. What is a mother to do?”
“Perhaps if you spoke with the duke,” Reverend McKenna offered gently, his Scots accent giving his words a slight burr.
The duchess looked startled, and Reverend Canon Smeech gave his curate a censorious look.
“It was merely a suggestion,” the reverend said helplessly.
“An inappropriate one,” the canon replied. “The duchess has no wish or need to sully herself by contact with the duke.”
Hester couldn’t help feeling sorry for Reverend McKenna. It wouldn’t be easy working with Reverend Canon Smeech, who was the type of clergyman who clearly considered the few needs of the wealthy of his parish first and foremost, and left the bulk of the work to his assistant.
“Did I hear someone mention the duke?” the nobleman asked as he strolled into the room.
Reverend McKenna rose in greeting, the duchess frowned and the canon bowed. “Your Grace,” he said with a smile. “We were not expecting you.”
“So I gather,” the duke noted as he continued toward the sofa and seated himself beside his stepmother. “We meet again, Canon Smeech.”
The duchess inched away as if the duke had a disease, Hester noted.
She also noted that he looked quite rested, his leg apparently caused him no trouble, his hair was considerably more tidy than the last time she had seen him, his clothes fit to perfection, and he didn’t seem to notice she was there.
Which should not be surprising or cause for dismay.
“My -lord, allow me to present Reverend Hamish McKenna, my curate, “the older clergyman said with an obsequious bow, and Hester had to stifle a smile. Obviously the poor canon didn’t want to offend either the duke or the duchess. “Your stepmother was telling us of your, ah, wound.”
“Was she?” he asked lightly. “Must have been a short discourse, since I have told her so little about it. Please sit down, Smeech. You, too, Reverend McKenna.”
Reverend Canon Smeech blushed at the duke’s lack of courtesy, and so did Hamish McKenna, from the roots of his red hair to the bottom of his freckled chin, as he sat on a chair opposite Hester, who gave him a warm and understanding smile. The duke’s overpowering presence was enough to cast a pall over the most mundane of conversations, a fact brought forcefully home when he glanced at her. He made her feel as if she had suddenly been put on display at the Crystal. Palace.
Adrian looked from Lady Hester, wearing the plainest of blue gowns and seated like some quiet little serving maid beside his stepmother, to the blushing young clergyman. Were they ordaining children these days? Surely this fellow was far too young to be in orders, Adrian thought, until Reverend McKenna smiled at Hester. Not so very young, after all. And what was he to make of her, so cool and composed? “I trust you slept well, Lady Hester?” Adrian asked.
“Quite well,” she replied with equanimity. “Did you?”
“Yes,” he replied, somewhat nonplussed. He began to wonder if he had imagined last night, when he thought she had come into his bedroom. Or maybe he had been dreaming, and he had pulled the bell rope to summon James, who had been dispatched to fetch his master a drink to soothe his restless sleep.
They all sat in awkward silence for several minutes, and Adrian did nothing to lessen the tension. He was well aware his stepmother was bursting to speak and complain about him. If his presence stopped her, he would sit here for the rest of the day, and they could all be silent. As for the others, including the confusing Lady Hester, he didn’t care if they were uncomfortable or not.
Then Lady Hester addressed Canon Smeech. “I understand the harvest was particularly good this year.”
“Ah, indeed, um, yes. Very fine, very fine.”
The canon rambled on for some time about the crops and livestock of the village of Barroughby, needing no further prompting to indulge in the sound of his own deep, sonorous tones, and Adrian realized something had gone amiss. It was not for this mousy young woman to direct the conversation, nor was it fitting for her to look slyly at McKenna, as if sharing some kind of secret with him.
Not when the Duke of Barroughby was present.
“I suppose you’ve already collected the tithes?” Adrian demanded, not particularly caring if he sounded rude or not.
The Reverend Canon Smeech cleared his plump and pompous throat. “Yes, my lord.”
“I did not think you would neglect that,” Adrian noted dryly.
Lady Hester frowned slightly, a peevish little downturn of her full lips. So, she did not approve of his remarks. He didn’t care. She had probably heard worse things about him than his lack of respect for a bombastic hypocrite like Smeech.
The duchess’s companion rose gracefully and faced the duchess. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I promised Reverend McKenna that I would show him the garden the next time he visited on a sunny day. This one would seem to be perfect.
Hamish McKenna got to his feet awkwardly and flushed deep red. “Indeed, yes, I would be delighted,” he said.
