The Scandalous Marriage (The Dukes and Desires Series Book 7)

by M C Beaton

  The Scandalous Marriage

  M. C. Beaton/ Marion Chesney

  Copyright

  The Scandalous Marriage

  Copyright ©1991 by Marion Chesney

  Cover art to the electronic edition copyright © 2011 by RosettaBooks, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  First electronic edition published 2011 by RosettaBooks LLC, New York.

  ISBN Mobipocket edition: 9780795320057

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter One

  Lucy Bliss slipped quietly out of her home to walk in the grounds and get away from the sound of her mother’s voice. Mrs. Bliss had gone into her husband’s study, and steady nagging recriminations sounded through the house.

  It was a February day, fresh and chilly, with a light breeze rustling through the leaves of the evergreens bordering the drive.

  If I ever get a home of my own, thought Lucy, I shall have a garden full of flowers and deciduous trees. No evergreens.

  Mrs. Bliss liked evergreens. They were so neat and tidy and did not shed their leaves in autumn in a messy way. Only one part of the extensive gardens of Dove House, the Bliss family home, had been left in a wild state, and it was there Lucy always went when she was troubled.

  Her mother usually nagged on and on when she wanted something; there was nothing unusual about that. But Lucy could not help feeling a sense of dread, a sense that her life was about to change for the worse and that her mother’s nagging had something to do with it.

  She was nineteen years old and had not made her come-out. Nor had any debut been suggested. Lucy knew her mother was sadly disappointed in her elder daughter’s looks and considered a Season a waste of time and money. But Belinda, Lucy’s younger sister, was another matter. She had just turned seventeen and had put her hair up for the first time. The Bliss sisters had attended a local assembly two nights ago, and Belinda had been mobbed by gentlemen, Belinda with her curly brown-gold hair and huge blue eyes and plump little figure. Lucy, as usual, had sat on a chair against the wall, ignored. She knew her looks were unfortunate. Her hair was silvery-fair, fine and wispy, and her eyes of clear gray too large for her thin face. She was slim and small-breasted, both sad defects in an age when plumpness in a female was admired.

  Not that Lucy was jealous of her pretty sister. Rather, she was protective of her. Lucy had not liked the way Mrs. Bliss had preened herself as she had watched Belinda’s success at the assembly, nor the way she had whispered loudly to a friend, “She is wasted on such country bumpkins. Why, she could marry a duke.” The friend had leaned towards Mrs. Bliss and had begun to mutter urgently, and Mrs. Bliss’s eyes had begun to glow. Since then, it became obvious to Lucy that Mrs. Bliss wanted something that her normally shy and retiring husband was not prepared to give her. Hence the constant nagging.

  In the wild part of the garden little clumps of snowdrops were poking up through the shaggy grass under the trees, “real trees” here, as Lucy thought, birch and alder which would soon bear the tender green leaves of spring. The wind gently rocked the branches, and on the ground, little white heads of the snowdrops bobbed and nodded.

  Lucy wondered what it would be like to be married. She would have a home of her own, and children, and she could ask Belinda to live with her, away from Mrs. Bliss’s ambitions. That was it, thought Lucy, what she had really known since the assembly. Mrs. Bliss’s ambitions for Belinda had been fired, and whatever they were, gentle Belinda would not have strength to stand up to her mother.

  The day was cold, and Lucy shivered and drew her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. She would have liked to be able to return to the house with the prospect of sitting peacefully in front of a blazing fire. But there was never anywhere she could go where her mother would not find her. Other young misses of Lucy’s rank barely saw either of their parents, being closer to their nursery-maids and their governesses. But for as long as Lucy could remember, her mother supervised every inch of her life and her sister’s. There had been a governess, a gentle creature, who had recently been dismissed “because the girls know enough.” But while she had been teaching the girls, Mrs. Bliss had been present at the lessons. Lucy’s mother appeared to have boundless energy.

