“Why else do you think I came here? I knew you’d wash up here eventually. I want to warn you against ever doing such a despicable thing again!”
“Or you’ll what?” Elliot demanded just as angrily. “Send me to prison? On what charge? Elizabeth was a silly girl who fancied herself in love with me. She was not averse to more, shall we say, passionate expressions of her devotion, so who was I to deny her?”
“You left her alone and penniless in London, pregnant and afraid.”
“Not alone,” Elliot corrected. “Her brother was in town, as I believe you discovered for yourself.” He nodded at Adrian’s injured leg.
“That youngster?” Adrian replied. “He knew even less about the ways of the world than she did. I last saw him blubbering like a baby because he was sure he was going to jail for wounding me.”
“So how do you intend to stop stupid young women from offering themselves to me—you who are apparently such a saint?”
“I want you to stop taking advantage of them.”
“When I merely follow my elder brother’s example?”
“I never seduced and abandoned gullible girls!”
“Oh, that’s right,” Elliot said scornfully. “You are the virtuous one in the family.”
“And you’re a devil!” Adrian retorted. “I won’t have you going near Damaris!”
“It’s Damaris now, is it, dear brother?” Elliot said, knowing full well how Adrian hated to be called “brother.” “I think we should let the beautiful Miss Sackville-Cooper decide with whom she prefers to keep company, don’t you, brother? And may the best man win?”
Adrian smiled coldly. “Very well, Elliot. The best man will.”
Elliot smiled back, his eyes just as cold, and Adrian knew the challenge had been accepted.
“The best man will what?” the duchess demanded as she entered the room after the briefest of knocks.
“Win,” Elliot replied calmly.
“Win what?” his mother asked, her gaze moving from one to the other.
“A competition,” Adrian answered.
The duchess glared at him. “Are you trying to make Elliot gamble?” She faced her son. “You aren’t gambling, are you?”
“No, Mama. This is not about money,” Elliot said.
The duchess’s face showed her relief. “Thank goodness you are not allowing him to corrupt you. Now, where is Lady Hester, Elliot? I trust she was pleased you went to find her?”
“Indeed she was. Very grateful,” Elliot said lightly, and Adrian was hard-pressed to keep his face impassive, although it seemed every part of him tingled with curiosity to know what they had been speaking of in the barouche. “Is she not in the drawing room?”
“No.”
“Then she must have gone upstairs to change her clothes.”
The duchess turned to leave the room.
“We were speaking about winning the heart of Damaris Sackville-Cooper,” Adrian remarked, his emotions once more under control as he played the devil’s advocate.
“I assume you mean that for a joke,” his stepmother said with no hint of humor when she slowly wheeled around to regard him with a stony gaze. “She is merely a knight’s daughter. Not a fit wife for either of you.”
“Nobody mentioned marriage,” Adrian noted.
“That’s just the sort of lecherous remark I should expect from you,” the duchess said testily.
“Perhaps that is why I said it,” Adrian replied, sauntering toward the windows so that he wouldn’t have to look at the pair of them. “But you must admit, she is very beautiful. And young.”
“Damaris will do very well for the wife of a knight or baronet, but certainly never for a duke or a duke’s son,” the duchess replied. “Not even you.”
“Her father is extremely wealthy.”
“Money is not more important than rank. She might just as well be a pauper.”
“She would not be so for long, if she were to be left penniless. A woman of her beauty would find a ’protector’ soon enough,” Adrian observed. Even as he spoke, he realized the truth of his words. The loss of her father’s wealth would leave Damaris completely helpless.
Hester Pimblett would not be helpless in such a circumstance. She would somehow find a way to survive, not simply with her life, but with her honor and dignity intact She would become a governess or teacher, or she would be a poorly paid companion to some fortunate soul who would have her company every day, or she would marry a good, deserving man like Reverend McKenna, who would bless her all the days of his life, for she would make his house a place of joyful refuge, a sanctuary against troubles. She would make a fine mother, excellent wife and, remembering her kiss and the gentleness of her touch, a lover without compare—for some other, lucky man who had not destroyed his life by rash and foolish behavior.
