Stolen Encounters with the Duchess

by Julia Justiss

  ‘How kind of you to offer such a treat, Mr Smith, that’s not necessary; the tickets must be rather dear, I should think.’

  Being led forward, as Matthew tugged at one hand and Colin the other, he looked back over his shoulder. ‘I’m not a penniless orphan any longer, Duchess.’

  Her cheeks coloured. ‘I didn’t mean to imply—’

  Then he chuckled, relieving her of the fear that she might have offended him. ‘No worries on that score. I can stand the ready, and I’d very much like to offer them that treat.’

  ‘Then, we accept with pleasure.’

  ‘Have you seen the horses there, Mama?’ Edward asked.

  ‘Your Aunt Sarah took me once, while the late Mr Astley still performed. They presented “The Battle of Waterloo”; it was quite a spectacle.’

  ‘A battle?’ Matthew cried. ‘With guns and horses and fighting and everything? That would be splendid!’

  ‘I’m afraid they don’t do the battle scene in the afternoons,’ Davie said. ‘But there are acrobats, and lots of horsemen doing tricks while they ride.’

  ‘Let’s feed the ducks fast!’ Colin said, picking up the pace.

  A few minutes later they reached the verge of the Serpentine, Faith pulled the cloth-wrapped crumbs from her reticule, and the boys began vying to see who could attract the most ducks with their treasures.

  Edward, who emptied his handful first, grew bored waiting while his youngest brother painstakingly tossed his bits down, crumb by crumb, giggling at the ducks who rushed around his small feet, gobbling down the morsels.

  When one of the ducks, stymied of winning some of Colin’s last crumbs, waddled over to nudge at Edward’s feet, he picked up a branch and pushed it away. Apparently encouraged by the squawk and flapping of wings that ensued, he began hitting the duck on the back.

  Before Faith could say anything, Davie reached out to stay his hand. ‘Don’t, Ashedon,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t hurt him; smaller creatures are here for us to enjoy and protect.’

  ‘It’s only a duck,’ Edward said with a shrug.

  ‘Every creature, no matter how lowly, has value,’ Davie said quietly. ‘Only men with small minds and hard hearts treat cruelly or slightingly those of lesser estate than themselves. A man of high position, as you will one day be, has a responsibility to protect those who are poorer and less fortunate.’

  ‘Like you do in Parliament?’ Edward said. ‘Uncle Nicholas said your Reform Bill wants to give all men a voice in running their government.’

  ‘That’s right. Wouldn’t you rather Nurse asked if you wanted bread—or jam tarts—with your tea, rather than just bringing you what she thinks is best for you?’ As he nodded, Davie continued, ‘Most men don’t mind following reasonable rules, but they do like to have a say in making them. Now, are we out of breadcrumbs, Master Colin?’

  When her youngest nodded, Matthew gave a shout. ‘Now we get to see the ponies! C’mon, Colin, I’ll race you back to the coach!’

  Rather than run ahead with the others, Edward chose to walk beside them. Her son was even more impressed with Davie than he’d been on that first excursion, Faith realised. But how could he not be? His own father had spent little time with him, never bothering to talk to him about anything that mattered, like a great man’s duty to those around him.

  Probably because he didn’t feel any.

  How she wished her sons could grow up with a man like Davie to model themselves after!

  ‘Won’t you ride to Astley’s with us, Mr Smith?’ Edward asked.

  ‘Thank you, Ashedon. If it’s all right with your mama, I will. But after we arrive,’ he continued, turning to address Faith, ‘why don’t you send your coach home? No need for the staff to hang about, walking the horses, while we watch the show.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll instruct John Coachman,’ Faith said, wishing she could take Davie’s arm, but too mindful of Edward keeping pace beside them.

  The boys were, of course, their excuse to spend time together, but oh, if only she could find some way for them to steal a few minutes alone! How she longed for an obliging screen of trees, a gardener’s hut, a conveniently placed empty coach—anything that would allow her to glide close to him, lift her face, and beg another kiss.

