To Marry a Duke

by Fenella J Miller

  He must have seemed a careless parent to both Witherton and Lady Allegra, as he wore the best Weston could supply and his own child was obliged to appear in second-hand clothes. The fact these garments had an impeccable provenance didn’t make it any easier to accept.

  Then his lips curved. Lady Allegra had noticed his omission and unobtrusively stepped in and did what was necessary. Underneath her brittle exterior she had a kind heart. He had chosen well; she would make him an excellent wife and would, God willing, become a good friend to Demelza.

  For the greater part of ten years he had lived alone, had had no one to share his thoughts and plans with. The young woman he had decided to marry was intelligent and he relished the notion of spending the rest of his years in her company. His life would never be dull, of that he was sure.

  Would she acquiesce to his demand? Did she love her brother enough to put his happiness before her own? It was a gamble - but then his fortune had been built on taking risks. He had never lost and did not intend to do so now, even if it meant employing less than honourable tactics to achieve his goal.

  He pulled out his pocket-watch and glanced at it; an hour yet before his appointment with Lady Allegra. Time enough to write a letter to his mistress, Camille, breaking off their association. He had no further use for the voluptuous widow of Sir James Oliver. He had enjoyed what she had given but had paid well for it.

  Lady Oliver had received thousands of pounds in gifts and jewellery in exchange for her favours. She was still attractive and would no doubt find another male protector. He sharpened his quill and dipped it into the well. He frowned. How much should he give her as a severance gift? Disgusted he threw the pen aside, sprinkling the pristine sheet with ugly black blots.

  He could not bear to write to the woman, to sully the atmosphere of the Priory with such a venial letter. No, Evans must take care of it. The lawyer could send Lady Oliver a bank draft for one thousand pounds and make it quite plain he had no further interest in her. He sat back, stretching out his booted legs, and closed his eyes letting his mind fill with the image of the ethereal beauty he expected to marry. He would remain celibate until the day Lady Allegra became his wife.

  *

  Abbot held up a third afternoon dress for Allegra’s inspection - this one with an eau-de-nil figured silk skirt and demi train and deeper, almost turquoise, closely fitting bodice. This was a gown for making morning calls, or receiving them, not staying at home.

  Allegra wrinkled her nose. She wished to create a certain impression and the selection of the dress was crucial. She wanted to emphasise her assets, but still appear aloof. Her lips curled as she realized she did not have many assets to show. Since her father’s death she had lost so much weight it was hard to distinguish her front from her back.

  She pointed to the eau-de-nil. ‘That one, please. I know it is for more formal occasions but I wish to make a good impression this morning. All our livelihoods could depend upon it.’

  ‘In which case, my lady, you’ve made the right choice. You will certainly impress any gentleman wearing this gown.’

  ‘Excellent. I think I shall wear my pearls and the pendant ear-bobs.’

  ‘Shall I thread some through your hair as well, my lady?’

  Allegra nodded. ‘I have less than thirty minutes before I my appointment downstairs. It is a great shame to waste my bath but I have no time to enjoy it. Today my ablutions must be quick.’

  She was ready to go down, the document in her hand, only a few minutes past the time. She paused in the hall to study herself in the huge gilt glass hanging over the mantelshelf. The milky pearls coiled around her neck were a perfect complement to the elegant simplicity of her gown.

  Her heart thudded uncomfortably inside the restriction of the fitted bodice. She wasn’t certain if she was apprehensive or excited by the forthcoming encounter with Tremayne. She had decided to give him the impression she was resigned to the matter, but that it was not a union she could like. If she appeared too sanguine, he might suspect her motives.

  The library door, as before, stood open but this time she could hear the murmur of male voices. She swept in, head high, and she was delighted to observe that both occupants were rendered speechless. She saw Tremayne’s teeth clench and his eyes darken with passion and her pulse quickened. She was going to enjoy this confrontation; when a man’s interest was aroused it was so much easier to achieve one’s aims.

  She tossed the parchment on the desk. ‘If Mr Evans is ready to witness my signature then I am ready to sign.’

