Awakening His Duchess (10 page)

“Hate is not so different from love.”

Beau’s ears grew hot and his fingers tightened on his
snifter. “How will you deal with your brother?”

Mazi’s gaze slid away. “My brother is not my wife.”

“What if she asked your brother to get rid of you? What if
she is even now living happily as his wife?” Not fair of him to take one of
Mazi’s biggest fears and throw it back at him, but the man was insane to
suggest he should attempt to repair his marriage with Yvette. “Would you still
want her back?”

“I only hope she still lives,” said Mazi refusing to be
baited.

“Then I am not as good a man as you because I would have
preferred Yvette died in the revolution.” Beau wanted to pull back that
declaration as soon as he heard the words. He didn’t think of himself as
vindictive.

Mazi opened his book and turned his attention to the pages.

Tomorrow he’d apologize to Mazi for tormenting him about his
wife and reminding him of the brother who had sold Mazi to slavers. The same
brother who, by the custom of their people, should have taken Mazi’s wife and
children as his own after Mazi disappeared.

The fire crackled and a log shifted in the grate. Mazi
stretched out his bare feet to the flame. None of the servants would have had
feet large enough to loan a pair of shoes to him.

Beau recollected that he didn’t always have the next day or
the next to straighten things out. His weakened lungs could give out on him in
the night and he might never wake. And no matter what had happened since, if he
had it all to do over again, he would have told Yvette the truth sooner. Even
if the illusion of her love had shattered, his life would have been a thousand
times more palatable than the degradations he’d suffered in the last decade. “I’m
sorry, my friend. I should not have spoken about your wife so. She would not
have betrayed you.”

“Perhaps Yvette did not betray you either.”

Beau let out a sound like steam escaping a pot. Mazi might
be older than him, but Beau didn’t want to listen to any advice he had to
offer. “Don’t be against me in this. It is bad enough I shall have to fight my
father.”

How could he fight his father when he had promised God to be
a dutiful son and make the duke proud if he got out of that mud-filled grave?

“I only know what I saw.”

Beau didn’t ask what Mazi had seen. Yvette could fool
people. She’d fooled him as a young man. She’d obviously fooled his father. The
last thing he needed was her fooling his friend. But Mazi was going to tell him
anyway.

Mazi steepled his index fingers and tapped them against his
lips. “Your wife was afraid of me, but she was more afraid for you when you
started to fall.”

Chapter Six

The bedchambers had no doors. Yvette jolted to a stop in the
middle of the massive private sitting room, staring at the archways leading to
the two sleeping chambers of the second suite. The sitting room was a
completely interior room. Doors would have blocked the light from the
bedchambers’ windows, but that rationale didn’t make Yvette like the open archways
any more.

She wouldn’t be able to lock and barricade her door. The
last thing she wanted was Beau thinking she was available to him.

“Your chamber is on the left, my lady,” said her maid, scooting
by with the basket of toiletries. “His lordship’s is to the right.”

Perhaps she and Beau could manage to avoid each other—the
suite was spacious. But if not...

She’d rather he didn’t realize she was here. Her bed wasn’t
visible from the sitting room. Although light from a burning lamp or fire in
the fireplace would be immediately obvious to anyone entering the room. Perhaps
if she was in bed with her lamp blown out, he wouldn’t know she was in here.

“I shall not require a fire,” she said to a maid who’d just
entered with a bundle of firewood.

“Yes, my lady.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and detoured to the
other bedchamber.

She didn’t want another confrontation with him tonight. In
the morning she would have to face him and that would be soon enough.

Yvette’s chest squeezed. How could she hide when he would be
sleeping just a few feet away? She crossed to her bedchamber and cautiously
stepped inside.

The tent bed was big enough for two, unlike her own in the
room she’d taken near Etienne’s on the nursery floor. As a widow twice over
there was no need for her to have a large bed.

“The dressing room is just through here.” Her maid walked
through the primrose yellow and pale green room. “I’ll put your things in
there.”

“Did you bring my medical case?”

