"Lud," he put down his drink, and shook his blonde mop of hair in bemusement. "And I thought I had the worst luck with women, but you seem to be beating even me Everleigh. That's quite an accomplishment!"
"Glad to be of service."
If Payne had noted the dryness of Ruan's tone, he ignored it; instead he launched into a long tale of woe involving a mistress in Belgravia, a dressmaker's bill so extravagant it made even Ruan wince, and a black eye delivered in a fit of passion by a fiery actress, the traces of which still lingered on Payne's face.
"Having a mistress is supposed to be a resting activity," Julian snorted, as Payne's sad tale came to an end. "Not a pastime which leaves you battered and bruised."
"Unless that's the sort of thing you're into," Ruan quipped, then immediately wished he hadn't for Lord Payne launched into a long inquisition of what actions a man might ask a mistress to carry out if they were interested in that sort of thing.
Darkness had fallen by the tome Ruan finished his drink, and when his tumbler was empty he refused the next measure that Deveraux offered, instead standing up and stretching his weary body. His day had been long and it had not ended the way he had hoped it would --with Olive warming his bed. He frowned in annoyance; during the long ride from Southampton the thought of what he would do to Olive once he had her alone in his bedchamber had been foremost on his mind, and now he found himself filled with desire but with no outlet for it. He bid the two slightly sauced gentlemen goodnight, and went in search of a footman or another servant who might direct him to a bedchamber.
Jarvis House lay in darkness, but as Ruan made his way to the entrance hall, he saw a shaft of light emerging from a door that was slightly ajar.
"Hello?" he knocked, pushing the door open.
He had expected to perhaps find the housekeeper or the butler ensconced inside the tiny sitting room, but instead it was Jane, curled up by the fire reading a rather large, dusty looking book.
"Your Grace," Jane looked up, startled as he entered the room. "I thought you were returning to Pemberton Hall?"
"A slight change of plans," he replied, and nodded at the book in her hands. "Interesting bed time reading?"
Jane wrinkled her nose, shook her head and placed the book aside. From his vantage point Ruan could read the title: Native Insects of the British Isles.
"I wouldn't have pegged you as an insect enthusiast," he commented, and to his surprise Jane frowned darkly.
"Oh, I'm not," she said firmly, "Can't stand the wretched things. Tell me your Grace, did my brother manage to stop drinking for long enough to find you a room for the night?"
She gave a loud sigh of annoyance when the Duke shook his head to her question.
"I pray you will forgive his bad manners," Jane said, rising from her chair and gesturing for Ruan to follow her. She took a candle, and led him through the dark, winding halls of Jarvis House. He followed her up the stairs, past rows of portraits of Deverauxs past, and down a long corridor to one of the guest suites.
"If I had known you were staying, I would have had one of the chamber maids light the fire," Jane said apologetically as she left him outside the door. "If you're cold, I could wake one of them to do it for you?"
Even though she had offered, her tone was reluctant, and Ruan knew that the soft-hearted Jane would have been loathe to wake a sleeping maid in the dead of night to light a fire --even for a Duke.
"I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine, thank you, Jane," he replied easily; in truth the night was very mild and Ruan knew that he wouldn't even need bedclothes. Though that wasn't the type of thing one said to a lady in a dark corridor. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay, I need to remain close to St. Jarvis for the foreseeable future."
"Is it true that Olive-" Jane hesitated, glancing at him nervously as though trying to ascertain what his reaction might be.
"Olive is my wife," Ruan confirmed, wondering how Deveraux had described the situation to his sister. No doubt he had embellished the tale, for Jane looked even more nervous now that he had confirmed the fact.
"I hope you don't mind my impertinence, your Grace," she continued, still looking nervous but determined to say her piece. "But if that is the case, then why are you here and not with her?"
"Olive has no desire for me to be anywhere near her," Ruan gave a hollow laugh which made Jane flinch. It must have sounded more bitter than he had intended it, and indeed he felt more bitter than he had thought was possible. Olive's rejection had truly rankled him, both his pride and his heart, which he had not realised was so involved in the whole situation until it had begun to ache with loneliness. "She has no desire to be my Duchess, and I wouldn't be too wrong in saying that she loathes me most thoroughly."
