An Unsuitable Duchess (25 page)

‘Perhaps you have found your purpose. Each of the Lyonsdale Dukes is known for something glorious. Improved Anglo-American relations might be your achievement. A bitter irony, it seems.’

Julian glanced over at his friend and caught the mocking glint in his eyes. This time Julian grabbed an entire stem from the hedge and pulled all the leaves off. They fluttered to the ground, unwanted. With each step the sound of crunching gravel was loud over the silence that stretched between them. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that he would forget her.

Hart adjusted his lazy lock of hair. ‘She is here. I spotted her earlier today up at the house.’

Julian’s dying heart stirred. ‘I told you I have no wish to ever discuss her again.’

‘I have not mentioned anyone by name.’

Julian glared at Hart, and he was wise enough not to make any further comment.

Hart’s attention followed the new group of leaves that Julian was yanking from the hedgerow. ‘Hipswitch’s gardeners might take umbrage at your pruning techniques.’

Damn the gardeners!

Julian clasped his hands behind his back. Hart would never understand that Julian couldn’t even say her name without causing a stabbing pain in his chest. He knew that eventually she would be a distant memory. There would even come a day when he’d wake up and not recall her face. His stomach churned at the notion.

‘Well, this should improve that pained expression of yours,’ Hart said. ‘It’s the woman you’ve been so eager to see.’

Julian closed his eyes. He prayed he would remain composed when he looked at the lovely woman he could not have. Taking a deep breath, he followed Hart’s gaze—and froze when he spotted Lady Morley, walking towards them across the lawn with a determined stride.

The maze was not too far ahead. Hopefully he would reach it before Lady Morley caught up to them.

* * *

Helena settled onto a bench facing the entrance to the Hipswitch maze and opened her grey silk parasol, sharing the shade with the Duchess of Skeffington. The day had been fruitless so far. The only other eligible duke who wasn’t decrepit was a recluse who never came to London. She had no chance of securing him, and the thought of sharing her marriage bed with a wrinkly old man, even if he was a duke, made her stomach turn.

Today she was focusing her quest on finding a marquess. It was possible Lord Boreham had enough funds to be the answer to her prayers. She was rapidly running out of money. She needed to work quickly, but she had yet to see him.

Her friend adjusted her gloves with a satisfied smile on her face. ‘I believe Lord Andrew missed his target today because he was distracted by my presence.’

The only reason Lord Andrew had missed the target was because he’d sneezed at an unfortunate moment. When would Lizzy learn that this brother of the Duke of Winterbourne had no interest in her?
The poor, deluded woman.

‘I asked Olivia if she thought her brother-in-law would be attending the Finchleys’ masquerade,’ continued Lizzy, ‘but she informed me she isn’t privy to Lord Andrew’s schedule and walked off rather abruptly. That was rather rude, was it not?’

‘Olivia and Winterbourne barely speak to one another. What would make you believe she would know what his brother does? Lord Andrew has made no advance towards you in ten years. Do you truly believe the man is attracted to you in any way? He barely acknowledges you.’

Lizzy huffed and turned away. ‘Have you chosen a costume for the Finchleys’ masquerade?’

This was Lizzy’s latest way of reminding Helena that she was the one married to a duke. She knew Helena had no association with the Finchleys.

She could go to the devil!

‘No, I’m afraid I’ve not been invited.’

Lizzy’s eyes grew wide with false innocence and she blinked. ‘Oh, forgive me. I was certain you would have been. The Marchioness is usually so generous with her invitations. The Americans are even invited. I wouldn’t have broached the subject if I’d thought an invitation had not been extended to you. That would have been most unkind of me.’

‘And you are all that is good and kind,’ Helena replied in an overly sweet manner.

‘My, you are in a foul mood today. If you’d had a desire to attend all the most sought-after pleasures of the Season perhaps you should have married a man who had a better standing than the one you did.’

‘It wasn’t as if I had a choice.’

‘Well, you should have selected a more discreet place for your romp with Wentworth, then.’

‘How was I to know that that area of his father’s estate had a riding path not far away? I thought he would have had more sense.’

