The Accidental Duchess

by Madeline Hunter

  Suddenly all went silent. Eerily so. She blinked hard and looked at the carriage. For some reason, Trilby’s head lulled up near the top of the carriage door with his chin deep in his collar. His body hung like a rag doll. In front of him, holding him up there by a grip on the front of his coat, stood a tall, dark-haired man.

  “You have until nightfall to choose your weapon,” a biting, low voice ordered. “We meet on the field of honor tomorrow morning, or you will be known as the coward you are.”

  Trilby’s eyes bulged in shock. Then he slumped to the ground as the hands released him.

  Slowly the world had been righting itself. She felt the damp beneath her rump, and saw the gazes of the women and man. Her reticule had split, and the edges of some banknotes peeked out. She tucked them back in and clutched the reticule so the money would not pour out and fly away.

  That dark presence hovered above her. She looked at the boots mere inches from her hip. Then up long legs. Up, up farther, her stomach sickening more with each inch. She knew who it was. She realized she recognized the voice. She had never heard it speak like that, but—

  She took a deep breath and tilted her head back. A handsome, severe face looked down at her. The Duke of Penthurst had come to her rescue, and did not look one bit happy about it.

  He bent down, lifted her, and set her on her feet. He took her arm and pushed her toward the street and the Crescent, not showing much more patience than Trilby had.

  “I should thank you, but—”

  “Not another word until we have privacy, Lydia. Not one. If you speak, I will turn you over my knee right here and give those people even more to write home about tonight.”

  • • •

  There was one chair in his chamber at the Crescent. Lydia sat in it primly, her dress shedding grass onto the carpet.

  He washed his hands and assessed the minor damage from the fisticuffs with Trilby. He had landed more blows than necessary. Lydia’s scream had turned his mind black and his blood hot, and Trilby got the worst of it.

  She had wisely obeyed, and not spoken. Instead she had retreated behind her sphinx mask. He was not in the mood for that right now.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked while he put his coat back on.

  She subtly flexed her body this way and that, checking. “My arm will be sore, perhaps. And my hand is bruised.”

  He took it in his own. Trilby’s grip had left its mark on the back. “Are you going to tell me what happened out there?”

  “You bid me not speak. I have decided I prefer not to anyway.” She looked up. “You are not really going to fight him, are you?”

  “Of course I am. No gentleman can allow such behavior toward a lady to stand. Whatever his reasons for being here, whatever your reasons for meeting him, he crossed a line that must not be crossed.”

  He waited for her to answer the unavoidable questions. What was he doing here? Why did you meet him here?

  “I should not be here,” she said.

  “I should say not.”

  “I mean here, in this chair, in your— I have my own chamber and should go there.”

  “Lydia, you have just been the center of a spectacle that will be reported far and wide. You were almost abducted. The scandal waiting to drown you cannot be avoided. Being here with me is the least of our worries.”

  She tried her impassive face, but could not manage it. Instead she came close to weeping. She stood, but wobbled a little. “I must go all the same.”

  Gently, he pressed her shoulders so she sat again. The shock of the episode outside was taking its toll. He had seen that before, how a body might not react until well after the danger passes. “You will sit awhile longer.”

  She obeyed, fretfully. He had much to say to her, and questions she must answer, but now was not the time.

  He took a flask out of his valise and poured an inch of brandy in a glass. He handed it to her. “Drink this.”

  She pushed it away. “I couldn’t.”

  “Are you saying you have never drunk spirits before? Why do I doubt that?”

  She reached for the glass. “I might manage just a sip.”

  She managed it very well. She closed her eyes afterward. He imagined the amber-hued liquid sliding down her throat, warming all it touched, calming her but also bringing a shocked alertness to her physicality. A little could center a mind and improve thoughts. From her expression it appeared to be doing that for her.

  When she opened her eyes again, she appeared more herself. “I have created a terrible muddle, haven’t I?”

  He wondered if she understood just how big a muddle it would prove to be. “Better a muddle than being that man’s victim. Although one might say that entertaining a friendship with him began the muddle.”

  “You would make a good vicar. You scold so well.”

  “I am not scolding. When I do, you will know it.”

  She stood again. “I will go before you are tempted to show me.”

  He did not stop her this time. “We will talk in a few hours, Lydia. After you have recovered. If I am going to duel with a man, I would like to know the reason.”

  • • •

  She lay on her bed and tried to sort out just how big a disaster the day had been. Had there been a way to stop Trilby short of screaming for help? Could she have persuaded him to give up his shocking idea of marriage? What if she had traveled to Scotland with him? Along the way, would better sense have prevailed?

  She doubted it. His plan’s boldness stunned her, but she could not deny its brilliance too. Why not parlay his hold on her to demand marriage? He could dine with dukes and better himself in a snap. If her income did not match his monetary ambitions, no doubt he could insinuate himself into investments and other financial plans, making use of what income she did have.

  She could hit herself for not seeing the danger of him lighting on the possibilities. She had spent so long unmarried, and uninterested in marriage, and spurious of any suitors, that she had lost sight of the fact that she would be a good catch, and to men far better born than Trilby.

