To Marry a Duke

by Fenella J Miller

  She sipped a little of her drink before returning the cup to the tray. The rolls had been split and strawberry jam melted from the centres. Eagerly she selected one and raised it to her mouth. The conserve oozed red and thick from the warm roll and, as she watched, the red became blood dripping from lacerated flesh.

  With a scream she flung it from her and her stomach constricted, ejecting the hot chocolate she had consumed so happily minutes before. In the aftermath of the nausea the full horror of the day’s events flooded back. She recalled Richard’s injury, Jago’s brutal words and her decision to stop loving him.

  It took the combined efforts of Abbot and Miss Murrell to calm her sufficiently to administer a large dose of laudanum. When drugged oblivion began to sweep her away into the darkness she went willingly, glad to escape her misery.

  *

  Doctor Jones pronounced himself satisfied with Richard’s progress. ‘My lord, you have no fever. It will be in order for you to return to St Osyth tomorrow morning, but you must rest for another three days, to allow the wounds to heal.’

  ‘That will be no hardship. I’ve no intention of appearing in public until I look a little more presentable.’

  ‘Excellent, my lord. Light meals only, and no alcohol.’ This last remark he addressed to the manservant standing attentively beside the bed.

  ‘I understand, sir. Word will be sent ahead to Cook.’

  The doctor bowed and left the patient in the efficient hands of his valet. Jago was in the sitting-room, his face serious. ‘How is he? When can he be moved?’

  ‘He’s making good progress and can return home tomorrow morning, when it’s not so warm. I shall call in to visit him the next day, but do not hesitate to send for me if you feel any anxiety before that.’

  Jago, immaculate in dark green topcoat, calfskin breeches and his usual intricately tied neck-cloth, showed no visible signs of strain. He strode into the sick room. ‘Well, Witherton, you can return home tomorrow morning. Your face isn’t looking so bad this evening - in a few days you’ll be able to properly assess the damage.’

  ‘I’m in no hurry to view myself in a glass, I can assure you, sir. But until I do, I’ve no wish for Demelza or Allegra to visit me. I hope they understand this.’

  ‘They do. In fact they returned to the Priory immediately after your accident in order to give you the privacy you requested.’

  The tap on the door interrupted their conversation. James, Richard’s valet, answered the summons. ‘There’s a messenger from The Priory, sir. It seems it’s urgent.’

  Jago’s eyes narrowed but otherwise he remained unmoved. ‘I’ll be there directly. Have him wait in the hall for me.’

  Richard waved him away. ‘Go, I’m well served here. Charles can deal with anything my man cannot manage.’

  ‘If you’re sure, lad, I’ll go and attend to this latest drama.’ He smiled. ‘Have no doubt it’s of no more importance than that Demelza wishes to quiz me on your condition.’

  Once outside the bed chamber his demeanour changed and he covered the distance to the hall in seconds. Thomas stood, hat in hand, awaiting his arrival. ‘Well, Thomas, what is it?’

  ‘It’s Lady Allegra, sir. She’s taken poorly. Miss Murrell wishes you to return immediately.’

  The words had hardly left the coachman’s mouth before Jago was out of the front door, taking the steps in one leap and speeding towards the stables. ‘Fetch my saddle. I’ll get Apollo,’ he shouted to Thomas, who pounded along at his shoulder.

  Both men were mounted and away in less than five minutes from the delivery of the message. They galloped across country, jumping the walls and hedges, their horses devouring the miles. When they arrived at the Priory, Jago threw the reins to Thomas, vaulted from his saddle and raced inside. His stomach roiled and his face was pale.

  He’d arrived, his appearance dishevelled, his boots dusty, in little over an hour since the summons had been sent. His knock brought Miss Murrell to the door.

  ‘Oh, Mr Tremayne, I’m so glad you’re here. Lady Allegra was unwell this morning and I was obliged to give her a dose of laudanum to settle her. But she hasn’t come round. She’s still asleep. Nothing we can do will rouse her.’

  ‘How much did she swallow, for God’s sake?’

