The duchess disappeared around a hedge. The bystanders switched their curiosity from Her Grace to Stratton and his sister. Another woman might feel the slightest sting of embarrassment or censure. Not Deirdre. Whenever crossed, she slapped back, swift and hard.
“What would the Duchess of Pymworth know about cleverness?” Deirdre mused to her followers. “Does she think her station hides the stench of shop that still lingers about her?”
“I will not listen to another word spoken against Her Grace,” Stratton barked in his military voice.
Deirdre blinked, nonplussed. Then she narrowed her eyes as an amused smile snaked over her mouth. “I believe you possess a softness for our bovine duchess,” she purred. “How very delicious! I am thrilled because you were beginning to bore me. You know how I detest boredom. You are redeemed, Brother.”
Stratton considered denying his feelings for Her Grace. But hadn’t his cowardice and immaturity caused enough pain in the lives of the females he cared about?
“Of course, I have a softness for Her Grace,” he replied. “She is the kindest and cleverest lady in Society.”
Deirdre broke into derisive laughter. Her friends joined in like a chorus coming behind the soloist.
What was he doing here? Why was he wasting his time with shallow, malicious people who sought to alleviate the tedium of their privileged lives by making a game of casually tormenting others?
“I’m leaving directly for the country,” he muttered, turning on his heel “I’ve been away from my daughter for too long.”
He stalked across the grass. No doubt, Deirdre had another witticism on the subject of his admiration for the duchess, but he wouldn’t be around to hear it. He broke into a jog. He had to get the hell away from London, which was packed with memories of the horrible man he used to be.
* * *
Don’t think about Lady Fentleigh, Stratton, or the park, Mary Alice scolded herself as she sat in the nursery, still in her wet clothes and quaking with residual anger.Be thankful that Anna is calm and well. That’s all that matters. Stratton is nothing —just a horrid, vile, and arrogant blackguard.
She had never hit anyone in her life—well, perhaps her sister when Mary Alice was four and didn’t know better—but when Lady Fentleigh had spat her honeyed venom as Stratton smirked, Mary Alice almost smacked their self-satisfied faces.
Lady Fentleigh, Stratton, and their cruel circle had been Mary Alice’s antagonists since her first Season. She had learned to swallow their clever little barbs, both veiled and otherwise, and pretend not to care, while inside she cringed with hurt. But today they’d turned their maliciousness on her child—her special, defenseless Anna. Mary Alice felt no cringing hurt, only white-hot, violent rage. But she congratulated herself on remaining calm and delivering a sharp set-down with aplomb. Her husband would have been proud. He had been the cool and measured one in their marriage, contrasting with Mary Alice’s more excitable nature.
Now, Anna calmly sketched on a piece of stationery, as though the afternoon’s episode hadn’t happened. Usually, she loved the park. If left undisturbed, she could stare for hours and hours at bugs and leaves. But Mary Alice had made a mistake taking her to the park too close to the fashionable hour. The loud, bustling crowds had chafed Anna’s nerves like flint on steel, setting the girl alight. Anna had two states: calm and hysterical. Once hysterical, only Mary Alice could successfully calm her. Anyone else only drove her hysterics higher.
She leaned close and kissed the air above her child’s head because Anna didn’t like being touched. “I love you, Anna,” she whispered. Anna glanced up and gave her mother a rare gift—a smile. Mary Alice thought she would break down in tears again. She turned away, discreetly wiped her eyes, and then embraced her other children—Caroline, her eldest, and Little Jonas, named for his father.
“Mama loves you all so very, very much,” Mary Alice said.
“Tell us more about the evil bog lord,” Little Jonas begged. “You promised, remember?” The children adored Mary Alice’s fantastical stories and would keep her for hours in the nursery, imploring her to tell just a little more, and then a little more, of her tales. Currently, they were deep into the ongoing epic of the evil bog lord and his vast army of ogres and trolls in Bogland that threatened to take over the civilized land from King Foradora.
