by Regina Darcy
Arabella felt Lord Daven tense, his hand tightening around her waist.
“Miss Cartwright is more of a lady in spirit and in manner than you will ever be, Lady Bentley,” he replied, hotly. “I have no reason not to trust her word. In fact, Ainsley,” he continued, turning his attention back to his brother. “She has been worrying about you all. Miss Cartwright—Arabella—holds a deep affection for your children.”
Warmth spread through Arabella’s entire body, slowly removing the tension from her body. The knowledge that he had once loved the Duke’s wife seemed to lessen in significance as she watched the Duke’s brother stand up for her against Lady Bentley. It was obvious he cared for her, for no gentleman would so quickly challenge a duke’s authority for a woman of her position, not unless he had true feelings for her.
“Please, Your Grace,” she pleaded, suddenly filled with courage in light of Lord Daven’s words. “I am telling the truth, I swear it.”
The Duke of Ainsley sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Yes, I know Miss Cartwright. You are quite correct,” he sighed, stepping away from Lady Bentley.
“But why?” Lord Daven asked in an exasperated voice.
The Duke stared at his brother then drily replied, “It is all to do with Eleanor.”
SEVENTEEN
“Eleanor?” Peter repeated, scowling at his brother. “What has your deceased wife got to do with your next one?”
“Nothing, I assure you,” Lady Bentley interjected, in a sing-song voice. “Come now, Ainsley, there is no need for this.”
The Duke turned to her, his face rigid with anger.
“Enough, Lady Bentley!” he shouted, his voice echoing around the room. “I have had more than enough of you!”
Peter watched in astonishment as Lady Bentley’s face changed almost at once. Instead of the laughing, almost serene expression on her face, her eyes narrowed, and her lips twisted cruelly.
“You had better be careful with how you address me, Ainsley. Eleanor’s name can still be dragged through the mud, as you well know. And not only hers…” She threw a pointed look towards Peter, who stared at her in confusion.
“Whatever has this got to do with me?” he exclaimed, looking to his brother for an explanation.
A sliver of guilt crept into him, as he realised he had been wrong about his brother. He had believed that he was jumping into marriage with whichever eligible woman he chose, but now it appeared he had been entirely wrong.
“Whatever Lady Bentley thinks she has over you, Ainsley, I will not be the cause of it,” Peter whispered hoarsely.
Ainsley sat down heavily, putting his head in his hands. “Peter, you must forgive me. I was only doing it to protect both you and Eleanor.”
“Me?” Peter replied, walking towards his brother with Arabella in tow. “Why should you protect me?”
“Because of what I did to you!” Ainsley exclaimed, lifting his head to look into Peter’s face. “I took the woman you loved as my own, and made her my wife.” With a groan, he dropped his head back into his hands. “Too late did I see what I had done to you.”
Peter stared at his brother, hardly able to believe what he had heard. Beside him, he heard Arabella gasp as the truth finally came to light. He glanced at her, seeing her horror-stricken expression.
“How interested would society be to hear of your love affair with the Duke’s wife, prior to her marriage,” Lady Bentley interrupted silkily. “You did not think that you would be able to keep such a thing to yourself now, did you?”
Growling, Peter turned to face the conniving Lady Bentley. “We have kept it within the family for some years,” he retorted, coldly. “However did you stumble across such a thing?”
“Do you not know?” she replied, her tone calculated.
“Dear, dear Eleanor and I were once friends!” She threw her head back and laughed. “Well, acquaintances more like. However, she did let down her guard once, Lord Daven. She …shall we say ‘misplaced’ one of your love letters and I tucked it away in case I should ever need it.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she glared at them all.
“Now, should the Duke refuse to marry me, then I shall tell all of society about the Duchess and her true relationship with you, Lord Daven. My version of events will be quite scandalous indeed. Since your roguish reputation precedes you, I do not think it will take much for the ton to believe me. Who knows?” she continued, with a toss of her head.
“Perhaps there will be questions raised over the Duke’s children, which could continue for generations.”
