The Dark Duke Page 15

  “I am sorry to have to tell you, however,” Adrian continued, “that Lady Hester is ill.”

  “Oh, dear, I hope it’s nothing serious,” Damaris said, genuinely concerned.

  “A cold,” Adrian replied lightly, “and we hope it disappears quickly.”

  “Perhaps it’s catarrh,” Sir Douglas said. “Tell the duchess I recommend a mustard plaster. Does the trick for me every time.”

  “It would be a pity if she were too ill to attend the ball,” Damaris observed quietly.

  “She’s worked very hard for it,” Adrian agreed nonchalantly. “As a secretary, she is indeed a marvel,” he continued, with a dismissive and languid wave of his hand that purposely contradicted his words. “My stepmother finds her quite invaluable. Unfortunately, she’s so quiet and unobtrusive, I have the most terrible time remembering she’s in the room.” He smiled at Damaris in his most charming and seductive manner, making it very clear that he could certainly not forget that she was in the room.

  Damaris frowned and regarded the duke with a look of scorn that marred her lovely brow. “I think she’s very nice,” she said with a flash of temper. “And very kind and very sweet.”

  Sir Douglas cleared his throat so suddenly and so loudly, it was as if a gun had gone off. “Of course, I’m sure the duke meant no criticism,” he said, turning red and casting a fierce and condemning look at his daughter. Obviously he did not think a union of the duke and his daughter to be a hopeless thing yet. “She is quiet and sweet, of course. Just not a lot of spark to her, eh, Your Grace?”

  “She will no doubt make some quiet country gentleman a fine wife,” Adrian said, hating the character he had to play and deeply wretched at the truth of his words.

  He tried to think of something to turn his thoughts from such disturbing channels, and remembered what Hester had said. If he could not be happy, perhaps he could at least help his tenants, and a truly deserving young man.

  “I have been thinking that Reverend Canon Smeech’s gifts are quite lost in such a small parish,” he said. “I have a friend who’s related to the Bishop of Lincoln, and I seem to recall that they need a new dean at the cathedral. It has occurred to me that might be the very place for the canon. Then, of course, the living here will fall vacant, and I believe we have a fine candidate for the position in Reverend McKenna, provided he can pay for it, of course.” Adrian was sure the Scots clergyman could come up with, oh, say, five pounds.

  “Oh, he would be an excellent choice!” Damaris exclaimed, her eyes shining. “His family is quite well off, so I’m sure the cost of the living will not be beyond his means—” She paused, suddenly doubtful. “Provided it is a reasonable amount.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it will be too expensive for a man from a well-to-do family,” Adrian said. “I believe he will go far in the church,” he continued, so that Sir Douglas could not doubt that Reverend McKenna stood high in the duke’s favor. “He seems a most able pastor.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve noticed,” Sir Douglas said brusquely. He caught Adrian’s questioning glance. “Your Grace,” he added quickly and deferentially.

  “Many people sing Reverend McKenna’s praises. I am not deaf to them. Of course, once he is the pastor, he will need a wife.”

  Damaris started. “He will?”

  “I should think so,” Adrian said calmly. “I daresay most of the unmarried women in the parish already have their eye on him.”

  He let his words hang in the air for a moment.

  Damaris frowned and flushed a deep red as she looked away. Her father eyed her warily before turning his attention back to Adrian. “I suppose he would be quite a catch for one of them,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “He would be quite a catch for any woman!” Damaris suddenly declared as she raised her head and glared at them with flashing, defiant eyes.

  “He is a wonderful man!” Damaris continued passionately. “A most kind, generous, sweet-natured—” She saw her father’s expression. He was regarding her with a look somewhere between disbelief and confusion, rather like a man being told his ship was sinking in a foot of water, for it was undeniably clear where his daughter’s true affections lay. “He is everything a clergyman should be. I am proud of his acquaintance, and I would be more than proud to be his wife!”