I’ll wager you would, Adrian thought. “Apparently Lady Hest
er prefers not to be in my presence—today”.
There! A flash of fire in her large blue eyes, just enough to tell him that she understood his reference, and that he had not imagined her in his room last night.
“Is it any wonder, when you are so abominably rude?” the duchess demanded.
“You wound me, Your Grace,” Adrian said with a mockingly injured air as he put his hand over his heart, while at the same time resolving to be more courteous to Lady Hester. “I give them leave to go.” Indeed, he was tempted to join them, but the idea that he would have to hide his limp or endure pitying remarks kept him in his chair.
Jenkins appeared in the doorway and bowed as far as his rheumatic back would permit. “Sir Douglas Sackcloth-and-Ashes and his daughter have arrived, Your Grace,” he announced.
“He means Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper and his daughter, Damaris,” the duchess explained to the confused clergymen. “Poor Jenkins—his hearing is beginning to go.”
Adrian made no effort to hide a smirk. Beginning to go? Jenkins’s hearing had been going for fifteen years.
“Show them in,” the duchess said brusquely, and Adrian was glad that he hadn’t offered to walk in the garden, for this was surely going to be interesting.
He easily remembered Sir Douglas, a country squire with good manners, small intellect and vast ambition. As for Damaris, he had last seen her five years ago. She had been about twelve then, and a very pretty child, if rather dull.
Sir Douglas marched into the room, his bearing military and his fifty-year-old body remarkably well preserved. Obviously country life agreed with him, judging by his robust good health. “My dear duke!” he cried, taking Adrian’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “I heard from Smythe at The George that you were come home.” He faced the duchess and the risen canon. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Canon Smeech.” He bowed to Lady Hester, who made a small curtsy, and he nodded dismissively at Reverend McKenna.
Then Damaris Sackville-Cooper, no longer a little girl, entered the room. Adrian realized at once that she was a rare beauty, with dark hair topped by a pert dark green chapeau and veil, which hid limpid gray eyes that were quickly and demurely lowered, her dusky lashes fanning her satiny cheeks. Her figure was perfect in a very fashionable riding habit of dark green velvet, and her posture graceful and elegant.
If Damaris were to appear in London with him, Adrian thought, she would cause a sensation. However, he was quite used to causing a sensation, and somehow, the vision didn’t excite him. He would just as soon appear with Lady Hester on his arm.
He smiled to himself. Now, that would cause a very different sensation. The Dark Duke in public with a homely woman—the gossips would have a high time.
He glanced at Hamish McKenna to see how the young man of the cloth reacted to the sight of such loveliness.
Reverend McKenna looked completely stunned.
And what of Lady Hester? Surely she would not welcome such a visitor.
Lady Hester smiled warmly at the young woman, apparently without envy. A rare woman indeed, to feel no jealousy in the presence of such pulchritude.
When Adrian rose to greet damris, he wondered why he felt absolutely nothing beyond mere curiosity as he regarded her. Could it be that he was getting old? Or had he simply seen too many beautiful women? He reached out to take her hand, and she drew back, shying like a terrified horse—not a completely unexpected reaction from a country lass, and not at all disturbing.
Her father cleared his throat, and damris held out her gloved hand, albeit as if she feared Adrian was going to bite it off.
“We were about to take a turn in the garden,” Lady Hester said softly. “Perhaps Miss Sackville-Cooper would care to accompany us?”
“Charmed,” the young lady replied, not looking in Adrian’s direction.
“Delightful idea!” Sir Douglas said. “Delightful! I’m sure the duke knows many interesting things about the flora!”
“I regret my current indisposition forces me to remain behind,” Adrian said. He had no great desire to stay here with his stepmother, yet he knew his leg couldn’t bear the walk around the garden. He would wait until they were gone, then decamp to his room. Boredom was infinitely better than enduring the duchess and Canon Smeech.
Damaris Sackville-Cooper brightened considerably at his words. The other two young people turned away before he could catch their expressions, even though he didn’t particularly care how they felt about his refusal.
“Nothing serious, I trust?” Sir Douglas inquired with grave concern.
“A mere flesh wound,” Adrian replied lightly. “I have been advised to rest.”
“Why don’t you go, too, Sir Douglas?” the duchess suggested in her own, unsubtle way. “And you, too, Canon. You can explain to Sir Douglas about that new plant, the one you suggested I put in near the rose garden. I shall await your return here, for you all must stay to tea.”
