The Disgraceful Duke

by Barbara Cartland

*

  Driving towards the party that the Duke had expected he might have to miss that evening, he thought how simply and without a hitch everything had proceeded.

  He had imagined that all sorts of difficulties might arise when The McCraig met his great-nephew’s supposed wife, but there was no doubt that Shimona had swept away his opposition and any feeling of aggression he may have had from the very first moment.

  She was, in fact, the Duke told himself, the most amazing actress he had ever encountered – if indeed she was acting.

  He had asked Beau Bardsley for a lady and Beau had certainly provided him with one.

  There was good breeding, the Duke thought, not only in Shimona’s exquisite features but also in her long fingers, her arched insteps and in every word she spoke.

  Hers was not the assumed accent of a ‘Lady of Quality’ that he had heard so often on the stage, nor had she any need to pick and choose her words.

  She was as natural as a flower and that, he thought, was what she resembled, the purity of a lily, perhaps a rose still in bud or again the syringa blossoms that scented the gardens at Ravenstone in the spring.

  ‘Good God, I am becoming a sentimentalist!’ he told himself and tried to concentrate on Mary Ann Clarke.

  He had in fact, when he had grown bored, introduced her to His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent.

  Mary Ann at twenty-seven was not only extremely attractive she also loved life and bubbled over with a gaiety which was all her own.

  “If anyone can make H.R.H. forget his frigid, ugly, German wife, his Army duties and money difficulties, it is Mrs. Clarke,” an Officer under his command had remarked.

  Established by her Royal protector in a large mansion in Gloucester Place with twenty servants including three coachmen and three chefs, Mary Ann was making the most of her new position.

  At her parties she supplied her guests, the bucks and blades of St. James’s with beautiful girls of every colour and led her Royal protector into wild excesses.

  It was, of course, expected that every Gentleman of Fashion should have a mistress and despite the sanctimonious boredom of the Court at Buckingham House it was a robust, bawdy, promiscuous age.

  The rowdy parties and the very undesirable friends the Prince Regent collected around him came in for a lot of criticism – anything that happened at Carlton House was mild compared with the orgies that took place in other Noblemen’s houses.

  A large number of His Royal Highness’s closest friends were certain to be at Mary Ann’s this evening.

  They would include the two most notorious Dukes in England, Queensbury and Norfolk, both of them celebrated drunkards and the former a dedicated lecher.

  Sir John Wade, an amazingly disreputable figure, who derived a large fortune from a brewery, was sure to be another guest. His wife had numbered the Duke of York among her lovers.

  Thinking of the fair charmers with whom he had spent many amusing hours before he tired of them, the Duke’s mind lingered on Fanny Norton.

  The daughter of a dressmaker in Southampton, after many protectors including Richard Brinsley Sheridan and the Duke himself, she had been sold by Colonel Harvey Aston, a leading light of the Quorn Hunt, when he was hard up for six hundred guineas to the Earl of Barrymore.

  A doubtful exchange as, nicknamed ‘Hellgate’ because of his violent temper, the Earl was one of the most debauched men in London.

  The Duke remembered how Fanny had been led on a silken halter into Colonel Aston’s dining room where he was presiding over a stag party, which included ‘Hellgate’.

  She wore only a single garment, giving his Lordship every chance of seeing what he was getting for his money.

  Buying a mistress had become quite a vogue.

  When he was young, the Duke of York had bought one of his first mistresses, the daughter of an hautboy player, for fifteen hundred pounds.

  Lord Hervey’s doxy was a tiny doll-like creature called Vanelle Vane and the Prime Minister also fancied her. Lord Hervey made her over to him for a generous sum.

  ‘Thank God I have never needed to buy a woman!’ the Duke thought to himself as his carriage travelled towards Gloucester Place.

  He could not blind himself to the fact that they rushed into his arms before he even signified any interest in them.

  But he was, as they all knew, extremely generous to those whom he took under his protection, although unfortunately he was also known to tire of them very easily and any pretty Cyprian he fancied soon found herself looking around for another banker.

  Nevertheless, the Duke thought, these pretty, expendable ‘bits of muslin’ could be amusing if only for a short time.

  The carriage was crossing Oxford Street and, looking out through the window, the Duke saw on the pavement a ragged man selling a publication that was greatly in demand by those who could not afford to set up their own establishments.

  It was called The Whoremongers Guide to London and contained addresses of houses of pleasure and descriptions of those known as the ‘Covent Garden Nuns’.

  There were as usual a number of streetwalkers standing near the lamps that illuminated quite effectively the more frequented thoroughfares. Some of them looked very young and were really little more than children.

  Their eyes were painted, their lips reddened and there was no mistaking the eagerness with which they tried to accost every male passer-by.

  As the carriage drove on, quite suddenly the Duke had no wish for the type of entertainment that he knew was waiting for him in Gloucester Place.

  He unexpectedly felt bored at the thought of Mary Ann Clarke’s exuberance and the simulated professional gaiety of the girls she would have chosen with such care.

  He found himself thinking of two worried blue eyes and a soft voice that had a note of fear behind it.

