My Last Duchess

by James, Eloisa

  She flinched. Was he telling her that he had already had an understanding with Lady Woolhastings when they met?

  “Hugo!”

  An imposing lady was bustling toward them, followed by a stream of children. “There you are! We’ve been waiting for you.”

  She was as tall as the duke, his age, with his angular features and marked eyebrows, albeit softened by a fashionable hat whose ribbons streamed in the wind.

  She had to be the duke’s twin, Lady Knowe.

  “Please give me Viola,” Ophelia said urgently, turning to Hugo.

  He shook his head. “Your arms are aching, are they not?”

  Lady Knowe and the children arrived before she could respond, milling about them and shouting, two grooms laden with parcels in the rear.

  Lady Woolhastings and Lady Knowe were acquaintanced, and Ophelia watched with a rather jaundiced fascination as Lady Woolhastings dropped into a deep curtsy. Of course, Lady Knowe was to be her sister-in-law.

  “Are these children all yours?” Lady Woolhastings asked a moment later. “I knew, of course, but there are so many!”

  “Yes, they are,” the duke answered. “Lady Knowe, may I introduce Lady Astley? I am holding her daughter, Viola. And Lady Astley, this is my twin sister, Lady Knowe.”

  Ophelia dropped into a curtsy.

  “What a pleasure to meet you!” Lady Knowe said. She had an angular face; what was handsome in her brother looked somewhat incongruous shaped in womanly features. But when she smiled, her eyes lit up with true charm and she looked positively beautiful.

  Ophelia beamed back at her. “I feel the same; your brother told me so much about you.”

  “He has?” Lady Woolhastings drawled. “I was under the impression that my fiancé and you were scarcely acquainted.”

  The word “fiancé” slid down Ophelia’s back like an icicle.

  “Everyone loves to talk about me,” Lady Knowe said, turning to Lady Woolhastings and smiling. “Come, Edith, you know perfectly well that my brother has the habit of chatting about me in moments when he has nothing else to say. Eccentric relatives are such a gift to polite conversation.”

  Ophelia put on a serene expression and said, “Certainly I couldn’t describe my relationship with the duke as more than casual, since we recently met for the first time, and yet I am aware that you live mostly in the country and have kindly cared for His Grace’s children, Lady Knowe.”

  Beside her, Hugo made a sudden movement, as if he was about to refute the word “casual,” but Ophelia turned her head and allowed a flicker of authority to cross her eyes. He shut his mouth, which she appreciated.

  “His Grace is certainly lucky that you were there to run the household during his misfortunes,” Lady Woolhastings said to Lady Knowe.

  “Which reminds me that I must introduce the children!” Lady Knowe cried. “Or would you prefer the privilege, Hugo?”

  “I shall take it on,” the duke said. He raised the hand that wasn’t holding Viola, and the children flocked to his side.

  “Lady Woolhastings, and Lady Astley, my children: Horatius, North, Parth, Alaric, Leonidas, Betsy, and Alexander. The littlest, Joan, remained in the nursery today.”

  Ophelia flinched. She was party to the introduction of the children to their future stepmother? She opened her mouth, about to announce that they would return home. She could take a hack if she had to.

  “I am very pleased to meet all of you,” Lady Woolhastings said before Ophelia could intervene, her eyes ranging over the assembled children. “Which are you?” She addressed a smartly dressed young man with a somewhat forbidding expression.

  “Horatius, my eldest,” the duke said. The youngster bowed elegantly, first before Lady Woolhastings, and then before Ophelia. The dowager inclined her head and Ophelia followed suit, giving the lad a warm smile.

  “Horatius is at Oxford, and the next three are at Eton. Alaric, followed by Parth and Roland—who prefers to be called North.”

  “North, as in the direction?” Lady Woolhastings clarified. Her eyes rested thoughtfully on Parth, who was clearly not a Wilde by birth. “Ah, I remember now that you have a ward.”

  “Parth is my adopted son, not just a ward,” the duke said, an edge in his voice.

  “Just so,” Lady Woolhastings said.

