Julie Tetel Andresen

by The Temporary Bride

  “But to go away as you did!”

  “You would have had me stay on in England? In what capacity?”

  “Everyone thought you had died! Is that not rather extreme?”

  “I was dead—as the Duke of Clare. What was left for me?”

  “I was here! Your friends! They would have stood by you, accepted you, received you!”

  “I could not have asked it of them. Of you. I thought it better to preserve the family honour. Was I so wrong? Was it terribly difficult for you?”

  “It was agony!” she exclaimed with fresh tears.

  “I am sorry,” he replied evenly. “I saw no other way.”

  “Men!” she cried and angrily folded the handkerchief. “I see, and I do not see! Men and their honour! But I daresay you were thinking of Mama’s reputation, Papa’s name.”

  Wraxall nodded. “And of you, too, dearest.”

  “But I would not have cared a fig for that! You could have let me know that you were alive!”

  “I could not burden you with it. Would it have made you happier to know that I was alive but divested of everything?” he asked gently. When she did not immediately respond, he continued, “No, you would have been filled with rage at the injustice of it all, rather than sorrow at my death. That did not seem an acceptable alternative.”

  “Oh, it is folly! I understand, but the understanding does not make it easier to bear!” She clasped and unclasped her hands in agitation. “But you are here now. Does this mean that you can re-establish yourself? What of Talby?”

  “He is on his way to Jamaica, and I am once again Wraxall, Duke of Clare,” he informed her tranquilly.

  She wisely withheld any exclamation that would unnecessarily impede the unfolding of his story. She asked him to explain how it was that Talby had so thoroughly tricked him.

  Wraxall told a tale of a master forger, Giovanni Camboni, who had also been the padrone of a secret society in Venice until his death last autumn. For a price, Giovanni had rewritten Lady Wraxall’s diary and the birth certificates. Giovanni must have assured Talby that he would destroy the originals, but he did not. Instead, the forger kept them and bequeathed them to a man named Vincenzo. Vincenzo had Lady Wraxall’s original diary, which he left behind in Italy. He had come to England with the correspondence between Talby and Giovanni in which Talby’s plans to succeed to the dukedom were discussed. Vincenzo clearly intended to blackmail Talby.

  “Was this Vincenzo Giovanni’s son?” Lady Happendale ventured.

  “I doubt it. There existed between them an unnatural relationship, you might say,” Wraxall replied.

  “Oh!” his sister exclaimed weakly, feeling entirely incapable of pursuing the topic.

  “I believe that Giovanni always intended Vincenzo to have the documents upon the former’s death. This was Giovanni’s way of providing for Vincenzo, since they would provide excellent material for blackmail. A rather touching example of affection, I find.”

  “Why did Vincenzo not come to you with them? You might have paid him even more.”

  “He did not know who I was. No one did, as you have said yourself. As luck would have it, I discovered that Vincenzo was carrying information about a wealthy, titled man in England, and on an instinct I began to trail him. I thought at first he only had the diary, and that alone would have been sufficient to blackmail Talby for the rest of his life.”

  Lady Happendale absorbed this in silence. “I see,” she said at last. “Or, at least, partially! So you got the letters from Vincenzo—I shall not ask how!—and then I suppose you confronted Talby with them.”

  “No, I did not.”

  “No?”

  “I confronted Talby, of course. Last night, in fact, but not with the evidence.”

  “But I thought you said that he was on his way out of the country, and I supposed that to be on your account.”

  “It is, but I never showed him the evidence, and he does not know what—if anything—came into my hands. Instead, I played Hazard with him for possession of what I had. He lost.”

  “You gambled with your name, title, and entire fortune!” his sister cried, stunned.

  Wraxall smiled. “Oh, no! I never gamble!”

  Lady Happendale was most bewildered. She pinched herself. “Yes, I am quite sure that I am awake, but I have the oddest sensation of dreaming! I thought you said that you were Mr. Darcy, the gambler!”

  “I am, but I understand gambling to mean that one bets on uncertain outcomes. I wager only on certainties, if you see the difference.”

  She did not precisely. What she was beginning to perceive, however, was the change that had come over her brother in the years he had been lost to her. She was not able to identify with accuracy what it was in his statement that let her glimpse the new man, but all at once the image she had cherished of this beloved brother blurred, and a new vision came into focus. He was, to all appearances, the same Richard, a little older perhaps, with the same easy manners and irresistible smile, but before her now stood a man who had come to terms with himself. She sensed that his natural reserve had solidified into a hard-won integrity, and that the calm, pleasant demeanour that had always characterized him now sheathed a firm core, the inviolable centre of his being. He had not travelled the easiest path towards the making of his character. She could not truly imagine being stripped of all one’s tangible support, but she did know, through her own infirmity, that self-possession did not come without effort. The Fates had exacted a heavy price from her brother for his, but he seemed to have paid it without regret. Lady Happendale looked forward to learning to know her brother all over again.

  “If you tell me it is so, dearest, I shall believe you!” she said to her brother’s broad back. He had walked to the windows and was looking down on the gardens below. Something had apparently caught his eye, for he was not attending when she said, “But tell me, Richard, if the other part of the rumour is true! That you were travelling with a woman!”

