The Duke's Deception (7 page)

The footman
smiled. ‘Yes, indeed. It’s nothing short of a miracle. No sooner was she placed
on the bed than she regained her wits. Miss Grierson is with her now.’

‘That is good
news indeed.’ She needed no instructions to find the library. If Lady Arabella
was well, why was her guardian still upstairs? Well the longer he stayed away
from her the better. She was dreading the forthcoming encounter. Yesterday she
would have waited with no qualms believing him to be weak minded and easily
bamboozled but his glare had given her fair warning. She knew him to be a
formidable opponent— not a man to be trifled with.

She paced the
spacious book lined room with growing agitation. Why was he taking so long? Was
he deliberately leaving her here to fret as part of her punishment? Then she
remembered Sam had been sent for the doctor. With a sigh of relief she sunk
into a leather covered armchair. Of course - that was the explanation. Sir
Theodore was waiting, as was only proper, to greet the doctor. He couldn’t come
to speak to her until then. Therefore it might be a while before he joined her,
time enough to select a book and read. This would take her mind of things.

She wandered
along the shelves looking high and low for a title to interest her. She saw on
the uppermost shelf an illustrated history on the flora and fauna of Essex.
From this she could discover a little more about the landscape she was living
in.

However, the
book was too high to reach even on tiptoe. She looked around for library steps
or even a stool to stand on. Seeing nothing she decided to climb up using the
shelves as a ladder. If she held up her skirt in one hand it would make the
task impossible; she would have to pray she didn’t become entangled as she
ascended.

She judged the
distance - not so very high - no more than two shelves above her outstretched
hand. What she had to do was slide one boot into the corner of the second shelf
and then the other onto the third. If she was careful she could, by balancing
on the upper shelf, reach out and take the book she sought.

In her desire to
reach her objective she’d quite forgotten the reason she was in the library.

She didn’t hear the heavy footsteps
approaching down the corridor or the door open behind

her.

‘Good God! What
the devil are you doing up there?’

She lost her
grip and fell backwards. He leaped forward too late was only able to cushion
her descent with himself. They ended in a tangle of arms and legs on the
Persian carpet. Not waiting to be told she rolled sideways and scrambled to her
feet, leaving her would-be rescuer spread-eagled in front of her.

She didn’t like
the look on his face. In fact she thought it would be wise to remain out of his
arm’s reach. His expression murderous he surged up and before she could make
good her escape his bulk blocked her path.

‘Going so soon,
Miss Devenish? I believe I have a few things to say to you before you depart.’
The words were innocuous but the steely glint in his eyes warned her not to
argue. She backed away until she felt the welcome touch of the armchair at her
calves. Quickly she dodged behind it and waited for the storm to break.

The only sound
in the room was his heavy breathing as he fought to control his rage. The

minutes dragged past and Marianne
felt a wave of nausea surge up. Desperately she searched for somewhere to cast
up her accounts; if she vomited all over his boots she would never recover from
the humiliation. She spotted a bronze urn and snatched it up.

‘Good God! Not
in there - it has a hole in the base. Hold on. I will open the window.’

She felt a
welcome draft of cool air as her head was unceremoniously shoved over the
window ledge. Mercifully in time as she lost the contents of her stomach
harmlessly over the flowerbed that ran down the side of the house.

‘Good girl. Are
you finished?’ She nodded, unable to speak and he lifted her in and carried her
to the armchair. ‘Sit there a moment and recover. Here, wipe your face on
this.’

A spotless
handkerchief was thrust into her hand and she did as instructed. She was too
weak to protest. She closed eyes and in the distance she could hear him
speaking to someone.

Then she sensed
he was back by her side. She flinched as she felt his hand touch her cheek.

‘Open your eyes,
you pea-goose. Look at me.’

Obediently her
eyes flickered open to find him staring back at her. He was crouching on the
floor beside her his expression friendly, his eyes amused. ‘I shall not strike
you. Though I own it was a pretty close-run thing. Had you had not been ill…’
he paused and his mouth curved, revealing a set of even white teeth. ‘Well -
that is past now. I have not struck a woman yet and I hope it may remain that
way. How are you feeling? You’re still a trifle pale.’

‘I am quite
well, thank you, sir.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper because for
some reason his proximity was making it difficult for her to concentrate.

There was a tap at
the door and he sprung to his feet. ‘Good, that will be the refreshments I
ordered.’

