by Eva Devon
Chapter 20
Duncan had expected a cold reception. He had not expected wailing. He stared up at the frescoed ceiling wondering where the godawful caterwauling was coming from. Was Imogen dying? His heart stopped for a moment and he glanced wildly around looking for someone to give him some sort of answer but the butler had left him standing alone in the open foyer, hat in hand.
Something was greatly amiss and he had a strong feeling that it was more than just social ruination.
Cordelia, The Duchess of Hunt, came down the stairs, her hand propped on her back, her big belly prominent before her. She spotted him then gave him a knowing smile. “Your Grace, a pleasure.”
“Is everything well?” he asked, amazed at the slightly nervous tone in his deep voice.
She nodded graciously. “Oh, yes.”
“But—but—” He glanced up toward the ceiling.
“The Duchess of Darkwell is at work bringing a child into this world.”
Duncan dropped his astounded gaze to Cordelia who had crossed to him. “Here?”
“Yes. At her dearest friend’s residence. Where better?”
“A good point.” It suddenly occurred to him that he was being a thoughtless idiot. “Would you like my arm?”
“Do I look ill?” she asked, batting her lashes as if daring him to suggest she was incapable in someway.
Duncan cleared his throat, flummoxed again. “Not at all.” He tapped his hat against his leg, uncertain what to say to the duchess, “Her Grace is attended by the finest physicians?”
“She is attended by a midwife,” Cordy said brightly. “There is a physician waiting if anything goes terribly amiss.”
“Good. Good.” Though really he had no idea about it. It struck him it was such a woman’s affair that a man really had no business trying to tell a woman how to give birth and yet, that seemed to be the growing fashion. He could still recall the way the court of Versailles had viewed a birth as a public affair. This was much better. Private, with one’s friends.
Suddenly, he glanced toward the door. “Darkwell? Should I fetch him.”
Cordy shook her head. “He’s here. Looks a bit worse for wear but he’s holding her hand. I think he might tear the house to pieces since he can’t do anything for her pain, but he’s being a good husband.”
Duncan blew out a breath, trying to imagine what that would be like. What if Imogen was giving birth to their child, crying out so sharply in pain, and he could do nothing? The thought was impossible to contemplate.
“Where is Lady Cavendish?” he asked.
“Upstairs. Assisting.”
Ah. He frowned. Surely, such a thing would be painful for her after losing her own child. But then again, Imogen’s heart was so full that he couldn’t imagine her ever not helping a friend even if personal discomfort stood in the way.
“You made a mess of things didn’t you?” Cordelia said abruptly.
He was about to protest but realized there was no point. “I have, yes.”
“Why in god’s name did you listen to those fools?”
“Well,” he said prepared to be astonishingly honest, “Hunt said he’d kidnapped you and I’ve seen how happy you are together.”
She laughed, a devilishly amused sound. “Yes, but he must have neglected to mention I escaped his kidnapping attempt in the middle of the night and was walking down a dark country road, hands trussed, to get away from him and his madness.”
Duncan let out a dry laugh of his own then rubbed a hand over his tired face. “He did indeed neglect that pertinent information.”
She smiled fondly, clearly thinking of her husband. “Silly man. That is not what made me fall in love with him.”
“What did?”
“Seeing his imperfections, seeing how well they fit mine.”
Duncan gaped. “His imperfections?”
Cordelia patted his arm. “No one wants to be married to a perfect spouse, Duncan. Far too much to keep up with. Imogen needs you to want her just the way she is.”
“I do!” he exclaimed.
Cordelia arched a skeptical brow.
“I confess, I may have given her the impression that I feel otherwise.”
“Impression?” Cordelia challenged.
He groaned. “I may have flat out said she couldn’t be my duchess due to her past, but I never ever said that her past might prevent my love for her.”
“And do you?”
“Pardon?”
