Duchess 02 - Surprising Lord Jack (11 page)

Shakespeare gave him a reproachful look.

“Yes, I know you like her, but you’re a dog.” Still, Eliza had also liked Miss Hadley, and Eliza didn’t like many people. She’d even trusted Frances enough to hold her hand.

But Eliza didn’t have to marry the woman and live with her until death, which might come awfully quickly if he really did tie the knot.

“Look at it from my point of view, old boy.” Jack counted on the fingers of the hand not holding his brandy. “One, I’m only twenty-six years old. I am far too young to marry. Both my brothers married young with disastrous consequences. Two, I hardly know the woman. Three, I don’t like what I do know.” That was not entirely true, but it made no difference because . . . “Four, she doesn’t like me, largely due to the fact, I suspect, that five”—he held up his thumb—“she doesn’t like men in general.”

He was not going to put down his brandy to enumerate any more reasons. Five was more than enough. Even Shakespeare agreed. He’d laid his head on his paws, conceding the argument.

“I should wash my hands of her. If she thinks she can live happily in a cottage by herself somewhere, who am I to gainsay her?”

But that was the brandy talking. Miss Hadley couldn’t possibly know how vicious and pervasive London gossip was. He wouldn’t be surprised if it reached all the way across the ocean to the Colonies. There was certainly no hope of escaping the whispers anywhere in Britain.

It was one thing to not seek company; it was quite another to be forcibly excluded from it.

“I can’t let her do it, Shakespeare.” He hated to see women hurt; he hated even more to be the cause of their pain. Yes, he’d had only the best of intentions—he didn’t fault himself in the slightest—but his intentions were of no consequence. Her name was going to be linked to his, and because of that, her reputation would be blackened—as would his, at least among the people whose opinion he valued. “I can’t let her go back to the country thinking her life will go on as blissfully as she imagines.”

Shakespeare barked twice and beat his tail on the hearth in an encouraging fashion.

“But she won’t let me help her.” No amount of brandy could cloud his thinking on that point. Miss Hadley was completely disinclined to listen to sage male counsel. He’d wager she’d rather have sticks shoved under her fingernails first. There must be some way—

Of course! He got up and went back to the desk. Shakespeare stretched and padded after him.

“Miss Hadley may not listen to me,” he said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the drawer and picking up a pen, “but she will not be able to withstand my mother. Much as I hesitate to admit it, Shakespeare, I need the Duchess of Love.”

“What is it, Mr. Dalton?” Venus, Duchess of Greycliffe, forced herself to smile at the butler—it helped keep the annoyance out of her voice. She thoroughly enjoyed her annual Valentine house party—this year more than ever, with three matches, one of which was Ned’s—but it
was
exhausting. The last guest had finally departed, and Ned had ridden over to the vicarage with Ellie and her parents. Even Ash had left. All she wanted was to put her feet up and relax. She’d retreated to her private sitting room to be alone.

Well, not
completely
alone. Her husband was sprawled on her chaise longue, reading. He’d glanced up when Mr. Dalton entered, but had gone back to his book once he’d ascertained the butler hadn’t come in search of him.

“This just arrived for you, Your Grace.” Mr. Dalton held out a silver tray bearing a letter. “One of Lord Jack’s servants brought it.”

A letter from Jack? Her heart jerked and started to thud so hard she could barely breathe. Her vision narrowed to that white rectangle. Jack had left just last night—why was he writing now? Or was the letter written by someone else on his behalf? Had the boy crashed his curricle? Was he injured or . . . worse?

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious, Your Grace,” Dalton said quickly. “I did ask, and the man said Lord Jack was well.”

Her breath rushed out. “I see. Thank you.” She took the letter and was happy to see her hand trembled only slightly.

Dalton went off, and she looked over at Drew. He’d sat up, his finger marking his place in his book.

“What does the letter say?”

Yes, she should find out, shouldn’t she? She broke the seal. “It says . . . oh! Oh my goodness. Hmm.”

“Out with it, Venus. You’re suddenly scowling at that poor sheet of paper, but I cannot imagine anything Jack would write that could possibly provoke such a reaction.”

“Well, then you need to be more imaginative.” She was not going to let some scheming, grasping hussy force her son into wedlock. “He—wisely, I suppose—committed very few details to paper. However, somewhere between here and London, he acquired a young woman and needs us to come to London with all possible haste. I think perhaps he’s afraid he may need to marry her.”

“What?”
Thucydides’s
History of the Peloponnesian War
hit the floor with a thud. “That’s ridiculous. Jack’s no saint, but he’s not a careless rogue.”

“Oh? My friends tell me he has quite a scandalous reputation.” And she was quite sure her friends spared her the worst of the talk.

