Duke in Darkness (Wickedly Wed Book 1)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Oh, I hope so. When I heard about the Castlereagh ball, of your terrible behavior afterward…I was so saddened. Mortified. I dare not show my face in public for at least a week, lest I be accosted with questions. I never thought it would be you who caused me such agony.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”

  Lady Kingsford smiled thinly and took a sip from her teacup. “Well then. I’m a charitable woman, so I shall eventually find it in my heart to forgive you. But perhaps you should go now and think on what I have said. How you can improve yourself so you do not behave badly like your mother so often did. I still shudder that she forced Kingsford to kiss her outside the bedchamber, hopped about in dirt like a farm laborer, allowed you children to dine with her, and treated servants like family. Her bad blood must not overcome your superior Nash stock. Indeed, go now and heed my words. They are the wisest you’ll ever hear.”

  Lilian nodded, although a wicked part of her was relieved at the dismissal. Conversations with her grandmother often left her wretched, but today, she couldn’t imagine feeling worse. Besides, she clearly had much to do to fix matters with both Exton and the ducal townhouse. “Of course, Grandmother. Good day to you, and please give my regards to Father.”

  After dipping into a curtsy, she straightened, and with her shoulders back and head held high like a proper lady, Lilian left the parlor.

  “Are you leaving, Your Grace?”

  Startled, she almost stumbled at the footman’s polite question. “Yes. Please have my carriage brought around at once. And fetch Dawn from the kitchens.”

  “At once, madam,” he said, scooting away obediently.

  A few minutes later, Dawn came hurrying into the foyer. Her maid started to say something, took one look at Lilian’s face, and obviously changed her mind. “Wrap up warmly, Your Grace. There is a chill wind blowing outside now. The sun hasn’t come out at all.”

  Lilian inclined her head, but said nothing until the two of them were ensconced in the town carriage and on the way back to Exton House. Then she shuddered. “Oh dear.”

  “Hmmm,” said Dawn with a faint scowl. “Dare I ask what her ladyship said this time?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t anything other than the truth. She had heard all about what happened at the ball, and my display of tears afterward, and was none too pleased.”

  “They were all talking about it in the kitchens,” Dawn grumbled. “One little upstart said her cousin works in the Exton kitchens, and told her everything when they met at the fishmonger. Ma’am, you must put a stop to the gossip. They need to mind their business, especially about His Grace.”

  “I know. I’ve let my husband down in this matter.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would,” said Lilian firmly. “But things are going to be different now. I will be a much improved wife and duchess in household matters.”

  Even if she would never be the wife he truly wanted, Exton deserved nothing less.

  If Lilian didn’t return from the Kingsford townhouse soon, he would send every footman in his employ to wrest her back from her bloody grandmother’s clutches.

  Forcing himself to turn away from the bedchamber window that looked down into Grosvenor Square, Gabriel hobbled over to the fireplace and sank his bare foot back into the bowl of warm water that also contained several teaspoons of salt and a dash of vinegar. Aggie had given him the recipe before he’d left France, telling him it would help healing, reduce infection, and if he massaged the scar and surrounding tissue afterward, would stop the flesh from becoming rock hard and inflexible. The prickly woman had of course been correct, but he had certainly cursed her name in the early days when the solution had felt like stabbing knives to his skin.

  Nowadays it was more a brief tingle, although massage still hurt, but judging by the looks on the servants faces downstairs, no one would have a whit of sympathy today. Everyone knew he’d made Lilian cry after the damned ball, just as everyone knew he’d rode out early and stayed away for hours. Although the house was clean, the looks sent his way were not. In fact, some enterprising person had slipped a copy of the latest scandal sheet onto his bedchamber desk, and it couldn’t really be worse.

  Under a headline The Duke of VEXton was a caricature drawing of a minotaur in evening clothes. He held a terrified dandy coiled in his tail, another dandy gripped in each fist, with a mountain of broken furniture and shattered glasses behind him. To the right was a crowd of familiar prominent faces watching on in horror, with the sub-caption: Polite Society.

