Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret

by Christine Merrill

  And hadn’t it been she who was meant to rescue him from drowning? When had things reversed so completely? He held his breath. After what seemed like an eternity, she raised an eyebrow, said something that must have been cutting, judging by the shock that had replaced the smugness on the face of the dancing master. Then she swept past him, and past Robert as well, to find her own way to her seat about halfway down the table.

  She had been a pretty girl when he had met her, with a pedigree as fine as he could have hoped for, despite her lack of virtue. But as a woman, she was magnificent. Between the red of her gown and the perfect hauteur, she seemed to glow with a fearless grace that made Charlotte Deveril look like a scheming child in comparison. In response to her entrance men all around the room pricked to awareness like stallions in rut.

  And he was one of them. Not just one. He was the strongest, the largest, the most important, the leader of the herd and the only one worthy of such a woman. For the first time in his life he was glad to be Reighland. It would make the winning of her an easy thing.

  When he had thought of himself as just plain Robert, he had hoped she would be the making of him, with her family name and her careful breeding. But she was still young, almost painfully so, and barely formed in mind or body. It had been too a heavy burden to place all his hopes on her. But tonight, before his eyes, she was becoming the woman he needed, with grace, power and the quick wit to navigate the deep waters they would inhabit.

  He found his seat near the head of the table, as precedence dictated, and stared down the table until he’d caught her eye. She looked startled, as though her nerve was failing. But she was wearing his ring again. He glanced at her hand resting on the stem of a goblet and gave a nod of approval. He wished himself at her side, leaning close to speak to her so that she would know that all the trouble between them was over. Instead, he would spend Lord knew how many courses wedged between the hostess and the dowager in awkward conversation.

  But it seemed that dinner would be interesting after all. The dancing master was taking a seat across the table from him. To explain the honour, Mrs Deveril made some excuse about an old French title in the house of Gervaise, but all present knew that it was nothing more than a sick joke to seat them together. Gervaise should not be at the party at all. If he was suffered there, he belonged at the foot of the table, or perhaps in the kitchen with the rest of the help. His presence was yet another attempt to humiliate Priscilla and to make Robert not so subtly aware that the rumours had truth in them. His future wife had been another man’s plaything. If he did not wish to acknowledge it, society meant to continually rub it in his face until he was forced to cry off.

  Down the table, Priss saw what was happening and poked the meat around her plate, waiting for the inevitable misstep by Gervaise that would raise Robert’s temper. She took a bite and chewed methodically, clearly tasting none of the food. She meant to ignore the slight, even if it meant that she choked to death on her dinner.

  Which meant that he was expected to make conversation with his neighbours, while the whole table hung on every banal word, hoping for a disaster to enliven the evening. Now, of all times, he should not let his composure slip.

  Cold fury flooded through him, the desire to strike out blindly at his enemies. And as always, it was followed by impotent rage and the patient voice of his father reminding him that he must control himself, at all costs. What was the good of being large enough to hurt someone, if one never dared use that strength?

  But now he was not simply large—his reach as Reighland was longer than any corporeal arm. The strength of the title was greater than mere muscle. And as he thought about the unfamiliar power that had been given to him, he felt the first real understandings of its use. He had been but playing before, Robert Magson acting as he thought a duke should behave. But the truth was suddenly plain to him.

  He was Reighland. He sat in a place of honour at another man’s table; the places where he would not be given the best seat numbered on less than two hands. Here, he could and would do just as he wished and the people around him could like it or be damned.

  He smiled. It would be a shame to send the crowd home without a show.

  Then he applied himself to the plate before him, cutting an oversized chunk of meat and stuffing it into his mouth, taking it down with big gulps of his wine. Let him be every bit the country farmer that people thought him. ‘So, Mr Gervaise, what do you do to occupy yourself?’ He interrupted the dancing master’s conversation with his neighbour and said the question overly loud, pointing his knife in the man’s direction.

