He would be the first to say that Caroline could dance like any lady of the bon ton. She had enjoyed dancing since she was a young girl and she had an aptitude for it. They had spent many a merry evening with Aunt Lydia taking up the role of a male participant and Arthur playing song after song so that Lydia and Caroline could dance. But that was not at all equivalent to a real ball with rules and dance cards and sniping gossip.
Though she had never told her father, it was one of the only ways she could get him to play for his own enjoyment after he came home. When he played for her and Aunt Lydia, he was almost the way he had been before the horrors of battle. If Arthur thought he was helping Caroline, he gladly resumed his place at the piano.
Despite the fact that she knew she would at least be able to dance as well as any other lady, her nerves were nearly shattered when the fated evening arrived.
She kept sneaking glances at Lord Malliston while they rode in the carriage to York. They were on their way to a respectable inn. Really, it was closer to a hotel. He sat across from her, eyeing the passing scenery through the glass.
“My lord?”
“Mm?”
“You don’t suppose too many people will…” she sighed. “Gossip.”
About us, she wanted to say.
“People always gossip, Miss Sedgwyck,” he replied. She would have sworn he smirked at her.
Shaking her head, she glanced out of her window, too.
“My lord?” she tried again.
“Miss Sedgwyck.”
“I have never been to a ball.”
“I should think not.”
She did not ask him why he was taking her. Instead, she said, “I do not understand enough about society to do you credit.”
He looked at her with faint amusement and said, “You don’t value yourself well enough. Your manners are impeccable when you choose to use them, and I don’t know if this would be of any comfort to another woman, but no one knows you. You may remain a wallflower if you wish.”
“That is not strictly true, is it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Everyone knows you. By proxy, that means they will wish to know who I am. I’m certain I will have to behave very specifically, or risk doing great damage to my own reputation. And yours, if by accepting this invitation you wished to begin rebuilding your standing in society,” said Caroline, willing him to accept her urgency.
“Astute as ever,” sighed the duke.
“I cannot mention I am your daughters’ tutor, can I?”
She did not want to imagine the floodgates of censure and sniping that would open should that knowledge be made public.
“You are a former comrade’s daughter, and a friend of my family.”
Caroline gawked at him. “You mean to insinuate we are of the same station?”
“Well, when I introduce you, I shan’t give you a title you don’t have, but I will not act as though you are beneath me in any way,” he said. “A ball isn’t necessarily always for the gentry alone, and besides, you are my guest. I was invited, ergo you are invited.”
He said it with finality and a slight haughtiness that belied his upbringing. This was not a man who was told “no”.
“Fine, but is there anyone that I should… especially show respect?”
“Customarily, the hosts. In this case, they are elderly and fairly jovial. They will find you charming. Lady Anne likes to wag her tongue about everything and everyone, but that has always been the case. Just remember to be circumspect.” He beamed at her. “Lord Poppleton is very hard of hearing. More so than me, I would wager. Speak very loudly to him. You may need to shout. I expect he’s only become worse in the last few years I have not seen him.”
Caroline bit her lower lip, thinking. “And is there anyone I should avoid?”
“It’s difficult to predict who, exactly, will be in attendance, but if I notice anyone who concerns me, I will point them out. In general, any groups of young males are to be avoided.”
He suddenly looked quite fierce. “I would not expect you to know firsthand. But they tend to be uncivilized en masse, and more so if they are inebriated.”
Caroline did not mistake his meaning. She nodded once.
“You are far too clever to fall prey to them but, unfortunately, balls can be their hunting grounds.”
He would know, she thought.
She had heard enough gossip even in her tiny corner of the empire to glean how dangerous entitled men could be to a woman. Her dear friend Georgiana’s cousin, who lived in Bath, attended a public ball some years back and was cornered in a garden by an opportunistic lieutenant on leave.
She shuddered, thinking of the consequences for poor Lucy’s future. Caroline tried not to recall her overmuch, but she had been utterly disgraced through little fault of her own.
While Caroline might have risked ruining her own reputation in a completely different manner by hitting a reprobate upside the head or bloodying his nose if she could manage it, fearful Lucy did not consider refusal to be an option.
Lord Malliston watched her closely as her mind flitted through these unsavory remembrances. “I see I didn’t have to warn you about that.”
“No, my lord. I fear that women who share my circumstances in life are unduly used by such men.” She did not elaborate.
It’s hardly very appropriate conversation.
He leaned toward her and asked very seriously, “Do you trust me?”
“I believe I do, yes.”
“Then know that I will keep you from harm should the unhappy occasion arise.”
She believed him.
*
There was a little confusion when Lord Malliston inquired about their rooms at the front desk. Although the clerk was perfectly polite in tone, he still raised his eyebrows when he asked, “You and your companion, my lord, will be in separate chambers this evening?”
Unruffled, the duke said, “Yes. We shall, indeed.”
He smiled pleasantly at the clerk until the young, spotty man grew red around the ears and groped for two sets of keys behind the desk, all the while refusing to meet the duke’s eyes.
