Wild Passions of a Mischievous Duchess

by Violet Hamers

  "Oh Gerard, that’s wonderful," she said, beaming. Her apparent awareness of his difficulty with his nephew and unspoken desire to smooth it over stung his pride somewhat. Was he so transparent?

  "And how is the little lord coming along? I imagine he was shy with someone there to watch him?" Jonathan asked.

  "Not at all. Well, at first. But he seemed happy to boast of his accomplishments after a time."

  Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up at this, though he endeavored to hide his surprise. "I’m happy to hear that. Unusual for him."

  "Yes, that’s what your governess said," Gerard replied. "She seems to be a competent creature, that girl."

  "Oh yes, we simply adore her. Quiet as a church mouse, that one, but she has a way with our boy. I’ve said it is because they have such similar temperaments," Bridget continued. Anne stirred in her arms and she stooped her neck to kiss the babe’s brow.

  "Perhaps that’s it," Gerard contemplated. Watching Bridget with Anne did not have the effect on him that he had feared when he came to London. He had been so worried that witnessing such domestic bliss would reawaken his grief over having lost his own hopes for the same. Instead, at least on this particular occasion, the sight relaxed him as he melted into the quiet peace of the scene.

  The strange governess dominated his thoughts as his sister and her husband continued their conversation in hushed tones as the baby threatened to wake from her slumber.

  He remembered the woman’s deft fingers weaving the delicate stems of the flowers he and Thomas had collected for her. She never broke a single one of those fragile blooms as she wove them into a crown. He did not want her to know that he had been watching her, so he could only steal glimpses now and then. But in those stolen glances he had the impression that he was witnessing something almost sacred. She had such a look of peace on her face, sitting there like a figure in a painting with her dark clothes contrasting against the pastel landscape of the garden.

  When Thomas had removed the crown from his head and placed it on hers instead, the sun had illuminated her face and she looked up at him, smiling shyly. Now, whenever he imagined her face, it was with that expression, glancing up at him through thick lashes and then quickly looking away.

  She had kept the crown on after that, as though she had forgotten that she was wearing it. He wondered idly if she was somewhere in the manor now still wearing the crown. It looked natural on her, as though she’d been born to wear it. He imagined her in her own room later that evening, laughing quietly to herself when she looked in the glass to wash her face and found the forgotten wreath of wilted blooms tangled in her hair.

  Would she think of me then?

  Realizing suddenly that his mind had been preoccupied by a governess for the past several minutes, to the complete exclusion of his current company, Gerard got to his feet and crossed the room, as though he could shake her out of his mind by physical exertion. He pushed the curtain aside and looked down at the view of the gardens. This did nothing to help to clear his mind of the woman as he looked out at the pond where he had passed such a pleasant morning with her.

  "I was thinking of calling on Lord Brooks this afternoon," Jonathan said, effectively snapping Gerard from his reverie.

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, he called here a few days ago, but I’ve been so caught up with Anne that I’ve not even sent a note back. Would you like to come with me? He lives in town still and we could stop off at the bookstore, if you like."

  The allure of a new book to divert his attention was formidable, but Gerard’s hand on the curtain tightened nervously. Lord Brooks had been an associate of Christine’s. Well, he was an associate of most of the London set in general. The possibility that the gentleman might bring her up when he saw Gerard gave him pause.

  Suddenly the pleasant thoughts of the governess evaporated from his mind as completely as the dew had evaporated from the grass they’d sat upon that morning.

  Gerard hesitated, racking his mind for some excuse to get him out of this trip to see Lord Brooks, but he came up empty.

  "Yes, of course. That would be lovely," he said, trying to make his voice sound light but failing utterly. He noticed Bridget had looked up at him and was studying him quizzically.

  Could she know the reason for my hesitation?

  "Right, well, I will order the carriage and meet you on the drive in...say, fifteen minutes?"

  Gerard pulled his lips into a smile, and kissing his sister’s head, went to his room to change into a crisper jacket for the trip into the city proper.

  Chapter Seven

  Stonehill was situated as near to the outskirts of the city as it was possible to be while still being firmly included in the life of London. The ride to Lord Brooks’ brought Gerard and Jonathan deep into the thick of the fast-paced metropolis. As Gerard watched out the carriage window and the streets became ever more crowded with people, he winced.

  “I’d forgotten how busy it always is here,” he said in an offhand manner to his brother-in-law.

  “You’d be more used to it if you visited more often. I’m sure it goes without saying that you are always welcome at Stonehill, for as long as you like. And, if it’s not rude to say, your sister has been very, shall I say, worried about you. She speaks of you shutting yourself up in the country in order to nurse your despair.” Jonathan’s thumb traced the brim of the hat that he had settled on his lap.

  “She has always had a flair for the dramatic,” Gerard quipped.