  For a moment, Gervaise remembered their last meeting and his eyes rolled white. Then he wet his lips with a sip of wine. ‘Since the fall of ma belle France, I have been forced to take employment educating the young ladies in the terpiscorial arts.’

  ‘Terpsicory?’ Robert grinned at him, showing his fangs. ‘And what is that, then? Some sort of gardening, I’ll wager. Cutting the shrubs to look like sheep and what not? I would think they’d have servants for that.’

  ‘No, your Grace,’ Gervaise said with a smirk. ‘I teach zem to dance.’

  ‘Oh,’ Robert said, giving a small laugh at his own expense. ‘My mistake. What is it your people say? “Love teaches even asses to dance”.’

  He’d said it quickly and in what he had been assured was perfectly accented French. Perhaps these nothings assumed that he had spent a lifetime mucking stalls. But before the war, he had managed the Grand Tour, just as the rest of them had. All down the table, people seized their napkins and covered their mouths to hide the laughter. But Gervaise remained totally blank, for he had not understood a word.

  Priss shifted nervously in her chair. A few looks in her direction showed that the guests were questioning whether all the barbs in that proverb had been directed at Gervaise alone. They were wondering—did he know about her past? And what did he think of it, if he did?

  He would show them soon enough.

  ‘Do not worry about your diminished position,’ he said to Gervaise, with a conspiratorial grin. ‘Before I began with running the country, I had a farm. And look at me now.’ He spread his arms wide to prove that he ruled the world, nearly knocking over his water glass.

  ‘How interesting, your Grace.’ Gervaise had the nerve to shoot Priss a sympathetic smile. ‘And what did you raise on zees farm of yours?’

  ‘Horses, mostly. But there were the usual number of problems that one might expect on a farm. There was always something breeding. The dogs, for example.’ Reighland dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Did you know that some men, when presented with an unwanted litter of pups, will simply bag them up and toss them in the river?’

  A few of the ladies at the table gave low gasps of disapproval at his topic of conversation.

  ‘Do not fear,’ he said, grinning down the table at them, wagging his finger. ‘I am quite fond of dogs. I would never drown some insolent puppy for being a bother. What can they do, after all, but bark mindlessly and gnaw at my boots with their little milk teeth, trying to annoy?’

  Eyes went round all around the table. And Gervaise still appeared to be a step behind.

  ‘But vermin? They are quite another manner.’ And this he delivered straight into Gervaise’s blank face. ‘I do not like vermin. They make no end of destruction. They threaten my comfort, my property and my family,’ He lost his smile and all trace of the hearty and genial farmer disappeared. ‘Vermin, Mr Gervaise, are not to be tolerated. When I find them, I exterminate them. Utterly. When I am through with them, Mr Gervaise, it is as if they never existed.’ He brought his knife down so suddenly on his plate that the whole table jumped and he had to glance himself to make sure he had not damaged the Deveril china. Then he brought the blade forwards in a swift stroke, cutting a particularly bloody bite of roast beef, and chewing slowly as though he could feel the fle
sh of his enemy between his teeth.

  Gervaise had gone as white as a parsnip. Apparently, the message was received and understood.

  Robert swallowed and looked down the table at his fellows. ‘I should be little better, if I were to find that my neighbours had set the rats in the grain bin to do me mischief. Where there should be brotherhood, it would pain me to find betrayal. And I would treat my enemies much the same as I would the rats they released, grinding them into the dirt and sweeping them from my path.’

  He took another bite of meat, chewed, swallowed and made another sweeping gesture with his knife that made the people around him flinch.

  ‘There are so many paths available to me I hardly know which way to choose. Duelling, of course, would be deeply satisfying, should I feel someone was threatening me or mine. But that is a rather antiquated way of solving problems, when there are so many subtle courses open to a man of rank and means.’ He looked dreamily off into space for a moment, as though imagining some interesting form of revenge. Then he focused on the crowd again. ‘But I should certainly not sit quietly while those around me made sport at my expense. Nor would I wish to see other, more vulnerable creatures so harassed. A lady, for instance. I am sure I would come to the rescue of the woman I love and hold her honour as dear as my own.’

