Lucy Anglesey made for a sad sight with slumped, thin shoulders, and a walk that spoke plainly of the trampled state of her spirits.
“Miss Anglesey!” Holly called out, hurrying after her.
The young woman stopped walking and glanced uncertainly over her shoulder. Her expression turned to utter astonishment as she caught sight of a duchess hurrying after her.
“Hello, Miss Anglesey – I am told by my housekeeper that you came after a position.”
The girl executed a hasty, startled curtsey. “Yes, Your Grace, but she was right: I am not suited for the post.”
Holly waved that aside with a gloved hand. “Don’t you think you had better let me be the judge of that?”
Lucy blinked, her expression caught somewhere between hope and confusion. It was obvious that she could not believe Holly’s words.
“Now, you have worked as an upstairs maid before?”
“I have lately been a chamber maid in the household of Lord and Lady Morcombe, but I was dismissed. His lordship’s brother… So you see I perfectly understand, Your Grace, why Mrs Willan could not appoint me. I have been dishonoured and you will not wish to taint your household with such matters. You have every right to dismiss me out of sight.” She didn’t quite meet Holly’s eyes.
Holly was astonished. “I won’t hear of it, Miss Anglesey. I absolutely won’t. The man is a vile scoundrel, and I am confident he will get his comeuppance soon enough. It is a dreadful tale, but you are not to blame. I am only relieved that you are unharmed otherwise, and I am sorry you have been the victim of one of his tricks. I would never think to punish anyone for being fooled in such a matter. And there will be no dismissals.”
“I do not understand.”
“Ah, but it is really simple. All the silly gossip is immaterial where your appointment is concerned,” Holly said “Now, it seems to me we had better be done with all this fuss about unsuitability and return indoors, before some grand personage sees the Duchess of Strathavon outside without a bonnet. Domestic matters are my concern, after all, and I say that you shall be appointed my new lady’s maid. Come, we shall see about your lodgings, and some breakfast.”
Lucy’s face lit up briefly at the mention of breakfast. They proceeded back, past the white terraces.
“Lady Strathavon… I really don’t know what to say. I cannot begin to thank you for taking pity on me as you have done,” Lucy said, looking at her with bright blue eyes.
Holly shook her head.
“Then it is fortunate that there is no need. I understand your sentiment, and we shall say no more of it. I only hope that you like cats, Lucy. Now tell me, have you always lived in London?”
As it turned out, Lucy had had a very sad childhood, having grown up in one of the charitable houses for orphans located in the east end of the city.
It had not been an easy life, but Holly was struck by the girl’s persistent desire to survive and make something of herself. Lucy, for her part, seemed astonished that a duchess had cared to ask.
With her unexpected show of kindness to a complete stranger, Holly had unwittingly won the girl’s eternal trust and devotion.
*
That night, Holly and Strathavon had supper at the house. The duke looked tired and drawn, his eyes opaque and unreadable. Holly was sure she could feel pain and uncertainty radiating off him.
It was very difficult to imagine what could have caused her stalwart duke to feel uncertain. She longed more than anything to heal his woes.
“Sylvester, something is bothering you. What has happened?” Holly asked him quietly, her eyes intent on his face.
He sighed and looked at her over his glass of burgundy wine, mouth curling into a faint and bitter parody of a smile. “There seems little point in obliging you, madam, to hear my useless regrets.”
“Oblige me none the less,” came the crisp reply. Holly would not play along with his game of melancholy. Whatever it was could not be so bad.
The duke looked blank a moment, taken aback. He had come to learn that Holly often said the first thing that came to mind – where he was concerned, these things were often not very complimentary.
Her impertinence was remarkable, and yet he liked her all the more for it. Did she really care to hear about his private torment?
And did she have the faintest inkling that, aside from his memories, she was the unknowing orchestrator of all his turmoil?
He waved a dismissive hand, as though he could scatter sorrow like a flock of pigeons.
