Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess Page 17

  It was her own fault for reading Mr Hoffmann before bed but she couldn’t seem to fall asleep at all. The tales had been marvellous, but they were also dreadfully chilling in a way one couldn’t put a finger on – much worse than ghosts and mysterious castles.

  She’d only read that many in order to distract herself from that green book. But this was worse. Now, she couldn’t seem to get to sleep at all.

  Rising from her bed, she drew a blue and white gingham dressing gown about her shoulders and padded downstairs to the library on yet another pilgrimage.

  This time, she hoped that she could find something dry and unmarvellous enough to calm her nerves and send her to sleep. A lengthy treatise on the migratory patterns of birds of the West Indies might do.

  Holly did not expect to find the library alight with a soft, inviting glow. She hesitated a moment before going in, and found Strathavon seated in a chair next to the fire, reading quietly. He looked up at her with great surprise.

  “I…I couldn’t sleep and I thought to find a book,” Holly said, feeling she was expected to explain her strange appearance. Then she felt ridiculous, because what else would she have been doing in the library? His expression was unreadable and she wondered if she was trespassing.

  Remembering the last time she had ventured there to find a book, and the amount of time she had spent browsing that little green volume brought a hot flush to her cheeks. Noticing this unusual reaction, the duke raised an eyebrow.

  “Please, don’t let me deter you.” He indicated the vast shelves behind him.

  “Thank you,” Holly said quietly and quickly moved toward the books, feeling even more self-conscious under his unreadable scrutiny.

  “It is unsurprising you are restless, my dear.”

  “It is?” Her words came out absurdly high-pitched and she winced.

  “Oh, yes. The sudden break in your social schedule must be very unsettling,” said his dry voice behind her.

  Holly spun around, surprised and a little relieved that he didn’t know about the book. “Oh, no… It is Mr Hoffmann who is to blame,” she said before realising he was teasing her.

  Holly supposed that she was sleepier than she had believed, not to have noticed something so unusual as teasing. She had grown to believe that the man never teased: he was always so grimly unapproachable that he surely had to be incapable of much levity.

  “Mr Hoffmann? I am all astonishment. What has he done to cause you a restless night?” the duke asked good-humouredly.

  Holly smiled wryly. “Well, I suppose it is my fault, really. I should not read such things before bed – I am never able to sleep after reading uncanny tales. But the temptation is always beyond me. Rose had a lot of fun with this when we were children – she would tell the most dreadful tales once the candle had gone out, and then fall asleep herself, while I lay there watching the restless shadows.”

  “You surprise me. I had believed you to be afraid of nothing.”

  Now she wasn’t sure if he was still teasing.

  “Nothing?” She repeated softly.

  “Just so. You cannot blame me for this impression. You have a most remarkable spirit. I have never seen an equal to it. You play the domestic mouse, and yet you leap bravely into a marriage de convenance, then you run away to London and captivate society – all in a matter of weeks. Does that not take courage?”

  He smiled at her, a long elegant finger tapping his lip thoughtfully as he considered her, and she found herself completely beguiled. She had never seen a smile like that on him before: it was neither cold nor mocking, but something warm. Something tangible and wholly his.

  His words intrigued her. Did she really appear to be fearless? She felt anything but!

  For the longest time, she had believed herself to be nothing more than that same domestic angel that ladies’ magazines liked to laud. Holly had never consciously tried to be brave: she had only done what she’d felt necessary at the time.

  She had been besotted, or angry, or rebellious all of those times. But brave?

  “You have me at sixes and sevens,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know how I should answer you. If I say yes, then my actions will seem arrogant and contrived, and if I say no, then indeed I shall be a mouse. So I will say nothing and venture a question of my own. Are you generally in the habit of reading so late into the night?”

  Strathavon looked openly amused now. “On occasion. When I find myself unable to sleep: it seems Morpheus has not been kind to either of us this night.”

