The Duke's Hidden Desire (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 2)

by Gemma Blackwood

  "I cannot go. I must think of some plausible excuse before her invitation arrives. What can I say that will not offend her?"

  "I doubt you can decline without giving offence, since she took the trouble to invite you," said Dr Hawkins.

  "If you have no prior engagement, why would you not wish to attend?" asked Beaumont. Anna looked at him as though he were mad. The delightful furrow formed once more between her brows.

  "How can I possibly go? I have nothing to wear to such an occasion – and I will certainly have nothing to say. Who will I sit beside? I will be by far the lowest-ranking person there."

  "I do not think Lady Cecily cares about all that," said Beaumont. Nor, for that matter, did he. A woman like Anna could not fail to please on any occasion, no matter how fine. He wondered that she did not see it.

  "I care about it," said Anna. "Believe me, I have no wish to bore the ears off a baron or a lord with my country town talk. I would be embarrassed."

  "You are not embarrassed to talk to me," said Beaumont gently. Anna looked down at the table in confusion.

  "You are different. I mean... Your Grace, you have been very kind to us all here."

  "I am only repaying the great debt of gratitude I owe this household. But do you imagine it would be so different to meet me in my usual company? We spent a fine enough afternoon on the river together, did we not?"

  "Did you, indeed?" said Dr Hawkins mildly. Beaumont sucked in a breath through his nose, privately kicking himself. He had not thought that Anna would keep their encounter a secret.

  Anna was so wrapped up in her worries about the dinner party that she did not even notice her father's surprise. "I am afraid I will make a fool of myself," she said. "I have never attended such a formal event."

  "Then be at ease," said Beaumont. "I cannot imagine you looking foolish. Rather, I fear the other guests will seem foolish to you – foolish and frivolous. Consider how much more interesting your days are than those of an heiress! You will find the conversation sadly restricted to jewels, balls, and gentlemen, and since I know you are not at all interested in any of those topics, you will quickly discover how dull an evening in fine company can be."

  Anna smiled gratefully. "I think I can make an effort to sigh over a sapphire or a diamond as well as any other lady."

  "But I would not have you do that," said Beaumont. "I would have you be yourself, and set an example to every silly girl there."

  "Besides," said Anna's father, "Mr Jackson would not thank you for barring him from the opportunity."

  The mention of Anna's betrothed was like a bucket of cold water poured down Beaumont's back. He sat up a little straighter, set his shoulders square, removed the flirtatious intensity from his gaze, and spoke gruffly. "And quite rightly, too. I shall be very pleased to meet Mr Jackson."

  He and Anna, acting in unspoken agreement, made great efforts not to catch one another's eye for the rest of the evening.

  16

  "Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move," read Anna, her lips moving around the words. She had never paid much attention to poetry before – not before Beaumont had asked her to read to him from the book he kept in his jacket, and a world of rhythm, rhyme, metaphor and colour had burst upon her.

  She was quite certain that he had not left the little book behind by mistake. She was still more certain that it was doing her no good at all to read it.

  Try as she might to imagine Gilbert Jackson murmuring Shakespeare to her, it was Beaumont's face that rose up in her mind.

  "What are you reading there, my dear?" asked her father, walking into the drawing room with his outdoor coat and hat still on.

  Anna closed the book at once, thrusting it under her pile of sewing, and rose to help him off with his greatcoat. "How were your morning visits?" she asked.

  "All very enjoyable, as it happens. Miss Holly Thatcher is the only one who gave me any cause for concern. It seems her family are still under the impression that she is suffering from a bad stomach." He gave Anna a stern look. "Have you forgotten your promise to her?"

  "I will go and see her today," said Anna, ashamed to admit that she had not found time to help the girl. "I'm sure we'll be able to sort things out for her."

  "If you can call a marriage to that young scoundrel a happy ending," said Dr Hawkins sharply. Anna was surprised. It wasn't like her father to speak ill of anyone. "No, no," he sighed, waving his hands. "I'm sure they have as much chance at happiness as anyone else."

  "Is something on your mind, Papa?" Anna asked, leading him to his favourite armchair.

