Not many of his acquaintances could boast a close relationship with Drake, however. From their perspective, he was everyone’s friend, a well-liked fellow, and the life of the party, but no one knew him beyond a surface association. Winston was the closest friend he had, and even Winston knew little about him above what Drake wanted him to know.
As much as he trusted Winston, Drake limited with whom he shared personal confidences. Even Sebastian heard only what Drake was willing to share. Winston, as a friend, was good for two things, fencing and snuff. The man was a connoisseur of all things tobacco related, from snuff to cigars, and brought Drake the most exotic blends. Although he considered Winston his most loyal friend and would second him in a duel in a heartbeat, they discussed only things shallow and comical.
“I admit, I’m surprised you called on me today,” Winston said, pulling off his chest pads to pile onto one of the chairs shoved along the perimeter of the room. “I thought as the bridegroom, you would spend at least a month abed with your bride, and knowing your appetite,” he pressed, “I was certain you would be homebound for two.”
“Who’s to say she didn’t beg for a moment’s reprieve? For all you know, my wife is too sore to walk after our homecoming.” Drake winked.
“Splendid! I had hoped the two of you would suit. I worried you’d bring home a younger version of your mother, another tyrant to run your life. I even told Mr. Butler to ready a room for you in case you needed a place to hide from the battle-axe.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence,” the duke jeered. “Now, if you don’t mind, the lady awaits my return.”
“Why not stay a touch longer? Join me at Nero’s for a game of Faro or Hazard. She can wait for you to finish a quick game, can’t she?” Winston waved over a footman to stow the equipment.
“Not much in the mood for losing money at the gaming hell, mate, but next week may be a different story.” Drake stood still while a footman slipped on his coat.
“At least stay for a drink,” Winston implored.
“Love to, but I should head back. Hectic day ahead. Did I tell you about the ridiculously fake Frenchman who sketched my portrait yesterday?”
Winston followed Drake to the entry hall where the butler handed over a hat, riding crop, and cloak.
“No hard feelings, Wins? Listen, I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t I pick you up tonight after dinner? It’ll be my first opportunity to visit Maggie. What do you say?” Drake asked his friend.
“Oh ho!” Winston laughed hollowly. “I thought you said things were going well between you and your bride. You’ve only just returned home, yet you’re planning to see Maggie? Do I smell trouble in paradise?”
“Nonsense! We see eye-to-eye on our marital arrangement, and she has encouraged me in her own way to resume my daily life as I had before the wedding.” Drake took a step outside the door, hoping to discourage further conversation.
“Sounds like the perfect wife. You may just convince me to take the leap if I can have my wife’s bed when I want it, my mistress’ bed when I want it, and my gaming. You’ve married the perfect woman, Drake!”
“So I have. Shall I pick you up for Maggie’s then? There’s certain to be a party, and you know what that means.” The duke slipped on his hat and cloak.
“Thanks, but no thanks. Not my cuppa these days. Out of curiosity, will Teresa be there?”
“I would think so. She moved in with Maggie last year.” He was surprised Winston wouldn’t want to see his lady, a once world-renowned opera singer. “Didn’t you know?”
Winston shook his head. “I haven’t seen Teresa in quite some time, I’m afraid. Lost my appetite for their scene to be honest.” Winston studied Drake a moment, chewing his upper lip in thought, then said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but between your wife and Maggie, I don’t see the contest.”
Drake grinned, ready to end an increasingly uncomfortable conversation. “She’ll always be my Maggie. If you change your mind, send me a missive, and I’ll swing ‘round to pick you up.”
“Taking the ducal coach as usual?” Winston followed Drake to the front drive where his horse waited.
Reaching for the reins from a groom, Drake replied, “Always. No reason to go if I don’t ride through town in as much pomp as I can.”
Winston shook his head. “I wonder about you sometimes, Drake.”
“How’s that?”
“I wonder if you visit Maggie because you’re in love with her or because you want everyone to think you’re in love with her. It would be faster and more private on horseback, yet you always insist the entire town knows the duke is visiting his mistress.” Still shaking his head, Winston held out his hand for a farewell.
Without further ado, they parted.
By dinner, Charlotte convinced herself she’d over reacted to both Catherine’s and Drake’s behavior during the week. The day had been such a success with new dresses, a new friendship, and a newly arranged parlor to lift her spirits. After a disappointing first week, she needed a day like today to boost her morale.
Her mother-in-law may show her welcome in unusual ways, but given she’d not yet objected to the parlor, Charlotte assumed the silence to be a nod of approval. Charlotte’s word and opinion meant something in the household after all. With her bedchamber and now the parlor bearing her mark, she felt more settled and certainly more respected, which was quite the feat after the set down her mother-in-law had given on more than one occasion over the past week. At this rate, Charlotte would be able to enact more changes from her growing list.
As for Drake, he couldn’t be entirely to blame regarding the botched seduction. He had promised only an hour from the start, would never have expected Charlotte to want more, and may not have been in the mood to continue their flirtation after contending with his mother.
With this frame of mind, she renewed her spirits once more for a dinner with the family.
