The Desirable Duchess (11 page)

The door opened and Hoskins, the butler, walked in. The couple broke apart. Hoskins quickly withdrew.

Alice stared up at the duke in a drowned way. Now, he thought, now I should scoop her up in my arms and take her to bed. There came a scratching at the door. “What is it?” called the duke angrily.

“Mr. Vere is called,” came the butler’s voice.

“Damn. Edward. I had forgot. I promised to go riding with Edward.”

“Then you must go,” said Alice, stepping down from the footstool.

“But later we shall go for a drive in the Park. Are you free?”

“Oh, yes,” said Alice happily, not knowing what she was engaged to do that day but meaning to cancel everything.

He smiled and gave her a sudden last hard kiss on the mouth.

He and Edward rode easily under the trees on Rotten Row. Edward was wondering how to bring up the matter his wife had commanded him to interrogate the duke about. It had all happened at the ball after the opera the night before. Mrs. Tumley, a chattering matron, had sought out Lucy and the two had become engaged in conversation. On the road home, Lucy, in anguish, had told him that, according to Mrs. Tumley, Alice was setting out on an affair with Sir Gerald, had been meeting him in secret, while the duke intended to get a speedy divorce and marry Lady Macdonald.

When at last they reined in, Edward said cautiously, “How is Alice?”

“Blooming, my dear Edward.”

“Never asked you before,” said Edward awkwardly, “but I feel things got off to a bad start with that cursed bird at the wedding.”

The duke looked at him shrewdly. “What’s this all about, Edward?”

“Nasty gossips are plaguing my Lucy with the intelligence that Alice is enamored of Sir Gerald and has been seen with him and—”

The duke spurred his horse and set off like the wind. Cursing, Edward followed, not catching up with the duke until the far side of the Park. The duke reined in and patted his horse’s neck. “Never again, Edward,” he said evenly, “relate any gossip about me or my wife to me again. Is that understood?”

“Of course, of course,” said Edward hurriedly. “Dashed sorry. It’s Lucy’s condition. Everything upsets her.”

Alice passed the time, waiting for her husband to arrive to take her driving in the Park, by reading a magazine. In it a writer had satirized the diary of a woman of fashion that led Alice to think that she herself led a remarkably staid life.

Alice laughed at the last line of this satire. The Picnic Club was that most reputable of institutions, engaged as it was in musical performances and amateur theatricals. The lady of society had chosen the most respectable of interests to forego in the name of reformation.

Her husband walked into the room and she ran to him, laughing, and showed him the article. “Correct in every detail,” he said sourly, glancing through it, “down to the bad French. If society women insist on larding their conversation with French, why cannot they at least learn to speak it properly?”

“
Tish!
It is not just Englishwomen but Englishmen who are deficient in that respect,” said Alice. “Englishmen who go on the Grand Tour are well versed in Ancient Greek and Latin but not in any of the languages of the countries they must pass through. They leave all knowledge of foreign languages to their couriers.”

“Ah, yes, Sir Gerald Warby has been on the Grand Tour, I believe,” said the duke.

Alice blushed fiery red in anger and embarrassment. She thought all that nonsense had been resolved. But the duke saw that blush and put it down to guilt. He had never been jealous before and wondered why he could hardly control his own sour anger. From upstairs came banging and clanging as the decorators continued their work on the drawing room. He had a sudden urge to say that he liked his house as it was and would she please leave it alone, but the pettiness of that thought brought him somewhat to his senses.

Why should he listen to gossip—whether relayed to him by Edward or anyone else? He smiled suddenly at Alice. “Fetch your bonnet and pelisse, my dear, and we will take the air.”

Relieved by his abrupt change of humor, Alice ran to put on a pretty Lavinia bonnet and a pere-line, instead of a pelisse, that short cape of fine muslin trimmed with bugle beads that was more of an ornament than a protection against the weather. Men were indeed odd. Mama had warned her that they were subject to a Disorder of the Spleen from time to time, which made the creatures tetchy.