“Idle chitter-chatter. The
ton
loves to gossip, and if they don’t have any details, they will make them up. You know that.”

“Yes.” That was certainly what she’d hoped. “But I also know Jack is a bit secretive about his London dealings. Just consider that ridiculous taradiddle Ash told us about Jack having ‘urgent business’ in Town. What business could he possibly have that was so urgent he needed to set out on such a cold, icy night?”

Drew raised one of his eyebrows. “Well, I suspect—as I’m sure you do, too—that the urgency this time was caused by Miss Wharton. But Jack does have projects in Town, though there’s nothing the least bit scandalous about them.”

Venus narrowed her eyes. “You know something that you haven’t shared with me?”

“Yes.” Drew bent over to rescue Thucydides and put him on the table. “I am a damned duke. I hear things.”

“But you’re supposed to share everything you know with your wife—at least things that pertain to our sons.” Venus felt—well, she wasn’t sure how she felt. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, but this is Jack’s secret. I only know by hearsay, and I don’t know all the details. He will tell us if and when he wants to.”

“But you
must
give me a hint!”

Drew regarded her, clearly deliberating. She pressed her lips together. As much as she wanted to, teasing him would only make him refuse to say another word.

Finally, he sighed. “Very well. I will only say that I believe he’s involved in helping young women and children.” He shrugged. “Perhaps this female is one of the ones he’s assisting.”

Venus felt a flutter of pride. She’d always hoped there was something solid and responsible under Jack’s laughter and recklessness. She’d spent many a sleepless night worrying about him. At best he seemed rather careless. At worst—well, she did not care to be the mother of a rake.

She studied the letter again and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. He says so little, but . . . no. He clearly needs our help to avoid parson’s mousetrap.”

“Let me see.”

She handed him the missive, but there was nothing to decipher. “If it was summer, I’d suggest we leave immediately, but with night coming on . . .”

He scanned the letter, brow furrowed, and then handed it back to her. “And the cold and the possibility of ice. No, we’ll have to wait until morning to set off.”

“I’ll tell Mr. Dalton. Mary and Timms can start packing our things so we can leave as soon as the sun is up.”

Drew groaned. “And here I was so happy to see the backs of our London guests. I don’t know that I can stomach another dose of the
ton
—and a much larger dose, at that—so soon.”

“You know you can. You’d do anything for your boys.”

“Damn boys.”

Venus smiled. Drew might grumble and complain, but it was very true—he
would
do anything for his sons, as would she.

“If Jack is concerned he’ll be forced to marry, there must be some gossip involved. We don’t want to add to that, so we can’t make it look as though we are rushing to his aid. But we’ve never come up to London so soon after our Valentine party—and everyone knows only wild horses would drag you to Town a moment before you needed to be there.” She tapped her finger against her lips—and then smiled. “Of course! We will announce Ned’s and Ellie’s betrothal.”

“Oh, I’m sure our recently departed houseguests have already done that.”

“
And
introduce Ellie to society.”

Drew grimaced. “Except for that one ball gown you had Mary make for the birthday ball, Ellie’s wardrobe is . . .” He cleared his throat. “Won’t Ellie need to see a lot of dressmakers before she can take her bows?”

“But where better to visit dressmakers than London? I will send word to Ellie’s mother at once, and of course tell her we will foot the bill. After all, Ellie is betrothed to our son.”

“Yes, and I think it would be wisest if she was very quickly married to him. The
ton
may be a great collection of idiots, but each one of them has learned to count to nine.”

Venus nodded. She was quite certain Ellie had not slept in her own bed last night. “Ned can get a special license, and they can be married next week at Greycliffe House. I’m sure Ellie’s parents will come up to Town for that.” She grinned. “Oh, there is so much to be done!”

She was no longer feeling the least bit tired.

 

 

Mrs. Watson was not a magician nor could she spin gold from straw. Miss Hadley appeared in the small dining room wearing an oversized gray frock—clearly one of the servants’ dresses—with a high neck, not-quite-long-enough sleeves, and an incongruous yellow ruffle tacked to its hem. And Jack would swear he’d glimpsed the scuffed boots she’d been wearing all day peeking out from under her skirt.

“You don’t have any tall maids,” Frances said, clearly noticing his startled expression at the ruffle. She scowled. “I told Mrs. Watson I could just come down in my breeches—it isn’t as if you haven’t seen me in them—but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said you’d have her head.”

Miss Hadley’s tone was defensive and rather accusatory.

Jack snorted. “Mrs. Watson has been housekeeper here since before I was born. I assure you she’s far more likely to scold me for not behaving as she thinks I ought than to worry about my displeasure. But she is quite right. You can’t wear the breeches.” Though in her formless frock and short, ragged hair, Miss Hadley still looked like a young boy, albeit one forced to wear his older sister’s clothing.

