The Accidental Duchess (12 page)

She tried her impassive face, but could not manage it. Instead she came close to weeping. She stood, but wobbled a little. “I must go all the same.”

Gently, he pressed her shoulders so she sat again. The shock of the episode outside was taking its toll. He had seen that before, how a body might not react until well after the danger passes. “You will sit awhile longer.”

She obeyed, fretfully. He had much to say to her, and questions she must answer, but now was not the time.

He took a flask out of his valise and poured an inch of brandy in a glass. He handed it to her. “Drink this.”

She pushed it away. “I couldn’t.”

“Are you saying you have never drunk spirits before? Why do I doubt that?”

She reached for the glass. “I might manage just a sip.”

She managed it very well. She closed her eyes afterward. He imagined the amber-hued liquid sliding down her throat, warming all it touched, calming her but also bringing a shocked alertness to her physicality. A little could center a mind and improve thoughts. From her expression it appeared to be doing that for her.

When she opened her eyes again, she appeared more herself. “I have created a terrible muddle, haven’t I?”

He wondered if she understood just how big a muddle it would prove to be. “Better a muddle than being that man’s victim. Although one might say that entertaining a friendship with him began the muddle.”

“You would make a good vicar. You scold so well.”

“I am not scolding. When I do, you will know it.”

She stood again. “I will go before you are tempted to show me.”

He did not stop her this time. “We will talk in a few hours, Lydia. After you have recovered. If I am going to duel with a man, I would like to know the reason.”

 • • • 

S
he lay on her bed and tried to sort out just how big a disaster the day had been. Had there been a way to stop Trilby short of screaming for help? Could she have persuaded him to give up his shocking idea of marriage? What if she had traveled to Scotland with him? Along the way, would better sense have prevailed?

She doubted it. His plan’s boldness stunned her, but she could not deny its brilliance too. Why not parlay his hold on her to demand marriage? He could dine with dukes and better himself in a snap. If her income did not match his monetary ambitions, no doubt he could insinuate himself into investments and other financial plans, making use of what income she did have.

She could hit herself for not seeing the danger of him lighting on the possibilities. She had spent so long unmarried, and uninterested in marriage, and spurious of any suitors, that she had lost sight of the fact that she would be a good catch, and to men far better born than Trilby.

His behavior had been unforgivable. Brutish. That did not speak well for the happiness of any woman he did marry. All the same, she could not allow Penthurst to duel with him. She had only recently recovered from the last time Penthurst killed a man, and this time it would be all her fault.

A knock on her door interrupted her racing thoughts. She opened it to find a serving girl, who said his lordship requested she would join him in the card room.

She dusted the residual grass off her skirt and put on dry shoes. She gave her reflection a passing glance in the looking glass. All she saw were dark eyes peering back at her, and dark hair piled a bit haphazardly atop her crown. She poked a few errant strands back into place, then made her way down.

The chamber was full of the Crescent’s visitors. Of course it was. Why take the waters when great theater unfolded in one’s hotel? Conversation broke fitfully when she appeared. No one stared, but everyone glanced at her.

Penthurst sat in a small armchair against one wall, his long form casually lounging with one booted leg extended. He appeared to be reading something. When he noticed her, he stood, and greeted her formally.

She sat in the chair facing his, feeling conspicuous. “We could have met in the garden. Or taken a turn through the town.”

“That would never do. You will have to brave this out, and you may as well start now.” He resumed his comfortable position, and again perused the paper he held. “You should see this.”

She took it. Trilby had written.

My Lord Duke,

There will be no choice of weapons, or visit from a second. There will be no duel. You have grievously misunderstood the day’s events. I will endeavor to explain.

The lady is my fiancée. She agreed to marriage and met me here to effect an elopement to Scotland. When we met this morning for that purpose, she claimed second thoughts on the matter. This despite the money I have laid out in preparation of these nuptials, including letting a house in London, purchasing a wardrobe appropriate to my new station, and hiring the carriage that brought me to Buxton and would in turn bring us both to Scotland, then back to town.

As for my behavior as I reacted to this unexpected lack of constancy on her part, I have no excuse other than the shock of a man anticipating lifelong happiness but instead facing the death of his most cherished dream.

I will apologize to her if you would be good enough to arrange a brief meeting. I trust she will understand that, under the circumstances, I will have no choice except to bring a breach of contract action against her, but that is for a later day.

Your servant,

Algernon Trilby

She folded the letter and set it on the table between them. “I never agreed to marry this man.”

“I find it odd that he has an explanation for everything, while you have one for nothing.”

