The Duke's Mysterious Lady

by Maggi Andersen

  His knee brushed hers as he leaned forward to turn the page.

  Viola sat ramrod straight on the stool, her ankles stiff as they worked the pedals. To her ear, she played poorly.

  She peeped at the strong line of his jaw and his raven-black hair curling against his neck. It appeared damp. Her breath quickened and she grew even more distracted. She rebuked herself and tried to concentrate on the music, but her thoughts continued to wander. It was a sunny day. Had he washed before coming here? For her? She was indulging in fantasies. He’d probably washed after riding.

  She tried not to hurry, to play pianissimo as the piece required, but a flurry of emotions hindered her. Dear God, she prayed, please let this end.

  Somehow, she completed the piece. And just before an awkward pause settled between them, Nanny bustled in, removing her pelisse and bonnet as she prattled on in her cheerful manner.

  “My, it’s a lovely day, Viola. You should be out taking the air. Oh! You’re here, Hugh. Enjoying Viola’s playing, I see. She does play wonderfully well, does she not? Have you had tea? No? Now where’s Becky?” She went to the kitchen as Hugh moved away from Viola’s side. She played the final bars and rose from the pianoforte with hot relief.

  When Nanny returned and tea was served, Hugh revealed the reason for his visit. Reaching into the fob pocket of his waistcoat, he removed Viola’s locket.

  “I still await news from the Bow Street Runner I’ve hired, but I no longer have need of this as a sketch has been made of the crest. I thought you might wish to wear it. It’s a pretty thing.”

  He stood. “I’ll put it on for you if I may.”

  His fingers brushed the nape of her neck and she closed her eyes as warmth spread through her. She opened them again to see Nanny watching her with a worried frown.

  “There,” he said with satisfaction, and stepped back to study her.

  His smile faded and he picked up his hat. “Reluctantly, I must take my leave. You charming ladies have kept me from my labors long enough. Riding tomorrow, Miss Viola?”

  “I plan to, Your Grace.”

  He nodded and left the cottage.

  “Well, it was nice for Hugh to call and see us, now wasn’t it?” Nanny said vaguely, as she stacked the tea tray and swept from the room.

  Viola followed her, wanted to reassure her, but unable to put it into words.

  “It’s nice to have him call to see us, but I daresay His Grace will be married soon enough, and we shall be deprived of his company,” Nanny said, with a sympathetic glance in Viola’s direction.

  ****

  Viola dismissed the groom, whom she felt far better served back at the stables than following her about when she never met another soul. She took her usual route and reaching the lake, let Molly roam the grass as she sat in her favorite spot. Yesterday had been cool and misty, but today, Vale House was bathed in sunshine. Ducks waddled up the bank in expectation of the bread crusts she brought them. At the sound of a horse approaching, she threw the last of the bread to a fat duck.

  Nothing went hungry at Vale Park, it seemed. She turned, hoping it was the duke, and then quivered with nerves when she found it was.

  Hugh dismounted. “Lovely day, Miss Viola.”

  “Glorious.” She couldn’t help surreptitiously watching him from beneath the brim of her hat, enjoying his broad shoulders and the purposeful way he moved.

  He sat on the ground beside her and rested a hand on his knee. “Are you in a better frame of mind today?”

  “I have moments of pure please, Your Grace, and consider myself very lucky indeed.” Joy and pain threaded its way through her in equal measures. “If one is to get lost, Vale Park is the perfect place, is it not?”

  His darkly fringed, brown eyes searched hers, and she held her breath at the concern she found there.

  The horses gently whickered, breaking the silence and making them turn. Hugh’s stallion stretched across to rub noses with Molly, and the mare snuffled. “They seem to like each other,” Hugh said, with a grin.

  She laughed. “What stallion wouldn’t find Molly’s soft brown eyes alluring?”

  “If life was only that simple.”

  Viola gazed at him. That brief comment gave her a glimpse into his heart; he struggled with something, which she was not privy to. Sensing the mood grew more intimate, a warning voice whispered in her head. “I love how nature is allowed to grow rampant here,” she said, fighting to lighten the atmosphere. “Without man's attempt to tame it.”

