The maid sucked in a breath, her bosom moving convulsively as she attempted to regain control. Dru had not been the recipient of Forde’s hasty temper, but she’d seen it and heard it a couple of times. That would stop, too. She would not employ a bully as a maid, however clever and fast she was.
Forde’s curtsy this time was of the required depth. She rose smoothly to her feet. “Of course, my lady.”
“Now go and ensure those papers are totally destroyed.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Her first experiment at being a great lady. Not at all bad.
* * * *
“The breakfast table is not the place for sniggering,” the marchioness said a few mornings after the day Dru had named “the Taming of Forde Day.” “I would go so far as to say nowhere is the correct place.” She directed her glare at the offender, who happened to be her husband.
He looked up from his morning paper and adjusted the gold-rimmed spectacles pinched on the end of his nose. “I beg your pardon, my dear. It appears a new sensation is about to make its appearance, at least if this advertisement is to be believed.”
“Do tell,” said the marchioness, stifling a yawn.
Dru applied herself to her breakfast, lending her father half an ear. When he read aloud, he expected comments, or for his family to laugh in the right places. Val and Charlotte were still here, so the breakfast table with an extra leaf added, was full. The first true meal of the day was an informal affair. People arrived dressed in whatever they pleased. Val and Charlotte were in loose undress, Val in an eye-watering banyan and Charlotte in a pretty pink gown. Dru wore her best riding dress, since she was due to ride in the Park with her betrothed. Livia was wearing riding dress too, but she refused to say who was accompanying her. No doubt their mother knew.
Excitement simmered in Dru, but not enough to quell her appetite. She felt like a mineral spring when she thought of him—all bubbles.
Her father cleared his throat and settled his spectacles more securely on his nose. “Mr. Wilkins of Conduit Street is honored to announce the acquisition of a most interesting new manuscript, to be published in three volumes. It describes the history of a most heinous soul, a man who will surely be condemned to the vasty pits of hell. His adventures in the society of his country are many and sinful. By far the worst is his attempt to seduce and blacken a woman who is his ward, and so should be sacred to him.”
It started like Dru’s story did, but then, since Pamela had been published, so did many. Pamela had been a maid, but other tales had followed hard on the heels of that one. Its unprecedented success has swept the country, and a few years ago, Mr. Fielding’s tale, Tom Jones, had similarly reached a wide audience.
“Money will follow,” the marchioness said.
“I have no doubt it will, especially with these three volumes. Just listen.” He continued to read. “A young man comes to the rescue, but as he pits himself against the dastardly Prince of Tirolly, he suffers cruelly.” The marquess broke off, turning his attention to Dru. “Why, whatever is the matter, daughter?”
Dru had allowed her silverware to fall with a clatter on to her plate, taking a chip out of the edge of the pretty porcelain.
She couldn’t speak, could only repeat the name that her father had quoted so matter-of-factly. “The P-Prince of Tirolly?”
“Yes, my dear. Are you feeling quite well?”
“Merely clumsy.” They would understand that.
Dru sat trembling while a footman removed her chipped plate and replaced it with a clean one that Dru had no use for. Her appetite had fled with the mention of the name of her dastardly villain. But perhaps two people had chanced on the same name. Of course, that would be the reason. Forcing a smile that stretched her lips but did nothing for her churning stomach, she helped herself to a slice of toast, the smallest in the rack. “Do go on, Papa.” She needed to know more.
After a doubtful glance, her father resettled his spectacles. “Our heroic couple suffer many adventures, and they learn much that is good for their souls. But the prince is too much for them and imprisons our beauteous heroine, Drusetta, in his mountain-top castle. To discover if she escapes the dastard, you must purchase the book which will be released next week, the twenty-fifth of May.”
The marquess removed his spectacles, which left red marks on his nose, and put them by the side of his plate. “That was why I thought the story might amuse. The heroine’s name is remarkably close to your own, my dear. Should we order a copy of the first volume? The man is releasing the three volume set before the end of the season. Every two weeks, in fact.”
“We should buy a copy,” the marchioness said, tight-lipped. “I am not sure we should allow a book that mirrors Drusilla’s name so closely. After all, the name is rare. In a society of Annes and Charlottes and Amelias, Drusilla stands out.”
“I agree.” The marquess frowned at his wife. “I opposed such outlandish names from the start, but you and your siblings would have it so. Now you have to bear the consequences of such singularity.” He glanced at the paper. “The first volume comes out on Monday. I shall pass by the shop and pick up a copy.”
The twisting turmoil that was Dru’s brain settled on one thing. Someone had found her manuscript. They had to have done so. But at least she had changed the name and appearance of her villain. Clearly she could do nothing about others reading it, but they might consider it ill-written or foolish. The fashionable mind was capricious. It did not always reward merit but sometimes celebrated the mediocre. Her book must be in the mediocre category. If only people did not recognize the pen portraits she had made of them, she would be safe. And after all, who would consider for one moment that she was the author? Merely that the heroine of this book was a little clumsy, like she was, and quiet-natured, like she was. That could be said of many young ladies in society. Unfortunately, other portraits were drawn with a more accurate, if not always kind, pen.
