Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess Read online

She suspected there was a kind of madness behind her new determination, but it did not matter. It must be all or nothing. It would be all or nothing.

  Chapter 7

  A duchess never worries about those little peccadilloes that might ruin the countenance of a lesser lady, Holly’s mentor had told her. And a good thing, too, because she was about to embark on a peccadillo of note.

  She would need all her inventiveness to help her safely navigate her way out of this one.

  Holly’s perfectly neat and altogether logical plan for the happiness of Sir John and Verity Dacre was in danger because, while she had decided to dissipate Verity’s romantic fancies by proving that Sir Galahad did not exist, she hadn’t banked on Sir Galahad emerging, promptly and insolently, out of the woodwork.

  And that went a long way towards complicating matters. Sir John had gloomily pointed out that it was the blond fellow who had rained such marked attentions upon her at Lady Castlereagh’s party, and on closer inspection Holly found that he was correct. The man had endeavoured to look more handsome and dashing than ever.

  Lord Myles Wooley looked like nothing so much as a Narcissus walking amongst them, from his golden hair to his enchanting manners. As if that were not enough, there were whispers of the philanthropy in which he by all accounts indulged.

  He had a voice that carried well across the room, and the ability to say exactly the right thing. He also boasted just the suggestion of rakishness, born of his reputation for cards and intrigue.

  It was altogether too perfect an image to be credible – something about his even teeth and angelic visage irritated Holly immensely. Unfortunately, Verity appeared to be noticeably taken with him.

  Sir John’s face, while handsome enough, was nowhere near angelic. He rarely played cards, and when he did, it was never for very long. He became absurdly formal whenever Miss Dacre was near, and he did not seem able to say a single flirtatious thing to save his life.

  Furthermore, Sir John was not known to have had any scandalous intrigues. Undeniably, while good husbands were made out of gentlemen like Sir John, fantasies were not.

  Which was why Holly had insisted on the absolute necessity of driving with him in the Park at the Promenade hour.

  “Well, Lady Strathavon, what is your grand plan?” he asked, looking hesitant, but a little hopeful.

  His companion looked unruffled.

  “In a word, Sir John, we must make you just a little bit more scandalous. If Lord Myles means to play the saint, which I am very confident is all a production for the benefit of Miss Dacre, you must play the rake.”

  “I beg your pardon, the rake?” Sir John did not appear to know whether he ought to be scandalised or flabbergasted. He risked a glance at Holly before returning his attention back to the road.

  “Yes, a rake! Don’t look so nervous – it’s really the most expedient way to go about it. You must seduce Miss Dacre without appearing to try. But first, you must catch her attention and that of society. And there can be nothing better to catch Miss Dacre’s attention than to be seen flying down the carriage drive with another lady,” Holly explained patiently.

  “That is all well and good, if hers are the only eyes watching, but the Duke of Strathavon is known for being rather good with the barking irons and I would not care to end up on the wrong end of those,” Sir John said mildly.

  “Oh, pish!” Holly dismissed. “Why should the duke mind? It is very common to drive in the Park. I assure you, he won’t challenge you over it – I shall speak to him myself if I must.”

  “Still, I do not think…”

  “Oh, come now, Sir John: have some faith. It will work out just fine. At a pinch, I shall think of a Banbury tale – you cannot expect to come out triumphant without some slight risk,” Holly said. “Now, since you cannot seem to speak to Miss Dacre, we shall use that to our advantage – gentlemen are always at their best when they are listening, and you must listen ardently to all she says. You need only ask her a few questions about her work, or her art. She dearly loves to paint. And then you must show what a great interest you have in all she enjoys.”

  “I suppose I should be able to manage that…”

  “Indeed, you must. Wooley is a cad, I am sure of it – and this has become nothing short of a heroic rescue.”

  As was her habit, Verity was out at the park with another young lady, a Miss Sanford, who had been a girlhood friend of Verity’s. They sat in an elegant barouche which stood off to the side of the drive.