  Dr Hawkins sat down and fixed his daughter with a beady eye. "I have recently been considering the wisdom of marriage. That's all."

  Anna perched on the rocking chair opposite him. "You are not thinking of marrying again, are you? I would be very glad if you did!"

  "My wooing days are done," said the doctor firmly. "It is your happiness that concerns me."

  Anna let her eyes grow wide and innocent. "But I am very happy, Papa."

  "And I hope you will be." Doctor Hawkins sighed and passed a hand across his eyes. "It occurs to me that I have kept you too much out of society. I have entertained you with books and medicine, rather than balls and company. Anna, let me speak to you seriously a moment. It is one thing to form a friendship with a gentleman. To flirt, even. To enjoy his company." He leaned forwards and rapped the arm of his chair. "It is quite another thing to expect to marry him."

  "Papa, I am already engaged," said Anna.

  "And if it were your fiancé who had grown too friendly, I would not be concerned." He watched her carefully. "I think you know what I mean."

  Anna turned her face to the window. "Do you think I am silly enough to take a friendship seriously when it is so far above my station?"

  "I think the warning is necessary, that's all," said her father. "Silly, you are not. But you are a woman, and presumably as susceptible to emotions as any other woman."

  Anna's eyes snapped back to him, full of indignation. "You speak as though you never loved. But I know you loved my mother."

  "I did," said Dr Hawkins. "And the heartbreak of loving someone only to lose them is not a thing I would ever wish for my daughter. You are dearer to me than my own life, child. Guard your heart carefully, lest you break mine in breaking yours." He sat back. "I will speak no more on the matter. Here, I almost forgot. I have a message for you from the dressmaker. She says your new gown is ready."

  "What gown?" asked Anna. Her wedding dress was already hanging in her wardrobe upstairs, where each morning she tried not to look at it. "There must be some mistake. I'll stop by on my way back from visiting Holly Thatcher."

  Her appointment with Holly proved to be less than satisfactory. Sam Digby had not been seen in Loxton for over a week, and the girl was growing despondent.

  "It's plain what's happened," she confided, holding back tears. "He don't love me no more. He got what he wanted and he's gone, just as Ma always warned would happen."

  "Don't despair just yet," said Anna. "You know that Sam was injured a short while ago. He may have gone away to recover." If his parents had any sense at all, they would have sent him far away from the Loxton Lads. It was the best explanation Anna could hope for.

  Holly brightened up considerably. "His aunt lives in Brampton, Miss Hawkins. Do you think he's gone there?"

  "I think it very likely," said Anna. "In the meantime, what about your own family? Are they starting to suspect?"

  "I'm managing to hide it, I think," said Holly, rubbing an anxious hand across her waistband. "But if I keep growing at this rate I'll need new dresses soon, and what happens then I don't like to think!"

  "Then don't think about it," Anna soothed her. "I will make enquiries about Sam. If I say that my father is concerned about his wound, I can ask about him without making anyone suspicious."

  "You've been so kind to me, Miss Hawkins," sighed Holly. "And... might I be bold, Miss?"

  "As bold as y
ou like," Anna smiled. "We are friends now, aren't we, Holly?"

  "I hope so... Anna," said Holly, with a blush of gratitude. "I wanted to ask whether it were true what people say about your Mr Jackson."

  "What are people saying?" asked Anna, feeling a rush of nerves that she could not quite explain.

  "Why, that there'll be work in Loxton! That he means to settle here and put things right! And all on account of you." Holly clasped her hands in her lap. "Do you think, Anna – do you think you might put in a good word for my Sam? Get him a job at the new factory? I know he'd be ever such a hard worker if he only had the chance."

  "I'll do everything I can," Anna promised.

  Holly beamed. "Then I can rest easy," she said. "I'm sure Mr Jackson would do just anything for you!"

  Anna certainly hoped so. After all, that was the only reason why she was marrying him.

  After her visit with Holly, she stopped by the dressmaker's to explain that she had already collected her wedding dress. To her surprise, the shop girl immediately led her through to the back room.