  The cold of the day eventually forced her to turn her reluctant footsteps toward the house. It was a large, square, brick building, built in the time of Queen Anne. No vulgar ivy had been allowed to soften its uncompromising lines.

  Mr. Bliss hailed from the untitled aristocracy. His wife came from one rung down on the social ladder, the gentry. He was a quiet, scholarly man who sometimes regretted the day he had married his wife. But she had been so pretty, so complacent, so gentle, just like her daughter Belinda appeared at present. How was he to know that she would develop into one of society’s most vulgar and formidable matrons?

  And there, as Lucy entered the highly polished hall, was that matron.

  Mrs. Bliss was enveloped in a purple silk gown. It was strained over her ample bosom and hips. Her round cheeks were highly rouged, and her once beautiful eyes had become small and beady. “There you are, Lucy,” she declared, “and out walking in this inclement weather again. You will ruin your complexion. Not that I have high hopes for you, but you will make an excellent clergyman’s wife if you play your cards right. Well, it is all settled; although Mr. Bliss proved amazingly stubborn, I quite overcame him with good sense. The minute Mrs. Cartwright said that Wardshire was to go to the Season, I knew plain where my duty lay. You are looking uncommonly stupid, Lucy. I mean the Duke of Wardshire.”

  “I know who you mean, Mama,” said Lucy faintly. “Lucifer Wardshire.”

  “Servants’ tittle-tattle. He is one of the richest men in the kingdom, and he can only be going to the Season for one reason—to find a bride. He must meet Belinda. We must be in London very soon, for I must arrange all the necessary connections to launch Belinda. Her clothes must be of the first stare.”

  “Mama,” protested Lucy, “Wardshire is an old man. He is all of thirty-four. Belinda is seventeen. He also has a foul reputation. ’Tis said he has orgies at his home. ’Tis said he has sold his soul to the devil. ’Tis—”

  “Pooh! It is a good thing my ambitions do not rest on you, Lucy. We are to leave for London at the end of the week.”

  Lucy looked bewildered. “But the packing, the arranging…”

  “Nothing to it. I had this in mind for some time, and to that end visited your Uncle George. He never uses his town house, and it is a most genteel address. The last time I visited him, I persuaded him to give me the keys. The servants will go ahead and put all in order. Your dresses will be made in London, for I will not have anyone saying my daughters look provincial.”

  Lucy started to mount the stairs, hoping to get to the sanctuary of her room, to think things out, but as usual, her mother followed her. Mrs. Bliss wore a very powerful perfume. It seemed to envelop Lucy in a great yellow cloud.

  A footman stood aside to let them pass. “James,” said Mrs. Bliss, “fetch Miss Belinda and bring her to Miss Lucy’s bedchamber.”

  Lucy groaned inwardly. No time to rest and think.

  As she took off her hat and Mr
s. Bliss plumped herself down in an armchair by the fire, Belinda came into the room.

  “My pet! My precious!” exclaimed Mrs. Bliss. “Such a future your mama has planned for you! You are to wed the Duke of Wardshire.”

  Belinda flushed in surprise and amazement. “When did he propose?”

  “Silly puss. He has not proposed yet, but he will. We are to go to London, and there you will meet him. Your gowns must be by, let me think, Farré, and…”

  Her voice rose and fell remorselessly. When the dressing bell rang, she continued to talk on and so the sisters ended up changing their gowns in a scramble in order to get to the dinner table on time.

  Mrs. Bliss talked on through dinner while her husband sat, gray and silent. Then to the drawing room. Lucy was commanded to entertain them on the pianoforte, and behind her, as she played, her mother’s voice rose and fell in a sort of counterpoint.

  The supper tray was brought in. Mrs. Bliss had the rare ability of managing to enunciate every word with her mouth full. Lucy unscrewed one pearl earring from her left ear and then screwed it back in again. Pierced ears were for savages, so her earrings were fastened with little screws which pressed into the lobe. Belinda saw the action and gave a slight nod. The sisters had developed a series of movements that could be translated into various messages. The unscrewing of the left earring was Lucy’s signal to her sister to come to her bedchamber when their parents were asleep.