  When he looked at Priscilla, her hands were shaking so much that she almost spilled her wine. He willed strength back to her and she stilled, raised her glass and drank, giving him a look that raised the temperature of his blood. He had not told the whole room he loved her, but the lot of them would have to be as blind as Folbroke to have missed the fact.

  And then he let his eyes rove around the table, to his host, his hostess and their repellant, conniving daughter. ‘But one thing I will not do is waste another moment of my time playing games, held up as a country novelty for the entertainment of the common crowd. I lack the talent to hide my intentions behind false smiles, as some of you do, so allow me to speak plainly. I am young yet, new to London and to my title. But unlike my predecessors, I mean to live a good long time.

  ‘Those who are my friends will see the benefits of my patronage. Those who think to slight me now will have years to suffer the consequences of their mistakes. Now, if you will excuse me, I must take my leave and attend to other matters.’ He reached into his lap and dropped his napkin on his plate, then stood and left the room without another word.

  He walked towards the front door, in a flurry of servants. But before they could attempt to disentangle his carriage from the host of others waiting outside, he held up a hand to stay them. One of his grooms was summoned and he offered a few hushed instructions before heading off on foot towards his next destination, which was barely a mile away.

  * * *

  The servants of the Benbridge household opened for him, but offered some weak excuse about the master being absent, which was utter nonsense. Where else could he be, other than sulking in his own home?

  ‘Then I shall wait,’ he said. ‘Direct me to a sitting room and tell Benbridge and his lady of my presence so that they might wait upon me when they return.’

  He was left to cool his heels for the better part of an hour, as servants scampered up and down the stairs like mice, relaying his message to the master and mistress, and assuring them of the duke’s unwillingness to quit the premises. Then a decision had to be made as to whether it was necessary to dress so as to appear to be returning to maintain the charade.

  * * *

  When at last he saw Benbridge and his loathsome wife, the earl greeted him in normal dinner clothes with a shallow bow and a patently false apology for being away from home.

  ‘You hardly could have been expected to wait upon me tonight. I assume there was some gathering or other that I have missed?’ He looked hopefully at Lady Benbridge, who automatically supplied, ‘There was a ball held by the Deverils this evening.’

  ‘Really.’ He feigned surprise. ‘I did not think it likely that you would be there. Both of your daughters attended, and you do not seem inclined to speak to either of them.’

  ‘I have no daughters,’ the earl erupted with such heat and force that the words might as well have been lava.

  ‘On the contrary. You have two daughters. I have met them both,’ Robert corrected. ‘I am going to marry one of them.’

  ‘You still intend, after all the news of her, to wed that little fool?’ Benbridge’s response was half-surprise and half-hope, as though, at this late date, he could retract his bad behaviour towards his younger child.

  ‘Mind your tongue, old man. You are talking about my future wife,’ Robert said, finally out of patience. ‘I have had enough with your family intrigues. They end tonight. The wedding will continue, exactly as planned, and you will attend it, as will John and Drusilla Hendricks.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Benbridge held a hand to his ear, as though pretending he had not heard.

  ‘Let me speak more clearly,’ Robert answered. ‘It is one thing to politely avoid the company of a person we do not like. That is what I plan to do with you in the future. But it is quite another to make embarrassing public displays of animosity in some pathetic effort to call attention to your own importance.’ He glanced in the general direction of the witch that Benbridge had married. ‘Just as it is one thing to refuse an invitation and another to have no invitations to refuse. If you wish to play these silly games, I will play them as well and see to it that you are cut from guest lists all over London. In the end, I will come out on top of any argument we might have.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, sir?’ the old earl all but crowed in outrage.