Caroline, however, could have died of mortification on the spot. She had been all but named as a woman of the night, and the duke had done nothing to correct the clerk. She prayed silently that the separate rooms might signify the propriety of their arrangement.
Her traitorous mind, on the other hand, wished that she and Lord Malliston could share a room. It would have been scandalous and there was no way she could do so without shaming herself or her family name. Still, she wanted it.
But ever since the duke had started to make improvements upon his personal character, she found herself even more irresistibly drawn to him. Before, she was not innocent enough to pretend her thoughts about him were chaste. But now, she also dwelled upon his character, which was proving to be steadfast, if a little fanciful, and his dry, quiet humor.
It was a dangerous combination. Although her earlier attraction had been physical, it was now more than that alone.
As though they really were friends, they had started to retire together to the drawing room after dinner, after the girls had been tucked into bed. The venue was not strictly traditional and as a respectable woman, she should have sought her repose in a parlor. Caroline would also play the pianoforte for him. Soon enough, she discovered that he loved literature, politics, and the sciences as well as music, and they rarely ran out of topics to discuss.
Sometimes, she went to bed hoarse of voice because the volume at which she needed to speak to him was rather loud, but she did not mind.
Perhaps, their growing closeness had led to him inviting her to Lord Poppleton’s ball. He did not have to go and, indeed, the duke who had first hired her probably would not have gone.
But this new Lord Malliston seemed to be more interested in social graces.
She only wished that he would give more care to how she might be perceived under such circumstances.
He was used to being the subject of derision and speculation, but she was not, and she knew without a doubt that the ball’s genteel attendants would talk exceedingly about her.
Caroline could no longer deceive herself.
She was fully taken with Lord Malliston and she could not fathom a solution to such a problem.
Therefore, she was even more worried that the ton would pick up on her infatuation.
What if I am too transparent? They will be cruel, and they will be quick to be cruel.
It was the stuff of gossipmongers’ dreams: a young, unknown lady infatuated with an aristocrat. She might be forever labeled as an upstart or an opportunist.
Even as she readied herself for the ball, all alone in her room with the exception of a lady’s maid sent up by the innkeeper, she found that she was almost beside herself with anxiety.
Duckie, Sophie, and Phoebe had masterminded her beautiful ensemble. She herself had very little to do with it. They had accompanied her on a rushed visit to an esteemed modiste in town with the duke’s assurances that he would take care of all the expenses. The thought that he was paying drove Caroline to fearful indecision, but the girls and the jolly cook had all but taken over for her.
Her dress was ivory white silk with delicate lace trims at the hemline, sleeves and neck. The sleeves were capped at her shoulders, and she had long, kid leather gloves that reached her elbows.
The square neckline swooped low along her bosom, which caused Caroline no small measure of unease. She had never worn such a dress. But the ladies who worked in the shop, their mistress, and Duckie had assured her that the cut was still within the parameters of decency.
It was, they each declared in their ways, the height of fashion for young ladies.
She was left with no choice but to purchase the expensive, beautiful piece of clothing, as well as a pair of new satin slippers for dancing. Even Sophie and Phoebe had gone into raptures when they saw how Caroline looked in her new finery.
They, she thought, were not at all scandalized. It gave her some consolation. But then, they had been taken with the ladies of the night who had been invited to The Thornlands.
Caroline smiled her thanks at the maid, who was weaving her long curls into a braid, and wrapping the braid into a bun pinned at the nape of her neck. I don’t want to be too ostentatious. She knew the shade of her hair already drew its share of attention.
She wore no jewels, and simply completed her evening attire with a butter yellow pelisse embroidered with delicate flowers and butterflies and a white reticule.
Looking in the mirror, she decided that she was as unadorned as she could be while still appearing elegant enough for a ball. Scarcely anyone could accuse her of greedy motives now.
How wrong she was.
Her first indication otherwise was the duke’s unabashed surprise as she approached their waiting carriage at the front of the inn. He stared at her for so long that she said lightly, trying to lessen her nerves, “You look as though you would rather not go to the ball with me.”
“No,” said the duke, as though he was being roused from a dream. “I shall have to spend my entire night beating off your admirers with my bare hands, and wouldn’t that be fodder for the gossip mills.”
She couldn’t hide her smile at his pronouncement, and she allowed him to help her into the carriage. His hand was wonderfully warm in hers, despite the fact that both of them wore their formal gloves.
Caroline believed that was it not for his infamous reputation, she would be the one fighting off his admirers. Not that she had much right to, other than currently being his guest to the ball. She kept the thought to herself.
“I must warn you about something,” Lord Malliston said, just as they started to move.
“What would that be?” said Caroline, although she did have some idea of what he was about to say.
“I asked you to come with me to this ball because I wanted to have your company. I greatly value it,” he said. “But that was, perhaps, selfish. You may be subjected to rather unkind talk.”
She laughed a little. “That is the only thing that has worried me.”
Not the only thing, but the primary thing.