  Jonathan smiled. “Yes, that is true. But all the same, isolation will not do you any good in this life, Gerard.”

  “Has Bridget put you up to this?” Gerard asked. While he and Jonathan were friends as well as brothers-in-law, they had never been so intimately close that it would seem natural to speak so bluntly about something as personal as Gerard’s supposed “despair”.

  Jonathan’s smile turned apologetic. “She may have mentioned that I might bring it up with you.”

  “I assure you that the country suits me just fine. I am very sorry that it’s been so long since I last visited, but it has nothing to do with Christine. I have merely been caught up in my duties.” Her name, so rarely spoken aloud, hung in the air like a thick smoke.

  Jonathan nodded; his expression somber. Gerard wondered if speaking the name of the murdered lady cast a pall over the moment for him as well. Suddenly, her presence felt stronger than ever. For Gerard, the thought of her seemed to drain the color from his vision, and the world took on a stark, unforgiving light.

  He blinked, looking out the window again, attempting to regain his composure.

  It’s been seven years.

  How many more years will it take until I can think of her and not have the wind kicked out of me?

  “You’re still looking for the killer, aren’t you?” Jonathan asked tentatively.

  Gerard couldn’t look at him. He nodded. “Yes. Any leads we may have had years ago are dried up now. But I will never stop looking.”

  Gerard heard the other Duke sigh quietly. He knew it sounded absurd. He knew that everyone thought he should marry and move on with his life. If the finest detectives in the country had not been able to find her killer, how would he? All he could do was scan as many newspapers as he could get his hands on, filling his brain with accounts of murders and crimes all over England, searching for some connection.

  This constant vigilance had turned up nothing so far. And, in fact, had only served to darken the landscape of his mind further. The continual awareness of the dark side of human nature was not helping his ever more withdrawn demeanor.

  “Here we are,” Jonathan said, his voice brightening. They had rolled up to a stately home nestled snugly right in the heart of town. Lord Brooks preferred to live right in the middle of everything. How he could live with the noise was beyond Gerard.

  “The Duke of Hadminster and The Duke of Stonehill here to see Lord Brooks,” Jonathan said cheerily to the butler who came to the door. The butler inclined his head
and showed them into a bright parlor.

  The interior of Lord Brooks’ home was almost devoid of color. As if in revolt against the chimney smoke and mud of London outside, the home was kept spotless and white. Lord Brooks himself, when he appeared, was dressed in crisp black, making a striking contrast with the airy sitting room.

  “Your Graces, how marvelous to see you!” he greeted the two Dukes, with his customary toothy smile. “Especially wonderful to see you again, it’s been far too long.” He slapped Gerard jovially on the shoulder.

  “Indeed,” Gerard said, trying to smile but only managing a grimace.

  “London has been bereft without you. It seems the longer you stay away, the more your name comes up.”

  The gentleman gestured for the Dukes to sit down and make themselves comfortable. Lord Brooks himself leaned back in an armchair, throwing one leg over the other and grinning like a cat.

  “Is that so?” Gerard asked, sitting on the edge of a couch but feeling uncomfortable.

  “Well,” the lord shrugged with a faint smirk. “If one spends enough time in the company of society ladies, your name is sure to pop up from time to time.”

  Gerard’s eyebrows shot up incredulously, but he said nothing. Jonathan jumped in to fill the silence.

  “Lord Brooks, how is your sister? Last I heard, she was down with a fever.”

  Lord Brooks’ smile shifted from Gerard to Jonathan. “Perfectly recovered, Your Grace. In fact, she was complaining to me just yesterday about how restless she is after being laid up. She begged me to remind you about some promise you had made to host a ball at Stonehill this season. I told her that you likely had forgotten all about it in the excitement of the birth of your child, but she did twist my arm into asking.”

  “I had indeed forgotten. You’ll pass my apology on to Lady Margaret, I hope.” Jonathan said, looking abashed.

  “The Duchess has need of rest and we have all endeavored to make her comfortable,” Gerard said. “Lady Margaret will understand, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Brooks said, glancing from Gerard to Jonathan. There was something bordering on conspiratorial in his eyes that caused Gerard to regard his brother-in-law with some suspicion. “However, her disappointment will be great. News of the Duke’s arrival in London has caused a stir. And of course, the ladies are all aflutter about the birth of the child and would love nothing more than a chance to see the Duchess.”

  “I will talk to her about it. Perhaps a ball is not out of the question.”

  Gerard scoffed. “I hardly think what my sister needs right now is a party to plan.”

  “Oh, I’m not making any promises,” Jonathan assured. “But bringing it up can do no harm, either.”

  Lord Brooks clapped his hands on his knees. “Lady Margaret will be pleased to hear it. She intends to call on the Duchess herself, I believe. She has been waiting, for fear of intruding on her peace.”