"Oh, dear."
Jane's summation of the situation was so mild and polite that Ruan almost laughed. Oh, dear indeed.
"Do you think perhaps she suffered some sort of shock after what happened on The Elizabeth?" Jane wondered aloud.
"I think she was more shocked by the events that happened before we even boarded the ruddy ship," Ruan conceded; he was starting to realise that his behaviour in gaining Olive's hand might have been slightly overbearing. Jane gave him an inquisitive look, and reluctantly Ruan shared the story of how he had come to win Olive in a game of chance, after having carefully orchestrated the situation so that Lord Greene would have no choice but to wager his daughter's hand.
"If she actually liked you, the whole thing would be rather romantic," Jane quipped, once Ruan had finished his sorry tale. "Love at first sight, winning her hand --it's almost like something from a novel!"
"Yes, but as we have deduced Jane, my wife doesn't like me. Not even a little bit."
"Well, you could start by trying to make yourself more likable," she suggested brightly, "Honestly your Grace, I've never known a man try so hard to be so unpopular --when underneath your prickly exterior, you're ever so nice."
Ever so nice was not a phrase that was often used to describe the Duke of Everleigh, and while Ruan knew that he was often high-handed and imperious, he felt it was behaviour befitting of a man of his station.
"I am a Duke," he retorted, a little sullenly, "I can't spend my days mollycoddling people so that they don't feel intimidated by me."
"No," Jane seemed to be suppressing a smile as she watched his reaction to her suggestion, "But perhaps you could try not intimidating your wife? That might be a better tactic when dealing with matters of the heart. Good night, your Grace."
Ruan watched her slip down the dark corridor his gaze thoughtful. Jane Deveraux was an intelligent woman, and there was no denying that his current strategy of overwhelm and command was not winning him any affection from his estranged wife. Could a campaign of courtship win out instead? He frowned; roses and sweet words were not exactly his style, but as he opened the door to his bedroom, and spotted the empty bed, he reasoned he would try anything to win Olive over.
"I was twenty years old when the Duke hired me to care for his wife," Polly began slowly, her brow furrowed as she recalled the story that had begun many years ago. "I first met his Grace in Bristol, where he kindly employed me in the offices of his shipping company --I was in charge of paying the wages and the like to the sailors. A rough lot some of them were."
"I didn't think this was a retelling of your life story Polly," Olive snapped, trying to quell the guilt she felt at her rude behaviour. She tried to remind herself that Polly had lied to her, and had been paid to spy on her by her husband, and for a moment her rudeness felt justified.
"No need for that, your Grace," Polly replied mildly, unperturbed by Olive's uncharacteristically bad-tempered behaviour. "I was merely trying to illustrate why his Grace chose me as his wife's companion -- it was on account of the fact that I had experience dealing with hot-headed males on a day to day basis. The late Duchess had gone through a dozen companions before I came along."
Olive remained silent as she considered this; surely Catherine Ashford hadn't been s
o greatly disturbed that the Duke couldn't have found a proper lady to cope with her behaviour?
"When I arrived at Pemberton Hall," Polly continued, ignoring Olive's foot which was tapping with impatience, "Her Grace was in a bad way. Her Lady's maids had all left, due to all the violent outbursts, and I dare say she hadn't bathed in weeks. She was hard to deal with, screaming and raging one minute then as meek as a baby the next, but I persevered. I was used to difficult behaviour, what with looking after Emily all my life."
"Emily?"
Olive hadn't wanted to ask any questions, or protract their conversation any longer than was necessary, but her interest was piqued.
"My sister," Polly eyed her defiantly, "She is not, as some might say, the full shilling. Though that's all that some would get to say, if they spoke ill of her around me."
