A Marriage of Rogues Page 6

  He should have told her before dinner that their marriage was wrong. That he wanted to annul it and would find a way to do so.

  But the words had stuck in his throat then and afterward. Even when she was so obviously angry and despite her haughty behavior, he hadn’t been able to tell her he was sorry they had married.

  It must have been his pride that kept him silent on the subject of an annulment. Now that he was aware of that weakness, he could surely find the right words to inform her of his decision. He would secure the annulment and provide her with a sufficient sum to live on for a few years, as well as foregoing any repayment of her father’s promissory notes. If she still balked, he would offer his solicitor’s assistance in securing lodgings in any city that she named, although preferably far from London. Surely then she would be willing to end what was clearly a misalliance, and he could be free of any guilty obligation.

  Whatever happened in the future, however, one thing was clear: he would not be going to her bed tonight.

  Chapter Five

  After another restless night with little sleep during which her husband did not arrive, Thea wasted no time summoning the carriage to take her to the village of Dundrake. Whether her husband regretted their marriage or had simply tired of her already, she was his wife in every way and she would do whatever was necessary to remain so, beginning with a new wardrobe suitable for a baronet’s wife.

  Mrs. Wessex looked a little askance when Thea told her she was going to the village, but being a servant, she could ask no questions. The butler, who seemed more statue than human, helped her into the carriage and told the coachman where she wanted to go. The drive wasn’t unpleasant, and she was curious to see more of the estate and surrounding area, or as much as she could from the road.

  It was very pretty country, still wild enough to be ruggedly beautiful, but tame enough to have decent roads and prosperous farms. The village itself, named after the Dundrakes, was charming, with a large church built of weathered gray stone, an ample green and several shops in addition to the Maiden’s Arms and at least one other tavern.

  She wasted no time before calling upon the dressmaker, a petite Yorkshirewoman named Mrs. Lemmuel who wore a simple gown of dark blue wool that fit her hourglass shape perfectly. Her light brown hair was neatly parted in the middle and pulled back. More important, although she took in Thea’s cheap and ugly garments in a single glance and probably estimated to the penny what they had cost, she gave Thea a welcoming smile.

  “Good day,” she said as Thea studied the display of Mrs. Lemmuel’s work and the bolts of fabric on shelves nearby.

  Thea returned her greeting, then voiced the purpose of her visit. “I’ve heard you’re a most excellent dressmaker. I require some new dresses and two ball gowns. Also some undergarments.”

  Mrs. Lemmuel’s brown eyebrows rose. No doubt she was wondering how a woman currently dressed in such cheap and flimsy garments could possibly afford so many new and costly items.

  “I’m newly married and have been traveling, so my wardrobe is in a very sad state, as you can see,” Thea offered, telling herself that little lie was forgivable. “My husband says I’m to purchase whatever I require. Cost is no consideration.”

  Mrs. Lemmuel’s expression softened. “Most generous! Are you to live in the vicinity?”

  “I understand my husband’s family has lived here for quite some time.”

  Confusion came to the dressmaker’s face.

  The servants at Dundrake Hall had somehow learned of her marriage; word would soon spread beyond those confines to the village, so there was little point in prevaricating. “I recently married Sir Develin Dundrake.”

  “Sir Develin Dundrake!” Mrs. Lemmuel cried, her voice so shrill it was almost a squeak.

  Then suddenly it was as if Thea had announced she was indeed the Queen of Sheba come to shop. The dressmaker’s attitude became if not exactly fawning, certainly much more accommodating. “You must look at this silk,” she insisted, running her hand over a silver-colored bolt. “It will suit you admirably and bring out your eyes.”

  From that better beginning Thea spent the next part of the morning choosing a pattern for a ball gown to be made of that silk, as well as fabric and patterns for several day dresses and another ball gown, that one of deep sapphire blue trimmed with wide lace.

  “That color makes your eyes more blue than gray,” Mrs. Lemmuel said of the sapphire, her manner as satisfied as a cat after a bowl full of cream, or as if she were purchasing the costly gown for herself. “Is there anything else you require? Something for riding perhaps?”

