The Duke's Hidden Desire (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 2)
Page 16
At breakfast, she found she could not contain her smile. Mrs Pierce grumbled on about imagined slights from the baker's boy and the shop girls, but Anna hardly listened.
"Oh, get away with you!" said Mrs Pierce, finding no ear for her woes. "You'll be a duchess soon, and free of all this nonsense!"
"I'll never be free of you, Mrs Pierce," said Anna fondly. "I'm sure I couldn't do without you!"
The old woman's face broke into a reluctant smile. "Very well. I'm happy for you, I'll allow it."
Dr Hawkins came into the room. Anna poured him out a cup of coffee.
"You look pleased with yourself this morning," he said, winking.
"It's a lovely day, Papa."
"Indeed." He sipped his coffee, closed his eyes, and sighed. "I am not quite used to the idea of a duchess for a daughter, but your happiness is all I want."
Anna privately wished they would stop making such a fuss about Beaumont's title. She did not much like thinking of it herself. The world of lords, ladies, dukes and duchesses was so far removed from her quiet Loxton life.
Beaumont believed she could conquer that opulent world. She had to trust in him and try to develop the same belief in herself.
"No ring yet?" Mrs Pierce commented, glancing disapprovingly at Anna's finger. "A fine thing, to be a duke's betrothed and no ring! What will he get you? A sapphire, perhaps? No! A great ruby!"
"Really," said Anna, laughing. "I did not bother with a ring when I was engaged to Mr Jackson, and I do not expect I shall want one now. I use my hands too much to adorn them with sapphires!"
She noticed her father's frown before he could conceal it. "Is something wrong, Papa?"
"Wrong? Oh, my dear, what could be wrong on this morning?" Dr Hawkins cut himself a slice of bread and began to butter it. "Were either of you up in time to pack some food up for Mr Floyd? He was off rather early this morning. I told him to stop by and help himself from the kitchen."
"I took care of him," said Mrs Pierce. "Such a dedicated young man!"
"I can't think why he thought it was necessary to leave so early, but I suppose a man is allowed some secrets. Perhaps he's calling in on a sweetheart on the way." Dr Hawkins smiled at his own suspicion. "Ah! Is that a knock at the door? Don't stir yourself, Mrs Pierce. I expect it will be for me."
He left his breakfast unfinished on the plate. Anna sighed. She wished her father would take better care of himself. The least he could do was eat a bite of bread and butter before dashing off to take care of his patients.
But Dr Hawkins stuck his head around the door before Anna could eat another bite herself. "I think you are best placed to speak to our visitor, my dear."
Anna's heart gave a now-familiar leap. Was Beaumont calling on them already? They had only been apart for a single night, and it was laughable to think that she missed him.
Nevertheless, she felt the ache of his absence deep within her. How good it would be, to be married, and to spend each day together!
Anna had to quickly hide her disappointment, however, for it was not the Duke of Beaumont waiting for her in the hall, but young Holly Thatcher.
"Begging your pardon for calling so early, Miss," she said, twisting her hands through the apron she had clearly kept on to conceal the outward curve of her stomach. "It's only that I heard that Sam Digby came back to Loxton last night, and – and – oh please come with me! I can't bear to do it alone!"
"Of course I will come," said Anna. She put her arms around Holly's shaking shoulders and held her tight. "There's no need to be afraid. If Sam likes you, he will marry you."
"And if he don't?" Holly asked, voice trembling.
"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." What to do with a pregnant farmer's daughter with no other prospect of marriage? In truth, Anna had no faith at all that Sam Digby would agree to marry Holly. She was on the brink of despair when she remembered that her own circumstances had recently changed dramatically.
She would soon be the Duchess of Beaumont. She would have money, power, influence... She could send Holly to have her child in quiet seclusion, and find a loving family to adopt the baby.
Of course, that was not what Holly wanted. The pain of giving away her child would be dreadful. But Anna knew it was unwise to try to force a marriage where no love existed. It would be even worse to let Holly be outcast from society by raising the child herself.
As they walked to the Digby family’s house, Anna reflected on how infuriating it was that men could behave as badly as they pleased with no consequence, while a woman was left to suffer alone. She bit back her anger, knowing it would do no good to share her thoughts with Holly.