  Of course, there was nothing in Hyde Park but well-tended pathways...and once they reached Astley’s, there would be several hundred additional witnesses surrounding them, she thought, sighing.

  Replying, ‘No!’, rather more sharply than she’d intended when Davie enquired whether something was wrong, she had to settle for the much-less-satisfying pleasure of laying her hand on his arm as he helped her into the coach.

  The carriage ride to Astley’s was a mixed blessing. Moving her boys on to the forward seat, she was able to sit beside Davie. But trying to maintain a proper distance between them, when all she wanted was to snuggle up against him, strained both patience and decorum, while the bumps that jostled them enough for their knees or hands to touch set off sparks that made keeping away even more difficult.

  A sidelong glance at his set jaw and a sensual tension so strong she wondered that even the boys didn’t notice something, told her he found this almost-but-not-quite togetherness as difficult as she did.

  Still, she would rather burn in his presence than pine for his absence.

  Not sure whether to be relieved or sorry when the carriage stopped at their destination—freeing them from frustration, but removing the tantalising possibility that any moment, another rut might throw them together—she let the groom hand her down, while Davie went to obtain their tickets.

  Enough amorous thoughts, she scolded herself. You’re a mother, on this excursion primarily for your sons’ benefit. Concentrate on making sure they enjoy it.

  Which didn’t require much effort, once the boys took their seats in the grandstand and the show began. Totally enthralled, they gasped at riders standing upright on the backs of their galloping horses; a female dressed like a ballerina poised on one foot as her horse circled the ring; others who jumped their horses over fences while standing upright. They marvelled as the manager, Andrew Duclow, performed his famous ‘Courier of St Petersburg’ stunt, standing astride two white horses while mounted riders carrying the flags of countries travelled through on the journey from England to Russia rode beneath him. With the rest of the crowd, they laughed at the shenanigans of the clowns, applauded the skill of the acrobats, and shouted approval at the finale when a group of riders entered the arena and raced their ponies round and round.

  ‘They will talk about this for weeks,’ Faith said over their heads. ‘You rose high enough in their estimation for the trip to Brookhollow Lodge; after this, it’s fortunate you will be occupied with business, for they would plead with you to take them out again and again.’

  ‘It would be hard to equal the excitement of Astley’s.’

  ‘For them, perhaps. I found the end of our day at Brookhollow even more satisfying. I only wish I could repeat that—again and again.’

  Her words sparked his gaze to an intensity that promised he could deliver exactly what she burned for. Oh, she wanted...she wanted. But could she persuade him to it?

  The light of his gaze burning hotter, he said, so softly that with all the noise around them, she could barely hear him, ‘Repeat that, and dare more.’ Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips for a brief caress.

  Faith felt the delicious vibrations move up her arm and radiate throughout her body. How she wished they could leave this spot and go somewhere private! She longed with a fervour she’d never before experienced to kiss him, unknot his cravat and place her lips on his bared throat where the pulse throbbed. To peel him out of coat and waistcoat and shirt and rub her lips, her cheek, against his bare chest. Kiss him from his chest downward, unfastening his trousers to unveil him—

  Shoc
ked by the explicit carnality of her thoughts, Faith’s cheeks flamed. But she was spared the embarrassment of Davie noticing; he had already looked away, breaking that contact between them. Exhaling a heavy sigh, he said, ‘But we must be content with less.’

  He wanted her, she was certain, but tempting him to act on that desire wouldn’t be easy. Was she even certain yet, despite the force of her desire, that she dared lead him there?

  Exhaling a huff of frustration of her own, she turned her attention back to the arena.

  What was she thinking, anyway? She was a matron with three sons, not a temptress from the demi-monde.

  Sometimes, she thought wistfully, she wished she had their skills.

