by Cheryl Bolen
Alarmed because of the elderly housekeeper's frailty, Bonny led her from the room. "Come, Mrs. Green." She coughed. "We shouldn't want your lungs to take a disease."
The old woman issued no protest as Bonny escorted her from the room.
"I must commend you on the progress being made at Hedley Hall," Bonny said when they reached the ballroom.
"Thank you, your grace." Mrs. Green sneezed. "Did you have a nice visit with the vicar's family?" Mrs. Green's lips twitched mischievously.
"Why, Mrs. Green, I believe you know how very unpleasant those children of theirs can be–all except for the precious baby boy."
"Indeed. They're a wild bunch. Unfortunately, the poor little babe will probably turn out like all the rest."
They walked across the ballroom's parquet floors, which were in need of a good polish. Mrs. Green took a dust cloth from her pocket and ran it over the gilded frame of a massive painting of the Spanish Armada. "This place is sadly in need of a great deal of work, I'm sorry to say." Mrs. Green's thin, shaky words echoed in the vast room.
"With the extra day help, it will be done before we know it," Bonny said reassuringly.
Mrs. Green sniffed away the last of the dust. "I do hope your visit to the rectory wasn't altogether frightful."
"Oh, no. In fact, as I was leaving, I had the good fortune to meet Miss Cressida Carlisle."
Bonny detected a slight stiffening in Mrs. Green's manner at the mention of Cressida. "Tis a pity that one never married," Mrs. Green said. "She had many offers during her season in London but turned them all down. I always felt she was holding out for his grace."
Bonny thought of the lovely young woman and swallowed hard. "For Richard?"
"Yes. They were the best of friends as children."
"Then she's past thirty?"
Mrs. Green nodded. "Though she's younger than his grace. She rather followed him around like an adoring pup."
Bonny's chest tightened. "Did he return her ardor?"
"No. He treated her as a sister, if you ask me."
"Well, I must say she was quite nice to me."
"I feel sure it has been many years now since she accepted that she would never be his duchess."
Bonny left Mrs. Green to supervise the laundry and went to her room to freshen up before Radcliff returned, her thoughts on the unfortunate Cressida Carlisle, who had chosen the lonely life of a spinster.
On the ride to Squire Carlisle's manor in Radcliff's curricle, Bonny inhaled the fresh country air, not objecting to the cool winds, which ruffled her hair and caused her bonnet to flap. This was the first time she had truly observed the green Kent countryside. "I must scold you, Richard, for praising Northumbria when your own Kent is so much more beautiful." The sun shone again today, glancing off the many lakes. Sheep grazed in hedged meadows, and gently rising hills seemed to hunker over the landscape.
"They are different types of beauty."
She watched Radcliff's masculine hands holding the ribbons to the high-stepping bay and spoke in an offhand manner. "Speaking of beauty, do you find Cressida Carlisle beautiful?"
"Cressy?"
Bonny nodded, her eyes on the rugged profile of his unwavering face.
"Never gave it a thought. She's quite a rattlebrain. I suppose she's fair enough, but..." He turned and lifted Bonny's chin to gaze into her aquamarine eyes. "She's no match for the lovely Duchess of Radcliff."
Bonny listened to the steady clop of the horse, glowing over her husband's words.
The Carlisle manor house seemed small compared to Hedley Hall, but the stately red brick mansion was three times bigger than Bonny's home in Milford.
The Carlisles greeted the Duke and Duchess of Radcliff with enthusiasm. Both the squire and his wife appeared well fed and were much older than Bonny had expected. She soon realized that Cressida was their youngest child, four older sisters having married many years ago and produced a bevy of grandchildren for the squire.
Like so many older men, the squire still powdered his hair as men of fashion had done a dozen years previously. His wife looked much like Cressida but plumper and grayer.
They all took tea in the drawing room, permeated with the scent of a half-dozen bouquets in porcelain and crystal vases. The agreeable Mrs. Carlisle served tea from her silken settee.
