Chapter Twelve
Jeremy swore he could still feel the heat of Dory’s body around his the next day as he sat at his mother’s expansive dining room table as they prepared for a formal luncheon. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself from racing back to the mews behind Chilton House where he had left her before dawn after he returned her safely home.
She shouldn’t be filling his mind this way. He couldn’t keep her. The arrangement between them was only temporary. He knew that. And yet, this felt like something more permanent.
“Jeremy Taggart Dunn! Have you heard a word I have said?”
When his mother used all of his names all at once, that generally spelled trouble. It was even worse trouble when he wasn’t paying attention to her. Which he hadn’t been just then. Rather, he had been thinking about Dory’s delectable breasts. Again.
“I’m sorry, Mother. Dashed wretched head pain this morning. Too much drink, I suppose.” It was easier to lie to his mother and allow her to believe he still over-indulged in drink every night rather than try to convince her that he hadn’t indulged in more than an occasional tumbler of scotch in weeks. Not since he first met his lovely peacock. Dory was a far more delightful intoxicant than any alcohol could possibly be.
His mother clicked her tongue in disgust. “You’re a disreputable rogue. Just like your father. Such a disappointment.”
Actually, Jeremy was nothing like his father. Should he ever be lucky enough to have a son, he would not beat him for any reason (and especially not for a slightly smudged page of maths) or lock him in a closet for failing to live up to “manly” standards (including whoring with the local seamstress’ daughter) at the tender age of twelve.
Jeremy would not urge his son – or sons, because if this was his daydream, then there could be more than one child – to drink and whore their way through London, bedding loose women and beating those who “disrespected” him, including those who shared his bed on a regular basis. Women like Dory. Actually, the thought of anyone ever harming Dory made Jeremy almost physically ill.
“And yet I am all you have, Mother. I am so sorry to disappoint you,” he sighed as he made to get up and seek out Maggie. She had yet to come down from the nursey, and he was itching to give her the present he had purchased from Mr. Okey.
Maggie and Mrs. Wellsbottom were the only two tolerable things about this house as of late, which seemed to have become even more crowded since he had been here only a few days ago. While the blue dining room was always a bit close, even though it could comfortably seat twenty when not full of his mother’s junk, today it seemed even worse.
Had his mother added more chairs? Yes, he believed she had, each one carved with the likeness of a different Egyptian deity on the back. And was that a miniature copy of the Sphynx in the corner? Surely not! Though it certainly looked as if it was.
“About that,” Lady Wyncliffe drawled and instantly, Jeremy was on alert, pulling his attention away from the recreation of ancient Egypt that seemed to be springing up within Wyncliffe House.
“Yes?” The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
His mother looked away, studying the window, the doorway, the miniature mummy case that he had just noticed, the ugly chair with the Egyptian god Horus carved into the back, and in general, just about anywhere other than at him. “Dr. Pickering informs me that Wilson is improving. He will come out of this state he has been in any day now and be just as he was.”
“Dr. Pickering is a quack,” Jeremy snorted and shook his head. “And what does Dr. Hastings say?”
“I haven’t consulted him. Yet.” Once again, his mother avoided his gaze.
Of course, you haven’t, Jeremy thought sourly to himself. Because you know he would tell you that Wilson is all but dead. His body lives but his soul moved on long ago. You just don’t want to admit as much because that means you would be stuck with me as your gatekeeper.
Jeremy couldn’t say that, however. Instead, he opted for a less antagonistic approach. “You know that the head of the King’s Academy of Medicine must examine Wilson before he can be declared recovered. That is not my stipulation, but Father’s.”
“Your father was a fool!” his mother snapped as she threw down her napkin. “And Wilson will recover and regain his rightful place as the head of this family! You will see!”
Actually, for all of his other faults, Jeremy’s father had been anything but a fool. He had noted his sons’ reckless behavior – behavior that he encouraged, of course – in the years before he unexpectedly passed away and had wisely made provisions in his will to ensure that the son who eventually inherited the dukedom was of relatively sound mind and in decent health. Hence the required examination by the head of such a respected medical institution.