He smiled at her admission. “In truth, I cannot blame anyone for their suppositions. I did not do enough to ingratiate myself after I returned from Salamanca and it hasn’t even been a year since Lady Malliston has passed.” He sighed and looked directly at Caroline, who basked in the gaze of those brown eyes. “Yet, without any warning to anybody, here I am, turning up to a ball with another woman.”
Caroline asked the question she had once been so impatient to ask.
“Please do not answer if you think I am being impertinent. But how, exactly, did she die?”
She no longer believed he was a murderer. But she still had to know the circumstances of Lady Malliston’s death.
Long moments passed before Lord Malliston cleared his throat. He leaned toward her, resting his forearms on the tops of his thighs.
“I was the only one who witnessed it,” he said.
“The only one who witnessed it?”
He nodded. “I know that sounds strange. But it was not illness that took her. While I was away, Daisy began to take some suspicious medications… opiates of different classes… until they drove her mad. Mrs. Humphrey claimed that she had abused them because she loved and missed me too much, but we never boasted a loving union. I think she simply became reliant on the medicine, as one can. It is why I did not use it, myself, even though I could have. Our marriage was one of convenience, you see, so I did not ever believe the sisters’ insistence that their mistress went mad for wont of me.”
Caroline hoped she did not exhibit too much pity. Lord Malliston would not appreciate it. “I did not realize.”
“I am more inclined to think she missed our quarrels because she was irrationally inclined to argue needlessly.” He chuckled without any mirth. “In any event, upon my return, I found she could no longer recognize her own children. I was also a total stranger to her. She did not know me, such was her stupor.”
The duke had the air of someone confessing a long-buried tale. Caroline’s stomach dropped.
“The first night we spent together, again, I awoke to find her with a knife at my throat, screaming that I was a stranger.”
“I…” Caroline was at a loss. What an awful, awful thing.
“I would not have heard her, had she not been screaming. My hearing had not yet returned to even the sorry state it is in, now. Everything was muffled and indistinct. Quite frankly, it was a terrifying experience.”
Caroline never imagined there was such a grotesque story behind Lady Malliston’s death. She had come to think, until Lord Malliston said otherwise, that illness was what claimed his wife. There was stark sadness in his eyes as he related the tale. She was overcome by the urge to take his left hand in her right, and so she did. He did not disengage her.
“I overpowered her, and she appeared subdued… normal, even. She apologized. But I still had Edgar send for the apothecary. I didn’t know what could be done, but I felt that, perhaps, she might benefit from some philter or elixir. I have seen men go mad in the military, Miss Sedgwyck. I’ve even known them to become dependent on drink or insidious medicines.”
Woefully, he squeezed Caroline’s hand.
“But before any help could arrive, Lady Malliston ingested some concoction. Something that poisoned her veins.” He winced. “I had no idea anything like that was so available to her. It could have been a concentration of her medicine, or something else. We never found out for certain.”
Speechless, Caroline could only cling to his hand in horror.
“I couldn’t save her,” he said softly. “I only left her for the briefest moment to fetch us some water and brandy. That was as good as if I held the poison to her lips and forced her to take it. I watched her convulse, and weaken, and ultimately die. Miss Ball and Mrs. Humphrey did not see what happened, but they heard at le
ast the end of it. Duckie was away visiting her brother’s family. Edgar was engaged waiting for the apothecary.”
“No, that is ridiculous!” said Caroline, shaken from her rapt silence.
“What is?”
“You must not blame yourself.”
“It is rather hard not to, unfortunately. We did not like each other, it is true, but we had a family together and I was the final person to see her alive. I will always wonder if she was secretly miserable despite everything I could give her.”
“You cannot think that way,” Caroline said. “How would you have known? How was it your fault? Your self-blame is… admirable, in some ways… but pointless. And inaccurate. You married because your father wished it, and women so often have little say in who they marry.” She reflected. “Though, I now better understand many of your past inclinations. You were not just a hedonist. You were burying your emotions.”
Having said her piece, Caroline looked into the night as their carriage moved through the streets, passing houses with brightly lit windows.
“I believe you have a penchant for being right when you express your opinions, Miss Sedgwyck,” the duke observed after a while. He squeezed her hand.
“My father always grumbles about it.”
“As to the matter of the speculations that are sure to arise at the ball… if we give out as little information as possible, I believe that will put off the gossipmongers.”
“Or it will exacerbate what they say,” said Caroline. She gripped his hand very tightly out of fear. She then realized that it was his left hand, and his glove had been very cleverly crafted to give the appearance that the hand itself was normal. When one put pressure on the stiff middle fingers that were not actually real fingers, they gave slightly in a manner that true flesh and bone would not.
“I prefer to let them say what they desire. They always do, in any case. If they cannot find out much about you, then they will return their tongues to the topic of Lady Malliston.” He sighed. “They cannot do her any more harm in death.”
“Was there ever any legal basis to the rumors that you were her murderer?”
Duke of Havoc Page 14
