His Favorite Mistress (30 page)

“Enough!” he bit out in a voice that sounded deadly cold even to his own ears. “You have said more than enough, madam, and I will not listen a moment longer. My wife came to me untouched, not that it is any business of yours, and though she is not yet carrying my child, I hope to change that circumstance in the very near future. As for my decision to wed, it was mine to make and none of yours. Now, I believe this interview is at an end. You are welcome, of course, to stay and refresh yourself before you continue your journey to the dower house.”

“Do not think you can put me off, Anthony Charles Edward Black,” she intoned after a long pause, her jaw tight, eyes snapping fire. “You know as well as I do that girl you now call your wife is completely unsuitable to be the Duchess of Wyvern. Dear Lord, the things I’ve heard since my return—that her mother was an actress and her father a murderer, no matter the noble blood that may have run in his veins. You speak of children. Do you not care that they might turn out to be maniacs, not to mention coarse louts with peasant tastes and crude sensibilities? What will you do when the next duke is a vulgar simpleton? Or a madman? Oh, it is simply not to be borne!”

He got to his feet, his fists braced against the top of his desk. “You will be silent,” he ordered in a hard, modulated voice.

But she went on, too overwrought to stop. “I know why you’ve done this. It is because of me. For years you’ve wished to shame me, to see me suffer for all the wrongs you think I’ve done. You’ve never understood the truth. How difficult it was to live with your father. You idolized him, but you were too young to know the real man. I needed more, confined here in this place. I was young and had a right to some pleasure and excitement in my life, especially after I gave him what he wanted—
you, his precious son.
” She drew in a breath and lay a hand against her bosom. “Now you are having your revenge, dishonoring this family and seeing to it I have to share in the disgrace.”

“It seems to me you have managed to do that all on your own without any assistance from me, what with your constant parade of lovers,” he retorted, his voice a few degrees colder than ice. “Frankly, I do not care how you conduct your life, but you will not interfere with mine, nor that of my wife and the family we hope to have. Now, I do not believe there will be time for you to take that tea, after all. I shall have Crump see your carriage is made ready.”

A part of him wanted to rail against her, but he had long since moved beyond such feelings when it came to the woman who had given him birth. He’d stopped loving her so long ago he could scarcely remember the emotion, so that all he felt now was resignation and pity. But anger burned within him on Gabriella’s behalf.
How dare she say such things about her! How dare she condemn a girl she had never even taken the trouble to meet!
Not that he wished them to do so. Suddenly he heard a sound in the doorway and looked up to see that it was already too late to prevent such an occurrence.

Framed in the entrance stood Gabriella, an expression of clear discomfort on her face.
Christ,
he silently cursed,
just how much of Mother’s venom has she heard?

Obviously noticing they were no longer alone, the dowager shifted on her chair and pinned Gabriella with an inquiring look. “Your
bride,
I presume,” she remarked.

“My pardon,” Gabriella said, hesitating a moment before coming farther into the room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was informed we had company and I thought—”

“No need to apologize,” Tony stated as he rounded his desk and strode toward her. “We had already finished our discussion. Mother was just leaving.”

Rising to her feet, the dowager turned to face them. “But I can take a moment for an introduction.”

Reaching Gabriella, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her protectively against his side. “Fine. Gabriella, this is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Wyvern. Mother, my
wife.
” He made sure to emphasize the last word so his mother could not fail to take note of his underlying warning.

Innately polite no matter the circumstances, Gabriella smiled and stretched out a hand. “Hello. How do you do?”

“Not as well as I had hoped,” the dowager said, making no effort to accept her daughter-in-law’s hand before she lifted her gaze again to Tony’s. “It is plain to see why you couldn’t keep your hand out of the cookie jar. At least I have the consolation of knowing your offspring won’t lack for looks.”

Gabriella stiffened at his side.

Before his mother could say more, he released Gabriella and stepped forward.
Should it prove necessary,
he decided,
I will escort her out by force.
“This interview is done. I assume you will not be remaining in the country for long given your aversion to all settings pastoral. Perhaps another trip overseas might amuse you, now that the war is well and truly over.”

