Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess Page 19

  She recognised that familiar comforting warmth which always settled over her when she was the object of his regard. It made her want to reach out to him and touch his hand, to be wrapped in his arms, to inhale his familiar scent or hear the warm rumble of his deep voice.

  Accepting the challenge, she gave her host a smile.

  “I don’t believe we ever did, though we did have a copy of The Boy’s Own Guide. I think it was because papa could not abide loud noises when he was working and no one thought it politic to risk his wrath. But there are a great many other ways to pass the time in the country, Lord Bettenhall, provided one has a bit of imagination.”

  She took a sip of her wine, and continued. “Why, we swam, rowed boats and climbed trees in the summer. There were apples to be picked and fallen apples to throw at your siblings. There was one very memorable balmy August when my brothers and I had even attempted to build our own raft and sail it on the duck pond, though the undertaking had ended in failure and much hilarity. But when it rained, we played charades, put on tableaux and held our very own jousting tournament in the portrait gallery, using old umbrellas.”

  This seemed to delight the present company. The corners of Strathavon’s sensual mouth curled at this latest morsel of Holly’s remarkable childhood.

  “I say! Jousting?” Avonbury exclaimed. “With umbrellas? Marvellous!”

  “But how did you go about it?” Sir John asked curiously.

  Strathavon regarded Holly with an exquisitely raised eyebrow, awaiting elaboration.

  “It was very easy. We found old umbrellas and parasols in the attics, and we would take it in turns to slide along the long gallery in our stocking feet, dressed in father’s old coats for safety, and joust at each other with closed umbrellas. It was very silly and incredibly diverting.”

  “Silly nothing! You are an absolute treasure, Lady Strathavon – I declare that we must have a tourney of our very own. Just like the knights of old,” said Bettenhall. “It shall be much better than those races we had at Eton: the older boys had to race each other while carrying the youngest – do you remember, Avonbury?”

  “I remember you were rotten at it.”

  “Then your memory is faultier than I thought. No matter. I shall refresh it tonight. I throw down my gauntlet to you, my good man.”

  “Then I can but accept,” Avonbury laughed. “I am only sorry for the fate of my new waistcoat.” He indicated the garment in question, which was embroidered in a bronze and gold pattern of autumn leaves.

  In strict accordance to fashion, precisely two and a half inches of this marvellous waistcoat showed beneath the tailcoat. Avonbury was always unfailingly de rigueur when it came to the finer details of mode.

  Holly had heard him declare many times that were few things more unpardonable and ridiculous in modish society than wearing the wrong size cravat or an outdated waistcoat.

  Lord Bettenhall nodded. “Lady Strathavon, if you will grant me a token? I should be honoured to stand as your champion. Verily, you must do so on the sly, for your Lord Husband should make his wrath felt most keenly.”

  Holly met Strathavon’s eyes, which glittered with laughter and something else delightful. She chuckled and handed over her silk handkerchief. “I should be honoured, my good Sir Knight.”

  “Excellent! Now, we must have parasols. Mama, will you oblige us?”

  The dowager Lady Bettenhall waved her son away in exasperation. “Have your games then. There are a number of old ones about. But I trust the present company will excuse me if I retire. I find such jousts are not the thing for my nerves.”

  *

  No matter how he tried to occupy his attention, Strathavon’s eyes seemed invariably drawn to Holly’s daringly cut bodice. It was a thing of clever artifice if ever there was one: it seemed to have been designed specifically to fan the flames of his desire.

  Undeniably, it was succeeding on every count, for he was already having some trouble keeping his feelings hidden and out of the way.

  The deep red of the fabric emphasised the creamy paleness of her skin and the rich, dark colour of her hair. The cut of the gown lovingly caressed her delicate curves so that his hands wanted nothing more than to trace the contours of the saucy dress.

  What would the other guests think if he were to sweep his duchess into his arms and carry her off home?

