A Trace of Roses

by Connolly, Lynne

  “Yes,” he said. “But we can’t possibly impose.”

  “Your mother can’t stay here,” Lady Carbrooke said. “She’ll hate it.”

  That she would. And she would add it to the list of grudges she held against him. But staying at Carbrooke House? She would enjoy that, especially with the pomp and ceremony.

  They were straying well into the grounds of impropriety. Society would have a field day, a frenzy of gossip. Staying in the same house as his betrothed, before they were married, with no other guests present? What were they thinking?

  There was only one solution he could see and, suddenly, as fast as the ceiling collapsing, Grant saw the answer.

  “We have to marry,” he said. “Now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Dorcas settled in the coach with her husband, still trying to come with terms with the speed of events. Her head rang with it.

  After she’d scoffed at his notion, Grant suggested they visited the vicar of the local parish. The man turned out to be a sycophant. No other word for it, full of “yes, your grace” and “of course, your grace”.

  With Annie and Gerald as witnesses, they were married.

  Marriages were private affairs, but the bride and groom were not usually dressed in clothes better suited to farmers. Couples were sometimes married at night, so they could hurry into bed, but since the new marriage laws had passed, the service had to take place in daylight.

  They were of age, the sun was shining, and they had the two witnesses required. Grant had acted with almost indecent speed. She couldn’t remember agreeing to his scheme until she formally did so, at the altar. She had imagined they would have to wait, that the vicar would demur, that the hours weren’t right. Something always happened to upset her plans.

  But not this time.

  When Grant noticed her white face, when he took her hand and it trembled in his, he asked for a short time to themselves. The vicar led them to a small, oak-paneled parlor smelling of damp and tobacco, and left them to it.

  “I can stay in the camp,” he said. “We can wait until my mother and brother get here, if you wish. Have a perfectly ordinary ceremony. And you can wear your finest gown.”

  “That’s not it,” she said. “Why so quickly?”

  “Because society can be vicious. I’ve seen what happens. Sweetheart, we can have all the balls and ceremonies you please, but if I stay under the same roof as you, however large that roof is, someone will complain.”

  Annie murmured her agreement.

  But to Dorcas’ mind, that excuse was a feeble one. “People stay in country houses all the time. They’re notorious for goings-on.”

  He lifted a dark brow. “Goings-on? That wouldn’t suit my bride at all.” He squeezed her hand. She wasn’t sure he had released it since the vicar had joined them. “And this way, I can look after you better.”

  Ah. Yes, look after her better. That was more like it. He was astonishingly protective. Gerald had always done his best to care for his sisters, but he hadn’t looked on them the way Grant did for Dorcas.

  At least she wouldn’t be alone any longer. The stray thought drifted through her head as they swung into the smooth drive of Carbrooke House.

  However, as they approached in their modest carriage, crammed in because Grant had joined them, they found they were not alone.

  “What on earth is going on?” Annie said, peering out the window as they took the curve in the drive that exposed the building.

  Several carriages, emblazoned with a crest none of them could identify at this distance stood outside the house. A flurry of servants was carrying trunks and luggage inside.

  “Would your mother have arrived already?” Gerald asked.

  Grant shook his head. “They won’t arrive for a few days yet. I sent a ship to collect them, and they’ll travel here from the coast. In any case, they’ll call at my house first. I need to send instructions to have them sent here,” he added. “And while I can’t see the details of the crest yet, those colors aren’t familiar. Too much gold.”

  “Perhaps our guests have mistaken the month?” Gerald suggested.

  “We didn’t invite anyone until August,” Annie said worriedly. Domestic arrangements found her at her most vulnerable, and with Matilda no longer available, she had nobody to rely on to make sure everything was as it should be. Household management was not her forte, she declared, although to Dorcas’ admittedly biased eyes, she managed perfectly. She was just anxious about it.

  So who had arrived?

  They climbed the stairs to the entrance, which was promptly thrown open for them. Someone must have been watching for them. Gerald led Annie in. They didn’t have to wait long.