“Won’t you join us, Your Grace?” Canon Smeech asked.
“I fear my heart couldn’t take the strain of walking about in this unseasonable warmth.”
The garden party departed, Lady Hester in the lead, followed by Reverend McKenna and Miss Sackville-Cooper, then the slower canon and a reluctant Sir Douglas.
They soon moved out of sight and presumably out of hearing. Adrian was about to rise and leave the room when the duchess turned to him. “You know what that man’s trying to do, don’t you?”
“Which man?”
“Sir Douglas, of course.”
Adrian raised one eyebrow with sardonic speculation. “No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.” “Don’t give me that look, Adrian. What I’m about to say is for your own good.”
“Well, then, I must hear you out,” he replied, wondering what the duchess considered “his own good.”
The duchess frowned darkly. “He has designs on you.”
“Carnal?” Adrian inquired nonchalantly.
The duchess gasped and reddened. “No! Of course not, you. vile creature! He wants you to many his daughter.”
“I see.”
“She is to be his bait.”
“And I the prize?”
“Your title,” the duchess replied, sneering as much as a well-bred woman could. “He wants her to become the next duchess. That little nobody!”
“She’s a very beautiful young woman,” Adrian noted.
“They have no family connections worth speaking of, and I will not see this estate in the hands of Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper’s daughter.”
“Since you are likely to be deceased before I am likely to be wed, I do not see that you need to worry,” Adrian remarked, beginning to stand,
“Will you take this matter seriously? Sir Douglas is going to be laying snares for you everywhere! We all know your reputation and, as you so flippantly point out, she is a beautiful creature. You must stay away from her! I will not allow you to pursue your own selfish pleasures!”
It was Adrian’s turn to scowl, although he tried not to, for he could think of only one person on the entire earth who was more selfish than his stepmother, and that was her son. “Then I am not to deflower damris Sackville-Cooper?” he asked, regarding her steadily.
“Must you use such words in my presence?”
“Isn’t that what you are trying to tell me? That Sir Douglas may not care how he manages to get his daughter married to me? That he might, in essence, throw her at my head?”
“Since you insist upon using such terms, yes.”
“Obviously you were too preoccupied to notice that the young lady in question does not seem to regard me with a favorable eye.”
“Don’t try to talk smart to me, Adrian. You and I both know that you could seduce a stone if you took it into your head. Heaven knows you have had enough practice!”
He made a mocking half bow. “I thank you for the compliment, Your Grace. I believe it is the first one you have ever given me.”
“Just stay away from Damaris Sackville-Cooper!”
“But how am I to assuage my base desires, which you seem to think determine my every decision?” he asked with deceptive calm. “Surely you don’t expect me to be as chaste as a monk.”
“I don’t care, as long as you don’t endanger the family honor.”
He knew she meant only the honor of herself and Elliot, her dear boy. “I have no taste for servants,” Adrian replied, wondering how far she was willing to take this subject. “Perhaps Lady Hester?”
“You are a rogue to even think of corrupting Lord Pimblett’s daughter!” the duchess replied. Then she smiled coldly. “Go ahead and try. Not even you would have much success with her.”
“Why not? If I can seduce a stone, surely I could succeed with her.”
The duchess fanned herself. “She is no flighty, silly creature given to overwrought emotions. She is a good, quiet, dutiful young woman who will keep her virtue for her husband.”
“Does this mean I can expect a parade of eligible young men through Barroughby Hall?”
“Don’t be impudent.”
“She seemed quite friendly to Reverend Mc-Kenna,” he noted.
“Are you trying to be amusing?” the duchess demanded. “Lady Hester has more sense than to ally herself to a country curate, even if he does come from a well-to-do family. They made their money in trade.”
“Oh, well, then, obviously he’s out of consideration. What about Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper? He’s been a widower for years.”
“Lord Edgar Pimblett’s daughter and that man?”
“It would be a decent match for her.”
His stepmother looked at him with something resembling respect. “You might be right, Adrian. She’s rather old and certainly plain. She might be willing to settle for him.”
Adrian reflected that he should have known that if his stepmother approved an idea, he would find it a bad one upon further consideration. The idea of Hester Pimblett and Sir Douglas now struck him as ludicrous, even if he couldn’t say why. All he could be sure of was that he had had quite enough of this conversation, and more than enough of his stepmother for one day. “If you will excuse me, I’m going upstairs. My leg is aching like the devil.” He bowed and strode toward the door.
The Dark Duke Page 3