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

by M C Beaton

  A footman appeared in front of her and said the duke would like to see her in the library. Now what? thought Lucy bleakly.

  The duke was seated in front of the fire. Over at a large desk by the window sat a young man, writing busily. The duke rose at Lucy’s entrance, as did the young man. “My dear,” said the duke, “allow me to present my most efficient secretary, Mr. Lewis. Mr. Lewis, my intended bride, Miss Bliss. Mr. Lewis will handle all the arrangements for the wedding. He knows exactly what to do. Are you ready to go out? I am anxious to introduce you to my tenants.”

  Lucy did not want to argue in front of the secretary. “I have to go upstairs to fetch my bonnet and cloak.”

  He rang the bell. “One of the servants will fetch them for you. Sit down, my dear; you should have something hot to drink.” He looked over at the door as a footman entered. “Giles, be so good as to tell one of the maids to fetch a bonnet and cloak for Miss Bliss. Any preference, my dear?”

  “No,” said Lucy wearily, “it does not matter what I wear.” The secretary looked at her in surprise.

  “And bring coffee, I think, and perhaps some hot chocolate,” ordered the duke.

  When the servant had left, he joined Mr. Lewis at the desk and began to tick off names on a long, long list. “You will make sure all the tenants are invited, Mr. Lewis. The wedding breakfast for the guests will be indoors, and for the tenants, a marquee on the lawn just in case it rains. You will tell Mrs. Bliss, of course. Make sure too many people from London don’t descend on us, for they will probably stay for weeks.”

  Lucy sat down by the fire and listened gloomily to all these preparations. Her heart sank even lower as she heard the duke say, “Presents have begun to arrive. Acknowledge them all.” He swung round. “Would you care to see them, my dear?” Lucy shook her head. “Perhaps later,” he said.

  Two footmen came in carrying trays and set them down on a table in front of the fire. Lucy took a cup of coffee and some thin toast. If only there was somewhere she could run to. And then she thought of Mr. Graham. He would surely marry her and take her out of the clutches of the duke.

  She raised her voice. “Is Mr. Graham traveling down from London?”

  He cast her a mocking look. “I suppose so. And, alas, his fiancée.”

  “He is engaged?” asked Lucy, almost hearing the prison doors slam.

  “Yes, and to none other than Lady Fortescue. It seemed he was disappointed in love, my dear. I had a letter from him to that effect. The lady he hoped to marry was… er… engaged to one of his friends, and so he took his broken heart to Lady Fortescue and they discovered they were made for each other.”

  So that’s that, thought Lucy.

  There was a tremendous bustle from the hall, and after some minutes, silence again. Then a footman appeared, followed by a maid carrying Lucy’s hat and cloak. “Everything is now ready, Your Grace,” he said.

  What it is to be a duke, thought Lucy. All this fuss just for a morning’s outing.

  “Come along, Miss Bliss,” said the duke. “Our carriage awaits. Mr. Lewis, I trust you will be able to manage everything.”

  Lucy went out into the hall. All the staff appeared to be lined up to say farewell to them. There was an air of holiday.

  But a deep depression assailed her. She nodded and smiled, but barely saw anyone. She climbed in the carriage, the duke got in after her, the staff set up a cheer, and carriage and outriders moved off.

  “Do you usually travel in such state, and are you usually sent on your way by cheering servants?” asked Lucy.

  He settled himself comfortably in his corner and tilted his hat over his eyes. “I had very little sleep last night,” he said, “so I had better get some now.” He closed his eyes and appeared to fall neatly and instantly asleep.

  The carriage lurched to a stop. “Must be the lodge gates,” thought Lucy. The carriage curtains were drawn tightly closed, probably because the duke did not want his sleep disturbed by the bright morning sunlight. The carriage turned in to the road and then surged forward. Lucy uttered an impatient exclamation. So tedious not to look out.

  She drew back the red leather curtains on her side and blinked in the flood of bright sunlight and then blinked again in amazement. Two outriders were on her side of the carriage.

  She let down the glass and leaned out. “Where are we going at this rackety pace?” she called to the outriders, but both appeared to have been struck deaf.

