by Jaimey Grant
Cursing in a low tone, Derringer stood and, keeping his back to the contretemps, pressed several coins into Gaston’s hand. He knew he had to get out before he was discovered. There were too many uncertainties in this situation. He was at a disadvantage. The Duke of Derringer never entered a battle without an edge over his opponent.
With a nod for Gaston, Derringer quickly traversed the room, blending easily into the shadows along the wall. He slipped out a side door and into a dark alley before anyone even realized he had been there and gone.
It would be the height of stupidity to return home now, the duke thought. He was so close to finding Gabriel, a search that had lasted five long years. But why was the Earl of Harwood in France? As Derringer’s new brother-in-law, shouldn’t he be making a nuisance of himself at Derringer Crescent? And what the devil was the man doing with a loose screw like Fraser D’Arcy?
Derringer had once had a run-in with D’Arcy that nearly ended both their lives. Unfortunately, the crazy Frenchman survived.
Harwood’s relationship with D’Arcy was a mystery and Derringer felt he was not best equipped to solve it at the moment. He needed information, and the only place he could get that was at home. Home, where his bride waited, a bride he’d thought of far more often than he’d wanted to.
Derringer kicked Satan into a run, racing toward the cliff’s edge. It appeared that he would run the animal right off the crag and into the sea but he turned Satan’s head right at the last possible moment and steered him onto a hidden cliff path that led down to a little cove below. To the casual observer, he vanished over the edge of the bluff.
He slowed the great black beast and let Satan pick his own path along the rocky path. They were soon at the bottom and standing near a small yacht anchored just off shore.
Within moments they had set sail for Folkestone. Derringer was suspicious of Harwood’s presence in France. He wanted to make sure Merri was safe. And perhaps she would know something of her brother’s activities.
Gabriel would have to wait. For now.
“Here? Now? But why?” The dismay in Leandra’s voice was very much at odds with the smile that stretched across her face.
“I hate to speak ill of the Quality and all, your grace, but I would venture to say it’s because our a duchess now,” Mrs. Stark told her in a rare bout of cynicism.
“Oh, why did they have to come now? If Hart were here he’d know what to do to get rid of them,” she murmured to herself. “But I can’t bear the thought of being rude to them. I can’t.”
The housekeeper’s eyebrows rose at this evidence of Leandra’s unwarranted faith in her absent spouse but she said nothing.
“There is nothing for it but to welcome them, I suppose. Show them in, Mrs. Stark.”
“In here, madam?” the woman asked, surprised that the duchess would want her family in her little sanctuary.
Leandra looked around the morning room and sighed. “Have they all come?”
“As to that, I wouldn’t know. So far there are four ladies and three children.”
“The earl didn’t come?”
Mrs. Stark shook her head.
“Very well. Have the children taken up to the nursery—we do have a nursery, do we not?—and appoint Bessie to watch over them if they have not brought their own maids. Have the blue, rose, and violet chambers prepared on the second floor. Be sure to place Lady Michaella in the yellow chamber on the third floor. Escort the ladies into the drawing room until their chambers are ready and I will join them shortly.”
The duchess withdrew to the door, then paused. Without turning around she said, “He will not be pleased about this, will he?”
“No, madam, he will not,” the old woman replied. She didn’t even pretend to misunderstand.
Leandra took her time about changing her gown and freshening up her appearance, delaying the inevitably distressing confrontation. Liza arranged her dark brown hair in curls and waves with a pretty gold ribbon and helped her into her emerald green silk gown with the gold velvet piping. She wore little gold slippers and a gold locket around her neck that had been loaned to her by Mrs. Stark. The dress was a trifle fancy for afternoon wear and lower at the neck than she was used to but the ensemble gave her a confidence that she was very much afraid she would need.
What she didn’t realize was that the gown made her look quite pretty. The green of the dress made her eyes stand out behind her spectacles like emeralds of the finest quality. The flecks of gold were still there and perhaps even more prominent because of the gold trim on her gown.
Leandra walked with a natural grace that most other women envied. The ladies from her old home were no different. When she entered the drawing room, Leandra noticed the barely veiled anger and hatred in the stares of her family. She ignored it and welcomed them to her home, hiding well her disinclination to do so.
The maid and footman standing at attention in the room were astonished at the lack of warmth in their mistress’s soft voice. She held her head at a haughty angle that was unusual and her smile did not reach the emerald of her eyes. In fact, they thought proudly, she looked every inch a duchess.
As was often the case, the servants had uncovered the circumstances of Leandra’s birth, something not very astonishing since Leandra herself was rather outspoken about it. Though at first they were inclined to condemn her, it didn’t take long for them to, for the most part, accept that she was a person worthy of their devotion and respect. Hence, they answered to no one but her or those directed by her.
“My dear,” the Dowager Lady Harwood—Leandra’s stepmother—gushed with every appearance of enthusiasm. “How are you, child?”
Something flickered in Leandra’s green eyes. They suddenly dimmed in color and appeared to change to a gold color very much like that of the dowager’s. Anyone who knew her well would notice the change. Her servants noticed.