  ‘A teaspoon - no more – that’s why I’m so concerned. It cannot be the poppy juice that keeps her comatose.’

  Jago wanted to rush into her bedchamber but restrained his impulse. He needed to know more. ‘You said she was unwell earlier today, in what way?’

  Miss Murrell described what had happened and he frowned. ‘Did Lady Allegra bang her head on anything? Could she have had a fall during the night?’

  ‘No, sir. She slept well. In fact Abbot said this was the best night’s sleep she has had for years.’

  ‘Why have you not sent for Dr Jones? Why did you send for me instead?’

  Miss Murrell flushed and hesitated. ‘Her ladyship was most distressed in the carriage on her return yesterday. I have known her all her life and have never seen her weep before, not even when she was whipped for disobedience by her mother.’

  ‘God in his heaven! What have I done? This is my fault.’ Ignoring her protests he pushed his way into Allegra’s room. The chamber was dark, the shutters closed, but the bed curtains remained open.

  Allegra lay like an effigy on her bed. With a gasp of despair he flung himself across the room, snatching her up in his arms. He rocked her gently, as he crooned her name. Was he too late, had his anger caused her death?

  *

  Her dark world was moving; Allegra felt as if she was afloat on a choppy sea. Someone dear to her was calling her name, begging her to return from her journey, to open her eyes. It was Jago.

  He was here, holding her close to his heart, whispering sweet nonsense into her ears. When her eyes flickered open she saw him transformed. The intimidating stranger was gone and in his place was a man, his cheeks unashamedly wet, gazing down at her with love.

  ‘My darling, thank God, thank God. For a moment I thought I’d lost you. That somehow you had taken an overdose of laudanum.’

  ‘Jago? Is that you? What are you doing here?’

  He had been forced to place his ear close to her mouth to hear her words. ‘I came because you’re ill, my sweet. Your ladies sent for me.’ He punctuated his words with kisses, dropped, feather-light across her face until his lips found hers and stilled. Her mouth opened and she drew in his taste, his smell, his love. He made no attempt to deepen the kiss, moving his mouth softly across hers, murmuring endearments and apologies until her head was spinning.

  With a feeble hand she pushed him away. ‘Enough, Jago, you are overwhelming me.’ Instantly contrite he prepared to vacate his position on the bed. ‘No, stay here, I am still a trifle heavy-headed. Just hold me, my love, let me feel your arms around me, let me know I am safe.’

  Ignoring the scandalized expressions of both Miss Murrell and Abbot, he leant forward and heaved off first one boot and then the other. His jacket followed, then his stock. He grinned at Allegra and her lips curved in an affectionate smile.

  Then he was back beside her, his dark head resting on her pillow and his long legs stretched out on the cover. ‘Sit forward, sweetheart,’ he instructed. She did so willingly. ‘There, lean back, rest your head on my shoulder and sleep. I have you safe in my arms.’

  She settled back with a deep sigh contentment. Over the past thirty-six hours she had been somersaulted from happiness to despair and back again. She was emotionally exhausted. When

  she was more rested she would ask Jago to explain what had happened, but for the moment all she needed was to have him here, holding her close and to know he loved her. The rest could wait.

  *

  Jago gestured to the shocked watchers that they should leave and with bad grace they retired, leaving him alone on the huge tester bed with Allegra cradled his arms. He smiled as the door was left ajar behind them. She was his now. Spending the night tog
ether, however innocently, meant that she would be obliged to marry him or her good name would be destroyed, her place in society gone for ever.

  Her breathing become soft and slow and he knew she was asleep. He relaxed, prepared to stay awake all night guarding his prize. But his triumph began to sour. Could he be content for her to marry him, never knowing if she did so from choice of because she was obliged to? Gently he extracted his arm and slid across the bed. His stockinged feet made no sound on the boards. He collected his scattered belongings and crept out.

  ‘Thank the Lord for that,’ Abbot exclaimed under her breath. ‘Is Lady Allegra asleep, sir?’

  He smiled, glad his beloved had such devoted staff. ‘She is, Abbot. I’ll sleep in here, if you have no objection, and you can sleep in the bed chamber with her ladyship.’