Marianne
shuddered. Surely he wasn’t going to insist she eat anything? That would be
punishment indeed. She watched as a parlour maid placed a tray on the mahogany
desk in the centre of the room.

‘Don’t look so
worried, sweetheart,
it’s
lemonade.’ He poured a glass
and carried it over. ‘Here you are, it will take away the foul taste and
restore you.’

Reluctantly she
took the glass and sipped. Her digestion threatened to rebel but she

swallowed vigorously and all was
well. And he was right, after the first few mouthfuls she did begin to feel
better. He watched then nodded, satisfied and pulled over a nearby chair and
straddled it.

‘If you are
feeling well, my dear, we have to talk. Shall we start with your stupidity in
front

of The Lion?’

Chapter
Seven

Marianne closed
her eyes. If she feigned faintness would he go easy on her? To her surprise the
censorious voice ceased and she risked a peak. He was watching her, leaning
back, relaxed, his long legs crossed, his hands folded behind his head happy to
wait until she was ready.

‘Try and stay
awake whilst I ring a peal over you - there’s a good girl!’

For a moment she
didn’t react then she was grinning and the tension between them vanished as if
it had never existed.

‘That’s much
better. I have always preferred my victims to be conscious when I chastise
them.’ The smile he directed at her left her breathless.

‘I do apologize
for causing Lady Arabella to fall. I had forgotten my mount has the strongest
dislike to being kicked.’

‘It was probably
the magnificence of Lady Arabella’s riding habit that impaired your memory,’ he
commented dryly. She spluttered trying hard to contain her giggles by putting
her hands to her mouth. He nodded his expression innocent. ‘I know, my dear,
but a habit like that is no laughing matter. Indeed, it was enough to frighten
the horses in itself without your precipitate departure.’

Through her
laughter Marianne managed to gasp. ‘She was not hurt you know
,
it was all a sham.’

He yawned as if
bored with the conversation then leant forward speaking in confidence.
‘A play act?
Do not say so! And the poor girl forced to
drink several noxious drafts in order to avoid brain damage!’

‘You did not?
No, sir, that was unkind of you. I did wonder why you were so long.’

He grinned.
‘Serves the little baggage right. She must think I am a veritable greenhorn to
be taken in by such antics.’

His words dropped
like an icy shower on both of them. He swore under his breath and sat up all
signs of fatigue miraculously gone. She no longer had the desire to laugh. They
stared at each other – assessing - reassessing. Finally he spoke, his tone
serious.

‘That was stupid
of me, was it not? I feared I had revealed rather more of my true nature to you
than I intended but still hoped to persuade you that you were mistaken.’

‘But I am not.
You are no more a town tulip than I am. Why are you dissembling, sir? From whom
or what are you hiding?’

He shook his
head. ‘I am sorry, Marianne, I cannot tell you. You will have to trust me. Can
you do that?’

‘I can.’ She
smiled. ‘And I feel far safer knowing your ennui is a facade. If I should need
protection from…’ she stopped, appalled, she had been about to remind him why
she had been sent packing from Bath.

He ran a hand
through his hair. ‘Protection from the man who seeks to abduct you and force
you into marriage?’ She nodded. ‘I can promise you, my dear, that he would take
you over my dead body.’ His tone was light but she knew he meant every word.

‘Thank you, sir.
I hope it will not come to that. It’s unlikely he will discover my whereabouts
in this rural spot.’

‘And you will
not betray me?’

‘No, of course
not. In fact I’ll enjoy baiting you knowing you cannot retaliate because you
are supposed to be too stupid to understand.’

He chuckled. ‘In
public no, but in private that will be a horse of quite a different colour.’

She giggled
unabashed by his scowl.

‘And that’s
another thing. I will not be called Sir Theodore, and sir, at every turn. It
makes me feel like Methuselah. I am eight and twenty not in my dotage.’

‘Then I am to
call you Theodore? Is that not over familiar? I have no wish to be involved in
any more breaches of etiquette.’ She tried to sound shocked by his suggestion.

‘Then you can
call me Cousin Theo if you prefer, after all we are related in some way or
other.’

‘Very well,
Cousin Theo it is. And you may call me Cousin Marianne.’

His eyebrows
raised. ‘Indeed I shall not. From henceforth you are Marianne. I am your
guardian; it’s for me to decide how I should address you.’

