by Cheryl Bolen
When he pulled away, she moaned and met his gaze, her face like one delirious with fever.
"If we stay here another moment," he said throatily, "I shall have your clothes off, and it will never do to have Mandley see the Duchess of Radcliff disrobed. Shall we go upstairs to finish what we've started?"
She answered him with a hungry nod.
If only he had the power over her heart that he seemed to have over her body, he thought.
Chapter Thirteen
Bonny's chamber was more dark than light as she slipped from the bed. Her movements had not disturbed Radcliff, who lay on his side, his breathing heavy. She quickly dressed in a brown riding habit Emily had discarded, glad that her husband could not see her. Of course, he was too kind to ridicule her meager wardrobe, but she hated to bring him shame. Already she felt totally unprepared to be a duchess and feared the servants mocked her. If only she could have fallen in love with a plain mister or even a mere viscount!
When she finished dressing and went downstairs, shafts of hazy morning light angled through the tall casements. The drowsy footman rose from the low marble bench at the bottom of the stairway.
"Please have the groom bring around an easy stepper for me," Bonny instructed.
He bowed. "Yes, your grace."
The smell of baking bread wafted up from the basement as Bonny looked in on a sleeping Twigs, assuring herself of his well-being.
The lad Rusty brought her horse around. "Ye plannin' to go off by yerself, yer grace?''
"Just for a ride around the park," Bonny said, favoring the freckle-faced youth with a smile.
"I dunno if his grace would be 'appy about that."
"You may be right, Rusty. That is why I do not intend to tell him." She swung around to mount her horse.
He gave her a leg up and she rode off without looking back.
Not far inside Hyde Park, Bonny observed the waiting barouche bearing Dunsford's crest and pulled her mount beside it. Dunsford instructed his groom to help the lady dismount and watch after her horse.
Before she got in the carriage, Bonny gave Dunsford the address on Kepple Street, which he conveyed to the driver. Then, Bonny looked around to satisfy herself that no one was watching.
"I am so very nervous," Bonny told him as she settled back on the soft squabs. "Pray, how would I ever explain this to my husband?"
The lanky blond man across from Bonny shrugged and shook his head sympathetically. "I would not wish to jeopardize your marriage."
Bonny only looked away distractedly.
When the barouche pulled up in front of the house on Kepple Street, Lord Dunsford got out first and looked up and down the street before he allowed Bonny to disembark. Then the two hurried up the steps of Number 17 Kepple Street.
As Mrs. Davies opened the door, a healthy baby wail greeted them. The round old woman with capped head shot Bonny a warm smile. "Lord love a duck, but the babe's as spoiled as last week's milk." Mrs. Davies reached to hug Bonny. "She takes to squallin' the minute I set her down." She glanced at Dunsford. "Is this yer husband?"
Bonny kissed the old nurse's kindly face. "No, this is Harriet's uncle. Harriet was named for his brother, Harold."
Mrs. Davies started walking toward the source of the wailing. "Here we comes, little Miss Harriet. Don't ye be frettin'. Ye've got company."
The minute Bonny saw Harriet's little blond head poking up from the side of the cradle, she flew to the baby and picked her up. "Good morning, pretty little girl."
The baby's tears shut off as if a faucet handle had been turned. She met Bonny's babbling with some good-natured babbling of her own, and soon Bonny had her giggling.
"Uncle Henry has come to see you, pretty girl. You must behave yourself and show him how very sweet you are."
Bonny turned to him. "Would you like to hold her?"
He quickly shook his head. "Oh, not now. I might...I might break her or something."
"Such a silly man," Bonny said to the baby. "Let's go sit on the divan and invite Uncle Henry to sit beside us."
"Sometimes she'll take to squallin' if you go and sit down," Mrs. Davies said. "That one likes to walk the floor, she does. Or rock. She don't like to sit still."
"It was the same with Harry!" Dunsford said, smiling.
Bonny and Dunsford sat beside each other, with Harriet in Bonny's lap. "Mrs. Davies, we'll watch if you have things you'd like to do."
