I've Got My Duke to Keep Me Warm (The Lords of Worth) (10 page)

Jamie fought to curb the anguish that welled up at the memory and tried to answer the duchess with the same blunt detachment that had characterized the question. “Most of the officers’ horses, Your Grace, had more intelligence than their riders.”

The duchess grunted. “Wellington implied the same thing. Said there was even one regiment that came back with only twenty out of the three hundred and fifty it had started with. Is that accurate?”

“Yes.” He pushed the word out through gritted teeth. Goddammit, but he needed a drink.

The woman made a notation on the paper with a stub of a pencil. “A hobby of mine,” the duchess said. “Perhaps someday I’ll write a book. Regardless, your name was oft mentioned in the propaganda doled out to the civilians in London to assure us that England’s domination of the world was always well in hand.” She was watching him
keenly, though not without some sympathy. She replaced her paper and closed the doors, and the snap of the latch was like a gunshot in the space.

Jamie didn’t trust himself to speak and instead only nodded.

“I can see the resemblance now,” she said. “I met your father during my first season, you know. Only once, but I remember him well. Your grandfather had just brought him to London to find a bride.”

Jamie grasped the change in topic with alacrity. “My father always maintained the journey wasn’t a total loss. He enjoyed the horse races and sales,” he offered weakly.

“I am glad he found something to enjoy, for I have never met a man more miserable and heartsick in my life.” The duchess tipped her head in memory.

“It ended well,” Jamie replied, aware Gisele was giving him a strange look.

“Not for you,” the duchess said, her sharp, shrewd look back.

“I have no complaints. I’ve wanted for nothing in my life.”

“Your grandfather’s obstinacy cost you the title.”

“My grandfather was a tyrant. And he died alone and unhappy.”

“Stop,” Gisele finally interrupted. “I seem to have missed something.”

The duchess cut her eyes to Gisele, then back to Jamie. “My, my, but you really have been holding out.”

“You said you were a bastard,” Gisele said.

“I am.” Jamie sighed. “By law.”

“By law? What does that mean?”

“It means I was born out of wedlock. It means my father married my mother after I was born.”

“Your mother was the Duchess of Reddyck?”

“Yes.”

Gisele was frowning fiercely at him. “How long after you were born were they married?”

Jamie heaved another sigh, aware the duchess was still watching him like a hawk. “Two hours.”

“Two
hours
?” Her voice rose incredulously.

“What does it matter?” Jamie asked. “As you so delicately assured me on another occasion, you are not interested in the lurid details of my conception. It changes nothing.”

“Ah, but there you are wrong.” The duchess was tapping a bejeweled finger against her chin. “You, Mr. Montcrief, are teetering on the fine edge of the peerage. Regardless of the law, you are still the eldest son of a duke and his duchess.”

Jamie scowled. “Not relevant. I have no designs on the title,” he said. “Ever.”

The duchess cut him off with a wave of her hand. “But it is, Mr. Montcrief. It is very relevant, given the circumstances.” She turned to Gisele. “Mr. Montcrief’s father had fallen in love with the daughter of the brewer from the village nearest his estate. He fully intended to marry her and informed his own father, the duke, of his plans. The duke forbade it, threatened to have the girl’s family ruined and run off should the young man proceed. Within a fortnight, Reddyck had rented a townhome in London and thrust his son into the full lunacy of a London season with the sole intention of finding a
suitable
bride for the future duke.”

“And?” Gisele had perched herself on the edge of a chair. “He did, I am assuming?”

Jamie threw up his hands in defeat.

“Of course he didn’t. Over the duration of the season, Mr. Montcrief’s father came to the conclusion he couldn’t live without the beautiful girl he had left behind. He bought a fleet horse, procured a special license, and rode as fast as he could back to the love of his life, intending to marry her, his father’s wishes be damned.”

“So what happened?” Gisele’s brow was creased.

“He didn’t ride fast enough,” Jamie said wearily.

“He didn’t ride fast…” She trailed off, looking at him in horror. “She was already pregnant and he didn’t know?”

“No. She didn’t tell him, afraid of what the old duke would do to her, her family, and her unborn child if he thought she was trying to trap his son into marriage.”

