The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) (24 page)

Elise realized her aunt had left the soldiers long since and was standing by, watching the drama unfold.

“I have a funny little plant in the garden called aloe vera, my dear. It contains a sap that we can use for a salve. It will stop the stinging and heal your blisters. The duke is right. We must get home.”

The viscount had returned without the villain. Elise read anger and frustration in his flashing eyes. At once, he stepped behind the bar and began ladling soup next to Fanny.. “Are you seriously hurt, Elise?”

“She’s blistering, and I’m worried about her eyes,” the duke answered. “I’m taking her home.

Shaking his head in obvious disgust, the viscount said nothing.

Fanny said. “I pray you’ll have no permanent damage to your beautiful face.”

Elise thanked her as the duke came to collect her for the cab. He held one hand and her aunt held the other all the way to the townhouse. She was too shattered to mind. That soldier had been angry at her. Angry because she was not doing enough.

Halfway home, the duke gathered her in his arms and held her close. “Oh my dearest love, you are so brave. Not a tear.”

“I am not brave,” Elise protested. “I suspect I am only in shock.” The nurturing attention of the duke was filling her with welcome emotions she could not be troubled to identify.

Too soon for her liking, they reached Blossom House. The duke bade the hackney driver wait for him. “I’ll be off to Harley Street in a few moments.”

He helped the ladies to alight. Elise put her ungloved hand into his and would have smiled but for the fact that her face felt like a rigid mask.

Once inside, Lady Clarice excused herself and bustled out to the garden to get her unusual plant. Ruisdell put his fingers to her face again.

“Little blisters are starting to form all over. Believe me, that’s better than large blisters. There is a good chance you won’t be scarred, my darling.”

“Don’t call me that, please.” She was trembling again, her wet clothes sticking to her.

“Sorry, my love. If you give me your doctor’s name, I will fetch him for you.”

“Dr. Finch. Sixty-four Harley Street.”

“I will love you even when your poor face is peeling and the new skin looks raw.”

He left her. She went upstairs to change into her wrapper and go to bed. Would her limbs never stop trembling?

Elise felt as though the duke were drowning her in velvet caresses. How long could she resist this treatment? Taking the news clipping out of her dresser drawer, she set it out where she could see it every time she sat at her vanity table.

By the time the doctor arrived, her aunt had already spread the soothing salve from the aloe vera plant over her skin.

Dr. Finch greeted her in his normal astringent manner. “The duke tells me that some miscreant threw a bowl of steaming hot soup in your face! That will teach you not to fancy yourself Lady Bountiful, my dear Miss Edwards.”

She wanted to tell the fat doctor with the liver lips that she was not his dear. Most likely he was a hardened Tory.

“I am not familiar with aloe vera, your ladyship,” he said to Aunt Clarice. “It is rather a sticky substance. Have you used it before?”

“Yes. Cook told me about it. Once she spilled boiling water on her feet. The nurse at her place of employment had a little plant growing in her room. It is good for diaper rash as well. Cook said it was as soothing as the dew from heaven. And she showed me her scars. You will find this hard to believe, but they had almost disappeared.”

“Well! I see I shall have to plant myself some aloe vera. How does your face feel, my dear?”

“Amazingly cool,” Elise told him. “And I begin to think that my eyes are fine. They burn a little, but I can see clearly.”

“Well, you will probably not want to go out into society for a few weeks. You have got a crop of blisters. They’ll dry up in a few days and then the first few layers of your skin are going to peel. The epidermis underneath will be quite red. But do not put powder on it. That could cause an infection. You want to keep it as clean as possible. Be certain your hands are clean when you apply the aloe vera. If that does not work, buttermilk is said to be healing.”

“Will I be scarred?” Elise asked with dread.

“It’s too early to tell. I can give you a better answer when we see how many layers of your skin peel off. Are you in any pain?”

“No. I was, but the aloe vera took it away.”

“Good. Then I won’t leave you anything to take. It’s better not, you know.”

When the doctor had left, Elise said, “I think I just want to take a nap. Suddenly, I feel quite exhausted.”

When the curtains were drawn and everyone had left her, Elise closed her eyes and tried to compose herself for sleep. The trembling would not stop, however. Every time she shut her eyes, she winced as she saw the malevolent face of her attacker and the bowl of soup flying toward her.

Eventually, she found a way to deal with the horrid replay of the event. She concentrated instead on the tenderness in the duke’s eyes as he touched her face ever so lightly with his fingers. Would he really still love her if her face turned bright red and stayed that way for the rest of her life?

Of course not.

IN WHICH THE DUKE OF RUISDELL SEEKS TO PROVE HIS LOVE

On his way home to Shearings, the duke repeated to himself over and over again, “Thank the Lord I was there!” Though he would not have had such a horrid thing happen, he had been able to use knowledge gained on the battlefield to lessen the effects of Elise’s calamity. And she had not been in any state to send him about his business, as he no doubt deserved.

What should he do next? Flowers, of course. Once home, he gave the matter some thought. Which variety would show his appreciation of her to the greatest extent? How did he think of Elise in terms of flowers?

As Richards drew off his topcoat and removed his boots, he considered this question. When he thought of the woman he loved, he first thought of her eyes—those midnight blue windows into her thoughts. They could crackle in anger, twinkle in amusement, and soften in sympathy. Deep blue gentians. Descending to his library, he looked for his grandmother’s book on the meaning of flowers.

Suddenly, he broke into laughter.
Look at me! The worst rogue in England studying up on the language of flowers, trying to match my sentiments! And what are those sentiments? Nothing less than complete, utter surrender to this foreign emotion called love. It appears to be turning me into a man with all the backbone of a sponge!

Despite her very appropriate anger at him over his long ago bet, he had never been so happy. All the clichés about love were true.
I would give her the moon if I could, though heaven knows what she would do with it
.

