The Dark Duke Page 11

  “How may I help you?” Damaris asked Reverend McKenna with a hint of annoyance, and Elliot noticed she did not rise from her seat at the piano.

  “I just thought…that is, I wondered, since your father is away, if you needed…If I could be of any assistance?”

  “Thank you, Reverend McKenna, but I can’t think of anything,” Damaris answered.

  “Oh, well, then, I’ll wish you a good day. Both of you.” He made a funny, awkward little bow and left.

  Damaris sat motionless for a moment, a small crease of worry in her brow as she regarded the door, until Elliot moved beside her. “Shall we resume?” he asked softly.

  She smiled at him and said, “Whatever you wish, Elliot.”

  Chapter Eleven

  That same afternoon, the duchess took to her bed with a mild stomach complaint, and Hester sought permission to indulge in the harmless, selfish pleasure of a walk to the town of Barroughby, a distance of nearly five miles.

  The day was cold, and the sky held portents of rain, the duchess pointed out.

  However, Hester wasn’t about to let the weather get the better of her, for she felt as if she had been imprisoned the past few days, so with quiet determination she showed the duchess that she was prepared, with her stout shoes—which the duchess kindly pronounced “hideous”—to keep her feet dry and warm. Her plain woolen gown and cloak would be ample protection against the chill air, and her bonnet, while unflattering, was a suitable barrier against the breeze.

  At last the duchess condescended to let Hester go, provided she made a preliminary selection of fabric and ribbons for the duchess’s new ball gown. The seamstress would, of course, have to come to the hall with samples for her to make the final choice, but Hester had been deputized to “sort through the unsuitable.” The duchess had so many restrictions and opinions on fabrics and colors, Hester hoped she had managed to get everything right when she visited the dressmaker’s shop.

  That duty now discharged, Hester was free to amuse herself a little while, or begin the journey home. As she lingered for a moment to look into the milliner’s window, she reflected that apparently she was not the only person who wished to be away from Barroughby Hall today. Jenkins had mentioned, with a worried frown, that the duke had ridden off “somewhere” shortly after breakfast. Lord Elliot had likewise departed for Oakwood, the home of the Sackvi He-Coopers.

  Not that their comings and goings should mean anything to her.

  She focused her attention on the bright bolts of fabric she could see through the glass, then smiled at her own silliness. She had been hard-pressed not to order a new ball gown for herself, which would have been a completely wasteful and unjustifiable expense. She had worn her blue velvet gown only once, at a party. To order another gown so soon was pure vanity and extravagance. Besides, even so attired, she would never be able to detract from the attention sure to be paid to Damaris. A new gown wouldn’t make a new Hester.

  A glance at the cloudy sky made her decide to go back to Barroughby Hall before it rained. She walked along briskly until she spied Reverend McKenna moving slowly along the street bordering the market square, his head bent and shoulders slumped, which was quite different from his usual purposeful stride.

  Perhaps something had happened to upset him. She knew he was much more involved with the welfare of the parishioners than the canon, who mainly concerned himself with the duchess and his tithes.

  “Reverend McKenna!” she called, and he halted and turned toward her.

  “Ah, Lady Hester!” he exclaimed softly when she reached him. “How do you do?”

  “Quite well, Reverend. Would you care to join me for some tea and cakes?”

  “Oh, thank you, no. I should be going. Mrs. Nandy isn’t very well today.” His brow suddenly wrinkled with concern. “You came to town all by yourself?”

  “Yes. I enjoy walking. I shall be quite safe in the daytime.”

  “Of course,” he replied with an absent air.

  “How are you?” she asked, noting that he was once again despondent. “You seem very tired. I know you are working too hard.” Or are you thinking about Damaris?

  Reverend McKenna regarded her thoughtfully for such a long time that she thought he indeed might be ill. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I am quite well.”