  At last Lucy was able to escape. Her maid undressed her and then Lucy climbed into bed, hoping Belinda would not fall asleep before Mrs. Bliss did. Lucy also hoped the excited Mrs. Bliss would not come in as she often did and sit chattering on the end of the bed until all hours. Lucy often fantasized about gagging her mother for one whole day, just to hear the silence.

  She lay awake for a long time until she heard her parents mounting the stairs, her mother talking on and on and her father answering in mumbles. Poor Papa, thought Lucy, not for the first time. What kind of man was he under the gray exterior? Did he, too, often dream of freedom? Or had he become too crushed by his wife’s domineering personality to have any independent thought at all?

  Silence fell on the house, blessed deep silence. Then, to Lucy’s relief, the door opened gently and Belinda slipped quietly in.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Lucy.

  “Do?” echoed Belinda.

  “I mean, about your marrying the duke.”

  Belinda wrinkled her brow. “Well, you know, sis, it would be no very bad thing to be a duchess. And you could come and live with me. I’ve got to marry someone. Can you imagine being left an old maid?”

  “Easily,” said Lucy dryly. “With a less noisy parent, I could look forward to that future with great equanimity. But, Belinda, this duke is old and a monster. He has orgies.”

  Belinda looked at her doubtfully. “But is that not the way of men, Lucy? They are such very coarse, violent creatures, you know, and we have to accept that. Besides,” she went on, “all I have to do is produce an heir and then this duke will leave me alone and go back to his orgies and mistresses.”

  “Belinda, by the time such a man is finished with you, you would be broken in spirit.”

  “Do you think so?” Belinda looked at her sister placidly. “You know, Lucy, neither you or Mama appear to have stopped to think that this duke may not want me.” She giggled. “I overheard Mrs. Belize saying at the assembly that Mama was the most pushing and vulgar woman she had ever met. Just think, Lucy! Mrs. Belize said that, and she is only a lawyer’s wife. So what will a grand and noble duke make of Mama?”

  Lucy fell back against the pillows and laughed and laughed. Then she wiped her streaming eyes. “What a sensible girl you are, Belinda, and I have been worrying myself to flinders. You have the right of it. Meanwhile, surely in London Mama will be busy making calls and things and have less time to talk to us. Perhaps we might be able to see some of the unfashionable sights. Feathers”—Feathers was their lady’s maid—“was saying this night that she planned to see the wild beasts at the Tower of London. And we shall meet other young people, and young men, too. Not some superannuated horror of a duke.”

  The Duke of Wardshire was at that moment sitting by a large fire in his library drinking brandy with his friend, the Honorable Rufus Graham. Mr. Graham was a Scotchman, indolent and easygoing. He dressed in what he prided himself was the latest fashion, which meant everything about his slim figure was too padded and too tight, and his pantaloons were molded to his long, slim legs like those of a ballet dancer. His amiable, sheeplike face surveyed the duke over a starched cravat of stunning intricacy and hellish discomfort. The duke was in his undress: a banyan worn over shirt and breeches and slippers. Mr. Graham, on the other hand, felt that a gentleman should never be seen minus starch, corsets, padding, and coat except by his valet, a few minutes before going to bed.

  “So you are thinking of getting married?” asked Mr. Graham.

  “Perhaps,” said the duke laconically. He was a tall man with jet black hair, a hawklike face, and pale silvery eyes, and looked like the Lucifer he was reputed to be.

  Mr. Graham looked amused. “And what, then, of this reputation you have so carefully built up? Faith! Do you remember when Lady Jasper came to call with a carriageful of daughters and you got me dressed up in red wig and gown to receive them and pretend I was your mistress? Ah, but we were young then.”

  “We are hardly in our dotage now,” pointed out the duke. “From time to time my servants spread gossip that I have a house full of doxies, and that seems enough to keep ambitious mamas at bay.”