As it happened, Holly's next words were more than enough to distract her.
"People are saying you've broken with Mr Jackson. Is that true?" Holly gasped as the question left her lips. "I'm sorry, Miss Hawkins! That wasn't right of me to ask! Only..." She bit her lip. "Only it would've been a fine thing for my Sam, to work in the factory. It might've kept him out of harm's way."
"Who's to say Mr Jackson won't build the factory anyway?" asked Anna, wishing she had any hope for it herself. There was still time for Gilbert to prove himself a decent man. If only she believed he had a shred of decency within him...
"The men are saying otherwise. Pa was talking about it last night. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard your name, and..." Holly blushed scarlet. Anna began to suspect she had heard things she had rather not pass on.
"It does no one any good to hear what is said about them behind their back," she said briskly, wishing she minded as little as she claimed. "Here we are. This is the house, is it not? Shall I knock?"
Holly nodded, face pale. Anna was nervous enough herself. She could only imagine what the girl was feeling.
Sam’s father, Mr Jack Digby, answered the door, narrowing his eyes at Anna suspiciously. She was used to a warmer welcome in Loxton. Could those days really be over? "Oh. You'd better come in, Miss Hawkins. I suppose you're here to check on our boy? Your father too busy to come himself, I suppose?"
"I'm here on another errand," said Anna, stepping aside to reveal Holly. Mr Digby's face broke into a smile.
"Miss Holly Thatcher, by my eyes! Our Sam'll be that pleased to see you. He ain't stopped asking about you since he got home. Come in, come in."
Mrs Digby came bustling out from the kitchen to see who it was. "Why, Holly! And Miss Hawkins, too! Come and sit down, my dears. I'm afraid we’ve not got much in the way of refreshments."
"There's no need," said Anna. The little house was simply and rustic, plainly furnished. There would be no expensive tea leaves in the cupboards here. "We were hoping Mr Sam Digby would be at home?"
"Of course!" Mrs Digby beamed. "He came back yesterday. Didn't say a word to us before he went off, neither - we had no word at all til my sister wrote from Brampton. I could've clocked him round the head with my rolling pin if I weren't so pleased to see him back!"
"Boy's been up to no good," said Mr Digby darkly. "Knew he'd feel the back of my hand if he showed his face here, no doubt." He rubbed his nose on his sleeve reflectively. "Smart of him to wait till I'd got control of my temper."
"Is that Holly Thatcher?" came a jovial voice from the stairwell. Sam Digby bounded into the room, wreathed in smiles, his arm held at a stiff angle but free of the sling.
When he saw Anna, his smile faded abruptly. He shuffled his feet, hung his head, and muttered, "Good morning, Miss Hawkins."
"Good morning, Mr Digby," she smiled. "How is your arm? Any better?"
"Much, thank you, Miss. Your father fixed it up nicely."
"I am glad to hear it." Anna reached out to give Holly's hand a squeeze. "Now that everyone's here, I think we'd better tell you why we've come." She glanced at Holly. "Unless you'd like to say it first, in private?"
Holly shook her head. She looked as though she might be sick the moment she opened her mouth. Anna fought down her own nerves and continued with a pleasant smile.
"I'm afraid that Holly has found herself in... a delicate situation." She fixed her gaze on Sam Digby, willing him to understand what she meant.
He looked blank. "Have you been sick, Holly? I'm that sorry I didn't write to you. With my arm banged up, I couldn't manage it – and – and I didn't like my aunt to know what I wanted to say!"
Anna was amazed to see that he was actually blushing. Could this really be the same young man who had terrified Lady Cecily on the road?
She knew what her father would say: no man is truly good or truly evil. And that she should never underestimate the damage that a bad influence could wreak on a naïve young mind.
One day, she would tell Cecily and Lord Scarcliffe the truth behind their near-fatal encounter on the road. Perhaps it would serve as a lesson to the reckless lord that his pistols were not the best solution for every encounter.
"What manner of sickness ailed you, Holly?" asked Mrs Digby. Her eyes had dropped to Holly's stomach, which was almost completely concealed by her flowing dress and the nervous fidgeting of her hands.
