The cards had been sent out for the Duchess of Sedgwick’s at home, and the responses were pouring in each day. No one was going to miss the opportunity to see how the duke and his bride were getting on after three months of marriage. They all thought it rather odd that their society wedding planned for St. George’s in Hanover Square had been changed to the family chapel, or wherever it had been, at Hunter’s Lair. Why on earth had they done that? Was the duchess enceinte? But then she couldn’t be if they were in London. It was a most aggravating mystery.
Prinny, of course, had arrived at Hunter’s Lair with young Mr. Brummell. Usually Brummell had something caustic to say about everyone, but he had nothing but praise for the duchess’s exquisite taste, the wonderful house, and the obviously contented couple. It was all just too annoying, but now they should see the truth of it. After all, blue-blooded Sedgwick had only wed the Morgan chit for her fortune. They all knew it, and he even admitted to it last season. It was a marriage of convenience, nothing more, whatever Brummell saw.
Allegra was fascinated by the London she now saw. Last spring her whole time had been spent on seeking and finding a husband. Her movements were carefully monitored and watched. She could only come or go in a prescribed manner. Now, however, she and her two friends were able to go about town in one another’s company while their husbands visited the Parliament and their clubs. Each evening they all met for dinner, or some form of entertainment. They played Whist together; sang accompanying each other on the piano; enacted out charades, the ladies against the gentlemen.
Allegra, Caroline, and Eunice, in the company of Lady Bellingham, visited Westminster Abbey one morning. It was a great Gothic structure of French design with wonderful stained glass windows and gray stone buttresses. The interior was made up of chapels, naves, tombs, and monuments. King William the Norman had been crowned here. The Coronation Chair which had been made for King Edward I was brought into the abbey in the year 1272. It had been used at all the coronations that had followed. The tombs were legion, and very impressive. There was the one belonging to St. Edward the Confessor, as well as Edward III and young Edward VI. There was the tomb of Henry III and the first Tudor king, Henry VII. Richard II had his tomb in the abbey, as did Mary, Queen of Scots, her son, James I, and his grandson, Charles II. The second Hanover king, George II, was buried in the enormous church. And there were famous women as well: Eleanor of Castile, Anne of Cleves, Queen Mary II, and her sister, Queen Anne.
The marble and the stonework were extremely impressive. The colorful stained glass windows almost brought tears to Allegra’s eyes. It was early afternoon before they realized it, and left reluctantly, having gained a new sense of their country’s history and its importance in the world in which they lived.
On another day, bundled up in their furs, they visited the Tower of London with its colorful Beefeater Guards in their red, black, and gold uniforms. The royal menagerie was located here, but it was not particularly impressive right now, consisting only of a moth-eaten ancient tiger, a toothless grizzly bear, an Indian elephant, and several peacocks. Allegra was more interested in the Tower Green where two of Henry VIII’s wives had been beheaded.
“What a horrid fate!” Caroline said.
“I heard they betrayed the king,” Eunice replied. “They deserved it if that was the case.”
“In Anne Boleyn’s case the charges were probably trumped up as the king had an eye out for his next wife, Queen Jane, who mothered his son. Poor Anne miscarried two sons and only produced her daughter, Elizabeth, who, of course, went on to become England’s greatest queen.”
“What about the other wife?” Eunice asked.
“Catherine Howard was Anne Boleyn’s cousin. She wasn’t very smart, and was, so I have read, a trollop who was no better than she ought to be. The king adored her, which made her betrayal of him with a lover all the worse to stomach. In fact, he didn’t.”
“You are quite learned,” Caroline said. “How is it you are so well educated when most of us are not?”
“I studied with my brother and his tutor,” Allegra explained. “Then when James Lucian went off to school, Papa allowed the tutor to remain to teach me even more.”
“Wasn’t it rather dull?” Eunice inquired.
“Not at all,” Allegra assured her. “I liked it. A woman should really know more than how to paint pretty watercolors and play the piano while she sings. If I had not married Quinton I should have been quite capable of carrying on my own life without a husband.”