‘Am I to have no
say in it?’

‘None at all.’
He smiled. ‘As I am so much bigger than you it will be impossible for you to
stop me calling you anything I care to. If you don’t like Marianne, perhaps
there is another soubriquet I can use?’

Colour drained
from her face. Was she to be made to answer to Martha Frasier again? Instantly
he was on his feet, his face concerned.

‘What is it? Are
you unwell again? You have gone so white.’

‘I felt a little
faint, that
is all. It has been a morning of too many
shocks and too much excitement.’

Relieved he
leant down and ruffled her hair which was already in disarray. ‘I suppose I’d
better have Lady Arabella transferred to her barouche and escort her home. What
her poor parents will make of all this I shudder to think.’

‘I’m sure Lady
Arabella would much prefer her accident to remain a secret. Emily told me her
parents worry overmuch as she’s their only child. If you were to accompany her,
might not it give the wrong impression? They could misinterpret your concern
for something else entirely.’

‘I’m not about
to be trapped in parson’s mousetrap so easily, but I take your point.’

She allowed him
to pull her up from her chair, his light clasp sending unexpected tingles up
her arms. ‘I was sorry I missed my breakfast this morning but now I’m glad that
I did.’

‘And so, my
dear, am I. Shall we try again tomorrow? I doubt either Miss Grierson or Lady
Arabella will wish to accompany us again.’

‘I can’t
tomorrow, cousin; I believe the seamstress is coming with some of my new gowns.
I must be there to try them on.’

‘Of course you
must. In that case I will call for you in my phaeton at three o’clock.’

‘Phaeton?’ She repeated
faintly. ‘But is that not one of those horrid contraptions that tip and bounce
and threaten to evict the passengers at every turn?’

‘Not in my
hands. I am a noted
whipster
. I’ve never had an upset
not even on my last race from Piccadilly to Brighton.’

‘It’s reassuring
to know I am to be driven out by someone who races a phaeton through the
streets of London on a regular basis.’

He laughed out
loud. ‘If you promise to behave I might even allow you to take the ribbons.’

She smiled.
‘Then your carriage will become a dangerous vehicle indeed, for I am a complete
novice. I’ve only driven a pony and trap and not even that very often.’

Talking
companionably like old friends and not recent acquaintances, they left the
library and walked slowly along the sunny passageways to the substantial
entrance hall. Emily was waiting there alone.

‘Oh, there you
are, I was becoming most anxious, Sir Theodore. Arabella has gone home. She was
quite restored and wished to return.’

Relieved she
wouldn’t have to see Arabella again that morning Marianne rushed forward and
embraced Emily warmly. ‘I am sorry we parted on bad terms. I beg your pardon. I
should not have spoken so about your dearest friend.’

Emily looked
perplexed. ‘I have quite forgotten what we quarrelled about. I’m not one to get
in a dudgeon about anything as you know.’

Theo
interrupted. ‘I have asked for the horses to be brought round. Are you ready to
depart?’ The girls nodded and followed his tall figure down the steps.

After a late
breakfast, her appetite having returned, Marianne retreated to the library to
read in peace until the time came to change for dinner. Her borrowed gown was
now repaired and ready to be worn. A hesitant tap on the door, much later,
disturbed her concentration. Impatiently she asked the intruder to come in.

Emily peered
nervously around the door. ‘Marianne, Mrs Dawkins is here. Is it not exciting?
She says she took on several new girls in order to complete the work and they
have come a day early. Mama has asked us to go upstairs for a fitting.’

‘Wonderful. Have
you seen any of them yet, Emily?’

‘No, they are
all packed away in boxes.’ Emily smiled, her
 
eyes sparkling with anticipation. ‘But there was a mountain of them. She
must have completed a great many of the gowns.’

They ran upstairs
eager to see what Mrs Dawkins had brought. Marianne was especially curious as
she had left the choice of her gowns to another. For some reason she now wished
to be
all the
crack and the thought of the plain, dull
gowns awaiting her inspection gave her a decidedly lowering feeling.

She left Emily
at her parlour door and hurried on down the long passageways and round the
corner to arrive breathless outside her own apartment. She burst in and found
to her surprise Mrs Dawkins had come to fit
her
and not gone to attend on Lady Grierson. The seamstress was standing
birdlike by the open boxes, her face alight.