  Adrian hid a small, self-satisfied smile. He had guessed that while Damaris might be momentarily flattered and overwhelmed by Elliot’s attention, when she realized what she stood to lose, she would make the better choice.

  And she had.

  Hester lay in her bed, her throat still somewhat hoarse and raw, and her head achy, but she knew she was nearly better and would be fine by the next day. As for today, she was quite willing to remain in bed, alone and untroubled by the duchess or any member of her family, even if that meant all she had to do was think about recent events.

  Maybe the time had come for her to leave Barroughby Hall. Things were getting too confusing, her emotions too unsettled, the relationships within the family too fraught with conflict. As boring as life with her parents or sisters might be, she was beginning to realize that boredom, with its attendant calm, had a certain attraction.

  She couldn’t be sure about anything where her own relationships with the Fitzwalter men were concerned. One moment she was certain the duke cared for her; the next, he acted as if she were of less concern to him than his horse. Lord Elliot was inevitably charming, and yet nobody had ever made her feel more uncomfortable.

  She could not believe that the duke had any nefarious designs on her, despite her vulnerable position. Indeed, when she considered how he had looked at her that morning in the library, and again yesterday, before Lord Elliot had arrived in the barouche, she thought if anyone was vulnerable, it was the infamous Dark Duke.

  It had to mean something that he revealed that side of himself to her. To be sure, that first time in the library, he had been caught unaware. But yesterday, when he had said what he admired about her, when she had been thrilled beyond measure, then there had also been that sense that he was wounded and needed her help, help she would be only too glad to provide.

  Why would a man like the duke pay any attention to her at all if he didn’t like her, at least a little?

  But today, as the afternoon progressed and the duke still did not return, Hester was forced to face the truth.

  Which was that she was falling in love with a man who would never marry her. Probably would never even think of marrying her, despite his complimentary remarks. His attention had flattered her vanity, and probably meant nothing to him. Unless she wanted to face continual heartache, she should leave.

  Hester resolved that she would stay at Barroughby Hall only until the ball. She had worked hard on the preparations, and she had every right to be there, but then she must go.

  Forced awake by the commotion in the hall, Hester reluctantly opened her eyes and surveyed her bedroom. By the angle of the moonlight shining in the tall windows, she guessed it to be shortly after midnight, and a glance at the ornate clock on the mantel confirmed her suspicions.

  “I said, take your bloody hands off me!” an angry male voice slurred. Unfortunately, since the duke and Lord Fitzwalter sounded very similar, she couldn’t be quite certain which of the two it was.

  A thump that sounded like a fall followed hard upon the words, and Hester threw back her bedclothes, determined to see what was going on. She quickly put on her robe and cautiously opened the door, peering into the dim hall.

  She was not pleased by what she saw, for it was immediately obvious that it was not Lord Elliot who was the worse for drink, but the duke, who faced his brother angrily as he swayed drunkenly. “I said, don’t you touch me, you…you…!”

  “What?” Lord Elliot asked in a whisper just as fierce, his arms akimbo. “What am I, Adrian?”

  “You know bloody well! Leave me alone!”

  “All right, then, I shall. And you can fall and break your arrogant neck!”

  “Yo
u’d like that, wouldn’t you?” the duke charged, his voice rising slightly. “Then you would be the duke!”

  “At least then I wouldn’t have to come begging to you for every ha’penny!” Lord Elliot said, louder still.

  “Shhh!” the duke admonished, rocking back on his heels. “Do you want to wake the house?”

  “I don’t care if I do or not,” Lord Elliot replied. “I’m not the one who’s drunk.”

  “By some miracle!” the duke jeered, his smile a sneer.

  “Elliot!” The duchess’s voice pierced the air. “Is that you, Elliot?” Her bedchamber door opened, and the duchess stomped into the hall in outraged majesty, her hair in papers and her robe tightly tied. “Adrian! I might have known! You are drunk! Did you leave the Sackville-Coopers in that disgraceful condition? The whole neighborhood will be full of the tale by tomorrow night!”