  * * *

  Soon after, the performance concluded. Davie went off to procure their hackney, finding some meat pasties for the boys along the way, which they consumed with gusto. For the length of the drive back to Berkeley Square, they chattered about what a famous time they’d had, what terrific performers the horsemen had been, how beautiful their mounts. Matthew announced his determination to become a skilled rider and open his own amphitheatre, graciously conceding that Colin could join with him, but Edward couldn’t, because he would have to be a duke.

  Bracketed by exuberant boys, there was no chance for any private conversation. So, when Davie handed her down, after sending her sons up to the nursery, she lingered by the hackney.

  ‘Thank you for another perfect outing.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m so glad you—and they—enjoyed it. Paragon that you are, no one deserves perfection more.’

  ‘I’m hardly that!’ she protested.

  ‘You are to me. The perfect embodiment of joy, purity, and delight.’

  She knew she wasn’t worthy of such praise, but she couldn’t help drinking in an admiration that refilled the reservoirs of self-confidence and self-worth drained so low by years of marriage to a man who’d belittled her.

  But the butler still stood at the top of the entry stairs, holding open the door. Hating to end the excursion, she nevertheless forced herself to say, ‘I must go now. Thank you again.’

  Before she turned away, he caught up her hand and kissed it, the gaze they shared saying they both regretted not being able to end this interlude with the one thing that truly would have made the morning perfect. Faith’s lips tingled, imagining that forbidden, longed-for kiss.

  Then, with a little nudge, Davie pushed her towards the stairs. ‘You must go in, Duchess. Thank you for a wonderful outing.’

  ‘You’ll let me know if you have another free morning?’ she asked, wanting to hold on to the magic by guaranteeing she would see him again.

  ‘Yes. Or you may be sure that Lady Lyndlington will rope you into one of her political projects, and I’ll see you there, or at another of her dinners.’

  ‘It can’t be too soon.’

  ‘I hope it is very soon.’ With that, Davie tipped his hat, and she reluctantly turned to walk up the stairs.

  As she did, someone stirred the curtains at the front parlour window. Focusing on the movement, she realised with a shock that Lord Randall stood there, watching her as Davie’s hackney drove away.

  Chapter Ten

  Her heart pounding, Faith hurried through the hallway, up the stairs past the salon and up another flight to the nursery, one place she knew her brother-in-law wouldn’t follow her. She halted outside the door to the schoolroom, panting from her exertions, but relieved at having avoided a confrontation she dreaded.

  Perhaps the Dowager was in the salon with him, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to accost her yet, for he’d had enough time, while she skipped up the stairs from the street level, to cut off her retreat, had he wanted to. She could only be glad that he hadn’t, and that she was now forewarned that he was back in the house.

  For how long, she didn’t know; hopefully, he’d borrow more money from his mother and be gone for days again. But she’d have to tread carefully, in case he made a longer stay this time.

  Anger fired up, overlaying the dread. She hated having to remain constantly on guard in her own home! She simply had to resolve this intolerable situation.

  Only she hadn’t yet figured out a way to do that. An enquiry of the Dowager, about which solicitor maintained the documents setting out the rules of the trust established for the boys and the details of how income from the estate was provided to them, was met first with a blank stare, and then a querulous enquiry about why she would need such information.

  She only wished she’d paid more attention at the reading of the will, but she’d been so shocked and mortified by the circumstances of her husband’s death, all she could think about was how those present must be staring at and pitying her.

  Englemere would know; standing in for her deceased father, he’d been involved in arranging the details of her marriage settlement. But with momentous changes about to be voted on in Parliament, he was busy with important work in the Lords. Besides which, he would naturally be curious why she was suddenly enquiring about financial details which had never interested her over the many years of her marriage and widowhood.

  Confiding in him would be even more impossible than admitting the tawdry circumstances to Sarah.

  Maybe tomorrow, she’d try going through Ashedon’s desk—though, as she couldn’t remember her husband ever troubling himself over financial matters, the search was unlikely to yield her much.

