A Duchess Enraged
An After Dark Georgian Romance
By Alicia Quigley
Text copyright © 2013 Alicia Quigley
All Rights Reserved
To my family, friends and the occasional Bordeaux for their unflappable love and support.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2.
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Prologue
Payment in Full
The Duke of Gravesmere placed his cards on the table and leaned back in his chair, reaching for his glass of brandy with long, slender fingers. Draining it in one gulp, he looked across the table at his friend and opponent, the Earl of Redecombe.
"It seems you have had the best of it tonight, George," he said.
"It does indeed," responded Lord Redecombe. "I almost feel bad about this, Charles. But I can use the money. My estates aren't nearly as profitable as yours, you dog."
"You had all the luck," said the duke with a nonchalant shrug. "But mine will be in another day, and then you had best beware." He laughed and poured himself another glass of brandy. Glancing around the room he could see that the candles were guttering in their sockets. "It's damned late. I suppose I should be getting home."
Servants were moving about unobtrusively in the background, tidying the room. Very few of the loud and dissipated crowd that had gathered earlier in the gaming house remained, and those that did were mostly dead drunk, their heads drooping over their cards. The duke looked at them scornfully.
"I'll walk with you," said Lord Redecombe. The two men downed their last brandies and stood up, shaking out their lace cuffs and donning their satin coats.
"How did the luck run tonight?" issued an unclear voice from a nearby table. A finely dressed gentleman slumped over a bottle of claret rolled a bleary eye at them.
"Well for Redecombe. I, however, am some twenty thousand pounds the poorer," responded the duke.
The gentleman hiccupped. "It's not as though you can't afford it, Gravesmere. Too bad you didn't lose it to me. Tonight may have ruined me. Nothing to do but jump in the river, I suppose."
"You'll recover, Martin," said the duke. "You always do."
The drunken gentleman brightened. "That's true," he slurred. He struggled to his feet and stood, swaying slightly. "Well, it's off to bed."
"That's the best place for you," agreed the duke. "Sleep it off. Things will look brighter tomorrow."
The two noblemen made their way through the elegant rooms to the front door. A liveried porter held the door for them, bowing low. "Good night, my lords," he said.
Gravesmere and Redecombe exited the club and stood on the London street, drinking in the fresh air after the staleness of the gaming room. The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky in the east with a pinkish glow as they linked arms and strolled towards home.
"You'll give me a few days to settle up, won't you, George?" asked Gravesmere.
"I know you're good for it, Charles. Take as much time as you wish," responded the earl.
The duke bowed in silent thanks. His bankers would be unsurprised when he applied for the funds; it was not at all unusual for him to lose huge amounts in a single night of play. Fortunately, he could well afford it; he was known to be of the richest men in England, and he always won again eventually. His wife would disapprove, of course, and a slight tremor visited him as he anticipated her reaction. Emily was one of the few people whose opinion Gravesmere respected.
They walked on a ways in silence, and then Redecombe, who had apparently been indulging in laborious thought, suddenly spoke up.
"Charles, I believe I have a solution to our problem."
"What problem?" asked the duke absently.
"You owe me a vast sum of money. You will have to go to all the bother of going to your bankers, and I am sure the duchess will make a fuss."
"I can handle both the bankers and Emily," responded the duke, with a touch of humor. His friend was apparently more frightened of the duchess than he was.
"But we can avoid both the bankers and your wife with a very simple solution," said the earl.
"And what might that be?" requested the duke casually. If there was the possibility that he might avoid a confrontation with his wife, it was worth considering.
"We seal our friendship and forgive the debt by marrying my second daughter to your son! It will be a perfect match." Redecombe looked pleased with himself. "The girl--what's her name--Allegra! She's a sweet little thing without an ounce of spite, and will be a good wife; and you can send your Adam off on his Grand Tour without fearing that he will return with some French adventuress on his arm!"
The duke laughed at the picture this proposal presented, but then sobered as he further considered his friend's words. His twenty-one year old heir, Adam, Viscount Treveine, was a handsome devil, notorious for his dalliances with beautiful and entirely unacceptable women. While Gravesmere had no problem with his flirtations, there was always the chance that one might manage to worm her way into his family and fortune, and the duke had already made several large payments to various beauties in order to make them discontinue their association with his son.
"But Allegra's a mere child, isn't she?" he asked.
"She's fourteen," responded the earl. "She's old enough to be married, and I'd as soon have her marry your Adam as any of the other young fools about these days. And you know how hard it would be for me to raise a large sum for her marriage portion; my finances are in terrible shape. We can deduct this debt from it, and that will make it easier for me. After the marriage, Adam can go on his Grand Tour, and Allegra can return to my house. By the time Adam's back in a few years, Allegra will be out of the schoolroom and ready to assume the responsibilities of a wife. It's a perfect solution."
