The Duke (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 6)

by Mary Kingswood

  It had not, but all thought of it was swept away by the sight of Ger hesitantly entering the room from the opposite door — and with Ginny on his arm. Ran almost groaned at the sight, for this was exactly the sort of flaunting he had feared. It was too brazen… in fact, it was outrageous to introduce his mistress to the respectable matrons and spinsters of the family. But there was nothing to be done except to smile yet again and pretend that all was well, for any attempt to intervene would cause exactly the kind of uproar he hoped to avoid.

  The two had not donned evening wear, but Ger had put on a different coat and Ginny a fresh gown, with a delicate shawl draped over her arms. She had one hand tucked into Ger’s arm, and she was smiling with unmistakable warmth, a vivid contrast to Ger’s uncertainty. She, at least, was happy to meet the family, even sixty at a time. Slowly they moved around the room, and it was Ginny who did the talking, Ran observed, Ginny who responded with faultless accent and unwavering grace to the endless questions, Ginny who patted Ger’s arm gently whenever he showed signs of panic. And it was Ginny who drew the attention of all eyes.

  As the gentlemen drifted into the room, Ger showed signs of being ready to bolt, but they had progressed to the far side of the room and it was not easy to escape. They were close to the pianoforte, however, and Ginny turned to Ger and said, “Would you like to play something? I am sure everyone would care for a little music.”

  His eyes met hers. “Would you care for it?”

  “Very much.”

  Without another word, he sat down at the instrument and began to play. He needed no light, no music, no one to turn the pages. His fingers knew their way, and within moments he was lost in the music, his audience entirely forgotten. Ginny continued moving round the room, talking to whoever wished to speak to her, sitting beside formidable Aunt Jane when she patted the sofa imperiously, blushing prettily when Uncle Arthur patted her cheek, and moving politely away when Cousin James tried to flirt with her. And all the while, she watched Ger carefully for the least sign of distress.

  Ran could only applaud, and for now, it would do well enough. But when all these relations came back in the summer and Ginny’s condition was obvious — what then? How on earth was he to get her discreetly tucked away out of sight, as any mistress must be? Or was Max’s solution the only option — to get rid of her altogether? He could not see a way forward that would appease Ger’s notions of what was due to Ginny, and also avoid scandal. At all costs, the proprieties must be observed, for anything else was too distressing for words.

  13: Early Awakening

  Ran dropped into an exhausted sleep the instant he lay down, but he woke early, refreshed and invigorated. He liked to sleep with the shutters open, so golden morning light poured into the room, warming the air. He stretched languorously, then let out a laugh of pure pleasure. This was a good day to be alive! He was home at Valmont, and Ger was there with him again. They were together, just as they should be, he in his bed and Ger in his. It was still early, he saw from the clock on the mantle. Too early for Ger, perhaps.

  He threw back the covers and pulled on a banyan, padding on bare feet through the small antechamber to the sitting room. The fire had been re-laid but not yet lit, the chairs straightened and all evidence of the evening tidied away. He smiled, imagining the chamber maid finding Captain Edgerton on guard duty and pleading to be let in to do her work. Had he stood over her to be sure she did not wander off to oppress Ger with unwanted good wishes? He shook his head ruefully. The good captain was a little over zealous, perhaps, but his good offices had saved them from inconvenience or worse on the journey, and were now ensuring that Ger had the quietude his soul craved.

  Ger was not in the sitting room, so he must still be abed. Ran’s smile broadened. It was time he was awake, the slug-a-bed! Quietly he crept out of the sitting room and through Ger’s antechamber, then, opening the door inch by inch to forestall squeaks, he slipped inside Ger’s room. It was still dark, the shutters closed, the curtains still drawn round the bed. Ran tiptoed across the room, then with one swift tug, parted the curtains.

  “Good morning, you lazy—”

  The round face of Ginny Chandry peeped up at him with a mischievous expression. The covers were pulled up to her shoulders but even with her abundant hair tumbling loose, he could see that she wore no nightgown. Ger lay fast asleep with his bare back towards Ran, his face buried in Ginny’s hair and one arm resting casually across her.