  He watched as she laughed at something Lord Bettenhall said while brandishing one of his mother’s lacy parasols. Her laughter got under his skin, and stayed there, affecting him more than the most potent French wine.

  She was playing a game: of this much he could be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt. And if his reaction was anything to go by, she was also winning.

  *

  The Duchess of Strathavon called on her friend Lady Louisa early the next morning, wearing an exquisite green silk visiting gown.

  Lady Louisa had invited Verity and Holly to accompany her to one of the most fashionable French chocolate houses in London, whose exclusive environs were frequently graced by no less distinguished persons than Prince George and the Duke of Kent.

  The ladies set out for Verity’s house at Brunswick Square in Lady Louisa’s fine carriage, and Holly found a pleasantly peaceful distraction in watching the houses blur one into the next outside the window as she repeated Lord Avonbury’s warning about Wooley.

  “So you see, it is very urgent that Verity discover the true nature of Lord Myles. Oh! If I could only…” she broke off in a passion.

  “Yes, you are correct. It would never do for my niece to make that connection. Fortunately, if you wish Verity to own up to some feeling for your Sir John, then there is no more intimate a setting for ladies to talk then over chocolate,” she said to Holly confidently.

  Holly supposed that this was very sound reasoning.

  “But tell me of your own husband. How goes the conquest?” the lady asked, winking at her as they drove down Piccadilly.

  “Well, he dislikes all of my gowns, and he spends a great deal of time glowering over them.”

  “Excellent.”

  “It is a very peculiar thing… My feelings for the duke were all made up of passion at the start, for I did not really know him then, not yet. But now…”

  “Now you do. That is only natural. But I have seen how he looks at you, and that hunger in his eyes will only grow in time. My advice – feed that hunger until it overtakes whatever it is that passes for reason and logic in the masculine mind. That means that you must resist the hunger yourself. For a time. ”

  Holly sighed. “He has me at my wits’ end. Why can he not just tell me what is in his heart? What am I to do, have myself delivered to him wrapped in a rug like Cleopatra?”

  That made Lady Louisa laugh. “Perhaps later. For now, I would suggest a more subtle approach.”

  Holly looked at the passing buildings with a great deal of studiousness. “I may have ordered a very special shift – from that lovely French shop, just in case I should need extra ammunition to win the campaign.” She couldn’t help the small giggle that accompanied this confession.

  “Clever, clever girl! Ah, you are so much the daughter I never had, my dear Holly.”

  Holly felt incredibly touched at these simple words: all thought of naughtiness and husbands fled her as she felt the simple, soft joys of human friendship. She reached out and squeezed Lady Louisa’s hand.

  “Thank you,” she said, with all the earnestness in her heart. It seemed that Lady Louisa understood her unspoken words, for she patted Holly’s hand, before changing the topic to lighter matters until Verity joined them, and they alighted at the chocolate establishment.

  *

  Such was the reputation of Lady Louisa that their chocolate was not only served post haste, but the proprietor himself came out to welcome the lady, and provide a plate of complimentary biscuits, flavoured with almond and orange water.

  Verity was even more quiet than usual, Holly noticed. She wore a gentle frown on her pale face.
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  “What do you think, Holly, of love?” she asked at last, looking somewhat uneasy and crumbling her biscuit over her plate without paying it much heed. “I know what my aunt thinks of it – but her views are not in line with my own.”

  Holly was surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. She wondered if this was about Sir John or Lord Myles.

  Verity’s question was a difficult one. “I think that love is a very complex matter. It is full of puzzles and unexpected turns, but it’s worth pursuing – because the treasure at the end is worth every moment of doubt.” She looked out the window at the passing carriages. “I think also that no matter what we may wish, love cannot bloom upon request.”

  “Then there is nothing that would turn you from such a course once you were set on it?”

  “Nothing. I do not think there is anything that should induce me to truly regret the hour when Lord Strathavon was introduced to my knowledge,” the duchess said earnestly.

  “And what do you think, niece?” asked Lady Louisa.