  The Duke bent forward and rapped with his gold-handled cane on the front of the carriage behind the coachman.

  The horses were drawn to a standstill and the footman jumped down to open the door.

  “White’s Club!” the Duke ordered.

  As the horses were turned round and started back the way they had come, he said to himself aloud in a tone of astonishment,

  “Good God! I must be getting old!”

  *

  The afternoon was as sunny as it had been in the morning. The air was crisp, but it was warm for late October and Shimona had discarded her blue cloak and was quite warm enough in the jacket that covered her gown.

  She had found the Military Parade in the morning as exciting as she had anticipated and when the Scottish Regiment marched past, led by the pipe band, her eyes had been shining and she seemed so thrilled that had looked at her with approval.

  “I never believed that men could appear so magnificent as they do in the kilt,” she told The McCraig as they drove back to Berkeley Square.

  “You and your husband must come and stay at Castle Craig and then you can see and hear my own pipers,” The McCraig replied.

  The words made her feel as if doused with cold water.

  With an effort Shimona remembered that she would never be taken to stay at The Castle nor would she ever hear The McCraig’s pipers.

  As if he sensed her sudden embarrassment, Alister said quickly,

  “I remember hearing your pipers when I was a small boy, Great-Uncle. I used to creep out of bed when we stayed at The Castle to hear them going round the table at dinner and longed to be downstairs.”

  “Well, you are old enough to enjoy them now,” The McCraig replied, “and, when you have a son of your own, you must teach him the history of the McCraig Clan and how well they fought in battle marching behind their own pipers.”

  “I shall do that,” Alister said and there was no doubt of his sincerity.

  The McCraig had looked at Shimona.

  “I don’t wish to make you blush,” he said, “but I would like to see my great-grand-nephew before I die.”

  His words did make Shimona blush and she was than
kful when the carriage came to a standstill in Berkeley Square.

  Luncheon was a small meal compared to the large dinner they had eaten the night before and Shimona wondered whether the Duke’s slim athletic figure was due to the fact that he ate little and took a large amount of exercise.

  She had learnt from Alister that his appointment that morning had not been of a very serious nature, but that he always rode for several hours in Hyde Park, schooling the horses that his grooms found too hard to handle.

  As soon as luncheon was finished, they set off for Kew Gardens and now, at the Duke’s suggestion, they travelled in two phaetons, he tooling one and Alister the other.

  Both phaetons had a groom up behind, but Shimona found herself to all intents and purposes alone with the Duke.

  She did not pretend to herself that it was not something that she wished for and enjoyed.

  She had known last night, when she thought over what had happened during the day, that what she most notably remembered were her conversations with the Duke.

  When he was present, she thought, it was difficult for her to notice anyone else or even attend to any conversation in which he did not take part.

  She could not understand this, except that she realised he had the same kind of magnetism that her father had, a power to draw people to him and to hold them spellbound.

  Never before, she thought as they drove along, had the sun seemed so golden or the day held a magic that was so difficult to put into words.

  “You are warm enough?” the Duke asked, as the horses moved more quickly when they were free of the heavy traffic in Piccadilly.

  “I am very warm,” Shimona replied. “It is such a lovely day!”

  She looked up at the sky as she spoke and the Duke glanced at her perfect profile and the long line of her neck before his attention returned to his horses.

  “One day,” he said, “I must show you my garden in the country. It was laid out by my grandfather when he made many alterations to the house and he employed the great gardeners of the time.”

  “Let me guess who they were,” Shimona said. “Charles Bridgeman, William Kent and Capability Brown.”

  “You are very knowledgeable, Miss Wantage, and completely correct in your assumption.”

  “Have you any of the William Kent furniture?”

  “Several pairs of tables,” the Duke replied.

  “Oh, I would love to see them!” Shimona exclaimed.

  “I want to show them to you.”

  She was just about to ask more about them when she remembered that she would never have a chance of seeing the Duke’s gardens or his furniture.

  Tomorrow morning she would disappear out of his life as unceremoniously as she had come into it.

  Never, never must her father guess where she had been or what she had done!

  She was already trying to concoct a story to explain how they now had enough money to go abroad.

  Doctor Lesley would help her there, she hoped, and she would bully Nanna into never disclosing that she had been away from the house in Chelsea for two nights.

  At least Nanna had not known where she had gone, because, although she had insisted on having Shimona’s address, it had in fact been placed in an envelope, which Nanna had sworn she would not open except in an emergency.

  “If Papa becomes dangerously ill and Doctor Lesley tells you to send for me, then open the envelope,” Shimona instructed her.

  “I don’t like all this secrecy,” Nanna said fiercely. “If your mother’s lookin’ down from Heaven at us – God rest her soul – she would say the same!”

  “Mama would want us to save Papa,” Shimona repeated for the thousandth time.

  But Nanna was still grumbling when she had left the house.

  ‘Nothing matters except that Papa should get well,’ Shimona told herself now.

  At the same time she was conscious of something almost like a little ache in her heart at the thought that she would never see the Duke again – never again see his handsome face or hear his voice with that particular note in it that always made her feel a little breathless.

