The Duchess's Diary

by Allison Lane

  “I am when you bring dishonor to my family. It was a mistake to allow you into this house. But that is over,” he swore over John’s growl. “You will leave within the hour and never return. I don’t tolerate whores under my roof.”

  “You cannot throw me out.” Her voice wavered, but she steadied it. “Only the trustees have that power. And when I tell them about this ploy, Mr. Goodman will—”

  “Goodman is dead, and those other fools retired long ago. The new trustees won’t spare you a moment’s pity when they learn the truth. Not that it matters. I’ll have the title in a week, ending their authority.”

  “You delude yourself.” She smiled. “That investigator will never find what you seek. Resign yourself to being forever a commoner.”

  “You know nothing. I’ll have what’s mine, and no one can stop me. Starting today. Everyone goes – incompetent servants, coddled tenants, greedy leeches. They don’t deserve a farthing of my inheritance. And if you aren’t gone within the hour, they will suffer worse than banishment. I’ll charge them with larceny and ship them to Botany Bay.” A cruel smile twisted his face. “As for you, Lascar”—he turned—“I don’t employ cads. Be gone with you.”

  “As soon as I’m paid for my survey,” he dared.

  Chester’s face purpled. “Be glad to leave under your own power. One more word, and you’ll leave in chains, bound for jail. I witnessed your unprovoked attack on an innocent lord. Be grateful I’m allowing you to leave at all. If you’re smart, you’ll flee England before I change my mind. When I finish with you, no one will let you design so much as a pig sty.” He headed for the hallway. “One hour. My valet will supervise your packing, Harper, so don’t try to steal the silver.”

  The moment the door slammed shut, Faith sagged. John caught her.

  “No, no-o-o,” she moaned.

  “Shhh.” He held her close, stroking her hair. She hadn’t expected that others might pay for her escape. But Chester really did avenge any insult ten times over. “It will be all right, sweetheart.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “But—”

  “There’s no time to talk. You must pack, and so must I. My carriage will be at the door when you’re ready.”

  “I can’t leave with you!”

  “You have no choice. Don’t argue,” he added, when she glared. “Time is too short. He would love to toss you out without even a change of clothing. Don’t give him that chance.” Releasing her, he swept up his papers. “This is not the time to think about the staff, either. Once we are away, we can decide how to help them, but now you must pack. Chester will destroy anything you leave behind, so be thorough.”

  “Y-yes. Of course.” Shaking her head, she followed him out.

  * * * *

  By the time Faith finished stuffing her possessions into three trunks, fury banished any trace of weakness. Combes was nearly as hateful as his master. If it hadn’t been for Polly’s intervention – she hated to think how Chester would repay that – she would have to leave half of her belongings behind. Combes didn’t believe her elephant had been her mother’s. He didn’t even accept that she had lived her first nine years in India.

  Thank God John had broken Bitstaff’s arm. Combes was no protection against rape. But injury wouldn’t hold Bitstaff for long. At least he’d left the library before Chester had ordered her away. By the time he looked for her, she would be out of reach.

  She hoped.

  Ned arrived to help with the trunks. “Your wrap, miss. You left it in the kitchen when Cook collapsed.” He held out a heavy traveling cloak she’d never seen before. The duchess’s?

  “Thank you, Ned.” She folded it over one arm, then tugged a trunk toward the door.

  Ned and Polly followed with the others, leaving Combes to trail behind unencumbered. Tears filled Polly’s eyes. But Faith dared not speak lest she make their punishment worse.

  John waited in the drive. His coachman stowed her trunks while he helped her inside.

  “You can drop me at the vicarage,” she said the moment the door was closed.

  “Impossible.”

  “You will leave me at the vicarage. I will never forgive myself for letting selfish panic harm you. I can’t add to the damage. Once we part company, Chester will forget about you.” Shame heated her face. She should have known he would retaliate. In one stroke she’d destroyed John’s career, the duke’s family, the staff, and half the tenants.

  The injustice boiled in her stomach.

  “Shock is clouding your mind, Faith. The vicar will not help you.”

  “Of course he will. He is already looking for a companion’s post for me” She kept her face confident, hiding the knowledge that he was right. She must convince him otherwise for his own sake. If he didn’t distance himself from her, he would have to leave the country to escape Chester’s wrath. “I can stay at the vicarage until he finds one.”

  “You know better than that. I know better after meeting him but once. Whether Chester wins the title or not, the vicar considers him the duke. Westfield owns his living and can dismiss him at any time. The moment you tell him Chester threw you out – and you cannot lie about it, for the news will be in the village within the hour, if it hasn’t arrived already – he will bar his door. You chose your path when you overheard Chester’s plot. It has but one destination. Marriage. To me.”

  Her pain doubled even as her heart soared. Marriage! Two offers in a week? Not that either was real. Reginald had spoken out of selfishness and John from coercion. She could never accept.

  For the first time she understood the duchess’s anguish after she’d sent Montrose away. Despite what she’d told John, Faith knew the duchess’s real motive. Her Grace had acted because it was in Montrose’s best interests to leave. Her love demanded that she put his needs before her own.

