The Duke's Mysterious Lady

by Maggi Andersen

  Viola stepped into the fragrant water and lay in the blissful warmth, watching Nellie unpack her trunk. This she did skillfully, gently shaking each gown out of its silver paper, and talking all the while.

  “The Prince Regent comes to stay here when he travels to the country, Miss,” she informed Viola while pouring in more hot water. “His Highness—the prince, that is, says it’s one of his favorite places to stay when he’s here to take the waters.”

  Viola asked Nellie to lay out an evening gown. The duchess had mentioned dinner guests. After Viola rose from her bath, smelling divine, Nellie helped her into a dressing gown and brushed her hair until it gleamed. Another maid entered and placed a tea tray by the fire. Viola’s apprehension melted away in this cozy room. In her dressing gown, with her hair loose, she sipped the hot tea and bit into a delicious cake. She was curious about Nellie. The maid was pretty, with a fresh complexion, brown hair curling about her small ears.

  “How long have you worked here, Nellie?”

  “It be nigh on five years now, Miss.”

  “Why, you look so young.”

  “I be five and ten, miss, last birthday.”

  “You have been in service since you were ten?”

  “Yes, Miss. I am the eldest of ten children. Me ma is poorly and Her Grace took me in to help out.”

  “Your family live here on the estate?”

  “Yes, Miss. Pa's a farmer,” Nellie said proudly. “It’s a very small house for the likes of us. I have nine brothers and sisters, five still at home, you see.”

  “Yes, I do see, Nellie. Do you like it here?”

  Nellie paused in the act of removing a hat from a bandbox.

  “It’s better than those new factories. The work is not so hard, and I have a room with only two others to share the bed. I go home one day a week to help Ma.”

  How difficult life can be. Viola looked about at her opulent surroundings and the dainty gown laid out in readiness. Was her background similar to Nellie’s? Did she run away to try to better herself? Another thought lodged like a cold shard of panic in Viola’s mind. Could she bear to return to it after this?

  Dressed for dinner, Viola fidgeted with her gloves and paced before the mirror. A final glance told her she looked well enough.

  She complimented Nellie on her hair arranged in an elaborate twist and secured with a feathered comb. The footman came to take her down to dinner, and clutching a fan of silvered crape of ivory, Viola descended to the drawing room.

  She entered the long room, its walls papered in burgundy.

  Fractured light from two glass chandeliers embellished the elegant furnishings.

  The guests all turned to stare. To her relief, the Duke of Whitcombe came to bend over her hand. Coming home infused him with much needed color.

  She detected a twinkle in his weary eyes. “You look very charming tonight, my dear. Come and meet our friends and neighbors.” He offered her his arm, leading her to the nearest guest, a man who stood at their approach.

  “I’d like you to meet Mr. Forester. Mr. Forester’s lands adjoin ours on the northern boundary. Miss Edgeworth, a second cousin of my wife’s from the south.”

  Viola caught the look of frank appreciation on Mr. Forester’s face as he bowed low. His auburn hair was styled in the Brutus, curling over a broad forehead.

  “I hope you will find Bath to your liking, Miss Edgeworth.”

  Clear hazel eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile. “I trust you’ll attend the balls and assemblies while you are here? I should be honored if you would save a dance for me?”

  “I should be happy to, Mr. Forester, but I’m not staying long in Bath.”

  “But you are here to take the waters I believe?

  “I am,” Viola affirmed.

  “What part of the south do you hail from?”

  Although she’d tried to prepare herself, his question caused her to quake. Her mind went blank. She took a deep breath about to embark on the story the duchess had devised.

  Fortunately, before it became necessary, Clarissa rescued her. “You have monopolized our guest of honor long enough, Mr. Forester. Come, my dear, Captain and Mrs. Palfrey are waiting to meet you.”

  The captain and his wife were short, stout and brown haired, alike as a pair of bookends. They tended to talk over one another in an effort to describe the excellence of Bath society. Clarissa swiftly moved Viola on to meet the last members of the party, Miss Henrietta Campbell, a woman of about thirty, wearing a puce-colored gown that made her look pasty. She was accompanied by her mother, a tiny, feisty lady with a beaky nose.