Peter did not know what to say. There seemed no way out for, whilst he cared very little for himself, he held his nieces and nephew close to his heart. He could not allow their names to be dragged through the mud.
“You witch,” he said, softly. “Have you no heart? No consideration for anyone but yourself?”
Lady Bentley let out a tittering laugh. “Of course not, you foolish man! I am the only one that matters in all of this, and I have lofty plans for my future.”
“To be a Duchess,” Arabella interrupted, coldly. “Is that all you seek? A title?”
“You are a governess, so I can hardly expect you to understand,” Lady Bentley replied, with a wave of her hand. “Why are you still here, Miss Cartwright? Has the Duke not dismissed you? Should you not be packing your bags at this very moment?”
A sudden idea struck Peter. He turned towards Arabella and whispered in her ear. “Can you fetch the Dowager Duchess?” he whispered, softly. “Tell her it is a matter of some urgency.”
Arabella nodded at once, giving him a quick smile before walking from the room.
“You see,” Lady Bentley crowed. “Your governess is aware of who has the authority here, Ainsley. It is high time you and your brother learned the same.”
Peter balled his hands into fists, and let her congratulate herself. At this point, he could not see why Ainsley had kept the shrew’s threats to himself.
Surely whatever was in the letter, was not of such a scandalous nature. Unfortunately, his memory failed to bring to his recollection the nature of his correspondence with Eleanor. Their breakup had been a turbulent time.
He took a deep breath. It was best that everyone in the family knew exactly what was going on and who Lady Bentley truly was. Mother would be able to talk some sense into Ainsley, he was afraid whatever he said, he would be unable to get through to him.
***
“Your Grace,” Arabella gasped, bursting into the small glass house where the Dowager Duchess was tending her plants.
“Please, I must beg of you to come at once.”
The older lady looked up at once, astonishment on her face. “Whatever is the matter, Miss Cartwright?” she asked, pulling off her gloves. “Has something happened to the children?”
Arabella shook her head, attempting to catch her breath. She had run practically the entire length of the house before the butler had informed her where her quarry could be found.
“Lady Bentley is attempting to blackmail your son into matrimony,” she exclaimed, aware of just how ridiculous her statement sounded. “Lord Daven sent me to fetch you at once.”
“Good gracious,” the Dowager Duchess muttered, walking with sure steps towards the door. “Where are they?”
“The drawing room, Your Grace,” Arabella replied, trailing a step or two behind her.
“Keep up, girl,” the lady exclaimed, glancing back at Arabella. “And explain to me exactly what it is you mean by blackmail. I do not understand. She has seemed very amiable to me, and completely respectable. I cannot imagine her trying to do something so terrible.”
Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Arabella briefly explained what had occurred, guilt twisting her heart as she mentioned Eleanor and her connection to Lord Daven. “I believe Lady Bentley mentioned something about the children, as though she fully intends to start rumours should the Duke refuse to marry her.”
“Thank you, Miss Cartwrigh
t,” came the reply. “I shall take it from here. Please, return to your duties.”
Curtsying, Arabella came to a halt, watching the Dowager Duchess walk towards the drawing room, ever graceful. Sighing heavily, she wished she could hear exactly what was going to transpire, even though it was not her place.
Her eyes slowly turned towards the room where Lord Daven had shown her the secret passage and, without another thought, she made her way there.
EIGHTEEN
“What in heaven’s name is going on?”
Peter turned to see his mother sailing into the room, her face taut with fury. Evidently, Arabella had done her job, although he could not see her walking in after his mother. Perhaps the Dowager Duchess had sent her away.
“We were just about to announce our engagement, Dowager Duchess,” Lady Bentley wheedled, placing her hand on the Duke’s. “Is that not so, Your Grace?”
“Spare me your theatrics,” the Dowager Duchess said drily, glaring at the woman. “I have heard that you intend to pull not only my son’s but my grandchildren’s names through the rumour mill, should you not get what you want. Is that so, Lady Bentley?”