  "We used your old measurements, so it ought to fit nicely," she said. "At least, I hope it does – we won't have much time to make the adjustments."

  "I don't understand," said Anna, as the senior dressmaker swept in carrying a swathe of deep blue silk. "I haven't ordered another dress!"

  "Did Lady Cecily not tell you?" asked the dressmaker, frowning. "She asked us to make up an evening gown in time for her fancy dinner at the big house."

  "Whatever possessed her..." Anna stopped. Her words to Beaumont returned to her mind. How can I possibly go? I have nothing to wear to such an occasion.

  This was his doing.

  "Let me take a look at it," she said.

  Cecily, despite her wealth, was not a great follower of fashion, so Anna had very little idea what to expect as the dress unfurled before her. It was certainly not the modest maiden's pastel or white she would have chosen for herself.

  No, this dress was a rich, deep blue that she knew would make her red hair glow. It was not flashy, nor immodest – a high neckline and a stiff silk for the skirt that would not make her feel uncomfortable. The body was a gorgeous blue lace that shimmered in daylight – in candlelight it would be resplendent.

  It was by far the most expensive piece of clothing she had ever owned.

  "There's a set of long white gloves to go with it," said the dressmaker, misreading Anna's look of awe. "Oh! And the pearls her ladyship ordered came from London yesterday." She gave the dress an appraising shake. "It might be trifle plain for the big house, but the pearls should liven it up a little."

  "It's absolutely perfect," said Anna. The dressmaker and the shop girl sighed in relief. "May I try it on?"

  "Well certainly you must!" exclaimed the dressmaker. The shop girl sprang up to undo the buttons on Anna's plain sprigged muslin day dress.

  The sensation of cool silk sliding over her body was akin to diving into a pool of deep, clear water. Anna kept her eyes averted from the mirror as the dressmaker turned her this way and that, pinning here, chalking there. The shop girl brought out the pearls and fastened them around Anna's neck. There was even a pair of teardrop earrings to match.

  This was more than Beaumont's idea, surely. A confident and elegant feminine hand had guided every detail. If this was how Cecily wished to make amends for the lapse in their friendship, Anna had no idea how she might repay her half of the fault.

  "Pardon me for saying, Miss," said the shop girl, taking a step back to admire her work. "But if Mr Jackson don't marry you on the spot when he sees you in this, I won't know what to say."

  Anna turned to the mirror.

  A noblewoman looked back at her. A creature of elegance and glamour, careless of workday concerns, confident that she would be well-received in the finest houses in England.

  She turned a little to the left and a little to the right. From every angle, she shimmered like a sapphire.

  "Forget Mr Jackson!" exclaimed the dressmaker. "You might be a duchess!"

  Anna's thoughts flew instantly to Beaumont. It was not Gilbert's reaction she wanted to see. She had no doubt that her betrothed would be the same as ever, oil-smooth in public and panting in private. Gilbert had made no secret that he desired only her body.

  Was the same not true of Beaumont? He desired her, too – nothing could be more obvious – but where Gilbert's attempts at seduction left her cold, Beaumont's feral gaze lingered on more than her figure. He made her feel that he wanted to devour her whole – her body, her mind, her dreams and desires.

  Anna gave herself a little shake. She had never known she had such a wild imagination. How unfair to Gilbert, to think of him so coldly, when he had given her proof of his affections and Beaumont had not.

  Gilbert would marry her. Beaumont would never dream of it. Gilbert would invest in Loxton. Beaumont was barely even concerned with his own estates, let alone another duke's.

  "Is something wrong?" asked the dressmaker. "Don't you like it?"

  Anna made herself smile again. "It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. Truly. It's a masterpiece."

  The dressmaker clucked her tongue to hide her delight. "Well, let's get it off you, in any case. I'll have to set to work if I'm to adjust it by tomorrow."

  Putting on her own gown was like stepping from a dream back into reality. Anna almost laughed at her foolishness. To think that a mere dress had turned her head so drastically! Her father would be mortified if he knew how silly she was being.

  She bid the dressmaker goodbye and was halfway down the street when a voice called her name.

  The shop girl was chasing after her. Anna thought she must have left something in the shop, but the girl was empty-handed.