“I
swear
that I never—”

“You do not have to swear for my benefit. I am neither judge nor jury.”

She did have to swear, however. She did not want him thinking she had been so stupid as to agree to marriage with Trilby, then so callous as to throw him over at the last minute. “I have had no relationship with him that could even be misinterpreted as one that might lead to marriage. He is not my fiancé.”

He nodded. “And we know he is not your lover. After all, your innocence belongs to me.”

She could not believe he made reference to that in the Crescent’s card room. Ever so calmly too.

“Yet he is here, and so are you.” He tapped the letter. “Will you be satisfied with an apology? I will insist on the duel if you prefer. He will refuse, but the world will know him as a coward. That means more to names more illustrious than his, unfortunately. I believe he is willing to live with it.”

“It is better than being dead, isn’t it?”

He acknowledged as much with a tip of his head. “Are you going to tell me what brought you to Buxton?”

She pictured his reaction if she did. She would have to explain about the blackmail, and the novel she had written . . .

“I will not. I will tell you this, however. I have done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. I may have been foolish and blind, but I never believed he would claim such a lie as a betrothal between us. He has no cause to do so, and is taking advantage of the coincidence of our both being in Buxton at the same time.” She almost stumbled on the tiny untruth about it being a coincidence.

“Perhaps he learned you were coming here, and followed you.”

She said nothing, and prayed that supposition would be accepted.

“Your reticule this morning looked very plump, Lydia.” He leaned toward her over the table and captured her gaze with his. “Did you come to Buxton to gamble? Did you journey so far from home so your brother would not hear of it?”

Whoever thought that her dreaded gambling would save her like this? Several clever retorts lined up in her head, all of them admiring his remarkable powers of perception. She did not have the heart to speak any of them. He had saved her from an impossible situation, and deserved better.

“I will only say what I have already said. I have done nothing wrong.”

“Not yet, at least.” He stood, and offered his hand. “Let us partake of the midday meal they offer here. Then I will write to Trilby, and arrange his apology.”

She permitted his escort out of the card room. As they crossed the threshold, chairs scraped the floor as the other guests decided to dine too.

“You have quizzed me, Penthurst. Now permit me one question. What are you doing here?”

He kept her palm poised atop his hand, as if they led a formal party down to dinner. Indeed a long line had formed behind them. “I followed you. First to Crownhill, then here. You knew I would. I all but promised it.” He looked around the appointments of the Crescent as they paraded down the stairs. “You chose well for us. Devonshire ensured this was a very elegant place. It would have been more than comfortable, and, but for the unfortunate events of the morning, it would have been perfectly discreet too.”

Not for the first time today, she sensed that she had missed half of a conversation. “For us? Discreet?”

“For when I collected on your debt, Lydia. That is the real reason you led me all the way here, isn’t it?”

That quip did not make for an enjoyable meal. Penthurst ensured she ate, although her appetite had left her. She sat across from him again, feeling the eyes of the guests on them both, hearing a few whispers that included his name.

She cleared her throat. “About that debt . . .”

“Debts. Plural. Remember?”

“I would be a strange woman if I forgot. However, you did say that you might consider forgiving them if I requested it.”

“I spoke in the past tense. I might
have
considered forgiving them if you
had
requested it.”

“I thought you would find that lacking in character on my part—to engage in such a wager only to beg off if I lost.”

“I would find it lacking in honesty, that is true.”

“Yet as a gentleman, you could not be thinking of actually—of going through with it.”

“Why not?”

“Because there are rules about such things. About innocents and—such things.”

“I am not sure there are any rules that cover our situation. Nor have you shown much inclination for following rules. I can’t see why I should be bound by them if you are not.”

“You are going to make me beg, aren’t you? Humble myself. Fall to my knees and plead.”

“That sounds very appealing.”

“You are a scoundrel to demand that of me before you let me out of the debt.”

“Oh, are we still talking about forgiving the debt?”

“Of course. Why else would I beg and plead?”

A vague, slow smile formed. “You
are
an innocent, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I look forward to enlightening you.”

“You are teasing me, and it is not amusing.”

“A week ago I was teasing. Even days ago. However, I would say that your making good on that debt has become inevitable now.”

“Only if you are a scoundrel.”

“It will not be I who forces the issue, Lydia.” He made a vague gesture to the chamber’s occupants. “They have not figured out who you are yet. It is only a matter of time, however. Pretend you are one of your aunts, and a fellow gossip calls with a delicious story about a certain duke, a parvenu, a lady, and fisticuffs on the streets of Buxton. See in your mind what they all have seen, and ask the questions they are asking.”