“Oh, Mama,” Elliot said, “can’t you see he’s baiting you? Why don’t you ask Adrian who he was visiting?”
“I fail to see why we are even discussing Damaris Sackville-Cooper at all,” the duchess snapped. “She is not to be considered. Why, even Lady Hester would be better than Damaris Sackville-Cooper,” the duchess finished in a tone of condescension that was extreme, even for her. “Although her children would be homely creatures if they took after her.”
Disgusted, Adrian turned away from the window in time to see the slight nod of agreement Elliot made—and to realize that Hester was standing in the doorway. Judging by the rapid coloring of her cheeks, she had overheard the duchess’s last remark.
Adrian had never hated his stepmother more than at that moment.
And he had never admired Hester more, for she continued into the room with astonishing aplomb, only the pink flush to her cheeks giving away anything of her emotional state. Having long practice in keeping his own reactions in check, he could guess the effort it took to achieve such outward calm. “The dressmaker will be here tomorrow afternoon, Your Grace” she said softly as the two men bowed to her.
“Excellent,” the duchess replied with a slightly guilty expression, and Adrian wondered if that most self-centered of women had finally been made to perceive that she had insulted someone. “Tell me about the fabrics” she ordered, making a gesture toward the chair opposite her.
“If you will excuse me until dinner, Your Grace” Hester replied, “you were quite right about the exertion of the walk, for I find I am quite fatigued after all.”
Adrian subdued a smile of satisfaction, knowing, as surely as Hester did, that his stepmother could scarcely argue the fatigue, since she had not dissuaded Elliot from going out in the barouche to fetch her home.
“Very well,” the duchess said.
Hester made her curtsy and left the room.
“I don’t think she heard you, Mama,” Elliot said calmly, and Adrian was pleased to think that Hester had fooled them. “Otherwise, I suppose we should have had to find another companion for you.”
“You could always stay here, Elliot,” Adrian remarked just as calmly, and was even more pleased to note Elliot’s swift and venomous glance.
“Of course nothing would delight me more,” he lied outrageously as he smiled at his mother, “but a man of my position must be seen in London.”
“Especially if he is to find himself an appropriate wife,” Adrian added. “Unless you’ve already settled upon the beauteous Miss Sackville-Cooper.”
His mother darted Elliot a fierce and searching look.
“Of course not,” Elliot was forced to confess. “I simply thought it a neighborly duty to pay a call.”
“Ah, I see. Duty.”
“What would you know about duty?” the duchess demanded sourly of Adrian. “You only live to please yourself.”
“Once again I stand condemned,” Adrian, remarked with a courteous bow. “So, like a condemned man, I shall take myself away from decent, unselfish people.”
With that, he gladly left them.
Hester sighed as she closed her bedroom door, seeing little of the ro
om, which was rather too ornately decorated for her taste. The bed was wide, with a tall half canopy, and so high she dreaded breaking a bone if she ever fell out of it. The rest of the furnishings were equally ostentatious, from the heavy damask draperies to the inlaid tables, the slender Regency chairs and the large mahogany armoire.
As she walked farther into the room, she wandered toward the table near the window, which held the list of costs for the ball, the first few drafts of the menu for the supper to be served, the list of flowers and the final acceptances of several guests.
Although she had tried her best to keep expenses within a reasonable limit, the duchess had not been nearly so moderate as Hester had hoped, and she literally waved away any concerns that Hester voiced, claiming that Adrian could well afford whatever was necessary. Hester was not looking forward to his reaction to the final tally.
But that was not what made her sigh and slump dejectedly into the chair in front of her vanity table.
She told herself not to be upset by the duchess’s words. The duchess was a vain, stupid woman, and if she thought her companion homely, well, it was the truth. The constant comparison with her sisters had ensured that Hester had learned early and with unmistakable surety that she was not beautiful.