  The boys turned from her and bowed before Ophelia. She met Parth’s eyes and was reassured by the gleam of steady confidence she saw there. Lady Woolhastings had engaged the duke’s daughter in conversation, so Ophelia smiled at Parth.

  “Is that your little girl?” he asked, nodding at Viola, who was sound asleep in the duke’s arms.

  “Yes, she is,” Ophelia said.

  “So, you’re married?” He nimbly jumped to the side when North kicked him in the ankle. “I’m making polite conversation!”

  “I’m widowed,” Ophelia told him.

  “So many males,” Lady Woolhastings commented. “Five of the seven, am I correct?”

  “Six of the eight,” the duke corrected.

  “Lady Betsy has lovely features, and I’m certain she will make an excellent marriage,” Lady Woolhastings announced.

  Leonidas chortled and said, “Not if the fellow gets to know her first!”

  Without a word, Betsy darted over to her brother and kicked him in the ankle.

  “Now, Betsy,” her father admonished mildly.

  His daughter kicked Leonidas once more for good measure, smiled up with angelic innocence, and tucked her hand into Ophelia’s. “Are you coming wif us on the sleigh?”

  “Stop lisping. No one thinks you’re adorable,” Leonidas said, rubbing his ankle.

  Lady Woolhastings watched this with a noncommittal expression. “A stern governess is needed,” she said to the duke.

  “I have a governess,” His Grace replied, somewhat shortly.

  “I agree with you, Edith. We need someone far more fierce,” Lady Knowe chimed in. “Shall we make our way to the sleighs? All three are ours for the afternoon. The older boys can ride by themselves in the middle sleigh.”

  The four of them took off, three boys running and Horatius pacing solemnly along behind.

  “I must apologize for interrupting what is clearly a family occasion,” Ophelia said.

  “Not at all,” Lady Woolhastings said, one of those empty phrases that mean nothing except by inflection—and Lady Woolhastings’s accent was so frightfully well-bred that Ophelia had no idea how to interpret it.

  “We must divide up,” Hugo said.

  “You and I shall travel in the first sleigh,” Lady Woolhastings stated. “We’ll take your daughter, Boadicea, with us. An odd name.”

  “She prefers Betsy,” the duke responded.

  “Smacks of a housemaid,” his fiancée said in such a calm voice that at first Ophelia didn’t think she’d heard her correctly.

  “The younger boys can be in the third sleigh, with Lady Knowe and Lady Astley,” Lady Woolhastings continued. “You both are accustomed to children and will be of help.” Her brows flexed just the smallest amount. “You really mustn’t leave the house without a full complement of nursemaids and grooms, Duke.”

  Ophelia could interpret this without need of parsing the lady’s accent. She and Lady Knowe were substitutes for the nursemaids who were unaccountably missing.

  “I suppose you might as well keep the child you’re carrying,” the lady said graciously to the duke.

  Hugo’s face darkened, but before he could respond, Lady Knowe bawled, “Little boys with me in the last sleigh!” as loudly as any constable calling the midnight hour. Leonidas and Alexander ran toward the sleigh.

  Ophelia had never allowed herself to be separated from Viola before. But all she could see was her daughter’s snub nose and a white ruff of rabbit fur, like a spent dandelion, cozily sheltered in the duke’s greatcoat.

  “I’ll take good care of her,” Hugo said, his eyes steady on hers.

  He was broad-shouldered and sturdy. His strong embrace when her
carriage turned over flitted through her mind. If anything happened, she’d rather Viola was in his arms than hers.

  Plus, she certainly didn’t wish to join Lady Woolhastings in the first carriage. She’d had all the condescension she could stomach for one day.

  She nodded jerkily, then turned and took a groom’s hand to clamber into the sleigh.

  The duke followed her and looked up. “Are you certain that you don’t wish to join me in the first carriage? I promise I will keep your daughter safe.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Lady Knowe said, pushing her brother to the side so she could climb into the sleigh after Ophelia. “You run off and sit with your fiancée, Hugo. We’ll be fine here.”

  She sat down beside Ophelia with a grunt. “My stays are entirely too rigid for climbing. Betsy, you’re supposed to travel in the first sleigh with your father. Lady Woolhastings explicitly requested your presence.”