‘Good afternoon,
Miss Devenish. I have the majority of your order completed. There are two more
evening dresses, your ball gown and a habit to come, but the remainder of the
gowns and undergarments are here.’ She waved her hands theatrically over the
foamy tissue but didn’t lift one up for inspection.

 
‘If you would like to go through to your
chamber your dresser is waiting. I will bring the gowns to you one at a time.
Where would you like to start?’

Marianne had no
hesitation. ‘I would like to start with morning, then afternoon, then riding
habits and finally the evening gown ‘

‘Exactly as I would have suggested, Miss Devenish.’
Mrs
Dawkins was practically bouncing and Marianne began to suspect the gowns were
not to be a disappointment after all.

‘Have you seen
any of the dresses, Jane?’

‘No, miss, but
from what I’ve heard I think you’re in for a delightful surprise.’

Marianne felt a
small bubble of happiness inside her at the thought of a certain gentleman’s
reaction when she appeared in her finery.

Standing in her
chemise and bare feet she shivered. Jane had made her wait with her back to the
door so she couldn’t see what was being fetched. She heard the soft rustle of
fabric and she raised her arms and in the spirit of the occasion kept her eyes
closed. The gown, or perhaps a petticoat, slid over her outstretched limbs and
slithered to her ankles. It had no sleeves so had to be an undergarment.

She raised her
arms again and this time the dress was dropped over them. She heard Jane
chuckling as she and the seamstress twitched and tucked. ‘Keep those eyes shut,
miss, it’ll be a shame to spoil the surprise.’

Marianne felt a
sash being tied into a bow but neither woman spoke. Unable to bear the suspense
she opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the full-length glass.

Who was this
beautiful stranger staring back at her wearing a morning gown of deep rose cotton,
the only ornamentations the pale pink sash that tied under her bosom and a row
of matching rose coloured buttons that ran down the front of the bodice? It had
a high neck and close fitting three quarter length sleeves.

This was not
pastel or white and neither did it have bows or frills, but it was as far from
plain as she was herself. ‘This is lovely, Mrs Dawkins. I cannot tell you how
much I like it.’ She stopped and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I thought ones
morning gowns were not meant to be seen by others but this is far too beautiful
to be kept hidden. I shall wear it when I go out for a drive tomorrow.’

‘No, miss,
there’s something much more suitable for driving.’ Mrs Dawkins chuckled. ‘No,
you cannot see for you have all the others to try first.’

Marianne stepped
in and out of dozens of gowns each one more fetching than the last. The vibrant
colours, from gold to turquoise all emphasised her complexion and hair.
Eventually she had had a surfeit and called a halt.

‘Mrs Dawkins,
they all fit to perfection. Each one I’ve liked better than the last. I’ve no
need to try on any more. They can be put away unseen. I know they will be
perfect. Thank you so much.’

‘But what about
the pelisses and
redincoats
, slippers and reticules -
are you not going to look at those either?’

‘I thank you,
but no. They can remain a pleasant surprise. I will wear the cerise evening
gown tonight, Jane. It’s almost time to change for dinner.’

The mantua maker
departed delighted her expertise had been appreciated and promising to return
in a few days with the remainder of the clothes. By five o’clock Marianne was
dressed and ready to descend secure in the knowledge she had never looked so
beautiful.

Her evening
dress had a short train upon which the merest hint of beaded decoration had
been placed. The neckline was modest but even so it made her feel sophisticated
and confident. She tilted her head and her ringlets bounced.

She frowned. ‘I
have thirty minutes before I must go down. I wish you to crop my hair, Jane, I
saw several fashion plates with the style I want. I hate all these bobbing
curls. Cut them off.’

Her maid was
horrified. ‘No, miss, I could not! Your hair’s so lovely and long enough for
you to sit on it.’

‘And it takes
four hours to dry and is so heavy it gives me sick headaches.’

‘If you’re
certain, but you realize it will take years to grow back. Once it has gone
that—’

‘Jane, I want
you to cut it. Stop prevaricating please.’

Unwilling to
crease her gown Marianne slipped it off and with a towel round her shoulders
sat in front of the mirror and waited whilst Jane pulled out the pins. She
almost

changed her mind as she watched her
locks cascade down her back in a wave of gold. But the decision was made. It
would come off. She would have a haircut as modern as her fashions.