Her meager inheritance was nearly gone, having been spent to pay Mrs. Cooper’s wages and to purchase the evening dresses she needed in order to perform. The duke had now assumed the cost for Mrs. Cooper, numbering her among the servants in the house he also maintained; however, Miranda knew she could not allow him to absorb the bills for her clothing as well. As soon as a man started paying the bills for a woman’s dressmaker, it was only one more shaky step before she fell into his bed and surrendered her body and her independence.
Naturally, Wyldehaven edged her in that direction with calm determination. It would be so easy to just give in and let him take care of her. Let him pay for her housing and provide luxuries such as beautiful clothing and her own carriage. All she had to do was yield to his touch, allow him to use her body however he wanted. But what would happen when his infatuation faded? No, she would not take that chance. Not for her, and not for James.
How could he not understand her need to have security? He continued to refuse to accept responsibility for fathering James and persisted in the Banbury tale that someone who looked just like him was the real culprit. Really, how feather-witted did he think she was? And now he had decided that he wanted her in his bed, and apparently expected her to blindly put herself into his hands and trust that he would take care of both her and the baby.
But for how long?
She had seen it before, numerous times with her mother over the years. Some fellow with a bit of wealth would take a fancy to her mother and talk her into being his exclusive mistress.
“This one is going to last,” Fannie would say, hugging her and smiling. “This will be the one to take care of us forever.”
And then months later, sometimes just weeks, she and Fannie would find themselves once more on the streets because the fellow who swore to cherish Fannie forever had moved on to greener pastures and a new mistress. The pattern never wavered.
She doubted it would be much different with Wyldehaven. It was better to remain in their separate corners, never crossing that line into temptation. To do so would spell disaster, both for her and for James, for she knew that Wyldehaven would never offer marriage. Not to her.
She pushed away the appealing scenario, alarmed by her own yearning. Things were the way they were, and no amount of dreaming was going to change that. To even entertain a glimmer of such a notion spelled heartbreak for certain.
Mrs. Potts, the housekeeper, came to the door of the parlor. “Pardon me, miss. His Grace has sent over a lady’s maid to tend you. He requests that you meet her and give your personal approval before I allow her to settle belowstairs with the rest of the staff.”
“Oh.” Surprised, Miranda set down her tea. A lady’s maid? Was this another cunning way for him to slip past her defenses? “Very well, then.”
Mrs. Potts glanced behind her into the hallway. “Come along.”
A young blond girl about the same age as Miranda slipped into the room, her hands clutched around a worn satchel.
“Annie, this is Miss Fontaine.”
Annie gave a little bob. Her voice, when she spoke, carried the distinct flavor of London’s less fortunate. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Fontaine.”
Miranda nodded her head. “Welcome, Annie. His Grace has sent you to be my lady’s maid?”
“Yes, miss.”
“I see.” Miranda studied the girl’s appearance, already noting the signs of poverty and abuse. “Have you ever been a lady’s maid before?”
Annie raised her chin and said, “No, miss.”
The hint of spirit made Miranda smile. Lack of experience would not deter this girl from attempting to better her lot in life. “I have never had a lady’s maid before, so this will be an adventure for both of us. Mrs. Potts, do give us a few moments alone, please.”
The housekeeper looked startled but obediently stepped out of the room, leaving them alone to converse.
Miranda had been tempted to send Wyldehaven’s newest enticement packing with little hesitation. With only six dresses in her wardrobe, she hardly had need of a lady’s maid! But when she got a look at the girl—the greenish-yellow tinge of fading bruises, the much mended clothing, the hard glint of survival in her eyes—she knew she could not turn Annie away. She had seen that same tired, jaded look in the eyes of too many of the girls who had followed her mother’s path. Though it was unorthodox for a gentleman to send a woman of questionable virtue to be maid to someone pretending to be a lady, clearly Wylde had known that she would not be able to reject the girl’s need of employment.