Her maid cast her a sharp glance. “I’ll bring it next.”

Yvette drew in a slow breath. Having the case near made her
feel more in control or perhaps better prepared to flee.

 
“Is there a second
entrance through the dressing room?” asked Yvette. One could hope.

“No, ma’am. Seeing as this set of rooms is the end of the
wing, there’s only the one door into the main passageway.”

Yvette peeked into the long narrow dressing room with two
windows that ended in a flat wall. No doubt to create servants’ entrances they
would have had to cut into bedrooms on either side of the passageway, but it
did explain why the sitting room had no outside walls.

Under other circumstances she might have appreciated the
completely private nest the layout afforded, but all she could think was there
was only one means of escape, short of going out a window thirty feet above the
ground.

The maid plopped bottles on the dressing table causing
Yvette to jump with every clink. “I’ll just remove the rest of Lady Arrington’s
clothes.”

The décor reminded Yvette of her sister-by-law who would
return home to find her place usurped. Lady Arrington already thought Yvette an
interloper, now she was taking her room. “Save it until the morning.”

Yvette
wanted to be in bed long before Beau arrived. “By chance does she have a riding
habit that I might borrow?”

“Would you like to borrow one of her nightrails?” asked the
maid. “She has several with ribbons and lace...”

Yvette’s face went hot. “No, that won’t be necessary, and please
leave my dressing gown on the foot of the bed.”

She wanted to be prepared if Beau confronted her in the
night. If he wanted the other... Yvette’s spine tightened. She didn’t know how
she’d deal with him. A week ago she would have said she’d give anything just to
have another night in his arms, but with the way he looked at her with disgust
in his expression—her dreams had been so different.

“Pity,” sniffed the maid.

Then again if he never wanted her again, her memories of her
all too brief marriage might be built on nothing more substantial than spun
sugar.

*~*~*

“Don’t be taken in by Yvette. Butter wouldn’t melt in her
mouth,” Beau warned Mazi.

The African had simply cast a skeptical glance and then
immersed himself in his book again.

Beau grabbed a volume on agriculture and tried to make his
mind twist around the subject, but gave up when he’d read over the same text
twice without a word of it penetrating past the images of his son and Yvette
swirling in his head. Instead of pretending to read he stared at the flames in
the fireplace.

He and Yvette had created a miracle on that all-too-brief
wedding night. The last thing he’d expected upon returning home was to learn he
had a son.

After a while he said good night to his friend.

“Rest well,” said Mazi.

As Beau entered the main hall, Finley materialized out of
the shadows. The servants were always at the ready, silently watching until
they were needed. He wouldn’t be surprised if Finley knew everything he’d said
to Mazi. “My lord, you have been installed in the second suite.”

Beau jerked to a halt at the base of the stairs. Those had
been his older brother Arrie’s rooms. “Doesn’t my brother’s widow still use
those rooms?”

“Her things are being moved to a lesser suite.”

So they were wasting no time in putting him in his proper
place as the heir apparent. That’s how things were done in this household. The
first suite was for the duke, the second for the heir, the third would be
Etienne’s when he moved out of the nursery. But everything was spinning so fast.
Beau hadn’t gotten used to the idea that both his brothers were dead.

His hesitation must have confused Finley.

“Would you like me to lead you there?” the old retainer
asked.

“I believe I can find my way.”

“Very good, sir,” said Finley. “Will your friend be retiring
soon?”

“I don’t know. He’s reading. Where have you put him?” asked
Beau. For a second he almost hoped they’d put Mazi in the second bedchamber of
the suite, but the servants would no doubt consider that odd.

“Mr. Mazi is in your former room.”

Beau allowed himself a wry smile. Finley was undoubtedly
taking no chances on Beau being dissatisfied with the arrangements.

“If you need anything else tonight, let me know.”

“I’m certain everything is top notch, thank you, Finley.
Good night.”