  His behavior had been unforgivable. Brutish. That did not speak well for the happiness of any woman he did marry. All the same, she could not allow Penthurst to duel with him. She had only recently recovered from the last time Penthurst killed a man, and this time it would be all her fault.

  A knock on her door interrupted her racing thoughts. She opened it to find a serving girl, who said his lordship requested she would join him in the card room.

  She dusted the residual grass off her skirt and put on dry shoes. She gave her reflection a passing glance in the looking glass. All she saw were dark eyes peering back at her, and dark hair piled a bit haphazardly atop her crown. She poked a few errant strands back into place, then made her way down.

  The chamber was full of the Crescent’s visitors. Of course it was. Why take the waters when great theater unfolded in one’s hotel? Conversation broke fitfully when she appeared. No one stared, but everyone glanced at her.

  Penthurst sat in a small armchair against one wall, his long form casually lounging with one booted leg extended. He appeared to be reading something. When he noticed her, he stood, and greeted her formally.

  She sat in the chair facing his, feeling conspicuous. “We could have met in the garden. Or taken a turn through the town.”

  “That would never do. You will have to brave this out, and you may as well start now.” He resumed his comfortable position, and again perused the paper he held. “You should see this.”

  She took it. Trilby had written.

  My Lord Duke,

  There will be no choice of weapons, or visit from a second. There will be no duel. You have grievously misunderstood the day’s events. I will endeavor to explain.

  The lady is my fiancée. She agreed to marriage and met me here to effect an elopement to Scotland. When we met this morning for that purpose, she claimed second thoughts on the matter. This despite the money I have laid out in prepar
ation of these nuptials, including letting a house in London, purchasing a wardrobe appropriate to my new station, and hiring the carriage that brought me to Buxton and would in turn bring us both to Scotland, then back to town.

  As for my behavior as I reacted to this unexpected lack of constancy on her part, I have no excuse other than the shock of a man anticipating lifelong happiness but instead facing the death of his most cherished dream.

  I will apologize to her if you would be good enough to arrange a brief meeting. I trust she will understand that, under the circumstances, I will have no choice except to bring a breach of contract action against her, but that is for a later day.

  Your servant,

  Algernon Trilby

  She folded the letter and set it on the table between them. “I never agreed to marry this man.”

  “I find it odd that he has an explanation for everything, while you have one for nothing.”

  “I swear that I never—”

  “You do not have to swear for my benefit. I am neither judge nor jury.”

  She did have to swear, however. She did not want him thinking she had been so stupid as to agree to marriage with Trilby, then so callous as to throw him over at the last minute. “I have had no relationship with him that could even be misinterpreted as one that might lead to marriage. He is not my fiancé.”

  He nodded. “And we know he is not your lover. After all, your innocence belongs to me.”

  She could not believe he made reference to that in the Crescent’s card room. Ever so calmly too.

  “Yet he is here, and so are you.” He tapped the letter. “Will you be satisfied with an apology? I will insist on the duel if you prefer. He will refuse, but the world will know him as a coward. That means more to names more illustrious than his, unfortunately. I believe he is willing to live with it.”

  “It is better than being dead, isn’t it?”

  He acknowledged as much with a tip of his head. “Are you going to tell me what brought you to Buxton?”

  She pictured his reaction if she did. She would have to explain about the blackmail, and the novel she had written . . .

  “I will not. I will tell you this, however. I have done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. I may have been foolish and blind, but I never believed he would claim such a lie as a betrothal between us. He has no cause to do so, and is taking advantage of the coincidence of our both being in Buxton at the same time.” She almost stumbled on the tiny untruth about it being a coincidence.

  “Perhaps he learned you were coming here, and followed you.”

  She said nothing, and prayed that supposition would be accepted.

  “Your reticule this morning looked very plump, Lydia.” He leaned toward her over the table and captured her gaze with his. “Did you come to Buxton to gamble? Did you journey so far from home so your brother would not hear of it?”

  Whoever thought that her dreaded gambling would save her like this? Several clever retorts lined up in her head, all of them admiring his remarkable powers of perception. She did not have the heart to speak any of them. He had saved her from an impossible situation, and deserved better.

  “I will only say what I have already said. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Not yet, at least.” He stood, and offered his hand. “Let us partake of the midday meal they offer here. Then I will write to Trilby, and arrange his apology.”

  She permitted his escort out of the card room. As they crossed the threshold, chairs scraped the floor as the other guests decided to dine too.

  “You have quizzed me, Penthurst. Now permit me one question. What are you doing here?”

  He kept her palm poised atop his hand, as if they led a formal party down to dinner. Indeed a long line had formed behind them. “I followed you. First to Crownhill, then here. You knew I would. I all but promised it.” He looked around the appointments of the Crescent as they paraded down the stairs. “You chose well for us. Devonshire ensured this was a very elegant place. It would have been more than comfortable, and, but for the unfortunate events of the morning, it would have been perfectly discreet too.”