She did not provoke the slightest tremor of male interest in him—a depressing state of affairs if he was indeed going to be forced to marry her.

He gestured to the table. He’d told Braxton they’d serve themselves. The conversation was going to be awkward enough without having servants listening in. “Come sit down. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve ordered only a light meal. I usually take a tray in the study or my room the first night I’m back in London.”

“I would have been happy eating in my room,” she said, taking her seat. “Where’s Shakespeare?”

“I left him sleeping in the study.” Jack frowned and looked toward the door. Should he have woken the animal and brought him along? Shakespeare had seemed well behaved, but . . . “I do hope Mr. Dutton taught him proper, er, manners along with all his other tricks.”

“I’m sure he did. Shakespeare must have shared the man’s quarters, don’t you think? I can’t see how he could have roamed the streets, as a general rule.”

“Very true. Let’s hope your theory is correct.” He would check on him after dinner and ask Richard or William to take him out again. He reached for the decanter. “Would you care for some Madeira?”

“Yes, thank you.” She leaned forward as soon as he moved to pour his own glass. “I’m determined to go see Puddington in the morning. You could come along if you like—I’m sure he’d be very impressed to see you and would be more likely to cooperate. And then once I have my money, I can be on my way.”

He wished he could do as she asked. She’d ride out of his life, and everything would return to normal. If no one had seen them at the inn, he’d be tempted.

Whom was he trying to fool? Even if they hadn’t been seen, he couldn’t pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t occurred. He couldn’t ignore Miss Hadley’s shock and dismay at her brother’s surprise marriage, and he couldn’t let her turn herself into a hermitess.

And in any event they
had
been seen.

Miss Hadley might believe nothing had changed, but she was wrong. Everything had changed. He had no choice—unless Mama found him a way out of this mess.

“No.”

Her brows snapped down. “What do you mean, no?”

“No. It’s a simple word—one of the first words children learn, I believe.”

She looked as if she’d like to pick up the fricassee of turnips sitting by her elbow and dump it over his head.

He smiled to take the sting out of what he had to say. “We went over this in the study. I will not let you try to vanish into the countryside. Your reputation is quite ruined, but more importantly from my point of view, my reputation will be ruined if I allow you to do as you suggest.” He picked up the carving knife. “May I offer you a slice of beef?”

“I am twenty-four years old, for God’s sake. If I wish to live in disgrace, I can damn well do so.”

“Don’t shout. And it is I who doesn’t want to live in disgrace.” He gestured to the beef. “One slice or two?”

“One, thank you,” she said through her teeth.

He tightened his hold on the knife in case she chose that as a weapon in place of the turnips.

She took a deep breath. “I do not understand why you are being so pigheaded.”

He laughed as he took some beef himself. “Perhaps I am merely taking my example from you. Could you pass the turnips—after you help yourself, of course?”

She slapped a spoonful on her plate and pushed the bowl in his direction. “Why won’t you help me? You must want to be free of me.”

He did, but it was too late for that. Unless Mama came up with some brilliant plan, he’d never be free of her.

“I
am
helping you. I’ve sent a messenger with a note to my mother. She should arrive in the morning.” Mama would know if there was an honorable escape for him that didn’t involve meeting Miss Hadley at the altar. She was the Duchess of Love, after all, not of marital misery. “Would you like a muffin?”

“Your
mother
is coming?” Her jaw dropped, and her eyes grew so wide they really did look as though they might start from their sockets.

“I expect so.” If she didn’t want a muffin, he did. They were one of Cook’s specialties. “I can’t swear to it, of course. She
might
throw my letter in the fire, but knowing Mama, I’m willing to wager a tidy sum she’ll leave Greycliffe Castle at first light and tell John Coachman to spring the horses.”

That sounded unpleasantly like a moan. Miss Hadley
was
a bit green about the gills.

Blast it, she wouldn’t be desperate enough to try to sneak off during the night, would she? She must know that would be futile. And it was dangerous, too, especially while there was some maniac roaming the streets, killing women. He would have a word with Braxton about securing the doors.

He reached for the dish of buttered prawns. “I’m sure Father will come as well—he hates London, but he won’t let Mama travel by herself. My brother Ned and Ellie, his betrothed, might accompany them, but that’s less certain.”

Miss Hadley had dropped her head into her hands.

“Do try Cook’s buttered prawns. They are quite good.”

She looked up at him. “Are you mad?”

“No, they really are extraordinary.”

“What?”

“The prawns.”

She actually slapped her hand on the table. “I am not talking about the bloody prawns.”

“Miss Hadley, your language!”

He could almost hear her teeth grinding. “Good
God
, you are the most annoying, infuriating, unbearable man I have ever encountered.”

“I find that hard to believe. Most people think me very accommodating.”