Before much time passed, the loud-speaking squire and Radcliff were deep in conversation about sport and farming matters, which the women tried to ignore while they discussed fashion.
"I see that you are in mourning," Mrs. Carlisle said.
Bonny's eyes lowered. "Yes. My mother died just after Richard and I wed."
"How terrible," Cressida said.
"Yes," Bonny replied, setting her teacup back on its flower-trimmed saucer. "What helps most is that she had prepared for her death for some time and went without sorrow."
"And you've got his grace to fill in some of the emptiness," said Mrs. Carlisle.
Such personal observations were generally withheld from unfamiliar acquaintances, but Bonny found the older woman's remarks comforting. She decided she quite liked the entire Carlisle family.
"I hate to bring up fashion since you are in mourning," Cressida said, "but I do long to hear of the latest fashions in London."
Bonny picked up a biscuit. "I'm probably not a good one to ask. I was in London but a month after spending my entire eighteen years at a parsonage in Northumbria."
"You humble yourself," Cressida said. "I am sure you were the picture of fashion when you captured Richard."
Bonny appraised Cressida, who wore her hair in the latest fashion and whose sprigged muslin dress seemed most appropriate day wear. She noted, too, that Cressida had changed from the lovely pink dress and matching pelisse she had worn earlier in the day. "Judging from your short curly hair, Cressida, I would say you have kept up quite well with London fashions."
Cressida shrugged off the compliment. "Is it true that hats are all the rage, even for evening wear?"
"Oh, yes, hats and feathers are on every London woman's head." Bonny wondered why Cressida did not wear the white cap that was expected of women who were past their youth. Is that why Bonny had been so surprised to learn Cressida was past thirty?
"I feel so removed from everything here," Cressida complained.
"Richard admitted company could be quite thin, which explained why he spent so much time in London," Bonny said. "But we expect to spend more time here now that he intends to settle down."
A smile broke across Cressida's face. "It will be perfectly wonderful to have another woman around."
"Then maybe you'll get your head out of those books," Mrs. Carlisle told her daughter.
Cressida gave an exasperated sigh. "Mama just doesn't understand how truly wonderful the books from the Minerva Press are. Have you read the latest?" Cressida asked Bonny.
"Because of my religious upbringing, my father discouraged me from reading stories of that nature." Never mind that her father had shared with her his own eclectic library, which included works of a quite pagan nature.
Mrs. Carlisle poured more tea. "When you are finished mourning, your grace, we shall have to have a ball."
"I shall look forward to it."
As the duke and duchess departed, Cressida and her mother announced they would pay Bonny a morning call.
Bonny was relieved to know that Cressida had so well accepted the fact that she would never be the Duchess of Radcliff.
Chapter Ten
Stanley had ridden hard all day, and he was bloody glad to see Hedley Hall's dormers and chimneys lining up across the gray horizon as he humped over a gentle Kent hill. He stirred with envy when he beheld Hedley Hall spreading its magnificent proportions across the countryside. Richard did not deserve such splendor. He cared nothing for entertaining. Why, he had scarcely used the ancestral home since Uncle and Aunt died so many years before.
What grand entertainments he would have if he were master at Hedley, Stanley thought. An invitation to H
edley Hall would be coveted by the noblest in all of Europe. Each guest room would be fit for a king, and only the finest meals would be served in the great dining hall. The best musicians in Europe would entertain his guests. Why, his own consequence would be second only to the Regent's.
Dismounting from his stallion once he reached the imposing entrance, Stanley felt mist on his face and eyed the dark clouds. "We barely miss a thorough drenching," he said to Wilcox. He handed his reins to a footman and ordered, "Do see to my horse and to my man's."
He strode into the palatial entry hall, looked Carstairs up and down, then said, "Announce me to your master. I'm his cousin, Stanley Moncrief, in case the years have erased your memory."
"I am sorry to say his grace is not home at the present."
Stanley's eyes narrowed. "Not here? Then where is he?"
"He and the duchess have gone to pay a social call."