  Panic assailed her. She took stock of her surroundings. This was a closed carriage. In her misery on leaving the hall, she had not looked at anything closely, assuming vaguely that because they were only going to visit the tenants, the duke considered a closed carriage conventional under the circumstances.

  She flung herself on the sleeping duke and pummeled him awake with her fists. “What ails you?” grumbled the duke.

  “This is a traveling carriage,” howled Lucy. “And there are outriders.”

  The eyes under hooded lids looked at her sleepily and then the duke said, “Just realized it, have you?”

  “We are not going to see your tenants,” gasped Lucy. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Gretna Green in Scotland,” he said amiably. “Do let me sleep.”

  “Gretna…? That’s where people get married. At the blacksmith’s. You cannot do this! Mama! Belinda! What of all the wedding arrangements?”

  “I found the idea of a large wedding with hundreds of guests and your mother crowing in triumph was one that displeased me. So I decided to elope with you.”

  “Without even asking me?”

  “You do not seem to know your own mind, my sweet, so I decided to make it up for you.”

  “And how am I supposed to find a clean change of clothes?”

  “Your clothes are all packed and strapped on the back.”

  Lucy remembered the giggling housemaids and realized that they must have been waiting for her to descend and go into the library so that they could pack her things.

  “You are out to ruin me!” she cried.

  “Not I. You will be described as my cousin at each posting house. I do mean to marry you.”

  “And make Mama’s humiliation complete?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Bliss may have her wedding. Belinda will be married, not you. I persuaded the vicar to get a special license from his bishop. I will foot the bill, and Monsieur Farré may design a gown for Belinda.”

  “You had it all planned,” said Lucy. “But you will not succeed. I will run away!”

  “Where? Back to Mrs. Bliss to tell her you don’t want a duke after all? Now, be a good girl and cease pestering me. I plan to sleep until the first stop.”

  Lucy sat in a turmoil of fury. She clasped her hands together tightly. Panicking would not help. Somehow she must hit on a way to escape from him.

  Never had the servants at Sarsey witnessed such a scene when Mrs. Bliss found the duke had escaped her. Mr. Lewis, the secretary, stood quietly before her. He had explained matters to her and was now glad the duke had warned him of what he would have to endure. But he had been promised extra payment for coping with such as Mrs. Bliss, and so he decided to wait until this formidable matron’s hysterics were over.

  It was almost as if Mrs. Bliss suddenly remembered she had a husband. She tugged the bell and demanded that Mr. Bliss present himself in the drawing room immediately.

  “I shall sue him for breach of promise,” panted Mrs. Bliss, meaning the duke.

  “You can hardly do that, madam,” pointed out Mr. Lewis. “His Grace is going to marry your daughter.”

  “He has ruined me, you nincompoop,” shouted Mrs. Bliss.

  “Hardly,” said Mr. Lewis, deliberately misunderstanding her. “For the wedding is to go ahead, but between Miss Belinda and Mr. Marsham, and His Grace has said he will pay for everything.”

  Mr. Bliss entered the room quietly and stood looking at them.

  “Mr. Bliss!” cried his wife. “But hear this! Wardshire has eloped to Gretna with Luc
y!”

  “Yes. I know,” said Mr. Bliss. “His Grace informed me of his plans.”

  Mrs. Bliss turned puce. “And you did not tell me?”

  “We discussed the matter and came to the conclusion it was better not to.”

  “Your own wife? Why?”

  “Because you would have inflicted a hellish scene on Lucy, and I think she has enough to bear. I am convinced after all that Wardshire will make her a good husband. I think perhaps that Lucy might be a little in love with him.”

  “How could you? How dare you? Oh, all the people that have been invited!”

  “They will find themselves at Belinda’s wedding instead. Mr. Lewis says he will take the blame and say he put the wrong name on the invitations, which is handsome of him. He will also handle the arranging of everything. Belinda is a very lucky girl.”

  Mrs. Bliss struck her bosom dramatically. “You have betrayed me, Mr. Bliss. I will have nothing to do with this farce of a wedding. Oh, when I think of the grand guests, all coming to find out my daughter is wedding a common vicar.”