Finley gave a startled nod as if he wasn’t used to being
acknowledged. Beau racked his brain to remember if he’d been rude to the staff
in his youth. He distinctly remembered an occasional casual thanks tossed in a
servant’s general direction, not that he’d ever looked them in the eye and let
them know it was more than a rote habit. He didn’t think he’d been rude so much
as he hadn’t really noticed them. He doubted he could return to that attitude.
Not when he’d been on the other side of the coin for ten years.

He climbed the familiar staircase, but it felt different. He
was different, not just older but wiser, he hoped. Yet he’d made a hash of his
life, impulsively marrying Yvette in his youth. Even if the marriage had been
of questionable legality, he’d meant to make their union incontrovertible at
the first opportunity. No doubt he would have been shackled to her for life
before learning what a she-devil she was.

He’d loved her then. And they’d produced Etienne.

He wanted the boy, to acknowledge him as his legitimate son,
but keeping Yvette as his wife stuck in his craw. Feeling as if he weighed more
than a dray wagon, he pulled on the railing to take another stair.

Saint-Domingue was a disaster now with many of the records
destroyed in fires lit by the former slaves. No one would be able to prove the
marriage if Beau repudiated the union. But Yvette being part of the bargain was
like the Devil wasn’t done with him yet.

If she followed his orders and stayed out of his sight, perhaps
he could tolerate her presence until he could banish her to one of the lesser
estates.

His leg threatened to give out on him and his lungs burned
from the exertion of the stairs. So eager to be home, he really had done too
much walking today. Still, he wouldn’t let a couple of flights defeat him.

He turned left to go to the far end of the corridor and let
his foot drag as he limped slowly along. He might have to swallow his pride and
use a walking stick. Pausing at the third closed door he rested his hand on the
wood. William’s room.

It must have killed his father to think he’d lost three
adult sons. And as cruel as Will and Arrie had been as only older brothers can
be to a brother four years younger, Beau wished they were here—alive, well.

He let his hand slid away from the wood, disappointed to
feel only emptiness. William was no longer there.

He never expected to be first in line to inherit the duchy
and had never prepared for it. But he gathered Etienne was being trained as
Arrie and Will had been.

As he neared the suite at the far end of the hall, a footman
sprang off a bench. The same one that had tried to shoo him to the kitchens.

“My lord, I’m here to assist you.” His expression eager, he
reached for the doorknob.

“I don’t need assistance,” said Beau.

The footman appeared crestfallen.

Ten years ago would he have noticed? Beau hesitated. “Bit of
a promotion, is it?”

The young man’s shoulders rolled. “Only if you were to keep
me on.”

Beau rubbed his forehead. It might be nice to have a
personal servant who was unable to hide his thoughts behind a composed
expression. “I suppose I’ll need someone to care for my clothes, once I have
some. What’s your name?”

“Digby. Clarence Digby, sir, my lord.” The boy practically
tripped over his words.

“Well, Digby, I need clothes to wear tomorrow. I’m not
particular. Just find me clothes that fit. I don’t care if they belong to a
gardener.”

Digby’s head bobbed up and down eagerly. “Yes, my lord,
sir.”

“And I suppose arrange for a tailor to come and a cobbler
for my friend as soon as possible.” Beau bit off the command to forget the
my lords
and
sirs
. Formality was expected here. His father wouldn’t take his
democratic views lightly. “And for God’s sake don’t stand there in the way,
Digby. I don’t think this will work if you are always barring my entrance.”

Digby blanched, then recovered himself enough to say,
“Certainly, my lord.” He opened the door and stepped back to allow Beau through
first. His voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “I took the liberty of laying a nightshirt
on your bed and a dressing gown, sir. Would you like to be woken at any certain
time, sir?”

“I’ll ring for you.”

“Would you like coffee or tea first thing, my lord?” Digby’s
eyes darted into the room then lowered, and his question was still in a whisper.

Damn, what did Digby’s wait in the hall and lowering his
voice signify?

God forbid they’d put Yvette there. Surely not since he’d
not made an announcement of his decision to acknowledge his son and marriage as
legitimate. Or had she taken it upon herself to make the room arrangements?