From the moment Charlotte sat next to her husband, she noticed he was distracted. Was he thinking about her? Perhaps he was upset about her frostiness during the painting session the morning before—oh, she had been an absolute fright.
She’d snubbed him at every dinner since the night of the failed seduction, mostly from her own embarrassment at having tried to seduce him and failed, but also as subtle punishment for his choosing his mother over her. The morning of the painting session, however, she’d been down right wretched.
Her behavior might have been comical to an onlooker, but she wondered if she’d gone too far. Well, at the time it felt justified. In hindsight, that might not have been the best approach.
Batting her eyelashes at his furrowed brow, she leaned towards him.
“I see you have no great love for the soup either,” she observed, feeling insipid but not knowing how else to start a conversation.
Absently spooning the liquid, he looked up, his eyes distant. “Pardon?”
“The soup. You’ve barely touched it.”
“Oh.” He glanced down, frowned, and set the spoon aside. “Not hungry. A lot to do after dinner.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve spent hours writing invitations to the shooting party. And here I thought dukes and duchesses spent their time frivolously. You’ve misled me!” She tittered, touching his arm.
Drake’s eyes narrowed. “Is this not the life you wanted?”
“Well, I couldn’t say. I had no expectations other than what you told me, as you well know,” she chided.
“Oh, yes, I suppose once upon a time you did ask what dukes do all day. Yes, well, now you know.”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I know what duchesses do all day, and it’s dreadfully boring. What did you do today?”
His frown deepened before he shook his head, airing it of whatever had troubled him. As though starting the conversation anew, he looked up, his eyes twinkling and his lips curving into a
casual smile.
“Fenced with Winston. Great sport. And now you have the pleasure of imaging me in tight fencing garb. I’ll have you know, it leaves nothing to the imagination.”
With a gasp, a scowl, and a blush, Charlotte glanced at Mary and Catherine to ensure they were ensconced in conversation of their own.
“I… I….” She swallowed, summoning the courage to say something witty and flirty in return. “I would like to see that.” Chewing her bottom lip furiously, she stared down at her soup bowl.
“Truthfully?” His tone revealed his surprise. “After this week, nay, after yesterday morning alone, I rather thought you didn’t want to see me at all.”
“Oh, that. Yes, well, I wasn’t feeling my best.”
“Understatement of the year, Charlotte. You had ice chips forming on your shoulders. I thought the artist would have an apoplexy when he wanted to paint us side-by-side to capture the romance, but you refused to stand within ten feet of me.”
Oh, botheration. She really had behaved badly.
“As I said, I wasn’t feeling my best. Besides, who could take that man seriously when his Scottish brogue slipped through his faux French accent every time I annoyed him? It encouraged me to annoy him more.”
“HA!” Drake’s laugh startled his mother and sister momentarily. Leaning closer to Charlotte, he said, “You have a bit of a wicked streak, my dear. Why am I only now realizing it? I like it.”
To her surprise, he reached for her hand beneath the table, cradling her knuckles in his fist and kneading her palm with his thumb.
Her first reaction was to pull away. What if someone saw? How dare he take such liberties with her person? How was she to finish her soup? But then she schooled herself. This is what she had been wanting. Not exactly this, but his attention at least.
“Tell me more about this side of you,” he said, his voice lowering. “Were you a mischievous child?”
“Anything but. I was the perfect pupil. Everything my tutors instructed, I did. I never wanted to disappoint them.”
“How frightfully dull.” He chuckled.
“Yes, I suppose you would think so. I must seem dull compared to your—your experience. My sister was always the adventurous one. I never did like adventures unless they were well planned. It was only fun if I knew what to expect, you see. Yes, you would see me as dull.”
Realizing she was babbling, Charlotte stopped talking and focused her attention on the exchange of plates by a flurry of footmen.
Freeing her hand from his grasp, she tried a few bites of fish, embarrassed both by her confessions and by his seeing her as dull. There was no reason he should see her as anything else, but it still hurt.
“You’re far from dull, Charlotte,” he countered, as though reading her mind. “Always wanting perfection sounds dull, but you’re not dull. Anyone with a love for music has a heart of passion, and passion is never dull.” His smile widened, his fish ignored.
Setting down her cutlery, she replied, “I already told you I don’t play well.”
“First, that’s a lie. Second, you’ve misheard me yet again. I said nothing about playing well, rather having a love for music. You don’t have to play well to love music, and I know for a fact you feel the music to the very soles of your shoes. I’ve watched you play, remember.”
“Yes, and so you should know my enjoyment of playing and my ability are two vastly differently things.”
“Stop,” he commanded gruffly.
“That was rude.” She sat up straighter, affronted. “Whatever am I stopping?”
“Stop berating yourself. You are more than accomplished, your doubts be damned.”
Her face warmed, and her stomach fluttered. Returning her attention to the fish, she hoped again her mother-in-law and Mary wouldn’t see her flushed cheeks.
To shift the conversation away from herself, she turned the discussion to Winston, asking about the friend who she’d heard little about. However much she enjoyed Drake’s compliments, she didn’t want to talk about her shortcomings.
“The last person I want to talk about is Winston,” he answered. “I want to talk more about you. From precocious child to duchess. Brava. What made you so ambitious?”