  Viola sat with them, discussing the safer topics of fashion. As they talked, the older woman’s keen eyes scrutinized

  Viola. Aware of it, Viola wriggled uncomfortably in her chair.

  “Why are you not wed yet, gel?”

  Taken aback at the rudeness of such a question, Viola took a moment to reply. “I’ve yet to meet someone I wish to marry, Mrs. Campbell.”

  “You must have had many offers made you, Miss Edgeworth. I gather you have enjoyed more than one London Season?”

  She took a deep breath. “You are too kind, Ma'am. I’m afraid my health has not permitted my attending a Season.” She felt sure her face was now pale enough to lend some legitimacy to this lie, but was startled when the elderly lady made a loud clucking noise with her tongue.

  “Women and the vapors,” Mrs. Campbell said. “I don’t know why it is young women think it’s attractive to appear of such fragile dispositions. I fear they are quite mistaken. Men like their women to be strapping, with good childbearing hips, believe me!”

  Her daughter greeted this statement with a nervous titter and there was a pause in conversation from all within earshot.

  Apparently used to Mrs. Campbell’s pronouncements, everyone took up the threads of their discussion as if nothing had happened.

  Although some years had passed since Napoleon’s banishment to a place called Saint Helena somewhere in the Atlantic, it still got an airing, ending with Captain Palfrey stating emphatically that it was a good place to send all the French, for they were a nation of hot heads. Not at all rational like the English.

  “You must take advantage of your youthful beauty while you have it,” Mrs. Campbell urged Viola, refusing to let go of the subject. “Now my Henrietta, here,” she went on. “She hasn’t that luxury. Not born with looks, nor fortune, more’s the pity. But a deal girl for all that.”

  Viola stole a glance at Henrietta. To Viola’s surprise, she calmly nodded in agreement. Henrietta had obviously heard these sentiments expressed many times before.

  Hugh entered the room, apologizing to the gathering for his tardiness; he had been attending to business in town. He offered Viola his arm to go into dinner. Aware that his business had been for her, she searched his countenance for a promising sign, and with a jolt of despair, found the answer in his slight shake of the his head.

  Dinner was an elaborate affair. Footmen hovered, pouring a different wine for each course. Mr. Forester sat on one side of Viola and kept up a lively discussion throughout the meal. He drew her adroitly into conversation with the Captain and Mrs. Palfrey, and Mrs. Campbell, who called for a floral display to be removed to enable her to comment across the table.

  Viola learned much of the local gossip. How horrendous it was that Mr. Browning had suffered the apoplexy; and how sad that the Linton’s sixth born had died from the croup. The amount of dishes served was astonishing. As a bisk of pigeons appeared, Mrs. Campbell leant across to her and said encouragingly. “Eat up, gel, it will strengthen you. You could do with a little more meat on your bones.”

  The bisk was followed by some kind of fish served with a cream sauce, oysters, and buttered lobster. Next were olives of veal, venison, and lamb cutlets along with asparagus, peas, and other vegetables. After Viola had counted nine courses, she was relieved to find the tenth appeared to be the last as dessert and salad arrived, including a whipt syllabub, a ma
gnificent chocolate cream, jellies, sweetmeats, coffee and walnuts.

  By the time the servants removed the dessert plates, Captain Palfrey, an ex-navy man had given a detailed analysis of the dramatic changes this season, registered on his barometer. Viola glimpsed Hugh at the end of the long table, he appeared relaxed and at ease as he laughed at some on-dit his sister related. This is his world. A world she would never be truly part of.

  After dinner, the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port. Not long afterward, Hugh entered and bowed to the ladies. “If you’ll excuse us I have something to give Cousin Viola. A piece of jewelry I promised to have mended.”

  He drew her away to the other end of the room and handed her the locket he had taken to a jeweler in Bath.