"I – I –" Holly couldn't begin to say the words. She hung her head.
Mrs Digby's eyes widened. "Sam," she whispered. "Oh, Sam – you didn't, you didn't." She rocked herself back and forth, tears filling her eyes. "How could you be so stupid?"
"I don't understand," said Sam, looking blankly between Holly and his mother. "I ain't done nothing!"
"Nothing!" his mother repeated, voice rising to a screech. "Nothing! You call this nothing? I tell you, Sam Digby, you're not too old for a smack!"
"Holly," Sam begged, running over and taking her hand. "Holly, speak to me. Tell me what's wrong. I don't understand."
Holly raised her tear-streaked face and spoke calmly. "I'm having a baby, Sam. Your baby."
He staggered backwards. "But how –"
"The usual way," said Anna coldly. It was growing more obvious by the moment how easily this thoughtless young man had been led astray. He seemed to be blind to the consequences of all his actions.
"What must I do?" asked Sam, looking about him wildly. "What must I do?"
Anna glared at him and mouthed two words: Marry. Her.
"Marry?" Sam repeated, wonderingly. "Marry – yes! Yes, we must! Holly, we must get married!"
"Do you mean it?" asked Holly, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again.
"Of course I do! I love you, don't I? Didn't I say so before? Well, I meant it! It's true! And I'll love our baby, too." He held out his hand to his mother. "Don't cry, Ma. We've a wedding to plan."
"And you must go to Holly's father," said Anna. Sam's face crumpled.
"Oh. He – he don't like me much, Miss."
"Nevertheless. You must go, and explain things. That is..." She glanced at Holly, risking a smile. "Only if you want to marry him, Holly?"
"Yes," Holly assured her, nodding rapidly. "Yes, I want to very much."
"Then it's settled!" announced Mrs Digby, through her tears. "Oh, my dear children! This calls for a celebration! I'll bake us a cake! You'll come to us for dinner, won't you, Holly, and bring your parents? We'll settle everything together."
Anna got to her feet, seeing that she was in danger of intruding on the newly-formed family. "I’m very happy for you, Holly – and you, Sam! But I must be off, Mrs Digby."
"Bless you, my dear," said Mrs Digby, taking Anna's hands and pressing them. "You've done a good deed today, and no mistake! I won't let them say another word about you! You're a good girl, and we'll get by in Loxton with or without that Mr Jackson. Do you hear? We'll get by!"
Mrs Digby's words were far from comforting. Anna longed to ask her what people had been saying, but knew that it would do her no good to hear it. She bid farewell to a tearful Holly and dazed Sam, and walked out into the town.
As she went down the street, she imagined that every word that passed between the townspeople was about her. Was that woman really glaring at her through the shop window? Had that man failed to bow on purpose, or had he simply not seen her?
By the time she reached home, she was in an agony of nerves. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest. Perhaps she could prevail upon Mrs Pierce to make up one of her father's soothing tisanes.
"Oh, Miss Hawkins," said Mrs Pierce, bustling out of the drawing room and looking rather flustered. "I'm glad to see you back. There's a visitor here for you."
Beaumont? Could it be? Anna already felt her tension dissipating at the thought of resting her head on his shoulder.
Mrs Pierce quickly disabused her of the notion. "A lady," she said. Her eyebrows were waggling meaningfully, though Anna could not decipher what she meant.
"I'll go through at once," she said wearily, not knowing what to expect.
As it happened, it was useless to speculate. The person waiting for her in the drawing room was someone Anna had never dreamed would pay her a call.
It was Miss Clayton.
27
Jones the valet had worked his magic. Beaumont was satisfied, as he sat in the Duchess of Loxwell's luxurious drawing room, that no-one could possibly imagine he had been fighting a duel only an hour or so before. He had been washed, coiffed, starched and turned out beautifully, the picture of the elegant duke once more. Only a slight limp betrayed him, but Cecily's family were far too well-bred to comment on it.
"It is such a pleasure to see more of you, dear Beaumont," said Cecily's charming mother. Beaumont suspected she had always harboured maternal feelings towards him, given that he had lost his own parents at a young age. Perhaps she had once dreamed that he would make an offer for Cecily.