“There is a certain inexplicable charm in your company, my dear – I cannot understand it, but I own I find it most diverting.” He looked at her a moment longer, as though trying to make sense of an ungraspable sentiment just a smidgeon out of his reach.
Holly looked at him impassively, waiting as she had often done with her siblings when she’d wanted them to own up to some disaster. Strathavon cleared his throat.
“I believe that I owe you an apology. For a great many things. I ought not to have left you by yourself in the country, and I ought not to have been so completely unpardonable to you this Season. My only explanation is that I could not allow myself to feel anything for you, even as I saw love bloom in your eyes. It near killed me when I saw it die.”
Holly froze. Die? When could he possibly have seen that?
“How good of you to acknowledge your beastly behaviour, Your Grace. But we will leave the question of love out of it for now, if you please. That is hardly a valid reason for abandoning me without warning as you had done.”
She had remarkably large eyes, which were currently fixed on Sylvester in expectation of his next words, and he noticed that she had a remarkably pretty little nose, too. He did not dare contemplate her mouth lest he should decide to taste it for himself.
This was infuriating: it was only Holly, his Holly, and yet he was in her power as though she were Venus come before him.
“No, it is not valid at all. It was badly done, and for that I can only beg your pardon.”
She appeared to think about it, and he wondered what she would say next. Would she spurn him, dismiss him, laugh at him? He felt certain that this new Holly, the jewel of London society, did not need his pathetic apologies.
He examined her eyes, her face, so delicate and lovely as the moon. His eyes took in her simple muslin gown. She always wore her palest, most innocent gowns when she was up to some dreadful scheme. Undoubtedly, she had every intention of toying with him.
She looked up with an air of the most infuriating calm and even gave him a warm smile.
“Then you are pardoned, if you really mean those words. I think that you do. But that is not what has been troubling you – or at least it is by far not the greater part of your troubles.”
Had he quarrelled with Lady Charlotte? She wondered, feeling the familiar ache in her chest. Was that what made him look so despondent?
But no. That wasn’t correct – his partiality could hardly be an attachment of the heart. She had never seen love in his eyes around that woman. Whatever connection lay between them, it was something else.
She wondered if he would confide in her, and was pleased when he did.
“Today… is the anniversary of the death of my brother. I cannot help but remember.”
Ah. Holly nodded gently, fighting the urge to leave her chair and go over to him in fear that he might cut her off again.
“Do you not wish to remember?”
The duke downed his wine, and a footman came forward out of the shadows to refill his glass. “I am not at all certain I deserve to. We…did not part on very good terms before he left to return to the fleet.”
“Oh, but you do, you do!” Holly exclaimed, eyes bright with the feeling that had swelled in her chest. “It is so clear that your brother was dear to you. How can a quarrel, no matter how unfortunately timed, nullify years of trust and brotherly affection? And all the work you have put into Pontridge – he would have been proud.”
Strathavon f
elt his heart clench at the passion with which she had flown to his rescue. Was this what his life with Holly could be? Someone who was always there to trust him to the ends of the world, to look at him with eyes full of such unbelievable confidence?
“Ah, Pontridge. I cannot help but wonder if I would have been a better duke, had I expected it from the first,” Strathavon said with a slightly bitter laugh.
Holly blinked, surprised at this vulnerable bitterness. “I have recently learned that it is never too late to become what you might have been, or what you wish to be,” she said to him quietly.
She reached out and touched his arm gently, as though afraid that their sudden intimacy would shatter like crystal. The warmth of his arm sent a pleasant shiver through her and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears.
“I… Thank you,” said the duke, his rich, deep voice like a balm upon her heart. Two such simple words, and yet there was so much more to be found beneath the surface.
She returned his thanks with a smile, and reluctantly withdrew her hand, taking her own calming sip of wine.
