Deceived

by Bertrice Small

  The lights in the drawing room had already been extinguished, but a bright fire burned. Standing just past the closed door to the room, Mary Rose Hawkesworth said to the duke, “Aurora must be married, and St. John is a suitable prospect if he pleases her. I will not allow your boyhood rivalry to interfere, Valerian. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You have already decided on St. John, haven’t you?” he responded.

  “It is not up to me, my boy, it is up to Aurora,” she answered him in prim tones.

  “Grandmama, do not fence with me. I know you well. You very carefully engineered George and Betsy’s rapprochement, and do not deny it. Oh, I will not tell on you, never fear. It is a good match, but I do not believe that Justin St. John is a good match for Aurora.” The duke went to the sideboard and poured himself a large whiskey.

  “You have a wife, Valerian,” Mary Rose Hawkesworth said quietly.

  Her grandson spun around, a shocked look upon his face.

  “Do not deny that you are attracted to Aurora,” his grandmother continued. “Oh, you are usually discreet, but I see how you look at her when you believe that no one else is observing you, and I believe that of the two girls, she would have been the better wife for you; but you married Calandra, and she is now expecting your child. That, my dear boy, settles it. I know that Calandra is a coldhearted little bitch. I am astounded you have managed to impregnate her, but you have. As you cannot have both girls, and Calandra is your wife, Aurora must be married to another man. Do not interfere with me, Valerian,” the dowager warned her grandson sternly.

  “Do not interfere with me, Grandmama,” he replied calmly. “I am the head of this family, and if I decide that a gentleman shall not wed Aurora, then he shall not.”

  “And if she loves him, Valerian? What then, my boy?”

  “Aurora could not possibly fall in love with St. John,” he said with complete assurance.

  “Perhaps not, but there will be some man who surely catches her fancy in the next few months. You will have no choice but to stand by and watch as she picks a husband, Valerian,” his grandmother said.

  “We will see,” the duke answered her.

  “If you cause a scandal, or hurt either of those girls, I will never forgive you,” the dowager threatened him.

  “Surely, madam, you know me better than that,” the duke said.

  The old lady shook her head. “I am not certain I know you at all now. There is no way you can escape your marriage, Valerian. Perhaps if she had not proved fertile, you might have found a way, but not now. Calandra is with child. Your child. The Fifth Duke of Farminster will enter this world before the new year. That is an undisputed fact.”

  He did not respond to her words, and turning, the dowager exited the drawing room for her own chambers. As she passed Calandra’s bedroom, she could hear soft laughter, and she smiled. Thank goodness for Aurora. She would keep that flighty chit her grandson was married to on the straight and narrow during her pregnancy, and there would be a healthy child. But afterward? Who knew what arrangement Valerian had made with his wife in order to elicit her cooperation, if indeed she had cooperated with him at all. It was so terribly unfortunate.

  Valerian Hawkesworth remained standing in the drawing room where she had left him. He stared into the fire, cradling the whiskey glass in his hands. What did it matter that Calandra and he had little use for each other. There would be a child, an heir, to follow him, and wasn’t that what he wanted, as Aurora had asked him earlier. Wasn’t it enough? It didn’t matter that Calandra would live out her frivolous life in London going from party to party like a bee going from flower to flower. He would have his son. If his mother would not be there for him, his father would. And his grandmother, and his aunt Aurora.

  Aurora. His grandmother was right. She would choose a man and marry. The best he could hope for was that she remain nearby so he would not lose her entirely. But he would lose her. He would lose her to a husband, to her own children. Oh, she would be kind to her little nephew, he had no doubt, but Valerian Hawkesworth would not have Aurora. He might have her friendship. Her sympathy. But nothing more, and the problem was that he wanted more. He wanted her.

  Damn her for stealing his heart! And damn Calandra that she did not want him! If Calandra had loved him, it could have been different. No. It would not have been different, he had to admit to himself. He was in love with Aurora Spencer-Kimberly. He had never been in love with his wife, and he never would be. He would never capture the heart of either of these women, but at least he would have his son. It didn’t seem enough, but it would have to be, he knew.