  “My father removed the formal gardens, and I prefer to keep it this way.”

  The rambling beauty of Vale Park connected with her on a deep level she did not quite understand. “Many grand estates of this age are very formal.”

  “You know of other estates?” he asked, tilting his head.

  “Perhaps it’s something I’ve read in books.”

  His mouth quirked in amusement. “You’ve read a lot of books, I believe.”

  “I must have.”

  “Strange, Miss Viola, that even though we know nothing of your past, we already know much about you.”

  Viola wondered about his use of ‘we’. Did he really mean himself?

  She smiled. “I shan’t ask what people here have learned about me. I would appear overly proud, and perhaps I wouldn’t care for the answer.”

  “I confess to wanting to learn more. I trust I will someday.”

  He spoke lightly, but such a suggestion made her pulse quicken.

  As if unspoken thoughts lay beneath the surface of their casual conversation. She focused on the breeze gently ruffling the water.

  “We have learned you are clever and well read,” he continued, with humor lightening his deep voice. “That you are accomplished on the pianoforte. You ride like the wind and you are patient and kind hearted in your treatment of both people and animals. Shall I go on?” Hugh stretched and somehow shifted closer. “Interesting too, that you have the look of a Frenchwoman. Especially your full lips.”

  That was far too familiar an observation. Ridiculous to feel as if his gaze stripped her of clothing. Her body warmed. “I do?”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. “You do.”

  His mistress had been French. Viola put a hand to her mouth, dismayed that her fingers trembled. “Perhaps then, I do have some French blood,” she said unsteadily.

  “I’m sure of it.” He reached over and brushed a leaf from her arm, barely a touch but intimate nonetheless.

  She grew afraid he was about to spoil the friendship they shared. It would prove disastrous and force her to leave Vale Park.

  “Shall I tell you what I have learned about you?” she asked with a smile.

  His brown eyes warmed and a grin tugged at his mouth.

  “You may.”

  “You are kind and generous, but impetuous, Your Grace.”

  She wanted to giggle at his expression of dismay. What had he hoped she’d say?

  His brows rose into twin peaks. “No one has ever called me impetuous.”

  “Perhaps no one has been brave enough.”

  She breathed easier when he grinned and shook his head.

  Her impertinence had the desired effect. The almost unbearable intimacy of the moment turned to one of humor. On surer ground, she found the conversation more to her liking. “The first day I came here, I watched you jump your horse over a very high gate. Most sober-minded persons would have found a safer way through.”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “And you would judge me on that one thing?”

  “It gave me a clue to your nature.” His conversation in the library had told her a whole lot more.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, Miss Viola. I cannot defend myself or deny your accusation, but might you have suffered the same impulse at some point in your life?”

  “Perhaps.” She could not deny it. The way she was dressed when found, proved she had a spark of recklessness in her nature.

  Reminding her of it should make her feel asham
ed, but for the warm gleam of approval in his eyes.

  “Perhaps? You suspect it too.”

  It was impossible to hide her fascination with where this conversation was leading, although the warning bells sounded loud in her ears.

  “We have at least that in common and maybe far more, given time to discover it,” he said his gaze meeting hers.

  This could not continue. Viola climbed to her feet. “I doubt I shall be here much longer.”

  “Of course not.” He rose with her, disturbing a duck that flapped away across the reeds to the opposite bank. “I must go.”

  He brushed the grass from his breeches. “Enjoy the rest of your ride.”

  He rode away, leaving her at once relieved and disappointed, and unsure what had just transpired. Had he come with some purpose and left without it expressed? She had never given him reason to believe she would be agreeable to a liaison. If he had crossed that line between them, which seemed to grow less each time they were together, what would she have done?

  How very difficult to rebuff him. She admitted the truth to herself and gasped. She was enormously drawn to him and afraid her resolve would falter if put to the test. What sort of woman was she?