“How could he not know she was pregnant?”

“He was away for almost the entire season,” the duchess reminded her. “Who would have told him? He had no way of knowing.”

“Bloody hell.” Gisele slumped back in her chair before looking up again at Jamie with speculative eyes. “So the current Duke of Reddyck is your younger brother. Your full brother.”

“Yes,” Jamie replied curtly.

“If he had a patron of significant rank and with his exemplary military service, Mr. Montcrief would be welcome in any club and any establishment he should choose.” The duchess gazed at him speculatively.

“It gets him in.” Gisele was speaking urgently. “Into a world even Iain couldn’t get into.”

“To do what, exactly?” Jamie asked, to remind them he was still in the room.

“I don’t know,” Gisele admitted, more to the dowager than to Jamie. She bit her lip and gestured in Jamie’s direction. “I had thought originally that I—we—would come back and just stop this wedding. But…”

“It’s not enough, is it?” Eleanor spoke softly.

“No. It has to end. Otherwise the cycle will continue. Even without Lady Julia, there will be another. And another.” The statement was bleak.

The Duchess of Worth turned an assessing eye on Jamie. “How committed are you to helping Miss Whitby?”

Jamie frowned. “I am unsure of your meaning, Your Grace.”

“Miss Whitby seems to think you are genuine in your commitment to the terms of your… employment. But what she has done and continues to do is to defy convention and custom and law, and there are many, many people who will not and cannot accept this breach of constancy. If we are to go forward here, I must determine if you are a man who will be able to see this to the end.”

Jamie felt his irritation surge as he met the duchess’s eyes squarely. He had tolerated this entire charade for far too long, and his nerves were raw. “You called me a war hero,” he said hoarsely, “when I walked in. But war is not a game of chess pieces that can be righted once they get knocked over. Every man who fought beside me and never made it back from the battlefield wasn’t a statistic for me to note in a ledger. He was someone’s hero too—a brother, father, husband, or son, no different from me, and we struggled and bled and sacrificed together.” He forced
himself to take a deep breath and temper his tone, aware his voice had become ragged with emotion.

“Perhaps I’m not qualified to offer an opinion on the edicts of marriage, but I am of the mind a wife should be no different. Your own heroine at your side who might share the sacrifices, the struggles, and the victories. My mother was my father’s greatest ally and he her most fervent supporter. She was never made to suffer abuse or depravity simply because, by law, she became his property on their wedding day.”

A long silence descended in the room, broken only by the sound of a piece of coal shifting in the grate.

The duchess swallowed and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mr. Montcrief, for your honest and candid answer. That will suffice.” She paused. “And you have my apologies, for whatever it’s worth.”

Jamie rubbed his face with his hands, feeling suddenly exhausted. A week ago he had been in the middle of nowhere, lost to himself and to everyone around him. There had been no need to examine his principles or his beliefs under such a bright beam, or any light at all for that matter. He had been anonymous, numb, and miserable. And it had suited him fine. He had deserved nothing more. But now he’d been forced to start living again. And it was strange and painful. The constant guilt was still there but it was now accompanied by a sense of purpose. And the hope that maybe—just maybe—by embracing this cause, he would somehow, in some small way, make amends for his past failings.

The duchess had moved to the mantel, fingering the plumage of one of the mounted birds. “Do you know why these are here?” she asked Jamie suddenly.

“Your Grace?” He was startled by the abrupt change in topic.

“The chickens.” She gestured to the hen in the cage and the room around her in general.

Jamie stepped closer to the fire. “One might assume it is because you enjoy the company of poultry.”

The duchess smiled then, and Jamie caught a glimpse of the beauty she must have been as a girl. “One might assume that, yes. But I am interested to hear what it is you assume, Mr. Montcrief.”

Jamie continued to hold the duchess’s gaze, recognizing the question for the test it truly was. “Very well, Your Grace. One might also then conclude that the Duchess of Worth is starting to slip in her dotage. That her mind is not as sharp as it once was. That she has developed eccentricities that, because she is a duchess, must be tolerated. Strange behavior in a great lady that has become expected and never questioned. And with careful planning, it can also help camouflage certain righteous—but forbidden—pursuits that would shock polite society, or perhaps even land a person in prison.”