  Gabriel had thrown the offensive thing in the fire, all while knowing thousands of people would have already seen it, and that it would be the topic of discussion for the foreseeable future, at least until another reckless soul created a particularly juicy new scandal.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace?”

  He glanced over the door where a footman had popped his head around. “Yes?”

  “Your new chairs have arrived. Shall we bring them in?”

  Finally, something good. Hobbs had taken a list of his requirements to a furniture maker who had sworn that yes, of course he could craft a pair of wider than usual armchairs, fashioned of wood and covered in the softest leather, with a matching footstool. Even the thought of banishing the fussy and extremely uncomfortable gilt monstrosities from this room had improved his mood, but his ass and back would be downright jubilant.

  Keeping his foot in the water—after this morning’s prolonged ride, and the subsequent pain and swelling, he would only don stockings and shoes for the king himself—Gabriel braced himself more comfortably against the mantelpiece. “Yes. Please do so.”

  It took careful maneuvering by four footmen to get the new chairs through the door, for they were indeed large. But his mouth watered at the scent of freshly oiled leather, and at how soft and enticing the chairs looked. At least now when he was massaging or soaking his foot, or unable to sleep, he could do so in cushioned comfort.

  “In front of the fire, here?” said another of the footmen, his arms bulging with the weight of the chair he helped to carry, and keeping the padded stool carefully balanced on top.

  “Yes,” said Gabriel, unthinkingly stepping out of the water and shaking his foot, so he could step forward and move the gilt chairs out of the way.

  “Jaysus…”

  At the soft curse, Gabriel’s head shot up, only to see that four sets of eyes weren’t concentrating on placing chairs, but staring directly at his misshapen foot. Bloody hell. Reactions like that were the exact reason he kept the damned thing covered at all times, why he had always been careful never to let Lilian see it. In truth, he could hardly bear to look himself, especially the sole where the Frenchmen had taken such delight in burning the flesh.

  But his secret was well and truly out, now.

  “Not a pretty sight, I know,” he said curtly, shoving the gilt chairs to one side as the old shame enveloped him.

  There was a long silence, broken only by the thumps of two chairs and the stool being set down, then the third footman said, “Beg pardon for gawking, Your Grace. Didn’t realize it was your foot, always thought it was your leg that got hurt.”

  “Me too,” said the first footman. “Looks right painful. Does that water help, Your Grace? I can fetch you some more.”

  Gabriel blinked in surprise at the unexpected offer. “It does help. Warm water, salt, vinegar. Keeps away infection and assists healing.”

  “Ohhhh,” said the second footman. “I’m going to tell Da about that mixture. He’s a stonemason, you see, and some rubble dropped on his foot. Nothing broken, but it’s the size of a brick and a rainbow of colors, too.”

  “See Mr. Hobbs,” said Gabriel gruffly. “He makes an herbal balm. Terrible smell. But it offers some relief. Tell him I said…you could have a pot.”

  “I will, Your Grace. Thank you.”

  “What should we do with the old chairs, Your Grace?” asked the fourth footman.

  Gabriel pur
sed his lips. The temptation to say ‘hurl them from the balcony’ was strong, but they were far too valuable. His cousin had spent a great deal of money over the years on a wide range of expensive, garish, and utterly impractical furniture. “I think for now, put them up in the attic. I’ll probably sell them. Not sure who would…want them, though.”

  “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” said the third footman with a laugh, “but they don’t look very comfortable.”

  “Correct,” said Gabriel, almost smiling.

  “We’ll get rid of these, then. And you can rest a while in the new leather ones. Put your foot up.”