She smiled though everything in her resisted. “My lady. I hope your journey was uneventful.”
Miss Michaella Harcourt, Leandra’s unwed stepsister, stood and curtsied properly, as befitted her half-sister’s new station. Rising gracefully, she then approached Leandra. “Are you well, Merri?” she asked, sincere concern quivering on every word.
Leandra gave her sister a genuine smile. “Oh yes, dearest Michaella. I am quite well. You look tired, though. Would you like to retire to your room for a rest?” She sensed it would be best for her gentle sister to be absent from the room when the other ladies’ spiteful tongues were given permission to let loose their venom.
Michaella released the breath she’d been holding. She’d sensed it, too. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Alice, please show Lady Michaella to her chamber. Mrs. Stark will tell you which one, if she hasn’t already done so,” she told the maid, favoring the servant with the same bright smile she’d given her sister.
“We will have a comfortable coze later, hmm?” she told Michaella. The young lady nodded and excused herself to her mother who reluctantly let her go.
“And now,” Leandra said coldly, turning back to her unwelcome guests, “why are you here?”
The remaining ladies gasped. Who would have thought the little viper would get so above herself just because she married a duke? Her husband’s station did not change her parentage one whit.
“We are here to help you adapt, of course, my dear,” the dowager said with a hard edge to her well-modulated tones.
“Adapt?”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Schuster, Leandra’s half-sister, agreed. “How could you possibly know how to go on in a household such as this? Why, we have been here all of an hour already and you have not even offered tea.”
“And you have not curtsied as befits my station above you, so let us not quibble over the definition of proper behavior.”
They gasped again.
“You little slut!” screeched the younger Lady Harwood, wife of the current earl. She strode up to Leandra, blond curls bobbing, and stood looking do
wn at her with a malevolent gaze. “Are you increasing, you little whore? Is that why he married you? Does he know you’re a bastard?”
“It was his primary reason for asking me, I think,” she replied calmly. “And no, I am not increasing.” Her tone was exceedingly dry.
Young Lady Harwood’s expression revealed her shock at Leandra’s denial. “You’re lying! Why would anyone willingly marry a bastard unless she’s with child?”
“Why would I lie?”
“Maybe you told your husband that you’re increasing and he doesn’t know that you are not and you want us to keep the secret.”
“Just so,” murmured Leandra. She caught the look of horrified amusement in the footman’s eyes. She winked at him surreptitiously. “Would you like tea?” she asked with a mocking curtsy directed at her stepmother.
Alas, she’d underestimated the hawklike gaze of her stepmother.
“How dare you mock me!” The dowager turned to the footman. “You, leave this room immediately. And if you show such disrespect again, you will be dismissed.”
Everyone froze. The footman glanced nervously at his mistress. Leandra looked her stepmother in the eye and said in the iciest voice she had ever used, “You will not order my servants about nor threaten them with dismissal. If I hear that you have tried during your stay here, you will be tossed out. Do I make myself clear, my lady?”
A moment of extremely tense silence passed.
“Very well,” the dowager said grudgingly. “It will be as you wish, Merri, but do not come crying to me when the lazy creatures have turned the duke’s home into a circus.”
“Please address me properly, my lady,” was all Leandra said to this comment before she swept from the room as regal as a queen.
Dinner that evening was a nightmare.
Leandra dressed in a gown of gold velvet trimmed with Brussels lace at the neckline and the wrists of the long sleeves and an overskirt of matching lace. She wore Mrs. Stark’s gold locket again since she still had nothing of her own in the way of jewelry. Her dark hair was gathered up on the side of her head and cascaded in a riot of curls over her left shoulder.
She felt terrible. Drums hammered in her head, making her tetchy. She wanted nothing more than the departure of her family. Except for Michaella, of course.
The dinner conversation was nonexistent, thank the Lord. Leandra had dinner served in the State dining room for just that reason. There were yards of table between each of the guests.
The duchess invited Martin to join them. Amusement danced through her eyes as looks of horror passed between the dowager and her daughters. How galling they must find it to have to sit down with a servant!
Leandra sighed and wished the duke was there. For some reason, she’d been unable to stop thinking about him. She barely knew him and yet she found herself constantly doing things that she hoped would please him. And praying the things she did that would not please him were never discovered.
The duchess rose to withdraw to the drawing room. Martin stood as she did and she gave him a sympathetic look. She would not ask him to join them. She whispered to Stark to give Martin whatever he wanted to drink. He’d more than earned it.
As soon as the doors of the drawing room closed, the ladies started in on her.
“You are far too lenient with your servants, Merri. Why, I saw a fat housemaid. I do believe she is stealing food,” the dowager informed her haughtily while seating herself regally in a chair by the glowing fire.
“You have not the least knowledge of how to conduct yourself, Merri. You should let me help. Schuster’s home was at sixes and sevens when I arrived and I managed to fix everything,” Lady Schuster told her with a smirk as she went to the piano in the corner and sat down to play.