"That I do," the old woman said, striding to the door. "I'll be in the kitchen."
Bonny set the baby on her lap, facing Dunsford. "Talk to her, Uncle Henry."
"By God, she's got Harry's mouth!"
Bonny sat quietly and took pleasure in Dunsford's happy discoveries while her hands absently stroked the baby's soft blond hair.
"Look at that!" Dunsford exclaimed. "She smiled at me!" Then he began to talk to the baby, not quite in baby talk but in a voice very different from his own. Softer. Shriller. "Would you like your uncle to bring you a pretty doll?" He wrinkled his nose as he spoke. "When you're a big girl, Uncle Henry will get you a pony." Now he glanced at Bonny and spoke in a shaky voice. "She's really beautiful. I'm glad she was born."
"Her mother is, too."
"From a good family, eh?"
Bonny nodded.
"Of course, she would be. Harry said she was all that was perfect." His moist eyes returned to the babe. "And just look at Harriet. So beautiful!"
Harriet reached out a chubby hand to pull at Dunsford's mustache. "Ouch!" he shrieked.
The baby giggled at his reaction and reached for his mustache again. At this, he put out his arms and took the baby from Bonny. "Don't guess I can drop her if I'm sitting down."
He played with her, kept her giggling. Eventually he got up enough courage to stand up with her. Dunsford seemed fascinated by everything about the baby and was genuinely disappointed when an hour was up and Mrs. Davies returned.
"So how did the little flirt like her uncle?" Mrs. Davies asked.
"She likes him very well," Bonny said.
"I wasn't sure how she'd take to a man. She's never been around one that I know of."
"I plan to remedy that," he said, hugging the soft little body, a winsome look on his face.
It quite brought a tear to Bonny's eyes and she hurried to wipe it away before he saw her. This was too happy a day for tears.
On the ride back to Hyde Park, Dunsford was far more animated than he had been earlier. "By Jove! That was fun. She's quite the cutest thing I've ever seen. When can we come back?"
"When her mother–who comes often–is not going to be here. There is also my husband to consider. He doesn't know about the babe, and I hate being deceitful."
"To be sure," he said thoughtfully.
Through the years, Radcliff and Twigs had shared many a raucous adventure, but seldom had they shared such a domestic scene as they did this morning. The two gentlemen silently took breakfast in the sickroom, sipping their coffee while reading their newspapers. Twigs perused the Morning Post while Radcliff tried to read the Gazette, attempting to get his mind off his wayward wife. Where had she gone so early this morning? Why wasn't she back yet? His eyes scanned the news from the Peninsula. Did Wellington never make a false move? The man must be a bloody military genius.
Action in the Peninsula likewise held Twigs's interest. "I say, Richard, those bloods in the army are having a devilishly good time. I've a mind to purchase colors as soon as I can stand on this blasted leg."
Radcliff lifted his eyes from the newspaper. "Your life has always been the pursuit of adventure. How old are you now?"
Twigs put down his Post. "Same as you, and well you know it. Four and thirty."
"We're both too old to live life from one escapade to another. It's time you were settling down."
"You know I'm not in the petticoat line."
"That's not exactly accurate. Beginning with the fair Denise at Oxford, I believe you've had your share of encounters with women."
"N
ot with women of quality. Wouldn't know how to talk to a proper lady."
"It's time you learned."
"Too old."
"Nonsense."
"Can't talk of anything but horses and boxing. Women don't want to hear such."
"Some women will feign an interest in anything to catch a gentleman like yourself."
Twigs shook his head. "Maybe for a handsome, titled bloke like you but not for a scrawny, tongue-tied man such as myself."
"You do yourself a disservice. Any number of women are attracted to men who are tall and lean, like you." Radcliff thought bitterly of Dunsford, who was tall and rather thin.
Twigs held out his cup while Radcliff poured more coffee and measured a heaping spoon of sugar into it. "That so?"
Radcliff returned the coffeepot to the silver tray. "To be sure. Brings me to mind of the Earl of Dunsford. He's built very much like you. You know him?"