"The duchess!" Stanley's heart sank. He had hoped to get to Richard before the foolish deed was done. The stories he had planned to tell on the fair Bonny Barbara Allan! By the time he finished, Richard would have fled the country to avoid linking his life to hers. But, alas, the vows must have been spoken. He swallowed hard. "Then, they have already married?"
"To be sure, sir."
Things were not totally lost. At least Richard was here. He had not ridden to Kent for nothing. It might not be too late. He turned on his most charming smile, one that never failed to melt one of the gentler sex. "Please show me to my room and have someone bring my things."
"I shall have to consult with the housekeeper to determine which room will be most satisfactory, sir," Carstairs announced, pivoting stiffly and striding toward the west wing.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Green escorted Stanley to the green room Emily had occupied. The housekeeper informed him that country hours were kept, that the room had been thoroughly cleaned–including fresh bed linens put on this very week–and assured him a fire would be lit in his grate in a thrice.
After he settled in his chamber, he began to pace on the green carpet. Fortunately he had another plan up his sleeve, a plan he hoped would cause an irreparable rift to the marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Radcliff.
Carstairs forgot to inform the duke his cousin had arrived. The butler had other things to worry about when his master, soaking wet from encountering a rainstorm on the way back from Squire Carlisle's, came flying into the hall barking orders left and right.
"Her grace needs a hot bath in her chamber as soon as possible. See that there's a fresh fire in my chamber and her grace's. Send Evans up immediately. And Marie, too."
The duke had pulled his drenched wife into his embrace and shot a worried look at her before mounting the stairs and ensconcing Bonny in her dry room.
From behind her screen, Bonny threw off wet clothes while a procession of servants carried pans of hot water to her room. Marie assisted Bonny with her bath, then Bonny slipped into her shift and sat at her dressing table while Marie worked wonders with her hair, pinning it back into a Grecian style that hid its wetness. Marie curled little ringlets to frame Bonny's face, and by the time she assisted her into a rose-colored gown, the ringlets had dried.
Marie stood back to survey her mistress. "I am so very glad that his grace likes ye in colorful gowns. Mourning don't suit one as pretty as yer grace." Her eyes darted to the low-cut neckline. "His grace may want ye to wear a pelisse. He seemed sorely worried ye would take the death of cold. The duke is most surely a man in love."
Bonny dabbed perfume behind her ear. If only those words were true. She could understand why Marie suspected Richard of caring. In truth, he really did care about her. But he cared for his horse, his groom, his snuffbox collection. And now that she was his wife, he seemed over-solicitous of her. A smile brightened her face. Perhaps those feelings were deepening to love.
"I had best get ye a shawl to keep his grace from worrying so." Marie found one of ivory cashmere and draped it across her mistress's shoulders as Bonny absently stroked its softness.
From the mirror on her dressing table, Bonny saw Radcliff steal into her chamber, and a quick smile lit her face. Dressed for dinner, he held a large velvet box. "That will be all, Marie," Bonny said, her eyes fastened to her husband's.
Marie turned to face the duke and curtsied.
"You are free the rest of the night, Marie," Radcliff said. "The duchess will not need your assistance getting ready for bed."
A knowing smile swept across Marie's face as she left the room; color rose to Bonny's cheeks.
"How very embarrassing, Richard." Bonny tried to sound annoyed. "You might as well have told her you planned to undress me."
He reached her in two long strides, threw her shawl to the ground and bent to gently kiss her neck. "Very well, I will next time."
"I beg that you don't."
His lips moved up to her ear and he whispered, "As lovely as you look, my dear, I fear something is missing."
She slowly swiveled to face him, her expression puzzled.
He opened the velvet box and withdrew an elaborate diamond necklace. "These. The Radcliff Jewels."
She had never seen so many diamonds in one place. "Oh, Richard, I should be afraid to wear anything so valuable."
He unfastened the clasp and draped the heavy necklace around Bonny's neck. "Nonsense. They are yours. They belong to the reigning Duchess of Radcliff."