  “Oh!” Ran flicked the curtains closed again, mortified. “I beg your pardon.”

  Ginny giggled, and Ger’s sleepy voice murmured, “Ran? What o’clock is it?”

  “Six. Just after six.”

  Then he turned and fled, Ginny’s giggles following him all the way. Damnation! He was not sure whether he was most annoyed with Ger for taking his lightskirt into his own bed, right here in Valmont, or with himself for not guessing that it was just the sort of stupid thing that he would do. And beyond that was another, stronger feeling — was it jealousy? How glorious it must be to wake up beside the woman of one’s heart in that way, and one day, perhaps— But he dared not think of it. Everything was too uncertain. Devil take Ger for such foolishness!

  In the sitting room, he rang the bell violently, and then, three seconds later, rang it again, even harder. Then, realising that Giggs must be in the dressing room already, he stormed away to find him and send him for coffee.

  When he returned to the sitting room, Ger was just emerging, yawning, from his own room, more decorously attired in a nightgown and robe.

  “What is she doing in there?” Ran burst out.

  Ger raised his eyebrows. “Where else should she be but in my bed? She is my lover, Ran. My mistress. I want her with me, all night and every night.”

  “Not in that bed! Not in that room!”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because—” Ran stopped, realising that if Ger did not instinctively understand the issue, there was no conceivable way of explaining it to him. “Never mind.”

  “No, tell me,” Ger said. “Ah, is that coffee, Giggs? Excellent fellow. Put it over here, will you.”

  Ran prowled about the room while Giggs fussed about with the coffee tray, but eventually he was gone. Ger poured at the small table where they had customarily eaten their breakfast, or drunk brandy into the small hours, or played backgammon, one of few games where Ran could compete with Ger.

  “Sit down and drink your coffee, brother,” Ger said equably. “Or at least drink while you pace about, but it would be better for you to sit. Watching you prowling about is making me tired.”

  Ran chuckled. When Ger was in humour, he could charm the roses into bloom, and he could certainly soothe Ran’s ruffles. He sat down and picked up his coffee cup.

  Ger said gently, “You have never been in love, have you, brother? If you had, you would understand how it is to want to be with someone and never be apart. I cannot bear to be separated from Ginny, even for an hour, and the journey here was torture. Now she is back with me all the time, and it is wonderful! She makes me so happy.”

  “Then that makes me happy, too,” Ran said. “But— No, it does not matter.”

  “Indeed it does!” Ger cried. “You must tell me what is in your heart, for we have never had secrets from each other, have we? You always knew my sentiments on any subject, and I yours. We are not alike, in fact I swear no two brothers were ever less alike in temperament or ways, excepting only the closeness we share and will always share. So tell me honestly why you dislike Ginny.”

  Ran gazed at him in astonishment. “Is that what you believe? You could not be further from the truth, I assure you. I like her very well, and every day increases my admiration for her. That she has won your affections would be enough to recommend her to me, but I have seen the calm way she has endured this upheaval in her life. There is not a woman in a thousand who could have accepted this change with such equanimity, and yet she is not devoid of sensibility. Look at the way she handled the aun
ts and uncles last night, diverting their attention away from you, and all the while offering you constant reassurance. It was very well done.”

  “Oh,” Ger said, surprised. “Then what troubles you?”

  “It is not Ginny herself, it is the situation,” Ran said firmly. “She is your mistress, Ger, and you cannot have her living here at Valmont, not permanently.”

  Ger’s expression darkened. “She is my guest, Ran, and I will not have her—”

  “—disrespected, I know. But people will disrespect her, because you have dishonoured her and reduced her from respectability to degradation. Yes, degradation, for make no mistake, brother, she may be a duke’s mistress, but she is still a mistress and therefore outside all good society. No, no, hear me out!” he cried, as Ger jumped to his feet in anger. “You must see what you are doing, both to her and to Valmont. You may do what you wish here, of course, for the house is yours, but what happens if you marry?”

  “I shall never marry!”