  “Not today,” Thea answered in words, and “not ever” in her mind. Her father had sold all their horses before she’d learned to ride.

  Develin could ride well, though.

  As she’d waited for the carriage to be brought around to the portico, she had seen her husband mount a feisty, prancing black saddle horse as if it were as calm and quiet as a mule. He’d only touched his heels to the animal before it took off at a gallop down the long drive.

  He apparently hadn’t noticed her at all or, if he had, was determined to ignore her.

  Just as he had last night, when she’d slept alone in that large, beautiful bedroom, and this morning when he didn’t join her for breakfast.

  The door to the shop burst open, pulling Thea from her unhappy recollections. A tall, slender young woman wearing spectacles, dressed in a fashionable ensemble of buttercup yellow, her pelisse caped and her bonnet brim wide, stumbled inside. She quickly righted herself, blinked in a manner reminiscent of an owl and smiled ruefully. She wasn’t exactly pretty, but she was striking in an Amazonian sort of way and despite the spectacles.

  “Dear me, so sorry,” she said in a rich contralto voice and with a plumy accent. “Tripped on my hem. Must be more careful, of course. Thank heavens I’m good at recovery. Too much practice, Mater would say, but what can one do? I do hope I didn’t startle you too much. Apologies if so.”

  “Good day, my lady,” Mrs. Lemmuel said with a somewhat strained smile. “Unfortunately your gown is not yet ready. The lace from Brussels is late.”

  “Oh, is it? That’s a difficulty. I wanted to wear it to church this Sunday. A bit showy for devotions, perhaps, but I’ve always found contemplating important things easier if I’m not wondering if I look a fright.”

  “The lace should arrive tomorrow. I can have the dress finished and sent round by Friday.”

  “Wonderful! Thank you. Much obliged, I’m sure.” The stranger turned to Thea and gave her an apologetic smile, displaying excellent teeth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. Mater’s waiting in the carriage, though, so time is of the essence.” She gave a little curtsey. “I’m Gladys, Lady Gladys Fitzwalter, I should say. My father’s the Earl of Byford.”

  “I’m Lady Theodora Mark—Dundrake,” Thea replied, giving a little curtsey, too.

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance. Are you staying somewhere nearby?”

  Thea gave her a friendly smile. “Dundrake Hall.”

  “She is Lady Dundrake,” the dressmaker supplied.

  Behind her spectacles Lady Gladys’s hazel eyes widened. “Not really!”

  “Yes, really,” Thea replied genially. It was impossible to think Lady Gladys’s reaction was anything but simple, guileless surprise.

  “Oh dear, you must think me a terrible dunce,” Lady Gladys said, blushing as red as the silk flowers on her bonnet, “but I thought you said your name was Markdundrake and I was rummaging in my mind for a reference.”

  “And I’m sorry,” Thea said. “I’ve only recently married and I started to say my maiden name.”

  Lady Gladys laughed. It was a sound as deep and rich and pleasant at her voice, and full of good humor. “So you’ve got the prize, have you? I’m sure there’ll be many
a maiden sobbing into her pillow when the news gets about. And not just maidens, too. Mind you, I’ve never believed all the stories about Develin. He’s handsome and a very charming fellow, but I don’t see how it would be possible for a man to have as many lovers as...as...”

  Lady Gladys suddenly looked as if she’d been caught stealing. “There I go again, putting my foot right into my mouth. It’s a wonder I have any tonsils left. Don’t mind me, my lady. Just silly rumors, that’s all.”

  Thea was well aware of the reputation of Sir Develin Dundrake, and that it was not undeserved. She’d also learned his lovers—always married women known to have had paramours before—continued to speak of him with affection after the affairs had ended, something that was rare.

  The shop door opened again and a young woman entered. She was dressed in the extreme of fashion, her bonnet brim almost too wide to fit through the door, trimmed with flowers and ribbons, in a Spencer jacket of green and a much-pin-tucked dress in a shade that approximated apricot or perhaps the wrinkled peel of an orange left out in the sun. Hurrying past them, she ignored both Thea and Lady Gladys and snatched the bolt of sapphire fabric from Mrs. Lemmuel’s hands.