Mary Alice desired only to change out of her wet clothes, put on a clean shift, and curl up under the covers. There she could drift into her own made-up, adult story, in which her shining knight—her husband—was still alive, and they dwelled happily together in a magical kingdom that resembled their London home, while the cruel people of the world, like Stratton and his sister, sank into the muddy, boggy Thames.
But Jonas and Caroline deserved her special attention for behaving so bravely in the park. Mary Alice was very proud of her older children, who seemed much more mature than their young years. No doubt the death of their father hastened their maturity. And Mary Alice felt guilty for those months when the death of her husband had paralyzed her with sorrow, and she couldn’t be a proper mother. It had been hard for Jonas and Caroline to watch her grieve. She remembered Caroline asking, “Mama, how can I make your tears stop?” Those words, delivered by a confused, upset child, had broken Mary Alice’s heart all over again.
“Perhaps Her Grace can tell the story another time,” their perceptive nurse suggested.
“Please, please, please,” Caroline and Little Jonas pleaded, their hands clenched at their chests as they bounced on their tiptoes. “We’ll do geography without complaining,” Little Jonas said, sweetening the deal.
“Well, maybe just a little more,” Mary Alice conceded. “Where did we leave off last night?”
“Caro was captured with Fiery Boy by the bog lord,” Caroline supplied. She opened the hat box that imprisoned her doll Caro, Mary Alice’s doll Marcela Misslemay, and Little Jonas’s wooden dragon, Fiery Boy, which had bandages wound around its wings.
“And the bog lord hurt my dragon’s wings,” Little Jonas reminded her. “So, he can’t fly.”
Anna set down her pencil and turned to listen.
“Ah yes,” Mary Alice said, diving into the story.
* * *
An hour later, Mary Alice released a long sigh and combed her fingers through her hair as she left the nursery. Her tresses had all but escaped their pins, and her skirt had dried into stiff, muddy wrinkles.
The butler found her in the corridor and informed her of visitors. She sucked in her breath. As much as she loved callers, she didn’t think herself capable of polite conversation when she'd rather be hurling insults at Stratton and his followers. And on top of it all, she appeared as though she had been dragged through a filthy ditch.
The butler bowed. “The Duchess of San Mercato has called.”
Mary Alice spirits immediately lifted.
“Perfect!” Mary Alice exclaimed. Her dear friend wouldn’t blink an eye at a vitriol-laced rant against Stratton and his sister. “Please direct her to my dressing chamber.”
Francesca, the Duchess of San Mercato, ambled into the chamber as the lady’s maid unpinned Mary Alice’s gown.
“I know wet gowns are à la mode,” Francesca remarked and kissed Mary Alice’s cheeks in the continental manner. “But this is rather extreme. Do tell me that you intended to fluster some wildly eligible gentleman out of his wits.”
Mary Alice blushed. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of flirting with another man or thinking of one in intimate terms. She had told her husband on his deathbed that she would never marry again. She couldn’t imagine loving another man as she had Jonas. Though he had been a wealthy duke from an ancient line, theirs had been a true love match. She would never betray that sacred love.
“Anna and I enjoyed a refreshing little plunge in Hyde Park,” Mary Alice said, putting the conversation on its correct course as her maid changed her shift.
Francesca’s laughter died. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Ma
ry Alice hadn’t meant to douse her friend’s lively mood and quickly moved to restore it. “Why? I’m thinking of making a new fashion. Why journey all the way to Bath and clamber into one of those dreadful machines, when I’m sure the Serpentine is equally curative.”
Mary Alice kindly dismissed her servant. She picked up her silk dressing robe and slid her arms through the sleeves. “The worst part was that the little episode was witnessed by Lady Fentleigh and her brother, Mr. Stratton—or is it Colonel Stratton? Well, whatever he calls himself now. I prefer to be Russian about it and give him the title of ‘terrible.’ Stratton the Terrible.”
“Oh dear. What happened?”
Mary Alice shook her head, further loosening her hair, and began plucking out her remaining hairpins. “You know I try to be a compassionate person.”