She tried to stand outside of it all, and indeed see it thus. Everyone would learn she had traveled here alone, she had to admit. They might learn she stayed at the Crescent as Mrs. Howell. They would assume she had come here to have an assignation with either Trilby or Penthurst. They would conclude the gentlemen had fought over some notion both had of rights to her. They would have heard of Penthurst’s challenge, and of this time she now spent with him. Word would spread that he and she had taken chambers in the same hotel.

As she viewed the events this way and that, and itemized the likely gossip that would spread, her heart beat harder and harder. With each thump a word loomed larger in her mind’s eye. Scandal.

She stared at Penthurst. He looked back, not unkindly, but with a resigned expression that indicated he had already worked out what she was just beginning to realize.

From beneath lowered lids she glanced to her right, and to the diners who had followed her from the card room. Did she imagine that all of them kept one eye on her and the duke? The low buzz of conversations roamed the chamber.
Penthurst. Yes, that is he. The woman? A lady. Do you recognize her? I can’t place her, but the men addressed her as Lady Lydia . . .

“What do I do?” she whispered desperately.

“The choices are limited.”

“It isn’t fair. I did nothing wrong.”

“Will the reason for this journey vindicate you? Can you offer a plausible excuse that can be the foundation of a rebuttal? If so, you might try that.”

The true reason would hardly save her. Rather the opposite.

“I gather the answer is no,” he said dryly.

“I cannot bear that I will bring this upon my brother and Emma. I could survive it myself, if it were only me.”

“No, you could not. Trust me on that. Well, the solution is clear, I think you will agree.”

Nothing was clear. The more she thought of the storm forming on the horizon, the foggier her thoughts became. Perhaps as a duke he thought he could simply decree she be spared?

“My name is linked to yours in this. Assumptions will be made,” he said, watching her closely. “We will marry forthwith.”

That shocked her head clear. “But I do not want to marry you.”

“That is unfortunate. Yet marry you will, Lydia. I’ll be damned if I will be known as a man who has an affair with the unmarried sister of his best friend, and does not do the honorable thing.”

S
he looked like she faced a hangman’s noose. Eyes wide. Lips slightly parted. Skin drained of color.

Shock. Shock and horror.

If he were not so insulted, he would find it amusing.

He poured some wine and pushed it toward her. “Drink some, and look adoringly at me instead of like a woman bereft of hope. Give them a show, Lydia. It will help the story.”

She gulped some wine. She found some composure behind her sphinx mask. Hell, but he hated when she did that. “What story?”

“You and I developed a tendre, and decided to elope. We came here separately; to then travel together to Scotland. Trilby, a spurned suitor, followed you and tried to interfere. Maddened by the thought of losing you forever—”

“There is no need to be melodramatic.”

“
Of losing you forever
, he attempted that abduction this morning, which I stopped. After ensuring you were recovered, in the morning we continued on our planned journey and wed as soon as we crossed the border.”

“It sounds almost plausible.”

“It is very plausible, and covers all the public facts. I should be writing novels, the plot is so neat.”

“I do not suppose you could rewrite it just a bit? The marriage part. I would prefer the story unfold differently. Perhaps, after the shock of almost being abducted, I found my nerves so unhealthy that I decided it would be unfair of me to allow you to marry such a sickly woman.”

“I hope you are not saying that you find the idea of marriage to me so revolting that you would prefer to live your life pretending to be an invalid.” He did not miss how she had made herself very noble with this change, while leaving him the scoundrel who seduced his friend’s sister.

“Maybe I would not have to pretend forever. Perhaps I could go to the Alps for a year and regain my health. That might work, don’t you think?”

She glowed with renewed hope. He had never thought to find himself sacrificed in a marriage of obligation to save a woman from ruin, least of all to Southwaite’s sister. However, he had definitely never expected, should that happen by some perverse twist of fate, to have the woman in question so resistant.

“You do understand that I am speaking of a legal marriage, don’t you?” he asked. “You would be a duchess.”

“Of course I understand. A legal, unbreakable bond. As for being a duchess—everyone will know who I am. Everyone. I will be watched by the world. Even what I have known thus far will look like reckless freedom in comparison. And, let us be honest, you do not want this either. We will have one of those dreadful marriages of duty and strained patience with each other. Of brief couplings in dark beds and ritualistic family life. If you would be content with that, you would have married years ago. You deserve better. You really do.”

She spoke earnestly. And honestly. Perhaps more honestly than she ever had with him, he guessed. Her insight at the end impressed him. In a few sentences, he came to know her much better.

He wondered if there might be another way out of this for her. He could not think of one.