  What a hellish way to discover that she loved John. Deeply and forever. But admitting that aloud would destroy him. She had but one choice. If the duchess could sacrifice everything in the name of love, then Faith could do no less. She must give John up to mitigate the scandal he would face. It was painful, but essential.

  How had she got herself into this fix?

  You didn’t think beyond your own fear.

  It was true. She’d succumbed to emotion, acting without a single thought for the consequences. She could not do that again.

  John might not be a gentleman born, but he embraced a gentleman’s honor, so of course he would accept marriage as his penalty for deflowering her. But she could not condemn him to a wife who must harm him. Surviving Chester’s retaliation would be hard enough. She couldn’t add her defects to the mix. And knowing she had destroyed his career…

  Her guilt and his regret doomed them. She should never have confused the man who appeared in her dreams with the architect whose livelihood was at Chester’s mercy.

  “You do me great honor, but I cannot accept.” Somehow she kept her voice level.

  “I know my breeding is well below yours, but you have no choice.”

  “You think I refuse because of your breeding? Imbecile! I will never force you into marriage. I appreciate what you’ve done, but any obligation ends when we reach the village. You may drop me at the inn.”

  “To do what?” he demanded. “You can’t stay there. It’s Westcourt land. I doubt you’ve enough money to take the stage more than a few stops. Then what will you do?”

  “I cannot leave while the staff and tenants are in danger. You heard him. He vowed to turn them off. Mrs. Baines is helpless and Baines nearly so. They would starve in a week without care. And Cook’s funeral is tomorrow.”

  “Faith.” He let out a long sigh. “Think, my dear. Chester will not allow you anywhere near that funeral. Nor can you stay in the village. The only way to help the servants is to call on the new trustees. Once they learn the truth, they must protect Westcourt’s dependents. It is their duty.”

  “But will they fee
l that way? You saw that cat-in-the-creampot smirk on Chester’s face. He has the trustees in his pocket. I’ve often wondered how he got the steward’s post. Now I know. They consider him the duke and thus defer to his judgment. They will never take my word over his.” Panic clawed at her throat, for she’d counted on Mr. Goodman if all else failed. He’d been kind to a terrified nine-year-old alone in a strange country. “And in another week, they can’t help anyway. He’ll have the title.”

  “So he claims, but I don’t believe him. If he had proof, Bitstaff would know. Can you see him keeping such news silent even for a day? He would have stood on a street corner shouting it to the world. It’s all very well to claim that the investigator found the proof, but until he actually returns with it, I refuse to believe he has anything. As for the trustees, there are laws governing their conduct. You can be sure I will remind them of their duty.”

  “And how will you find them? Chester seems sure that their identity remains secret.”

  “The investigator will have their directions. We will call there in the morning.”

  “He’s in France.”

  “His office will have the information. And they will know if he found anything. He would never report to Chester without sending copies to the office and the trustees.”

  She bit her lip as hope flickered to life. But he wasn’t thinking clearly, either. “The investigator will tell us nothing. We have no standing in the case.”

  “Nonsense. As Westfield’s ward you have every right to speak with his trustees. And Chester is wrong. I have a signed contract to survey the damage, with the fees clearly spelled out. So I, too, have a right to see them. The investigator will not be pleased at how Chester dismissed me, for it raises questions about his own fees, especially if he fails to find the proof Chester requires.”

  “He won’t find it in France.” The words were out before she could think.

  “Why?”

  “Nothing.” She cursed under her breath, then rushed ahead to dampen his curiosity. “Very well. We will visit his office tomorrow, but that ends your obligation to me.”

  “Obligation! I want to marry you. I’ve wanted you to wife since we met, and you have no choice but to accept. I had your virginity, Faith. Not only does that prevent marriage to another, but you may be carrying my child.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I don’t care when your last courses were, nothing is impossible. I know you would never have chosen me under other circumstances, but the deed is done. We will wed as soon as I can procure a license.”

  “I will not wed you.” Somehow she managed to sound firm. His honor was stronger than she’d thought. How could she keep him safe from Chester when he refused to back away?

  Wedging herself into the corner, she fought down tears.

  * * * *

  John couldn’t believe his ears. Was his breeding so low that she would starve in a ditch rather than marry him? She’d crammed herself into the corner as if she couldn’t stand his touch.

  It hurt, but he couldn’t afford the distraction of pain if he was to convince her. So he shut it away and considered which approach might work.

  Women from many stations come into the shop, his mother had said a few weeks before her death. I’ve learned much from observing them over the years. Ladies might hide behind a shield of propriety, and courtesans behind one of sensuality, but under the skin they are all the same. Remember that when you look for a wife, John. All women need respect. They need trust. And they need love.

  So what did Faith need now?

  She was clearly in shock, and who could blame her? Events had delivered blow after blow. But people in shock often clung to one thought, no matter how odd, as if letting go would shatter them. He’d happened upon a carriage accident two years earlier to find a man cradling his wife’s body, urging her to wake up as they were late for dinner. Nothing John said could penetrate the man’s shock. As long as he insisted they were merely late for dinner, he didn’t have to address the reality of his wife’s death.