“You have no sense of fashion, Merri. You should dismiss your abigail and hire one that knows what she is about,” young Lady Harwood complained as she adjusted the skirts of her charming lemon yellow satin evening gown.
These comments were all said at the same time.
Michaella stared at them all as if they were sideshow freaks at Bartholomew Fair. “What are you all talking about? Merri has done a lovely job with her new social status.”
“It’s quite all right, Michaella,” smiled Leandra. “They are only concerned for my well-being.”
She turned her attention back to the other three ladies. “The housemaid you saw is not fat, she is expecting. I conduct myself very well, from all I have heard and observed. And Liza is an excellent abigail.” With that, Leandra sat down on the settee next to Michaella and took up her needlework, ignoring her spiteful female relatives.
Thankfully, everyone was more than willing to avoid any type of socially correct conversation and so avoided any type of talk at all. Lady Schuster played the piano with skill and soon the dowager was dozing in her chair by the fire. Lady Harwood had found a book that seemed to hold her interest and Michaella watched Leandra ply her needle, asking questions once in a while about a certain type of stitch that she herself had had particular trouble over. Considering her own lack of skill in that department, Leandra knew her sister’s questions for the distraction they were, and she loved her all the more for it.
Fifteen minutes later, shouts could be heard coming from the Great Hall. Leandra looked up and the color drained from her face. Such a gamut of emotions swept through her that she didn’t know quite what she felt. Surprise, relief, and unease each took their turn on her mobile features.
Servants could be heard rushing here and there, while commands from the Starks rose above all the furor.
“I told you that you are far too lenient,” said the dowager, thin lips stretched into a smug grin.
But Leandra wasn’t listening. She tossed her sewing aside and flew to the door, flinging it open and darting down the corridor. She didn’t stop until she was in the Great Hall.
The Duke of Derringer stood before the main stairs with his arms crossed over his broad chest, staring in Leandra’s direction. His black eyes were hooded and his expression grim.
“Oh, Hart, you’re home. Thank God!” And Leandra threw herself at him without so much as a by-your-leave.
Quick wits and quicker reflexes served Derringer well. He opened his arms at just the right moment and caught her, his arms enfolding her close to his chest. He stood holding her for a long moment before the impulsiveness of her actions struck him. His eyes widened to their fullest and he grinned. She’d called him Hart.
He stared down into her eyes, dark green and gold, and was suddenly very, very glad he had decided to come home before going after Gabriel. Her mouth opened and he watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips. The sudden desire he felt for her took him completely by surprise.
And so he kissed her. In full view of the servants and her family who had come out to see what all the ruckus was about. He kissed her the way he’d wanted to since that first time at the Maidstone Inn. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth and she moaned deep in her throat. And she kissed him back.
He would have taken her up to his bed right then had not the dowager gasped and said in her strident tones, “Of all the disgraceful behavior! And what, Merri, do you suppose your husband will say if he walks in to see you kissing one of the outdoor help?”
Derringer leaned his head back and smiled at his bride. “So, my Merri, did you miss me?” he asked unnecessarily. He looked down at her with something akin to tenderness, a soft smile on his lips.
Leandra realized suddenly what a spectacle she had made of herself and him. She struggled out of his embrace and stepped back, smoothing her hands over her gown in an attempt to return some order to her appearance. It was then that her stepmother’s words finally sank in and she looked up at her husband.
Then she laughed. Uncontrollably.
8
The duke, in the glory of his tattered and stained tavern attire with his long black hair in windblown disarray, stared at Leandra while she laughed. She laughed so hard that tears sprang
to her eyes and ran down her cheeks. One hand covered her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle her own merriment while the other clutched her middle.
Her laughter rang like music in Derringer’s ears.
Then he noticed the ladies standing a few feet behind his wife and the unnatural silence of his servants. He studied the ladies for a full minute, an unpleasant smile finally settling on his lips.
Leandra stopped laughing, her eyes fixing on the duke in trepidation.
He recognized the older woman with the graying hair. Her son took after her quite a lot. The next oldest lady appeared to be Harwood’s sister. The blond had to be his wife since she resembled the rest not at all. And the young one that so resembled Leandra must be…
“You are Harwood’s clan, are you not?” he asked.
The dowager stiffened. “Who are you, sir, to address us so disrespectfully? I’ll have the duke toss you out on your ear for your impertinence.”
Derringer turned his black eyes on Leandra. “Do you think he will, Merri?”
Leandra shook her head as a hysterical laugh bubbled up and came out her nose in an unladylike snort—which only made her laugh harder.
“How dare you address a duchess so, sir. You are dismissed immediately,” declared the Dowager Lady Harwood roundly. The other ladies just goggled at the way the situation was progressing.
“Aw, Merri, now she’s gone and fired me,” complained Derringer. He was enjoying himself immensely.
“And you, young lady,” said the dowager to Leandra, “ought not encourage him in this behavior. It really does not become you.”
Derringer studied his wife until she blushed most becomingly. “I would have to disagree with you, ma’am. She is enchanting when she laughs.”