Her body arced up in shock, but he held her tightly so she could not escape him. She was at first scandalized by what he was doing. She had never in her wildest imaginings conceived that this … this was part of passion. And yet she very quickly decided that she liked it. Oh yes! She liked it very much. Her body quivered. That tiny part of her that she hadn’t really known existed tingled and tingled until it seemed to burst into a blanket of deliciousness that covered her and left her weak and breathless. “Oh, please,” she murmured helplessly.
He pulled himself up, covering her trembling form, and slowly pushed himself into her love sheath. “God, Allegra,” he groaned. “I want you so desperately!”
He was so hard, she thought. She could feel each stroke of his manhood with every fiber of her being. She felt herself tightening about his lance, trying to keep him from leaving her. “Don’t stop!” she begged him. “Ohh, Quinton, I want you so very much!” Her nails dug into his muscled shoulders, and she pushed her tongue into his ear. Her legs wrapped themselves tightly about his straining form. “Ohhh, sweet! Sweet!” she cried as they together approached nirvana.
“Ahh, you precious witch, you have unmanned me!” he told her as his boiling tribute poured forth, and they collapsed together in a tangle of arms and legs. They lay still entwined for several long minutes amid the wreckage of their bedclothes, their breathing finally slowing and calming. And then the duke sneezed.
“Oh, lord.” Allegra scrambled from their bed, and grabbed up his nightshirt. “Put this on, Quinton, else I kill you with my love.” She caught up her own night garment and quickly pulled it over herself.
He began to laugh as he complied with her order.
“What is so funny?” she demanded, climbing back into the bed, and pulling the covers up over them.
“I am so damned happy,” Quinton Hunter told her. “A year ago when the four of us decided we must find wives and finally settle down, my darling Allegra, I never imagined, no, I never even dared to hope that I should be this happy. I have never been happier in my whole life, and it is all due to you, my darling. It is all due to you.”
“You are a fool, Quinton,” she told him, but her own heart was soaring with happiness.
“I love you,” he said. “And you love me.”
“I suppose I do,” she grudgingly admitted.
He laughed again. “Say it, you adorable witch! Say you love me, and you will never love anyone else but me.”
“I do, and I won’t,” she teased him mischievously.
“Say it, damnit.” He rolled over to face her, his look fierce.
Her heart melted then and there. “I love you, Quinton Hunter, and I always will,” she said softly. “I expected a comfortable arrangement and a mutual respect. I never expected to know this phenomenon that is called love. I still don’t understand it, but I seem to love you dearly, Quinton. Now are you satisfied, and will you go to sleep before you become truly sick?”
“Yes, Duchess,” he said, and then taking her hand in his, he finally fell asleep.
Part Three
Winter and Spring 1796
A Dangerous Game
Chapter Thirteen
The day had arrived for Allegra’s at home reception. Not one of the two thousand invitations that had been sent out had been refused. Allegra was relieved that it was midwinter, for if it had been the height of the season, she might have had double or triple the acceptances. People were expected to come, remain for fifteen minutes, no more, and leave their cards if they could not personally manage to greet the duke and the duchess, which most would not. Since no refreshments or music would be required, there would be little preparation except for the tall footed columns with their urns of flowers scattered about the gracious foyer and public rooms. Roses and sweetstock, lilies, tulips, narcissus, iris, and daffodils, all brought up from Lord Morgan’s greenhouses in the country. The arrangements were lush and colorful.
The Earl and Countess of Aston, in the company of Lord and Lady Walworth, had arrived early. Quinton Hunter was recovered from his chill, which had required several days of intense nursing on his wife’s part to resolve. And during that time they had remained in the house, keeping to themselves while their meals were brought to them.
“Will you be well enough for the theatre this evening?” Marcus Bainbridge, the Earl of Aston, asked his old friend.
“We were beginning to be seriously worried,” Adrian, Lord Walworth said. “I’ve never in all the years of our friendship known you to be sick more than overnight, Quint.”
“Allegra took wonderful care of me,” the duke said with a smile in his wife’s direction, and a wink to his friends.