Dru forced herself to eat the slice of toast, but every crumb choked her. When she received word that Oliver waited outside for her, she went to him with a heavy heart. She had no choice but to wait until Monday.
Who had betrayed her by selling her book? She had no way of knowing, and if she asked, someone was bound to suspect something. As Oliver cupped his hands to throw her into the saddle, Dru stared at him, still in numb shock. Three weeks until their wedding—less than that now—and she could have destroyed all her dreams. If anyone found out she had written the story.
Forde had taken the papers to the kitchen, or so she said. But would she risk her lucrative position, with the prospect of such advancement, to steal the book? Dru didn’t think so. Or had a maid seen the papers and taken them away to read? Had she decided to sell the stories?
Dru’s stomach tightened, and she was close to losing her breakfast. How on earth could she find out who had sold the book? And what would she do then?
The day was fine, if overcast, the gray clouds matching her mood, but the Park appeared the same. People paraded. A few horses went at a quicker pace around or between the carriages but never more than a canter. Her posture came as second nature, and she sat, if not gracefully, then in the approved manner, nodding to whatever Oliver was saying. When he called her name, she blinked, and stared at him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said, would you like to come to the theater tomorrow night? I will of course ask your mother, but I might at least have a chance of snatching a kiss.”
“From my mother?” Her brain, slow to move from the subject obsessing her, had pushed words to her mouth before she had a proper chance of working out what she was saying.
“I’m sorry? No.” He barked a laugh. “Sometimes, my dear, your sense of humor defeats even me. That should make for a lively marriage.” He sidled his mount closer. “You, Drusilla. I want to kiss you. Rather more than is respectable. I am discovering new delights about you every
day.”
“Thank you.” Dru could not help but be charmed by her handsome betrothed. Even despite her turmoil, she recognized the effort he was making and tried to match it. “Will we stay in town when we are married?”
He sighed. “Much though I’d love to whisk you off to a quiet villa in the country, life must go on. For a short time, we have to remain in town. Land disputes.” Taking his reins in one hand, he waved the other expansively before controlling his frisky mount without any apparent effort. “Soon over, I promise. Perhaps I should have arranged our marriage for two months, instead of one, but I find I’m unaccountably eager to claim my bride for myself.”
She adored his gentle tease. Already she could see through the stern exterior to the man beneath. She was not sure if that was because he allowed her to, or if she could do it all on her own. Little changed in his outward demeanor. Only the slight movement of his lips, or a narrowing of his eyes, or even the way he held himself transmitted the information to her. Today, although his seat on his mount was perfect, he leaned infinitesimally toward her, even when they were not conversing. Dru couldn’t deny that she liked it. He made her feel as if she was somebody worth listening to. Her boisterous family had talked over her so many times that Dru had given up trying. She loved them, naturally she did, but having someone who listened to her made her want him even more.
“We could have gone to another park, maybe taken the carriage and left it outside,” he commented after they had ridden up one side and were preparing to ride down the other. They ambled at a comfortable walk.
“Oh, yes!” Perhaps she’d shown too much eagerness. Her mother would certainly say so.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Tomorrow, then, unless you have an appointment elsewhere.”
“I’d like that.”
When she leaned into her seat, she became aware of a slight list when her horse walked forward. Paying more attention, she confirmed her suspicions. Without thinking about it, she pulled her mount to a halt, swung her leg off the pommel, and slid off the saddle.
When she turned around, he was standing behind her. “What is it?”
She was impressed. He’d dismounted and come around to her before she’d had time to register that he’d done so. His groom was holding both his own and Oliver’s horses, but had remained mounted. Their family had people like that who had served the Shaws for generations, but they mostly stayed in the country.
“I think Misty has thrown a shoe, or maybe she has a stone in her foot. I don’t want to make it worse by riding her.” Biting her lip, she turned to discover what was wrong.
Oliver forestalled her. “Let Halford take a look. I’d trust him with any horse in my stables.”
The groom dismounted and handed the reins to his horse and Oliver’s to his master. Misty was standing on her own now, dipping her head to the grass verge.
The man, Halford, dealt very crisply with the animal, tapping her hock. She raised her hoof as she’d been trained to do. He took a stick from the ground and explored before tossing it away. “It’s a stone all right, my lady, but it’s a bit deep. I can’t get it out with my knife. I might hurt her. I’d rather do it with the proper instruments to hand than try to get it out here. It’s an odd one.”
“In what way odd?” she asked sharply. “I’d hate to lose her.”
“Oh, I don’t think it will come to that, ma’am…my lady.”
The duke exchanged a sharp look with his groom. “What is it, Halford?”
“I daresay nothing, your grace, sir. But I’d like to take care of it myself. That stone has sharp edges. But I can do it easily enough.”
