The Blackmailed Beauty

by Ilene Withers

  “Your Grace,” she said somewhat loudly, “now, please!”

  He turned it quickly once again and she had laughed. “You must pay attention,” she had scolded good-naturedly.

  “I promise I will,” he had murmured not far from her ear. He was quite purposely close enough for his breath to slide across the skin of her graceful neck. The memory of how she skipped a note right then made him smile.

  Feeling some hope, confident she at least did not find him repulsive; he finally rose and made his way to his room. Knox was waiting for him, of course, as he always was. It struck him then how the man should not be. When he was married, if he could convince Claire to be his, he certainly did not want his valet around at bedtime. How de trop!

  “Knox, you have been a most faithful servant,” he began.

  “Please, Your Grace,” the older man replied faintly.

  Noel looked up at him, seeing how he grew somewhat pale, and it dawned on him how someone might have misunderstood his statement. He smiled. “We’ve been together for a lot of years.”

  “Twelve years and ten months, Your Grace.”

  “I think, old man, it is time you let me prepare for bed alone,” Noel ventured.

  “Alone?” Knox was obviously in shock. “But, Your Grace, what about your clothes?”

  “I will try to be less spoiled and drape them across the back of a chair. They will be fine until morning. Won’t they?” Noel inquired.

  “Well, I do launder or press them before they are worn again,” the valet answered in a reluctant voice.

  “Exactly, and I know I am imposing upon you when you stay up this late. Why, I sleep in, but you are up and about hours before I am.”

  “But it is my duty, Your Grace, and I am proud to perform it,” Knox answered vehemently.

  Seeing how he was stepping on the valet’s somewhat long toes, Noel decided to take a different tact. “The truth is, Knox, I’m hoping to get leg-shackled at the end of the season, and I don’t want you here when I bring my lovely bride to bed.”

  The valet blushed. “I understand, Your Grace. I, uh, suppose I could collect your clothes in the morning. No reason not to.”

  “Excellent,” Noel replied.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Knox said. “The extra sleep will be nice.”

  The valet scanned the room and then returned his gaze to his master. “I will, uh, just go now, then.” He quietly disappeared from the room.

  Noel stripped off his clothes but rather than dropping them on the Aubusson carpet, he draped them neatly across the back of the chair, and then he stretched. He was not unusually modest, but he had never felt comfortable being completely naked around any of his servants, including Knox. Now with the room to himself he enjoyed the cool air on his skin as he walked casually to his bed. Pulling up the covers, he wondered what Claire slept in. No doubt, it was some long sleeved garment as was expected of young women. He decided he would enjoy the opportunity of teaching her the delights of sleeping in nothing but the flesh.

  Noel woke once in the night, entangled in the covers, and he remembered his dream. In it, he had been teaching Claire about much more than the delights of sleeping in the nude. Somewhat overheated, he threw back the covers and got up. The cold air hitting his body calmed matters a bit, and he was soon able to go back to bed.

  Waking refreshed in the morning, Noel rang for Knox, dressed quickly, and by an early hour was galloping around Rotten Row. To his disappointment, he did not meet Miss Stuart or her cousin. He returned home to consume an enormous plate of eggs and ham for he found he was ravenous. As soon as the dishes were removed, he made his way to a florist.

  Tulips. Too soon. Roses. Not yet. Lilies. Absolutely not – his thoughts were not quite pure these days. Then he thought of it. The flowers he wanted were not in the shop. Nor were they on a flower cart. He strode out the door of the florist, leaped into his curricle, and raced toward the countryside.

  It took him all morning and half of the afternoon, but when he appeared at the Amhearst residence with an arrangement in his hands – an arrangement he himself had selected, cut, and designed – he was quite satisfied. Without asking to see her, Noel thrust the vase into the waiting hands of a footman. “Please see to it Miss Stuart receives these,” he demanded.

  The footman gave him a quizzical look indeed. The butler beyond did so as well. Noel walked away before he smiled and then went back to his vehicle, urging his horses forward again.