“Why you devil,” the earl chuckled. “Just how sick were you?”
“Not very,” Quinton Hunter said, “but Allegra was so enjoying nursing me, I hated to spoil her fun.”
“Or your own,” Lord Walworth replied with a grin.
Allegra had taken a great deal of care with her gown today. She knew her appearance and the house would be the focus of the gossip that would follow her reception. Her gown was relatively simple as this was an afternoon gathering, but rather than the usual white, Allegra had decided to be both bold and original. The bodice of her dress was gathered, and of pale lilac silk brocade. Its neckline was most fashionably low, and edged with a teasing lace ruffle. The silk sleeves had pale lace oversleeves dyed to match the bodice. The bouffant skirt was of lilac and cream striped silk. Its hemline was just off the ground. The waist of the gown was short, and tied with a deep violet velvet sash. Her low-sided violet silk slippers had small jeweled bows on each toe. Her hair, which had been piled upon her head, was a mass of mahogany ringlets decorated with bejeweled cream-colored bows. She wore pearls in her ears, and her wedding pearls with its diamond heart lying upon her chest, its tip pointing to her décolletage.
The duke wore gray pantaloons to the knee with snow-white stockings. His shoes were black and had silver buckles. His coat was dove gray, his shirt and stock white. His black hair was cut short. A quizzing glass hung from a narrow gold chain about his neck.
Allegra had hoped that the guests would arrive slowly, but everyone was so anxious to meet the Duchess of Sedgwick that it would seem they all came exactly at the hour of three o’clock. Berkley Square was filled with carriages that circled about it dropping off their passengers, and then continuing to circle until they could be picked up again. This made it difficult for more carriages to get into the square, and some of the guests exited their vehicles and walked, only to have to wait in line to get into the house.
The duke and duchess, seated in the main drawing room of the house, greeted those guests who could reach them. Mr. Brummell casually pushed his way past the line of guests snaking up the wide staircase of Morgan House, and entered the salon.
“Duke,” he said, greeting Quinton Hunter, and then he turned to Allegra. “My dear duchess, you are a succès fou once again. You know how much I both admire and appreciate originality. Your gown is a triumph! I am pleased to see you make your own fashion rather than stooping to the bad taste of others.” He bowed to her, and kissed her hand.
“As do you, Mr. Brummell. You have a new haircut, I see. It is deliciously becoming. What is it called?” Allegra asked him.
“À la Brummell,” he replied dryly. “Do you really like it? It isn’t too short?”
“For someone else, perhaps, but not for you. You have such an elegant head, Mr. Brummell,” Allegra told him.
“And here in England it will remain upon my shoulders,” he chortled. “Good day, Duchess.” He bowed again, and then moved off.
“He has such exquisite manners,” Allegra murmured to her husband.
“He is a fop,” Quinton growled back. “And I didn’t like his hairdo. I will admit, however, black evening clothes are damned smart.”
“We won’t have to worry once we are back in the country,” she reminded him with a small smile.
It was well past six o’clock in the evening
when the doors to Morgan House were closed to visitors.
“Let us not go to the theatre tonight,” Allegra pleaded with her friends. “We can go tomorrow night. Besides, the curtain has already risen anyway. I hate to miss the opening.”
“Only if you agree to give us a decent tea,” the Countess of Aston said, and she sat back upon a silk settee, kicking her slippers off.
“Marker,” Allegra called. “Tea.”
“At once, Your Grace,” the butler answered as he hurried off.
“Did the Duchess of Devonshire come?” Eunice asked.
“She never made it up the stairs, but here is her card,” Allegra said gleefully. “I’m amazed she came at all. She is up until dawn gambling. One wonders when she sleeps.”
“I saw Mr. Pitt the younger,” Caroline said excitedly. “He did manage to get into your drawing room.”
“He is very nice,” Allegra recalled. “But, Caro, where was your aunt? Lady Bellingham accepted my invitation, and it isn’t like her not to come to such a levee. I know she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. All of society is in town now, and the gossip to be had is quite marvelous.”