Her eyes narrowed as she took his meaning. “Perhaps. Though the decision would be more easily made were my widow’s portion increased a few thousand more.”

Forever greedy,
he mused. Despite the extremely generous allowance he provided, his mother never seemed satisfied by the amount. He didn’t care about the money, though. He’d gladly give whatever it took to see her on her way. “Of course. I will have my secretary send over a cheque.”

She inclined her head, obviously pleased at having triumphed in that small skirmish at least. “Well, I shall take my leave now, though I would counsel you to reconsider what we discussed.”

“There is nothing to consider. Nothing at all. Your coach awaits you, madam. Pray permit me to see you out.”

“Do not bother, Wyvern. I can find my own way to the front door. Good day.” With a regal swish of her skirts, she departed.

The atmosphere in the room shifted the moment she had gone, as if a great storm cloud had just blown through. Gabriella raised her gaze to his. “Tony, I—”

“You need not say a word. My mother is what she is and I have found it best not to dwell on her. I do apologize, however, for whatever portion of our conversation you may have heard.”

“I heard very little. And honestly, I did not mean to intrude—”

“I know,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “And your presence is never an intrusion. This is your home and you are its duchess. You have a right to go anywhere within these walls that you choose.”

“Including your personal rooms and this study?” she quipped.

He could tell she was half teasing, but he was not. “Yes, even those, even here,” he told her with utter sincerity. “Now,” he continued, deciding a change of topic was greatly warranted. “I was wondering if you might enjoy taking an excursion this afternoon?”

Her beautiful eyes lighted with interest. “Oh, but do you not need to work?”

He shook his head. “Not today. How do you feel about a picnic?”

A grin brightened her face, and her arms looped snuggly around his waist. “I would adore a picnic! When shall we leave?”

He smiled. “Within the hour. As soon as a hamper and horses can be arranged.” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to hers for a brief but distinctly satisfying kiss. By the time their embrace ended, he’d forgotten all about his confrontation with his mother, Gabriella and the afternoon ahead the only things left on his mind.

Five mornings later, Gabriella sat in her own study and listened politely while Mrs. Armstrong consulted with her about the running of the household. Despite the fact that the older woman had been doing an excellent job managing the staff and the day-to-day activities of the estate for some years, she seemed genuinely pleased to have Gabriella’s input.

For her part, Gabriella tried her best. At times she felt woefully inadequate, still so new to Rosemeade that she hadn’t even realized there was a dairy, an apiary, and a brewery on the grounds until Mrs. Armstrong asked her questions concerning each. She offered comments and suggestions where they seemed advisable; otherwise she deferred to the housekeeper, trusting her clearly wise counsel.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, Your Grace,” the woman said, making a notation about an addition to one of the dinner menus. “His Grace quite likes apricots, so using them as part of the entremets will be just the thing.”

“Apricots are a favorite of mine as well. I shall look forward to trying Cook’s dish.”

While the housekeeper made a few additional notes to herself in a small ledger, Gabriella took a moment to let her thoughts drift, centering, as they so frequently did these days, on Tony.

Not surprisingly, she and Tony’s afternoon excursion the other day had been delightful, the secluded location just right for a picnic. Under the shade of a leafy elm with a pristine blue stream flowing nearby, they’d eaten their meal and talked. He’d flirted with her as well, teasing and tempting her over dessert until their mood had grown abruptly amorous.

Despite her initial concern that someone might happen along, he’d soon convinced her otherwise, enthralling her with kisses and caresses until she’d been too dizzy with need to care who might see. Afterward they’d returned home, then gone upstairs to her bed, where they’d continued to let their passions run free long into the night.

Not until the next morning did she remember that he’d said nothing further about the visit from his mother. Nor had he mentioned her in the days since, resuming his usual routine as if nothing at all had occurred. Part of her wanted to question him, to let him know he might confide in her should there be anything he wished to say. But she remained silent, suspecting he would tell her he had no concerns whatsoever and to leave everything exactly as it was.