Curse his hide. She did not want to accept favors from him! But she could not doubt his cleverness in this.
“I am certain we will do very well together,” she said.
The girl visibly relaxed. “That’s what he said you’d say.”
“The duke?”
“Yes, ma’am. He said you were a kind lady and wouldn’t care none that I used to be—” She clamped her mouth shut.
Miranda pretended she had not heard the gaffe. “Sit down, won’t you, Annie, and let us get acquainted.”
Annie looked around at the fine furniture. “I don’t want to get anything dirty.”
“You won’t. Sit in that chair and tell me how you came to be here.”
Annie walked over to the lovely armchair and eyed it for a moment before gingerly sitting on its edge. “I told you, His Grace sent me.”
“Have you always worked for the duke?”
“Not till now.” She ran a curious finger along the sculpted edge of the small table beside her.
“Where did you work before?”
“Fulton’s.” She leaned closer to peer at the carvings. “Are those angels?”
“Cherubs, I think. What is Fulton’s?”
Annie jerked her head up, her eyes wide with alarm. “Uh…the place where I worked.”
“What sort of business is it?”
Annie remained silent.
Miranda leaned forward. “You can tell me, Annie. I will not judge.”
“His Grace might be cross with me if I tell you,” she replied. “And I owe him.”
Miranda tensed. What did Wyldehaven hold over this sweet child? “What do you mean? Has the duke forced you to do this?”
“No, miss.”
“It is all right for you to tell me, Annie. I will not pressure you to do anything against your will.”
“No, he’s not making me do anything I don’t want to.” She crossed her arms.
Miranda held her gaze. “If you are certain. I do not want the duke to make you feel obligated—”
“No!” Annie surged to her feet. “He saved me, that’s what he did. Saved me from getting stuck by strangers every night and acting like I liked it. And from getting knocked about just because some drunk felt like it!” She yanked her satchel from the floor and clenched both hands around the handles. “I was a whore, Miss Fontaine, plain and simple. And I’ll understand if you want me to go.”
Beneath the bravado of her tone lurked a despair Miranda knew well. Her heart cracked, and she knew Wyldehaven had won.
“Of course I don’t want you to go.” Miranda stood as well. “I dare say being a lady’s maid is better than taking five or six clients a night and only getting a small cut of the asking price. Unless the fellow leaves a bit extra for you on the bureau.”
Annie narrowed her eyes. “You know a lot for a fine lady.”
“My mother was in the trade,” Miranda said shortly. “We are not all that different, you and I.”
After a moment, Annie conceded, “Maybe.”
“How did you come to leave Fulton’s?” Miranda sat again and gestured for Annie to do so as well.
“I got pummeled by the bloke who looks like the duke.” Annie reclaimed her perch in the armchair.
“By the…” The breath left her lungs. Good God, was this girl saying that Wylde’s outrageous stories about an imposter were true? “What do you mean by that?”
“You mean you don’t know? Some fell
ow who looks like the duke has been going about town saying he’s the duke. This cove causes trouble and the duke gets blamed, you see? When His Grace came looking for the blighter at Fulton’s, we all thought he’d come back—the one who’d thrashed me. But it wasn’t him. They have different eyes, you know.”
“No, I did not know.” She took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. If Annie was to be believed, then she had gravely misjudged Wyldehaven. And if he had been telling the truth about the imposter, was he also telling the truth about everything else? That he was not James’s father?
Had she been condemning an innocent man?
She leaned forward, holding Annie’s gaze. “So you saw this man yourself? The one who looks like the duke? And he hurt you?”
Annie nodded, her expression unguarded. “Thrashed me good. The bad one has green eyes, wild green like the devil’s own. But the duke has those brown eyes that can look at you kind as can be. That’s how you can tell the difference. The duke paid Ball for my contract.”
“And now you work for him.”
Annie nodded. “Like you said, being a maid is better.”