“You are very brave,” Caroline said. “Far braver than I am, I will admit it honestly. I am so glad that Dree and I suit. I should not like to be without a husband.”
“Nor I,” Eunice noted. “I adore my Marcus, and it is quite a great deal of fun to be the Countess of Aston. Don’t you like being the Duchess of Sedgwick, Allegra?”
“I like it quite well,” Allegra said, “but if Quinton and I had not made a match of it, I should not weep and wail.” A gust of icy wind off the river blew her fur-trimmed hood back, and Allegra shivered. “Let us go home, and have tea,” she suggested. “We are going to the theatre tonight.”
“I wish it were warm enough to visit Vauxhall,” Caroline said as they hurried from the Tower of London to their waiting coach.
“Probably next month before we go,” Eunice remarked.
“Where did the gentlemen go today?” Caroline asked.
“The cockfights,” Eunice remarked. “Disgusting!”
The other two nodded their heads in agreement.
“Last week Dree asked me if I wanted to go to Newgate with him to see a hanging,” Caroline said, shuddering. “He brought me back a printed leaflet, a biography of the criminal hanged. There was a line drawing of the fellow. He was very young, but he was a highwayman.”
“Quinton says he would like me to come to Tattersall’s when he purchases the new mares,” Allegra told them.
“Ohh, that would be fun,” Caroline replied. “May we come, too? I could use a new mare, and my birthday is coming up,” she finished with a wicked smile.
“You speak to Adrian then,” Allegra said, “and let him ask Quinton. It will be a question of two men buying horses then, and not an entertainment for us. Quinton is very serious about these purchases, and I can certainly understand his point. His stud is a magnificent beast, and has already sired several fine racers on less than distinguished stock. With really fine mares what will he do? We shall have the most sought after racers in all of England,” Allegra said proudly, and her friends smiled.
It had begun to rain—an icy rain—when Allegra arrived home. Her two friends had decided to return to Pickford House rather than stop for tea. The big house was quiet. Mr. Trent was nowhere in evidence. He really was the epitome of discretion. Her father, of course, had already returned to Morgan Court.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Marker said, coming forward to take her cape.
“Has his lordship come home?” Allegra asked the butler.
“He is in his rooms, Your Grace. Hawkins says he has caught a bit of a chill at the cockfights.”
“Have tea brought up to my apartments,” Allegra instructed Marker, and then she hurried up the stairs. She found her husband soaking in her tub, and smiled. “Boys will be boys,” she greeted him. “You did not wear a hat this morning, did you, my lord?”
“Do not scold, my darling,” he replied, and then he sneezed.
“What are you doing in my tub?” she demanded.
“I was chilled to the bone, Allegra,” he answered, and sneezed again. “Damned cock ring was out of the city, and in the open.”
“Hawkins, get your master out of the tub,” Allegra instructed the valet. “Dry him thoroughly, and we’ll tuck him into bed. My bed. Honor, there is tea being brought up. Get a warming pan, and warm the sheets, and I’ll want another down coverlet. Really, Quinton, and we were to go to the theatre tonight. I’ll send around a footman to tell Dree and Marcus we shall not be coming this time.
”
“You can go,” he told her. “There can be no gossip if you are in the company of friends,” he told her.
“Do not be ridiculous,” Allegra said sharply. “I am not the Duchess of Devonshire to appear socially in public without my husband at my side. Hawkins, where is the duke’s nightshirt?” Then seeing it, Allegra snatched it up herself, and dropped it over his head. “Get into bed, Quinton, before you are really sick. With luck we shall have you cured by the morrow.”
Honor had gotten the brass warming pan and was taking the chill from the sheets so that the duke might get into bed. When she had finished she said, “You’ll want the supper upstairs tonight.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Allegra said shortly. “Nothing heavy, tell cook.” She helped her husband into their bed, and put a nightcap upon his dark head. “We’ll try and undo what you have done, Quinton.”