  “Oh, my lord, I was about to send someone for you,” the butler said, hurrying forward. At this hour, he was usually overseeing preparations for dinner, leaving a footman on duty. “You have visitors. I did not know if you had invited them, and I know you would be pleased to welcome them, so I showed them up to the blue parlor and ordered refreshments. They seem to think they are invited to stay.”

  Annie stopped his headlong flow. “They?” she said gently. “You haven’t said who they are yet.”

  With a glance at Gerald, Annie took his arm and tripped up the stone staircase, anxious to greet their unexpected guests.

  The hall was full of servants. A footman saw them from the other end of the long space and hurried across to greet them.

  Not before the woman they all recognized beat him to it, neatly cutting in front of him. Grant let out a quiet groan.

  “Dear Lord and Lady Carbrooke!” She held out her hands as if greeting old friends. “I am desolated that we are forced to impose on you like this! I have sent my dearest Charles upstairs. He was taken ill, and we were forced to stop. I feel sure you would not force us into the ditch!”

  There was a perfectly good inn five miles away, but of course the newly-wed Duchess of Beauchamp couldn’t possibly stay there. Her face, more animated than Dorcas could remember seeing it, bore a soft smile.

  Lady Elizabeth Askew had achieved her ambition. Dorcas was pleased to see the bright expression fade a little when she turned to Grant. “Dear duke, I was wondering where you had gotten to! I’d assumed you headed for Scotland. I know your mother and brother traveled there.”

  “Indeed,” Grant said. “But they will be returning here for the wedding celebrations.”

  The infinitesimal pause didn’t pass Dorcas’ notice. “Wedding?” the duchess said brightly. She brushed at the skirt of her brand new velvet riding habit. Her whole outfit was new, expensive and extravagant, from the gold braided jacket to the long feather in the cocked hat. She wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on a horse.

  Grant drew Dorcas closer to his side. “You may congratulate us,” he said. “May I present my wife, the Duchess of Blackridge?”

  Dorcas gaped. Of course she was. Perhaps she would accustom herself to her new title in time, but not today. Definitely not today.

  Dorcas wanted to shrink away, but not from cowardice. She couldn’t see the point of upsetting anyone, and the way Lady Elizabeth—the Duchess of Beauchamp’s face had turned from happiness to utter astonishment didn’t make her happy.

  Her marriage was hers, and nobody else’s. But she would cope. So she forced a polite smile to her face and said, “I sincerely congratulate you and your husband. You will be one of the greatest in the land, and you may hold your head high. It is what you were born for.”

  Because that was the truth. Lady Elizabeth Askew, the daughter of a duke, was trained to become the wife of a high-born man, someone who had an effect on the way people lived. She would make any man determined on a career like that the best kind of wife. Efficient, beautiful and intelligent. She didn’t want to make an enemy of anyone, least of all a young woman she thought was deeply unhappy.

  Perhaps this was a love match. Age disparity did not matter, when love was brought into it. And the duchess had certainly appeared happy before Gr
ant had dropped his petard into the middle of the hall.

  So she smiled, and received a smile in return. A stiff, cold one, but she would take it as a beginning to, if not a friendship, then a rapprochement.

  “I wish you happy,” the lady said now. She didn’t look as if she did, but Dorcas wouldn’t take note of that. After all, how well did she really know the woman? Hardly at all.

  Annie was obviously uncomfortable. She preferred everything to happen according to plan. Her early career attested to that. That was why, Gerald had said, she took longer to come around than he’d wanted.

  If she searched the house, Dorcas wouldn’t find anyone else who could rise to the situation. Until Annie found her footing, that was her. She loosened her hold on Grant. “Are you quite comfortable? Which rooms did you select to use?”

  “Oh, the ones I used to use before,” the lady said insouciantly. “Before” was when she was betrothed to the previous heir to the title Gerald now held. She had no idea which rooms the duchess had used, but she would wager they were the best guest rooms.