  “Do you need more salty water, Your Grace?” said the first footman. “Or some tea? Brandy?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “No, I’ve finished soaking. And I have brandy. Much obliged for your help. If you would wait one moment…”

  Limping over to his desk, he then withdrew a small brass key from his jacket pocket and unlocked his private drawer to remove a small metal box. Inside sat an assortment of coins, and he selected four shillings, and held out his hand. “Here. One each. Her Grace and I…both appreciate excellent service.”

  Four sets of eyes bulged, before grins lit up their faces as they happily accepted their reward. Then the men hefted up the awkwardly shaped gilt chairs, and carried them from his bedchamber.

  Bemused at the interaction, and yet heartened at the same time at the sympathy and lack of disgust, Gabriel returned to his place in front of the fire and settled into one of the chairs.

  “Christ,” he groaned in delight, as the soft leather cradled his ass and back, without any sharp edges poking him anywhere, or unyielding sides pressing his thighs.

  Aside from marrying Lilian, perhaps one of the smartest decisions he’d made all year. When she got home, he would invite her to join him in here. To talk matters through. These were certainly discussion chairs, rather than decorative ones.

  On that happier thought, he leaned back further into the chair’s embrace.

  And in seconds, was fast asleep.

  Lilian had barely walked through the door of the Exton townhouse when she heard the giggles. As per usual, her curiosity overruled caution, and after exchanging a glance with Dawn, they moved closer to the secondary parlor, where the sound was coming from.

  Halting outside the slightly ajar door, she paused to listen.

  “Fancy making him a monster.”

  “I know! In jacket and trousers and all. It’s so funny.”

  “He must have lost his mind. Who punches a man in a ballroom?”

  “The Duke of Vexton, that’s who.”

  Dawn frowned as the giggles erupted again. “Monster? What on earth are they talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lilian grimly. “But I’m about to find out.”

  Shoving open the parlor door, Lilian marched inside. Immediately, the two young maids stuffed something behind their back, their cheeks bright red, and bobbed curtsies.

  “Your Grace,” said one. “We, ah, didn’t know you were back.”

  “Obviously. What is so amusing that you have both stopped working to laugh at?”

  The second maid gulped. “Er…nothing, ma’am.”

  Lilian tilted her head. After the morning she’d had so far, her emotions were high and her temper felt inches from exploding. “Show me. At once.”

  With extreme reluctance, the first maid eventually handed over what they’d been looking at. A blasted scandal sheet.

  Her heart sank. Yet she forced herself to smooth the paper.

  Oh God.

  Gabriel drawn as a minotaur. Labeled the Duke of VEXton. Apart from, and scorned by, ‘Polite Society’.

  Fury overcame her at the insults, and she turned to the maids. “I see you, and no doubt other members of this household are still unclear on what is respectful and appropriate. Go now, and gather every other maid, every footman, Norris, and Mrs. Barrett. Advise them that I wish to speak to everyone, in the entrance hall beside the stairs. Ten minutes.”

  “But, Your Grace, people are busy,” said the second maid.

  “You weren’t,” said Lilian sharply. “And nothing is more important than what I am about to say. So if you value your position here, you will do as you are asked.”

  Dawn coughed, her eyes glinting, and the two maids fled the parlor.

  “I’ve well and truly prodded the hornet’s nest now, haven’t I?” said Lilian, as she flung the revolting drawing into the fire.

  Her maid sniffed. “Long past time. There are good servants about, but some need a reminder regarding loyalty. Norris and Mrs. Barrett have clearly been lax in their duties. Maids, reading scandal sheets and mocking their employer instead of working. My word.”

  “I’m so angry I could scream.”

  Dawn shook her head. “No. No screaming. You must be as tough as old boots, even if you are shaking in them. Tis the duchess who rules the roost, not the housekeeper or butler or servants. They need a stern reminder.”

  Ten minutes later, Lilian stood on the fourth step of the main staircase, looking down at a sea of faces in the cool and cavernous entrance hall. Nothing had ever been more daunting. And yet even before she’d said a word, several things made it clear that all was not well. The footmen’s livery looked faded and slightly shabby, and the maids wore aprons that were almost gray, their dresses a little threadbare. While some looked at her with polite expectation, far too many appeared disinterested and resentful.