  ****

  Claire was coming down the front stairs in search of her needlework as the door shut. Looking up she saw a footman holding a vase of… branches?

  Upon closer inspection, the vase held a collection of blooming apple tree branches. It made a delightful arrangement, but definitely an unusual one.

  “These are for you, Miss,” the footman told her. “Where would you like them placed?”

  “In the drawing room,” she said, wondering whom they could be from.

  The footman waited for her to enter and then placed them on a small table near the window while she hovered nearby. As soon as he walked away, she reached for the card.

  “Miss Stuart, I find these simple blossoms say the words I dare not. Lamberton,” she read silently to herself. She leaned ahead and inhaled the fragrance of the blossoms.

  The housekeeper, Mrs. Tyne, walked into the room. “I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t realize anyone was in here.” She started to back out, but Claire stopped her.

  “Please don’t leave, Mrs. Tyne,” Claire spoke. “I was wondering if you have seen my needlework anywhere. I seem to have misplaced it,” she finished.

  “One of the maids found it in the morning parlor, Miss. I instructed her to take it to your room.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Claire said. “One more thing, Mrs. Tyne, you wouldn’t know anything about apple blossoms would you?”

  The housekeeper came across the room to join Claire. “They do make a lovely bouquet,” the woman said.

  “Yes, but it is a bit unusual,” Claire said.

  “My mother was a bit of an authority on flowers, Miss,” the housekeeper ventured. “She oft times told me stories about their meanings.”

  “And do you know what the meaning behind apple blossoms is?” Claire asked anxiously.

  “Yes, Miss, I do.”

  “Please, Mrs. Tyne, what is it?” Claire prodded.

  “Temptation, Miss.” Then the woman excused herself while Claire sat down in the nearest chair. Her legs would no longer hold her upright.

  Chapter Eight

  Claire watched Molly fix her cousin’s hair. Both she and Willa were in high spirits tonight. This evening they were to attend their first assembly at Almack’s.

  “Your gown is perfect for you, Willa,” she said as she admired the butter yellow satin with the golden gauze overdress. The square cut neckline framed her amethyst choker. The satin did not carry through to the sleeves, so Willa’s slim arms showed through the puffy gauze trimmed with tiny bows. With her hair once again in ringlets, she was a treat for the eyes.

  “I do like it,” Willa admitted. “It’s already one of my favorites. I’m most happy Mother did not make me wear white tonight.”

  “It is quite pale,” Claire assured her. “In the dim light no one will think a thing of it.”

  “I do hope not, but your white dress is wonderful on you. You are so pretty in light colors.”

  Claire was sure her gown had been shockingly expensive, but Aunt Blythe insisted they have it made up. The dress had tiny sleeves and a wide square neckline, which exposed much of her shoulders. It gathered in the back and formed a short train. With her long kid gloves, Claire felt most elegant. Around her neck, she had a dainty sapphire necklet. Matching sapphires adorned her ears.

  “You need a tiny touch of color, dear,” Aunt Blythe had told her when she had loaned her the jewels, “and these will bring out the blue in your eyes.”

  The girls were on pins and needles as they rode with the viscounte
ss to Almack’s. The viscount had refused to attend, declaring their refreshments so insipid as to be useless. “I will go to my club for a few hands of cards,” he had said, but he had stayed long enough to admire his ladies and to assist them to the carriage.

  The ride took longer than those to their other events did, and the viscountess finally suggested the girls try to relax. “Your dresses will be beyond repair if you do not settle down,” she warned them.

  Chastened, both girls did indeed appear to settle down, but inside, Claire felt most unsettled. In fact, her stomach was quite twisted. The earl had promised to dance with her. She was happy about this, but it was her other promise, one from the Duke of Lamberton, which left her both excited and unsure at the same time. Added to this was the knowledge she would probably meet Lady Regina again this evening.

  Indeed, they had barely entered the hallowed hall when Lady Regina approached her.