An examination that Jeremy himself had already undergone when he had first taken over the ducal duties after Wilson’s accident.
Because in truth, the only thing that had mattered to Lord Edgar Dunn was the Wyncliffe title. It had mattered even more than his sons. Which meant that if, in the end, Jeremy was the only one mentally sound enough to inherit should Wilson die or be declared incompetent? Then so be it. His father hadn’t really given a bloody damn. The only thing that was important was that the ducal line survived. By any means necessary.
All of which Jeremy’s mother knew very well. And hated with every fiber of her being. That was why she worked so very hard to keep Wilson alive – in body at least, if not in spirit. As long as the body drew breath? There was a chance she would see her precious eldest son – her favorite – inherit again and allow her to live as she pleased. If he died? Then she would have to live under Jeremy’s thumb as she termed it and Jeremy was not the push-over that his brothers had been. Either of them.
“I’m sure I will see, Mother. In time, as you say.” Jeremy was in too good of a mood – or had been – to fight about this, though he made certain to remind his mother that, in the end, the matter was out of both of their hands. “Shall I request that Dr. Hastings pay a visit to Springwood Abbey in the near future? Or will my brother be coming here?”
When his mother scowled at him, Jeremy knew he had won. For now. Maybe. Because just then, his mother spotted the box from The Child’s Emporium on the far end of the table.
“Another gift? Really, Jeremy, you will spoil the child and then where will we be? With a hellion on our hands! That’s where! She has been acting up again, and I tell you that I won’t stand for such behavior under my roof! She needs a firm hand and discipline! Lots of discipline! We should ship her off to Mrs. Smithson’s while there is still time to correct her ill behavior! In fact, I sent a letter inquiring about openings there and have just recently received an answer. The child can be gone from here by August if all goes well.”
Actually, if Maggie turned out to be anything like Jeremy’s own hellion, he thought that would be a fine thing, indeed. Then, after a brief moment, his mother’s words penetrated his brainbox. And that was not a fine thing. At all.
“Wait. You did what?” Jeremy clenched the edge of the table hard rather than ball his hands into fists as he wished to do.
“Sent a note to Mrs. Smithson’s School for Young Ladies enquiring about enrolling Margaret Grace. She’s a bit young, true, but of an age to attend. With the right motivation, exceptions can be made for anything. Or anyone.” The dowager examined an enormous ruby ring on her finger, a “mere trinket” Wilson had purchased for her a few years ago that had cost the same as the entire Wyncliffe House budget for a month. Or close, at least. “And the sooner we curb that child’s bad behavior, the better. It isn’t as if you will ever marry and take her off of my hands, sad to say. After all, I’m positive no lady of Quality would have you, a lord of the Realm or not.”
“No! Absolutely not! Mrs. Smithson’s is an abomination these days! Maggie will not set foot in that horrid establishment!” Jeremy could not believe his mother had missed the reports of the current conditions there that had appeared in the
papers only last week. The reports had been filed by an “anonymous source,” but he had it on good authority that the report had actually been written by Lord Alexander Huffton, the Marquess of Buxton, when he had arrived at the school not so long ago in the hopes of locating the long-lost Lady Violet Denton. Who had, in fact, been essentially imprisoned at that awful place.
“Pish! Those reports were an exaggeration, I am sure.” As usual, his mother could ignore just about anything that didn’t fit in with her world view. “An unhappy parent whose child was sent down or something similar. I am certain it is still a fine institution. Margaret Grace will do fine there, though it is not as if it really matters. She will never make a good match with her bloodline, sad to say.”
“Maggie will attend that school over my dead body,” Jeremy snarled, doing everything he could to stop himself from reaching for his mother’s throat and strangling her. “She is not yet even five years of age! She is a child, Mother. A child that has lost both of her parents and has been foisted off on people who are virtual strangers to her. It is little wonder that she still has her moments when she acts out!”