  ‘That I will, Mr Tremayne. I promise if she stirs I will call you instantly.’

  ‘Good. Ring for a tray to be sent up. I’ve not eaten since this morning and am sharp set.’

  *

  When Allegra woke the birds’ early-morning chorus filled the room with magic. It matched her mood. She was not perturbed by Jago’s absence as she had wokenin the night to seek and Abbot had explained. How thoughtful; how could she ever have imagined him to be less than a true gentleman?

  She swung her legs over the edge, making sure she did not disturb Abbot, quietly snoring on a cot at the foot of the bed. Her silk wrapper was draped, as usual, over a chair back and she slipped it on. She crept across the chamber and pushed open the door, catching her breath in delight when she saw her beloved sprawled, arms and legs akimbo, more off than on the chintz covered chaise longue he had selected for his bed.

  Asleep he looked so much younger, the lines around his mouth and eyes smoothed out, his fine dark hair flopping endearingly over his eyes. She barely resisted the urge to run across and fling herself into his arms. If he could be strong, do the right thing, then so could she. She was beginning to move backwards when he spoke, his eyes still closed.

  ‘Darling girl, are you well? Do stop dithering in the doorway in your undergarments. Go away at once. For I swear, if I open my eyes I’ll not be responsible for my actions.’

  With a gasp, half of pleasure, half of fear, she skipped back inside the safety of the chamber, closing the door firmly behind her. The noise awoke her guardian.

  ‘My lady, you must not go out dressed as you are.’

  ‘I shall not, Abbot. I was at the open door a second or two, no longer, and Mr Tremayne was still asleep. I needed to know he was outside.’

  Abbot shook out her crumpled gown; she had not undressed for her night vigil. ‘If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I’ll retire to my room and make myself more presentable. Shall I rouse the kitchen for your chocolate?’

  ‘No, it is far too early. I shall sit by the window and listen to the birds singing and watch the sun come up across the park. There is no need to hurry, I am quite content.’

  By the time the Priory was awake Allegra was bathed and dressed in her favourite morning gown: a simple blue and white sprigged muslin, with a sash and petticoat that exactly matched her

  eyes. Her sitting-room was restored and her lover gone. But his message, written on her own stationery, had been explicit.

  My darling Allegra,

  I implore you to meet me at eight o’clock in the library. Do not be late.

  Jago Tremayne.

  Her lips curved every time she read it. Even his note was a mixture of endearment and direction.

  Richard was returning later, at ten o’ clock, but before that she had her assignation. The hands of the ormolu mantel clock refused to move this morning. Five minutes seemed like fifty.

  ‘It is time, at last. I am going down, Abbot. I shall be back to change, I intend to ride out to meet the carriage bringing Lord Witherton home.’

  On light feet she flew downstairs, her radiance, her glow of happiness, sending more than one young male servant reeling. The library door was open and she rushed in. Her smile faltered.

  ‘Jago, what is wrong, why do you look so fierce? Is Richard worse?’

  He ignored her flustered questions and asked one of his own. ‘Do you know what these are?’ He held out two rolls of parchment neatly tied with red ribbons. The agreements she and Richard had been obliged to sign.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘And these, can you guess what these might be?’ He gestured to a box filled with flimsy scraps of paper and other official looking items. She peered at the box.

  ‘My father’s vowels? Mortgage documents perhaps?’

  ‘They are. Sit down on that chair by the fireplace.’

  Intrigued, she sat and waited, she could do nothing else. Her gaze drifted to the empty grate and she realized it held kindling. She watched him gather up the papers and tip them on top of the sticks. He knelt by the chimney breast and picking up the tinderbox, he struck it against the kindling making several strikes before the sparks caught fire.

  She held her breath as the papers that tied her to Jago crumbled into ashes. He was setting both Richard and herself free: giving them back their inheritance. He loved her so much he was letting her go. How could he? She did not want to be free - she wanted to be tied to him for life. Was he so blind he failed to understand how she had changed towards him?