  Verity looked uncertain. “Indubitably, love is a matter of passion. Of that very first look and that most compelling dance that makes the rest of the evening mere shadows by comparison. It is a thing that sweeps you away.”

  Lady Louisa chuckled gently.

  “Here, you must forgive me, my dear girl, for I am old and prone to being crotchety, but I cannot agree with your definition of love. Passion is very important, yes. But the true joy of love is not passion, as is commonly believed, and it is not domestic bliss, for that has a different definition no matter whom you happen to ask. It seems to me that love’s greatest purpose is to make the hardships of life less difficult for each other. Joy follows naturally if that is the case. The rest is poetry, and consequently merely the fancy of poets.”

  Holly was struck by these words and what they might mean, for she saw in them a depth previously uncontemplated. She wondered who it was that Lady Louisa had loved so deeply and unreservedly. She hoped one day her friend would tell her.

  Verity shook her head. “Then how can you know it when it comes, if it is the subtle thing you say it is?”

  “It is the sad truth of love, my dear, that often we only know it when it is gone,” the lady told her niece. “That said, affection aside, it always serves to make sure a lady will have enough pin money to keep her through her married state – I do not think any love can survive poverty. It makes the faults of one’s spouse all the more evident.”

  “I have always thought that love is a grand, conquering thing – even poverty cannot stand in the way of it. But I have to own that, whatever his other faults may be, his lordship’s idea of pin money is very generous,” Holly said.

  “But having a fortune can be as bad as being without one,” Verity murmured. “I have heard of ladies who act dull or ridiculous to test the affections of their suitors – but I haven’t the least desire for such games. And it is astonishing what defects a suitor might be willing to overlook in an heiress. One is ever a target if one is even remotely in expectation of a fortune. Did you not find this to be true in your courtship, Holly?”

  “No at all. It is a small blessing that his lordship did not marry me for my money,” Holly said laughingly. “I can confidently say that I hadn’t a bean before my matrimony.” There was a slight trace of irony in her voice, but Verity did not pay it much heed, too lost in sharing her own woes in the hope that she might make some sense of them through hearing them spoken aloud.

  “You are very fortunate. Money is a dreadful burden. I am convinced there is nothing worse for a lady on the marriage mart than being set to inherit,” Verity declared. “Besides which, if you’ll forgive me, the duke does have a very fine countenance.”

  “And an impossible character,” Holly replied, with a slight flush.

  “But that is true of all men,” Lady Louisa countered. “Gentlemen are like fine-bred horses, my dear. You just give them their lead every now and then, in order to retain true control of the situation.”

  Holly stared, then caught herself, and gave a slight shake of her head. “It is all such a tricky game to play.”

  “Oh, aunt, how can you say such dreadful things!” squeaked Verity. “What will Holly think?”

  “I should hope Holly will think sensibly about the best way to run her marriage. Now, what is all this about?”

  “Well, it is just that Lord Myles has been so genteel to me – and he is very handsome, and a grand philanthropist. But… there is another gentleman, though he appears to live more dangerously – and that makes him interesting, but would he make a fine husband? And yet when I saw him last, in the midst of disaster, he was so capable, so strong and confident…”

  “Where does your heart lead you?” Holly asked carefully, taking a sip of her chocolate and savouring the delightfully rich, slightly bitter flavour of it.

  “I…do not know. My heart is floundering.”

  “Well, then we must help you decide,” Lady Louisa said simply. “It will save you a lot of worry, my girl. After all, worry is very poor for one’s complexion.”

  Chapter 11

  Strathavon woke before dawn and knew exactly what day it was. He lay there in the gloom, his eyes tracing the white ceiling overhead as he listened to birds beginning to chatter outside.

  It was as though a leaden weight had been laid over his chest. Today was the anniversary of Maximillian’s death.

  Needing time to think and make sense of all the chaos in his head, Strathavon headed to Piccadilly as soon as it was reasonable to be outside without wandering the streets like a wraith.