“Indeed.” She sat back, barely able to breathe, stunned by the girl’s revelations. Everything she had ever thought about Wyldehaven now needed to be reconsidered. If he was not the selfish villain who had abandoned Lettie, what did that make him? A grieving widower who was being wronged by a look-alike? A man who tried to correct the damages done in his name, even though he himself was innocent of the crimes?
Oh, God, a man of honor?
Annie relaxed a bit in her chair, no doubt relieved that she would not be shown the door. “If you’re not a lady then how’d you learn to talk so fancy?”
“When I was young, my mother paid for me to be educated.” Miranda tried to push aside her rioting emotions and focus on the current conversation.
“Wish mine had done that. But she ran off with a bloke when I was eleven. Been taking care of myself ever since.” She fingered the table’s cherubic carving again. “Being a maid, what do I have to do?”
“I believe you help me dress and style my hair.”
Annie grinned. “I know about hair. I used to help the girls at Fulton’s.
Miranda nodded in approval, though she wanted to wince at this girl’s hard life. She herself had not lived her years in luxury, but for a while at least she was educated in speech and refinement, reading and ciphering. Those skills had proven handy in the more recent, leaner years. “Then you already have some experience.”
“I can help you with hair and dresses and such. What else?”
“Oh, come with me places, I suppose. The lending library or shopping.”
“Shopping? When are we doing that?”
“Why, this afternoon,” Miranda improvised. “I need some new ribbons for a dress I am mending. You must come with me.”
“I love shopping!” Eyes bright, for a moment Annie looked just like any young woman at the prospect of a shopping trip. “When do we go?”
“Perhaps you should settle your things in your chamber, and I will summon you when it is time to leave.”
“All right.” Annie jumped to her feet. “Where is my room?”
“Mrs. Potts will show you.”
Before she could call for the servant, however, a tap came at the parlor door; then it cracked open and Mrs. Cooper peered in. “Miss, your little man is awake,” she announced.
“Come in, Mrs. Cooper.” Miranda waved her in, then extended her arms for James. The baby was all pink-cheeked and drowsy-eyed, with that confused pout infants often wore upon waking from a nap. The nursemaid put the baby into her arms.
“Is that your baby?” Annie asked.
“No. It is my friend’s baby.”
“Where’s your friend?”
“She died.”
Annie contemplated that for a moment. “I once knew a girl of Ball’s who got herself caught, and when the babe was born she kept telling everyone it was her friend’s baby.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “It truly is not my baby. I just take care of him.”
“Is it the duke’s baby, then?”
“You are quite rude, young woman,” Mrs. Cooper snapped.
Annie opened her mouth as if to retort, but Miranda caught her eye and nodded toward the chair. Pressing her lips together, Annie sat down again.
Miranda turned to the nursemaid. “Mrs. Cooper, please find Mrs. Potts and tell her that Annie is ready to see her quarters now.”
“I shall return momentarily to feed the babe.” Mrs. Cooper gave one last sniff of disapproval at Annie, then marched from the room.
“She doesn’t like me,” Annie said.
Flicking a glance after the departing nursemaid, Miranda replied, “You must be more discreet in voicing your thoughts, Annie. If there is something you want to know, please wait until we are alone and then ask me.”
“I can do that. So have you and the duke—”
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
Annie looked around at the fine furnishings. “But you live in his house, don’t you?”
“Only temporarily.”
“But you’re here.” An expression settled on Annie’s face that looked too world-weary for her tender years. “That’s the first step, miss.”
“Please call me Miranda. What is the first step?”
“When a man wants you in his bed. First he corners you, then he seduces you.” She fixed her with that straightforward, blue-eyed stare. “Do you feel cornered?”
“No.” Miranda managed the lie without a flinch. “Not in the least.”
“Maybe you should. Because you’re in a position here, sure enough. Much as I like the duke, he’s still a man. If you don’t want to end up in his bed, Miss Miranda, you should be real careful.”