Ah! There it was.
The Language of Flowers
. He looked up gentians and was delighted to discover that two of its meanings were supremely applicable: “You are unjust.” “Intrinsic worth.” Perfect.

When Richards returned with a large bouquet of the flowers that were actually in full bloom in September, he attached his card, which said, “Though gentians have many meanings, I chose them first for your eyes which taught me to love you. Their meaning is “intrinsic worth” which tells you that I adore you for the beauty of your soul, which will never change but only become more beautiful. R.”

He sent the footman off to Blossom House with the flowers and card immediately, his heart warm inside his breast.
Thank you, God, for sending Elise into my life
.

The vision that had haunted him since his return to London resurfaced, and he gave himself over to it: Elise in her bedroom in Yorkshire in
dishabille
, her eyes sparking fire at him, her glorious hair curling against her face and down her back, and her figure dressed in that delightful silk wrapper. He wished he had a portrait of her at that moment. She had been magnificent! Though virtuous, his love was no milk-and-water miss. Perhaps when they were married, he could convince her to have her portrait painted with her hair down, wearing midnight blue. Maybe he would even have to anger her, just to get the eyes right.

He sat up late into the night, indulging his fantasies with the brandy bottle at his elbow. Imagine that hair, curling over her naked bosom! Imagine that long, lithe body in his arms. Only a passionate woman would have thrown that inkwell at him. And today, she had cuddled against him in her pain with all the willingness of a woman in love. He swallowed a mouthful of brandy and commanded his body to cool off and think of something less arousing. Surely, he was a rake to think such thoughts when poor Elise was suffering so.

At the canteen, he had taken notes regarding the skills of each of the soldiers, their service, and their desires for work. Now he considered the problem of how to be an intermediary between the unemployed soldiers and those members of the
ton
who might employ them at least as part-time or one-time workers. He would have to be subtle. Men of his class did not like to be reminded that there were people going hungry while they gambled and rode to hounds. He briefly considered deserting his own party and becoming a Whig, whose consciences were marginally more sensitive. But, after more thought, he determined to stay a Tory and work change within his own party. He would consult that noted Whig hostess, Lady Susannah Braithwaite, about his idea. She would guide him, he was certain. Plus she was close to Devonshire, the most devout Whig in the House of Lords.

The following day, he breakfasted at ten o’clock, and then, turned out in his burgundy colored coat, black pantaloons, and waistcoat, with white linen shirt and cravat, he felt himself ready to storm Elise’s dwelling in order to see how she did.

Lady Clarice and Lady Susannah welcomed him in the navy sitting room. Henry Five was there, evidently indulging in a nap inside his shell underneath a table.

He asked, “How is Elise today, Lady Clarice?”

She sighed. “Abed still. She had a bad night last night. The shock set her trembling, as you no doubt noticed, and she did not settle until the wee hours. As you would expect, she kept reliving that awful moment. She is such a gracious, giving soul that it was all terribly unexpected and bewildering.”

He asked, “Has she received her bouquet?”

“I sent it up this morning when she woke. It was certainly was lovely, Your Grace. I am afraid her spirits are very low.”

“Confound that beggar! I would not have had Elise or anyone suffer what she did, but the fact is that many men became a bit unhinged by the effects of war. And, of course, it is compounded by their inability to find work now.”

He explained his idea and the problem he faced putting it into action, seeking their advice. Lady Susannah, her head to one side, mused, “It is all in the presentation. Do you have the resources to hold rather a grand ball?”

Taken aback, he answered, “Well, I have a ballroom. And adequate funds. But I have no hostess and would be hopeless at planning something of that nature.”

Lady Clarice said, “I would gladly act as hostess. Sukey, what do you have in mind? People at a ball are not likely to want to hear about our soldiers’ dilemma.”

“Like I said, it’s all in the presentation. We must contrive to make the ball
la denier cri
. We must have people vying for invitations.”

The duke followed this line of reasoning. “How do you propose to effect that?”

“First, you will allow your intention, as a single gentleman—a duke, no less—to throw a ball to make its rounds of the
ton
. That alone will be a novelty,” Sukey said. “Then begin the rumor that it is to be a benefit ball and that certain key gentlemen will be attending. Like the Duke of Devonshire, for instance. I can guarantee his presence and that of other noted Whigs. Speaking of which, you’re in a fair way to becoming a Whig yourself!”

“I think I can do far better in the Tory camp, stirring up some sympathy in grateful hearts. There are many ex-military men in my party, you know. Only a military man can realize exactly what service these men have given fighting Bonaparte.”

“You are undoubtedly correct,” Sukey said. She looked admiringly at her tortoise who had stuck his head out, obviously intending to join the party. “I think we must then appeal to the gentlemen’s gaming instincts. Offer a prize. A week’s hunting from your hunting box, if you have one. Or a monetary prize. The only people who can participate in this lottery will be men who have undertaken to place one of our soldiers in the way of work.”

“I told Sukey about the notes you took at the canteen,” Lady Clarice said, excitement penetrating her voice. “You could have a piece of vellum for each man with his skills and needs. Anyone who wanted to enter the lottery would have to take the vellum and pledge to help one soldier!”

“Yes!” the duke responded enthusiastically. “Splendid! I think it would be best if I offered a cash prize. A thousand guineas?”

“Oh, surely that is too dear,” Lady Clarice exclaimed.

“I don’t think they would do it for less. All right. This is a magnificent plan. Thank you, ladies. Perhaps we should put our heads together to come up with an initial guest list. I shall get Somerset to start the gossip at White’s that I mean to hold a ball with a benefit lottery. I’ll even let the amount of the prize slip. And the fact that it is to be an exclusive ball.”