  “Belinda is marrying a fine young man. You should be happy for her. You have had your way long enough, Mrs. Bliss. I am going off with Mr. Lewis to discuss the arrangements, and I suggest you leave it to us.”

  At that moment Belinda entered the room. Mrs. Bliss started up again at the sight of her, and Mr. Bliss and Mr. Lewis took the opportunity to make their escape.

  Belinda listened solemnly to her mother’s lamentations, and when Mrs. Bliss had finally talked herself dry, Belinda said, “Well, I think that is handsome of Wardshire. I must go to see Mr. Marsham.”

  “You could have married a title,” said Mrs. Bliss bitterly. “You are an ungrateful girl, as bad as your father. I have a headache. I am going to my room and do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “I do not think anyone would want to,” remarked Belinda to her mother’s retreating back.

  But when she was left alone, Belinda began to worry about Lucy and how she was faring. She was also worried that Mr. Marsham had said nothing about it to her.

  Some minutes later she descended to the hall, dressed to go out, and asked a footman to fetch the gig from the stables.

  Mr. Marsham was working on his sermon when his beloved was ushered by his dragon of a maid, who threw Belinda a venomous look before leaving the room.

  “I do not think your maid is ever going to like me,” sighed Belinda.

  “You must not worry yourself over her,” said Mr. Marsham. “I found another position for her. She will be replaced by a cheerful young girl from the village.”

  “All these arrangements going on behind my back,” mourned Belinda. “And poor Lucy being dragged off to Scotland! You might have told me.”

  “I would have done, my love,” said Mr. Marsham, “if His Grace had not sworn me to secrecy. So we are to be married in quite a rush. Do you mind so very much?”

  “Oh, no. May we keep all the dogs?”

  “As many as you like,” said the doting vicar.

  Belinda smiled sunnily. “Well, in that case, I forgive you all. But poor Lucy…”

  He gathered her in his arms and began to kiss her, and Belinda forgot all about her sister for the moment and kissed him back with great enthusiasm while Barney sat at their feet and looked up at them curiously for a few moments before going in search of his family.

  It had been a long, weary day for Lucy. She refused to talk to the duke. They finally stopped for the night at a town with the depressing name of Puddledyke. Lucy endured dinner in a private parlor with the duke, who talked lightly of this and that and seemed amused by her taciturn silence. But her anger was mixed with fear. They had adjoining bedchambers. What if he planned to share her bed?

  But the duke merely suggested at the end of the meal that she might like to retire early and said he would send a maid to help her unpack and she would be called at six in the morning.

  Lucy was glad to escape from him. With him, she felt overshadowed by his personality and unable to think clearly about what to do.

  She instructed the maid to take out her nightrail, a traveling gown, and a change of linen, but to leave everything else as it was. No point in unpacking any more when she had to leave in the morning.

  While the maid was stooping to put more logs on the fire, Lucy, watching her, suddenly remembered a lecture she had heard given by a mannish woman called Miss Tibbs. Miss Tibbs had given a lecture in the town hall near Lucy’s home about two years ago about women’s rights. She had said that it was shameful that so many women should become the slaves of men because there was no other option open to them. She urged them to consider that it was possible to break class bounds to obtain freedom. One could always become a servant. This had produced a shocked murmur from the ladies in her audience. But Lucy remembered those words now.

  “Is there a large house near here?” she asked.

  The maid turned round and bobbed a curtsy. “There be Sir George Clapham. Two Trees, his house is called. ’Bout a mile out on the west road.”

  “Thank you. Pray see that I am not disturbed in the morning.” The maid curtsied again and left.

  Lucy searched her luggage and found to her delight that the maids had packed her traveling writing case. She sat down and wrote two references for herself, sanded them, and put them into her reticule. She knew she had ten guineas and some silver in her purse, more than enough for her purpose.

  She waited until two in the morning and then packed a few items in a bandbox, swung a heavy cloak about her shoulders, and made her way downstairs. The inn was still coping with arriving and departing travelers. She walked through the inn yard and out into the town. She stopped a watchman and asked him for the inn where the stagecoaches called, and was told it was the Goat and Compasses, about ten minutes walk away.