  As for his cousin, Justin St. John, he wondered if St. John was really attracted to Aurora, or if he was simply playing with the girl to annoy Hawkesworth. He didn’t want Aurora hurt, yet how could he forbid her St. John’s company? He couldn’t. The thought, however, of his cousin making love to Aurora infuriated him. He would watch St. John closely to determine his intentions, and in this effort, he knew, he would be ably assisted by his grandmother. She would not want Aurora harmed, or her heart broken by a cad, even if the scoundrel was a blood relation. The duke turned from the fire and placed his whiskey tumbler on the silver tray from where he had originally taken it. Then with a sigh he left the drawing room, seeking his own bed. A lonely bed.

  Aurora heard him pass by her bedroom door. By now she knew his step. She was angry at the duke. Angry that he made Cally so unhappy, although she knew that most of the fault lay with her sister. She was angry at him that a compliment from his lips could cause her heart to race. That those intense blue eyes could make her knees go weak when he looked meaningfully at her. She wondered what it would have been like if she had married him. Would he have made her as unhappy as he was making Cally? No. Cally’s problems stemmed from her inability to enjoy the physical pleasures of the marriage bed. I may be a virgin, Aurora thought to herself, but I know I would enjoy a husband’s attentions.

  Especially if that husband were Valerian Hawkesworth, the little voice in her head said slyly, and Aurora was suddenly shocked by her own thoughts. She had had her chance to marry the duke, but she had gone out of her way to avoid her deceased father’s wishes. She had deliberately deceived Valerian into thinking Cally was his intended bride. No one had forced her to subterfuge. It had all been her own idea. She had bullied Mama into going along with her. George, of course, knew her well enough to realize if Aurora didn’t want to do something, she wouldn’t, and had in turn done what he believed was best for the family. Both she and Cally had behaved childishly in the whole matter. Now they were going to have to live with the results of their chicanery. It wasn’t going to be easy, she knew.

  Cally was terrified of being with child, frightened of childbirth, vain about her figure, which she declared was going to be ruined. Had she not been more fearful of Valerian, Aurora believed her sister would have found a way to rid herself of this new life she carried. Fortunately her distaste for the marriage bed was enough to make her behave, because if she lost this child, she would be forced to endure her husband’s vigorous attentions once more. If, however, she brought this child to a successful birth, and it was a son—Oh, pray God it was a son!—then she would never again have to face her husband’s animal lust, she had said to Aurora.

  Aurora considered her sister’s words. Animal lust. It actually sounded rather wickedly delicious. She caressed her round breasts beneath the coverlet, undoing the ribbons that tied her nightgown, and slipping her hand inside the garment to fondle the warm flesh. What would it be like to have a man doing this? She thought of Justin St. John, but his face was almost instantly replaced by that of the duke’s. For a moment Aurora felt guilty, but she pushed her guilt aside. It was only pretend, and only she knew what she was thinking. Her nipples grew hard with her thoughts. Sucking her index finger a moment, she began to rub the wetness about the hard little nub, smiling languidly as the familiar tingle began between her legs. Her other hand slipped down to push between the swoll
en flesh. She was already wet.

  Aurora closed her eyes. Her breath was coming in hard little pants, and she struggled to keep the sound low lest she awaken Martha. She imagined a dark head on her breast, and tugged suggestively at her nipple. Would his mouth feel like that, or would it be much more wonderful than she could even imagine? The index finger of her right hand found that sensitive spot hidden within her nether lips, and she teased at it. What would it be like to lay naked in a bed with the man you loved? To feel his weight on you? To have your bare breasts crushed against his hard chest? To have his member inside you? Aurora worked her finger fiercely against her pleasure nub, and suddenly the lovely melting feeling swept over her, leaving her almost breathless with her release. Tonight, however, it wasn’t quite enough, and she didn’t understand why. It had always been enough before.

  Aurora couldn’t sleep. What was the matter with her? It was probably the excitement of the ball. It had been a lovely time, made even more so by the knowledge that she had contributed so much to the preparation. She had very much enjoyed helping the dowager, and she had learned a great deal of what was expected of the wife of a well-to-do man with a big house. There had been no parties or balls on St. Timothy. Her father had taken his pleasure in Jamaica or Barbados prior to his marriage, and during the brief period between her mother’s death and his remarriage to Oralia. Unless there were other families on an island, society was scant.