  Holly wondered if she dared ask the reason for his restlessness.

  The duke seemed to read her mind, because he chuckled and shook his head. “It is nothing, I assure you. I have been prone to nocturnal wanderings, since boyhood. My brother was much more given to mornings – he and father would keep most unfashionable hours, going riding soon after sunrise.”

  Holly was extremely touched that he should share such a thing with her. It seemed that memories were the most precious things he had, and he hardly ever spoke of his brother. She was aware of how heavily the loss of him weighed on this enigmatic man.

  It was not that he blamed himself for the loss, she had concluded after watching him with careful eyes: it was that he wished to lock the memories away and to keep them to himself, afraid that they would grow thin, if shared, or fade away like mist in the sunlight.

  “I, too, have never much cared for mornings,” she said, determined to maintain the strangely open mood between them. “But it is excessively difficult to sleep in with one’s family dashing about the place.”

  “You have never been away to school then?”

  Holly smiled. “No, never. Papa has a very poor opinion of ladies’ academies and mama wouldn’t hear of our going away regardless. She had despised her own time at school. We had a series of governesses, until papa despaired of them, too. He undertook our education himself once the basics, which he finds so irritating, had been covered.”

  Having heard Verity speak about her own schooling, Holly was glad she had been permitted to grow up among her family, quarrelling, playing and running about the grounds in between lessons.

  She had often heard the opinion that children kept in such a liberal environment tended to grow up like weeds, but their father had been very exacting with the level of education they received, though Holly had never herself been very scholarly.

  “That would explain your alarming tendency to adopt animals and people,” the duke drawled, brushing cat hair off his coat.

  It was only then that Holly noticed that Mittens was sleeping stretched out on the backrest of the duke’s chair, blending in with the shadows. The cosy scene pleased her very much. She took a seat, her search for a book forgotten along with Mr Hoffmann’s eerie tales.

  “Do you really find it alarming? Somehow I do not think so. It isn’t human nature to exist in a vacuum. Yet, I admit I do have a weakness for creatures in distress.”

  “Then I will consider myself well warned – I shall speak to an architect about adding a menagerie to Pontridge, and hope most heartily that Lady Castlereagh’s leopard does not escape for you to find it.”

  “A leopard? Really?”

  “Yes, she has one in the country – I believe it amuses her to introduce it to her guests.”

  As Holly curled up on the couch, his eyes caught on her bare feet, peeking from under her long night dress. His expression was peculiarly tender.

  “No shoes?”

  “Shoes?” she said, abashed. “No, it is so warm tonight…”

  “You are a curiosity.”

  “Am I?” she asked quietly, caught in his piercing gaze.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  As she watched him, she wished very much that he would take her in his strong embrace and keep her safe and warm forever. The longing swelled within her like a tidal wave. She was full of wishing suddenly, full to bursting, and yet she forced herself to look unruffled, as though she did not in the least care what he chose to do.<
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  Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the duke move nearer.

  The thrill of his hand on her shoulder made her jump, and her heart was suddenly pounding within her chest with such intensity that she was sure he could hear it.

  “You are without doubt the most bewildering female I have ever met,” said the duke, with a strange, serious expression on his aristocratic face.

  Tension rose between them, taut as violin strings, until suddenly Holly found herself overtaken by a tremendous yawn.

  Strathavon laughed softly, but did not move away.

  “I think you had better retire,” said the duke, “else you will oversleep tomorrow and miss your rowing party. What would society do then?”

  “Hah! Continue on, I imagine,” she replied, rising shakily to her feet, and wishing he would offer to retire with her. His eyes seemed to trail her figure, obviously savouring the sight, and she flushed a little, realising that she wore only her night dress and the robe de chambre.

  Even now, it was a little hard to imagine that he found her worth looking at.

  She was very reluctant to go up. It was so good to have someone to talk to about small amusing things, and Strathavon had proved himself to be an excellent conversationalist. The love that she felt for him seemed to flood her and keep her warm, fed by this unexpected and most welcome intimacy.