  Over the lady’s shoulder, she caught sight of the butler, who rolled his eyes. The man had not wanted that gesture seen, but that told its own story. The duchess was not well liked here.

  “You must let us know if there is anything you need.”

  The duchess’ clear blue gaze went from her to Grant. “So fortunate!” she gushed, but Dorcas was not sure who she was talking about. Her, Grant—or herself.

  The duchess leaned forward and went on tiptoe, her panniers swaying as she regained her balance. Graciously, Grant accepted a kiss on the cheek.

  Dorcas did not miss the flash of triumph in the duchess’ eyes as she moved away. “My husband felt quite ill, or we would have continued with our journey. If you wish, of course we will still do so…”

  “Not at all.” Annie strode forward, her gait the opposite of the gliding, gentle walk preferred by ladies of society. Walking with a purpose. She seemed to have regained her composure. “You must stay as long as you wish. Next month, I have invited a few people to stay, but naturally if you’ve been invited to Chatsworth, you must go there. We can’t compare our small gatherings to the Duke of Devonshire’s extravagant house parties.”

  “Have you ever met the duke?”

  Before Annie could reply, Gerald answered. “We went last summer, briefly. The duke was kind enough to visit our family home in Hampshire.” He gazed around him at the grandeur surrounding them. “A more modest establishment, but we found the duke accommodating.”

  Dorcas remembered. Annie had been terrified, even though she was now surrounded by similar magnificence. She didn’t like it. Dorcas suspected she never would.

  Annie moved forward. “Shall we? We serve dinner at four, but I can have tea sent to your rooms. Don’t feel obliged to join us. It’s a small family meal.”

  “Not at all. I’m sure we will manage,” the duchess replied.

  Annie did not explode until she was in her boudoir and the door firmly closed. After the duchess had made her way back to the guest wing, escorted in style by a footman in full livery, Annie took everyone else to her room in the family wing, at the other side of the house.

  “Well!” she said, glancing at Gerald. “Does anyone think this was an accidental visit? That her husband was taken ill most conveniently?”

  “He was indeed,” Grant said. He knew the lady best. While Annie strode up and down the soft carpet, her hands clenching and unclenching, Grant kept his attention on his wife. “Of course it was not. This house is twenty miles from Chatsworth, so she could not have hoped to reach it today. The duke probably needed the rest.”

  “He’s seventy-five,” Annie said with a shudder.

  “Not a good seventy-five, I fear,” Grant said. “He carries his years of dissipation like a badge of pride.”

  “He was married before, though, was he not?”

  “He was. He and his wife went their separate ways. They had four daughters, though the last two might not have been of his get.” Grant spoke calmly, as if he weren’t involved, but Dorcas sensed inner turmoil. She knew him much better than most people. “That is unusual. Couples tend to separate to live their own lives after they have secured the inheritance. But Beauchamp never did.”

  Annie stopped, turned and faced him. “There’s more,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, though. I need to know, so I don’t make an appalling faux pas.”

  “Indeed,” Gerald said. “The duke had a mistress. He regarded her as his true wife, as the woman he wanted to marry. But she was of low birth. That alone wouldn’t have stopped him, but the duchess lasted her out. Her grace died five years ago. The mistress six.”

  “Oh, that is so sad!” Dorcas’ heart went out to the duke, even though she had never met him.

  “They lived quite comfortably,” Grant told her, a smile deepening the creases in his cheeks. “They knew their duty. As does Elizabeth, I’m sure.”

  Finally, Annie allowed Gerald to lead her to a comfortable sofa. The maid had left a fresh pot of tea on the side table, and he poured her a dish.

  When he looked at Dorcas, she shook her head. “I must dress for dinner. But I don’t intend to appear in my London finery,” she warned.

  She would not pander to their unexpected visitors. Nobody asked them, and Lady Elizabeth—the Duchess of Beauchamp—had made it impossible for them to turn her out.

  “Wait!” Grant’s voice stopped Dorcas as she reached the turn in the corridor that led to her room. Obligingly, she waited for him. He took her arm. “A word,” he suggested, but he would say no more until they were inside her bedroom with the door firmly closed.