  Despite his effort to smile, she, thought she had never seen a man less happy. “What has happened?” she asked, putting her hand gently on his arm, and noticing that it wasn’t nearly as muscular as that of the duke, a thought she dismissed as quickly as it had arrived. “Is anything the matter?”

  “Not at all,” he replied at once.

  “How is Miss Sackville-Cooper managing without her father?” Hester asked, knowing that it was wrong to pry, but assuaging her doubts by telling herself she was trying to help.

  This time he made no effort to look cheerful. “Well enough, I gather.”

  Hester was quite sure she had ascertained the reason for Reverend McKenna’s despondency, but she had no idea how to proceed. It was a delicate subject, especially with one as shy as Hamish McKenna, and she had already overstepped the bounds of delicacy.

  “She is not lacking for company,” Reverend McKenna muttered in a barely audible voice before glancing at Hester. “Come, I will walk with you as far as the road to Barroughby Hall.”

  He must be upset to say even that much about Damaris, Hester thought as they went on their way. “Miss Sackville-Cooper has many visitors?”

  “Yes,” Reverend McKenna said, then he raised his head and looked at her, with a smile on his lips that did nothing to assuage the pain burning in his eyes. “It was very kind and generous of the duke to give the Bolbys the cottage,” he said, startling her with his abrupt change of subject. “Do you suppose Lord Elliot would have done the same?”

  It was on Hester’s lips to say “Of course he would,” but she did not. She could not be sure that Elliot Fitzwalter would be so generous even under duress, epitome of virtue though his mother thought him. “I would like to think so,” she answered at last.

  “He seems a fine young man,” Reverend McKenna continued, and now Hester was sure she grasped the clergyman’s trouble.

  “Miss Sackville-Cooper is like a lovely picture that draws many admirers” Hester said gently. “Yet she is not a lifeless object. She has a mind and opinions. She might be momentarily swayed by flattery or the words of another, but that doesn’t mean she will make her decisions based on such things. And the admirers may be flighty creatures who will soon be gone.”

  Words she would do well to heed herself, Hester thought glumly, her brief lapse of foolishness over. The duke would surely move on to greener pastures soon enough, and if he would not choose the untitled daughter of a knight, beautiful and rich though she may be, he would not want the homely daughter of an earl, titled though she may be. He would want beauty, wealth and title, and surely there would be plenty of families willing to dismiss the scandalous stories told about him for such a rich prize as the Duke of Barroughby.

  “Do you really think so?” Reverend McKenna asked.

  “Yes, I really do,” she affirmed.

  “I wish they were both gone!” her companion said with some venom. He saw Hester’s startled face and smiled ruefully, something she was glad to see. It was better than the utter hopelessness that had darkened his countenance before. “Lord Elliot is too handsome. He makes the rest of us look like haggis. And although the duke was generous to the Bolbys, I don’t like having such a man in the neighborhood.”

  “He owns the neighborhood,” Hester noted.

  “He does that,” Reverend McKenna acknowledged. “But to have a man of his reputation for a landlord!”

  It suddenly occurred to Hester that if she wanted answers to some questions about the duke’s past, this might be the time, and Reverend McKenna might be the very man to answer them. “Then the stories about the Duke of Barroughby are true?” she ventured.

  “I think some of them are exag
gerated. I hope some of them are exaggerated.”

  “What, for instance?” Hester asked.

  “Oh, I couldn’t speak of such things with you, my lady,” Reverend McKenna demurred with a modesty that would have done credit to many a young lady.

  “I’ve heard a few of the more recent ones, anyway,” she countered, “from my sisters and their friends. Besides, if I’m staying in his house, I should know with whom I’m dealing, don’t you think?”

  Reverend McKenna nodded slowly. “Very well, my lady. I hope I won’t offend you.”

  “I don’t think you will,” she replied, certain he would omit several of the more salacious details, an unnecessary chivalry, since her sisters and her friends spared no detail in their gossip. “Tell me what happened at Oxford.”