  Their folding hood was down, the better to sight other fashionables, and they appeared to be talking animatedly, while a spaniel dozed on the opposite seat.

  Holly did not know what possessed her to persuade Sir John to permit her to drive his curricle once they had finally reached the park.

  It might have been the fact that she glimpsed Strathavon resting his horse along Rotten Row and conversing with Mrs Drummond-Burrell as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

  Equally, she supposed she could blame it on the way the duke had given her one of his disapproving looks when he glimpsed her arrival, and then pretended not to see her at all.

  She just barely succeeded in stopping herself from admiring his striking features and strong built when his piercing gaze met hers for a brief moment, and a frown darkened his face.

  It wouldn’t have done to look meek, when he was so obviously weighing up her daring. She was sorry that she could not bring herself to gallop the horses in Hyde Park. Still, the pair of greys favoured by Sir John was notorious flighty, and once Holly held the reins she felt the greys shift uncertainly.

  Sir John looked suddenly flinty. He had noticed the duke also. “Your Grace, are you certain –”

  “Very! Besides, it would make you look extremely gallant, permitting me to drive your horses,” she said airily, inclining her head in the direction of Miss Dacre’s vehicle.

  “I doubt that such a thing would be at all possible.”

  “Then I wish you would stop it with your silly doubts. They aren’t doing anyone the least bit of good, I assure you. And driving out in the fresh air is very improving.”

  He seemed grateful for a change of subject. “Ah, I must disagree with you there, Lady Strathavon. Driving out is quite unnecessary – you see, I have recently purchased one of those marvellous chamber horses: very good for exercise right at home. You merely sit in the chair, and it is just as though you were riding a horse out in the fields. A wondrous contraption. My physician recommends them most highly – he tells me the king has several.”

  Holly did not hide her appalled expression. “But I do not recommend it at all. Chamber horses – what a notion! You must do away with it, Sir John. Exercise is all well and good, but you won’t beat fresh air for it, and you won’t catch the eye of Miss Dacre if you sequester yourself at home bouncing about on that absurd contraption. Now, shall we?”

  With one last, defiant look in the direction of her husband, the young duchess moved the horses into as fast a pace as she dared along the South Carriage Drive, enjoying the wind on her face and the thrill of the fast curricle.

  The air was crisp and smelled of Autumn.

  Holly thought it was a wonder she had lived a full nineteen years in the world without having driven so much as a little landau. If not for Lady Louisa, she would never have discovered this invigorating past-time.

  She couldn’t stop the peal of laughter that escaped her.

  “I say, Lady Strathavon,” Sir John exclaimed, holding on to his hat and looking intensely alarmed as she turned the curricle, driving them back towards the spot where Verity and her friend were conversing with the stately Lord Upton.

  Reaching her destination, she drew the carriage to a sudden halt, beaming at Verity and her companions, and issuing a greeting as she handed the reins back to Sir John.

  “Oh, Lady Strathavon, what marvellous driving,” said Verity, with an uneasy look at the greys. “You are a most capital whip.”

  “A natural,” agreed
Lord Upton. “And the greys are in fine form, Compton – I am all admiration.”

  “Yes, a most impressive display,” agreed another voice behind Holly. “Will you honour me with a walk? I dare say you will want one after so thrilling a drive.”

  Strathavon ignored the curious eyes that were suddenly upon him.

  Holly stared up into the dark blue gaze of her husband and did her best to look defiant even as a shiver ran through her. It was infuriating that despite her determination to keep a cool demeanour around him, she could not deny the attraction she felt towards the hateful man.

  To think, she had considered herself immune to such nonsense.

  “Certainly,” Holly said lightly, accepting his arm. “If Sir John would be so good as to excuse me?”

  “But of course,” said that gentleman with a bow, even though Holly could see his unease at being left to fend for himself with Verity.

  “Then pray pardon me,” she said to the rest of the company. “I believe Sir John wished to ask Miss Dacre about her landscapes anyway, and I should only be in the way.”