“Love her, Duncan? If not, I’ve no interest in furthering this conversation. You’re a fine fellow but you’ve many faults. I shouldn’t wish my friend to waste her time on a man who’s going to give her misery in the long run.”
Duncan gaped. He’d never met a woman so blunt. “I love her, Duchess. But she won’t hear it.”
“Do you wish to marry her?”
“I—I—didn’t,” he confessed. “But now, I do.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because of the scandal.”
Of course she might think that. Who wouldn’t when he had resisted so firmly before. “Not at all. I tried to ask her last night. And failed. Miserably.”
Cordelia nodded her approval, a smile warming her face. “That puts a different light on things.”
He eyed the brim of his hat, not quite able to bare his desperation. “Do you think she’ll say yes? I’ve come to ask for her hand.”
Cordelia sighed. “I don’t think so.”
Duncan scowled. “Why the devil not?”
She rolled her eyes. “Duncan, what woman wants to wed because the groom has no choice?”
He slapped his hat against his leg. “That’s not how it is at all, damn it.”
“But, she doesn’t know that,” Cordelia countered quickly. “So, you must woo her.”
“Woo?” he echoed.
“Yes, sometimes even a duke has to get down on his knees.”
It was something he’d never really contemplated. “How?”
“Oh, Duncan,” Cordelia grinned. “Even I can’t hold your hand the whole way through it. What do you think she’d like?”
Duncan let out a frustrated breath. What would Imogen want? If he loved her, he should know, shouldn’t he? Suddenly, it hit him. He knew exactly what had to be done. And it wasn’t standing hat in hand in her home, waiting to save her from society. He gave a slight bow, and turned for the door.
“Duncan!” Cordelia called. “Should I tell her you called?”
He glanced back over his shoulder and smiled, finally feeling like he might just have the upper hand in all this. “Don’t you dare.”
Cordelia smiled back and lifted a hand to her lips. “Our secret.”
Duncan headed back out into the late London morning, ignoring the stares of the ladies and gentlemen promenading down the street. His heart felt lighter than it had been in months. In fact, it was so damn light he began to whistle a merry tune.
*
Imogen held the tiny baby in her hands and tears stung her eyes. The little girl was so beautiful it physically hurt. She smiled down at the wrinkled little face with eyes shut. Her perfect rosebud mouth was slightly pursed. A sigh escaped Imogen’s lips as she lifted the baby and sniffed her soft little head.
“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Kate said from the bed, looking drained but stunning.
In fact, her friend glowed with triumph.
Darkwell had gotten his heart’s desire. A girl had been born to them and mother and babe were absolutely perfect and healthy.
“Tosh,” Imogen dismissed, blinking her tears away. “You would have done marvelously.”
With that, she gave the baby one last gentle kiss on it’s forehead then handed her back to his mother.
It had been two hours since the baby was born, but now they needed sleep. Even she needed a nap. Or tea. Or perhaps a brandy.
Darkwell, sat next to his wife on the big bed, his face so proud he looked like he might burst.
Imogen, clasped her hands together. �
�I’ll leave you, now.”
As soon as she was out in the hallway, she placed a hand on her middle and drew in a deep breath. The labor had gone so quickly, so easily, unlike her own. A brief wave of sadness washed over her. She couldn’t help it. She missed her baby. Yet at the same time, the joy on Kathryn’s face had made it all worth while.
Such hope, such happiness, was what this life was all about. And if she couldn’t be a mother, she could be the best auntie there ever was.
She descended the stairs, her whole body suddenly heavy with exhaustion. It was just after noon and though early, a glass of brandy would be just the thing.
Cordelia sat, tucked up in a blanket, with a book before the fire. She greeted her with a smile. “I’ve ordered you a bowl of beef’s broth and bread to go with your libation.”
Imogen grinned. “Very thoughtful. I long to fall into bed if you must know.”
“I’m sure,” Cordelia said with a strange note to her voice. “But it’s essential you nourish yourself.”