  He watched the papers disintegrate, reduce to grey dust, before he moved. Then, still on his knees, he moved to face Allegra. He lifted his head and gazed into her heart.

  ‘My love, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? No, think about it, don’t answer too quickly. You have your inheritance restored; you can marry anyone you want.’

  ‘Jago, you are a nincompoop! The only man I want is you - I love you. If I cannot have you, I shall have no one.’

  With a roar of delight he regained his feet and lifted her from the chair. When he set her down again they were both breathless.

  ‘You do comprehend, Jago, my love, that you are now my guest and I can have you evicted if I so desire?’

  ‘You can try, sweetheart, but I would not lay wagers on your success.’

  Giggling she pretended to push him but her attempt ended with squeal as he tossed her into the air and, tucking her under one arm like a parcel, headed for the door. Squirming with embarrassment she was carried through the corridors to the breakfast parlour, leaving a series of servants open mouthed with astonishment.

  ‘That was uncalled for, Jago. You are far larger than I; you used brute strength to prove a point. If you had used your intellect I should have been more impressed.’ Rigid with annoyance she stepped up to the sideboard, groaning under the weight of silver dishes containing food. She stared at them; for the first time in her life aware just how extravagant her lifestyle was.

  ‘There are thirteen of these here and just four of us to eat the contents. Jago, what have I been thinking of? What a terrible waste, when so many country folk are going hungry.’

  Unmoved by her sudden conversion to philanthropy he began removing the covers. ‘Would you like ham, coddled eggs, scrambled eggs, buttered mushrooms, porridge…’

  ‘Stop this at once, Jago. This is no laughing matter.’

  ‘Sweetheart, what do you think happens to the leftover food after every meal?’

  ‘I had not considered.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘I suppose the staff finish it.’

  ‘Of course they do. Why do think they are all so healthy and well fed? If you cut the amount your cook prepares, your staff will fare less well each day.’

  ‘I am not convinced that it would not be better to allow extra funds for their rations and have the food prepared especially for them.’

  ‘Good God! I’m marrying a radical! I’d no idea you harboured such revolutionary ideas, my love. Next you will propose we pay pensions to our staff and keep them free of charge until they die.’

  She was unsure if he was teasing. Then she remembered his threat to turn the Priory old folk off. ‘You are a scoundrel, Jago Tremayne. Yo
u have no right to poke fun at me.’

  They passed the time happily bickering and enjoying every moment of it. This was a novelty for both of them, to have someone they could laugh and talk with and not need to worry about causing offence.

  ‘I am going to ride out and meet Richard; will you come with me, Jago?’

  His face sobered. ‘You cannot, my dear. He asked expressly for me to keep both you and Demelza away until he’s more recovered. I believe he’s worried about your reaction to his injuries.’

  ‘He’s worrying unnecessarily on my account. I cannot imagine for one minute Demelza will be repulsed, not if she truly loves him.’

  Jago was not so optimistic. ‘I sincerely hope you’re right, Allegra. Your brother truly loves her and he has lost so much already.’

  ‘He has his inheritance back. Maybe that will be enough for him.’

  ‘Would it be for you?’

  Allegra felt as if she had swallowed a stone. Richard and she were twins. If he had given his heart then like her, nothing else would make him happy. No amount of wealth could ever compensate for losing that love.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A closed carriage brought Richard home at the expected time to what must have seemed like a ghost house. Not a soul inside or out apart from Jago waiting by the door to welcome him.

  ‘Here, lad, allow me to offer my arm, you still look a trifle unsteady.’

  ‘Thank you, sir; I can manage with the assistance of my man.’ He negotiated the entrance, but was forced to pause to recover his strength before attempting the stairs. ‘I’m confoundedly weak still. It’s only my eye I have lost, not a limb, I cannot understand it.’

  ‘You lost a lot of blood, my boy; such a serious injury sends the body into shock. You’ll be back to normal in a day or two, I guarantee it.’

  His shoulders slumped. ‘No, sir, I shall not. My face is ruined. I shall never be the same.’

  ‘When the swelling and superficial cuts heal you will see the damage is not so dire. Doctor