  She accepted the duke’s help to disembark from the carriage, and felt her breath catch at the spark that shot through her at this brief contact.

  They strolled away looking the very picture of marital felicity.

  “Tell me,” said his lordship pleasantly once they were alone, “what possessed you to do something so bacon-brained as drive that curricle? Race it, almost – though I am sure you will wriggle out on a technicality. I know Compton has no sense when it comes to such things, but I would have expected more from you.”

  “Whatever do you mean? I can’t imagine what I may have done that you take such exception to my driving. I think I handled the greys beautifully.”

  “Surely, you are bamming: you must know you have made a spectacle of yourself, driving as you had done. And with Compton, no less.” The pleasant conversational tone did not slip for a moment.

  “Ah,” Holly said, her own politeness matching his perfectly, “I cannot help but wonder, in that case, if it is my driving or Sir John to which you object so ardently.”

  They were alone now, in a thick copse. The yellow and red leaves swayed lightly in the breeze that ruffled Holly’s curls. The duke also seemed to have noticed their newfound seclusion, for he drew nearer, backing her into the tree until his body almost pressed into hers.

  Reaching out one gloved hand, he stroked a finger down her cheek and toyed with the ribbons of her bonnet. Pulse racing, Holly found her gaze completely locked with his. His eyes blazed at her with anger… And something else.

  Strathavon leaned in until his lips were almost touching hers.

  “You will find, I think, that I do many things ardently, but none of those has anything to do with your driving… or Sir John.”

  Something in his velvety tone made a flush creep across her cheeks. He gave her an intent look, gaze dropping momentarily to the daring cut of her muslin dress, and the pale flesh that fluttered with every breath.

  An expectant stillness hung in the air, which had nothing to do with the surprisingly pleasant weather.

  Holly struggled to find her voice, which seemed to have completely disappeared. She floundered a moment, then recovered with as much gusto as she could muster under the present circumstances.

  “I don’t doubt that is true. You are a very ardent man. For example, the journals have been very meticulous in reporting your distinct admiration of that celebrated hostess, Lady Charlotte Holland,” she said coldly, because she didn’t know how she ought to deal with the strange current that drew them closer and closer with every breath. “It is very fortunate that the late Mr Holland died so conveniently in the Indies, is it not?”

  He raised an eyebrow coolly.

  She resisted the urge to push him away and retreat then and there. Reappearing without him would only serve to turn her snub into a public spectacle.

  “Lady Charlotte?” his lordship sounded intrigued. “A most gifted thespian, though I have never thought of her as much of a hostess. But I fear I am not given to the reading of such publications – perchance you will enlighten me?”

  Holly was appalled at the amused front which he dared put up before her.

  “I shall do no such thing, Your Grace. If you cannot be troubled to recall your own escapades, there is nothing I can do for you. Now, if you please, I believe I have kept Sir John waiting quite long enough.”

  With a wry tilt of his mouth, the duke retreated, decorously offering his elbow to the duchess. He wondered what society would make of her flustered appearance emerging from the trees. He was surprised to find that this pleased him.

  If Lady Strathavon found the walk back to the carriage infuriating, his lordship found it most enlightening. Her tense shoulders and blazing eyes told him all he needed to know. He wondered how he had missed it before: the lady was jealous. And of his cousin’s bit of muslin, no less.

  This gave him a most interesting advantage in the game upon which they had now embarked: for a game it undeniably was. He would eventually have to clarify the matter of Lady Charlotte to her, but not just yet…

  The duke was careful to pay a lot less attention to his own unsettled feelings over seeing Holly drive down the South Carriage Drive with Compton beside her. Avonbury was right – the baronet was being too attentive. But surely, that did not matter to Strathavon: it couldn’t because then he would have to admit to things best left undisturbed.

  He had not the least inclination to get entangled in any more sentiment, which brought nothing but loss and pain. He suspected that sentiment was much kinder to women than it ever was to men, who were not permitted to exhibit it.