A calculating look came over Lady Bentley’s face, as she realised she was not going to be able to pretend any longer.
“I wish to be the Duchess, yes.”
“And you are willing to do whatever it takes to gain that title, even if it means the rest of the family will despise you?”
Lady Bentley gave a slight shrug. “The title is an honour in of itself.”
Peter opened his mouth to say something, but instead, his brother spoke up before he had the chance.
“We will marry,” he said, through gritted teeth. “And then you will reside elsewhere, and I will reside here. There will be no children. Nothing. You may have the title, but I will give you nothing else.”
Feeling immensely proud of his brother, Peter turned to see what Lady Bentley’s reaction would be, only for her to laugh aloud. “What nonsense, Ainsley! You shall do no such thing. I shall do as I please, for you know what is at stake.” She shook her head, as though speaking to a very small child.
“You should not wish for the rumours to start about your children now, should you?”
“But then you will be as caught up in the rumours, as we all would be!” Peter exclaimed, growing frustrated by the minute. “You cannot hold this over the Duke’s head forever.”
“Oh, but I can,” the lady replied. “For I shall be looked upon with sympathy, should such rumours ever begin. My reputation will not be tainted in the least.” She lifted an eyebrow, a sardonic smile on her face. “You see? I have thought of everything.”
Silence filled the room as Lady Bentley looked at each of them in turn, glee on her face. She was so assured of her victory, that Peter fought the urge to throw her from the room, simply to rid himself of her self-satisfied smile.
“It seems you have bested us,” he heard his mother say, a ring of steel in her voice. “Lady Bentley, it shall be as you say. You will be married to my son, the Duke, and will become the Duchess.”
“No, mama!” Peter exclaimed. “You cannot support this ludicrous course of action! Nothing in any written correspondence between me and Eleanor would be of such a scandalous nature that it warrants the sacrifice of Ainsley’s future to this vulture!” His heart beat frantically in his chest as he saw his mother shake her head at him, apparently resigned.
“Please, Peter,” she said, softly. “Allow me to finish.”
Peter wanted to argue, only to see the glint of steel in his mother’s eye. Wondering if she had something else in mind, he sat down in a chair, waiting for her to finish speaking.
“As I was saying,” the Dowager Duchess continued.
“You shall become the Duchess of Ansley, Lady Bentley, but that is all you shall have. You and I will reside in my son’s Scottish estate, and I shall ensure that no one ever calls upon us. You will have no servants to rule over, for I shall be Mistress of the Household. There will be no visits from the Duke, you shall be man and wife in name only. There will be no prospect of children. That said, you are lucky that the men of the House of Ainsley do not practice corporal punishment on their spouses.”
Lady Bentley’s eyes widened. The Dowager Duchess continued as if she had noticed nothing. “When I am too old and grey to ensure you are kept within the confines of the estate, the Duke shall divorce you quietly. Then, even if you did begin rumours, it would be much too late for anyone to care a whit about what you said. By then Lord Daven will have married and have had children of his own.”
She gave Peter a slight smile, which he returned. “And who knows?” she continued, even more softly. “Perhaps there will be rumours about you too, my dear Lady Bentley. For what kind of man would shut up his wife in his Scottish estate, unless he had a good reason?”
A slow smile spread across Peter’s face as he saw Lady Bentley’s face turn puce with rage.
“People would think I’d gone mad, or seriously ill,” she whispered, apparently unable to find another response.
“You cannot do this!”
“Once we are wed, you will have no choice but to do my bidding my dear,” the Duke replied, haughtily. “In fact, I will ensure that there is a carriage waiting for you immediately after the ceremony to take you to Scotland. That way you will not have the opportunity to tell even a single soul your wicked tales.”
Peter let out a long, slow breath, as the tension left his body. His mother, it seemed, had found a way out, despite being quite unorthodox.
“Ah, but there is one thing you have not thought of,” Lady Bentley retorted suddenly, her face instantly alive.