"Don't I, though. Just before my...my unfortunate accident, I had the pleasure of winning a hefty sum from him at hazard. Fellow's taken to drink and gaming in a big way of late. Mourning his brother."
Say what they will, Radcliff knew it was his loss of Bonny, not his brother, that pushed the earl into the depths of the hells. He folded up his paper. "How about a game of backgammon?"
Twigs's eyes brightened and he straightened, wincing.
"Leg bothering you?" Radcliff did not remove his gaze from his friend.
"No. Just need to be careful how I move."
"Today we are going to force you to walk about a bit. Doctor insists."
Frowning, the patient folded up his newspaper and placed it on the bedside table as his host readied the backgammon board. "Be back to my old self in no time."
His optimism pleased his friend very much. "Guinea a game again?"
Twigs nodded. "And I know you will pay up–not like that Dunsford. Still owes me twenty quid."
His friend's remarks hit Radcliff like a blow to the chest. Dunsford needed money. Could it be Barbara had given money from her grandmother to him?
The door opened. "There you are!" Bonny said happily, flowing gracefully into the room. She had changed into a day dress from the riding habit. Her laughing eyes met Twigs's. "How's the patient today?"
Discoursing with women of quality did not come easily to Twigs, who shot a worried glance at Radcliff.
"I believe he is much improved. We shall force him to walk today."
A deep frown wrinkled her ivory brow. "Won't it hurt?"
"At first, but the doctor assures me he needs to begin using the leg."
Bonny walked to the bed and laid a gentle hand on Twigs's forehead. "Poor lamb." Assured that he had no fever, she turned to her husband and saw him readying the backgammon board. "So you will amuse one another with backgammon?"
Radcliff did not lift his eyes from his task. "Yes. Tell me, my dear, where have you been this morning?"
"I woke very early and could not go back to sleep, so I decided to go riding in Hyde Park."
"Alone?" Now her husband met her gaze.
"Yes."
"I don't like that at all. You should at least have had a groom with you."
"Don't be angry. Rusty said you wouldn't be happy. He wanted to accompany me, but I particularly wanted to go alone. It would embarrass me exceedingly for anyone to see what an unskilled rider I am–especially you. I'm determined to learn not to embarrass you with my lack of skill."
Radcliff's voice, like his eyes, went soft. "You could never embarrass me, Barbara."
She stepped toward him and leaned to place a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you." Her lips softly brushed his weathered face. Then she swept from the room. "Do call me when you begin to force poor Twigs to walk. I want one of us on each side of him."
After she left the room. Twigs said, "Capital wife you've got there, Richard."
Radcliff still looked at the door where his wife had left. How he loved to fill his eyes with her beauty. And how his heart ached at the thought she might have given her money and her heart to Dunsford.
After dinner that night, Bonny and Radcliff played three-handed loo with Twigs. Bonny had been surprised at Twigs's card-playing skill. Nothing in his personality suggested a glimmer of intelligence. He did not quite have the skill her husband had, but Twigs's skill surpassed her own, and she had been considered an uncommonly good player of all manner of games.
Radcliff poured from a fine crystal decanter of Malmsey, the three of them enjoying the best Madeira money could buy. Town life wasn't so bad after all, Bonny reflected, if it could stay as it was now. As at Hedley Hall, she enjoyed her little cocoon with her husband and had not objected to bringing Twigs, the dear fellow, into their circle.
Warmed by the blazing fire and the contentment of good friends, she felt quite happy, despite the pain low in her stomach.
But suddenly her face went pale and she set down her cards. "Gentlemen, I was enjoying the game so much, but I've got a dreadful headache."
Her husband's worried eyes locked with hers. "Should I have Mandley bring you up tisane?"
"Don't bother him. I'll be as good as new in the morning."
Radcliff put down his cards. "Perhaps I should come with you."
"No. I beg you to continue your game. I don't want to be the cause of ending so pleasant an evening."
"It has been great fun," Twigs said.
Radcliff looked from his wife to his friend, then back to his wife again. "If you're sure you're all right."
"I'll be fine."