  “But how will you now unmake your reputation?” asked his friend curiously. “What if you fall in love with some pretty innocent at the Season?”

  “Love? I? My friend, you grow mawkish. I do not need to worry about my reputation. I am rich and titled and will find it easy to pick out a wife. I have a mind to have children.”

  “Don’t the females have a say in that?”

  “You are become squeamish. I know what it is. Spring is nearly upon us and you grow sentimental and think of romance for yourself. We shall enjoy ourselves in London. I have been in the country too long and am become the veriest rustic.”

  “Have you considered,” said Mr. Graham, “that you might become enamored of a female who don’t want you? After all, what about Lady Fortescue…?”

  The duke’s eyes flashed with temper. “Clarinda Bellington, now Lady Fortescue, turned me down when I was a green army captain. How was that ladybird to know I would inherit a dukedom? No, the ladies fall in love with rank and fortune, just the way their mothers have schooled them to.”

  “Well, it’s a hard world for the ladies,” pointed out the softhearted Mr. Graham. “Marriage is a career. Love don’t enter into it. We can join the military or the church, but what can they do else?”

  “They could in many cases settle for love and less, but that has not been my experience.”

  “Lady Fortescue embittered you, and that’s a fact,” said Mr. Graham. “When I heard two years ago she was a widow, I thought you might try your luck again.”

  “Hardly, my friend. I do have my pride. How does she look?”

  “Very beautiful. She does not seem to have aged.”

  The duke fell silent. He remembered Clarinda vividly. He remembered the sweet spring evening in the garden of her parents’ home when she had let him steal a kiss. How elated he had been as he had walked away, promising to see her on his next leave. How many dreams he had dreamed of her as he had fought on the high sierras of Spain. But in his absence, she had made her come-out in London and had taken the town by storm. By the time he had returned, she had married the rich and elderly Lord Fortescue, and he had found himself Duke of Wardshire due to the death of the late duke’s nearer relatives in a smallpox epidemic. He had also found himself much sought after. He was rated the highest prize on the marriage market. Sickened, he had retreated to the country only to find out that determined mothers and fathers
followed him there, and so he had begun to build up a horrible reputation for himself so as to live in peace. He had occasionally traveled to Italy and had enjoyed the society of Rome and Venice, but he had never returned to London.

  It had only been recently that he had begun to yearn, not for love, but for a son. To that end he had ordered the town house to be opened up and aired and dusted. Mr. Graham watched the duke’s face and suddenly wished that somewhere in London the duke would come across just one female who would not be impressed by his title. But he doubted it. He had just traveled down from London himself, and society was already humming with the news that the duke’s town house was being prepared for his forthcoming visit. All the duke’s wicked reputation was being put down by the hopeful as nothing more than malicious gossip. But he did not tell the duke that, because he wanted to enjoy a leisurely visit and did not want to rouse the duke into planning anything to reinforce his bad reputation.

  “Even if you don’t find a bride,” said Mr. Graham, “it will do you good to get about a bit and enjoy some plays and operas and meet some decent English people. Italian society is not the same.”

  “No,” agreed the duke. “It was much more enjoyable.”

  “I suppose,” went on Mr. Graham, “you will be having some callers soon.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, the local county will now know the news, and some of the mamas will want to be ahead of the game.”

  “Let them try,” said the duke, looking amused. “I have no mind to socialize until I get to town.”

  Mrs. Bliss bustled into Lucy’s bedroom the following morning and awoke her sleeping daughter by jerking back the curtains and flooding the bedchamber with chilly gray light. “You must rouse yourself, my pet,” ordered Mrs. Bliss. “Two in the afternoon will be a good time to call, I think, and it will take all that time to get you ready. You girls must wear those sweet muslins. A trifle provincial, I fear, but let’s hope he does not notice. Mr. Bliss is being most stubborn and refuses to accompany us. What ails the man? Does he not want to see his daughters wed?”