  "I just wanted to ask, Miss," said the girl, holding her hands awkwardly behind her back and toeing the dirt.

  "What is it?" asked Anna.

  "Well... It's my brother, Miss. He's got work now the harvest’s coming in, but after that..."

  Anna understood immediately. "You would like me to put in a good word with Mr Jackson?"

  The girl's eyes widened. "Would you? I'd be ever so grateful."

  "Don't mention it," said Anna. "Mr Jackson has promised me he will bring more work to Loxton. I expect he'll begin work on the factory the moment we're married."

  "No honeymoon, Miss?" asked the girl, disappointed. "But I thought, what with him being so rich and fancy... Well, I thought you'd be off to France or Spain!"

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you," said Anna, laughing. "Mr Jackson and I are not at all romantic. No, he is quite practical, and I am just as eager to get to work as he is."

  "I still think it's a shame," said the girl boldly. "When Loxton's in better shape, Miss, you ought to go and have a look at – at Italy!"

  She bobbed a curtsey and ran back to the shop.

  Anna stifled her laughter. Taking a romantic tour of Europe with Gilbert was the furthest thing from her mind.

  She could already see the good her marriage would do for the town. There was nowhere in the world she would rather be than a prosperous, happy Loxton.

  17

  Beaumont took a last look at himself in the huge gilt-framed mirror before he made his way down the stairs of Scarcliffe Hall. Thank goodness for Jones. The man was the Michelangelo of cravats and the Raphael of the pomade brush. Beaumont might have spent the summer lounging around Scarcliffe Hall with his gentlemen friends, but today he was one of the guests of honour at the marchioness’s dinner party, and it was his duty to look impeccable. No-one appreciated a slovenly duke.

  Lord and Lady Lilistone were in the hallway, ready to greet their guests as they arrived.

  "Where's Scarcliffe?" asked Beaumont, kissing the marchioness's hand. "Running fashionably late to his own engagement dinner?"

  The marchioness pursed her lips. "If only my sons were as well-mannered as you, dearest Beaumont. Robert has taken Cecily into the receiving room. I'm afraid he intends to neglect
every other guest."

  "Then, if the ladies are here, I will go and do my best to entertain them," said Beaumont, bowing.

  He found a pretty picture in the receiving room. The ladies of Loxwell Park had arrived ahead of the other guests, doubtless due to Cecily's eagerness to see her betrothed. Robert had, as his mother feared, whisked Cecily into a private corner, where they were so completely entranced with one another that they might as well have been enjoying one of the secret tête-à-têtes Beaumont knew they often arranged in Scarcliffe Forest.

  Lady Jemima was on the sofa, looking faintly bored as Hart engaged her in unusually intense conversation. He was leaning forwards, an elbow on his knee, and paying rapt attention to every word that fell from her lips.

  The reason for Hart's odd behaviour became instantly apparent as Isabella, Lady Streatham, waved to Beaumont from the other side of the room.

  Baron Northmere, the fourth gentleman guest at Scarcliffe Hall, was nowhere to be seen. This did not surprise Beaumont, as Northmere was easily the vainest of the four and would still be dressing. It did mean, however, that Isabella was left with no-one to talk to.

  "Lady Streatham," he said, taking two glasses of ratafia from a footman's tray and moving to her side. "What a delight to see you."

  Isabella's eyes lingered on the back of Hart's head a moment too long. "I fear I am not a delight to everyone."

  Beaumont handed her the champagne. "Only a fool would not be pleased to see you back in society after such a long absence."

  "I confess that mourning does take a heavy toll," said Isabella. "It is one thing to lose a loved one, but to compound the misery with loneliness! I wish it were not necessary, or at least, not for quite so long." She nodded subtly in Jemima's direction. "I look to Jemima for an example of how to recover from the time spent in black. Though I fear she is much changed by her long mourning."

  "Her parents?" Beaumont guessed, knowing that Jemima was the Duke of Loxwell's ward. Isabella lowered her voice.

  "Her brother, too – only last year. But I didn't mean to gossip. I thought you knew."