“I rather forgot. I was about town today, and I saw a trifle I thought you might like,” the duke said casually, producing a little wooden box from the pocket of his immaculate coat, and presenting it to Holly across the table as though he were merely passing her a dish.
The box itself was a magnificent polished mahogany, inlaid with gold and pearl. Holly opened it carefully, wishing to keep this moment forever in her memory – the nearness of him and the slightly flinty expression in his eyes, which belied some nervousness at her reaction to this unexpected gift.
Speechless and full of a fluttering trepidation, Holly opened the pretty box. What would have prompted Strathavon to buy her a gift?
Inside, on a lush blue silk lining, was a pair of lovely Perpignan garnet drop earrings, set in gold surrounded by clear diamonds, like dewy petals on a flower. Holly recognised them instantly – they were much in vogue, and sported by ladies of the finest taste.
The garnets had a unique, pink hue – she had never thought to own such beautiful, distinctive pieces. They caught the candlelight, and almost appeared to light up from within.
“I do hope you find them pleasing?” her duke asked quietly. In those words, Holly read everything she needed to know about the gift.
“Very,” she said, with a shy smile. “They are breathtakingly lovely. Thank you. But I would hardly call them a trifle.”
When she smiled into his eyes, the duke felt warmth spread through his heart.
“Ah, but they are compared to you.”
Holly’s startled eyes met his and she felt her throat tighten unreasonably. The earrings were very beautiful but it was the thought and the gesture that had really touched her.
“They are beautiful. Thank you,” she repeated softly, reaching out to touch his hand for the second time that evening. That simple touch seemed to send a current through them – and his eyes grew more intense as he watched her face.
“You’d better try them on, then,” he said a little hoarsely.
She nodded, still caught in the strange dreamy haze that enveloped them. Holly carefully removed the filigree earrings her mother had given her the previous Christmas and laid them in the box.
As he watched her, Strathavon felt that he knew exactly what enchantment felt like. The sparkle of the stones perfectly matched that of her eyes.
*
The more time Holly spent observing the interactions between Sir John and Verity, the more she felt certain of the perfection of the match. Provided that Verity were persuaded to ever truly notice Sir John amongst the imaginary heroes she longed for.
Lord Myles was currently her most favoured swain, because she thought him to be heroic and generous.
Fuelled to greater dislike of the man by what had happened to Lucy, Holly longed very much to tell her friend the truth about this apparent philanthropist. But she knew very well that matters of the heart required a lighter touch.
“I am confident that she will lose all regard for him,” Holly confided in Lucy, when the maid was helping dress her hair for a walk in the park. “It merely wants a push in the right direction. Some way to shatter her illusion of that nefarious man.”
“I hope that you are right, my lady. Miss Dacre has ever been a very kind person, and she does not deserve the unhappiness of such a match.”
Since having found a new home in the Strathavon household, Lucy seemed to have come into herself. Her shoulders were not as stooped, her complexion rosier, and her eyes grew fractionally less despondent by the day. Holly hoped very much that a day would come when the memory of Lord Myles Wooley’s betrayal would cease to affect her at all, though she supposed that that would take a lot longer.
“You ought to wear your warm spencer, Lady Strathavon. It has been raining and it is very chilly out,” said Lucy, finished with Holly’s hair.
“Not to mention dreadfully muddy. Yes, thank you, Lucy, a longer spencer will do very well. The blue velvet, I think.”
In fact, the blue velvet did a very fine job of keeping Holly warm for the walk, though it was a lot less useful when it came to mud. Verity had insisted that they take one of the wooded paths instead of the wide avenues, because they felt so much more the thing for adventure.
Holly had to wonder at her own propensity to get mud splatters all over the hem of her gown when Verity, walking ahead with Miss Sanford, endeavoured to look so tidy. They were talking about the war and Miss Sanford’s brother, who was at the front. Lord Myles walked just behind them, while Holly and Sir John brought up the rear.
“I do think the avenue might have been a better choice,” the baronet said, helping Holly step over a mossy patch in her slippery shoes.