  Strathavon surprised her by rising also. He came forward and she observed the lethal grace of his every movement. She felt herself hypnotised by the candlelight and his eyes, made lightheaded by the mood of their exchange.

  She wondered what he meant to do. And then she wondered if he meant to kiss her. But he just brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with a surprisingly gentle touch. His fingertips just barely brushed along the skin of her face and she shivered.

  Her surprise must have registered on her face, because he said softly, “You hair has fallen in your eyes.”

  “Yes,” Holly said breathlessly, heart pounding suddenly.

  “Well, goodnight, my dear. I shan’t keep you further.” He took a step back.

  As she stood blinking at him, feeling rather dizzy, it took her a moment to register what he had said.

  Then, she wished him a good night in reaturn and drifted back up to her bedroom, wondering what had almost happened and what may happen yet. She felt a little confused as she tried to make sense of the strange, though very welcome, turn of events.

  *

  The next morning, Holly woke full of bubbling good cheer at the prospect of boating, bolstered by the warmth of the previous night. Would the duke say anything about it?

  She smiled to herself and thought of the day ahead. It would be so grand to be out on the water again. She had always adored boats. The party was to take place on the Serpentine lake in Hyde Park, and it promised to be very good fun, taking advantage of some of the last fine days to be had that year.

  Buoyed by this good mood and the autumn sunshine lighting up her rooms, she picked out an altogether rakish bonnet of pale velvet, out of which her dark eyes peeked impishly.

  Strathavon examined her appearance at leisure as she descended the stairs, his expression one of wry amusement.

  “I am certain that I cannot sufficiently admire the elegance of your hat,” the duke said by way of greeting. “I have not the least doubt furthermore that it will pass the inspection of all the ladies on the Serpentine.”

  “I can well imagine that you cannot admire it sufficiently. But you needn’t try – it so happens that I admire it enough for both of us. So you see that your endorsement is unnecessary,” the duchess replied brightly, taking his arm and letting him hand her into the waiting carriage.

  Once they’d arrived in the park, Holly enjoyed the sunshine and the way the duke kept near her as her friends came over to say hello.

  Holly was delighted to make the acquaintance of a young man not much older than herself. Lady Hargreaves brought him over, introducing him as Lord Byron, the son of an old friend down from Southwell.

  Holly was struck by his remarkable countenance, which seemed to draw one in completely, and the intense depth of his eyes.

  Lord Byron was so good as to peel her an apple, while asking after Lady Louisa, whom he considered a great friend. He was even so bold as to offer her strawberries from his estate, and Holly was bold enough to accept one, amused to think the sort of stories the exchange would spur.

  “And have you known Lady Louisa long?” Holly asked.

  “Why, yes – she did me a kindess when I ran into her by chance at Cambridge,” the gentleman said, though he did not elaborate. Something in his smile made Holly certain that whatever trouble Lady Louisa had rescued him from had been of a suitable improper nature.

  “Indeed, I mean to go abroad later this year and she has recommended a great many things one ought to see when traipsing through Europe.”

  Holly laughed softly. “If your adventures are half as marvellous as hers, it will be time well spent.”

  “Ah, but I have heard that you have seen a great number of adventures right here in London.”

  “Alas, you’ll put me to the blush, my lord. I had no notion I’ve become so infamous as all that.”

  “I rather think infamy is far preferable to obscurity! It has made you very popular with the poets. Why, possibly I shall write of you too, some day.”

  His smile was very charming, and Holly supposed it earned him a great number of admirers whenever he cared to unleash it. “Are you a poet, then?”

  He chuckled at that. “I shall let you be the judge of that. How shall I start it? O rapturous lady, whose sprightly eyes… ”

  They continued in that vein for some while, indulging in a delightful conversation. Holly supposed that afterward there would be the devil to pay – for Strathavon, looking over at her from his band of admirers, looked fit for a very cutting vengeance. She found, however, she was not in the least concerned.