“You are the kindest person I know, when you’re not vexed, that is. All your charity work makes me exhausted just thinking of it. See, now that I’m thinking about it, I shall have to lie upon your settee.” Francesca reclined on the cushions, her hands cradling the back of her head, her legs crossed at the ankles.
“Well, Stratton undoes all my best intentions by his mere presence. Just looking at his handsome face fills me with loathing. He has a poisonous beauty.” Mary Alice sat at her vanity table, facing away from the mirror. She picked up her hairbrush and violently detangled her curls as she relayed the details of her encounter with Stratton, including Anna’s episode and his sister’s syrupy viciousness.
“Why is it that Stratton seems to loom about in the worst moments of my life?” Mary Alice pondered when she had finished. “Well, not the worst moment, which was when my dearest died.”
“They say he is much changed since the war.” Her friend’s voice grew somber at the mention of war. “Quieter, reserved. I understand he has become quite the generous patron of the arts and sciences. And, of course, fatherhood may have further hastened his reformation, for is there nothing more revolting than a lascivious rake who possesses a young, impressionable daughter?”
“Stratton? The father of a daughter?”
Francesca leaned forward, eyes shining with dark knowledge. “Did you not know?”
“Not when it’s gossip involving Stratton. I hear his name and cease to further listen for fear of picking up objects and hurling them.”
“Well, it seems Colonel Stratton had a liaison with Lady Radley shortly before leaving for the war.”
“Oh yes, I recall that time well. It was when he compared me to a cow and wondered if I planned to eat him.”
“Lady Radley became enceinte shortly thereafter, and it was rumored that the child was Stratton’s. Once born, no one saw the child. Most people assumed it died shortly after birth.”
“How sad.” Nothing made Mary Alice more heartsick than learning of an ill, seriously hurt, or dying child whom she couldn’t help. Most of her charity work was directed at vulnerable children and poor mothers.
“Ah, but upon Lady Radley’s death last year, her husband publicly washed his hands of his late wife’s, quote, little bastard. It would seem Colonel Stratton hadn’t known of the child’s existence. He located the little girl and brought her to his estates, by all accounts immediately accepting her as his own and showering her with gifts.”
Mary Alice gazed at her friend askance. “No, no, I… I can’t conceive of this. Stratton can’t spare a thought for anyone but himself.”
However, she knew from her own experience that parenthood changed a person. She hadn’t spoken to Stratton since he’d returned from the war. Nor had she heard of any insults emitting from his mouth concerning her. And if she really thought upon the matter at the park, she realized that all the hateful words had spewed forth from his sister. Had she been unfair to him? She liked to think she was mature and capable of forgiveness, but Stratton still summoned black rage in her heart even after all these years.
“Well, if that is true,” Mary Alice said, “then I’m glad he has turned over a new leaf. For the girl’s sake. Now if he would just go about his new life without bumping into my old one, we should get along quite well.”
“As you say.” Francesca sat up and withdrew a letter from her valise. “Now the reason for my visit. My man of business has secured the perfect holiday estate for us. It’s located in an excessively rural town in the north of England. And to make certain of our anonymity and peace, I’ve concocted a darling little game. You will adore it. We shall go in disguise and under assumed names.” The duchess’s eyes glittered, she was so pleased with herself. “With no titles or wealth, what would anyone want from us?”
Mary Alice groaned inwardly. The holiday had seemed like such a good idea a month ago, but now the situation with Anna left her nervous. Aside from the episode in the park, last week Anna had simply walked out of the house and wandered about Mayfair, pretty as you please. Had a servant returning from Covent Garden market not spotted her, who knows what might have happened?
“Perhaps I shouldn’t,” Mary Alice began, as she mentally composed a polite decline.
Francesca shot to her feet and wagged her finger at her friend. “Don’t you dare back out of our lovely holiday! You require one. I say this as your true friend.”
