The Blackmailed Beauty

by Ilene Withers

  The ride around the square took a shocking amount of time. As soon as they stepped out the door, they both knew it would. Noel dismissed the eager footman and assisted his mother into their carriage himself, shaking his head at the long line of vehicles snaked along the road.

  “I do hope you’re comfortable, Mama, as I believe this may take a while.”

  “It appears so,” she said. “It is a pleasant evening, though, and it will make for a better wait.

  With a slight jolt, the carriage entered the roadway no doubt thanks to a courteous driver allowing them on.

  “So you do plan on sweeping Miss Stuart off her feet?” the duchess asked him.

  “I hope to,” he said. “I have spent many quiet hours reflecting on my feelings for her and have decided either I shall marry Miss Stuart or I shall remain unmarried.”

  His mother frowned momentarily and then, looking up, she said, “Then we must convince her.”

  The carriage eventually came to a stop, never having gained a speed above a slow crawl. When the footman opened the door, Noel stepped from within and then playfully lifted his mother down. She giggled but then slapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “Lamberton! Mind your manners.”

  “I am actually in trouble, am I? You have pulled out the title for a change.”

  “I should use it more often. I do wish I had provided you with siblings. You are far too spoiled for your own good,” she said with a decided lilt to her voice.

  “And who spoiled me, Mama?”

  “Your nanny, your nursemaid, and your tutor.”

  “And yet I remember you spending a most shocking amount of time in the nursery and the schoolroom.”

  “At your father’s suggestion,” she replied too sweetly. “He was disappointed I did not provide him with a spare so he suggested I take extra care of his heir.”

  Noel laughed heartily, causing nearby heads to turn. He bent down near his petite mother’s head. “I do love you, Mama” he confided softly.

  She blushed, a delicate pink rising from her neck straight up to her ears. “And I am just a bit fond of you,” she whispered back.

  ****

  The ride to the ball seemed to take forever. Claire slumped in the corner of the carriage ignoring its other occupants. She had eaten little for dinner and felt positive she could not choke down a bite of supper that night. She had made her plans to happen later when the dancers were busy for the night.

  As always, Claire’s dance card filled up quickly, and she was just holding it out for a young man when the butler intoned an introduction from the doorway.

  “Her Grace the Duchess of Lamberton. His Grace the Duke of Lamberton.”

  Claire was unable to help herself. She turned toward the stairs and watched as the duke and his mother entered the room. Her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of him, standing tall and elegantly next to the tiny duchess.

  “Thank you, Miss Stuart,” her prospective dance partner said shyly as he dropped her card from his hand and moved away.

  Claire knew she must avoid the duke. No doubt, he would be more than anxious to avoid her, but on this night she must make sure it happened. As soon as they stepped away from the door, she slipped quietly away and made her way into the hallway intent on locating the library. It took little time, requiring only that she open two other doors first. With this knowledge in hand, she returned to the ballroom.

  It was during the third dance when she noticed him watching her from the side of the room. At this distance, she was not able to make a guess as to what he was thinking. She could not blame him if his thoughts were rather venomous. Between two later dances, she came within an arms’ length of him as he was dancing with a pretty brunette in the next set over. When she passed by she tripped, almost disgracing herself.

  It was at supper when she became the most uncomfortable. He escorted his own mother in for the refreshments and seated her at a table two over from hers. Her partner, an eager young viscount, did not seem to notice the duke’s dark eyes and frowning countenance upon him. Claire wanted to turn and boldly return his searching looks, but she simply did not have it in her for she was afraid of what she would see.

  At long last the moment came. Claire waited until her cousin was dancing and her aunt was gossiping with a group of women before slipping away. In the hallway, she pulled the letters from her reticule and slid them, with a coin, into the hands of a young footman.

  “Please deliver this one,” she tapped the top note, “to Lord Roydon immediately. This one,” and here she indicated the lower note, “must be given to Lord Amhearst precisely a quarter hour later.”

  “Yes, Miss,” he had said, “I’ll be sure to do it.”

  Believing he would, Claire made her way to the library where she waited nervously in front of the fireplace.

  The door opened at last and the earl appeared, leaving the door ajar as he came across the room. “Miss Stuart, are you all right?” There was concern in his voice.

  “Yes, but I have something I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “What is it?” he asked kindly.

  “I, uh, want to purchase a gift for my uncle to pay him in some small way for his kindnesses to me. I thought, since you share many of his interests, you might be able to suggest something appropriate.”

  He looked back at her with a bewildered expression on his face. Claire tried to harden her heart against it as she listened in near desperation for the sound of footsteps at the door.

  There! At last, she heard them. Taking a deep breath she boldly crossed the hearthrug, which separated them and pressed her body against his, quickly winding her arms about his neck. Then, without further ado, she closed her eyes and aimed for his lips.

  “Claire! John!” The duke’s voice was hoarse with anguish.

  Chapter Eleven

  Noel heard the anguish in his own voice, yet it was nothing to what had seized his soul. Then, as though a fiend had taken control of him, he stepped through the doorway, raced across the room and punched his oldest friend in the face.

  "Claire! What is going on here?" asked a feminine voice.