A slow grin of approval spread across the duchess’s face. “Heavens, if I were thirty years younger.”

Jamie couldn’t help the faint, answering smile that touched his own lips. “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

The grin slowly faded, replaced by a cold determination. Her voice dropped to a whisper, one that Gisele could not overhear. “Has she told you what Valence did to her, Mr. Montcrief?”

Jamie shook his head slowly. “She has told me a great deal, but no, she has not confided in me the specifics. I am trying to imagine.”

“You can’t.”

Jamie felt chilled despite the stifling room.

“Valence needs to be stopped, Mr. Montcrief. Lady Julia has no idea what that man is capable of. Society has no idea what that man is capable of, and that is what makes him dangerous.”

Jamie considered her words, the venom in them unmistakable. “Given the conversation of the last minutes, Your Grace, I must, in turn, ask what your stake is in this. Why help a woman of no relation to you? Then or now?” He was direct and unapologetic.

The duchess smiled a sad, tired smile and was silent for a long moment. “When Gisele was first brought to London, she reminded me a great deal of myself. Innocent, trusting, dazzled by the sparkle and trappings of unimaginable wealth. Yet sometimes beneath that glittering facade lies an ugliness never exposed to the world, for if it were to be uncovered, the shame and the humiliation would be intolerable.” She looked past Jamie at Gisele, who was watching them. “I never had the courage to do what she did. I endured and hid my shame from my children and friends until the day my husband died. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Jamie knew how much those words had cost her.

“Good.” The steel was back in her voice. She moved back toward Gisele. “I had prepared myself for the task of creating a wealthy gentleman out of Iain’s replacement, one who might move freely along the edges of polite society so as to best determine how to orchestrate Valence’s downfall. You, however, Captain, have exceeded all expectations. The very pedigree you have successfully ignored for so many years will become our ammunition.
I will be arranging the triumphant return of a war hero, and not just any common war hero. Captain James Montcrief, after all, is not only a courageous, valiant leader of men, but he is the son of the late Duke and Duchess of Reddyck, who were, I’ve just remembered, dear friends of my youth.” She glanced sideways at Jamie. “Prepare yourself to embrace the role, Mr. Montcrief. We all have our regrets, but the next sennight is not the time to dwell on whatever yours may be. Understood?”

Jamie nodded, the enormity of what he was getting himself into beginning to become clear.

The duchess was pacing now. “It would not only be natural but expected that I would welcome Mr. Montcrief with open arms when, after years of faithful service to His Majesty, he has returned to enjoy all the pleasures London can offer.” She picked up a tiny silver chicken and stared at it. “I might be considered peculiar but I still have the power to unleash an eligible bachelor upon society in a style few others will ever achieve. Expect to become the gallant cavalryman convention demands. Can you do that, Mr. Montcrief?”

“Yes.” Jamie forced the word out.

“Excellent. There is a suite of rooms waiting for you at the Albany.”

“The Albany?”

“A suitable address for the image we are creating. My nephew occupies the suite when he is in London. He is, however, in India or some other untamed place at the moment and is not using it. It is family money that pays for the suite, and therefore it is family who may decide how it’s used in his absence.”

“Of course,” Jamie murmured.

“The apartment also includes two attic rooms for servants. A gentleman of substantial means, such as yourself, will have a valet at the very least to see to the details of his personal and public life, not to mention his wardrobe.”

“Sebastien.”

“Yes. You will also employ a housekeeper, though she will be invisible in her role.” She swung around to face Gisele. “As much as it would please me to have you stay here, I cannot risk it. There are too many who come and go who still might remember the stunningly beautiful and elusive Marchioness of Valence, and short of locking you in
my
attics for the next few nights, I can’t avoid the risk of an inopportune encounter with a wayward guest. But you need to stay close. Of everyone, for better or worse, you know Valence best. If we are going to expose him, we will need you and the information you possess.”

Jamie felt overwhelmed. Everything seemed to be happening incredibly quickly.