  “But I shall, and I cannot bring my wife to a house that contains your mistress. Half your relations would shun you. Your neighbours would decline your invitations. Your own sisters could not visit you, for they have their own and their daughters’ reputations to consider. Can you not understand that?”

  Ger’s face for the first time registered chagrin. “Would it truly be as bad as that?”

  “You know it would.”

  “Then what is to be done?” he whispered.

  “Nothing hasty. Ginny’s condition is not obvious as yet, so for now everyone is taking you at your word that she is your guest. But in a few weeks…”

  Ger’s face was bleak. “I cannot send her away, Ran. I will not! I swore an oath that I would keep her with me no matter where I should go, and I cannot break my word.”

  “No, no! Of course you cannot. You have a duty of responsibility towards her and her child, naturally, and a mistress is not at all unusual in our level of society, so long as she is kept out of public view. Discretion is vital. But we may be able to find a way to keep her close to you without her being precisely in Valmont itself. She could live in one of the lodges, perhaps, or the Old Manor. Or a house in Beckhampton, although that would be rather public.”

  Ger pulled a face. “And every time I want to see her, I have to go out in the rain or the wind or some icy blast. Or perhaps I should call the carriage out every time? As for Ginny, she would be there alone while I am away being the duke. Can you not understand that Ginny is not some cheap woman of pleasure, to be picked up and dropped on a whim? I love her, Ran! She is everything to me, and I will not throw her out of my home just because society might disapprove.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “No, I cannot think that you do! She has to be by my side, not exiled to some inconvenient little house somewhere, where the neighbours all pretend to respect her but secretly look down their arrogant noses at her.”

  “No one respects a mistress!” Ran said in annoyance. “You are asking for the moon!”

  “They will respect my mistress, because I will not countenance anything less.”

  “And they will appear to do it, just as long as you are there, but it will all be a lie, Ger. Can you not see that?”

  Instantly the fight went out of him. “Because I dishonoured her,” he said, rubbing one hand tiredly across his face. “What am I to do, brother?”

  “There is one obvious solution,” Ran said slowly. “It would set the tabbies frothing for a while, but they would accept it in the end.”

  “What is that?”

  “You could marry her.”

  A sound made him pause. The door from Ger’s room had been left open and Ginny stood there, in her nightgown, but wrapped in a voluminous shawl. The hair — her lovely, red-tinged hair — was now caught up in a simple knot.

  “No,” she said quietly. “No marriage. I want nothing to do with being a duchess. Sorry if I interrupt you, but you were yelling at each other, and I would not have you quarrel on my account.”

  Ger jumped to his feet, his face softening instantly at the sight of her. “Not quarrelling, my love.”

  “Arguing then,” she said, her quick smile. “Disputing, fighting, squabbling, bickering, falling out—”

  He laughed but shook his head. “Ran and I never fall out, I assure you. We may have differences of opinion but—”

  “Loud ones!”

  “—we shall never be other than the best of friends.”

  “We do fight, though,” Ran put in. “With swords. I usually win.”

  “That is only because you have a longer reach than I do,” Ger said. “You are taller than me, and fatter.”

  “My skill is greater, that is all,” Ran said grinning. “And I am not fat — that is all muscle, Mr Weakling. But if I am larger than you, that just gives you an easier mark to hit.”

  “Now, now, children!” Ginny said, laughing at them. “This is not convincing evidence that you never fall out, so stop it at once. Pour me some coffee, my love, and Lord Randolph may tell me what you were not quarrelling about.”

  “Since we are all in our night attire still, I believe we may dispense with the formalities, Ginny. Call me Ran, if you please.”

  She nodded her acquiescence, seeming pleased, and while Ger rummaged in a cupboard for a spare cup and poured coffee, Ran repeated all that he had said to Ger.

  Ginny sipped thoughtfully, listening without interruption, and shushing Ger whenever he tried to speak. When Ran had finished, she said, “What is usual, in your world? How would a nobleman establish a mistress?”