  "Willa!" Claire's voice was choked with tears.

  Noel saw Miss Dutton standing at the doorway. He saw Claire, tears streaming down her face, and his friend on the floor clutching his nose. What was going on?

  "Shut the door," he commanded. He was pleased to see the brunette acted quickly. Turning the key in the lock as well, she hurried across the room.

  "Claire, what have you done?" Miss Dutton asked, taking in the scene.

  Claire did not answer but fell into near hysterics.

  Still confused, the duke stood frozen in place until his friend spoke.

  "Noel, I did nothing. I swear. I would never do anything to hurt you. Especially this."

  Noel shoved his hands into his hair. "I don't know anymore," he told John. Walking to Claire, he led her to the couch and gently pushed her down to sit. Seeing his love like this was more than he could bear. "What can I do?" he choked out in the veriest of whispers, looking from her to Willa for an answer.

  Miss Dutton looked at him, the pity obvious on her face and said nothing. Instead, she walked over to kneel next to John.

  Looking back at Claire he gently lifted her chin to look at her. Her eyes were clouded and brimming with wetness. Her nose was red, her cheeks so pale they were white. "I'm so sorry, so sorry," she uttered, and she buried her head in her hands as wrenching sobs racked her body.

  Noel felt helpless, but finally he could bear it no longer. He knelt in front of her and pulled Claire into his arms, smoothing her now loose hair away from her face. "Shh, shh," he said. "It will be all right. Whatever it is, we will make it right."

  It wasn't long before the shoulder of his coat was wet from her tears, and he dug into his pocket for his handkerchief. He pressed it into her hand and continued to hold her. And, oh, it felt good to hold her – even in this time of torment. She fit snuggly into his arms, and it fel
t perfect.

  Miss Dutton, he noticed, was pressing John’s handkerchief to his nose, and the two of them were speaking lowly. Noel strained to listen, hoping he would learn something of what happened.

  "I swear I didn't kiss her. She practically threw herself at me."

  "I know," Miss Dutton assured him. "I have the note she sent you. You must have dropped it as you came in."

  Noel saw she was holding the vellum in her hand. "And this note," she continued as she held up a second sheet, "was to get my father to come, but the footman failed to find him and he gave it to me. I recognized her handwriting, and I opened it. I've been so worried about her."

  “As have I," was his friend’s reply.

  The sobbing was growing quieter and finally Claire sat up, pushing gently away from him. He watched her as she looked around, at each of them. She took a deep shuddering breath and then rose to walk over to where John sat on the floor near the fireplace.

  “My lord," she began, “I never meant to hurt you. I, uh," and here she paused once again burying her face in her hands, “have made such a muddle of it all," she said. "I'm so sorry."

  “Claire,” Miss Dutton said, rising to face her cousin, “why did you do it? Why?”

  Claire stood mutely, still crying and only shook her head.

  Noel took pity on her and rose to assist John up from the floor. "Miss Dutton, you must get your cousin home."

  "But how?" she asked. "We cannot let her be seen like this."

  "No," Noel agreed. He thought for a moment and then walked across to the windows, opening one he stuck his head out into the night.

  “This window is but a foot from the ground. You and John can take her out through here, and then to your father's carriage. I'll go and collect your parents and make some excuse."

  "No, I will give you a note for them. I do not want them to see my cousin this way. We will be fine on the drive home. After all, we have a driver and two footmen to protect us. I will send the carriage back for them."

  She had a most sensible idea Noel thought, so he agreed to it readily. He located paper and ink for her.

  "I'll walk them to the carriage and then will go home," John told Noel. "I don't believe I want to appear back at the ball with this." He moved the cloth to show his swollen nose.

  Noel crossed to him. "I apologize," he said, "I reacted without thinking."

  "I understand," John said kindly. "I would have done the same, no doubt."

  "Here, Your Grace," Miss Dutton shoved the completed note at him, "if you'll see my mother gets this, I would appreciate it."

  Noel made his promise and then escorted the three of them to the window helping each in turn over the sill. Shutting the window, he left it unlocked in case they should need to regain access. Then he visually searched the room to make sure the notes Miss Dutton spoke of or any other telltale signs had not been left lying about. He spied the two vellum notes lying on a corner of the writing table. Miss Dutton must have laid them down and then forgot them. Picking them up, he forced himself to not look at them yet and slid them into his pocket. Satisfied all else was as it should be he unlocked the door and slipped quietly from the room.

  Entering the crowded ballroom, Noel searched for Lady Amhearst. He spied her along the far wall, sitting with a group of matrons. Crossing the room, he bowed before her.

  "Lady Amhearst, your husband has asked me to escort you to the card room. He has some small need of you," he lied with an assuring smile, holding out his arm for her.

  As they walked away, she smiled up at him. “I can’t imagine what Yale needs me for,” she said.

  “He doesn’t,” Noel confessed, “but your niece was not well, and your daughter escorted her home. Miss Dutton wanted me to give you this.” He pulled out the note she had written, glad he had put it in a different pocket from the other two. “I believe she says she is sending the carriage back for you.”

  “Oh!” Lady Amhearst took the note and read it. “She says we are not to worry and to stay and enjoy ourselves.”