  It was not so here in England. They were a very social people, and she had to admit that she frankly enjoyed it. Not London society, as Cally had, but this country life suited Aurora very well. In the weeks since she had first arrived, she had ridden with her brother and Betsy, gone on several picnics with the Bowen sisters and their friends, and played tennis on the grass. The country families were friendly, and while proud of their lineage, they were not snobbish like the London society folk she had met.

  If I meet a man I can love, and marry him, I shall always live in the country, Aurora decided. If she met a man. Well, she had met several nice gentlemen this evening who appeared eager to know her better. Me, or my dowry? she considered suspiciously. Of course, Justin St. John didn’t need her dowry or her income. He was, according to the dowager, comfortably off in his own right.

  “Sheep,” the dowager said. “The family has the largest flocks in the area. Always did. They sell the wool in the open market, and poor Valerian has to pay a higher price to get it for his mills than if St. John would make a private arrangement with him. Of course, the rogue does it deliberately to irritate my grandson.” She chuckled. “I keep telling Valerian that the best way to outfox St. John is to increase the size of his own flocks so he wouldn’t need his cousin’s wool.”

  So St. John’s motives could not be disputed. If he showed an interest in Aurora, it had to be because he found her attractive, she decided. And he was attractive. Not in the brooding, dark way that Valerian was, but in a prettier, no, that was not a word one should use when describing a man. Softer? He didn’t have that fierce, be-damned-to-you look the duke had. St. John laughed easily, as the tiny lines about his eyes and mouth indicated. It would be interesting getting to know him better, provided, of course, that he pursued his interest in her, but the dowager seemed to believe he would.

  Aurora shifted onto her left side. She was finally beginning to get sleepy. Outside her windows, for she had not let Martha draw the draperies, she could see the sky beginning to lighten with the dawn. She really was tired. Her eyelids were very heavy now, and she yawned deeply several times. She tried to think of Justin St. John, but every time she did, Valerian Hawkesworth’s handsome face replaced his cousin’s. It was disturbing, but she could no longer concentrate, and finally fell asleep, her breathing measured and relaxed.

  She slept until well past the noon hour, finally awakening to the sound of a bird outside her windows, singing its heart out. She lay quietly, enjoying the thrilling song. Obviously someone had found his mate, and was ready to build a nest, she chuckled to herself. Languidly she reached for the bellpull and yanked upon it.

  “So, you’re awake at last,” Martha said, bustling into the bedroom. “You’re the first up. The old dowager is still snoring her head off, Jane tells me; and the young duchess ain’t blinked an eye yet. Tell me about the ball, and that Mr. St. John you met. Is he nice?”

  “He seems to be,” Aurora said. Then, “I want tea, Martha, and something to eat. I am ravenous!”

  “Right away, miss. They say that Mr. St. John is very rich, and he don’t have anyone but his mother. She’s real anxious he take a wife. A girl would be lucky to get a man like that. Big house, big estate, I’m told.”

  “It seems to me you’ve been told a lot more than I have.” Aurora laughed. “Does he have a mistress?”

  “Miss Aurora! What a shocking thing for you to say. Nice girls aren’t supposed to know about such women, or such arrangements,” Martha scolded her mistress. “Your mama would have a fit to hear you talk like that! I think the young duchess is having a bad effect on you.”

  “Cally? No, Martha, she isn’t. I take everything Cally says with a very large grain of salt. I just wondered why a man as eligible as Mr. St. John hadn’t taken a wife yet. It’s a reasonable question, I believe. If there is some lady who has captured his heart hiding in the shadows, I would be foolish to waste my time, or allow my heart to be broken. While the dowager thinks him suitable, the duke thinks him a cad. Such divergent opinions pique my curiosity.”

  “I think I’d listen to the old lady, miss. She does favor you, even more than the young duchess, if you’ll forgive my saying so. She wants what’s best for you, and will see you ain’t hurt.”