Imogen poured herself a small drink. “And why is that?”
“Because I do think you’re going to have two babies born in this house?”
Imogen nearly dropped her glass. “I beg your pardon?”
Cordelia gave a shaky grin. “I’ve sent for my husband. The pains are close together and I’ve been walking up and down the room. Do you think that sufficient? Should I get on all fours?”
Imogen let out a yelp of excitement, plunked her brandy down, and ran over to Cordelia. “My goodness! What a glorious day. Apparently my drawing room is quite inviting to imminent arrivals!”
Cordelia smiled briefly, took her hand, and stood. “I’m glad you think so. You seem to be quite the attraction to babies.”
Imogen swallowed back the strange warm feeling that gave her. “Thank you.”
“Imogen?”
“Yes?” she asked gently.
Cordelia’s eyes widened, she leaned forward, and whispered as if confessing the greatest sin in all Christendom, “I’m afraid.”
Imogen squeezed her friend’s hand. “So was Kathryn and she’s holding her son in her arms this very moment.”
Codelia drew in a deep breath. “You don’t think the luck will have run out do you?”
Imogen stroked a lock of hair back from Cordelia’s face. “I think the luck is just beginning.”
And she did. Finally, life was starting anew. What better sign that the birth of two babies in her home?
Chapter 21
Imogen stared out her coach’s window, a contented smile on her face.
After several hours, the heir to the Duke and Duchess of Hunt had graced her house. His name was as long as her arm, Anthony James Michael Frederick Eversleigh, Earl of Montieth.
Kathryn and her husband had promptly named their daughter Imogen. Everyone was calling the beautiful little girl Immy.
The house was full of joy and Imogen had stumbled to bed feeling more peace than she’d felt in quite some time. Though, she couldn’t ignore the faint hint of longing at the back of her happiness. Some things simply weren’t meant to be.
Both couples had taken up residence in her home and well, that was marvelous, but she felt rather like an outsider. So, it was that her hair was done, a string of rubies graced her throat, and her hair was piled atop her head in soft curls.
Tonight was for her.
She’d waited for the Duke of Blackburn to make his visit, for him to offer marriage as he was supposed to do. But he hadn’t come. He’d not even sent a note. He was probably brooding over the glens of his estate in Scotland. Why she’d ever thought he might bow to scandal and marry her was a mystery. She was the one who was ruined, not he. A duke could survive such a thing completely unscathed while she would be condemned to the demi-mondaine.
It had been something she’d flirted with for sometime but resisted. Even when Kathryn had lost her reputation, she’d been unwilling to join her friend and the more scandalous parties thrown by London’s most notorious.
There was nothing to lose now.
So, she tucked her cloak around her frame, glad that Spring was just around the corner. It was apt the babies had been born when the crocuses and snowdrops had just broken through the earth. Any day now, they’d see daffodils too.
It was time to celebrate life.
The coach rolled to a stop in front of the Earl of Albany’s infamous and grand residence. She stepped out into the cool night, ready to embrace her new life.
The footman was young, masked and bore a rather saucy smile. He held out his gloved hand to her then slipped her cloak form her shoulders. “Lady Cavendish, the earl will be delighted that you have, at long last, accepted one of his invitations.”
Would he, indeed?
He gestured toward the stairs. . . which led downward.
Her gown was quite shocking. She’d been able to acquire it last minute from the actress Elizabeth Barton, an old friend well versed in scandal. She loved the crimson shade and the gold embroidery along the hem and just at the edge of her extremely plumped bosom. In fact, if her bosom had been any more plumped, her bosom would be entirely out!
She hesitated at the foot of the marble stairs. This was the moment. If she wanted to escape to Italy and never have to put on a brave face to all of England, she needed to turn around. Now.
Lifting her chin, she boldly crossed the threshold.