“Yes, I agree – but one can hardly fly in the face of adventure,” Holly replied, tucking up a chestnut curt that had come lose.
“Ah, yes – adventure. I’m afraid I have once again failed to be a figure of grand romance,” said her companion. He inclined his head to where their friends had come to a stop. Lord Myles used a fallen stick to demonstrate a fencing manoeuvre while his companions giggled at his rakishness, hands delicately over their mouths.
“Avaunt! Just like that. Do you see, Miss Dacre? It is the best way to secure an instant victory.”
“Oh, how can you, Lord Myles,” said Verity with a flush.
“But why ever not, sweet lady? It is just the thing to win an engagement. Unless one has agreed on pistols, of course.”
“I will confess to you, Holly, that I have never had occasion to wield a pistol at dawn,” the baronet said quietly, watching the proceedings.
“I didn’t think so. But then, neither has Lord Myles, I’d wager.”
Sir John looked at her directly. “No? But he just demonstrated –”
Holly shook her head. “My brother Tom has the best sword hand in the navy, and one learns to notice a thing or two. Lord Myles has a stance and technique fit only to tread the boards – I’m afraid that his style is purely theatrical. Whatever else he may or may not know about swords, if he fought like that at a dawn engagement, he would be dead within minutes. Flair is not enough to keep a fellow alive.”
“I own, Lady Strathavon, you are a fount of the most astonishing knowledge,” her friend laughed. “And kindness.”
Another burst of giggles broke into their conversation. Lord Myles had convinced a flushing Verity to hop over a fallen log instead of circling around it, extending a hand to help her over her obstacle.
“He’s very surreptitious, isn’t he? And I am the one meant to be playing the rake,” Sir John commented dryly.
“A blackguard, yes. Oh dear,” said Holly, “That log is slippery and her boots –”
Verity rested her weight on the log, balancing a moment as she accepted Lord Myles’s hand to step down, when suddenly her ankle turned, shoe slipping off the log as the young lady crumpled into a heap.
“Miss Dacre!” With a cry, Sir John rushed
to her side, just as Lord Myles hopped back over the log.
“I say, Miss Dacre, are you hurt?”
Holly hurried over, doing her best not to slip on the soggy path as the gentlemen helped her friend to her feet. Miss Sanford stood out of their way with a horrified expression on her face.
Verity’s countenance was stark with pain and surprise as she held on so Sir John’s arm. Her wide blue eyes were welling up with unshed tears.
“Can you put any weight on your foot?” Holly asked her friend.
Verity tried, and gasped, shaking her head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Do sit down, Verity! We must have a physician,” said Miss Sanford.
“No good will come of sitting down in this damp,” Sir John said firmly.
“But surely, you don’t mean for Miss Dacre to walk?” said Lord Myles, while surreptitiously checking his fob-watch.
“I should think not.” With those words, Sir John swung Verity into his arms.
“Oh!” gasped the young lady, staring into his face with an expression of such surprise that her injury must have been temporarily forgotten.
Her face flooded with colour at this daring show of gallantry. Or was it the gentleman’s proximity that so affected her…
“I say, that’s quite a liberty there, Compton,” said Lord Myles a little snidely. “Miss Dacre might mistake your intentions.”
Sir John ignored him. “Holly, if you wouldn’t mind walking ahead – I trust you to keep the best footing. Lord Myles, if you would be so very good as to help Miss Sanford, lest she should also slip?” His voice was full of barbs when he turned to his rival.
Holly gave her friend an appraising look, before nodding and proceeding on ahead. She had never before seen him show such a strength of character. In fact, not even Lord Myles dared say a thing in protest as the party proceeded on their way. For a moment Holly almost believed the stories she’d told Verity about Sir John’s piratical character.
They made it back out of the park without any further mishaps, though their procession had drawn a few curious looks from the few other souls taking the air.
Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess Page 20