  “It’s certainly valuable, but repairs to the locket have obliterated the jeweler’s hallmark. There is no way of telling who made it.”

  He must have noticed how disappointed she was, for he gently squeezed her hand as he placed the locket in her palm. Aware eyes were upon them, Viola withdrew her hand quickly.

  “We are having very little luck, I grant you, but please do not despair,” he said. “When you attend the assembly in Bath tomorrow, your appearance may draw some response.”

  “I do hope so,” she said, sighing. She turned the locket over, tracing the engraving on the back, wishing for some sign to come to her. But it just filled her with dread.

  She glanced up at him from under her lashes to find him watching her with a pensive expression.

  “That color well becomes you,” he murmured.

  Viola smoothed the pale lemon silk extravagantly decorated with seed pearls.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” She wanted to ask him what would happen if no one in Bath recognized her, but knew he had no answer.

  “May I join you?” They had not noticed Mr. Forester’s approach until he stood beside them.

  Hugh rose to his feet. “Please do, Jeremy.” Hugh explained how he’d had the catch on the locket fixed for Viola, and quizzed him about Bath and the interesting places Viola might visit there.

  He bowed and left them and Viola’s moment with him was over.

  The evening was pleasantly spent playing piquet and backgammon. When Viola retired to her room, she dismissed the sleepy maid and insisted she was not to wait up for her again.

  She was used to managing on her own. It appeared that because the duke and duchess carried such weight in Bath Society she had been accepted without question. She tried to summon enthusiasm for tomorrow’s sojourn to the Pump Room, where she would meet many people. But the prospect made her tremble.

  Viola’s heartbeat thudded in her throat. She swallowed, straightened her shoulders and walked with the duchess into the elegantly furnished room they called the Pump Room, a gathering place for society in Bath. A lull came in the conversation and a sea of faces paused in the act of taking the waters to stare at her.

  She searched each face, with the hope that someone might come forward and claim her, but conversations resumed, a low murmur rising in volume. She heard snatches of conversation—many were discussing her, enquiring as to whom she was.

  As before, Clarissa drew an arm through hers and guided her through the throng, pausing to greet many of the people, introducing her as Miss Edgeworth. Viola felt weak with relief, the duchess proved to be a stalwart friend, although why she should be, Viola couldn’t fathom.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hugh admired the way Viola handled herself. It couldn’t be easy for her. Clarissa had taken him aside that morning and told him she expected Viola to make quite an impression.

  “She might meet a suitor who will take her as she is, despite everything,” she had said. “I thought of the widower, Mr. Larcham. He has four thousand pounds a year and is in the market for a wife to be a mother to his two children.”

  “Clarissa!” Hugh exclaimed, filled with disgust. “He’s got to be close to fifty.”

  “Such is the way of the world,” Clarissa said coolly. “A woman on her own must find her way in it.”

  “Viola’s a lovely and intelligent young woman. She has been well educated.”

  “Intelligence and education are admirable, but they count for little when you are also without family and wealth.” Her brows rose over her perceptive gaze. “It’s awkward, we don’t know if she might have a husband somewhere, although I’ve come to doubt it. A prospective husband would wish a doctor to examine her before he married her.”

  “What!”

  “Or alternatively,” his sister continued in the same cool tone, “If she went to London, she might become mistress to a powerful man. With her looks and demeanor, royalty is not out of the question. Is that what you would wish for her?”

  “It is not.” Hugh clenched his jaw, aware he was being unhelpful. His turbulent emotions made him feel as volatile as a cannon with a lit fuse. A condition he’d thought foreign to his nature. He’d discovered surprising things about himself since Viola came to Vale Park.

  “When you took up her cause, I thought it was to find her a safe harbor,” Clarissa said, with a quizzical tilt of her head.

  Hugh sighed. “Yes, it was…but it must be right for her.”

  She had nodded but said nothing more.