“You are harder than my old nurse,” the duke said. “I did not know you could be such a scold, madame.”
“After dinner, sir, I shall punish you properly,” Allegra murmured softly.
“Will you keep me warm, then, madame?” he murmured back, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Very warm,” she promised him, and then she kissed his lips. “Now,” she straightened up, “I must go and send a note around to Pickford House to tell the others we are not coming. Drink some tea. It will help to warm you up.”
He caught her hand for a moment. “I do not mind that we are to have an evening alone, my darling,” the duke told her. Then, turning the hand over, he kissed its palm ardently.
Allegra colored, then smiled. “Neither do I, Quinton. Next winter we need not come up to London. By the time we go home to Hunter’s Lair we will have tasted all its pleasures, and not need to come back at all until our daughters come for their seasons.”
“We have no daughters,” he reminded her.
“We will … eventually,” she promised him. “Now let me go so I can send my note off to Pickford House.”
“I don’t think I can ever let you go, Allegra,” her husband told her.
“To be loved as you love me is sometimes overpowering,” she answered him, and then taking her hand back, hurried off.
Quinton Hunter lay back against the lavender-scented pillows. Her words rang in his head. To be loved as you love me is sometimes overpowering. And she loved him back. Passionately in his arms, but with words Allegra was more reserved. He hoped one day she would not be. It was his own personal weakness, although he would never admit to it, that he needed to hear her voicing her love for him. He closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had been ill. He was going to enjoy being taken care of by his beautiful wife.
Allegra had left her bedchamber where her husband lay. She passed through her salon, and hurried downstairs to the small family drawing room. “Fetch Hawkins to me,” she told an attending footman, and when the duke’s valet came she said, “Was the duke wearing flannel drawers today, Hawkins?”
“No, Your Grace,” the valet replied. He could see that the duchess was in a fine fettle.
“In future you will see that His Grace is dressed properly for the winter weather, Hawkins, which means his hat as well. If he complains at you you will say that I have given you your orders. Is that understood?” She looked hard at the valet.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he replied.
“You are dismissed,” Allegra told the valet.
Hawkins departed the room, and as he did he ran into Marker. “Her’s got a good temper on her, eh, Marker. You must have been given the back of her tongue many times, her growing up in this house.”
“Her Grace is generous of heart, and sweet-natured most of the time,” Marker replied stiffly. He thought the valet presumptuous to say the least. “If she has chastised you then it is because you deserved it. I understand the duke has returned home with a chill. Obviously he was not warmly enough dressed by you this morning. You had best watch your place, Hawkins. There are those who would be eager to serve His Grace if you cannot.”
“Tough old bird, ain’t he?” Hawkins heard behind him, and turned about to see Honor standing there.
“I’ve had two dressings-down in a very short time,” Hawkins said sourly. “For a lass with no background so to speak, your mistress is a proper Tartar, Honor.”
“You watch your mouth, Hawkins,” Honor said, suddenly angry. “I’ll hear naught against my lady. You didn’t do your duty.”
“He don’t like flannel drawers,” Hawkins said stubbornly, “and I can’t make him wear a hat if he don’t want to. I’m his valet, not his ma.”
“You have your orders from Her Grace,” Honor warned him. “The duke will obey if you tell him she says it. He loves her something fierce.”
“I’d like to love you,” Hawkins said slyly to Honor.
“When you do your duty better,” Honor said, “we’ll see if I let you walk out with me.”
“Didn’t say nothing about walking out,” Hawkins replied.
“Then you’ll not be loving me. I’m a proper girl, Hawkins, and best you understand that right now,” Honor answered him. Then with a flounce of her skirts she was off.
In the little drawing room Allegra wrote her note to Caroline and Eunice. She dispatched it with a footman, and returned upstairs to where her husband lay. Supper was brought. Cook had followed the duchess’s instructions. There was a thick, rich soup which Allegra fed to her husband, sitting on the side of the bed as she spooned it into his mouth. Then she coaxed him to eat a bit of capon with some bread and butter. And finally the cook had provided a silken egg custard that the duke very much enjoyed. And when her husband had been fed, Allegra sat down at a small table and ate her own supper as Quinton watched, slowly sipping a glass of ruby port as he did so.