  Martha hurried from the room, returning about a half hour later with a large tray which she set upon the piecrust table by the windows. Helping Aurora into a pretty peach silk dressing gown, she seated her at the table and began removing the silver domes covering the dishes and plates. There was a dish of eggs poached in sherry and heavy cream, a thick slice of country ham, flaky little croissants, a crock of sweet butter, a dish of new peas, a honeycomb, a silver bowl of freshly picked strawberries with a companion bowl of clotted cream, and a pot of tea. Aurora fell upon the food as if she had been starving, and in short order had cleaned up all of the plates and dishes. Sitting back in her chair, she sipped her saucer of tea, a contented smile upon her beautiful face.

  “Delicious,” she pronounced, “and please tell Cook I said so when you return the tray to the kitchens.”

  “He’ll be pleased to have a compliment, I can tell you, for the young duchess does nothing but complain ’cause he don’t fix her fancy meals like in London. Never a word of thanks he gets from her. I don’t know where Miss Calandra’s manners got to since she’s come home to England,” Martha grumbled.

  “She is just very impressed by what she considers high society,” Aurora defended her sister. “Eventually she’ll know better.”

  “Hmmph” was Martha’s comment. “Ought to be grateful for what you have done for her, miss, and behave properly like she was taught to do instead of affecting all those la-di-da ways, and Sally as bad.”

  “I think I shall return to bed,” Aurora said. “I am still very tired. Ask Peters if there will be dinner tonight, or if we are to eat on trays. I hope it’s trays. It would be lovely not to have to get dressed, and just lay about. I want to finish reading the history of the Hawkesworth family. With all I’ve been doing these last weeks to help the dowager plan the ball, I have had no time to myself.”

  “Don’t know why you’re reading about this family, miss. You ain’t going to be part of it,” Martha remarked sharply.

  “The duke and Mr. St. John are related through a great-grandfather,” Aurora said innocently. “I would like to understand the familial connection, Martha. Besides, you know how much I love history, and this family’s history is really wonderful.”

  “I didn’t know the duke and your Mr. St. John was related,” Martha said, surprised.


  “Well,” Aurora teased her maid, “I cannot believe the belowstairs grapevine was so negligent that it didn’t inform you of such a pertinent fact about Mr. St. John, who is certainly not mine.”

  “Not yet,” Martha said with a grin. Then she picked up the tray with its empty dishes. “I’ll take these down. Are you available for the duchess if Sally asks?”

  “Not today, if I can avoid it, Martha. I do not think I can cope with Cally’s discontent and whining. And now that she is with child, none of us will have any peace, I suspect, until that poor baby is born. You will remember that Cally has never been an easy patient.”

  Martha shook her head. “Gawd help us,” she agreed as she departed the bedroom carrying the silver tray. “It’s going to be as if she was the first and only woman who carried a child, and every little inconvenience will be magnified out of proportion.” The door closed behind her.

  Aurora chuckled at Martha’s astute evaluation of the situation. It was going to be a very interesting few months to come, she decided.

  Chapter 8

  “It isn’t fair!” Calandra, Duchess of Farminster wailed. “It just isn’t fair ! I look like some shoat ready to be slaughtered. I can bear no more. I cannot! I want this child to be born!”

  It was a glorious late September day, and Cally was sprawled in a chaise upon the lawns leading to the garden. She was one of those rare creatures that pregnancy did not become. Her alabaster skin had grown sallow. Her raven’s-wing-black hair was lackluster. Her face and hands were puffy, and unless she remained reclining for a good part of the day, her feet had a tendency to swell. Worse, with almost three more months until she delivered, her belly was quite distended.

  Restlessly, her fingers plucked at a small tray of sugar comfits, discarding one, then another, and finally popping the third choice into her mouth. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she watched her sister playing tennis with Justin St. John. Aurora looked absolutely beautiful in the simple Indian calico print gown. It was really a house dress, but equally suitable to such a rough-and-tumble game as tennis. When had Aurora’s waist been so supple and slender as it was now? For a brief moment Cally hated her, and then she felt guilty.