  ****

  It was hard to ignore the fact that Lady Felicity Beresford had returned from London, for Becky spoke of little else. Nanny rebuked her several times for sighing and mooning about, constantly declaring how romantic it all was. Then news reached them that sent Nanny into transports of delight, and rendered Becky silent and overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing such impressive personages arrive at Vale Park. Hugh’s sister and her husband, the Duke and Duchess of Whitcombe, were coming to visit. There was to be a ball with guests arriving from London for a grouse shoot.

  Most importantly, as far as Nanny was concerned, Hugh had sent her and Viola an invitation to attend the ball.

  “But, Nanny,” Viola said, examining the guilt-edged missive, “he cannot really want me there. Why would he ask me?”

  Nanny huffed. “Now, please don’t start. It would be ungrateful and the height of bad manners to refuse.”

  Viola reluctantly had to agree, but the prospect was a nightmare. Was she to hide in a corner, like a governess or a girl not yet out of the schoolroom?

  “Wasn’t I clever to insist on having a ball gown made from the white silk?” Nanny said. “It’s so pretty. You should have someone competent to arrange your hair. Add some ornaments or flowers, the way they do these days.”

  “No, no, absolutely not.” Viola held up her hands in protest.

  Next Nanny would suggest having Her Grace’s personal maid here in attendance. “Becky will help me.”

  “Very well, then. You do it nicely, I must own.”

  The coming social event threw Nanny into a flurry of activity. She went to retrieve her purple brocade, with its accompanying pannier hoop from its box. When she shook it out, her face dropped. ”It’s sadly outdated compared with the slim-fitting gowns now in fashion. But I don’t have the shape for the modern style,” she said. She held up the whalebone stays.

  “This is most unlike that busk you wear. But at least the Polonaise hides a multitude of sins. My figure is no longer in the girlish mode, you understand.” She flushed and held her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, it won’t do, will it?”

  “Then we’ll fix it,” Viola said. “Don’t worry. We’ll be so modern, we’ll be lauded as being in the first stare of fashion.”

  “’Tis not me they will be looking at. Though Lady Felicity is an appealing young woman, I’m sure all eyes will be on you.”

  “Oh, Nanny! Sophie made my gown beautifully, but it is not the latest from Paris or London,” Viola said with a laugh.

  “You’ll see I’m right. You will be the belle of the ball.”

  People will certainly stare, but for all the wrong reasons.

  Would she have to explain to them why she stayed at Vale Park? What would they think? Had Hugh lost his reason? And what would his betrothed, Lady Felicity, think? As if that wasn’t enough, there was the Duke and Duchess of Whitcombe to consider. She chaffed her hands. It was all too much. She could not go. She prowled around the parlor for an hour without arriving at an answer. Offending Hugh would be horrible but disappointing Nanny was almost worse. She was so looking forward to it and had so little social life. With these concerns pressing heavily upon her, she joined Nanny in updating her wardrobe and spent most of the afternoon sewing.

  Chapter Nine

  “Clarissa!” Hugh hurried forward to kiss his sister as she and her husband, Edward, emerged from their coach drawn by four matched greys adorned with plumes. Footmen rushed about dealing with the retinue of servants and luggage from the two carriages that pulled up behind them.

  He saw too little of his wonderful sibling. As he bent to kiss her, her little dog yapped at him from her arms. “I do wish you’d get a proper dog,” he said, with a grin.

  She pouted. “Ulysses is a perfect house pet. Not like those noisy big hounds of yours which belong in the stables.”

  He refused to rise to the bait and led them inside. “Was your trip uneventful?”

  “Just slow and tedious, my dear,” Clarissa said. “I could do with a sherry after I’ve freshened up.”

  Later, Hugh joined his sister in the salon. “Where’s your husband?”

  “Edward is fatigued and has decided to rest.”

  He frowned. “But he is well?”

  She smiled. “Perfectly. Just not in the first flush of youth, which, he readily admits.”

  Relieved, he nodded. Clarissa adored her husband. “I look forward to talking business with him.”