  Richard turned from the windows with an enquiring lift of his brow. “My dear?”

  “Well! It suddenly occurs to me that if one part of the rumour is true—namely that you are alive—then the other part may well be true, too! You were seen in the company of a mysterious woman.”

  “Blast Honeycutt,” Wraxall said without heat.

  “Is it true, then, Richard?” she reproached him in a sisterly fashion.

  “Yes, and if ever I find her again, I shall bring her to you so that you may thank her personally. Without her, I might not now be reinstated.”

  “Find her again? Do you mean you lost her along the way?”

  “Yes!” He laughed. “She slipped away from me before I had an opportunity to, er, establish the nature of the business between us.”

  “Do you mean that she does not know who you are or what you were after?”

  “I do not know how much she knows,” he said pleasantly.

  “This is indeed serious! What are your intentions?”

  Her brother did not answer. Instead he smiled in an unreadable way and asked, “Speaking of mysterious ladies, who is the attractive specimen walking in your garden?”

  Lady Happendale, a very good sister, knew not to press matters. She resolutely suppressed her curiosity and allowed him to change the subject. “That is Helen Denville, and she is attractive. Very attractive, in her own special way, I would say! I have become quite fond of her in only one week and desire to keep her as my companion.”

  “I am glad you have found someone you like,” he said with polite interest. “And you say her name is Denville? Ah, yes, I recall her now.”

  “Did you know her?” she asked, surprised.

  “Yes, if memory serves,” he said indifferently. “I must have met her in the year before my departure. She was a debutante or some such thing.”

  “It is very odd that you should know her.”

  “Why should that be? Did you think that I should forget everything and everyone of my former acquaintance? O
r is it because I never took an absorbing interest in debutantes? Actually, I pride myself on my memory for names and faces. I fancy that I shall do very creditably in Society.”

  “I am sure you will, love, but that is not what I meant. Rather, I had the impression that Miss Denville had never met you.”

  “No doubt she did not remember me. Why should she, after all?”

  “Why should she indeed?” Lady Happendale murmured, unable to imagine that an impressionable debutante, once having met the Duke of Clare, would be likely to forget him. “But I would have thought she would have mentioned something about you yesterday when the topic of your reappearance came up.”

  “You said that cursed Saltash female—you see, my memory is entirely intact, for I remember her distinctly as a gabble-monger—brought the news to your ears yesterday? And Miss Denville was there when the story of my reappearance was recounted?”

  “Yes, she was, but she did not react to the news in one way or the other, as I recall, or indicate at any time since that she remembered having met you.”

  “Is it too much to hope,” Wraxall said with a smooth smile, “that everyone will react with as little surprise and emotion as Miss Denville? I begin to appreciate her already.”

  “Oh, yes! But however calmly Miss Denville reacted, you must be prepared for no small amount of talk. Yesterday, the news was still a rumour. By tomorrow, I predict that it will be a major Item! Before!” Lady Happendale gave him a teasing smile that was so like his own. “What are the odds that Olivia Saltash will find herself on my doorstep by the end of the afternoon?”

  “Very high!” her brother answered.

  “I hope not,” she said. “I do not know if it is appropriate that you see anyone just yet. Outside of the family, I mean.”

  “Why not? I wish to reintroduce myself without delay.”

  Lady Happendale paused then said casually, “Well, perhaps you are right. I may as well mention that Olivia had a niece, a Miss Deborah Saltash. She is quite the beauty, Richard. I think you would even call her a diamond of the first water.”

  “Would I?” he said, quizzing her with his eyes. “Then I shall be on my guard, for I assume that you are gently hinting me away from her.”

  “No, not that! It’s just—”

  “That I have been out of circulation for several years,” he said, “but I hope that I am not out of practice! Until yesterday, I was the rich Mr. Darcy, so that although my title and consequence could no longer lure the ladies, I still had money to smooth over the rough edges.”

  “Rough edges indeed! I am sure that no one holds fewer illusions than you about the ways of the world. But I hope that you have not grown cynical. There are, I am sure, many ladies who will regard you for yourself and not for your worldly possessions!”

  “Are there?” he said. “Then you will have to bring them to my notice, for I can see that it will exercise your mind until the day I am riveted.”

  “Will you be serious?” she retorted with some exasperation. “I know that this is not the moment to remind you that you owe it to the family to marry and produce an heir before someone else tries to cut you out of the succession. Clovis Talby may be next, and him I simply could not bear! But do not think on that prospect at the moment. I do want you to enjoy all the freedom and luxuries of your return!”

  “Thank you!” he said with deep appreciation. “And I admire your restraint in avoiding mention of my duty! And since there is more to the securing of the position than the begetting of an heir, you have put me in mind of some of my more immediate duties. I must leave you for a few moments now, while I make my presence known in your household. No doubt the news has already spread, and I feel I should appear in person to reassure the unbelievers!”

  Lady Happendale’s eyes welled with tears. “Yes, do that!” she said with a smile. “Are you already installed at Clare?”