“No,” Caroline admitted. “It isn’t like Aunt to miss such a gathering. I cannot imagine what has happened to her.”
“Perhaps I should send a footman around to make certain that she is all right,” Allegra suggested, and then she did just that.
Marker brought the tea. He was followed into the room by several young footmen carrying large silver trays. Upon one were the tea sandwiches. Salmon with a sharp moutarde dressing, thinly sliced cucumber, roast beef, cheese, delicate breast of capon, and precisely cut slices of bread and butter. A second tray contained freshly baked scones, bowls of clotted Devonshire cream, and strawberry conserves. A third silver tray held the desserts. There were thinly sliced pieces of fruitcake, dark, rich, and filled with raisins. There were tarts of lemon, raspberry, and apricot; a caramel custard; and the duke’s favorite, Genovese cake with its coffee cream filling.
Allegra poured the tea from a large silver pot into dainty Sèvres cups while the footmen passed about plates of sandwiches, scones, and desserts. They gossiped about this afternoon’s at home, and what people had worn, and who came. Even the gentlemen joined in enthusiastically. They were almost sated with tea when the footman returned from the Bellingham house.
“You have no message for me?” Allegra demanded, seeing that he carried nothing in his gloved hand.
“I was told to tell Your Grace,” the footman began, “that his lordship received a letter from foreign parts this morning that has quite upset both him and her ladyship. They send their be-be-belated,” he declared triumphantly, “apologies.” Then the footman bowed to the duchess.
“Thank you,” Allegra said. “There was nothing more?”
“Nothing, Your Grace.”
“You are dismissed,” Allegra told the footman. She turned to Caroline Walworth. “Who lives abroad that might send a letter that would distress your aunt and uncle so greatly?”
Caroline thought for several long moments, and then she said, “Uncle Freddie had a younger brother who married a French lady, but other than that I know nothing.”
“Then we must go at once to Lady Bellingham and learn how we may help her,” Allegra said. “She has been so kind, and good to all of us. How can we not at least try to repay that goodness?”
Everyone agreed, and so capes and cloaks were brought, as the carriages were advised to stand ready before the house. The six young people hurried out, entering their vehicles which set off through the dark London streets. The traffic was light as it was that time between the theatre and any formal dinners or parties to be held. Lord and Lady Bellingham lived but two squares over on Traleigh Square. The butler opening the door to their house looked quite surprised, for he had not been told that there were to be guests tonight. Then he saw Lady Caroline Walworth, his mistress’s niece.
“Tell my aunt we have come to learn how we may help,” Caroline instructed the butler as the single footman on duty struggled to take all of their outdoor garments.
“At once, m’lady,” the butler replied as he showed them into the main drawing room.
They sat and waited in silence until the door opened and Lady Bellingham came into the drawing room. They were all shocked by the good woman’s appearance, for she was drawn and pale. It was obvious she had been crying most of the day as her eyes were puffy and red. She was dressed in a housegown, and her hair disheveled. It was as if she had not prepared for her day at all. “Ohh, my dears, how good of you to come,” Lady Bellingham said, and then she burst into fresh tears.
“Aunt, what is the matter?” Caroline cried, going to her relation, and putting her arms about her.
“It is your cousin, the Comtesse d’Aumont,” Lady Bellingham managed to say before she wept again.
“I have a cousin who is a French countess?” Caroline said, bemused.
“Come, dear Lady Bellingham, and sit down.” Allegra began taking charge of the situation as it was obvious no one else was going to do so. “Quinton, a sherry for the poor woman.” She drew the older lady to a settee and sat down next to her. “Here, drink this. You must calm yourself, Lady Bellingham,” Allegra continued. “Whatever the problem is, you will not solve it by weeping. If we are to help then we must know what is troubling you.”
“Ohh, my child, I do not think anyone can help us,” Lady Bellingham said, but she nonetheless sipped her sherry until she felt a bit more at peace with herself, and able to speak.
The others sat down about her, and waited patiently.