And his evident good humor lasted as he drove her competently to the Park in a smart phaeton. Alice began to relax and enjoy herself. Her estrangement from her husband had caused her a certain amount of social isolation. Now all could see they were on the best of terms.

Soldiers were drilling at the far side of the Park, a military display rather than the military necessity it had been during the wars with the French.

They bowled along, the duke nodding to people he knew. Alice felt very proud to be seen out with him. He smiled down at her. “Had enough of the quizzes?” he asked.

“Let’s go round one more time,” said Alice. “I want everyone to see us together. And I want a closer look at the soldiers.”

“How unfashionable of you,” he mocked, to disguise the fact that he was highly pleased. “The fashionables are thinning out now.”

The carriage moved slowly under the trees. They had just come abreast a stand of bushes quite near where the soldiers were drilling. The front rank of soldiers raised their muskets and fired a volley in the air, making Alice start, and the carriage rug slipped from her knees. Holding the reins in one hand, the duke stooped to raise the rug round her knees again and, as he bent down, there was a sharp report. “Those soldiers,” said Alice. “What a waste of ammunition.”

The duke reined in his team and then slowly removed his curly-brimmed beaver and held it out. “Why!” exclaimed Alice, “There is a hole in your good hat…” Her voice trailed away and she looked at him in horror.

“Exactly,” he said grimly. He called to his tiger on the backstrap to go to the horse’s heads and then he jumped down. “I won’t be long,” he said. “I am just going to have a word with the colonel in charge of those men.”

Alice sat looking about her. What a terrible thing to have happened. Sometimes it seemed as if there were guns going off all over London—from military displays to Cockney sportsmen who brought their guns into town and fired at dogs and cats and geese. And then a movement to her right caught her eye. Walking briskly away, near the stand of bushes, was a figure that looked familiar. She leaned a little forward. Surely she recognized that long body and those short legs. Surely that was Sir Gerald. She felt suddenly cold. Could he… would he dare… fire at her husband? But the idea was preposterous.

“I am going for a little walk,” she called to the tiger.

She jumped nimbly down and forced herself to walk slowly round to the back of the stand of bushes until she found herself screened from the tiger.

Then she parted the branches and peered into the green undergrowth. A musket, a military musket, was lying on the ground. Then she heard her husband’s voice asking where she was and hurried back.

“The colonel says it could not have been any of his men. He watched them and they all fired in the air,” said the duke.

“John, I am afraid someone
was
firing at you,” said Alice. “There is a musket hidden in those bushes and I think the shot might have come from there.”

His face grim, he went to look, drawing the musket out of its hiding place and sniffing the barrel. “Recently fired,” he said. “Did you see anyone?”

Alice shook her head. It could not have been Sir Gerald. Her eyes must have been playing her tricks. It was probably one of the Cockney sportsmen firing at a bird in a tree and hitting the duke’s hat by mistake. To mention Sir Gerald’s name would start up all the old scandal. But as soon as she had shaken her head, she immediately wished she had told him the truth. To tell him now would seem as if her first impulse had been to shield Sir Gerald, and she could not have him believe that. She looked wretched, but the duke put it down to fright.

He walked back and stopped a smart carriage. Mrs. Tumley’s rouged face looked at him in surprise. “Please, would you take my wife home,” said the duke. “I have an urgent matter to attend to here.”

“Gladly,” said Mrs. Tumley, goggling with curiosity as Alice was helped in beside her.

“What was all that about?” asked Mrs. Tumley as they drove off.

“Someone shot at my husband and would have killed him had he not been bending down at the time,” said Alice.

“How frightful!” shrieked Mrs. Tumley. “My dear duchess, I feel quite faint. There are murderers and assassins everywhere.”

“I think it might prove to be some Cockney sportsman,” said Alice quietly, wishing she could get that retreating figure—looking
so
like Sir Gerald Warby—out of her head.

“You must be all of a quiver, but then you are used to living dangerously,” said Mrs. Tumley, with a titter.

“What do you mean by that remark?”