  “I left Sir Douglas in a worse state,” her stepson said with a bow and an imaginary tip of his hat that almost sent him tumbling to the floor. “The poor fellow was quite depressed, since he’s finally realized his daughter will never be the Duchess of Barroughby.”

  Although the duke was well and truly drunk—something Hester was sorry to see, for it seemed to lend credence to some of the stories about him—she was far less dismayed than thrilled by his last words.

  The duke was not going to marry Damaris Sackville-Cooper!

  “Well, I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies!” the duchess acknowledged angrily. “But can you never think of other people, Adrian?” She marched up to him. “You’ll awaken everybody, and Lady Hester needs her sleep.” She gestured toward Hester’s slightly open door, and Hester held her breath, hoping they wouldn’t realize she was listening. She would have moved away, but she thought the motion might be noticeable. “If I am able to do without her, you can at least keep quiet.”

  “Heaven forbid you should have to do something to earn the living I give you,” the duke said scornfully.

  It seemed his words hung suspended in the air, stretched on the tension between them as the duchess stared at him, outrage in her eyes and a frown deepening. Then she raised her hand and struck her stepson full across his face. “How dare you address me in such an impertinent manner!” she cried.

  He didn’t even flinch. “No longer concerned about rousing Lady Hester, I see. I thought it was but a momentary lapse into generosity of spirit,” he said. “Or that perhaps you had decided Lady Hester would make a suitable wife for Elliot, as he seems to believe.”

  Hester’s hand shot to her mouth to cover her shocked gasp. Elliot Fitzwalter considered her a suitable wife? For himself? It didn’t seem possible, and what was more important, the idea didn’t please her one bit. The more she saw of him, the less she liked him. Marriage to him—never. She would happily remain an old maid if he were the only one to offer for her.

  “What are you babbling about?” the duchess said, turning a disbelieving eye onto Elliot. “He’s making this up to annoy me, isn’t he?”

  Hester leaned a little closer to the door.

  “I think we should save this topic of discussion for the morning, when we are all well rested, Mama,” Lord Elliot answered smoothly.

  “But—”

  “For once, I agree with Elliot.” The duke swayed again, then steadied himself. “Good evening, Your Grace,” he said, turning slowly on his heel. “Night, Elliot.”

  “Elliot,” the duchess began, clearly determined to have an answer to the duke’s startling announcement at once, “tell me he’s making that up. Lady Hester—for you? The notion is preposterous!”

  Even though Hester quite agreed with the duchess, she was less than pleased to hear herself so summarily dismissed. She was very tempted to show herself, and in fact had one hand on the latch when she realized she was about to sneeze. Her hand went from the latch to her nose and she hurriedly backed away, even as the sneeze would not be suppressed.

  “There! I knew Adrian would waken her,” the duchess whispered loudly. Hester heard her approach her room and swiftly climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin so that her robe was hidden.

  “Still asleep, thank goodness,” the duchess whispered, her figure visible when she opened the door a crack. “But what nonsense—Elliot? Elliot?”

  “Good night, Mama!” Elliot muttered as he closed the door to his bedroom while his mother continued to peer through Hester’s. He had no patience for her tonight, either her solicitation, her curiosity or her determination to plan his life for him.

  God, hadn’t she been upset to hear Adrian say her darling boy considered plain, dull Hester Pimblett a suitable wife! It would almost be worth a sincere proposal just to see the look on his mother’s face, although he would rather marry one of the statues from the garden. Hester Pimblett would be about as responsive in bed as a figure carved out of marble.

  Or maybe she wasn’t as prim and proper as she pretended.

  Now that was an interesting avenue of speculation. Elliot had known a few girls like that—their modesty all for show.

  But they’d been pretty and worth the pursuit. Hester was most definitely ordinary.

  Well, not her body. That was shapely enough, as he well remembered, feeling a growing tightness in his loins. She could, perhaps, be taught.