Finally the distraught lady was able to begin. “My husband,” she began, “has two younger brothers. Caroline’s father as you know is the rector of St. Anne’s Church down at Bellinghamton. It is a modest living, but one that allowed him and his family to be comfortable. The youngest brother, Robert Bellingham, had the good fortune to marry a Frenchwoman. She was the only daughter of the Comte de Montroi, and he doted upon her. Consequently her dowry portion was very generous on the provision she and her husband remain in France. With nothing in England for him, Robert Bellingham saw no reason not to remain in his bride’s homeland. So they were married. I remember going to France for the wedding. It was thirty-five years ago. We never even got to Paris, for Robert’s wife, Marie-Claire, lived in Normandy.” She stopped a moment to sip the remainder of her sherry, and then held out her little glass to the duke for more. He complied silently.
“A year after the marriage they had a little girl who was baptized Anne-Marie. Sadly there were no more children. Anne-Marie was married when she was eighteen to the Comte d’Aumont, a neighbor. She is some years your senior, Caroline, which is why you have never met. Robert and his family were quite content to be country folk as were Anne-Marie and her husband. They have never been to England, and Robert never returned after he married.
“When Anne-Marie was twenty her parents were killed in a carriage accident. The shock caused her to miscarry a child, but the following year she bore her husband a daughter, whom she named after her mama; and then two years later, a son, Jean, after her husband, and Robert, after her papa.” Lady Bellingham swallowed down some more sherry, then continued.
“They lived happily for some years, but then fifteen months ago the Comte d’Aumont was caught up in the Reign of Terror, and guillotined. It was a terrible accident of fate that it ever happened. He was in Paris. An old friend had been detained by the Committee for Public Safety. Jean-Claude had gone to his aid. The comte was, you see, a Republican himself. He believed in the Revolution, but when he visited his friend in prison to see how he might help he, too, was arrested. It was so naive of him to have gone, but he truly trusted in reform, although how he could after the murders of King Louis and his wife I do not understand. He was a kind man, I am told.” She sniffled into her handkerchief.
“Anne-Marie and her husband were very much like our own country people despite their aristocratic backgrou
nds. They were kind to their tenants, and when the harvest was bad they never demanded their rent, but rather helped to feed their people. They are loved in their village of St. Jean Baptiste. After her husband was killed we begged our niece to come to England where she and her children would be safe until this horror is over, however it ends; but Anne-Marie is all French despite her English father. Her little son Jean-Robert is now the Comte d’Aumont. His lands are all he has. Anne-Marie is afraid if she leaves those lands, they will be taken away from the family. So she has stayed, and now this!” Lady Bellingham broke into fulsome sobs again.
“What?” Allegra asked her gently. “What has happened?”
“Our niece is under house arrest. The local revolutionary authorities are threatening to take her children away from her!” wailed Lady Bellingham.
Now the Duke of Sedgwick found himself drawn into this tale of woe. He knelt before the distraught woman and said quietly, “How is it that you know this, Lady Bellingham? How has the information come to your attention and that of your husband?”
“My niece lives near the coast,” Lady Bellingham explained. “One of her servants took Anne-Marie’s letter to a cousin who is a fisherman. The fisherman brought it across the water, and gave it to a fish merchant he knows who was coming up to London, with instructions that the fishmonger would be rewarded if he delivered the letter to us immediately. Freddie gave him a whole guinea!”
“How long did it take for this letter to reach you?” the duke said. “Did your niece date her missive?”
“She wrote but five days ago,” Lady Bellingham said. Then she turned her tearstained face to the duke. “Ohh, Quinton, you must help us! You must go and fetch Anne-Marie and her children from the dreadful people in France!”
“You said she would not come,” Allegra reminded the older lady. “You said she didn’t want her son to lose his inheritance.”
“She will come now, child, I am certain of it. She sees the futility of trying to hold on to her son’s estate. Whoever has sought to have her placed under house arrest and steal her children away means to destroy the d’Aumonts, and have what is theirs. Anne-Marie is helpless before such an enemy. She is a country wife and has no influence with the authorities.” She burst into fulsome tears once again, her shoulders shaking with her grief.
The Duchess Page 27