  She took a deep sip of sherry. “You plan to announce your engagement to Felicity at the ball?”

  “We did, but now we await an aunt who suffers ill health.”

  “Whose idea was that?”

  “Felicity or her parents.”

  She eyed him. “You don’t seem too sorry.”

  “Our union has been a long time coming.” He shrugged. “I’ve grown used to waiting.”

  “You’ll feel better when you’re married, Hugh.” She smiled. “It’s a fine state to be in.”

  “I daresay.” Hugh put down his glass. “Clarissa, I have an unusual request to put to you.”

  She raised her dark brows. “Ask away.”

  He told her everything from the moment he found Viola on the road.

  His sister’s eyes had grown large, and now she frowned.

  “This Viola stays with Nanny Bryant?”

  “Yes. Until she regains her memory.”

  “My dear Hugh.” She waved a footman over to refill her glass. “You are a magnet for a clever woman’s wiles. Have you not learned that yet?”

  “I believe Miss Viola tells the truth. She is well bred and a decent person.”

  Clarissa laughed and shook her head. “Is she young and pretty?”

  “Yes, but….”

  “Oh you men! Women can wind you around their finger so easily. And you with a First at Oxford.” She shook her head. “No doubt she’s some jumped up maid or a penniless orphan intent on feathering her nest.”

  “I only ask that you wait until you meet her. You will like her. ”

  “It is not for me to like her, Hugh, but for you to harden your heart against her.” She tapped her chin. “It won’t go well with you should Felicity’s parents discover her presence here.”

  “She is not living in the house. And I’ve explained the situation to Felicity.”

  “You have? What did Felicity say?”

  “She thought it exciting and looks forward to meeting her.”

  “How very odd. And Felicity’s no fool.” She picked up her fan and fanned herself thoughtfully. “One might think….”

  “Think what?”

  “Nothing. Something quite impossible occurred to me, and I’ve dismissed it.”

  Hugh shifted in his seat wishing to come to grips with the situation, which his sister wa
s making unnecessarily difficult.

  “Reserve your judgment until you meet Miss Viola at the ball.”

  “Oh no, Hugh,” Clarissa said with a scornful laugh. “I shall meet her before the ball and send her packing.”

  He scowled. “Surely, that’s up to me to decide.”

  “All right.” She waved a hand at him. “Don’t climb on your high horse. I won’t send her away, but I promise you I’ll size this woman up most carefully.”

  “Well, that’s all I ask, Clarissa.” He raised his brandy glass. “And to be courteous to her at the ball. Your reaction counts for everything as all eyes will be on you.”

  “I promise. If she should come,” his sister said sweetly.

  “Might I have some of those delicious almond cakes Arnaud prepared during our last visit? I declare I’m famished.”

  As the footman left the room, Hugh sat back and smiled at her.

  His sister made a very unusual duchess. She had some odd ideas, at times, but was known to be excessively generous to the residents of Bath and was much loved there. Their parents too, had been liberal minded. He wasn’t prepared to consider too closely, why he wanted Viola to attend the ball. Perhaps he hoped she would meet someone who recognized her; or such company might jog her into remembering. Any other reason he refused to give thought to.

  ****

  A few days later, a young page came to the door with an invitation from the Duke and Duchess of Whitcombe for afternoon tea. This delighted Nanny, but struck cold fear in Viola’s heart.

  Porter announced them in the Long Drawing Room. Viola searched for Hugh as she and Nanny walked the length of the royal blue and gold carpet, but he was absent. Overhead, naked cupids frolicked with ribbons across a painted azure sky on the forty-foot ceiling. Somewhat dwarfed by the size and splendor of the room, the duke and duchess sat together on a satin sofa in front of an exquisitely carved, white marble fireplace.

  Viola would have felt better had Hugh been here. Although what he could do to help her was entirely unclear. His sister and her husband’s wish to receive her could only mean one thing.

  They wanted Vale Park to be rid of her. Convinced she was about to endure accusations and face serious censure, she planted a smile on her face and performed as graceful a curtsey as she could manage with wobbly knees.