  “Ah, that. The start of his infamous career, or so Canon Smeech says. The duke got into an argument in a tavern about a woman, which turned into a brawl. A fire broke out. The place burned to the ground. Several people were injured, including the duke’s friend, the Earl of Ravensbrook, who was quite badly burned. The duke has never even gone to visit the poor man, they say.

  “The worst part of it was, the duke’s father, who wasn’t a well man when this happened, took to his bed after hearing about it. He died a short time later.”

  “How terrible” Hester said weakly.

  “There were other things at Oxford, too. Gambling debts, and…”

  “And…?” Hester prompted, noting the clergyman’s blushing face. “And more women?”

  Reverend McKenna nodded. “Several. Most of them soiled doves, or so I understand. Even here—”. The young man stopped talking and halted abruptly. “I really don’t think this is a fit subject for us to be discussing.”

  Hester silently agreed, for she had suddenly discovered that she did not enjoy hearing about the duke’s women.

  “It’s most puzzling,” Reverend McKenna continued thoughtfully as they resumed walking. “For a man like that to spend all night with a dying man…”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The duke sat with poor old Bolby all night, until he died.”

  “Really?”

  “Young Bolby told me so himself.”

  This evidence of a depth of devotion previously unknown in the duke pleased Hester more than she could have anticipated.

  Until she remembered the other women in the duke’s life.

  “Well, this is where I must leave you,” Reverend McKenna announced, and Hester saw that they were at the far end of the town, near the river. The road split, one way leading to the poorer homes of some of the townsfolk, the other toward Barroughby Hall. “Good day, Lady Hester.”

  “Good day, Reverend.” she said warmly. “Please remember what I said about Miss Sackville-Cooper. She does like you, you know.”

  Reverend McKenna smiled wistfully. “Liking is not what I want,” he said softly before tipping his hat and going on his way.

  After he left her, Hester quickened her pace, for another glance at the sky had shown her more gathering clouds. They were not yet as dark as they might be, though, and she judged that there would be time to get back to Barroughby Hall before it began to rain, a decision made easier by the knowledge that the only place she might conceivably seek shelter would be the rectory, the home of Reverend Canon Smeech.

  She decided to take a shorter route directly through the part of the town near the river, for the main road to Barroughby Hall skirted this rather run-down portion of the town. She could rejoin it on the other side. This area was not the best of places, but staying on the main road would add several minutes to her journey.

  The buildings here, made of stone and wood and combinations thereof, were used as warehouses by the several sheep farmers and wool merchants of the area. On the river, barges were being loaded and unloaded. At riverside taverns, polemen drank pints of ale until they were needed, beggars plied their trade and, she was sure, so did some pickpockets.

  Soon she came near the street she had heard whispered of by the servants when they thought she couldn’t hear—Stamford Street, where Sally New combe lived, despite the efforts of Reverend Canon Smeech. The canon made it very clear how Sally Newcombe earned her living, along with her “Jezebels” for it seemed she employed, if that was the right term, a bevy of other young women, too.

  Hester walked more quickly, anxious to get away from the place, and the remembrance of Reverend McKenna saying “even here” in reference to certain of the duke’s activities.

  What would it be like to be a prostitute? she wondered as she hurried along. To belong to a man like the Duke of Barroughby, for him to possess her body for an hour or a night? To feel his hands upon her, touching her, caressing her? His lips on hers, so strong and yet gentle, too.

  But then to be passed along like used goods to another man, one she might dislike on sight. One who might beat her, or even kill her.

  Hester suppressed a shudder, and hoped that the stories of the duke and Sally Newcombe were not true. After all, why would a man like him ever have to pay for a woman’s feigned affection?

  Besides, what was she doing even contemplating being in the duke’s arms for a moment, let alone a night?

  A few feet away was the start of Stamford Street. With renewed resolve to get back to Barroughby Hall, Hester continued on her way, albeit at a slightly more decorous pace, until the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones and a shout made her halt in her tracks.