“But—”
“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear you utter a ‘but.’ You have an army of servants, your children’s uncle is currently residing next door, your parents live a mile away, and your sisters and brothers are so very, very far away in the remote regions of Hampstead Heath. I think you can slip away for a few weeks of rest and serenity, and the world will not come crashing down. Everyone will remain safe and happy, including you.”
“You’re not going to let me wiggle out of this holiday, are you?”
“I’m prepared to abduct you, should it be required.” She embraced Mary Alice and whispered, “Come away, my dear. All will be well. Stop worrying. You’ve worn yourself ragged with anxious thoughts.”
“Mama.”
Mary Alice turned. Anna stood at the door, clutching a piece of paper to her chest, her features composed into their usual blank expression.
Mary Alice adopted the musical voice she used for talking to children. “Anna, my love, you remember my dear friend the Duchess of San Mercato.” Anna didn’t curtsey or even flick her eyes in Francesca’s direction, even after she commented on how much Anna had grown.
“I know how to escape the bog lord,” Anna said, and turned the paper around to show her a stunning map.
“My goodness,” Francesca exclaimed. “That’s… that’s simply brilliant.”
Anna’s brow creased. She didn’t understand compliments. They made no sense to her.
Mary Alice reached out, letting her hand hover just over her daughter’s shoulder. Then she slowly lowered it, letting it rest lightly on the girl. For once, Anna didn’t flinch and try to escape.
Mary Alice pleaded with her friend silently with her eyes.
“I’ll just run along,” Francesca whispered and hurried out, leaving the mother and daughter alone.
Still touching her daughter, Mary Alice asked her to explain the picture and listened to Anna’s explanation, amazed at the detail and creativity. She was grateful to be allowed into her daughter’s wondrous imagination. It had taken years for Mary Alice to coax Anna to talk. Now the girl was opening her elusive world to her mother, just when Mary Alice had agreed to go on a ridiculous holiday.
What if Anna became hysterical while Mary Alice was away, and no one could calm her? What if she wandered away, and no one could find her? Mary Alice shivered to think of her odd, fragile daughter lost on the dangerous streets of London. No one knew her as well or loved her as fiercely as Mary Alice did. No one else would keep a vigilant guard on her.
“My dear, would you mind if Mama went away?”
“Will you come back?” Anna said with no inflection.
“Of course, I just promised my dear friends that I would go away with them for a few weeks. I don’t want to,
but I feel I should.”
Anna shook her head. “Why?”
“Because it’s important to my friends. And my friends are important to me.”
Anna only stared, unable to comprehend her mother’s meaning. She didn’t have the faintest clue about friendship or interactions between people. In fact, she rarely noticed others. She wasn’t cruel. She simply didn’t react to other people. They might as well be inanimate paintings on the wall.
“I’m going to miss you,” Mary Alice said. “May I hug you? A small hug.”
Anna stepped stiffly forward, allowing her mother to embrace her. Even though her daughter kept her arms straight at her sides, her head up, and her eyes open, Mary Alice savored the rare experience. How fiercely she loved this special child. And how fiercely she feared for her too.
“Oh, Anna,” she whispered. “I would rather stay safely here with you and Caroline and Little Jonas. I’m going to miss you all terribly.” Mary Alice couldn’t conceive how leaving everyone she loved could be construed as a holiday.
Chapter Two
* * *
Some Godforsaken place in the north of England
Rain drenched Mary Alice as she watched her friends ride off with their designated heroes. Even as water slid down her face and dripped into her mouth, she forced her lips into a wide, painful smile to keep herself from screaming, Why did I ever agree to this holiday insanity? and then bursting into frustrated tears.
She didn’t think that would help matters.
Her supposed savior, atop a stunning chestnut mare, approached. Something about him made her very uneasy. Perhaps the way he kept his head down and wore his hat low like a highwayman. He’s just protecting himself from the rain, she assured herself. Yet, given how this outing had turned into the holiday from hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he were a criminal wanted for murdering women stranded on the roadside.
Duchesses in Disguise Page 22