  So he must be patient with Faith. Once she recovered, she would accept the truth. If she tried to go it alone, she would either be killed or land in a brothel. Or perhaps the workhouse, though that was often a worse fate. Its few survivors usually regretted living. And if Chester or Bitstaff found her…

  The first step was to escape Westcourt property before Chester came after them. By now he might have realized that turning Faith off was a mistake. Bitstaff would demand revenge and would not like being thwarted a second time. So they had to move as fast as possible.

  Faith suddenly sat up. “This isn’t the road to London.”

  “I told my coachman to avoid the turnpike. Bitstaff will come after you as soon as his arm is set. I won’t risk him overtaking us.”

  “Of course.” She sagged. “Where do you plan to drop me?”

  “My house.”

  “That would ruin your reputation.”

  He inhaled sharply to curb his temper. “I won’t leave you alone where Chester or Bitstaff might find you. If the trustees prove feckless and you can’t stomach marriage after considering the idea for a week, then we will track down your family. They must accept you now that your situation has changed.”

  “They won’t. They can’t afford another dependent.”

  “You don’t know that. Nineteen years could have reversed their fortunes.”

  “Money was only one of their complaints. For now, I can stay at a hotel. Surely you know one Chester will not consider.”

  “Faith.” He shook his head. “You are an intelligent woman, so think about what you just said. No hotel that keeps female guests safe will accept one traveling alone without a maid. You cannot afford a hotel in any case.”

  “We will meet the trustees tomorrow, so I need only one night.”

  “How much money do you have?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Five shillings, sixpence.”

  He pulled her gently against his side. “That is nothing when set against London prices, my dear. Don’t squander it when alternatives exist. You’ve run Westcourt for years, so you know something about finances. How much was your inheritance?”

  “Seven hundred pounds.” That she answered at all proved how upset she was.

  “In Funds?”

  She nodded.

  His heart broke for her, but he had to be honest. “Which means your income is twenty pounds a year. You cannot support yourself on that, let alone your friends. If you cash in your shares, you can manage for a time – maybe even a couple of years. But when it is gone, you will all starve.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “I’m sure you will, but in the meantime, let me house you. If the trustees are fair, they will pension off the staff. And they will not punish tenants or the duke’s family without justification. That won’t help you, of course, for their obligation is limited now that you are of age and have left Westcourt.”

  She shuddered.

  “Which leaves your family.”

  “Papa’s family disowned him. They will deny my existence, especially if they learn why I was turned off. Mama’s family hates scandal. Both families are too rigid to change their minds.”

  He nodded. “So your only choice is marriage. Once we are wed, I’ll see that your friends are safe, no matter what the trustees decide.” He wished that didn’t sound like a bribe.

  “I cannot accept your sacrifice. You’ve lost too much already.”

  “I’ve lost nothing,” he insisted. It wasn’t true, but Faith was worth more than restoring Westcourt and far more than a seat at the Office of Works.

  “Chester will destroy your career.”

  “Impossible. Even with the title, he cannot seriously hurt me. Most of my patrons hail from the merchant class. They care only for quality work and would hire the devil himself if he could provide it. Chester’s ire would increase my standing with most of them, for they disdain boastful wastrels.”

  Her eyes widened
.

  He exaggerated, but his choices were not her fault. He’d welcomed the chance to stake his claim. He’d enjoyed breaking Bitstaff’s arm. Whatever the price, he would pay it gladly as long as Faith was his.

  Yet this was not the time to push harder. She obviously didn’t return his regard – his heart cracked with the admission – but she would eventually understand that the alternatives were worse. “Rest, sweetheart. We’ve a long ride ahead. We won’t reach town until well after dark. And you will think better after a good sleep.”

  “I hate leaving like this.” Her voice broke.

  “I know.” He rubbed her arm. “Is there a neighbor who might hire the younger servants or support your complaints to the trustees?”

  She shook her head, unexpectedly embarrassed. “I know no one.”

  He wanted to ask how that had come about, but she was in too much distress. A tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Don’t cry, Faith. I know it’s bad, but we’ll sort it out.”

  “I c-can’t help it.” She broke.

  He pulled her into his lap and cradled her while she wept. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. It went on and on, seemingly forever.

  Stroking her hair did nothing. Patting her back did nothing. He tried to recall how his mother had comforted him when he’d broken his arm at age nine, but that didn’t help, either.

  He hadn’t intended to expose old wounds. He should have realized where his questions must lead. He knew her family had rejected her. He knew she had no friends outside the staff. He knew she’d suffered a sleepless night grieving for Mrs. Foley. That he’d pushed anyway revealed his own state of shock.

  Half an hour passed before she finally hiccupped and sat up. “Forgive me.”

  “Of course. You have every reason to be upset. Rest, now. Your mind will work better tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps. And it seems I must accept your hospitality.”

  “Thank you. Just remember that marrying you is not an obligation. If I hadn’t cared, we would not have lain together.”