  The lawyer checked the quill was sharp, unfastened the ribbon and smoothed out the document. Tremayne remained silent. ‘If you would be so kind as to sign here, my lady, and here.’ Allegra did so with a flourish. She watched Evans sign then shake sand over the writing.

  ‘Thank you, Evans. If your work is done here I bid you good day.’

  Tremayne nodded his consent and the lawyer hastily collected his hat and cane. However, when he reached for the agreement, Tremayne shook his head. ‘No, leave it, I wish to keep the document in my possession. Thank you for your assistance in this matter. I’ll be in touch. Good day, Evans.’

  The silence thickened. He waiting; she rehearsing her part. This was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated. She had thought staying aloof from him, after all he was far beneath her touch, would be an easy task. But for some inexplicable reason, each time she saw him, her concentration faltered and her breathing became erratic.

  He was a formidable opponent - he emanated a strength of will, an implacable authority she had never encountered before. She stiffened her spine. She must not let him intimidate her or all would be lost. She had to remember she would rather remain a spinster than marry a man as common as he, however rich and personable.

  ‘Mr Tremayne, there are certain facts I must make clear to you.’

  He indicated she be seated but didn’t answer. When she was settled he perched on the edge of the desk, his face impassive. For a second Allegra felt she was making a grave error, but ruthlessly repressed the thought.

  ‘I have signed your vulgar document because I have no choice. I do not wish my brother to lose his heritage and I have no desire to spend the rest of my life a pauper.’ She shrugged and raised her eyebrows. ‘I believe I have the best of the bargain, Mr Tremayne. I shall be able to

  stay here, in my ancestral home, close to my brother. But I am not what you think, sir.’

  ‘What is that, my lady? I would be interested to hear.’ His rich baritone sent unlooked for shivers down her back.

  ‘I am not interested in anything apart from the Priory, my brother and the well-being of my staff. There is no room in my heart for anything else.’ She risked a glance and her breath stopped in her chest. He was smiling; laughing at her! How dare he? This was insupportable.

  All her carefully planned words were forgotten as she was propelled to her feet by her indignation. ‘You find me a matter of amusement, sir? Your arrogance leaves me almost speechless.’ She treated him to a thorough inspection from the top of his dark head to the toes of his polished Hessians.

  She met his navy eyes, her own icy. ‘I admit you are a fine-looking man. I would have to be blind not to see that, but that is a total irrelevance. You are so far beneath me that even as rich and as handsome as you are, you can never reach me.’ She had his full attention and he was no longer finding the situation amusing. ‘Good, I believe we understand each other. It is best, I think, to go into such a marriage of convenience with one’s eyes fully open. If you expect nothing then you are not going to be disappointed.’

  She nodded, as if to a servant, and prepared to leave. He stepped forward, preventing her. She

  could feel his body heat, almost hear his heart pounding. She had to move back, place a safe distance between them, but his hands reached out and grabbed her arms, his fingers biting into her.

  ‘I think, my dear, your understanding of the situation is as far from the mark as it is po
ssible to be.’

  She gulped, her bravado evaporating, she was unused to being manhandled. ‘Please, sir, release me. You are hurting my arms.’ Her response was so unexpected, and so quiet, he instantly did as she requested.

  Allegra rubbed her upper arms, her face pale, for the first time in her life unsure what to do. Should she reprimand him? Demand an apology, or leave in disarray? The decision was made for her.

  ‘I apologize most sincerely, my lady. I had no intention of hurting you. I merely wished to prevent you from leaving before we had completed our conversation.’

  ‘May I leave now, Mr Tremayne? I am feeling unwell.’

  ‘Of course. Shall I call your abigail?’

  ‘No, thank you. I need no assistance.’ She fled from the library, not sure to whom the honours had gone. She needed to walk outside in the cool of the Wilderness; allow her emotions to calm, let her intellect take control. As she paced along the shady path her hectic colour began to fade. By the time she completed the walk she was more composed.