‘I really did believe when we came out together you were going to be the one who made the best match. You were the most sought-after girl that Season. Well, there is no going back. You should try to improve your station now, at least.’

As if she hadn’t been trying for the last five years!

She had done everything possible to marry a marquess or a duke. And all her efforts had exploded in her face.

Lord Blackwood had even had the nerve to laugh at her when she’d reminded him that he’d promised to wed her if she helped him remove Lady Caroline Shaw from his son’s life. She’d never understood why he had wanted to separate her from Lord Hartwick, but if Helena had gained the title of marchioness and the wealth she deserved she really wouldn’t have cared. And now Lyonsdale had left her. She was running out of available wealthy men with prominent titles.

Miss Vandenberg strolled past them, deep in conversation with her friend. As they entered the maze Helena wondered for the hundredth time what it was about her that Lyonsdale found attractive.

‘I assume there is no opportunity to reconcile with Lyonsdale now that he is pursuing the American?’

Helena snapped her head towards Lizzy. ‘What are you talking about? That caricature was merely a political satire. Everyone has heard how involved he has become in the details of the relations between our two countries. There is nothing between them.’

‘That is not what Blackwood said when I spoke with him at Carlton House last night.’

If Lizzy mentioned dining at Carlton House one more time, Helena would be shoving her down a flight of stairs the next time the opportunity presented itself.

‘And what
did
he say?’

Lizzy’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile. ‘He said he found it vastly entertaining that after spending time in
your
bed Lyonsdale preferred an American. He said that if there was any truth to the notion that Lyonsdale would make her his duchess, then every member of the
ton
would finally say what he has always known to be true...that, as pretty as you are, you do not have the character of a real lady.’

Helena’s grip strangled her parasol handle.
Lord Blackwood should die a slow and painful death!

She would not be made into a mockery by Lyonsdale’s perverse interest in Vandenberg’s daughter. She would rather die than be the subject of the derision of the
ton
. Who would want her then? As it was, she was much older than the girls most men sought for a bride. And Wentworth had left her with no children. To any titled gentleman needing an heir that made her a questionable choice.

She’d thought she had seduced Lyonsdale sufficiently that he would be willing to take the risk. She had been wrong.

Lyonsdale couldn’t possibly choose an American over her. It would mean disaster for her marriage prospects. She knew Boreham valued his opinion more than any man should. If he thought Lyonsdale preferred an American over her, he never would consider her a suitable choice for his marchioness. She was running out of money. If she didn’t marry soon, she didn’t know what she would do. She couldn’t appeal to her brother for help. The insolent nob would rather see her live in the streets than offer her assistance.

As fate would have it, at that very moment Lyonsdale appeared from the path that ran along the hedgerow and strolled into the maze with Hartwick. The very same maze Miss Vandenberg had entered a short time ago. Helena clenched her jaw to prevent herself from screaming. It couldn’t possibly be true. He
couldn’t
have left her for an American!

‘Was that Lyonsdale who just walked into the maze? What an odd coincidence. I thought I saw Miss Vandenberg enter it earlier,’ Lizzy said with a bemused expression.

It was taking all Helena’s effort not to beat Lizzy with her parasol. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

This was not to be her fate. She would
not
be taken to debtors’ prison. She would find a way to end this association between Lyonsdale and the American for good—before it was too late.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A
s Katrina and Sarah strolled further into the maze the sound of rhythmic splashing grew louder. After making yet another right turn, they were rewarded with the sight of a marble fountain situated in the middle of a large gravel-covered square. The statue at the centre of the fountain was of a Greek or Roman woman, with water pouring from the urn in her hand and splashing into the pool below her. If Katrina had saved all the tears she’d cried over Julian they would have filled numerous urns.

She took off one of her white silk gloves embroidered with forget-me-nots and skimmed her fingers through the cold water in the fountain’s base. ‘It is lovely here.’

‘I told you we would reach the centre. Now let’s find a way out.’ Sarah marched across the clearing towards another break in the hedgerow.