  Now he followed his vivacious sister’s path as she guided Viola here and there, engaging her in conversation with everyone she considered important. Clarissa would be aware of the pleasing effect Viola had on the assembled party. A lovely stranger in their midst intrigued them all, but in the end no one came forward with knowledge of her or her family. They would have her company yet awhile, and he admitted he’d grown to enjoy her in his life, but he knew also that the longer it went on, the harder it would be to let her go.

  Hugh cursed under his breath. He agreed with Clarissa, there was an aura of innocence about Viola, as if she’d been kept away from Society, like sleeping beauty. She exhibited a strong sense of values. A comfortable life with a husband of some fifty years and children would be preferable to becoming his mistress. And that was all he could offer her.

  ****

  Viola had that dream again. The mist had cleared and for a brief moment, she saw the golden-haired man who chased her. His face lay in shadow, but the very thought of him filled her with such misery, her very soul cried out in anguish. She woke in a sweat and left her bed rushing to the window to breathe in the fresh air. The gardens beckoned. She would walk before breakfast. Ulysses would like that. He’d come to expect their walks together and always greeted her with an eager bark.

  She walked the grounds with the little dog. The beautiful scene and crisp air revived her, washing away the panic she’d suffered when she woke. The dog seemed to prefer her company to the footman. Perhaps she was more patient with the fractious animal. She wandered over the lawns to a grotto, a romantic arrangement of columns ornamented with creeper. Even here, the ancient ruin was a false concept, but it was pretty. The dog liked to drink from the pool.

  Viola normally liked to be alone with her thoughts, but this morning she was afraid of revisiting the disturbing dream. Ulysses raised its head as the rippled water reflected a figure behind her. Viola turned to find Hugh. He was breathtaking in his form-fitting dark coat, riding breeches hugging his muscled thighs.

  He tapped his crop against a glossy boot as his gaze roamed over her. “I’ve seen you walking the dog every morning, long before my sister rises from her bed.”

  He should not look at her like that it made her pulse throb and her body warm. She took a deep breath and smiled.

  “The gardens are so lovely and I enjoy an early morning walk.” She patted the dog. “You like it too, don’t you, Ulysses?”

  Ulysses responded with a sharp bark.

  “A habit acquired at Vale Park, perhaps.”

  She wasn’t sure why this sounded so intimate; perhaps it was his husky tone. There was no sign of his groom. They were quite alone and while she relished time in his compan
y, she worried her that this meeting might be misconstrued. That someone would think this an assignation. “Enjoy your ride.”

  “I’ll go presently.” Holding his hat in one hand, he ran his fingers through his black hair disordering the thick waves.

  “I wish I could ride with you.” Unwise to say it, but the warmth in his eyes made her so.

  His eyes brightened. “You can. We’ll take Edward’s groom along.”

  So tempting, but unwise. “I’ve promised to go on a carriage ride with your sister. She wishes to show me more of the Bath countryside. We are to take tea with Lady Catskill.”

  “Perhaps another time.” He squatted to give Ulysses an indifferent pat. “I miss my dogs.”

  “They must miss you too.” Any living creature would miss him!

  He straightened and looked at her. “You approve of Whitcombe Park?”

  “I do. How could I not?”

  He glanced around. “It’s very…ordered, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She was completely in accord with his thinking, it could not be compared with Vale Park, but she was unable to say so.

  “A credit to my brother-in-law.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Vale Park is wilder. I’ve never sought to tame it.”

  “Wild, yes, gloriously so,” she almost whispered. Her glance slid away, unable to bear the look in his eyes, the urge so strong to throw herself against his chest, to press her mouth to his. He stood so tall, like a strong oak, and yet…

  “Viola…”

  As if he read her thoughts, his eyes went to her mouth and he took a step forward. Ulysses gave a high-pitched bark, perhaps sensing a change in the atmosphere.

  “It looks like rain,” she said, glancing skyward, her heart beating madly.

  Hugh put on his hat. “I’d better get that ride in before the heavens open.”

  “One can never tell what the weather will do,” Viola said, priding herself in her calm tone. “Unless we consult Captain Palfrey’s barometer.”