  She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Good afternoon, everyone.”

  A few murmurings sounded in reply.

  “I have been remiss in not gathering you together before now, and I apologize for that. But I am taking this opportunity to clarify for all of you, at the same time, what my expectations are so there may be no more misunderstandings.”

  The murmurings increased, and too many of the servants wore startled expressions. But most looked back at her and nodded, and she took courage from that. “Firstly, I can see we have a clothing issue. All servants in this household should be presented just so. Therefore, I will arrange a new set of livery for each footman, and quantities of calico and linen so that each maid has a new dress and apron.”

  Cheers rang out, and Lilian smiled briefly, before holding up a hand to silence them. “However. Do be aware, that what has been acceptable in the past will not be so in future. I expect every room in this townhouse to be as neat as a pin, even the ones not being used. I expect menus to be observed to the letter. I expect no unreasonable delays when myself or His Grace orders a carriage. I expect that no items will go missing. I expect every servant who is employed here wants to be, and behaves as they should…”

  She paused to cast a stern eye over the group. Yes, tough as old boots would indeed be required. “It has come to my attention that copies of a certain scandal sheet are in this residence, and I am extremely disappointed. You work for the Duke of Exton. Your first loyalty is to him and no other. The current duke, not previous ones. I expect discretion and industriousness. Disrespect will not be tolerated.”

  Mrs. Barrett sent her a sour look. “Disrespect? His Grace punched a gentleman in a ballroom. Just for minding his own business—”

  “Incorrect,” Lilian said icily. “I’ll thank you to cease spreading that particular lie. I was there, you were not. That particular gentleman, and I use the term very loosely, said the worst, most terribly offensive things about the Battle of Bayonne. His Grace had no choice but to defend his honor, and that of the British Army.”

  “But he got captured,” called a footman. “Can’t be a very good colonel if you get captured.”

  “No!” roared a furious voice, and everyone turned to see Hobbs shouldering his way through the crowd to the steps. “His Grace got captured because he was a colonel who cared so much about his men, that he helped them all to safety before himself. I was the last one he saved before the French arrived. There were ten of the blue coats. And still he fought and f
ought, until one slashed his thigh and he lost his balance. After that, the French tortured him for three days, but still he didn’t break. Not one army secret, even when they cut his face and burned and crushed his foot. So don’t any of you damned fools dare say another word against him. His Grace is the bravest and best of men who sacrificed everything for king and country.”

  “It’s true,” added a footman from the back. “Me and some lads moved chairs for His Grace today, he was soaking his foot and we saw it bare. What them Frenchies did to him was evil…that he can even walk is a miracle.”

  Deathly silence reigned in the entrance hall. The sea of faces stared, eyes wide, mouths open and cheeks flushed. It grew excruciating, but Lilian wanted them to squirm for the way they had behaved, letting a hero’s house become a mess, laughing about him, gossiping, treating him so shamefully. She also needed a moment, to suppress the urge to vomit or banshee wail at the extra detail Hobbs had provided. Three days of torture.

  “Thank you both for clarifying matters further,” she said, enunciating her words so that every pair of ears would hear. “Now that you all understand why His Grace limps, and that his speech is impaired not because of drinking, but the damage done to his face, I don’t want to hear another word about either. The only facts that matter are His Grace served with distinction in the British Army for twelve years, he was mentioned in dispatches by Wellington, decorated by His Majesty the King, he was a brilliant colonel, and is an English hero.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Hobbs, his eyes suspiciously bright.

  Lilian took a shaky breath. “Now, return to your duties and think long and hard about your future. Those who work hard and keep their own counsel will be rewarded. Those who do not, will be dismissed. That is all.”

  And with that, she turned on her heel and ascended the staircase like a queen, Dawn at her side.