Dauntless (The Shaws)

by Lynne Connolly

  “Except for the first two,” she pointed out, mentioning the age difference between the brothers. Picking up a slice of the fruit, she ate it slowly. She let the cool juice slither down her throat, the recollection of where it had been a moment before adding to her enjoyment.

  “Of course,” he agreed smoothly, but she saw something in his eyes—wariness, perhaps.

  With a sigh, she acknowledged that he still didn’t accept her. After what he saw as her betrayal, she would have to work hard to bring him around, if she ever could. That was why she hated keeping secrets from him, although Charles had bidden her to do exactly that.

  He’d taken great enjoyment from her reading that day. Every word had been agony to her, but she had managed, by trying to pretend that the story had nothing to do with her. At least she had managed to read most of the first chapter without wavering.

  As she had risen to leave, Charles had said, “Please don’t tell Oliver we are doing this. If he knew, he would likely scold me severely. But I did enjoy the liveliness of the book, and it amuses me to have you read it. I don’t want to have Oliver put a stop to it.”

  So she’d had no choice but to agree to keep their readings quiet.

  The candlelight glimmered over the thin gold braid on Oliver’s coat as he moved. “Allow me to know my brother better than you. I am aware you have a habit of behaving precipitately, but do not do it in this case.”

  That was an order if ever she’d heard one. And she had no choice but to obey. Sometimes people coming from outside a problem saw it more clearly. Perhaps this was the case, but she wouldn’t push her view. Not when matters between her and the man she had married were so precarious. They had gone for this long with Charles living as a recluse, but she would not like to see the situation going on for too much longer. Charles was charming, personable and…bored. The books, the newssheets, and how did he bear living with the same three people around him? He saw no one else but Oliver, his mother, and now Dru herself. That could not be healthy for anyone.

  “I like Charles,” she told him now. “I’m sure he will do very well in society if he ever decides to enter it.”

  “I think so too,” Oliver said unexpectedly. “But do nothing without telling me first.” His glare reinforced his words.

  Clearly he didn’t trust her. But he wanted her. Even while he watched her, she saw warmth enter his eyes, and his mouth soften, ready for her kiss.

  Was that what her mother meant when she’d talked about a woman having power over a man? And did she want that kind of power?

  What would she do with it?

  At five-and-twenty, Dru really ought to have known more about her female prowess, but she had never considered it. She would grow up, learn the skills she needed to run a great household, and make some man a good wife. She had dreams, of course, but she had never presumed they would come to pass in real life. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  As her husband got to his feet and walked around the table to her, she read his intent in his eyes and smiled, because she wanted it too.

  He held out his hand. “Are you completely recovered from last night’s ordeal?”

  She would never admit she was still a little tender. “Yes, I am.” She slipped her hand into his.

  “Would you like another ordeal tonight?”

  “Would you?”

  His smile broadened. “I think I could endure it.”

  The clock chimed nine. Definitely time for bed.

  * * * *

  The newly married Lord and Lady Swithland were holding a rout, and Oliver and Dru chose it as their first appearance as a married couple. She was to be presented at court the following week, a stultifying event, so she wanted something more enjoyable before that. The rout would have boisterous dancing, heavy gaming, and lively gossip. Perfect.

  Outside the house, not far from their own, Oliver moved closer to Dru. He was trying so hard to forget her error, and she appreciated that. But he kept his distance. Dru would behave like a great lady from now on. No faux-pas, no awkwardness. She was a duchess, and she’d better remember it. She outranked her mother, which was a staggering thought. But only by her title. In no other way.

  But her gown, a masterpiece in dark blue satin with pink roses embroidered over the gown and skirt. She wore the diamonds that were part of the Mountsorrel treasure chest, a clear sign of her advent into married life. Would people fawn over her? She had seen that, had suffered it a little as an Emperor, but now? She had no idea. “How does a duchess behave?”

  She hadn’t been aware of saying that aloud until Oliver answered her. “Just as you do. Be yourself. You know how to do this.”

  “You’ve been a duke since you were—”

  “Seventeen.”

  He sounded perfectly calm, but she knew him better now. Oliver felt very deeply. How much had he forced away when he had to enter Parliament as the new duke, or take his father’s place in formal events?

  She would take her cue from him. Oliver appeared perfectly affable, but with an air of “don’t-get-too-close.” She was experiencing some of that in private. Although he treated her well, he had never repeated the overwhelming passion of their first night together. He didn’t spend all night in her bed, and they still had separate rooms on different floors. If she’d had the courage, she’d have gone to him, but the idea of his rejection terrified her. Not much terrified Dru. She faced the world head-on, but since she’d met Oliver, she’d become a mouse.

  That would not happen tonight. Many members of her family would be there to support her. The fluttering in her stomach would settle in the first ten minutes. Dru had never told anyone, but she always felt apprehensive before a social event. Her position was assured, but not so the way people behaved toward her as a person. Before they realized who she was, she had been overlooked, patronized, and generally disregarded. Something she had never told her siblings, because they would go out of their way to get her revenge. She preferred to do that herself, with her pen.

  And look where that had taken her.