  Allegra wandered into the rose garden and sank onto a marble bench, the stones cool beneath her hands. Her lids closed and she leant back allowing the midday sun to soothe her. She relived the interview, trying to discover at what point he had gained the ascendancy. She smiled and her eyes flew open. He had won the battle when she had lost her temper. In future she must keep a tight hold on herself, not allow his arrogance, or patronage, to rouse her.

  She frowned. What was she thinking? She did not have a quick or fiery temper. She was

  renowned for her detachment, even as a child her brother had been unable to dent her sang froid.

  What was it about that obnoxious individual that caused her to behave so? Her reverie was rudely interrupted by someone calling her name. What disaster had befallen them now? She stood up, instinctively smoothing down her skirts and turned, with a friendly smile.

  ‘Miss Tremayne, I do hope there is nothing amiss?’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Oh, Lady Allegra, I do beg your pardon for disturbing you. Shall I go away? Really I don’t mind in the slightest.’

  ‘I am delighted to see you, Miss Tremayne. How can I be of assistance?’

  Demelza’s shoulders slumped and her eyes filled with tears. ‘My Papa won’t allow me to become betrothed to Lord Witherton until the middle of next month. I don’t know how I shall bear it.’

  ‘Sit down, my dear, and tell me what has transpired. I had no inkling your affections were so soon engaged, for after all you only known my brother since yesterday.’

  ‘Indeed I have, my lady. But we knew as soon as our eyes met. It was a coup de foudre! I know you’re going to explain I’m too young to make such a decision, but even Papa knows I’m already a sensible adult lady, quite able to make up my mind on such matters.’

  Allegra was not convinced. ‘And Witherton, does he feel the same urgency to be wed?’

  ‘Oh yes, he does. We know we’re destined to be together. What need do I have for a season in Town when I have met my own true love?’ The girl shifted miserably on the bench. ‘We’re not even allowed to be alone together but must somehow still get better acquainted. How do we to do that? And four weeks is so long.’

  ‘My dear, it would be impossible to hold a ball, or party, for your betrothal until we are out of mourning and that is not until July, you know.’ Allegra told her kindly.

  Demelza’s mouth rounded. ‘Oh dear, I do apologize. How stupid of me to forget. I don’t wish for a long engagement, neither does his lordship. But we could be married in August, could we not?’

  ‘If Mr Tremayne is agreeable then there is no reason why not. Do not be in too much of a rush,

  Miss Tremayne. On reflection you might discover you and Witherton do not suit. Once you are married, it is too late to repine. Are you quite certain you wish to spend the next fifty years living here, at St Osyth’s Priory?’

  Demelza shook her head, her black ringlets dancing round her elfin face. ‘I don’t intend to languish here all year round. There’s a townhouse and I intend to spend the season there. And as soon as this horrible war is over I shall insist we take a grand tour. Papa has a yacht, you know.’

  Her ingenuous remarks could not cause offence. Allegra stretched out and took a small hand in hers. ‘And when there are children, my dear? Will you still wish to gad about, abandon them here to the care of their nanny and nursemaids?’

  ‘Children?’ Demelza looked shocked. ‘I don’t wish to have children, not for many years. I’m fond of babies, but I’m too young to have any of my own.’

  Allegra hesitated; should she explain to this naive and innocent girl just what married life entailed? That babies were usually an inevitable result of sharing one’s bed with one’s spouse. ‘Of course you are, my dear, there is plenty of time to consider filling your nursery.’

  ‘I know it will be my duty to provide an heir for Lord Witherton one day, but that will be, I hope, a long time in the future.’

  Allegra stood up. ‘I believe I can see Miss Murrell approaching, Miss Tremayne. Shall we walk to meet her?’

  They strolled back through the budding rose bushes, Demelza chatting of this and that. No more was said about the responsibilities of marriage, but Allegra had grave misgivings about the girl’s readiness for such a step. She would have to have a long and serious talk to her brother before things moved to the point where they could not be reversed.

  The fact that Richard and Miss Tremayne declared themselves to be in love only complicated matters. It put her in an invidious position. If she forced Tremayne to withdraw then he was unlikely to consent to his daughter’s nuptials.