Polly wore an expression that Liv thought might be similar to the one a tigress might display if anybody threatened her cubs. The fierce love and protectiveness that Polly felt for her sister was evident, and Olive felt a stab of envy; she had always wanted a sister, and she wondered what it would be like to have someone as strong as Polly always there to protect her.
"Where was I?" Polly ran a distracted hand through her hair, as though to push away the feelings for her sister while she concentrated on her tale. "Oh yes; the late Duchess was in quite a state when I first arrived, but after a few weeks of tough-love, she was much better --and remained that way for quite some time, until Charles Birmingham returned."
Charles Birmingham, Liv knew, was the man that the Duke of Everleigh had killed in a duel, the man who had been his late wife's lover.
"Oh, he was a bad 'un," Polly scowled darkly, as she recalled the deceased man. "And her Grace, the moment she saw him, seemed to forget all the bad things that he had done to her before, and fell under his spell like that."
Polly clicked her fingers, to indicated just how quickly the late Duchess had been bewitched by Birmingham, but Liv ignored her, for something else had caught her attention.
"What do you mean, all the things he had done before?" she asked slowly.
Polly flushed, evidently that was part of the tale that she hadn't intended to mention. Seeing Liv's look of determination, however, she heaved a great sigh.
"I don't wish to speak ill of my late mistress," she whispered, glancing at the door to make sure that it was shut. "But Birmingham had seduced her and abandoned her, years ago, leaving her in a very difficult situation. It was why the Duke married her in the first place -- to save her reputation."
Liv gasped; she had not known this, and she couldn't imagine why a man of Everleigh's title and status would feel obliged to marry a woman pregnant with a child that was not his.
"He loved her," as though reading her thoughts, Polly spoke again. "Not love like romantic love in the poems, but in the way that I love Emily. They had been friends for all their childhood, and when she wrote to him to explain what had happened he arrived in St. Jarvis a few days after he'd received the letter, and they were married the next day. He simply wanted to protect her."
Protect her by giving her his name, Olive thought, shocked by the selflessness her husband had displayed. He had not cared for lineage or social gossip, he had simply wanted to save his friend from ridicule and scorn. This image of Ruan as a man who would give up everything to protect the people he loved was hard to marry with the obnoxious Duke she had wed, just a few short weeks ago.
"And the baby?"
"Born an angel," Polly whispered, "The Duke said that after she lost the little girl, Catherine spiraled into a complete depression, that only ended when I arrived. Can you imagine how hard it must have been for him, for I didn't land on the doorstep of Pemberton Hall until two years later."
Liv shook her head; she could not picture what Everleigh had done for those years, caring for a woman who was mad with grief. Other families, she knew, sent relatives to asylums --swept them under the carpet like they did not exist-- but Ruan had kept Catherine safely at home.
"Where was I?" Polly shook her head, attempting to focus for they had both deviated from the original plot of the tale. "Oh, yes. Mr Birmingham arrived back in St Jarvis, and almost overnight, her Grace was back to suffering violent mood swings. I did not know what was wrong with her for many months, and the Duke was away at sea. Then things began to disappear, her Grace's jewels, some of the silverware; small things at first, then gradually even the other servants began to comment on it, and I knew that I was not imagining things."
"Was it Birmingham?"
"Of course, who else? But for a while I think people suspected it was I, until Mrs Hogg, the housekeeper saw him sneaking in one evening."
"What happened then?" Liv asked curiously.
"Oh, all hell broke loose," Polly frowned, "I could not forbid her from seeing him, it wasn't my place, I was just a paid companion and she was a Duchess. Now that he had been spotted, he would call whenever he felt like it. For weeks and weeks he plagued her, writing love letters one day then initiating blazing rows the next. He held the threat of leaving again above her head like a guillotine. The poor woman was shaking from the moment she woke, to when she fell asleep. Then his Grace returned, and I informed him of what was happening..."
Polly trailed off, looking rather uncomfortable at the memory.
"And what happened then?" Liv prompted softly.