  “Miss Stuart, it is so good to see you again. I’ve had a letter from home I wanted to tell you about. Do let’s walk a bit.” Without giving Claire the chance to refuse, Lady Regina tucked her arm through hers and led the way.

  As soon as they were far enough from the viscountess and Willa to not be overheard, Lady Regina glanced at Claire. “I saw you in the park with the Duke of Lamberton,” she said with no further lead in.

  “I was also with Lord Roydon and my cousin,” Claire said defensively.

  “Yes, but it was the duke who appeared to have his eyes on you, and the earl came once again to our at home,” Lady Regina said, mentioning the normal calling hour. “I am growing impatient,” she finished.

  Claire felt sick to her stomach. It was true. She had noticed the duke’s attraction to her. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I will refuse to dance with him tonight.”

  “Yes, do,” the other girl said, “but do make sure you dance with the earl.”

  Lady Regina abruptly dropped her arm and walked away leaving Claire standing foolishly alone in the crowded room. She made her way back to her aunt.

  “Any interesting news from home?” her aunt queried.

  "Only neighborhood gossip,” Claire said.

  Claire was thankful her dance card began to fill up quickly but worried there might not be a space left for the earl if he did not arrive soon. Her worries were for naught. He bowed in front of her and Willa within minutes and signed each of their cards with a smile. “I was sure I need not worry about your popularity,” he commented. “I am hardly needed.”

  “Of course you are,” Claire hurriedly put in. “You are much admired and being seen standing up with you will lend us a certain air of popularity.”

  Another young man practically pushed the earl aside and reached for Claire’s dance card. As he walked away, the duke materialized at her side. “Might I be honored with a dance as well?” he asked.

  Claire was unable to face him so she turned her face away and stiffly said her piece. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but I have no dances left,” she lied, holding her dance card away from his sight.

  He frowned and reached toward her card, “Are you positive?” he asked. “Surely I am not too late.”

  “I’m sure,” Claire said, but her voice quivered as she spoke. Tears sprang to her eyes and without so much as a farewell she hurried away. She walked as fast as she dared without drawing attention until she reached the ladies’ retiring room where she shut the door and turned to face the corner, away from the room’s attendant. Opening her reticule, she pulled out a dainty handkerchief, using it to dab furiously at her eyes.

  “Claire?” Willa’s voice was quiet. “What is wrong?” she asked as she entered the room.

  Claire sniffed. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She forced a brave smile onto her lips and turned to face her cousin. When she saw the concern upon the other girl’s face, she could not help it when tears again filled her eyes. She glanced up and away at the ceiling, focusing on the pattern in the plaster.

  “Claire, something is wrong!” Willa took her cousin into her arms.

  Claire gently pushed away. “I’m just overset, and I do not know why,” she said. “It is probably the excitement. Let me wash my face and then we shall return to the hall.”

  After making her ablutions, Claire decided her appearance was satisfactory even though her eyes were somewhat red. They returned to the room just as their first partners came in search of them.

  ****

  Noel watched as Claire fled. “Is something wrong with Miss Stuart?” he asked her cousin.

  “I don’t know,” Miss Dutton replied with a confused tone to her voice, “but if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find out.”

  “Of course,” he said faintly and watched as she, too, hurried away. Then he turned and slammed his fist into a convenient pillar.

  “Noel, what are you doing?” John asked. “People are staring at you.”

  “Let them stare,” Noel ground out. “I could care less." He walked away and left the building. John caught up with him outside as he paced up and down across the street from the assembly rooms.

  “Talk to me,” John demanded, disquiet in his voice. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

  “Neither have I,” Noel bit out with an ironic laugh. “I’m in love, John,” he barked. "I’m so twisted up over Claire, I mean Miss Stuart, I cannot think straight. And she just refused to dance with me.”

  “I saw it,” John said quietly. “I’m sorry, Noel, I don’t know what to say.”

  “There were tears in her eyes.”

  “Yes, there were,” John agreed. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe she wanted to turn you down.”