  “Mama!” the rude young woman cried when an older woman, also dressed in the extreme of fashion in a puce gown that would have been juvenile on a juvenile, entered the shop and pushed her way past Thea. “This is the fabric I told you about. Is it not lovely and just the thing for my new ball gown?”

  “It would do, I suppose,” the vision in puce replied before fixing her stern gaze on the dressmaker. “How much does it cost?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Mrs. Lemmuel sounded sincere, but her eyes suggested something else as she took the bolt from the young woman and placed it on the counter. “This fabric has just been purchased.”

  The vision in puce, who must be a duchess to be so addressed, finally acknowledged that there were other people in the shop. However, she barely glanced at Thea, instead turning her attention to Lady Gladys. “Good day, Lady Gladys.”

  “Good day, Your Grace,” the young woman said, moving down the counter toward a display of ribbons that she immediately knocked over with her elbow, sending rolls of ribbon to the floor.

  “Oh dear, I’m so sorry!” Lady Gladys cried as she bent down and started to pick them up. Thea hurried to help her while Mrs. Lemmuel gathered the last.

  The duchess and her daughter did nothing until all the ribbons were on the counter.

  Then the duchess coldly remarked, “Perhaps you should stay home, Lady Gladys, or have a servant always nearby to assist you in case of accident.”

  Thea didn’t have to see the hurt in Lady Gladys’s eyes to grow angry. “Perhaps some people should learn better manners,” she said just as coldly.

  Lady Gladys regarded her with outright astonishment, the dressmaker began to back away as if expecting an explosion and the duchess’s daughter frowned while the duchess glared at Thea like an indignant ostrich. “How dare you speak to me in that insolent way?” she demanded, the wattles of her neck shaking.

  “I dare because I’m right.”

  The duchess turned her withering gaze onto Lady Gladys. “Who is this creature? If she’s in your employ—”

  “I’m Lady Theodora Dundrake,” Thea interrupted with proud disdain, secretly thrilled she could say so.

  “Are you claiming to be related to Sir Develin?” the duchess demanded, running a skeptical and scornful gaze over Thea.

  “I am his wife.”

  “His...what?” the duchess’s daughter cried. “That’s...that’s impossible!”

  “That is not in the least bit amusing, you brazen hussy,” the duchess declared after shooting her daughter a look that was as good as a command to keep quiet. “Who are you really—and don’t lie! My husband, the Duke of Scane, can have the magistrate arrest you at a moment’s notice.”

  “I assure you, it’s quite true,” Thea replied. “Sir Develin Dundrake is my husband and I am his wife.”

  Lady Gladys recovered the power of speech. “Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to Lady Theodora Dundrake. Lady Theodora, this is the Duchess of Scane and her daughter, Lady Caroline.”

  “If this astonishing state of affairs is true, why haven’t I heard about it?” the duchess demanded.

  “You’re hearing about it now,” Thea replied.

  “Well, I certainly never expected this!”

  Thea glanced at the duchess’s silent daughter. It looked like Lady Caroline didn’t know whether to scream with rage or cry with despair. Perhaps Lady Caroline had harbored matrimonial hopes now thwarted. If that was so, Thea could find it in her heart to pity the young woman, especially with such a mother.

  However, her purchase concluded, her identity revealed, she decided it would be best not to linger. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I am off to the milliner’s. Thank you, Mrs. Lemmuel. Good day, Your Grace, and you, too, Lady Caroline. Lady Gladys, I hope we’ll meet again soon.”

  “I’m leaving, too,” Lady Gladys said swiftly, starting for the door.

  Neither the duchess nor her daughter responded as Lady Gladys followed Thea out of the shop. Thea could see a carriage in the lane and suspected it belonged to Lady Gladys’s family.

  “Oh dear me, that was wonderful!” Thea’s companion exclaimed. “I don’t know how you could be so calm. The duchess quite terrifies me. I always seem to find myself even more awkward and foolish when I’m with her and wish I could hide.” She grew more serious. “Grateful as I am for your assistance, I fear you’ve made an enemy. The duchess has a lot of influence and powerful connections. If she cuts you, so will the rest of the gentry hereabouts.”