But she was not fine at all. She hurried to her room to see if her suspicions were accurate. Slamming her chamber door behind her. Bonny removed her gown, then her chemise. As she suspected, it was covered in blood. She had started her monthly flow.
With anger, she flung the chemise atop the dress heaped on the floor. She began to clean herself and prepare for bed. She did not want Marie's help. All she wanted was the comfort of her bed. Her body ached so. As did her heart. She had not had a flow since she had married. She had hoped she was already with child. With Richard's child. And now she felt bereft. They had had so many opportunities to conceive a babe. And yet she had failed. What if she were barren? In every way, she was not worthy to be Richard's wife. Now she could not even give him an heir.
She fell into her bed and began to weep.
Something in his wife's manner worried Radcliff. Or was it in her face? As lightning whitens the dark sky, his wife's lovely face had suddenly paled. He could not continue his levity after she departed, and he ended the game early.
"Worried about the duchess, aren't you?" Twigs said.
"You always could read me like a book." Radcliff placed a steady hand on his friend's shoulder and left the sickroom.
He knocked on his wife's chamber and entered. The golden light from the hearth and her bedside candle bathed the room. Radcliff's eyes shot to the bed where Bonny lay, dressed in a woolen nightgown buttoned to the neck. His wife always wore lovely gowns of lace and satin for him. Then he saw her reddened eyes and heard her sniff.
He hurried to her bedside. "You're not well."
"Truly I am. Don't worry." Then, as a cloud burst, her tears erupted and she began to sob.
He sat at her bedside and scooped her into his embrace, burying her wet face in his shirt. "I shall call the doctor."
"Pray, don't. It's just...it's just that I have my monthly flow." Her sobs nearly prevented her from completing her declaration.
His arms tightened around her. "Is that all? I was so worried about you."
"I'm so dreadfully unhappy, Richard. I had h-h-hoped..." she sobbed. "I had hoped I was with child."
"We've been married less than two months. Sometimes these things take time."
"You're not terribly disappointed?" She lifted her gaze to his.
He smoothed her hair with gently caressing hands. "Not at all. I'm only relieved you're all right."
"But what if I'm barren?" She began to cry softly.
"It's mu
ch too early to worry about that, my dear."
"I knew I'd be a terrible wife for you."
He kissed her head. "You're no such thing, and it displeases me when you talk like that. I'm quite happy with my bride–even if you cannot make love to me tonight."
He stayed there holding her, stroking her, whispering endearments until she fell asleep in his arms. He gently eased her down, his heart swelling with pride as he gazed upon her and thought of her great disappointment over not bearing his babe.
Maybe she had begun to care for him, this woman who owned part of his soul.
Chapter Fourteen
Nothing had ever fit her so well or looked more becoming than this gown, Bonny thought as she stood back, admiring Madame Deveraux's creation in the looking glass, softly rubbing the rich fabric between her finger and thumb. How nicely this fine-quality silk draped.
She glanced at Emily and Madame Deveraux.
"Oh, Bonny, you look the perfect duchess now," Emily said.
No words could have pleased Bonny more. Even if her new clothes were black, Richard would have to be proud of her appearance. He would have to find her dress worthy of his wife.
"I do hope your grace is pleased, for the fit is most excellent, no?" Madame Deveraux queried as she handed Bonny the fur-trimmed muff that matched her dress.
"The fit is indeed most excellent, and I shall be happy for you to design my entire wardrobe when I am out of mourning."
With a beaming Madame Deveraux nodding agreeably, Bonny wore the modiste's creation out of the shop while one of the footmen in the crimson Radcliff livery trailed behind her, shuffling an armload of parcels.
Settling into the soft squabs of the barouche, Bonny studied her quiet cousin. To someone who knew her less well, Emily would appear the perfect lady with her simple beauty and elegant clothes. But Bonny saw beyond the outward signs of prosperity. She noted the dark circles under her eyes and her cousin's wan countenance. "I thought this morning when we visited with Harriet, the color was coming back to your face," Bonny said, "but now you're sallow as a dove. How can you continue to live like this?"