  She placed her hand on his velvet-clad arm at precisely the right angle as they entered. The footman bowed to them, and she gave him a gracious half-nod, just as her mother did. Only an ill-mannered person ignored the servants completely.

  Oliver took her in the direction of her parents, who sat in a corner of the room. Her mother met Dru’s eyes, a small frown furrowing her brow. The marchioness rarely showed emotion in public. What could be the matter? Dru’s hand tightened on her husband’s sleeve. Perhaps her mother’s concern had nothing to do with her.

  They had to speak to several people before they attained their goal. The first merely congratulated them on their marriage. The second, a friend of the Shaws, behaved coolly, as if she would prefer not to speak with them.

  Bemused, Dru fixed the smile to her face and let Oliver lead her on. By now, his arm had stiffened, and by that she knew he was also wary. Had something happened? Perhaps someone important was dead. But nobody wore a black armband, and if it had been something like the king dying, this event would not be happening at all.

  The next people were their hosts. Lord Swithland and his lovely dark-haired wife, who was intriguingly wearing a pair of gold spectacles with diamonds. His lordship, known for his rakish behavior before he married, gave his wife a fond smile. “You will have to give my dearest Penelope some lessons in writing a best-selling novel.” His smile at Dru held no malice, no speculation, unlike those of the people standing around them. “She has her eyes on the sky for the most part, but your stories brought her back to earth, temporarily.”

  Lady Swithland batted her husband with her fan, but he caught it and gently pulled it out of her grip before opening it and fanning her. Dru would ordinarily have enjoyed the byplay, but the words transfixed her.

  “I think you did a very clever thing,” Lady Swithland said. “Who could you make
into your villain who would not object? You asked him, of course.”

  “Naturally,” Oliver said smoothly.

  Dru could say nothing. Horror had struck her dumb. She had no idea if she still had that stupid smile on her face, but she wore it like a garment. It didn’t belong to her any longer. “My wife is accomplished at many things, not least in telling a story.”

  Or a lie. That was what his tone indicated. “A mere amusement,” he added.

  “Yet you do have a brother, do you not?” his lordship said. He fixed with fascinated interest on to Dru’s face, but he was talking to Oliver.

  “Indeed. He prefers to live quietly.”

  “How does he see this?” her ladyship asked.

  “He’s very diverted,” Dru said. At least she knew that was true. Only today Charles had laughed inordinately when the hero had declared his love for Drusetta. His ribald remarks followed suit. What else could she say? Society knew nothing about Charles. He could be a gibbering idiot, as far as they were concerned. And Oliver had asked her to say nothing. Ordered her, in fact.

  “He is indeed,” Oliver smoothly agreed. “As am I. I cannot wait for the next installment.”

  “You mean she has not told you?” Her ladyship’s eyes rounded and her arched brows went up.

  “Now do not tease, Penelope, my love.” Her husband closed his wife’s fan and returned it to her. “I daresay the duchess wants to keep some secrets in reserve. Ladies prefer to retain a certain mystery, do they not?”

  “Not all of them. I don’t, not anymore.” She touched her spectacles and gave her husband a mischievous smile.

  Dru hurt, seeing this couple so obviously in love, so happy with each other. They no doubt discussed everything together. Why, they would probably read the book together and laugh over it.

  Even the next volume, and the one after that where— Dru had not imagined she could get any colder, but suddenly the warm late spring evening had icicles in it. Where the younger brother, the hero, had finally shot his older brother, the Prince of Tirolly, freeing himself and his loved one from a tyrant.

  Oliver would never speak to her again.

  Bowing to their hosts, Oliver made to move on. He had to drag Dru the first step, and then she put one foot before the other as if learning to walk for the first time. How could this have happened? Who had let the author of the piece be known?

  The publisher. Wilkins would have done it. He’d said he recognized her, but Dru hadn’t believed him. She still didn’t, not completely. She’d seen the doubt in his rheumy eyes, and the challenge, as if she’d admit who she was.

  No, someone else had told him.

  How much would knowing she was the author add to the popularity of the book?

  Her mother’s eyes were hard and unforgiving. She accepted the greeting of her family, seeing that they had Livia with them. Her brother Darius stood behind the sofa. He shook his head slightly after she rose from her curtsy.

  People were listening. She did not need words. She could hear her mother’s recriminations without them. What hurt worst was the incredulity in her father’s eyes, as if he blamed himself for her sins.

  “You are well?” her mother said in the icy tone that indicated how little she cared.

  “Very well, Mama.”

  “Even though you have had time to see your literary success come to fruition?”

  Dru forced a smile, though she had no idea how she managed it. “That has happened all on its own, Mama.”

  “Deny it,” her father said. “Of course you had nothing to do with this, did you?”

  Ah, an answer. She would have to lie. She hadn’t actually admitted her culpability to the Swithlands, had she? And in any case, her brother Val was particular friends with his lordship. He could ask him not to spread what they’d talked about.