  She presented herself at the coaching inn, knowing she had made a good choice. Unlike the elegant posting house, it had a more anonymous air. To her relief, she was able to obtain a room. She used the name Miss Tibbs, paid her shot in advance, and said she did not want to be disturbed early in the morning as she planned to sleep late.

  In the morning, keeping to the shadows of the buildings and looking about her from time to time for fear of being discovered by the duke’s servants, she found a secondhand clothes shop and purchased two black gowns, two print gowns, three aprons, and three caps.

  Satisfied, she returned to the inn and ordered a hearty breakfast to be sent up to her room. She felt happier than she had done for a long time. She felt in control of her destiny. She packed her new clothes into the bandbox and quietly left the inn and walked the half mile out of town to Two Trees, Sir George Clapham’s home.

  After the intimidating grandeur of Sarsey, it looked to Lucy like a relatively modest manor. It was an old house, and so the servants’ quarters were to the side of the house, the rustic as it was called, rather than being in the basement.

  She knocked loudly at the kitchen door, and it was answered by an off-duty footman in his shirtsleeves. “I am looking for employment,” said Lucy bluntly.

  “Better come in,” said the footman. He led the way through the scullery and kitchen to the servants’ hall. “Wait there,” he said, “and I’ll get Mrs. Foxe.”

  After about ten minutes, Mrs. Foxe, the housekeeper, appeared, great cap nodding, keys jangling. She was a small, squat woman with a yellowish complexion and a great wide mouth and bulging eyes. Lucy thought she looked like a toad.

  “What d’ye want, girl?” demanded Mrs. Foxe.

  “I am looking for employment,” said Lucy, coarsening her vowels.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Off the stage from London, madam.”

  “Why? Why Puddledyke?”

  Lucy hung her head. “Come on, out with it,” snapped Mrs. Foxe. “Some fellow, was it?’”

  “Yes, madam,” whispered Lucy. “A soldier. He said he lived here and that he would marry me, but I went to the address he gave me
and there isn’t such a place.”

  “Are you with child?”

  “Oh, no, madam.”

  “Name?”

  “Lucy Tibbs.”

  “References?”

  Lucy produced her forged references and held them out.

  “You’ve worked in two grand London households,” commented the housekeeper. Lucy was particularly proud of the reference she had written for herself from Lady Fortescue. “Your cloak is of merino wool and your shoes are of the finest leather.”

  “Lady Fortescue was fond of me,” said Lucy, manufacturing a dismal sniff. “I never should have left her. She let me have some of her old clothes.”

  Mrs. Foxe studied Lucy in silence for what seemed an age. Then she said, “By chance, I need a housemaid. Betty was six months gone and so we had to get rid of her. Wait here. I’ll need to consult the mistress.”

  When she had gone, Lucy sagged in her chair with sudden weariness. To bolster her spirits, she reminded herself fiercely that she had only to hide out for as long as it would take the duke to forget about her.

  Mrs. Foxe eventually returned and said, “Follow me.”

  Lucy followed along a stone-flagged passage, then through a small, square hall and up polished oaken stairs to a drawing room above.

  Lady Clapham was reclining on a chaise longue by the window.

  Lucy curtsied low before her. She was later to learn that Lady Clapham was a professional invalid. She was a large, fat woman with a doughy face and a petulant mouth.

  “This here is Lucy Tibbs,” said the housekeeper.

  “Take off your bonnet, girl,” ordered Lady Clapham. Lucy untied the strings of her bonnet and took it off. “She’s quite pretty,” said Lady Clapham.

  “But too slight,” commented Mrs. Foxe.

  “Yes, you have the right of it. He likes them buxom. I think you will do. That business with Betty was more than enough. Take her away, Mrs. Foxe, and explain her wages and duties to her.”

  Lucy’s position was to be that of under housemaid. She was told of the pittance she would earn and then turned over to the upper housemaid, a cheerful Irish girl called Mary.

  Lucy was to start work immediately on Lady Clapham’s bedchamber, and her query “Is not that the duty of the chambermaid?” brought the reply that it was not a grand London household and she had better not give herself airs. Lucy was glad she was supervised by Mary. She had not realized there was so much work in cleaning a bedroom.