A footman came, and cleared the dishes away. Then Honor helped her mistress to prepare for her bed. When she was washed and in her nightgown and cap, Allegra dismissed her maidservant for the night. Wrapping a lacy shawl about herself she sat down by the fire.
“Come to bed,” the duke said softly.
“Shortly,” she replied.
“Why do you sit by the fire?” he asked her.
“So I may have the privacy to say my prayers,” Allegra responded. “I pray each morning and each evening, Quinton.”
“Who taught you to do that?” he wondered aloud. “You had no mother.”
“Papa taught me. He said that one day I would have children of my own, and it would be my duty to teach them to pray to our creator. Didn’t your mama teach you and George to pray before she died?”
“I think I remember her with me, but George was too young,” he replied.
For several minutes the room was silent but for the crackle of the fire. Finally Allegra arose, and snuffing out all the candles in her bedchamber climbed into bed next to her husband. “There,” she told him, snuggling into his arms.
“What do you pray for?” he asked her, curious.
“For us. For you. For our family. For children,” she said. “We must strive harder, Quinton, for our children.”
“Madame, I am more than willing to answer your prayers,” he said with mock seriousness.
She giggled. “Do not be sacrilegious,” she tried to scold, but she suddenly found herself being kissed as he cradled her beneath him. “Ohh, Quinton!” She sighed, and kissed him back fervently.
Lilacs. She always smelled of lilacs, and it intoxicated him. His hand caressed her heart-shaped face. “Whatever made me believe I would not fall in love with you, Allegra? How could I not love you, my darling?” His silvery-gray eyes devoured her. “I have learned that I could not live without you, Allegra. You have become the very reason for my existence.” His lips descended upon hers again, and he felt her melting into his arms. His fingers undid the ribbons on her nightgown’s neck, loosening it, and his hand slipped between the fabric and her skin as he moved to cup one of her small breasts in his palm. He fondled her, and felt her heart bea
t more quickly.
She loved him, Allegra thought as his hand aroused her passions. Oh yes, she loved him, but when she tried to tell him she could not quite manage the words. Oh, she had said it to him once, but she wanted to tell him more, except her tongue became tangled. He could not live without her? She could not live without him. She could not even imagine her life without Quinton Hunter. Allegra pushed her thoughts aside, and concentrated on the wonderful feelings that he could kindle within her. She sighed, and moved against him, letting him know that she loved everything that he was doing to her, and that she wanted more. For a moment she struggled from his embrace, and pulled off her nightgown and cap. Then she lay back against their pillows, her look inviting.
He responded in kind, drawing his own nightshirt off, then leaned forward to kiss her adorable breasts. One hand kneaded her while his mouth attached itself over the other nipple and he suckled. She writhed and murmured beneath him, stoking his passions until he knew exactly what he wanted from her tonight. Something he had never dared to do with her, but he needed to initiate her completely into this passion. Raising his dark head from her milky white breasts he said, “I don’t want you to be afraid, Allegra.” Then his head dropped again and he began to kiss her body.
His lips moved slowly, slowly over her torso. Sometimes his tongue snaked out to lick at her warm flesh. She murmured with pleasure. The dark head moved lower and lower down her lush young body. He cupped her dark mont in his palm. The thick dark curls were soft against his palm. Releasing her from the intimate grip he fingered her nether lips, teasing, and playing with her until she began to squirm slightly and grow moist beneath his touch. The ball of his forefinger found the tiny bud of her sex. He caressed it until she was moaning aloud. He slid his large body down until he was firmly between her open thighs.
“Quinton?” Her voice registered fear.
“Don’t be afraid, Allegra,” he pleaded, and then leaning forward he began to tongue that quivering little nub of flesh.
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