  “I wouldn’t want that woman for a friend,” Thea replied firmly even as misgiving began to creep in. It wasn’t difficult to believe her husband would be displeased by what had just transpired.

  “Surely Sir Develin is popular enough that any faults of mine will be overlooked for his sake,” she continued, hoping that would prove to be true.

  Lady Gladys’s smile brought some relief. “You’re quite right. Everyone likes him, including the duchess.”

  And the duchess’s daughter? How did she feel about Sir Develin? How did he feel about her?

  Did it matter? She had promised him freedom from the rigid rules of society, and if he choose to break them with Lady Caroline, she could neither prevent that nor condemn him.

  “You must come and meet Mater,” Lady Gladys continued. “She’ll be delighted, I’m sure, especially when she hears what you had to say to the duchess. She hates the duchess with a passion, although she never shows it.”

  “Another time, if you don’t mind,” Thea replied. “I’m really not fit to be seen in these traveling clothes and I wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression.”

  Again.

  Lady Gladys seemed to notice her clothes for the first time and looked rather taken aback before she said sincerely, “Mater won’t care, truly. She only pays attention to my clothes.”

  As Thea hesitated, a gloved hand appeared at the window of the coach and slapped the side.

  “Oh dear, she’s getting impatient. Best delay the introduction perhaps. Good day, my lady!” Gladys cried as she hurried away and climbed into the coach.

  Thea didn’t wait. She swiftly made her way to the milliner’s before the duchess and her daughter came out of the dressmaker’s. She had had quite enough of those two for one day. If she was fortunate, it would be weeks before she had anything more to do with the Duchess of Scane and her daughter.

  And that Develin would understand why she’d spoken to that horrible woman as she had.

  * * *

  There was nothing like a morning ride in the countryside to make Dev feel rejuvenated. He loved the high hills and deep lakes of Cumbria, the wind and the rai
n and the woods that scented the air, the sharp tang of smoke from the cottages and the pleasant greetings of his tenants as he rode past. How different from the fog and coal smoke of London, and the noise of the streets—carriages and heavy wagons rattling over the cobblestones, street sellers hawking their wares, maids beating rugs and gossiping and the occasional cry of alarm when the picking of a pocket was discovered.

  So often in his youth and childhood he’d sought solace in the woods and fields, where the only thing to disturb the silence was the call of birds or chittering of squirrels, and the occasional lowing from a herd of cows or the bleating of sheep. No one criticized or chastised him there, and he was free to dream, or ride as fast as he liked if he craved the wind in his hair. Spring, summer, autumn or winter, the seasons made little difference. There was always something to look at and admire, accompanied by that sense of freedom.

  This morning was more than half over when he returned to his manor house and found the butler waiting for him in the yard—a sight so unusual he feared something terrible had happened.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” he demanded as he dismounted from the champion gelding he’d bought the year before.

  “There is no cause for alarm, Sir Develin,” Jackson replied in his deep bass voice, “and I regret giving you any reason to think so. The Duke of Scane is awaiting you in the drawing room.”

  That was a relief, but although Dev had always liked the good-hearted, slightly dim duke, he would prefer not to have any visitors until the matter of his marriage had been settled.

  He was about to concoct an excuse when Jackson frowned and said, “The duke suggested rather forcefully that I inform you of his presence immediately.”

  That would explain why Jackson was in the yard.

  Perhaps it was news about the duke’s son, Dev’s best friend from school.

  Dev quickly handed his crop, hat and gloves to the butler and hurried to the drawing room.

  Thankfully Thea wasn’t at home. Before he’d ridden out that morning, the groom told him she had called for the carriage to go to the village, just as she had said she would. There was no sign of it, or Thea, in the yard, so hopefully he’d be spared having to explain her presence. If he was careful and given the duke’s rather singular preoccupation with his own interests, he might be able to avoid mentioning his marriage altogether.