“I can make this sordid love story known simply out of spite for being thwarted. Your son, the Duke will be ridiculed and left unable to find another who loves him for anything besides his wealth. Is that the kind of life you wish for him?” Her eyes remained on the Dowager Duchess, her triumphant smile back on her face.
“But that is where you are wrong, Lady Bentley,” came the Duke’s voice, tinged with sadness. “I have no need for another wife, not when I still love Eleanor. She may be departed from this earth, but my love for her still burns.”
His voice broke, the first sign of emotion Peter had seen in as many months. “So, you see, Lady Bentley, your threats of a life without love hold no sway over me. My love for Eleanor has not yet dimmed, and I hope that it never does.”
Discovering a sudden lump in his throat, Peter cleared his throat loudly, blinking back a few tears. He had loved Eleanor, yes, but it was not this deep, all-consuming love that his brother still held.
In fact, were he honest, he saw that his love for her had been a young man’s love, which had not the endurance nor the fervour the Duke now displayed. Peter realised that he had taken the love he had for the dead Duchess and turned into a ball of pain and hurt, which he had nursed over the years until it had almost consumed him.
It had only been the arrival of Arabella that had forced him to finally let it go. Relieved that he had kept one small miniature of Eleanor, Peter decided to give it to his brother, in memory of her. That way, he would never forget how she had looked.
“My dear Lady Bentley,” came his mother’s voice, interrupting his thoughts. “Whom do you believe the ton and the beau monde are more likely to believe? An upstart widow or the House of Ainsley? It would take but a whisper in court, to have you banished from polite society.” Gentle mockery licked at her words, which was answered by Lady Bentley’s face growing a curious shade of red and, after opening and closing her mouth a few times, she simply stormed past them all, throwing open the door and stomping out of it.
Thoroughly relieved, Peter let out a bark of laughter.
“Well done, mama,” he exclaimed, as his brother poured them both a whisky. “I do not think either of us would have been able to deliver those threats quite so eloquently!”
“She has not refused to marry me yet,” his brother replied, han
ding him a glass. “But I hope that she might.”
“Nonsense,” Peter replied, stoutly. “I predict she will be gone from this place by the end of the day. Mama’s words painted a rather dark picture!”
“That they did,” his brother agreed, toasting her. “Thank you, mama.”
She smiled softly, going over to ring the bell for tea.
“After all that, I believe I need some refreshment,” she laughed, sitting down next to the fireplace. “How glad I am that you sent the governess to fetch me, Peter.”
Peter smiled back, his gaze softening as he thought of Arabella. “You can thank her for all of this, mama. She was the reason this matter came to light.”
“Then I will thank her most profusely,” his mother replied, thoughtfully. “It appears she is quite a wonderful young lady.”
“She is,” Peter replied, quietly. “She certainly is, mama.”
NINETEEN
Arabella rushed back to her room, her hands over her face. Listening to the conversation from the secret passage, even though it was entirely improper, had revealed a great deal to her. In truth, she could not believe what she had heard. Lord Daven had sung her praises to his mother, even after she had believed something about him that was entirely incorrect.
How stupid she was! She had jumped to the worst possible conclusion of him, believing that he had been in love with the Duke’s wife and, as such, had not been able to get her out of his mind. She had believed that the many portraits Lord Daven had drawn were because she had been the woman he could never have and that his love for her had driven him to paint her form over and over again.
Instead, she’d discovered, Lord Daven had loved Eleanor first, only for her to marry the Duke. How that had come about, she did not know, but she did not need to learn the specific details. What she now knew was enough to fill her with guilt.
Slamming her bedchamber door behind her, Arabella sagged against it, her tears coming like the rain. Slumping to the floor, she buried her head in her hands and wept aloud. She wept for the foolishness of her heart, and how fickle her love for Lord Daven had proved to be. It had taken her some time to trust him, but when he had spoken to her of his heart’s agony, she had simply disregarded what she knew of him and thought of him as the worst kind of man.