Yet the duke had found her interesting.
Although he seemed very interested in Damaris, too, which was only to be expected.
At this moment Hester wished she had never met the Duke of Barroughby. Better not to have spoken with him, to be with him, to feel such excitement. Better by far to remember that she was most fitted in life for companionship, not love, and that if someone did offer for her hand, it would be because she would make a good wife, not for passion.
At least the duchess had complimented her efficiency in the preparations for the ball. She must have meant it, or she would never have said so to Sir Douglas. Nevertheless, Hester would have preferred to be appreciated for some other quality. The duke—
Hester swallowed hard and told herself to forget the duke. She swallowed again, for her throat was dry and sore, from trying not to cry at the duchess’s unexpected pronouncement, no doubt.
With swift, efficient fingers Hester pulled out her hairpins, then shook her hair loose. Not quite as pleasant a release as being free of her corset, of course, but she enjoyed the sensation.
She picked up her brush and started to run it through her thick brown hair. While she did so, she regarded her face in the mirror and wondered how she would look with raven black hair. Or golden blond. Or even red. Anything but this commonplace brown. And what if she had natural curls, thick waves of them to frame her plain face? What if her eyes were green instead of blue? What if her lips were a little thinner? What if her nose…well, mercifully, there was nothing the matter with her nose. If she shared anything at all with Helena and Henrietta, it was the perfect Pimblett nose.
Her figure wasn’t bad, either. Not so voluptuous as Helena’s, but with the aid of a corset, shapely enough.
Hester set the brush down and considered making the most of her natural assets, such as they were, on the night of the ball. She had planned to wear her blue velvet gown with modest lace bertha, her long white gloves and a few white roses in her hair. More thoughtful yet, she cocked her head and thought about the bertha, which was intended to cover up her exposed chest and the slight swell of her breasts.
The skin of her shoulders and chest was smooth and pale, marred only by one small mole above her left breast. Considering how some women looked in their low-cut gowns, she had no reason to be ashamed of that part of her body.
Why not leave off the bertha? Just this once. Just to see what would happen.
She was being vain and silly. If all a man was going to be attracted to was a bit of exposed flesh, he really wasn’t the type of man she wanted.
And deep down she knew that she could never compete with Damaris Sackville-Cooper’s beauty, not even if she went to the ball naked.
A soft knock at the door announced Mabel, the maid the duchess had assigned to Hester the day she had arrived, and Hester swiveled on her chair toward the cheery-faced young woman. She was no beauty, either, Hester reflected.
No other woman in the house was, she suddenly realized. Only the duchess could be considered beautiful, and with an added pang of despair, Hester wondered if that had been one of the reasons the duchess had agreed to have her for a companion. Another, prettier woman might have outshone the older woman.
“Are you quite all right, my lady?” Mabel asked, hesitating on the threshold. “Would you like me to come back later to help you dress?”
“I do have a bit of a sore throat,” Hester answered truthfully. “In fact, I believe I shall not go down to dinner. Would you be so good as to pass on my regrets to the duchess?”
“I’ll bring some supper upstairs, shall I, my lady?”
Hester nodded her approval. “Also some salt water with which to gargle, please.”
“Should we send for the apothecary, my lady?”
Hester smiled and shook her head. “No, it’s nothing serious, I’m sure. I simply think it would be better not to be in company tonight. I shall be all right in a short while, if I go to bed at once. Please help me out of my clothes, then take my regrets to the duchess.”
Mabel didn’t look quite convinced about the trivial nature of Hester’s ailment; nevertheless, she readily obeyed.
When she left, Hester drew on her heavy flannel nightgown with a weary sigh and gratefully climbed into bed. Her throat was indeed sore, but not severely so and her nose a trifle stuffy. All she needed was a little supper and a good night’s sleep in a warm bed to set her right. The fact that she would also be spared having to see the duke and the others was not an unwelcome consequence, either.