  “She wouldn’t let me see her dance card.” Noel said with despair. “I know she was lying to me. I am sure she had an opening. At least one.”

  “You can have my dance,” John offered.

  “What and force her to dance with me when it’s quite glaringly obvious she does not want to?”

  John shrugged in the darkness. “I don’t know how else to help,” he said weakly.

  Noel stopped pacing. “I do,” he said suddenly. “Dance with her and find out what you can. Waltz with her if you can get permission. It will give you a chance to question her.”

  John thought about it a moment. “I’ll do it,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Noel said grabbing his friend’s shoulders. “I owe you now.”

  John laughed. “Hardly. I think I still owe you from our last year at Oxford.”

  John turned to go back in. “Are you coming?” he asked.

  “No,” Noel said. “I’m not. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Take care of her for me.” Then he left. He stopped half a block away, to be sure John had been admitted before the doors closed for the night. Knowing he had, Noel walked down the street in search of his coach.

  Climbing in, he lifted the trap. “White’s,” he commanded. “White’s and the biggest bottle of brandy they have,” he said to himself.

  He enjoyed a quiet welcome at his club where he ordered a bottle and sought a comfortable chair where he could get drunk alone. The waiter approached him timidly and sat the bottle and a single glass beside him. Noel handed him a coin.

  Noel was well into his third glass when an acquaintance walked up to him. The Marquis of Paxton had been at Oxford with him. He was an amiable character who had married a cheerful little redhead the past season.

  “Lamberton,” Lord Paxton greeted him. “Good to see you.”

  “Paxton,” Noel returned.

  The marquis seated himself in the chair next to Noel’s. "It appears you’re planning on getting a bit disguised tonight,” he remarked.

  “No,” Noel said with a shake of his head, hoping the room would begin to spin. It did not. “I’m going to get drunk as a wheelbarrow.”

  “Which can only mean one of two things,” Paxton replied with understanding, “gambling debts or woman troubles. And I don’t think it’s gambling debts.”

  “You’re ri
ght,” Noel admitted with only the slightest slur to his voice.

  “An opera singer?” the marquis asked.

  “A vicar’s daughter,” was Noel’s reply.

  The marquis didn’t comment but rose, patted his friend on the shoulder, and left him in silence.

  Noel helped himself to another glass of brandy and slumped down in his seat, closing his eyes before he embarrassed himself. Not since childhood had he had the urge to bawl.

  With his eyes closed, the duke did not see the Viscount Amhearst quietly fold the paper he was reading, rise from his chair behind the potted palm, and make his way past him. Neither did he know for the longest time, it was the viscount who found his carriage and instructed his men to give him an hour or two, collect him, and carry him home.

  Searing pain behind his eyes woke him late the next day. Knox was sitting worriedly beside the bed. When Noel rolled over and realized he was going to empty the contents of his stomach, it was Knox who held the basin and wiped his brow and his mouth. It was also the valet who held the glass of vile tasting liquid to his lips and urged him to drink and then to sleep.

  Noel rose again when it was already dark. Dressing with his valet’s assistance, he made his way down the stairs where he found his mother sitting comfortably in the study with a book in her lap.

  “You look like death,” she pronounced, no doubt aware of her son’s condition.

  “I feel like death,” he whispered, afraid even of the noise his own voice made.

  “Would you like to tell me about it?” she offered.

  “Let’s just say you shouldn’t count on those grandchildren any time soon.”

  The duchess sat up straighter in her chair, and a determined look came over her face. “Why not, pray tell?”

  “Me thinks, the lady doth not want me.”

  “Oh, Noel, I don’t see how that could be. You’re a prize for any woman, especially a vicar’s daughter.”

  Noel laughed and then clutched his head in pain. “Tell it to her.”

  “I might. I just might.”

  They sat in silence then, the duchess staring into the fire and Noel listening to the drums beat in his brain, wishing he had never risen, had never come to town, and had never stopped by the church.