  If only she could have spent the rest of the party conversing with the poet, she would have been perfectly content, but he was soon replaced by Lord Myles Wooley, who appeared to have sought her out deliberately.

  “My dear Lady Strathavon! There you are. I must own I feared you would not be joining us – I know a great many ladies have a fear of water. But we shall see if you can’t sit in my boat – I am a dab hand with the oars, you know.”

  Holly suspected that he was well aware of her dislike of him, and was therefore doing his very best to vex her. He engaged her in some tiresome narrative of his university rowing adventures, which seemed to wind on and on without a blessed end in sight.

  Every now and then, as he went on speaking, his gaze would drift shamelessly down the neckline of her gown.

  Lord Myles was nothing if not lugubrious, but he was also fairly cunning and so she was obliged to put on every air of polite amusement, even as she longed to push him into the lake.

  At last, she was joined by Verity as they all made their way to the boats, only to find Strathavon heading her way, accompanied by the very woman who had given her such a burning glare when driving past her on the street.

  To say that the Duchess of Strathavon and Lady Charlotte Holland took an instant dislike to each upon being introduced would not have been entirely accurate. Their antipathy was already thriving before a single word of introduction had been uttered.

  All the magic of the previous night was shattered as Holly wondered angrily what Strathavon thought he was about, flaunting his Cyprian in front of her like that. She felt angry and mortified, wondering if this was his childish revenge for Lord Byron, though with a great deal of effort she endeavoured to keep these feelings off her face.

  Thankfully, Lady Charlotte soon headed off to see about a glass of lemonade, still accompanied by the duke.

  “What an absurd concoction,” Holly remarked acidly to Verity, observing Lady Charlotte’s new bonnet, a woven straw creation with a long pale blue veil attached and an ostrich feather curving the brim. “A veil!
It is entirely the wrong thing for boats. You’ll allow I know boats though I may not always know the very latest fashion in bonnets. If it should rain, the thing will collapse in her face.”

  “It looks to be very dear,” observed Verity. “Surely, forty shillings at the least.”

  “Then she was sorely overcharged. I’m pleased she did not stay. I fear that if I’m obliged to talk to the woman further, my good conduct shall not hold,” Holly said, narrowing her eyes.

  “Was she rude to you? I believe she is considered somewhat vulgar.”

  “It is not the gossip that offends me. I find myself by far superior to the effects of common talk,” said Holly, endeavouring to level her most benevolent glance upon Lady Charlotte, who was watching her over her glass of lemonade. “It is merely that I find Lady Charlotte a most pernicious woman. Now, I do think we had better go into the boats – Sir John is waving to us.”

  *

  They carefully picked their way across the uneven dock and towards the waiting boats.

  “Here, my dear Holly, let me help you,” said Avonbury, handing Holly into the boat, which swayed a little in the water.

  “Thank you, Avonbury,” Holly said cheerfully. “How kind you are. It would be a great shame to topple in and ruin my parasol.”

  She shifted about a little, and opened the parasol as Verity came to sit opposite her.

  “Ah, Sir John, it is very good of you to take pity on a widow,” said a familiar voice from the dock. “And look, Lord Avonbury is here too. I trust you’re well, Avonbury?”

  Holly looked up just in time to see Lady Charlotte imperiously extend her hand to Sir John to be helped into the boat. Her smile, turned on Lord Avonbury, was particularly cloying, and Holly was surprised to notice that he had gone remarkably pale.

  She wondered what might have been the matter – for there was undoubtedly some tension between them. In fact, Lady Charlotte seemed to be enjoying the earl’s expression very much.

  The widow took the seat in the prow looking entirely at her leisure. Avonbury took the seat next to Verity, his expression strangely tight, and Sir John sat beside Holly.