  Better still, why not simply ask Cooper, the butler, she thought, brightening. He would probably think the enquiry strange, but since butlers knew everything, he most likely would be able to give her the name of Ashedon’s solicitor.

  Heartened, as she leaned against the door, recovering her breath, she imagined the interview with the solicitor. That gentleman, who didn’t know her at all, was less likely to think it odd of her to make enquiries, especially when she could tell him, quite truthfully, that she was concerned about how the arrangements had been left for the boys’ schooling. She could also explain that her husband had feared his younger brother might try to make inroads upon the estate; wanting to honour his wishes and protect her sons’ inheritance, she needed to know just what funds and properties Lord Randall could make use of, and which uses she should report to the trustees, should he overstep his bounds.

  She’d spend the remainder of the afternoon here, with her boys, she decided. She’d need to venture out of the schoolroom to dress for dinner, and then dine with the Dowager, but with any luck, Lord Randall would have cudgelled some funds out of his mother and be gone by then. If the Dowager did coax her darling son to remain for dinner, she would only be interested in talking with him, allowing Faith to remain mostly silent, masking the fact that she had no desire to converse with her despicable brother-in-law.

  Fortunately, she’d left in the schoolroom the storybook she’d brought up some nights ago, so wouldn’t need to retreat to the library to fetch it. By now recovered, Faith opened the door and walked in.

  To her delight, her sons jumped up to greet her with a surprise and excitement that grew more exuberant when she told them she meant to stay until suppertime, reading them stories—and would have Cook send up some more bread and tea for their party.

  Even Edward smiled at that. Fetching the book, she gathered them around her at the schoolroom table, and began to read.

  * * *

  The degree of relief she felt upon entering the salon before dinner to find her brother-in-law absent told her she’d been dreading the prospect of dining with him more than she’d imagined. Her relief was so great, she bore with unimpaired good humour the Dowager’s criticism of her spending the morning out gallivanting with her sons instead of being home to greet Lord Randall upon his arrival, and her selfishness in remaining closeted with them all afternoon, without giving a thought to whether her mother-in-law might need her.

 
Most unusually, the Dowager continued her complaining after they went into dinner, decrying her son’s lack of feeling in deserting her, too, even after she’d most particularly requested that he remain to dine and escort them to the rout this evening. Then, seeming to realise this description of Randall’s behaviour did not fit the rosy picture she’d painted of how he would attend and support them, she made an abrupt conversational about-face. Doubtless, she said, he was very busy; after all, a gentleman of his looks, charm and pedigree was highly sought after by hostesses offering the most select entertainments; they could not fault him for not wishing to disappoint such noble ladies to keep company with two old widows.

  Her lips twitching with the effort not to laugh at the sudden change in tune, Faith felt an unexpected sympathy towards the overbearing woman. How painful it must be to realise—even if she could not admit the awful truth to herself—that her son visited her only to obtain something, and was unwilling to even occasionally oblige her by spending an evening in her company.

  Never would she end up in that sad position, if there were anything she could do to prevent it! Choosing a tutor who included her in his plans for her sons’ studies would be the first step. Spending more mornings ‘gallivanting about’ with them and more afternoons ‘selfishly closeted away with them’ would follow, too.

  For the first time, she saw the Dowager, who along with her son had belittled and criticised her for her whole married life, not as the imposing, elegant leader of society who had always intimidated her, but as a lonely old woman with few true friends, whose one remaining child was indifferent to her.

  Perhaps it was a re-awakening of confidence, a spirit healing after years of repression, which provided this fresh point of view. Whatever the reason, Faith felt the sense of a burden lifted. No longer would she dread or resent the Dowager’s remarks. Her newly minted sympathy wouldn’t prompt her to spend much more time than necessary with her mother-in-law, and she certainly didn’t intend to brook any interference in the bringing up of her boys, but she would try to make the time they did have together as enjoyable as she could for the woman.