  ‘Yes, I believe I am,’ Robert said, with a pleasant smile. ‘Either we will manage to maintain a cordial dislike and you will treat both your daughters with civility, if not with warmth, or I will go out of my way to crush your hopes and thwart your goals. Your choice, Benbridge. Entirely your choice. And now, I must go. It has been an interesting evening thus far, but for me, it is far from over. We look forward to seeing you in church.’

  * * *

  When he exited Benbridge’s house, the Reighland carriage was waiting in the street, just as he’d assumed it would be. The groom helped him into his seat and he gave a benevolent smile to the man on the opposite bench who was trussed like a Christmas goose.

  ‘Gervaise. So kind of you to join me this evening. I will require just a few moments of your time.’ He reached across and removed the gag from the man’s mouth. At one time, he might have shouted at the man to ensure his fear, but tonight he needed to be nothing more than icily polite. It was clearly effective for the dancing master looked ready to wet himself.

  ‘I did not join you. I was set upon by ruffians,’ he stammered.

  ‘Only because I was too busy to wait for you myself. So I arranged for your kidnapping,’ Robert said. ‘I did not have to lift a finger.’ Which ought to satisfy both Priss and the memory of his father.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Gervaise’s gaze darted towards the covered window.

  ‘To a place where you will never be able to disrespect me or my duchess ever again.’

  ‘You mean to kill me. Exterminate me, as you said at dinner.’ Gervaise’s voice was shrill and there was no trace left of the false French accent he had attempted.

  ‘You admit you are vermin, then?’ Robert gave him an encouraging nod.

  ‘Yes,’ Gervaise whined.

  ‘Very good. We are in agreement. But now let us set the matter straight. I do not mean to kill you. I wish to kill you. But those are two quite different things.’

  ‘Please, don’t.’

  ‘That should be “please don’t, your Grace”.’

  ‘Your Grace,’ Gervaise sputtered.

  ‘You would do well to remember that. As I said, I am not going to kill you
. I made a promise to Lady Priscilla not to hurt you, but my vow can hardly be expected to extend to my servants. It appears that they were overzealous in collecting you. I apologise, of course. But I will admit, it does not bother me over much.’

  He leaned across the space between them so that he might speak directly into the man’s face. ‘You would be wise to thank God for the lady’s charity and for my sudden decision to value my word of honour over my personal desire to maim you. After what you have done, you are lucky to be so small and pale and worthless. If I were not so sure that I could snap you in half without exertion, you would die for what you have done.’

  ‘What I have done?’ Gervaise squeaked with outrage, making him sound even more like the rat he was.

  ‘My intended has told me how you treated her on your aborted elopement. What she describes was little better than rape.’

  ‘She was willing,’ he argued.

  ‘She was alone,’ Robert shouted and the man quailed back into the cushions of the seat. ‘And you hurt her. More than once.’ For a moment, Robert forgot his promise and saw nothing but blood. He regained enough control to limit himself to a single, satisfying slap across Gervaise’s face, but it was enough to loosen several teeth and would raise a welt that would be purple for a week. The dancer sagged from the seat in a dazed heap on the floor of the carriage. Then Robert remembered all he had been taught: physical violence was no answer, nor was it necessary. Especially not now that he was Reighland. He took a moment to calm himself and then continued the speech he had planned.

  ‘As I said, you may retain your worthless life because I would find no sport in ending you. But you will not be given the opportunity to bother Priscilla again.’ The carriage has stopped and the door opened. He grabbed the other man by the collar, pulled him forwards and dropped him to the ground. ‘I have brought you to the docks because, I think, in the interests of your health, a sea voyage is in order. I do not really care where you go, as long as you do not return.’ He grinned down at Gervaise, then scooped the man up, set him on his feet and brushed the dirt from his coat. ‘So which is it to be? Australia? The Americas? Or do you favour a career in the Navy? The choice is yours. But think quickly, before I drop you into the river and let you drown with the rest of the rats.’