“Do not fret, Annie. I know what I am doing.”
“That’s good. More than one girl I know found herself with her skirts tossed before she could blink, even when she was swearing to God in heaven that she wasn’t going to give over to a fellow. It’s real easy to forget all that once a bloke has your fires stoked.”
Miranda’s mind flashed back to the breakfast room. “Have no fear, Annie. I am in full control of the situation.”
But no matter how much she tried to believe it, something inside her mocked her for a liar.
Kit slammed into his rooms, still fuming from the meeting with his father. How was it the man could make him feel like a stripling again with just a few well-placed words?
His valet appeared from elsewhere in the flat. “Good afternoon, my lord. The—”
“I must cancel my plans at the club this evening, Smithers. My father demands my presence at a dinner party to dance attendance on Miss Wherry.”
“Very good, sir. If—”
“What sort of living is it for a man to be sold like chattel at auction?” Kit stripped off his gloves, then removed his hat, threw the gloves into it and handed both to the valet. “This chit would have no chance at attaining such an elevated station if her father were not so plump in the pocket.”
“Indeed, sir. Perhaps now is a good time to tell you—”
“She is a plain thing—brown eyes, brown hair. Very dull. She is buying her way into the upper echelons, Smithers, I tell you. At least once I wed the chit, the money is mine. But damned if I like being led to the altar like a lamb to the slaughter.”
“You could always refuse to wed the wench.”
Kit whipped his head around at the amused male voice. “What are you doing here?”
“The Duke of Wyldehaven is here to see you, my lord,” Smithers blurted out. “He is waiting in the parlor.”
“Rather, I am waiting in the hallway.” Leaning in the doorway of the parlor, a grinning Daniel Byrne held up a glass. “I have helped myself to your whisky, Linnet.”
“So I see.” Kit turned to his manservant. “Thank you, Smithers. We shall be in the parlor and are not to be
disturbed.”
“Very good, my lord.” Smithers scurried off.
Kit sent Byrne a look of annoyance. “You. In the parlor.”
“I sense hostility from you, Linnet.” Byrne pushed off the doorjamb and preceded Kit into the room. “Have I done something to displease you?”
Kit followed and closed the parlor doors with a snap, then turned to face him. “I have been trying to reach you. Why have you not responded to my summons?”
Byrne leaned down, his greater height lending menace to his posture. “Because I am not your lackey, Linnet.”
For once Kit did not back down. Instead, he met Byrne’s gaze with a hard one of his own. “You may be playing the duke, Byrne, but do not forget that you have no real consequence to recommend you.”
Byrne’s eyes narrowed. “I am a Matherton.”
“By blood, but not by law,”
“A pox on the law!”
“I appreciate your feelings, but you must accept the truth as it is.”
“What would you know of it?” Byrne stalked over to an armchair, where he seated himself without invitation. “You were born into privilege with servants wiping your soft white arse from the moment you emerged from the womb. When have you ever had to work for anything in your life?”
Kit curled his lip. “Apparently I must sell myself into marriage simply to have my own fortune. How bloody fair is that?”
“You make me laugh, Linnet. Poor little viscount has to marry a rich wench to continue his luxurious lifestyle. Such a tragedy.”
“I would like to see you do it.” Kit approached the sideboard, suddenly craving a whisky himself.
“In a second, laddie. Wed and bed some young virgin in exchange for a cartload of gold? I’m your man.”
“Allow me to give you Miss Wherry’s direction, then.”
Byrne barked a laugh. “Cheer up and toe the line like a good boy, Linnet. You’ve only to swive the filly once and then comfort yourself with her papa’s fat purse.”
Armed with his whisky, Kit turned to face his nemesis. “I think…Good God, you have cut your hair just like Wyldehaven’s.”
“The better to fool the masses, my boy.”
Kit tightened his grip on his glass. “This madness needs to stop.”
To Ruin the Duke Page 14