  “Is that truly what you want?” Ran said. “To be Ger’s mistress than his wife? Your children will be illegitimate, with all the difficulties that brings, and you will never be accepted by society. You would prefer that?”

  She looked at him consideringly. “I would,” she said quietly. “We all have our place in the world, and it upsets the balance if we step outside our natural sphere. Gervase was destined to live his life high in the social order, and I am destined to be far below him. I shall be very content as his mistress, making a refuge for him from the hurly-burly of his public life. So tell me, what is the usual way for a great lord to deal with a mistress?”

  “He would buy her a house somewhere, furnish it and provide the necessities — a carriage, horses, servants,” Ran said. “In an inconspicuous part of London, perhaps, or else in a quiet little town in the shires. She would receive an allowance. There is often a contract drawn up to specify what happens when they part, the arrangements for children, that sort of thing. Not legally enforceable, but the man is honour-bound to conform to the terms agreed upon.”

  “You know a great deal about such matters,” Ger said, eyes twinkling. He had one arm curled around Ginny’s back as they sat close together on the sofa, and all his good humour had returned in force. “Can it be that you have a little lady of your own tucked away somewhere?”

  Ran laughed and disclaimed any personal knowledge. “I have had to go through Father’s papers since his death, so naturally I have seen how he managed his affairs.”

  “Father had a mistress?” Ger cried, eyes round. “Truly?”

  “Lord, yes! And Grandfather, too. His papers are still there. There is a locked box for private family documents of that type, which no one but me has read. Grandfather kept his current mistress in the Old Manor, for convenience, and then settled them in the north. One went to Harrogate, I recall. Scarborough for another. Father had a place in town for a mistress when he was young and was not so much at Valmont, but once he married and settled here, and it became tedious haring back and forth to town all the time, he bought Merrington House, up at Andover.”

  “What, Uncle Swithin’s place? Good grief! Why not the Old Manor? Or one of the lodges?”

  “I can only guess that he wanted the lady kept well out of sight,” Ran said. “Father was always very conscious of Mother’s consequence, and would never allow the least thing to disturb her tr
anquillity.”

  “Well!” Ger said. “It was certainly out of my sight. I never suspected it for a moment, imagining him to be a faithful and affectionate husband.”

  “The affection was real, I believe, but he was never faithful, and maintained a mistress all his adult life, until illness caught up with him.”

  “You can hardly be shocked by it,” Ginny said, taking hold of Ger’s hand and gently stroking it. “Men are lamentably fond of distributing their affections far and wide, and such a tendency is hardly a great secret. My own father produced any number of bastards, and it looks like I shall follow where he led.” She chuckled, not at all discomfited by the idea. “As for the nobs like you, I thought they all had mistresses.”

  “Many do, it is true,” Ger said. “When a man is obliged to marry for duty, he looks for affection elsewhere, and when one is heir to a great title, one is very much expected to marry for duty. In fact, a likely bride is selected at an early age.”

  “An arranged marriage?” Ginny said. “How quaint! Who was to be your bride?”

  “The Lady Ruth Grenaby, eldest daughter of the Duke of Orrisdale. The two fathers hatched the plan between them. So suitable, you see. Duke’s son, duke’s daughter.”

  “Oh, yes, just like Hannah Packer from the Pendower inn marrying William Gardiner from the Carsham Arms at Yarlford. Innkeeper’s son, innkeeper’s daughter.”

  Ran spluttered into his coffee. “Ginny, you are the most complete hand!”

  “Well, it is the same, isn’t it, although I expect the dowry was a bit different. Hannah had a hundred pounds and two barrels of the good ale. I imagine a duke’s daughter has a slightly higher price.”

  “Just slightly. Ruth has thirty thousand,” Ran said, still laughing.

  “A tidy sum indeed,” Ginny said. “You ought to snaffle her at once, Jon.”

  “If you will not have me, dearest, then I shall not marry anyone,” Ger said lightly.

  “Poor Lady Ruth! Will she have to settle for a mere marquess now?”

  “It is even worse than that,” Ran said. “She will be obliged to settle for the mere second son of a duke.”