  ‘Miss Murrell, were you looking for us?’ Allegra asked as they met.

  ‘Mrs Dawkins is here from Colchester, my lady, for Miss Tremayne.’

  Demelza skipped forward, her face alight with anticipation. ‘I’ m coming at once, dear Miss Murrell. I can’t wait to select my new gowns.’ She turned to Allegra. ‘It’s not to say that I don’t love your gowns, Lady Allegra, especially this one. Primrose is almost my favourite colour.’

  ‘Run along, Miss Tremayne. It will take a while for your new gowns to be assembled so it is fortuitous you like the ones that I gave you, is it not?’

  Demelza smiled. ‘And anyway, Lucy always says a young lady cannot have too many gowns, so expect I’ll need to keep all of them, including yours.’

  Allegra’s brow puckered as she watched them depart. In her opinion Miss Tremayne was still far too young to contemplate marriage and she was even more determined to inform her brother of her feelings on this matter.

  She decided to walk across the Bury to the church. She felt the need for the solace only quiet communion with her Maker could bring her. Inside the ancient building was unpleasantly

  chill but the myriad colours, thrown into fragmented patterns on the rough stone floor by the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows, made up for the cold.

  She knelt before the altar and tried to compose a prayer but her head was full of unchristian thoughts. Full of schemes to force Tremayne to break the contract and give her back her home and freedom. She shivered and scrambled to her feet not finding the peace she sought. She would be better back in the Priory in her own comfortable apartment With her companion occupied today with overseeing Miss Tremayne’s new clothes she could be sure of privacy.

  Allegra dismissed her maid and curled up in the window seat that overlooked the lawn. This gave her an uninterrupted view of the ancient gatehouse and the flock of shaggy sheep that grazed there awaiting the attentions of the shearers. She needed to think more carefully about her notion to alienate Tremayne to such a degree he would wish her to perdition.

  He was not a man to be easily manipulated. For a commoner he was unnecessarily proud and highhanded, more so than he had any right to be. Wealth was not the equal of good breeding - bloodlines were paramount.

  As she gazed, unfocused, through the leaded panes some movement by t
he bailiff’s house caught her attention. She stared at the two men talking in the shadow of the building. One was Fred, an under-groom, the other obviously a sailor, dressed as he was in navy serge and thick woollen sweater. The men parted after shaking hands and Allegra surmised that contraband had played a part in the discussion. Being so close to the coast smuggling was a way of life.

  Free-traders! Perhaps that was the answer to her problem. She jumped from the window seat

  and grabbed the bell, ringing it loudly. Abbot appeared, her expression anxious.

  ‘I wish to change my gown; I need a walking dress for I am going to visit the stables.’

  ‘Would you like to eat some luncheon before you go, my lady? You had no breakfast this morning.’

  Allegra was about to refuse but Abbot looked so worried she relented. ‘Very well. Perhaps broth, and some fresh bread and a piece of fruit?’

  Changed into a less formal, but equally elegant, peach cambric frock Allegra felt more disposed to tackle the food which was waiting on the side table in her withdrawing-room.

  Her appetite was, as usual, meagre but she managed to swallow enough to satisfy her abigail. ‘I shall return in good time to dress for dinner. The gold Indian silk will be suitable for tonight, Abbot, thank you.’

  Allegra, knowing she might well be seen from the study window, forced herself to appear nonchalant, suppressing her urge to hurry. She had formulated a plan and was eager to set it in motion. Once through the arch that led to the stables she felt it safe to lengthen her stride. Tremayne could not possibly observe her progress now.

  The stable yard was quiet, as was to be expected in mid-afternoon. However, Thomas was sitting outside the tack-room, a side-saddle draped over his knees, making it impossible for him to perform the required bow. He touched his forelock instead.

  ‘Please do not stop your work, Thomas.’ These were the first word she had spoken directly to him since the unfortunate incident on the day her father died. Somehow the fact that her head groom had been obliged to put his hands on her person no longer seemed such a breach of etiquette.