As thoroughly as she belonged to Richard, Bonny still had a difficult time believing she was the Duchess of Radcliff. Her fingers traced the larger stones. Would the necklace pass to the wife of their son? If only she could give Radcliff a son.
After he fastened the necklace, her husband proffered his crooked arm and escorted her to dinner.
From the drawing room Stanley had a view of the foot of the main stairway. A man of excellent taste, he appreciated the magnificent grilled ironwork of the balusters. The first duke had found a Parisian artisan to create and carry out the pattern for him. While Stanley was contemplating the artistry, he heard his cousin's voice and soft female laughter. When the duke and duchess came into view, he quite caught his breath, his eyes lifting from the soft sweep of Bonny's breasts, up her elegant ivory neck to her incredible face. God's teeth, but she was beautiful. He rose to his feet to meet them.
Radcliff saw him first and halted on the Oriental carpet at the foot of the stairs, a puzzled look on his face. "Stanley? What a surprise to see you here."
"Carstairs did not tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"That I came when you were out this afternoon."
Radcliff hooked his arm around Bonny. "I regret to say I did not allow the poor fellow a chance to speak." He gazed into Bonny's face. "That sudden storm this afternoon drenched the duchess and me. Allow me to introduce my wife–"
"But I have met Mr. Moncrief," Bonny said, directing a smile at her husband's cousin.
Stanley bowed. "Your most obedient servant, your grace."
"Come, let us eat," Richard said. "That storm made me hungry. I daresay if my household knew you were here, they set a place for you."
The staff had, indeed, set three places at the long table. Richard sat at the head, with his wife and cousin on either side and two footmen seeing to their every need.
"I thought from her grace's elegant appearance that more than just the three of us would be here," Stanley said.
"The duchess dresses thus to please me."
Stanley's eyes flitted from Bonny to Radcliff.
"And," Bonny added, separating her pheasant from its skin, "we are not given to entertaining because I am in mourning."
"Her grace's mother died immediately after we married," Radcliff explained.
Damn his luck, Stanley thought. If the old woman had only died a day earlier, the mourning daughter would have been forced to postpone her wedding. "How very surprised I was to learn of your marriage, which actually I did not learn of until today. The announcement in the Gazette was hard enough to believe."<
br />
"The reason for the haste was that Barbara's mother desired to see us marry before she died."
So that explained the hurried ceremony, Stanley thought. "I was also surprised because I did not think you well acquainted with Miss Allan." He held up his empty wineglass as a silent command to the nearest footman, who readily refilled it.
The duke's knuckles whitened around his fork and he spoke defiantly. "You forget, cousin, my wife is no longer Miss Allan."
Stanley turned on one of his dazzling smiles. "To be sure."
Radcliff relaxed and spoke more kindly to Stanley. "What brings you to Hedley Hall?"
"There is a private matter I wish to discuss with you, and I also wanted to offer my congratulations."
"Anything you have to say can be said in front of my wife."
God, but he must be besotted with her to give the chit that kind of trust. Stanley only hoped it wasn't too late. If she were with child... Well, it did not bear thinking of. One thing perfectly clear was that Richard must be in love.
But what of his young bride? "I would rather not discuss it in female company. What I have to tell you could offend female sensibilities."
"Very well," the duke agreed. "We'll take brandy in the salon once we have finished dining." His eyes darted to his wife.
"I will select a book from your library while you speak with your cousin," Bonny told her husband.
Stanley was rather proud of his ability to adjust to shattered plans. His goal now was to keep the duke and duchess apart, to do what he could to prevent conception of a sixth Duke of Radcliff, while at the same time attempting to separate the duke and duchess in a permanent way. And he had been able to think of a plan to set his scheme in motion without uttering a single lie.
In the salon after dinner, Radcliff refused to sit down but instead paced the patterned carpet, sipping brandy and smoking a cigar.
The duke's almost hostile treatment of him angered Stanley. Richard never had liked him. Well, he would show him.
"And what is this matter that might offend my wife's delicate sensibilities?" Radcliff spun around to glare at his cousin.
