The Hazardous Gamble of the Alluring Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “What if we have nothing to celebrate tomorrow? It is the eve of the duel. I know it is indelicate to speak of such things, but I cannot but worry.” Dahlia wiped furiously at her eyes, glad that she had no paint to worry about smudging.

  “I believe His Grace knows what he is about,” Lady Amory informed the company ponderously, “I was most impressed with his good sense and excellent manners. And he hath a fine physique, not like some of these young dandies. In a bout of physical prowess, I do not think there is anything to fear for him.”

  “I shall quickly check with my nephew,” Mrs. Garrity declared. “If looking for something in the late Duchess’s closets will not answer, then we shall find a different solution.”

  The Duke was a little startled by the request to borrow from his mother’s wardrobe, and his face blanched for a moment. But then he said, “Of course, of course. She had no time to pack. I am sure my mother would have been more than glad for her to have use of her garments. She had mentioned in her last letter that she had a bold new wardrobe with which she meant to set the ton upon its ear, so there is no telling what you might find.”

  The ladies all wanted to visit the late Duchess’s rooms to explore the capacious wardrobes. The lapdog and children were sent to play in the gardens under the able supervision of the maid, Betsy, who declared that her brothers and sisters had ably prepared her for such supervision.

  Dahlia momentarily paused at the threshold. The bed and chairs were shrouded in thick Holland covers, but the dresser still held vials and little pots of things that had, no doubt, been used by the late duchess.

  “I feel as if we were intruding,” she said.

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Garrity gently guided Dahlia through the door. “This should have been cleared out two years ago, but it is our good fortune today that it was not. Sarah, the late duchess’s former maid, keeps all in good order because the poor old thing holds fast to the belief that her mistress will return one day.” With that, Mrs. Garrity gave the embroidered bell-pull beside the door a strong tug.

  In a few moments an older woman in a maid’s uniform appeared. “Has she come?” the maid asked excitedly.

  “I am so sorry, my dear Amanda,” Mrs. Garrity said gently, “we still have no word. But Lady Dahlia has come away without her wardrobe. Do you think Her Grace would lend her a garment or two?”

  “Of course, she would!” the Amanda declared enthusiastically. “Her Grace is ever generous, and I am sure she would take no exception to lending His Grace’s fiancée a gown or two. Let me see…” Amanda peered at Dahlia in a manner that betrayed that the maid’s eyesight was dimming. “Blond, blue eyes…but ice blue will never serve with that complexion. Her Grace is gorgeous in ice blue, but her delicate coloring cannot bear stronger colors.”

  The maid turned and rummaged in the closet. “I have it!” she said, “The very thing! Her Grace never wore it because it was a trifle tight across the bust.” Amanda, the maid, emerged from the large wardrobe bearing a satin gown. It was a blue just slightly darker than the summer sky, and the neckline was ruched with soft lace. It was cut low on the bosom, but not too low for an unmarried maiden. The skirt fell in an almost flat expanse from the high waist in front but was gathered into soft folds behind that formed into a slight train.

  A translucent overskirt was gathered up with knots of violets made from silk, so realistic that they made Dahlia think of her little sister Violet, and wonder what the two younger girls were doing. She hoped that they were safely enjoying themselves at Bochil Manor.

  The hem of the underskirt was not finished with lace but with an embroidered band of violets, which stiffened the skirt slightly, so that it gave greater freedom of movement for the wearer’s feet. The gown had long sleeves that were puffed from shoulder to just below the elbow, but then fastened with a row of little jet buttons before finishing with a point on the back of the hand.

  Before she could protest or even quite comprehend what was happening, Dahlia found herself stripped to her stays and petticoats, then divested of layers of petticoat that were replaced with a garment that scarcely deserved to be named in the same breath as the ones just removed. The soft silk folds caressed her form and caught on her pantalette’s.

  “Those must go,” Amanda declared. “They quite spoil the line.”

  Dahlia blushed a little, but turning from the assembled ladies, she undid the ties at her waist and slipped out of the pantalettes, letting them fall about her feet.

  The maid eyed Dahlia critically. “You’ll want different under garments, and I have just the thing for you. Her Grace had ordered a full set of new things just before she and the Late Duke sailed. They’ve never been worn, and I believe will fit close enough that your maid will be able to adjust them.”

  With that said, Sarah settled the gown over the silk petticoat. “Yes, just as I thought. A gown too tight for Her Grace is perfect for Lady Dahlia. Do please see for yourself, I think you will find the sight gratifying.” Amanda turned a full-length mirror that stood on a nearby frame toward Lady Dahlia.

  Dahlia surveyed herself in the mirror. The maid was right. It was perfect.