  She had been aware that he looked at her admiringly when she came into the salon before luncheon, having removed the bonnet she had worn for the Military Parade, to find him having a glass of sherry with The McCraig.

  It had been an effort to walk across the room towards him and yet it was difficult to prevent herself from running to reach him.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked now, breaking in on her thoughts.

  “I was thinking about your house in the country. Is it very large?”

  “Very large, very impressive and I think very beautiful!” he replied laughingly.

  “Then it must be,” she answered, “because you have such good taste.”

  He turned to look at her fleetingly and she saw that his eyebrows were raised.

  “Was that rude?” she asked quickly. “Should I not have said it?”

  “It is a compliment that I accept with great pleasure!”

  Shimona thought for a moment and then she said,

  “But you are surprised that an – actress should recognise good taste.”

  “I did not say so.”

  “But that is what you thought.”

  “The truth is that I am afraid of your reading my thoughts so easily.”

  “As I – am when you read – mine.”

  “You have something to hide and you are in fact hiding it from me very successfully.”

  There was silence until, when they had driven further, the Duke said,

  “I wish that you would trust me, even though there is little reason why you should do so.”

  Shimona sighed.

  “I – want to trust you – and I hate having – secrets – it is very – difficult – ”

  “I have a feeling, although I may be mistaken, that you find it hard to lie.”

  “I have never lied!” Shimona said quickly, “except – ”

  “Except at this moment?”

  Shimona made a gesture with her hands.

  “Please – ” she pleaded, “you are making it very – difficult and I am doing what you want.”

  “And doing it brilliantly,” the Duke said in a low voice. “So much so that I am not only astonished and bewildered but also intrigued and most curious!”

  Shimona sat staring straight ahead of her.

  The sun glinted on the silver of the horses’ harness and it seemed to dazzle her eyes or was it that she was dazzled by the man beside her?

  They reached Kew Gardens and Alister, who had been following close behind, drew up his horses near to them.

  It was obvious as soon as they began to walk around the gardens that The McCraig was very knowledgeable about plants and shrubs, especially about those that had recently been discovered.

  Alister never said a word and, as the old man seemed content to talk to Shimona, the Duke also relapsed into silence.

  “Discovering a new plant is just as exciting, if not more so, than discovering a new planet,” The McCraig said.

  “You are thinking of Uranus, sir,” Shimona smiled. “I have read how it was discovered by Sir William Herschel, who was a musician before becoming an astronomer.”

  “That is right!” The McCraig said, obviously delighted at her knowledge. “And I expect you know that it was David Douglas who brought the Douglas fir from the West Coast of America.”

  “I am afraid I am more interested in flowers, sir,” Shimona replied, “which my mother loved. She told me how excited she was when she first saw the gold lily – the lycoris – when she was a little girl.”

  “A beautiful bloom,” The McCraig said. “But I prefer the fuchsia, which was introduced only a few years ago and which I can grow in Scotland.”

  “I can understand that,” Shimona smiled.

  They looked at the Chinese Pagoda and at the Chinese gardens around it, which were of particular interest to The McCraig.

  “
Do you know anything about the Chinese?” he asked Shimona.

  “I know they have ancient medicines which they have found efficacious over the centuries,” she replied.

  “Medicines?” he queried.

  “All flowers and plants have medicinal qualities.”

  “I know there are herbs used by the gypsies and some country folk,” the Duke interposed, “but are you telling me that ordinary flowers can be used medicinally?”

  Shimona smiled at him.

  “Of course they can! Roses for instance to help the heart and liver and not only to prevent pain but also heal internal wounds.”

  “I never realised that before!” the Duke exclaimed.

  “The lily of the valley is particularly good for rheumatism and depression and also helps the brain.”

  “Then I can think of a number of acquaintances who need that,” the Duke remarked dryly.

  “Have you made a study of this?” The McCraig enquired.

  “My mother was very interested in herbs and flowers and she taught me a great deal about them,” Shimona replied simply.

  “Your wife is far more talented and knowledgeable than I ever expected in anyone so young,” The McCraig said to Alister, as they walked back through the gardens to where their phaetons were waiting.

  “I am very lucky man!” he said lightly.

  “You are indeed! Very lucky!” The McCraig answered and there was no doubt that he meant it.

  As they drove back in the phaeton the Duke said,

  “Once again you have given a performance that was not only faultless but would bring any audience to their feet!”

  “It was not a – performance!”

  “I realise that.”

  “We are lying to him about only one thing,” Shimona said. “Surely therefore what we are doing cannot be so very – wrong?”

  She was pleading with him almost like a child who wishes to be reassured and, after a moment, the Duke remarked,

  “I don’t think that anyone would consider it wrong to make the old gentleman happy, which he obviously is in your company and to allay his fears where his great-nephew is concerned.”

  “But if he ever finds out?” Shimona asked.

  “That is something that must not happen! Alister made a monumental mistake in marrying this woman, but I don’t wish him to be penalised for the rest of his life.”