  “I believe you should do as she requests,” Noel said, “Miss Stuart experienced a slight headache,” he lied again.

  “Well, then, I guess we may as well stay,” she said.

  “In that case, Lady Amhearst, why don’t we dance this next round, and then I’ll escort you back to your friends?”

  “It would be a pleasure, Your Grace.”

  ****

  Willa escorted Claire up the stairs and to her room. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “No,” Claire said, mortified to be around anyone who had witnessed this evening’s fiasco. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll send Molly up, then,” Willa replied.

  “No,” she shook her head. “I’ll undress myself and go straight to bed.”

  “Goodnight, then,” Willa said.

  “Goodnight,” was Claire’s simple reply.

  In her room, Claire did undress and slip on her nightdress. She slid her dressing gown on over the top and then stood near the window. It was such a nice evening out, she opened it a bit and stood there breathing in the night air, fragrant with a million scents. She caught the perfume of flowers from the garden below, the pungent odor of smoke, and many other city smells. Pulling over a nearby chair, she curled up in it and stared out into the blackness.

  Everything had gone awry tonight. Her plan had been wrong. How dare she think she could play with others’ lives to save her own? She fell silent, whispering a prayer of forgiveness.

  To make it worse, she thought later, she had hurt the duke. She was certain now that he must feel at least some affection for her. And she had hurt him not once, but at least three times so far. Then there was Willa, the way she had burst in, she must have witnessed the awful kiss, and her cousin counted the earl as a friend. However, the person she had harmed the most had been Lord Roydon. He had never been anything but kind to her, and she had tried to trap him in a marriage he would have hated.

  Claire wished she might curl up and die. Death for an eternity would be welcome after these past weeks. She even spent some time contemplating it. People killed themselves day in and day out. The river was not far away. It would be nothing for her to travel the short distance and to throw herself in. Floating away on the waves, she could sink beneath the surface and let fate have its way.

  Even in death, however, she would hurt others. Her parents, her sisters, her aunt and uncle, Willa. They would be heartbroken and sad for such a long time. The neighbors back home, the families she helped, they would miss her as well. And, once again, she would hurt the duke. If he did care for her, what would her death do to him? Claire imagined the grief she would cause him.

  So suicide was not an option. She had few choices left. Claire had decided she dare not try again to compromise herself and the earl – she could not. Yet, she still could not face the fact her family would face ruin if Lady Regina were not appeased. This meant she absolutely must figure out something.

  She sat there for the longest time, the night air lulling her, calming her. Her eyes slid shut and her head fell back to rest upon the chair. Little time had passed when she awoke to the sound of a dog barking nearby.

  Standing up she slipped out of her dressing gown and crawled into bed, letting sleep come over her once again. Her dreams during the night were varied and complicated. She dreamed of floating in the Thames, under the surface. Seaweed lapped at her toes and fish nibbled on her face. And then she looked over and saw the duke. He was there beside her, the pasty color of death, his eyes open and staring.

  Claire sat up in her bed, gasping for air with her heart pounding wildly. Sweat dripped from her brow. She closed her eyes but visions of her nightmare returned. Rolling out of bed, she stumbled across to the window, almost leaning out in an effort to push the memories away with the cool night air.

  At last she went back to bed, hoping for a restful sleep. Again, the dreams came to her. This time they were of her sisters, dressed in ballroom finery,
standing in a row against the wall while other guests pointed and laughed. “Did you hear about their sister?” someone laughed. “They are ruined,” another voice said. “Ruined, ruined, ruined!” the crowd began to chant. “Hey, little girl, I have a job for you,” a fat and bewigged man said lasciviously. “And I for you,” a bejeweled and turbaned matron said, “I need a pot girl.” And she laughed evilly.

  Claire tossed and turned in her bed, fighting away the images. At last, the dream disappeared and she fell silent, sleeping softly.

  It was not to be her last dream that night. No, not at all. Indeed, in the earliest hours of the morning, as the street hawkers were rising from the beds, another dream invaded her sleep. Lips bruising hers, hands fondling her body. Her attacker leering at her as he tried to pull up her skirts. There, sitting on a bench in the bower was Lady Regina. Dressed in red satin, with flowers in her hair she urged her brother on. “Take her!” she screamed. “Take her, brother, you know you want her! Take her.”

  Claire awoke to find her arms and legs still flailing, her covers completely kicked off the bed. “No, no,” she heard herself say before she came fully awake.

  Out of bed and on her feet in an instant, Claire knew this must not go on. She must do something — must tell someone. Willa. She would tell Willa. Her cousin could be trusted not to cause trouble for her, but perhaps another brain, another viewpoint would help. Maybe together, they might think of a solution.

  It was still dark outside when Claire eased open her cousin’s bedroom door.

  ****

  Willa was not having the best night of sleep herself. She was indescribably upset at her cousin. When she had seen the note meant for her father, she had been confused and immediately concerned about her cousin. She had been worried about her cousin for some time now and this caused the worry to become much stronger. Then when she had entered the library and seen Claire in the earl’s arms, her lips glued to his, she had been instantly angry. Livid, in fact. At both of them.