  She opened her mouth to agree with her father, but her husband forestalled her. “I think Dru was very clever. If the estate ever fails us, if the seven famines descend on my estates, I can rest easy. Dru can make enough from her scribblings to keep me in comfort.” His smile promised retribution. Turning, he offered his arm. “Would you care to dance, my dear? I swear I will not abandon you this time.”

  Pain lanced through her. He had withdrawn completely.

  Chapter 14

  That ball took first prize for the worst Dru had ever attended. Her brother danced with her after Oliver had paraded her in front of society. Then forced her to acknowledge she had written The Prince of Tirolly by admitting it himself. He continued to act as if the whole thing were a great joke.

  All those people she’d parodied, all the quirks she’d noticed and marked down, they were there. She made enemies that night. At least she did not receive the cut direct, though once they read the next two volumes she was sure they would do so. She went into detail about the prince’s court, every courtier a wickedly drawn portrait of someone in society. There was no way back from that. She had nightmares about her ostracism, when someone pretended not to see her or hear her. As if she’d suddenly become invisible. But she saw some people move away as if they had no desire to speak with her.

  Her husband took her on to the floor for a country dance. That meant she had to change partners in the course of it. Everyone else laughed and chatted. Her partners gave her a tepid smile or made a polite enquiry about her health, some almost speaking through their teeth. She had no doubt they remained polite because of her family. Nobody wanted to cross the Emperors or, for that matter, the Shaws.

  Oliver barely spoke to her. He smiled often, but he mirrored her own expression, the smile with nothing behind it. The only words he said to her in the whole of the dance were, “Keep smiling.”

  She did her best, although she was dying inside.

  They stayed for far too long. An evening she had been looking forward to had turned to ashes, and she wanted to sink through the floor right into hell. At last, Oliver came over to where she sat with her mother and asked if she was ready to leave.

  “I am a little tired,” she said loudly, masking her mother’s words.

  “We will see what can be done. Wait at home for us.”

  Oliver turned an icy glare on to her. “You will do nothing, ma’am, if you please. This is not your concern.”

  The marchioness nodded, equally coolly.

  Dru accompanied her husband to the carriage in stony silence. They had two more balls to attend that evening, but they needed no conversation to indicate they were going home.

  Once inside the vehicle, when it had rounded the corner so nobody could see them, she let her head drop. “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t reply. As if he hadn’t heard her, he crossed one leg over the other and leaned his elbow on the windowsill, staring out into the night.

  So finally, Dru received the cut direct.

  * * * *

  Oliver strode up and down the carpet in Charles’s room. His brother, calmer than he, watched him from his customary chair turned half toward the window. Oliver had interrupted him contemplating the garden, watching a man prune a tree. The tranquility had been complete until Oliver had stormed in, bringing his troubles with him. He could hardly wait to tell Charles and discuss the matter. His brother had a right to know.

  “I cannot believe Dru did this.” Oliver turned, facing Charles, whose compassionate gaze nearly undid him. “Everyone knows my wife has made a fool of me.”

  “And we cannot allow that, can we?” Charles said calmly. “Don’t worry, brother. We will think of something. I told you not to marry in such a hurry.”

  Oliver shook his head in sorrow. “I cannot allow you to concern yourself with the business of the dukedom.” Stopping at Charles’s chair, he gently laid a hand over his brother’s. “Don’t try to hide it from me. I know you’re weaker than you used to be.”

  Charles swallowed. “I had tried to hide it
from you. But you could have waited to marry.”

  “I want an heir in place as quickly as I can.” That meant taking Dru to bed again, something he didn’t feel at all like doing at the moment. Her betrayal had cut deep. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive her. “Tell me what Burnett saw again. I need to know.”

  Charles sighed. “Oh, dear. Very well. Burnett was on an errand for me.” He touched the book at his elbow. “I had sent him to obtain a copy of this from the publisher. I could not wait to read it. He saw your wife and her sister enter the shop. They emerged twenty minutes later, and Dru was putting something in her pocket. A purse. They looked around them before sneaking down the alley by the side of the premises. I do not think they saw him.” He shook his head, exasperated. “I believe your wife is an innocent. She had no idea of the trouble she would cause or that her identity would be revealed so shockingly. Can you not overlook her behavior? I’m positive she did not mean it maliciously.”

  “How can you say that when you are the main target of her insinuations?” Oliver paced again. He couldn’t keep still. What could he do? What was there for him to do?

  “You should not approach her when you’re in this mood,” Charles advised. “You will scare her into silence.”

  That was true enough.

  His wife had gone to the publisher and pocketed the money. She did not need funds so badly, surely?

  Oliver halted in his tracks, turning to face his brother.

  “A gambling debt?” he said.

  Eagerly he grasped at the straw. He would ask, try to find out if she played the tables. Ladies held salons where men rarely featured. They called them literary salons, but many were little more than clubs for gossip, tea, and gambling.

  But to sell out a whole family to pay a debt? He followed his own reasoning. “People lose fortunes at the tables.”

  Charles pursed his lips, touching them with one long finger. “That could be so. Will you allow me to make a few enquiries? I think the questions are better coming from my people. You are too agitated to face her. She will not speak to you. Stay away for the next few days, dear brother. Let tempers cool.”