Katrina watched the water droplets slide from her fingers. ‘There is no reason to leave. We are fortunate no one else is here. Can we not simply enjoy the solitude for a bit longer?’

Sarah took her time walking over to her, and sat next to Katrina on the rim of the fountain. ‘You cannot hide here forever.’

‘I have no intention of remaining here for the rest of the day. Just a few more minutes. Please?’

The noise of the garden party seemed far removed from where they were. Katrina closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the water splashing and the birds chirping. For a few minutes, at least, she could pretend she was far away, sitting on a rock alongside the babbling brook that meandered through her home in Tarrytown.

Only now she would be returning to a very different home. Her great-aunt would no longer be there. Her home would never be the same.

She took a deep, steadying breath. Miraculously, Sarah appeared content with the silence between them as well.

Then the sound of crunching gravel ruined everything. Their solitude would soon be interrupted. They agreed that it was time to leave and walked towards another opening in the hedgerow. Hopefully they would get lost for hours, trying to find their way out, and Katrina wouldn’t have to pretend her heart wasn’t shattered into countless pieces as they spoke to the other guests.

As they entered the hedgerow Katrina bumped into the large form of Lord Boreham. Sarah caught her by the elbow before she tumbled to the ground.

‘Forgive me, Miss Vandenberg,’ he mumbled, looking flustered after their accident. ‘I was not aware you ladies were in here.’

Katrina rubbed the back of her neck. ‘And we were not aware you were walking this pathway. I fear we are all to blame.’

He appeared to be grasping for something to say. She had no interest in prolonging an encounter with the man and thought it best to spare him the misery.

‘Well, do enjoy your time here, my lord. The fountain is lovely.’ She curtsied and edged around him, pulling Sarah with her.

He mumbled his goodbye just after they had turned the first corner on their journey out of the maze.

* * *

Julian stepped into what he assumed was the centre of the maze and was surprised to see Lord Boreham on the opposite side of a Grecian fountain, bent over with his bottom raised to the sky.

‘You present an interesting sight, Boreham,’ Hart called out over the splashing water.

Lord Boreham jerked his body into a standing position, his face flushed bright red. In his hand he held something white. As they strolled around the fountain and stepped closer to him Julian could see that the slip of white was a delicate silk glove with a line of blue flowers trailing down its length. Where had he seen it before?

His heart flipped over when he realised why it looked familiar, and he snatched it out of Lord Boreham’s hand. ‘Where did you get this?’ he demanded.

Lord Boreham went to take it back. ‘Miss Vandenberg must have dropped it.’

Her name felt like a kick to the chest. ‘And how would you know this is Miss Vandenberg’s?’ he asked, holding the glove out of Lord Boreham’s reach.

‘Because she was just here.’ He reached for it again.

‘I shall return it to her.’ Julian knew Hart was watching him. He didn’t care. This was all he would have left of Katrina, and he was not letting anyone take it from him.

* * *

The next night when Julian arrived home from Parliament he took off his tail coat, grabbed a bottle of brandy, and entered the portrait gallery to find some reassurance from the men who had come before him. He walked from painting to painting, studying the men staring down at him, as he drank from the bottle. They were all very good at appearing to be intimidating and grand, but they did look like a miserable lot. Had any of them been happy?

If anyone had ever understood the heavy weight of being the Duke of Lyonsdale it had been these men. They had known that life entailed sacrifice. They had known that their wants and desires did not matter. Every decision they had made had been made with the consideration of how it would impact their legacy. His father had understood this.

Julian took a long drink. The brandy burned all the way down.

He knew nothing of the women these men had married. Portraits of the duchesses hung in his various estates. He had never had any interest in looking at them before. Now he wondered about the women who had spent their lives alongside these men. Had any of them had the fire and charm of Katrina?

He pulled the flimsy white glove from his waistcoat pocket and touched the raised stitching of the forget-me-nots. He laughed to himself over the irony. He would never forget her, but he wondered if she thought about him at all—even for a fleeting moment each day. Did she feel the heavy weight of their parting? Did she long to hear his voice as much as he longed to hear hers?