As she’d told him, she really had heard very little of what he and his mother had been discussing that day, but the memory of the coldness in his voice was enough to send a shiver rippling through her even now. The fact that he didn’t like his mother was clear. The why, however, was not. She couldn’t say she’d liked his mother much either, but as she knew, all families had troubles and disagreements. Though to her, this seemed to be more.

“Mrs. Armstrong,” she said suddenly, “you have been here at Rosemeade for many years, have you not?”

The housekeeper glanced up, a proud smile on her lined face. “Yes, Your Grace, since I was a girl. I came into service at twelve, started first as a tweeny, then moved up to second upstairs’ maid, then first. I even worked in the nursery for a time before I was offered the opportunity to train as the housekeeper.”

Gabriella’s pulse gladdened at the news. “So you knew the duke when he was a boy?”

The older woman’s expression grew soft. “Why, I’ve known him since the day he came into this world. Swaddled his little rump myself, though I would not dare remind him of that now,” she added on a chuckle. “The master was always so bright and full of youthful energy.”

“And his mother? What about her? How was she with him?”

The smile fell from the housekeeper’s face. “Her Grace was…Her Grace. She had many interests that did not include looking after a child, but then very few of the Quality actually take an active part in the raising of their children. No offense intended, Your Grace,” she added, casting a worried look at Gabriella.

“None taken, since I find I agree. So she was absent?”

“Yes. She longed for the city and would often persuade the duke—the late duke—to take her to London. Sometimes, they went abroad for several months as well.”

“And Tony was left here alone?”

“Lord Howland, as he was known then, stayed with his nurses and the rest of the staff.”

“And when his parents returned?”

“Why, he was overjoyed, of course. His father fairly doted on him and seemed to regret the time away. They spent every day together when the duke was in residence.”

“And his mother?”

The housekeeper paused for a moment. “Well, he adored her, too. He was such a good boy, always looking for ways to please and amuse her in hopes of earning her approbation.” She lowered her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. “Forgive me, but I am afraid I have said far more than I ought and should not continue.”

“Oh, but I wish you would,” Gabriella urged in a reassuring tone. “I only want to understand. When the dowager duchess called the other day, I could not help but notice a marked distance between her and my husband.”

Mrs. Armstrong glanced up and sighed. “Yes, ’tis true, the duke and his mother are not close, though I know His Grace does his best to be generous and considerate despite the fact that she does little to deserve his kindness.”

“What do you mean?”

The housekeeper’s gray eyebrows drew together as if weighing whether or not to continue. “Well, Your Grace, the dowager is, and always has been, a very vain, selfish sort who expects the world and everyone in it to bow to her every whim. When she first came to live here at Rosemeade, though, she seemed content enough. The late duke loved her to distraction and did everything in his power to make her happy. For a time, I believe they were. But then she discovered she was with child, and that was when everything changed. She simply could not be cheered.”

“You mean she didn’t want him, her own baby?” Gabriella demanded, aghast at the idea.

“I’m not sure it was so much not wanting the child as disliking having to carry him. She would cry for hours over her cumbersome shape and complain about how dreadfully miserable she felt. When the time arrived for the birth, the delivery did not go well. Her Grace nearly died, and I believe that is why there were never any more children. The duke did his best to pretend all was well after that, but anyone with eyes could tell it was not.”

“How sad!”

The older woman nodded. “That’s when the affairs started. She was discreet at first, but as the years went on, she became more and more incautious until no one was left in doubt of her faithlessness, least of all the duke. I’m not sure when His Grace knew, since he was only a child at the time, but he was fully aware there were problems between his parents. Then the duke fell ill.”

“What happened?” Gabriella asked, leaning slightly forward in her chair.

“He was caught in a downpour and took a bad chill. The ague set in a couple of days later and he came down with a terrible fever. The duchess dismissed the idea of calling a physician. She said it was only a bit of a cold and he would be right again in no time. She left soon after to be with one of her amours. His Grace is the one who ordered the physician once he realized how severe his father’s condition had become, but by then it was simply too late. There was nothing to be done. The duke died late the next evening with the young master at his bedside.”