A child who has you for a grandmother, he wanted to add – but again didn’t.
“We aren’t even certain she is of Alfred’s blood, for I am positive no child of his would be acting out as Margaret Grace does. Her whore of a mother could have been lying for all we know.” His mother sniffed and smoothed the skirt of her gown – another new LaVallier frock from the look of it. “She might be the child of some…some…someone in trade!” She said the words “in trade” as if they meant the same as someone being a thief or murderer.
Jeremy had had enough. Rising, he glared down at his mother. “I think that is quite enough. Maggie is Alfred’s daughter. I have the proof of that from the investigators I hired. Proof that will stand up in court if necessary. More than that, Maggie is my ward. My responsibility. If you cannot be civil around her, Mother, I will remove her from this house and place her elsewhere!”
“And where might that be?” the dowager challenged, slamming down her fork in a rare show of temper. “You have no wife. No siblings any longer. No real friends to speak of. Who would take the girl knowing very well she is a bastard?”
“The Bloody Duke. That is who.” Jeremy whirled around to see Mrs. Wellsbottom standing at the entrance to the dining room. Thankfully, Maggie was not by her side. “I heard loud voices, so I left Maggie to play tea party in the nursery while I came to see if this place was fit for a child.” The older woman looked daggers at Jeremy’s mother. “I can see that it is not. As usual.”
“How dare you!” Patience Dunn’s nostrils flared, indicating how angry she was just then. Such signs of anger were un-ladylike and if there was one thing Jeremy’s mother abhorred, it was appearing common in any way.
“I dare because that sweet child is my responsibility.” The nanny turned to Jeremy. “Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to take Maggie out for a bit this afternoon. Maybe a stroll in the park? I am told that Duchess Eliza often walks there at this hour with her new babe and their nurse.”
Lady Eliza Candlewood. The Bloody Duke’s wife. Without coming right out and saying as much, Mrs. Wellsbottom was giving Jeremy a way out of this mess with his mother. A way to remove Maggie from this house, at least for a bit, without any more harsh words being spoken.
“I think that is a splendid idea,” Jeremy cut in before his mother could utter another word. “As Maggie’s guardian, I do only want what is best for her.” Mrs. Wellsbottom nodded and he could see she was trying not to smile. “But I should like to see her first. To let her know I haven’t forgotten her. That I will not forget her. No matter what.”
“Of course.” The woman offered him a bow, and this time, she did smile. “I will fetch her now, my lord.”
The moment the nanny was gone, Jeremy whirled back to face his mother. “This has gone far enough, Mother. For over two years now, I have allowed Maggie to remain in this house in the vain hope that one day, you might show an ounce of compassion for that girl. But you haven’t. You won’t even look at her! Instead, you insult her parents and her as well. Well, I am telling you it is over. I won’t allow her to be exposed to your cruelty any longer. Things are changing, Mother, so you had best become accustomed to that idea.”
Actually, it was Dory who had given Jeremy the impetus to fight for Maggie and her well-being. After all, Dory fought and took great risks in order to spend time with him, no matter what it might cost her. Could he do any less for his ward? A little girl who had no one else but Jeremy himself to fight for her?
“If you remove that child from this house, you will regret it!” his mother warned, finally rising from her chair, this one carved with an image of Anubis. “Why, once Lady Everly discovers what you have done…”
“I do not give a bloody fucking damn what Lady Everly thinks, does, or even threatens, Mother! She can go hang for all I care,” Jeremy hissed. “I care about Maggie, even if you do not, and I will do right by her. If you care for someone, you fight for them, and I care about Maggie! You might revile me for what you believe I am and what you believe I have done but you will not disparage that child! She is innocent in all of this and does not deserve your hatred!”