Only a glance at the enraptured pair of lovers in the corner of the room was necessary to see that Beaumont would never have made Cecily half so happy as her dear Robert did. Their joy reminded Beaumont of the delight he felt each time he remembered that Anna was his.
Thank goodness that the Duke and Duchess of Loxwell were nearby to ease Anna's transition into high society! He was sure the kind-hearted old couple would welcome her, and the duchess would be close at hand to instruct Anna in all she had to learn.
But before he welcomed Anna into his social circle, he had to prove he was worthy of her. There was business to attend to.
"I'm afraid this is not merely a social call," said Beaumont. "I was hoping to speak to Loxwell. Is he at home?"
"Oh, holed up in his library as usual! He pretends to be working, but I suspect all he does these days is read the papers and smoke his pipe." The duchess tutted, though her sparkling eyes revealed she was more than happy to indulge her elderly husband. "I will send for him."
"No, with your permission, I'll go and find him myself. I have a delicate matter to discuss." Beaumont leaned in confidentially. "I find that I am not at all happy with my most senior land agent. I'd like to take a look at the way Loxwell does things, to see what improvements I ought to make."
The duchess's eyes widened. Beaumont knew why. It was not at all like him to be so assiduous in the care of his estates.
"I am very glad to hear you say that," said the duchess. Only the faintest hint of reproach was audible. Beaumont smiled to think how surprised she would be to know that it was Anna's influence that had changed him. "I will ring for Willett now, to take you through to the library."
Beaumont felt a twinge of guilt. He did not enjoy lying to the duchess, however necessary it might be.
He had always had the utmost confidence in his own land agent. In fact, it was the man's extreme capability which had allowed Beaumont to live a life of leisure.
The agent for the Loxwell estates was the man he truly suspected of incompetence. If all Anna had told him was true, they had been sadly neglected.
Beaumont still felt that it was not his place to interfere in the Duke of Loxwell's affairs, but for Anna's sake, he had to try. If he could make it seem that he had accidentally discovered the agent’s wrongdoing, the old duke would be saved a few blushes, and his estates might pass into more able hands.
"So you wish to speak to Mr Halliwell, is that it?" asked the old duke gruffly. "You're in luck – I’m expecting him any moment. The man makes interminable reports, you know. If you can make any sense of them, you're a better man than I!" He pulled a well-thumbed record book towards him and peered at it, adjusting his tortoiseshell-framed spectacles. "Can't make head or tail of this business," he muttered, half to himself. "Thank goodness for Halliwell, eh?"
"You rely on him very heavily, then?" asked Beaumont. He spoke lightly, though his heart was sinking. The Duke of Loxwell had once possessed a keen and capable mind. He had thrown himself at Europe's most tangled problems with vigour.
It saddened Beaumont beyond telling to see at great mind beginning to succumb to age.
The agent arrived promptly. He was a thin, beady-eyed man with an excess of wax in his hair, and Beaumont's immediate impression of him was poor. As the Duke of Loxwell instructed him to give Beaumont a good overview of his work, the man kept shooting Beaumont sidelong glances. He clearly had something to hide.
Over the course of the next hour, Beaumont uncovered precisely what it was. Though Halliwell tried to hide it, the Loxwell estates were struggling. Rents had been raised and the money not accounted for. Nothing had been invested in the people or the land. The duke's many charitable organisations had been starved of support and left to rot. The members of parliament he sponsored had been given free reign to act as they pleased, without bothering to represent the needs of their constituencies. Beaumont could not tell for sure without a thorough look at the accounts, but he was certain that this feckless agent was lining his own pockets at the expense of the duke's tenants.
"Thank you, Loxwell," he said, when the hour was concluded. "This has been most illuminating."
He did not bid the agent farewell. He left the man sweating.
On his return to the drawing room, he was relieved to find the duchess had retired, leaving Cecily and Robert in the chaperonage of Lady Jemima Stanhope. Jemima was reading a book, pausing every few lines to roll her eyes at a particularly egregious sweet nothing she overheard between the two lovers. Beaumont was quite certain they might have passionately embraced beside her, and she would have done no more than avert her eyes.