Gravesmere pondered the proposal. At first thought it seemed ludicrous. The girl in question was still in the schoolroom, and Adam was an impetuous hothead, certainly not inclined to marry anybody at this point in his life. And yet the idea had possibilities. Marrying Adam off before he embarked on his Grand Tour would make it impossible for some foreign hussy to charm her way into the family. Despite her father’s pecuniary difficulties, Allegra was the offspring of one of the finest families in the land, and could surely be relied upon to be a steadying influence on his son. Lord Treveine would return from his trip a more educated young man, and settle down immediately into married life. The duke would no longer have to worry about what scandals he might create among the young women of society. And he wouldn't have to bother his bankers, nor would Emily know of his vast gambling debt. The more the duke considered the proposal, the fewer faults he found with it.
"You may have hit upon an excellent notion, George," he said. "Adam could do with a wife to return to; if I let him reach much of an age unwed he is likely never to marry at all. The boy is a positive devil with the women and declares he'll never tie himself to only one. But marry he must, if only for the sake of the title and est
ate."
"Then it's settled," cried the earl. He clapped his friend merrily on the shoulder. After a moment a worried look crossed his face. "What of Her Grace?" he asked.
The duke smiled. "I have some control over my own family, George," he observed. "And my marriage to Emily was arranged by our families and we are perfectly content. She will have no complaints on that score. She worries about Adam as I do; he is a wild boy, and marriage will be the best way to tame him. I believe I can convince her of that."
"Then when shall we celebrate the nuptials?" asked the earl. "Allegra is in town now with her mother and sisters; I can have her ready when you please."
Gravesmere pondered a few moments. "It would be best to do this as soon as possible. Treveine leaves in three days for Europe, and I would not give him much time to complain about this marriage. Have Allegra at my house this afternoon at two-o-clock. I shall procure a special license and we shall marry them then, and toast the happy couple."
They had reached the doors of the duke's townhouse and they clasped hands on the bargain. Lord Redecombe turned towards his own home, content that he had found a brilliant match for his young daughter, and the duke proceeded inside, pleased with escaping his gambling debt and providing his son with a suitable wife in one brief hour. The two men retired to their beds, content with a good night's work.
Lady Allegra Fitzwilliam sat in the nursery of her parent's house, gazing at herself in the mirror. She saw a serious child, barely coming into womanhood, with blue eyes and carroty curls. A sprinkling of freckles crossed her nose. There was nothing striking that she could make out of her features, yet they did not seem totally unpleasing. She was, she decided, not at all remarkable. She sighed and turned from the mirror. She had a good deal to think about besides her appearance.
It had been a busy morning for Allegra. She had been hustled out of bed at an early hour by her mother and confronted by her parents. Her father had clearly not yet been to bed, and her mother, dressed in her nightclothes, was just as clearly both nervous and elated. Her father had informed her briefly that her marriage to Viscount Treveine was to take place that afternoon, and then she had been sent back to the nursery to dress. An hour later a lovely and sweet woman who announced herself as Lord Treveine's mother had arrived and spent a few minutes talking to her. She had been kind, but Allegra was too stunned to be unable to venture anything but the merest formalities in response to questions. The lady had patted her on the head, wished her well, and departed, leaving Allegra once again alone in the nursery, contemplating her imminent change in position.
The door opened abruptly and her twelve-year-old sister, Jemima, burst into the room. "Allegra," she squealed. "You're to be a duchess!" She leaped onto Allegra's bed and bounced merrily up and down. "You're so very lucky! I wish I was getting married."
Allegra looked at Jemima and envied her uncomplicated pleasure in the forthcoming marriage. She herself felt nothing but anxiety at the prospect of life with Lord Treveine. As isolated as Allegra was in the world of the schoolroom she had still heard of his various exploits. He was a friend of her older brother's and their escapades in Society were notorious. Indeed, she had heard her parents discussing only a few weeks ago Treveine's being sent down from Oxford and the riotous life he had led since. Allegra's father had found the whole tale a great joke, but her mother had thought it sad that such a young man should be such a wastrel. And now she was to marry this man, who she very much doubted wanted to be saddled with a fourteen-year-old bride—or any sort of bride at all.
Jemima continued her bouncing. "I am so jealous!" she exclaimed. "Imagine making such a splendid match without even having to try! Treveine is the most eligible man in London. And so rich! You'll have all the gowns and jewels and carriages you could ever want."
Allegra shook her head slowly. "I don't really think gowns and jewels and carriages are so important, Jemima," she said. "I was hoping to marry a man I knew and respected."
Jemima laughed and threw her arms around her. "Respect? What a fuddy-duddy you are. Very few women respect their husbands. Mama can't abide Father. But think of the times you shall have! And when I am old enough you can give a huge ball for me at Gravesmere House; I hear tell the ballroom is absolutely splendid. I can't believe you aren't happier about this, Allegra."
The door opened and their mother bustled into the room. "Come along, Allegra, it's time for you to get dressed for your wedding."
Allegra's eyes widened as her mother's maid, Margaret, followed her mother into the room carrying a fluffy pale-pink dress. "We have no time to have a special gown made for you, and none of your dresses are suitable for a wedding," explained Lady Redecombe. "We shall have to make this dress of Maria's fit you somehow."