“I wouldn’t say I was ambitious. I wanted what, I suppose, most girls want—to be praised and admired. I wanted to be perfect at everything I did. I set my sights on perfection and expected nothing less.”
“Ah. I mistook your desire for perfection as obsequiousness, but no, I see it for what it is now. You really are passionate.”
“I most certainly am not.” Charlotte huffed. “I am in full control of my emotions.”
“Mmm. Yes, you are a hotbed of passion waiting for release.”
“I beg you to stop such talk this instant. We were having a perfectly civil conversation. I’ll not have you embarrass me in front of your family. What if your mother overhears you?”
“If you gave half as much thought to what you want as you do to what other people think, you could accomplish everything your heart desires, Charlotte.”
“As you have? You’ve made it abundantly clear you don’t give a fig for what people think, and where has that gotten you?” Her hand flew to her mouth, ashamed she’d said such a thing, especially when her whole intention of the conversation had been to flirt.
“Touché.” He winked playfully.
Her feathers ruffled, she tried again to turn the conversation to Winston. This time, Drake complied.
After dinner, the family retired to the Blue Drawing Room, all except Drake who excused himself, no doubt to work in his study. When he didn’t invite her to play cards after dinner, she wasn’t the least deterred. Despite a lingering self-consciousness, she was more determined than ever to resume her plan of seducing him. This week had proven how much she needed him as an ally and confidant, even if they didn’t see eye-to-eye on conversation topics.
If he didn’t come to her tonight, she would go to him. There would be no mistaking her intention. And if he lingered in his study too long, she would drag him out by his ear.
Hopeful about the evening and contented by the day’s successes, Charlotte stayed up much later than planned, thoroughly enjoying round after round of piquet with Mary. Not until the clock chimed midnight did they stop.
As she rounded the top of the stairs, she plotted how she might surprise Drake.
If he were already abed, and she could wrangle the courage, she could slip into his bed and wake him. And then what? Perhaps, instead, she should wear one of the more provocative nightgowns and stand in his doorway with the candlestick until the light woke him. Her intention would be clear, and it wouldn’t take nearly as much courage as climbing into the bed uninvited.
She certainly liked the idea of going to him and not the other way around. In this way, she would be the one in command of the situation, and there was nothing more empowering to her than that.
Her smile lingered until she opened the door to her bedchamber. Her world crumbled.
Chapter 12
At least ten pairs of eyes stared at Charlotte when she entered her bedchamber, all peering down from their paintings on the wall.
She suppressed a sob. The horrid portraits had returned. How had her mother-in-law known they’d been removed? It could mean only two things. Either the woman had been in her room snooping, or she had a spy reporting back to her.
Charlotte collapsed on the settee, defeated. Never had she felt so voiceless, so powerless. Why was the dowager duchess intentionally making Charlotte miserable?
No. This wouldn’t do. Charlotte ground her fist into her palm and pursed her lips. This wallowing in depression wouldn’t do. She needed to fight. She had made her move, and Catherine countered. Instead of giving up, she needed to fight harder, needed to declare war, show this woman she would not so easily be beaten. If she were ever to
have power in this house, ever to become the lady of the manor, she needed to stiffen her backbone.
“I am the Duchess of Annick,” Charlotte commanded to the empty room.
With a stomp of her foot, she yanked on the bellpull.
Her lady’s maid, Beatrice, staggered in with a curtsy and stifled yawn.
“Shall I ready you for bed, Your Grace?” Beatrice asked, stepping forward to begin undressing Charlotte.
“No, not yet. We have a more important matter to deal with first.”
“Do we?”
“I assume you know Stella? Bring her to me,” instructed Charlotte.
“The parlor maid? Please, allow me to aid you. There is naught the parlor maid can do that I can’t do,” Beatrice pleaded, concerned she had failed her mistress somehow.
“I need you both. Look at the walls, Bea! Look!” She flailed her hands at the paintings, fighting back tears. “I asked Stella to remove the paintings, but they’re back. Someone put them back. I need her to do whatever she did before to remove them and see that they do not return. I also need to know who put them back, if she knows,” Charlotte explained.
“Oh. Oh, I see,” Beatrice’s eyes widened as she looked around the room. “I will return in a moment, Your Grace.”
Charlotte could always count on Beatrice. They had been together for nearly a decade.
As she waited, she felt a twinge of guilt. So urgent had she been to regain control, she’d sent her maid to wake poor Stella who no doubt had an early morning ahead of her. How thoughtless of Charlotte. Too late now. She resolved to make it up to the girl.
True to her word, moments later, Beatrice arrived with a startled Stella.
After expressing her humblest of apologies for the late hour and sudden summons, Charlotte launched into the problem, wanting to resolve the issue quickly.
“Stella, how did these portraits find their way back to my room?” Charlotte queried.
Looking around the room, Stella physically jolted at seeing the walls.
“I’ll be dismissed! Oh, please don’t let her dismiss me, Your Grace. Mrs. Fisk must have seen us or else seen them missing. I had two footmen help me, and we hid them in the attic. Oh, she’ll have us all dismissed.” The maid began to panic.
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