Mabel returned with alacrity, bearing a small tray with a light dinner upon it. “The duchess says she hopes you’ll be well enough to finish the menu tomorrow.”
“How kind of her to be concerned for my health,” Hester remarked, keeping her sarcastic smile to herself.
Mabel stood beside the bed while Hester ate, and after a few moments Hester realized the maid was wringing her hands. “I’m feeling better already, Mabel,” she said, her throat soothed by the hot tea.
“It’s not that, my lady, although I’m happy to think you’re not coming down with something serious.”
“What is it, then?” Hester asked as she pushed herself back to a more upright position against the pillows.
“Well, my lady, since you ask…” The pert, dark-haired maid looked around nervously. “Have you ever heard that Barroughby Hall is haunted?”
Chapter Fourteen
“No, I haven’t,” Hester remarked, maintaining a serious demeanor, even though she felt the notion of supernatural visitations ridiculous in this day and age.
“No more have I, but I could swear….well, maybe it’s nothing, but I get the strangest feel in’ sometimes, like I’m being watched”.
Hester suspected that the young and somewhat giddy young woman was suffering from the effects of ghost stories told in the servants’ hall. Nevertheless, she was careful to keep any skepticism from her face, for it was very clear that Mabel was sincerely troubled. “When do you get this feeling, Mabel?”
“When I’m alone in my room, before I sleep.”
Hester nodded pensively. “Perhaps it’s Jenkins investigating a noise, or locking up for the night.”
“It’s not him, my lady,” Mabel replied. “Haven’t you noticed he’s nearly as deaf as a post? One of the footmen has to be sent to awaken him in the morning. Oh, no, my lady, he’s not prowling about at night, I assure you.”
“It couldn’t be anyone else, perhaps someone having trouble sleeping?”
“I don’t think so, my lady, for the sounds are right outside my door. Once I even got up the gumption to look outside, but I didn’t see anybody. Nobody else heard nothing, neither. That’s why I thought of ghosts, you see.”
“I see,”
Hester replied pensively. “Would you like to change your sleeping arrangements, Mabel? Perhaps share with one of the other maids? Would that make you feel better?”
“Yes, my lady, it would,” the maid replied firmly. “It’s getting so I can’t hardly get to sleep for ever so long!”
“I’ll speak to the duchess in the morning, then.”
Mabel smiled broadly and since Hester had finished her meal, reached for the tray. “Thank you very much, my lady.’ I’m sure I don’t want to put anybody to trouble, but, well, it’s that worrying.”
“I understand. Good night, Mabel.”
“Good night, my lady.”
Hester tossed and turned fitfully, her throat painful and her body hot. She must have finally dropped off to sleep, she thought drowsily as she slipped one foot out of the confines of the covers.
The cool air made her draw it back in quickly. She swallowed with difficulty and half rose from her bed, determined to get a drink of water, only to have a glass placed in her hand. “Thank you, Mabel,” she whispered, conscious now of the presence beside her bed and glad that her maid had taken the liberty of sitting up to watch over her.
The drink lessened the soreness, and she was still convinced she was not seriously ill, but only the victim of a chill and a sore throat. “I’ll be quite all right,” she said, wondering what hour it was.
It was only when she put the glass on the bedside table that she realized the person standing beside her bed was not a woman, but a man.
“Who is it?” she queried as she drew the coverings up to her chin, frightened to think that any man had access to her bedroom.
“Elliot,” his lordship whispered, striking a match and lighting the candle on the table.
She stared at him, aghast, while he smiled as if he had every right to be there. He was most assuredly no gentleman, and she wondered what the duke would do if he found his half brother in her bedroom.
And then, just as suddenly, she knew that Mabel had not been imagining things, and that if anyone was sneaking about the hall spying on the women inhabitants, it was this man.
The Dark Duke Page 13