“It is good of you to worry about my contentment, Lydia, but do not concern yourself. I was born for duty, and you have become a part of that now. Pretend I proposed, and you accepted, and leave it at that.”

The sphinx gazed at him for a solid minute before speaking. “I would have never agreed. Not ever. I am more sure of that than anything in my life. You murdered a man who was your friend, and mine too. My brother may have forgiven you, but I have not.” She stood. “I am suddenly much affected by the day’s events. I will retire and rest now, to prepare for our meeting with Mr. Trilby.”

 • • • 

L
ydia allowed the hotel’s maid to redress her hair, then sent the woman away. She washed herself, and the water, although warm, felt like a shock. A chill had entered her in the card room. Almost at once the cloud had tried to engulf her again.

The only way to put that year in the past was to leave it alone. Yet he had stirred it all up again, with his talk of marriage. Now the old emotions plucked at her heart, and poked at her composure. She washed and washed, because once she stopped there would be nothing to do.

A light knock on her door startled her. She opened it a crack, expecting to see the maid. Instead Penthurst stood there.

He did not ask to enter. Instead he gripped the door’s edge and simply moved it back and stepped inside. He did not move from that spot, but she backed away as if he did.

“We did not finish our conversation, and I do not think it can be put off to your liking,” he said.

His audacity in coming here astonished her. A welcomed warmth spilled through her as her mind snapped alert to the danger and assumptions attached to his presence in her chamber.

“I am quite done with it. I promise you that you will not like the rest if you demand it.”

“I do demand it, however. You hold that duel against me, and judge me harshly, you have made clear twice now. Almost two years have passed, however. Others have reconsidered their judgments, and under the circumstances, it is time to put your anger aside.”

“The circumstances require it, or do you?” She heard her voice rising. Felt her heart bursting. “You killed him. Over some stupid, little point of honor that probably could have been ignored.” Her eyes stung, but she refused to wipe them, refused to admit her anger had led to tears. “So I cannot pretend you proposed and I accepted. I would have never, ever, listened to talk of marriage with you, even if somehow I could set aside that I have never liked you, that your manner toward me has always been superior and proud and you have always spoken to me as if I am a child to be instructed. That my choice should be ruin or you is a cruel joke.”

His expression hardened under the onslaught of her fury. “I am, as always when that day is discussed, at a disadvantage, Lydia. There is much I could tell you, but little you would want to hear. I am not inclined to explain myself either, for what is done is done. I will say this much, and hope you hear it. First, I never intended to kill him. Second, it was not over a small, stupid point of honor. And, third, for all that we knew him so well and so long, we did not know him at all.”

“Will you now try to destroy his memory too?”

“You can remember Lakewood as you choose, but I will not allow you to sacrifice your life and future out of misplaced loyalty to him. You may have never entertained a proposal from me in the normal course of events, but you will have to accept the one I make now.”

“I do not.”

He came over and looked down at her. She almost jumped out of her skin. “Let me be as blunt as you, Lydia. You do not have a choice. Do I have to exact payment for that debt, in order for you to see the rightness of it? Once I have seduced you, there can be no other honorable conclusion of the affair except marriage.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He strode to the door. “We will meet Trilby at five this afternoon. And we will set off for Scotland in the morning.”

 • • • 

P
anic swelled. Lydia stared at the door after the duke left, and wondered if she should try to move a heavy chair against it.

Forcing some composure, she took a long look at her situation. Penthurst spoke of scandal as inevitable, but with a little fancy dancing, could she avoid it, and also this marriage of obligation he proposed?

She feared that nothing less than the full truth would stand against the image of Trilby trying to force her into that carriage. Since the full truth meant explaining that stupid novel, and the blackmail, and her agreeing to meet Trilby in order to cheat Buxton visitors at cards, she did not think even the truth would put her in a better place.

This was all Penthurst’s fault. If he had not followed her here . . . Lydia sighed. If he had not followed her here, she would have been at Trilby’s mercy once she was in that carriage. Who knew what he might have done to ensure she exchanged vows in Scotland?

Nor could she ignore the fact that Penthurst had only followed her because she had gone to his house and forced his hand on that wager.

She really wanted to hold someone else responsible for her impossible situation, but no matter how she viewed it, the finger of blame pointed right back at her. Even that novel that had started it all—what had she been thinking?

Try as she might, she could not put herself back into her state of mind during those months when she wrote it. Between now and then there existed a murky period that swallowed memories and time. She thought that a good part of her had taken refuge in a walking sleep, because being truly alive brought too much pain.

And now she was faced with marriage to the man who had killed all of her dreams.