  “Yes, By cock crow I was once again lord and master. Keithley is there now, and I have no doubt that he is regaling my retainers with various embellished accounts of our adventures abroad. I had some qualms about leaving the stage to him, for he means to steal the show, but I could not wait any longer to see you. But, now, my dearest, I really must circulate.”

  “You are coming right back to me, aren’t you, Richard?” Lady Happendale said quickly.

  There was a strain in her voice. Before leaving her side, Wraxall embraced her again and assured her that he would spend the rest of the day with her before returning to the renewed responsibilities that awaited him at Clare.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  RICHARD WRAXALL, Sixth and True Duke of Clare, made his way through his sister’s country house. As expected, he found the majority of Lady Happendale’s retainers highly visible and in the most likely places. He gracefully submitted to all demonstrations of happiness at his return, greeted everyone with affection and most of them by name. His goal, of course, was the gardens, and he presently arrived there just as Helen was returning by way of a charming, ivy-covered terrace.

  She stopped dead in her tracks at sight of him and flushed vividly. Wraxall thought that he had never seen his Nell look more adorable. He also saw that it behooved him to tread warily.

  “Miss Denville, how fortunate to find you here,” he said politely, taking several more steps towards her. “I wonder if I may have a word with you?”

  The man, Helen thought involuntarily, has all the casualness of someone encountering an acquaintance in New Bond Street! True to form, she said the first thing that popped into her lively mind. “Well! I suppose it was too much to hope that you would not recognize me!”

  “My eyesight being quite good,” he replied, smiling a little, “and my memory entirely dependable, I was almost certain to recognize you at only a few feet and a mere week’s distance. However, why you should hope that I would not is another matter altogether.”

  “And has you completely puzzled, no doubt,” she retorted warmly to cover her embarrassment, for she felt, indeed, exceedingly foolish. “Although you are able to compute the odds swiftly and accurately to the lowest degree of uncertainty, it seems your mind is unequal to simple logic! So I shall tell you that seeing you here is rather … rather … is so …”

  “Mortifying?” he suggested helpfully as he took her arm and led her down the path from which she had just come.

  She eyed him menacingly. “So unexpected!” she finished with spirit. “And to call it mortifying is most unhandsome of you!”

  “I agree,” he acknowledged. “However, I would not have you think me a simpleton, and I am really quite proficient at simple logic. To demonstrate—am I not correct to have inferred from the obliging note you left that you, er, fled because you had no expectation—not to mention desire—of ever seeing me again?”

  “Entirely incorrect!” she answered, truly mortified now. “It was quite otherwise! You must know that I left so precipitately because I had no wish to accept any payment from you, Mr.—”

  She broke off in serious confusion, which was not allayed by the lurking smile she perceived in the depths of her love’s eyes.

  “Don’t forget my consequence, my dear Miss Denville, for I am a very high stickler,” he murmured provocatively.

  She had been on the point of correcting herself and of acknowledging his exalted position, but at that, she lost all desire to pander to his vanity.

  Taking unfair advantage of the second it took her to recoup, Wraxall continued smoothly, “But you know, I had no intention in the end of offering you money for your invaluable help to me. You could not have known that, of course, and I see that it is entirely my own fault for not having made the matter more explicit. Upon reflection, I came to perceive that to offer you payment would be to hand you an intolerable insult. I never should have mentioned it to begin with, had I known you better. And if I had known you, I never should have cozened you into accompanying me, which I must have done in the most shameful manner imaginable, for I recall that you had strong reservations abo
ut the undertaking. Shall we try this path? It is not particularly pretty at this time of year but, as I recall, it leads to a very charming pond.”

  “You were not going to offer me that outrageous sum?” she said, walking beside him compliantly. “Well, that is a relief, in all events.”

  As he had said, Wraxall had been out of circulation, but he was not out of practice. From the perceptible lack of sincerity in her voice he knew very well that, although she most emphatically did not want the money, she was feeling very disappointed in not being given the opportunity to refuse it.

  “No,” he said, admirably suppressing his amusement, “and it was most irksome when you left, for then I had no means of repaying you.”

  “But I had no desire to profit from our encounter!”

  “We are agreed that monetary gain would have been most improper.”

  “Then what did you have in mind for me?” she could not prevent herself from asking.

  “I was resolved to bring you to my sister’s,” he replied promptly.

  Her ready chuckle bubbled to the surface. “Oh! Then events have fallen into place most providentially!”

  “I think so, too.”

  “You have, if I may say so, the most uncanny luck!”

  “Quite!”

  “And you take it so easily in stride,” she remarked, torn between admiration and a certain disapproval that events should have worked themselves out so effortlessly in his favour.

  “Yes, this circumstance has saved me a deal of trouble,” he acknowledged tranquilly.

  Shaking her head, she laughed at his calm but did not pursue the subject. Instead, she asked, “Did you know that your sister was in need of a companion?”

  “Not exactly, but she has told me that she has just engaged you in the position.”

  “You have seen her, then?” Helen asked, looking up quickly.

  “A few moments ago.”

  “Do you think… Well! You may not know yet that part of the rumour about you concerns a lady. An unnamed lady, I am happy to say! Did Lady Happendale mention … that is, do you think she has any idea about…”