  The little girl didn’t bother to reply; she simply hopped up after her two brothers and crowded herself onto the seat opposite Ophelia and Lady Knowe.

  “You’re Betsy,” Ophelia said.

  She nodded.

  “And you are Leonidas?” she asked a very naughty-looking boy.

  “He’s the plague of my life after Parth,” Lady Knowe said.

  “I’m Alexander,” piped up the third child. He had sweet eyes and a lock of hair that fell over his eyes just as the duke’s hair had done in the middle of the night.

  “These three are, obviously, children of the second duchess,” Lady Knowe said briskly. “Including baby Joan at home.”

  “Do you have three?” the duke bellowed from the second carriage.

  “Yes!” roared back his sister. “We always double-check,” she said to Ophelia.

  “Did you ever leave a child behind?” Ophelia asked, telling herself that she was deeply happy not to be stepmother to so many children, especially Leonidas, who had clambered up on his knees and was precariously leaning over the rear of the sleigh.

  “Get down, Leo!” Lady Knowe ordered.

  Rather to Ophelia’s surprise, he obeyed.

  A groom came by to slip hot bricks under their feet. He draped heavy furs over Lady Knowe and Ophelia, and tucked a large one around the three children.

  The sleighs jolted into motion, runners squeaking on the ice.

  “Did we leave a child behind?” Lady Knowe laughed. “We started having trouble keeping track of them as soon as there were more than six. I hope your daughter doesn’t sleep through the entire sleigh ride.”

  Their sleigh was following a path pounded smooth that ran along the side of the Thames, passing the pleasure gardens of palatial houses.

  “It’s probably best that she does,” Ophelia said. “I don’t care to think about her reaction if she wakes up in the arms of a stranger and I’m not there.”

  “Will she scream?” Betsy asked with interest. “’Cause my sister Joan screams all the time.”

  “Very likely,” Ophelia said, liking her open face. “I suspect you screamed a great deal when you were that age as well.”

  “A reasonable amount,” Lady Knowe said. “Leonidas, if you fall out of the sleigh, you’ll have to eat dinner in bed for a week.”

  “But look!” Leonidas cried, pointing out the back.

  Ophelia leaned forward. A boy had caught a rope behind their sleigh and was flying on the ice behind them, his skates throwing up plumes of shaved ice.

  “I want to try!” Leonidas cried.

  “That’s dangerous,” she said.

  “But so much fun! Don’t you see?” He looked at her, his little-boy face screwed up with earnestness.

  “Yes, I do,” Ophelia said. “We don’t want him to be hurt, though, do we?”

  Lady Knowe had already tapped the sleigh driver on the shoulder and he was slowing to a halt. Ophelia stood up and looked over the back of the sleigh.

  “His coat isn’t very nice,” Betsy said. “Do you have any money?”

  Ophelia thrust her hand down into the pockets that hung under her skirts and fished out a guinea. “Here you are.”

  “Boy!” Betsy called, leaning over the back of the coach, her ringlets blowing around her head as her hood fell back. “We think you should be in the circus. Come closer.”

  He obeyed, which likely had something to do with the fact that young though she was, Betsy already looked and sounded like a duchess.

  “Here,” she said, dropping the coin into his hands.

  “Thanks!” he called up, touching his cap.

  “Nicely done,” Lady Knowe said to Betsy. “I applaud you for not throwing it at the boy.”

  “He wouldn’t have liked that,” Betsy said, sitting back in her seat.

  When the sleigh set into motion again, Betsy leaned forward. “We have questions,” she said.

  Ophelia blinked at her. “What?”

  “Questions,” Alexander explained. “Like when Aunt Knowe interviewed the upstairs maid. So we can help Father make a very large decision.”

  Lady Knowe coughed and looked at the children, eyes brimming with laughter. “The questions are for Lady Woolhastings, my dears. Not for Lady Astley.”

  “She’s not married, so we can ask her too,” Betsy said. She folded her arms across her chest, and the two boys followed.

  “But I’m not—”

  “Please let them practice on you,” Lady Knowe interrupted. “I have a strong feeling that Lady Woolhastings will not entertain any questions, and they talked all the way to London about which questions were the most important.”