"Oh her Grace soon found out who had snitched on her," Polly was pale, her eyes focused on the wall and not Olive as she recalled what had happened. "She lunged at me, and began to choke me. I could not push her off, her fury was so great. If the Duke had not heard my screams, I would be dead. He pulled her off me, but even he struggled with her, and he's a big man, as you well know. Her Grace was sobbing, hysterical -- and then she confessed that she had given Birmingham a vast sum of money, for him to purchase a home for the pair of them, but he had disappeared again. Imagine, the poor thing believed the lying swine, even after all he'd done to her."
Olive saw genuine pity for her mistress in Polly's eyes, despite the woman having nearly killed her. The rest of the story Liv half knew already; the Duke had found Birmingham in a tavern in Bristol, and challenged him to a duel. The ton had all thought it was because Everleigh was jealous of the man, but it had all been revenge for what he had done to his wife.
"News reached Pemberton Hall, that the Duke had shot Birmingham dead," Polly continued, "And I cannot say that I was sorry. I tried to keep it from her Grace, but somehow she found out. It must have been from a stable boy, or one of the lower maids, for they were nervous of her position and didn't understand that she was to be lied to if necessary."
"And how did her Grace take the news?" Olive asked, already knowing the answer to her question.
"Not well, not well at all."
Polly stood up, and began pacing the length of the drawing room. She was visibly agitated and as she glanced at Liv, her eyes were misty with tears.
"I must ask you to promise that you will take this next piece of information to your grave," Polly said solemnly, and wide-eyed Olive nodded her agreement.
"Her Grace did not take the news well, as you can imagine. She wept and raged the whole day long, finally she fell asleep, but I was so worried for her that I slept in her bedchamber on a chair. I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew I was woken by the sound of the door slamming shut. I raced after her, but I was too late. I rushed out into the hallway, and she was climbing over the banisters on the landing, but I was too far away to pull her back. I saw her jump, Olive, it was an awful sight to witness."
Olive paled; she could well imagine the horror that had filled poor Polly as she watched her mistress jump to her death.
"She landed on the marble tiles of the entrance hall," Polly winced, as though remembering the sound. "I knew that she was dead the moment that I reached her. Mrs Hogg, who had been closing up the house for the night, witnessed the whole thing too. We were in an awful state, we didn't know what to do and the
n the Duke arrived home, just moments after she had leapt."
"But he said he was there?" Olive interrupted, her brow furrowed with thought. "I read it in the papers, he said that he saw his wife trip and fall down the stairs."
"No one would question the word of a Duke," Polly shrugged, "That was what he told us. He wanted to give Catherine a proper burial in a graveyard; he wanted to protect her from cruel gossip even in death."
Olive was silent as she absorbed this. Ruan had not been present when his wife had died, and yet had claimed to be so in order to preserve her honour; the Church would not bury a suicide on Holy ground. He must have known that after the incident with Birmingham that people might suspect him of having a hand in Catherine's death, and yet he had gone ahead with his plan. The Duke of Ruin had ruined his own reputation, to preserve Catherine Ashford's. The irony was not lost on Olive, who gave Polly a wan smile.
"I can see that I was wrong about his Grace," she said, and the other woman's shoulders visibly sagged with relief. "I shall not tell a soul what you have told me Polly, I swear it."
"Not even the Duke?"
"Would he not want me to know?"
Polly snorted with amusement; "His Grace is a good man, but even I'd be the first to admit that he's pig-headed and stubborn about letting people know he's got a soft side."
"Even his wife?" Olive wondered aloud.
"Is that what you are?"
Olive let the loaded question linger in the air unanswered. After what she had heard, she knew that the Duke of Everleigh was not a bad man --but did that mean that she wanted to be his Duchess?
Ruan frowned as he waited for someone to answer the door he had just knocked on. He felt like a fool standing on the front step of the boarding house, with a bouquet of posies hidden behind his back. He was gripping them so hard that he was certain the stems would have turned to mush by the time he handed them over to Olive.
The door creaked open and Polly's familiar face peered out, wreathing into a smile as she saw that it was he.
The Duke of Ruin: Reluctant Regency Brides Page 11