She could not stop thinking she had dared the devil in demanding the wager go through, and now the darkest powers laughed at her.

Hardly becalmed, and not at all at peace, she turned her attention to horrible Mr. Trilby, who still possessed that damned manuscript of hers. Perhaps she could use his outrageous behavior to demand a final agreement this afternoon, so he did not complicate her life even more than he had thus far.

 • • • 

A
lgernon Trilby had the brass to appear aggrieved when they met him at five o’clock that afternoon near the wells. Lydia wanted to hit him, but she instead greeted him formally. Penthurst did not. In fact, the duke managed a cut direct while standing right in front of the man.

Nothing else was said until Trilby spoke. “I apologize sincerely for my behavior this morning. It was inexcusable.”

“By
inexcusable
, do you admit that you had no cause to believe I would journey with you to Scotland, or to anywhere else? I cannot allow your claims of an engagement to stand, let alone be aired in court,” Lydia said. “If your apology does not include that admission, I do not accept it and you can have that duel or stand down as a coward.”

Trilby’s expression twisted and twitched. He appeared a man taking the worst-tasting tonic against his will. “Since you now demand it, I will add that I may have misunderstood your intentions.”

“And there was no engagement. Say it outright, sir, lest you later claim you never said it at all.”

Trilby glared at her, then at the duke who would serve as the best witness in the world. “I declare without qualification there was no engagement,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Then I think we are done here,” Penthurst said.

“If you will indulge me, I would like to speak to Mr. Trilby alone for two minutes. No longer, I assure you.”

Penthurst eyed her with curiosity, but shrugged and stepped aside. Lydia walked to Mr. Trilby and kept on pacing, trusting the scoundrel would fall into step with her. Side by side, she guided Trilby out of the duke’s hearing.

“You have created a fine mess, sir. Except for my willingness to hear your apology, the duke would be cleaning his dueling pistols right now.”

Trilby’s mouth thinned. “His challenge was excessive under the circumstances.”

“He found you twice with your hands on me. Furthermore, you are a despicable blackmailer. Ongoing avarice led you to devise plans to cheat at cards, then force me into marriage. Just thinking about my list of grievances against you makes me think I should not have interceded with him on your behalf, but let you face him at his worst.”

Trilby’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. “You may have a duke as your protector, but I still have that journal. That is why you accepted my apology, and let us not pretend otherwise.”

“How good of you to mention that. I am quite done with the trouble it has caused me. I brought twenty-five hundred with me, as I told you. I have packed it up, and given it to the manager of the Crescent. Your name is on the package, and he will hand it to you when you apply for it. I suggest you take it, and let it suffice for a good, long while.”

It was the plan she had brought with her to Buxton to start. After all she had been through, and would go through, he had better accept it.

He paced a good dozen steps before nodding. “It will have to do. For now. However, you will not receive the journal until I get the rest.”

“And I will expect proof you still have that manuscript before you get another shilling.”

She stopped walking. They had moved about fifty yards from Penthurst. She looked back to see him watching, ready to move if necessary. “We are well done. I do not expect to see you, or have communications from you, again for at least a year if not more.”

They faced each other. “Good day, Lady Lydia.” Trilby bowed, and continued walking in the direction they had been going.

Lydia walked back toward Penthurst.

He stood amid trees almost barren of leaves, a tall dark form with eyes concentrating on her almost invasively. He appeared very separate from the town, his hair whipped by the breeze and his stance commanding the landscape.

She looked at him hard. Looked at him objectively as she had not in years.

He was very handsome. He always had been, but she had been loath to grant him that quality, since she wanted to dislike all he was. She admitted now that nature had more than favored his face and form. If she were any other woman, she probably would be breathless at the thought of being his wife, no matter what his station might be. A lively little warmth began dancing in her chest as his gaze locked on her own.

How disgraceful that this man could do that to her, with his eyes and kisses. She looked away to end the outrageous stimulation.

“I think we can bid farewell to Mr. Trilby,” he said. “After we are wed, he will not dare so much as claim to have known you.”

She looked up at his profile while they walked back to the Crescent. That irritating warmth danced again. Suddenly her problems with Mr. Trilby paled beside the enormity of becoming Penthurst’s wife. Perhaps she could at least put it off.

“Is Scotland really necessary?” she asked.

“My plot does not work without it.”

Probably not. Only his plot required a very hasty next chapter.

He took her arm, and angled off the path. He pulled her behind a tree that afforded some privacy. “I do not think it is only your anger over the duel that makes you resistant. I also think you are afraid of the consummation. You do not have to be.”