  Gerard had to stop himself from scoffing a second time at the inconsistency of not wanting to visit Bridget too soon after the birth but also twisting her brother’s arm to convince them to hold a ball.

  Gerard’s irritation at the whole meeting with Lord Brooks only grew as the gentlemen moved on to other subjects. He felt on edge, fidgeting endlessly with his waistcoat, and wishing that they could just dispense with the pleasantries and get this meeting over with.

  Finally, after what felt like an age, Gerard and Jonathan were on their way back to the carriage. Gerard noticed Jonathan looking at him nervously. He ignored it until, after stopping at a dark little bookshop on the edge of the city and finding nothing interesting enough to buy, they were well on their way back to Stonehill.

  “You’ll be surprised when you see Lady Margaret. This past year has been an eventful one for her. She’s no longer the child that you likely remember.” Jonathan was making his voice light but Gerard could see that he was anxious.

  “I hardly do remember her,” Gerard answered flippantly.

  “She’s become quite the beauty.”

  “What are you doing?” Gerard asked suddenly, staring down his brother-in-law as the carriage jostled over the road.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lady Margaret. A ball? Now? What are you playing at?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Jonathan replied, though it was apparent that he did. He was a bad liar.

  “Just tell me this, is Bridget in on it, too?”

  “Listen, brother.” Jonathan said placatingly. “You have no enemies here in London. All anyone wants to do is help you. Obsessing over something that happened years ago is doing you no favors. You’ve changed, and not for the better.”

  “So you’ve decided that throwing a skinny, black-haired damsel in my way will take my mind off things, is that it?”

  “Honestly?” Jonathan asked. “Yes. It certainly wouldn’t hurt, at any rate.”

  Gerard shook his head, disbelieving.

  “If not Lady Margaret, then someone else. You could have any lady who caught your eye, you know.”

  “Thank you for that assessment,” Gerard said curtly.

  “Now, don’t be angry. A man without a wife is a man without a purpose.”

  Gerard clenched his jaw. Through his mind there flashed a crystalline memory of Christine standing underneath a willow tree, her blonde hair wafting in a warm summer breeze.

  “Gerard.”

  He looked up again, knowing that his gaze must have been imposing by the way that his brother-in-law pressed his lips together nervously.

  “Don’t be cross with Bridget. She loves you. She’s only trying to help.”

  “I don’t need help. I’m doing perfectly fine.”

  “Of course,” Jonathan said, smiling in a manner that Gerard found irritatingly patronizing.

  They passed the rest of the ride to Stonehill in silence. In that time, Gerard began to make plans to leave London earlier than expected. The last thing he wanted was to be paraded around in front of the eligible ladies of London like a prized stallion. He regretted leaving so soon after beginning to make amends to his nephew, but the alternative was too humiliating to consider.

  I cannot stay.

  * * *

  The following morning, Gerard walked slowly past the library, in the unspoken hope that he might sit in on another of Thomas’ lessons. If he was to be leaving soon, he wanted to spend at least another morning with his nephew. There was no noise in the hallway. Gathering his nerve, he pushed the door open slightly and peered in. The library was empty. His disappointment at the empty room felt disproportionate to the situation. His spirits sank.

  He didn’t go immediately to the sitting room where he expected Jonathan and his sister to be. He was dreading telling Bridget that he was planning on leaving sooner than expected. He could already see her expression of disappointment in his mind’s eye, and he wasn’t eager to make it a reality.

  He didn’t wish to make a scene, or accuse her of bringing him there under false pretenses. But at the same time, his pride would not allow him to go along with their plans to settle on a wife in London. He would have to find a way to break the news gently to her.

  Rather than face that particular confrontation head on, he took a detour through the gardens. Something seemed to compel him to go back to the pond. The hope that Thomas would be there, certainly. That his pulse quickened at the thought of the strange little governess who would be there with him was an unfortunate fact that he chose to ignore.

  She fascinated him, he had no choice but to admit to himself. In the quiet moments of the day, when he was not busy with anything else, his mind found rest in thinking of her. But if the distinguished Lady Margaret was not an attractive enough reason for him to linger in London, then an orphan in a flower crown certainly could not be, either. She had been a pleasant distraction, and he had no doubt that he would remember the enigmatic girl for quite some time, but she was nothing more than that. A distraction.

  Chapt
er Eight

  Elizabeth took Lord Limingrose’s hand as they walked through the manor. The child was desolate after a poor performance in an impromptu examination she had given him over his French vocabulary. She shook her head, flummoxed over the fact that this ordinarily typical child could be so hard on himself that she never had any need to scold him over academic failures. His eyes had welled with tears as he gazed down at the paper he had written his answers on, covered with her many corrections.

  “Now, don’t cry, My Lord,” she had offered quietly. “You can’t have expected any better, when you fight me every day over your French.”

  He’d sniffed at this, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.