  He did not see Holly at breakfast, and tried to convince himself that that was a blessing, for she had that unmistakable way of throwing him completely off-kilter with just a smile, and he needed his mind clear on this of all days.

  Strathavon by—passed all the gentlemen’s clubs, finding he had no taste for them at present, and ignored all other diversions of that street, ducking into Hatchards Bookshop. Hatchards was a fine establishment and one that he had often visited with Maximilian.

  It was a kind of refuge, and it offered a quiet, sturdy comfort that always descended over him just from walking through the doors. He could linger there for hours sometimes, browsing, and enjoying the familiar presence of books.

  A sign above the door informed visitors that the place had been established in 1797 – the year Sylvester and Maximilian had first come to live in London after their days at Cambridge. They had indulged in the true spirit of coxcombery with a gusto that only a pair of young men free of all worldly restrictions could achieve.

  His mouth curled, remembering Max’s fondness for journals of travel and adventure. What would his brother have made of his new wife? He had a sneaking suspicion that they would have got on famously. He could just imagine them teasing him, or debating some absurd new undertaking.

  *

  When Holly returned to the house, head still full of Lady Louisa’s words about love, and Verity’s frustrating blindness to the possibility of her own happiness, Holly was surprised to hear raised voices coming from the parlour. She paused on the stairs, wondering about the cause of the furore.

  The housekeeper, Mrs Willan, sounded agitated. The other voice was young and terribly upset.

  Holly paused a moment, listening.

  “I am very sorry, miss, but we are not interviewing at present. And I do not think that a person of your –”

  “Please, Mrs Willan – I have been turned away from every door, and it is getting to be so cold out. Any position will do.”

  Mrs Willan sounded deeply exasperated. “I am sorry, Miss Anglesey – but I cannot bring disgrace to her ladyship’s household. This is a respectable house. All London has heard of your business with Lord Myles Wooley. It is a great shame, but I fear I am unable help you. It is not within my power to do so.”

  Her voice sounded genuinely distressed now, and Holly wondered what the fuss was all about. Lord Myles?

  There
was a creaking sound and it appeared that the housekeeper was about to show young woman back to the door. “Here, my girl – this should at least buy you supper.”

  There were footsteps and Holly watched as the two women walked to the door without having seen her. The young lady next to Mrs Willan looked nothing if not utterly defeated and it broke Holly’s heart to see her hunched shoulders.

  Wasting no time, Holly hurried back down the grand staircase, doing her best not to lose her footing in her new slippers, which slid alarmingly under her as her skirts fluttered about her legs.

  She arrived at the door somewhat dishevelled, just as the housekeeper shut it.

  Mrs Willan gave her a bewildered look, which Holly ignored.

  “Who was that person you were just speaking to, Mrs Willan?”

  “Person, Your Grace? Lucy Anglesey, you mean? She was only a lady’s maid, enquiring after a position – but she wasn’t at all suited.”

  “Well, why ever not?”

  “There is a… certain scandal attached, Your Grace. She was formerly of Lord Myles Wooley’s household and she has been summarily dismissed due to… Well this is all very indelicate – I wouldn’t like to say.” The older woman looked uncomfortable.

  Holly frowned. “All the same, I should like to hear it.”

  The woman hesitated, then sighed.

  “She may be with child, madam, if the story is true – she allowed the young gentleman to steer her from the path of virtue. It is said that Lord Myles is not a very… considerate man, if you’ll forgive me, and the poor girl…. But never mind, it’s done now and no house in London shall have her.”

  “You astonish me, Mrs Willan. None at all? Well, that won’t do! It is hardly the girl’s fault if she happened to be seduced by an evil cad. Lord Myles, after all, has not lost his home and income, to say nothing of his name. I think I had better catch her before she is gone much further.”

  “Catch – ”

  But Holly did not stay to hear her housekeeper’s imprecations. She was already out of the door, where she quickly caught sight of the sole retreating figure. It was hard to mistake the shabby, faded red shawl.