  Not for the first time today, she sensed that she had missed half of a conversation. “For us? Discreet?”

  “For when I collected on your debt, Lydia. That is the real reason you led me all the way here, isn’t it?”

  That quip did not make for an enjoyable meal. Penthurst ensured she ate, although her appetite had left her. She sat across from him again, feeling the eyes of the guests on them both, hearing a few whispers that included his name.

  She cleared her throat. “About that debt . . .”

  “Debts. Plural. Remember?”

  “I would be a strange woman if I forgot. However, you did say that you might consider forgiving them if I requested it.”

  “I spoke in the past tense. I might have considered forgiving them if you had requested it.”

  “I thought you would find that lacking in character on my part—to engage in such a wager only to beg off if I lost.”

  “I would find it lacking in honesty, that is true.”

  “Yet as a gentleman, you could not be thinking of actually—of going through with it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there are rules about such things. About innocents and—such things.”

  “I am not sure there are any rules that cover our situation. Nor have you shown much inclination for following rules. I can’t see why I should be bound by them if you are not.”

  “You are going to make me beg, aren’t you? Humble myself. Fall to my knees and plead.”

  “That sounds very appealing.”

  “You are a scoundrel to demand that of me before you let me out of the debt.”

  “Oh, are we still talking about forgiving the debt?”

  “Of course. Why else would I beg and plead?”

  A vague, slow smile formed. “You are an innocent, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I look forward to enlightening you.”

  “You are teasing me, and it is not amusing.”

  “A week ago I was teasing. Even days ago. However, I would say that your making good on that debt has become inevitable now.”

  “Only if you are a scoundrel.”

  “It will not be I who forces the issue, Lydia.” He made a vague gesture to the chamber’s occupants. “They have not figured out who you are yet. It is only a matter of time, however. Pretend you are one of your aunts, and a fellow gossip calls with a delicious story about a certain duke, a parvenu, a lady, and fisticuffs on the streets of Buxton. See in your mind what they all have seen, and ask the questions they are asking.”

  She tried to stand outside of it all, and indeed see it thus. Everyone would learn she had traveled here alone, she had to admit. They might learn she stayed at the Crescent as Mrs. Howell. They would assume she had come here to have an assignation with either Trilby or Penthurst. They would conclude the gentlemen had fought over some notion both had of rights to her. They would have heard of Penthurst’s challenge, and of this time she now spent with him. Word would spread that he and she had taken chambers in the same hotel.

  As she viewed the events this way and that, and itemized the likely gossip that would spread, her heart beat harder and harder. With each thump a word loomed larger in her mind’s eye. Scandal.

  She stared at Penthurst. He looked back, not unkindly, but with a resigned expression that indicated he had already worked out what she was just beginning to realize.

  From beneath lowered lids she glanced to her right, and to the diners who had followed her from the card room. Did she imagine that all of them kept one eye on her and the duke? The low buzz of conversations roamed the chamber. Penthurst. Yes, that is he. The woman? A lady. Do you recognize her? I can’t place her, but the men addressed her as Lady Lydia . . .

  “What do I do?” she whispered desperately.

  “The choices are limited.”

  “It isn’
t fair. I did nothing wrong.”

  “Will the reason for this journey vindicate you? Can you offer a plausible excuse that can be the foundation of a rebuttal? If so, you might try that.”

  The true reason would hardly save her. Rather the opposite.

  “I gather the answer is no,” he said dryly.

  “I cannot bear that I will bring this upon my brother and Emma. I could survive it myself, if it were only me.”

  “No, you could not. Trust me on that. Well, the solution is clear, I think you will agree.”

  Nothing was clear. The more she thought of the storm forming on the horizon, the foggier her thoughts became. Perhaps as a duke he thought he could simply decree she be spared?

  “My name is linked to yours in this. Assumptions will be made,” he said, watching her closely. “We will marry forthwith.”

  That shocked her head clear. “But I do not want to marry you.”

  “That is unfortunate. Yet marry you will, Lydia. I’ll be damned if I will be known as a man who has an affair with the unmarried sister of his best friend, and does not do the honorable thing.”

  Chapter 12

  She looked like she faced a hangman’s noose. Eyes wide. Lips slightly parted. Skin drained of color.

  Shock. Shock and horror.

  If he were not so insulted, he would find it amusing.

  He poured some wine and pushed it toward her. “Drink some, and look adoringly at me instead of like a woman bereft of hope. Give them a show, Lydia. It will help the story.”

  She gulped some wine. She found some composure behind her sphinx mask. Hell, but he hated when she did that. “What story?”

  “You and I developed a tendre, and decided to elope. We came here separately; to then travel together to Scotland. Trilby, a spurned suitor, followed you and tried to interfere. Maddened by the thought of losing you forever—”

  “There is no need to be melodramatic.”

  “Of losing you forever, he attempted that abduction this morning, which I stopped. After ensuring you were recovered, in the morning we continued on our planned journey and wed as soon as we crossed the border.”