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Tumley put a gloved hand on Alice’s knee. She glanced around and lowered her voice. “We all know you are pining for Sir Gerald.”

“How dare you!” said Alice furiously. “How dare you spread such malicious gossip? It is not true. Coachman! Stop here!”

Alice jumped down from the carriage and walked off along Park Street, her face flaming.

So it’s true after all, thought Mrs. Tumley with satisfaction. She would not have been so vehement in her denial if there had been nothing in it. So instead of driving on, she went to call on a Mrs. Grange, and among Mrs. Grange’s callers was Lucy Vere, who listened, appalled, to the gossip.

She declared it was all lies and promptly took her leave. The ladies nodded wisely after she had gone. Lucy Vere was a friend of the duchess’s. Of course she would try to defend her friend. And so gossip, fueled by envy of the pretty duchess, continued to spread.

Lucy went home, sat down at her desk, and wrote a note to Sir Gerald requesting him to call. She knew Edward was not expected back for another two hours. Then she waited impatiently.

Sir Gerald arrived quite promptly. He had been in his lodgings, cursing himself for his failed attempt on the duke’s life. He was feeling sick and shaky. He felt he could not make another attempt. It was one thing to dream about taking a man’s life, another thing to actually try to do it. The summons from Lucy intrigued him. Perhaps Alice had sent him a message through Lucy. If only he had never accepted that money from her parents to go away. He could have married the girl and had her fortune.

Lucy received him in the library of her home, a setting she felt more suited to grave business than the drawing room, despite the fact that the library contained only one bookshelf full of romances. Edward did not read anything other than the morning papers.

“Be seated, Sir Gerald,” said Lucy. “I have something very important to discuss with you.”

He sat down. Lucy regarded him steadily. She had always thought him a handsome man and had envied Alice in the days before she, Lucy, had met her darling Edward. There was some change in Sir Gerald, she thought, a certain loss of innocence. There were dark shadows under his black eyes and his mouth had become fuller.

“I heard some very distressing gossip this afternoon,” said Lucy.

Gerald sat very still. Surely he could not be suspected of that attempt on Ferrant’s life. He had first established an alibi by riding to a curricle race at Hammersmith. As soon as he had talked to as many people as possible, he had slipped away and ridden as hard as he could back to London. He was sure no one had seen him in the Park. He had heard that the duke was to take Alice driving and he knew of the military exercise. He had purchased an army musket and had carried it to the Park. He had hid in the stand of bushes, hoping that the duke and Alice might drive over to look at the soldiers. That they should have driven past just after that volley of shots was a remarkable piece of luck—but the duke
would
choose that moment to stoop in the carriage—and so the musket ball had gone harmlessly through his hat.

“Mrs. Tumley,” said Lucy, “is spreading gossip about you and Alice.”

“Fie for shame,” said Gerald, with relief. “Alice is lost to me.” His agile brain was working. No use telling this friend of Alice’s any lies about a liaison. On the other hand, she could be put to use.

“I know there is no truth in it,” said Lucy, “and I want you to tell everyone so.”

“My dear Mrs. Vere,” he said, putting his hand on his heart, “your wish is my command.”

“Yes… well, very fine, to be sure,” said Lucy uneasily.

“But there is one thing you do not realize, Mrs. Vere. I have been much wronged. Alice’s parents called on me and told me to leave Alice alone… begged me. They said she was in love with Ferrant and had not the courage to tell me. Ah, the pain and humiliation of it all. My heart nigh broke.”

“Very sad,” said Lucy uncomfortably. “But that is all past and she is married, and so…”

“And so I must accept it. But she is so unhappy. Surely you have noticed that. This… er… flaunting of Lady Macdonald…”

A shadow crossed Lucy’s face. “Let us not talk about that.”

“As you will. What concerns me is that I have not had a proper chance to explain myself to Alice. All I want is one meeting.”

“That would not be wise. You know the way of the world, sir. A man may have mistresses, but a woman must never cause any scandal whatsoever.”