  “What is she doing here?” Dorcas demanded as soon as she had ascertained that the room and the powder room were clear.

  He gazed at her, then stepped forward and framed her face with his hands. “God, I’m so glad I have you!” he said, and kissed her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grant didn’t release Dorcas for some time. By then, she needed his support to stand up properly. “Goodness!” she murmured weakly.

  “I trust not,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  He nudged her to the left, and joined her on the padded window seat, keeping his arm slung across her shoulders.

  “I saw the contrast,” he explained, “between you and she. I would have married her at one point, but we weren’t yet rich or influential enough for her.”

  He smiled and settled Dorcas more comfortably in his arms, so she was leaning on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, and set about untying the strings of her plain cap.

  “I think she wants to show off her new status,” he said. “She’s not at all sure she will see us at Chatsworth, so she stopped here first. She didn’t expect to see me here.”

  “Neither did I,” Dorcas said dryly, and received another kiss for her pains.

  “She wanted to show Gerald what he’d be missing. She has decked herself out as the duchess she was always meant to be, and she will glory in it. For at least a year,” he added thoughtfully.

  “You know her well,” Dorcas said. “You told me that before.”

  “Yes I do. I even like her.” He paused. “At least, I like her when she isn’t off on one of her starts, which these days isn’t for long. You see, the Dersinghams have humiliated her. At least since your brother married into Trade.”

  When she would have pulled out of his arms and berated him, his hold firmed on her.

  “Did I say I cared?” he asked. “I admire your sister-in-law enormously. Surely you know that.”

  Dorcas subsided. Yes she did. Grant conversed with her as an equal. They had animated conversations about insurance and bankers, which Dorcas only understood one word in ten. He wouldn’t do that if he disparaged her as half of society did.

  “I’m telling you what Elizabeth thinks. Her younger brother is abroad on his tour, dissipating his way around Europe. Presently, he’s in France somewhere, probably Versaille
s. He is a boy of little understanding and less interest in maintaining the estate. On the other hand, Elizabeth, the only daughter, is caring for her family, at home repining the fact that she can never inherit an estate like her brother’s. Unlike him, she does take an interest in politics and estate management. She has heard her father bemoan that she is not a boy. How do you think she feels?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Is that any reason for her to be spiteful to us, to treat us as innkeepers?” Because what else was the way she had descended on them, and just assumed she had the right to stay?

  He grimaced. “She’s been indulged far too much. She assumes that if she wants something, it’s there for the taking. Hers by right merely because she wants it. She couldn’t understand your brother abandoning her for Annie. She doesn’t consider love a part of marriage.”

  Dorcas badly wanted him to say if the same went for him.

  He desired her, no doubt about that, but love was deeper, more profound, and she discovered that it meant a great deal to her. She was very much afraid that she loved him.

  The knowledge had come to her some time on the tedious journey, when she had lost herself in her own thoughts, finally had a chance to think. But she didn’t say that now, didn’t ask him. He might say no. Let her enjoy this period as much as she could, before life intervened once more. Her idyll, she had thought it.

  And now that woman had barged in on it, and plunged her back to her depths of uncertainty.

  Instead, she said, “So she considers marriage an arrangement?”

  He nodded. “Between two great families, for the betterment of both.” He sounded as if he were quoting someone. “I’m not a fool, I subscribed to that without thinking, but still I knew Elizabeth and I wouldn’t suit. Or,” he added after a pause, “that she wouldn’t suit me. She’s too managing.”

  “And I’m not?” His words made her sound weak, and she was surely not that.

  “No, thank God,” he said fervently. “I think you manage, but that’s different to being managing. Elizabeth wants her life exactly as she says. Nobody need object, not even the man she marries. I couldn’t live that way. Anyway, at the time, I was too poor for her.” He chuckled. “I was never poverty-stricken, not a beggar on the streets. But the family fortunes did need some rebuilding. Which I did.”