  *

  When next Avonbury appeared at Strathavon’s townhouse, it was in a much cheerier mood, and with a packet under one arm, which he unceremoniously proceeded to unwrap.

  Strathavon examined his cousin critically from his armchair as Avonbury demonstrated all the merits of his new garment. He was sporting a dark aubergine greatcoat, woven of rich broadcloth: the cut and colour suited him remarkably well, and the duke instantly recognised the work of his own tailor.

  Despite his dislike of gaudy dress, Lord Strathavon employed no less a genius than John Weston of 38 Old Bond Street as his personal tailor and draper. While Mr Brummell had once daringly criticised Mr Weston for his linings, most other gentlemen wore his coats with an unmistakable air of tasteful splendour.

  Mr Weston counted even the Prince Regent among his clients and charged an exorbitant fee, but the duke did not balk at paying for the sheer quality of his garments, as well as for Weston’s keen understanding of his sartorial tastes.

  It was strange, however, that Avonbury should wear something so muted.

  Strathavon rarely approved of his cousin’s apparel, but this time he could find no fault.

  “But what do you want with a new coat?” the duke asked his cousin once the coat had been carefully folded away.

  “Why, I shall need it for Lady Raike’s tonight!” declared Avonbury.

  “Lady Raike’s? I do believe it is to be a card evening. I am quite at sea. I was under the impression that you had an aversion to such quiet affairs, and would not set foot there unless forced to under great duress.”

  “Just so, cousin. But it happens that the expected company promises to make even a card party bearable. I am to escort Lady Strathavon and her friend Lady Louisa, don’t you know, and Her Grace is sure to make it a jolly good evening.”

  “Lady Strathavon? I see… and since when are you such good friends with her ladyship?”

  “Why, since she proved herself nothing like the tiresome hag I had expected you to wed! The Duchess of Strathavon is renowned as a clever and well-informed woman – ask anyone. A veritable treasure, your wife. The last time I spoke to her, she said to me that my problem is that I haven’t been mixing with the right sort of company: I cannot help but wonder if she meant you, cousin.” Avonbury enjoyed a good laugh at that, whi
le he finished his sherry and picked up the morning paper, glancing through it disinterestedly.

  Strathavon refused to play along, though he did suddenly decide that he should go to Lady Raike’s after all, and see how his wife liked to play her enterprising games then. He wondered only what Holly could possibly want with Avonbury.

  Surely she did not mean to go falling in love with the man? Strathavon did not know why this in particular had struck him as an alarming possibility, but he knew that he did not like it one smidgeon. Or was it Compton who claimed her tender feeling? But if so, why was she jealous of Lady Charlotte Holland?

  Eventually, Holly was bound to fall in love with somebody. Strathavon wondered if he ought to be a gentleman and offer her a way out – to go to Scotland and be divorced so that she might marry her baronet.

  It would be some scandal, but his name had weathered more than that and she was too beloved by society to be blamed for such a thing. Only, he could not seem to make himself enough of a gentleman to let her go…

  To think that he had made so little ceremony of picking himself a duchess who would be nothing more than convenient. But then, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. She had turned out to be so much more than he could ever have predicted. It was a marvel, really.

  His Grace might have been expected to look upon his wife’s sudden popularity with a more indulgent eye if he were not as intrigued as he was – he knew that such a fascination would do him absolutely no good.

  Since he had no intention of setting his wife free, the only option left to him, the only possible option, was to be the one to win her.

  Absently, the duke wondered if he was going mad.

  Yes, that would be his aim. To win his own wife from the clutches of some artless gallant who had poetry on the brain – or was it ornithology? Come to think of it, he hardly knew a thing about Compton apart from the man’s singular interest in birds.

  Strathavon would not give Holly up without a fight. And how difficult could it be to outdo Compton?

  *

  Lady Raike’s was every bit the muted affair it had promised to be, but the arrival of the celebrated Duchess of Strathavon immediately livened up the evening.