The lavish room was packed with women dressed in scandalous apparel, bearing limbs in colored silk stockings. Gentlemen were simply attired in silk shirts, breeches, and cravats, as if they were all ready to disrobe as quickly possible. Hundreds of candles glowed, aloft in golden candelabra, and the ceiling overhead was a tribute to the divine Bacchus and several half nude nymphs.
“My lady, may I have this dance?”
The deep, rumbling voice sent a shiver down her spine.
She turned. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. Her ears were surely deceiving her.
But there, standing under the carved stone archway just beside her, golden masque covering the upper half of his gorgeous face, stood the Duke of Blackburn.
My god he was handsome. It was almost unbelievable how much.
Towering well over six feet he looked glorious in his simple but elegant black evening coat. She couldn’t imagine a more masculine figure with his dark hair swept back from his strong features and his broad shoulders stretching the perfect cut of his coat.
He held out his hand.
She glanced at it, sniffed, and said, “No.”
“No?” he queried.
Did he honestly expect her to simply fall into his arms after what he’d put her through? “You heard me.”
“Madam, will you nil you, I will dance with you.”
The play on words from Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew didn’t fall on deaf ears except, in the play, he said marry, not dance. Given their particular situation, his variance irked her. She propped her hands on her hips. “Look here, Your High and Mighty Grace, you may think you can boss the world about but you can’t boss me.”
“Can’t I?” he said with a smile that burned her with it’s wickedness to her very toes.
She narrowed her eyes. “No.”
“Perhaps not,” he granted. “But you want to dance with me, you know you do.”
She opened her mouth ready to give him a good set down, but she couldn’t manage it. She was simply too stunned. How dare he come here and fling her secret longings in her face? What was he doing here anyway, the duke of absolute propriety?
“Go away,” she finally snapped. “This isn’t your sort of place.”
“What is my sort of place?”
She snorted. “A church.”
He placed a hand to his heart, looking far too contrite for it to be genuine. “I grant you, I’ve behaved like a parson, but I’m not all that bad. Now dance with me?”
She couldn’t ever imagine him acting in such a manner as this, except for drunken moments of kidnappi
ng.
She leaned forward and sniffed.
Another wicked grin pulled at his sensual lips. “I’m not inebriated, lass. The only thing I’m drunk on is you.”
She blinked as her whole body blossomed with heat. Had he truly just said that?
“Since the cat seems to have your tongue at last, I’ll do with you as I will,” he said with a slight growl.
“Duncan!” she cried in protest and tugged her hand from his. “But he ignored her and led her into the crowded ballroom. Several couples waltzed across the floor, taking the scandalous steps as if they were as natural as breathing.
He couldn’t possibly know how to waltz which fortunately meant she could leave him on the floor looking a right ponce.
She was about to point such a thing out when all of a sudden, she was whirling around the floor in his gloriously strong arms. She could have swooned with the pleasure of it.
“You can waltz!” she exclaimed.
“I can,” he agreed.
“How?”
“Shh. If you wish to know my secrets you’ll have to wait until we marry.”
She knew she should have been furious! Indignant even for him to say something so ludicrous and cruel. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“About my secrets or our marriage?”
She yanked at his hand, trying to pull free but instead he pulled her tighter to him. “You’re not going anywhere, lass. You belong in my arms.”
Oh, how she wanted to slap him but she wanted to savor the feel of him, for surely it wouldn’t last.
How could she deny his embrace when she’d wanted it so much? And he was embracing her in such a place, a place he never should have set foot in! Instead of stomping on his foot as instinct commanded her, she gave over to her foolish side. He couldn’t mean it about marriage and if he was going to propose out of a sense of duty, she already knew her answer. A marriage based solely on him sacrificing himself to honor was one she’d have nothing to do with. Still, she needed to savor this for all the nights she would have to endure without him.
Gasping for breath, she allowed herself to smile. Her toes barely touched the ground as his long legs ate up the ballroom floor, effortlessly avoiding the other couples who were all be-masked.