  Ophelia looked back at the three determined faces opposite her and realized exactly what Lady Knowe wasn’t saying. These three had never had a mother. The boys in the first carriage—except for Parth, about whose parenting she knew nothing—had had Marie, and from what the duke said, she had been a loving mother.

  But these three?

  Everything she knew about Yvette, the second duchess, suggested that the lady spent her time in ballrooms and not nurseries.

  “You may certainly practice with me,” she said, the words leaving her mouth without conscious volition. “But you must understand that your father is—your father has made a promise to wed Lady Woolhastings.”

  “Wed Woolhastings,” Alexander said, grinning.

  “How old are you?” Ophelia asked, smiling at him.

  “Three,” he said.

  “And I’m four and Leonidas is six,” Betsy said. “We have three questions, because there are three of us.”

  “Please ask me when you are ready,” Ophelia said.

  Alex leaned forward and stared at her intently. “Do you have fake teeth?” he asked. “Or a glass eye?”

  Ophelia blinked. “No.”

  “Mrs. Purdy has an elephant tooth,” he said, looking disappointed.

  “From a tusk,” Lady Knowe clarified. Ophelia looked at her. The edges of the lady’s mouth had curved into a smile that she was trying hard to suppress.

  “My uncle has a tooth made from a donkey bone in his jaw,” Ophelia offered. “On the bottom.”

  Alex’s eyes brightened. “Can he spit it out?”

  “No, because it’s wired from behind so it stays in line with his other teeth.”

  “Does your uncle live with you?”

  Ophelia shook her head. “He lives in Wales, quite a long way away.”

  Alex wrinkled his nose. “That’s a pity.”

  “My turn,” Betsy said. She fixed Ophelia with a sharp eye and said, “Do you have children other than that baby?”

  “No,” Ophelia said.

  “The nursery is full of children,” Betsy stated. “I suppose we can fit that one in, but no more.”

  “I understand,” Ophelia said gravely.

  “Do you want more children?”

  “Yes,” she said, without hesitation. She hadn’t known that truth until today. In fact, she had thought that perhaps there wasn’t room in her heart to love a child other than Viola.


  That had been foolishness, she saw now. Alexander, Betsy, and Leonidas, for example. Not that she loved them . . . but they were very lovable. They had their father’s tousled hair, strong eyebrows, and angled cheekbones.

  But more than that, they were intelligent, lively, and clearly loved each other, for all the kicking. With a pulse of pure greed, she realized that Viola would love a family like that.

  “There aren’t any empty beds in the nursery,” Betsy told her, folding her arms over her chest. Clearly, Ophelia had proven a disappointment.

  “My turn,” Leonidas said. “Mine’s important. How do you feel about rats?”

  “Rats?” Ophelia repeated. She glanced at Lady Knowe to see whether help was forthcoming.

  “Pet rats,” Lady Knowe said, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

  All three children stared at Ophelia, eyes expectant. She had the odd feeling that this was the most important question.

  “I don’t think I like rats,” she admitted. “I’ve never met a pet rat, but in general the species is not attractive. I dislike their tails.”

  Leonidas gave her a reproachful glance. “That’s a great pity. A rat can be a boy’s best friend. Now we’re going to talk about you.” And with that, he pulled the huge fur cloak up and over their three heads.

  “At least they’ll be warm under there,” Lady Knowe said. “My nose is an icicle.”

  Ophelia’s ears were freezing because she couldn’t keep her hood on her head, but there was something incredibly exhilarating about flying along at this speed.

  “I feel as if we’re flying,” Lady Knowe said.

  “Yes, exactly!” Ophelia said, smiling at her.

  With a pang she realized that she and Lady Knowe could have been friends, true friends, under different circumstances . . . those being circumstances in which the duke hadn’t asked Lady Woolhastings to marry him.

  Because if she were honest with herself, she probably would have reconsidered his proposal had he asked. Or had he introduced her to the children. The truth of that thumped into her stomach.

  If he had asked her to stepmother—no, mother—the three children opposite her? With their stubborn, brave faces and the questions they’d chosen . . . even with the possibility of a pet rat looming?