When she turned to Oliver, he took her gloved hand and patted it. “The mare will be fine. I take it you’ve had her for many years?”
Dru smiled ruefully. “Yes. I named her when I was fifteen. I sat up with her mother all night. Papa insisted we all had experience of such things, even the girls. When Misty was born, I knew she belonged to me, and the mist was rising over the fields.” She remembered that day as clearly as yesterday. The magical sight of the new foal struggling to feed, the tender care her mama took of her, and the morning mist caused by the sun evaporating the dew on the grass all blended into a perfect memory.
He nodded. “If you allow Halford to look after her, I promise she’ll get the best of care.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to take her back myself,” she said.
“We can do that, but we have to walk.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “Then it’s as well we’re betrothed. People won’t mind that. May I lead her?”
“Of course.” He nodded to Halford, who passed her the reins.
A simple stone rarely caused such trouble, but she did not want to take a chance that riding the mare would make her worse. Pausing only to pull a couple of pins from her pocket and fasten up her trailing skirt, she took Misty’s reins, spoke softly to the mare, and led her.
Her boots were not made for walking in, but she managed well enough. However, after they had gone the half-mile to the park gates, she had to tackle the harder pavements of the squares bordering Hyde Park. They crossed into Tyburn Street, heading in the direction of Oxford Street. They nodded but didn’t stop to talk to anyone, passing the fashionable shops and a shabby one Dru briefly wondered at. She liked the hats displayed in the window.
But she had no time to linger. Instead, she led Misty steadily in the direction of their house. Remembering her manners, she conversed in a desultory way with the duke, more concerned with her poor mare. “I have her brought into town every year, but soon I fear I shall have to leave her behind.”
“Will you bring her with you when we marry?”
Would she ever become accustomed to marriage and the twist of fortune that had brought her to him? Somehow she doubted it. Not until she had actually spoken the words and heard them repeated back to her. That jolt she felt every time anyone referred to her coming nuptials was as nothing when compared to her reaction as he said it, especially in such a calm manner.
An unwanted flush rose to her cheeks, but she turned her face to his. “I would like to.”
His smile did not appear to be connected to simple information about a horse. “I do like that expression. So open, so sweet. It makes we want to do things that would have London talking about us for years to come.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh.” Recalling where she was, she glanced ahead to the groom leading his horse, with Oliver’s mount tethered behind.
“Don’t worry. Halford has been with me since I was a boy.”
“He’s not a London servant?”
He shook his head. “I don’t use them, as a rule. I bring my own staff on the rare occasions that I come to town.” He hesitated, gazing down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It is because of my brother. He dislikes strangers about him.”
“I see.” She could not visit his house until his mother arrived in town, but she knew where he lived. Close to the Strenshall house, in fact. “I didn’t know you’d brought him to London. Will I meet him?”
“Presently, yes, you will.” His voice lowered. “He does not go into society. I will prepare you, tell you what to expect, but this is not the place to do it. Don’t you agree?”
Hastily, she turned her gaze to the road before them. They were on the relative cleanliness of the pavement, an innovation in the more fashionable streets of the city, the horse walking next to them. “Yes, of course. I understand.”
A pair of chairmen with an empty sedan chair between them trotted past.
Dru had not heard anything about his brother of recent date. He lived completely secluded. The few rumors she’d heard depicted him as simpleminded, cared for by a fleet of servants, irreparably damaged from the accident many years before. Some said they thought it a shame he had survived the overturning of the carriage, because he would be out of his pain by now.
The rumors varied from drastic to simple—that he was scarred but preferred not to go out in public, or he was completely incapacitated and did not understand even how to care for himself. The truth was nobody knew, which was remarkable for a set of people who shared gossip like air.
They walked slowly, but it took them little time, since she lived barely half a mile from Hyde Park. She took him to the mews that ran along the back of her house. They had to walk in single file for safety, in case a carriage swung out of an opening. There was no pavement or even a guide for walkers here.
However, he led her past her gate and to one on the other side. He walked through without hesitation.
“Why, we are barely a hundred yards away from each other!” she exclaimed when she realized he’d taken her to his mews. After all, his groom had offered to deal with Misty.
“Indeed.” He waited until Halford had given the two horses he led to a groom and came back for Misty.
Reluctantly, she allowed the man to take her. The mews appeared as busy as the Strenshall one. A traveling carriage had a stall of its own, and several more vehicles were visible in the dimness of the carriage house. “These places could house several families,” she commented.
He turned to her, his brows lifting. “You’re interested in housing the poor?”
Shamefaced, she shrugged. “Not exactly. Yes, in a way, because my family have been housing them for years. My parents sponsor an orphanage, but that is not enough, is it?”
He took her hands. “No, it is not. Nothing will ever be enough, but we can do what we must.”
Gazing at him, she lost track of the conversation and had to admit it. “You must think me a complete booby.”
“Not one bit. You are, as always, perfectly delightful.”
“You didn’t think so once.”
He smiled. “I was foolish. I know better now.”
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