The two women swooped down on Allegra and stripped her of her dress, pulling her older sister's cast-off hastily over her head and fussing with it. She barely felt Margaret's hasty fingers poking and pulling at her, and only sighed when her mother stuck her with a pin. Jemima continued to bounce about the room, calling out reassurances and speculation as to exactly how fashionable Allegra was about to become.
"Hush, Jemima," said Lady Redecombe. "Lord Treveine will be going to the Continent for the Grand Tour and will likely be gone some years. Allegra will stay here with us until he returns and they can set up their own household. You sister will not be a fashionable matron for a few years yet."
Jemima looked disappointed, but Allegra was immediately cheered by the news. She had at least a few years respite before she had to take on her scandalous husband. Perhaps the Grand Tour would steady him somewhat. Or perhaps he would take to her and they would make a good match of it. She tried to concentrate on what her mother was saying to her as she adjusted the dress.
"Allegra, dear, you are a very lucky young woman to land such an eligible husband with no effort at all on your part. You should thank your father most kindly for finding you a wealthy husband and making sure you would be well provided for in the future."
Allegra nodded her head and made a mental note to thank her father, who never seemed to be quite certain who she was when he encountered her, for his thoughtfulness.
"And when you meet Treveine, I want you to be polite and give him your best smile. This is the memory of you he will take on his journey, and you want it to be a positive one. This is as much a surprise to him as it is to you, and he may be a little...well, reluctant to be married. So be very pleasant and let him see what a well-bred lady he is wedding."
Allegra wondered how she could possibly make an impression on a young man as fashionable and elegant as Viscount Treveine. It would be wonderful if he was kind and perhaps sympathetic to her feelings, but she doubted he would be that understanding. He was known for his ability to drink vast quantities of liquor and lose large amounts of money at the gaming tables, not for his sympathetic nature.
"There," announced Margaret. "That will just have to do."
Lady Redecombe stepped back and looked at Allegra, making a moue of disappointment. "It's a pity that we could not get a dress made," she said. "This will be presentable, I suppose."
Allegra turned to the mirror and stared at herself in astonishment. The old dress of her sister's was not a success. Maria was buxom, and despite Margaret's best efforts the dress hung on Allegra's undeveloped frame. The style of the dress was two years out-moded, and the pink color, which had suited Maria's flaxen curls and blue eyes as well as any color, was unfortunate with Allegra's red hair. She looked like a little ghost with freckles gazing out of the mirror.
"Oh, Mother," she breathed. "I look a fright. Can't I wear one of my own dresses?"
"You can't be married in a school girl's dress," said her mother. "It's too bad this doesn't suit you a little better, but it will hardly matter. By the time Treveine sees you again you will be grown and can pick your own clothes. Come along now. Say goodbye to your sister. Don't cling now, Jemima, Allegra will be back tonight."
Allegra swallowed her tears and fo
llowed her mother out of the room. She held her head as high as she could; she knew it would take all the pride she had to get through the afternoon.
Several hours later Allegra perched nervously on the edge of a spindle-legged chair, gazing anxiously about the drawing room at Gravesmere House. Her parents stood a little apart, chatting amiably with the duke and his duchess. The ladies were sipping ratafia and discussing the latest fashions, while the gentlemen were comparing the merits of their horses over glasses of port. Allegra sighed. Her future in-law had greeted her kindly enough upon her arrival, but now she seemed to be quite forgotten.
The duke looked at his wife and scowled. "Where is that scamp, Emily?" he demanded. "It's nearly three-o-clock."
The duchess smiled. "I've sent Thomas to fetch him. He will be here momentarily."
The duke nodded. "I won't lie to you, George," he said to the earl. "Adam was not happy when I told him of our plan. I thought he would refuse for a few moments, but I hold the purse strings, and he was forced to capitulate."
"Hush, Charles. Allegra is here." Emily laid a restraining hand on her husband's arm.
The duke shot Allegra guilty glance and then shrugged. "I doubt it's news to her. And it won't do for her to have romantic notions. Adam will come around. In a few years he'll see why we did this. The truth doesn't bother you, does it Allegra? After all, you're to be a duchess. What woman wouldn't want that, hey?"
"Y-Yes, sir," stammered Allegra. "Or rather, no, sir."
"You see? She's a sensible little thing. Just what's needed." The duke took another sip of port and glanced at the door. "I'll fetch that boy myself, if I have to."
"Hush, Charles. He'll be here soon."
At that moment the door to the drawing room swung open, and Adam, Viscount Treveine entered. Allegra's blue eyes widened at her first sight of her husband-to-be. She had the immediate impression of remarkable beauty, of broad shoulders, slim hips, and angelically fair hair. Brilliant green eyes flashed in a face that was impressively handsome, with a strong chin, fine, high cheekbones, and full, well-sculpted lips. She gave a tiny gasp of astonishment and delight. But her pleasure was immediately dashed by her second look, when she realized his beauty was marred by a look of petulance and annoyance. Adam, it seemed, was very unhappy with the position he found himself in.
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