  Chapter Twelve

  With a curse, Adrian reined in so sharply, Drake almost sat on his haunches. “Get out of my way, you fool!” he snapped at the stupid woman who had walked into the middle of the road as if trying to get herself killed deliberately.

  When he saw Hester Pimblett’s startled blue eyes in a very pale face looking up at him, he wished he had stayed at Sally’s. She gazed at him only a moment, then she lowered her eyes and blushed as if she had been the one leaving a house of ill repute, and he wondered if she had somehow guessed where he was coming from.

  Which was completely ludicrous. How could she?

  “What the devil are you doing in the middle of the street?” he demanded as he dismounted. “And in this part of the town, too.”

  “I might ask you the same thing, my lord, if I didn’t believe I already knew the answer,” she replied, darting a sidelong glance in his general direction and wrinkling her nose.

  It was only then he realized that he smelled of Sally’s perfume. He might just as well wear a sign that declared that he had been in the company of women, and with his reputation, she would probably make an assumption as to the kind of women. Unfortunately, she would be right, although he had not been a customer. “You might have been attacked, or robbed,” he declared defensively.

  “By an errant seller of perfumes, perhaps?” she inquired calmly. “I was on my way back to Barroughby Hall, and since the weather looked chancy, I took the shorter route.”

  “This is no place for a woman.”

  “It is no place for a duke, either,” she countered, and he was momentarily struck speechless by her impertinence.

  “If you will excuse me, my lord, I had better be on my way.”

  “You are always running away from me,” he noted.

  “Am I not supposed to?” she replied, pausing. “I thought you wanted me to beware of you.”

  Touché, my lady, Adrian thought ruefully. “Nevertheless, my lady,” he said firmly, “I must insist that I be allowed to escort you home.” He took hold of Drake’s reins and held out his arm.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I did not ask for your opinion. I will see you home. It is not safe for a lone woman to be on the road, not even to Barroughby Hall.”

  With obvious reluctance she laid her hand lightly on his arm.

  “Perhaps you would prefer me to walk some distance behind, like a eunuch following a potentate?” he asked, a small measure of annoyance creeping into his voice.

  She gave him a sidelong glan
ce. “Oh, I do not think anyone would ever mistake you for a eunuch, my lord.”

  Was she serious, or not? If she was, then she must be condemning his apparent activity today. If she was joking, she must forgive him. She had called him by the less formal title, and he took that for a hopeful sign. Suddenly, and uncharacteristically, he found he didn’t know what to say next.

  It was for Lady Hester to break the silence, and when she spoke, she didn’t look at him. “Why is the road not safe these days, my lord? Is it because you are here?”

  Heaven help me! he thought with despair, I said too much in the stable. She must think me the worst blackguard in the world—and with this stench about me, how can she not? “Because it is,” he finally said. “Why did you come to the village on foot? Would the duchess not permit you to use a carriage?”

  He saw that she was genuinely startled. “No, my lord. I wanted to walk.”

  “Next time you shall have the barouche, if you like.”

  “I prefer to walk.”

  As they continued some way in silence, Adrian found himself desperate to know what she was thinking, but afraid to ask. What if she was considering her escort the worst sort of man in the world? “Your family,” he said at last. “They are well?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He was so disgusted with this feeble attempt, he decided he would stay quiet.

  “Giving the Bolbys the cottage was most generous, my lord,” Hester said after several minutes.

  He looked at her, but couldn’t see her face because of her cursed bonnet. “It was nothing. They have been employed on the estate for years.”

  “Others would not have been so generous. I also heard…” She hesitated, and just as his curiosity was becoming nearly unbearable, she continued. “I also heard that you sat up all night with Bolby before he died.”

  He nodded his head, and wondered who had told her. Whoever it was, he was in that person’s debt for letting her know that however much she condemned him, he wasn’t completely evil.