For a long moment, Jeremy and his mother simply stared at one another and glared, both of them breathing hard. Thankfully, Mrs. Wellsbottom and Maggie arrived in nearly record time. Before Jeremy did something he might regret. Like toss his mother out onto the back lawn and lock all of the doors so she could not return.
He could do it. This was, technically, his house after all. For the moment, anyway. He would be within his rights. Legally speaking, that was.
“Unca Jemmy?” Maggie asked and Jeremy turned to see the golden-haired angel that was his niece gripping her nanny’s hand.
How anyone could question that this was Alfred’s child was beyond Jeremy, especially his mother. Just like their mother, Alfred had been blessed with the Taggart family’s infamous, multi-colored blonde tresses. The same hair he had passed down to his daughter. Though she did not possess Alfred’s hazel eyes, she did have the Dunn family’s brilliant emerald green ones – the same ones Jeremy had inherited from his father. There was no question that this little girl was a combination of the Dunn/Taggart genetic line, with a dash of something exotic. Possibly French. Maybe Italian. Or Greek? With Alfred and his taste for exotic women, who could say? Just because Maggie had been born in France, Jeremy’s investigators had found nothing to indicate that her mother had been born there as well.
“Yes, my darling?” Jeremy dropped to his knees and opened his arms so that Maggie could rush into them. Other than when he was with Dory, this was the only time that he felt human. As if he had a soul and that he mattered. That he was more than some sort of demon-winged, demi-god of sin and sensuality, as he was portrayed nearly every day in the gossip rags.
“Nanny Agatha says we’re going to take a walk.” She frowned, confused. “I thought we were havin’ lunch.”
Jeremy heard his mother draw in a breath, likely to correct something about Maggie’s speech so he turned and pinned her with the dark glare that worked so well on those that would cheat him at his gaming tables. It worked on her as well, at least this time, for the dowager duchess’ mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
“Grandmamma Dunn and I have some things to discuss, poppet. Adult things.” In the not-quite-two-years that Maggie had been here, the child had never been allowed to address Jeremy’s mother by anything other than that wretchedly proper title. “Until we are finished, I thought you might like to go meet some new friends in the park.”
Mrs. Wellsbottom smiled down at the child indulgently. “Lord and Lady Radcliffe’s distant cousins are visiting London, I’m told. They are staying with Lord and Lady Candlewood, however, and they just happen to have a little girl who is about your age, Miss Maggie. We could visit them for a bit if you’d like. Maybe stay there for a few hours?”
/> Maggie screwed up her face for a moment before turning back to Jeremy. “If I go to visit, will you die Unca Jemmy?” She suddenly looked to be near tears, which tore at his heart.
“No, sweetheart, no. I promise you I will be fine if you go for a visit.” He pulled back so that he could look at her. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Mama went to visit her cousin to bring home a new baby and never came back.” Maggie sniffed pitifully. “She left me with Papa in Paris and then went away and she died. He didn’t tell me, but he told the neighbor lady. Papa was sick, too, and said I couldn’t remember that, but I do.”
Jeremy sighed. “I promise I will not die, Maggie. I am hale and hearty and in excellent health.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, if you end up staying the night where you visit, I promise that I shall come by and visit you tomorrow. Just to prove to you that I am not going anywhere. Would you like that?”
Maggie nodded rather enthusiastically, likely because a visit from Jeremy on a day when he did not usually come to see her would be a rare treat for her. It was not lost on Jeremy how attached the little girl had become to him, probably because he was kind when his mother was cold. He also brought her presents, which he was certain didn’t hurt, but he also listened to her when she spoke. His mother always dismissed Maggie as if she were an annoyance.
“Very well, then. I promise I shall come to see you.” He reached up and pulled down the box from The Child’s Emporium. “Until then, this should do nicely to remind you that I do not break my promises. For I did promise you something special for your birthday, did I not?”
“Which is not for two weeks yet,” his mother snipped from behind him.
Turning, Jeremy raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Mother?”
Once more, the woman glared at him but didn’t say anything more.
His Temporary Mistress Page 17