  When it came to choosing a wife, though, her talents in bed were not that important. He could find his pleasure with other women. Indeed, the more he thought about it, the more he realized Hester Pimblett might be the perfect wife for him—the perfect quiescent wife, who wouldn’t argue or protest if he stayed out all night with his “friends.” The perfect mother for a lord’s children, blameless to a fault. The perfect emblem of a perfect family.

  No doubt a woman like her would be just as happy to let him take his lust elsewhere, except for the occasions necessary to produce children.

  And if he married, his mother would have to stop treating him as if he was still six years old. She might think Hester not quite good enough for him, but she was a lord’s daughter, and Hester seemed to be able to handle the duchess in her most fractious moods.

  Yes, Hester Pimblett as Lady Elliot Fitzwalter. He could do worse, and she would surely be eager to have such a charming, handsome husband. Wooing her would be almost too easy, and he had plenty of time.

  In the end, however, it was for none of those reasons that Elliot decided he would court Hester and ask her to be his wife.

  He would marry her because it would vex the arrogantly self-righteous Adrian for the rest of his life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m so glad you’re better, my lady” Mabel said,

  putting another pin into Hester’s hair as she sat at her toilette the evening of the ball. “It would have been a pity if you’d been too sick to attend, after all you’ve done.”

  Hester smiled weakly at the servant’s sincere sen timents and surveyed the elaborate hairstyle Mabel had achieved. It was a masterpiece of curls and flowers, accomplished after several minutes of patient maneuvering of curling irons and diligent weaving of stems, leaves and flowers.

  At first Hester had declined Mabel’s anxious offer to “do” her hair, although the maid promised to show her what she had learned from an older sister who was a ladies’ maid in London, but Mabel had looked so crestfallen, Hester had agreed. Nevertheless, she had not felt a hairstyle could make any possible difference in the way she looked. Yet now, she had to admit, it had not been a mistake to agree. Her hair was as stylish as her sister Helena’s had ever been. Indeed, with her hair like this, she could actually see a resemblance to her beautiful older sister. The irony of this was, she had never wanted to be homely so much in her life, because the one person who might take notice of a change in her appearance was Lord Elliot.

  After that overheard and never-to-be-forgotten episode in the hall, Hester had been incredulous and dismayed, and for a while had hoped that Lord Elliot had not been serious. Unfortunately, it seemed as if he was indeed since
re in his pursuit of her, for he persisted in staying near her. She would have put a stop to his attentions immediately but for two things: she was not supposed to have heard the conversation between the duke, the duchess and Lord Elliot, and she was leaving as soon as possible after the ball. Surely there was no point to creating unnecessary animosity.

  Even without Lord Elliot’s unwanted attention, she would be happy to be going, because the situation was becoming completely untenable. She could no longer deny that she cared very much for the duke, while he scarcely acknowledged her presence the rare times he was at home.

  Nevertheless, she had lain awake every night listening until he returned. Then the steady evenness of his footfalls had told her he had not been drinking to excess. As to what else he might have been doing to occupy his time, she thought perhaps it wiser not to speculate. She wanted to believe that he was worthy of her respect, and if he had deceived her, she would prefer to keep her delusion.

  If there was anything good in all of this, it was that Damaris seemed quite forgotten, or at least forgotten by the Fitzwalter men. Reverend McKenna had accompanied Reverend Canon Smeech to Barroughby Hall one day recently, and a more changed countenance Hester had never seen. Reverend McKenna soon gave Hester to understand that he was most optimistic about Damaris accepting his hand, and with her father’s approval, a feat in part accomplished by the unexpected invitation for the canon to become the dean of Lincoln Cathedral. Canon Smeech was to leave in a fortnight, and Hamish McKenna was to take his place as rector of St. Andrew’s, Barroughby.

  “I hope the duchess appreciates all your work. If you’re ready, my lady, I’ll tie the laces of your corset now,” Mabel said, coming to stand behind Hester.