  She didn’t even need a long stay to make the bodice fit correctly. The neckline was just low enough to hint at the form beneath the fabric, but not so low as to be revealing. The soft lace fell away from the neckline, gently gracing her small bosom. It was so cleverly attached that it did not scrape or scratch in the least.

  “His Grace will be in raptures!” Lady Witley exclaimed. “How beautiful you are, my dear.”

  The other ladies concurred, gathering about Dahlia and twittering like a flock of excited songbirds. Words like, “So original,” and “beyond the mode,” fell from their lips.

  “It was Her Grace’s own design,” the Amanda, said proudly. “But the modiste made an error in cutting the bodice, so she never wore it.”

  “It could easily have been designed for you, my dear,” Mrs. Garrity said. “How fortunate that the Duke would not have his mother’s rooms disturbed.”

  “I’ll brush and air it,” Amanda said, “and send it to your rooms.”

  After the twittering crowd left the late duchess’s retreat, Dahlia murmured to Mrs. Garrity, “I think we should divert the dress to the chapel, Aunt Amelia.”

  “Quite right,” Mrs. Garrity murmured back. “Your rooms are far too vulnerable.”

  Like every part of my life now. How can I bear it if something happens to Roger? And I cannot, cannot go to Goldstone.

  Chapter 28

  The following day dragged by for Dahlia. The morning hours were spent trying on her borrowed finery, although Roger insisted that she should keep the gown and anything else she might find of use in his mother’s rooms.

  There was a full set of underthings, beginning with a chemise far finer than any she had owned followed by a soft, silken half stay that graced her figure rather than restrained it, and then shrouded by two petticoats that whispered and shimmered about her before being covered with the gown. The slippers that Amanda, had sent with the dress were too large, but little Tommy promised that he could put a gloss “like none other” on Dahlia’s own worn kid slippers.

  Once that was done, and the garments hung carefully behind the screen in the chapel, there was little left for Dahlia to do but wait. Desperate to find something for the restless little soul to do, Aunt Garrity had shown her into the late Duke’s extensive library.

  Sadly, for Dahlia, the late Duke of Shelthom had been fond of bound volumes of sermons interspersed with listings of the peerage. Therefore, she found her sole amusement in a stack of newspapers that had been bundled for the rag and bone man, but that no one had remembered to put out.

  All about the Shelthom townhouse, the staff bustled, cleaned and cooked while Dahlia read her way through two years’ worth of stale London news. After a time, she began to look for the mention of lost ships.

  Rummaging in an abandoned desk, she found pen, paper and a half bottle of ink that was
not all dried up and began taking notes. Thirty-three ships lost without trace. No debris, no bodies, nothing. All insured by Lloyd’s of London, and the insurance money paid on all of them. Three new assurance companies, two of which also took occasional losses. But one, The Red Star, took no losses at all. Who owns this company? How can I find out? Is this information that Roger could use?

  * * *

  While Dahlia sought amusement and took her notes, Roger set about creating protections for her against the unlikely chance that Goldstone had learned not to windmill when his cork was drawn, or that he would choose to ignore Boughton’s Rules.

  He first spoke extensively with his man of business and came away from that discussion with a sober face.

  With the Shelthom lands entailed, the estate would go to a second cousin, the son of his father’s youngest brother, the last male left alive in the line other than himself. He could, however, will a personal income to Lady Dahlia out of his own fortunes.

  While he had drawn heavily upon them by selling the horses, the barouche and curricle, he could leave her 5,000 pounds as well as a carriage and team. It was little enough, but he hoped that it might provide her with protection from her father and Lord Goldstone.

  In addition, Mr. Sharp told him, he could bequeath the lady his mother’s seaside cottage, a modest residence that could at least provide shelter if only moderate comfort. Provision was made in the will that neither her father or any future husband could touch the funds or the land.

  Upon the Lady Dahlia’s death, the land and funds would go to a home for retired soldiers. That, Jeremy Sharp had told him, should put paid to any ambitious future spouse taking over the money intended for Lady Dahlia’s maintenance.

  It will have to be enough. But I cannot leave her so unprotected. She is yet subject to her father’s guardianship until October 15th, and it is only now early September. There is no hope for it but that I must win this fight. Even so, her father could still take her from me.

  There must be an answer.

  As he sat in the little withdrawing room, his brow furrowed with thought, there came a tap at the door. “Enter,” he called.

  Peter announced, “That gentleman to see you, Your Grace.”

  “Ah! Just the person I want,” Roger exclaimed. “Come in, Major. Any news?”

  “None good,” said Major Tomlinson, entering the room. “Another ship has failed to come to port.”

  “Whose ship was it, do tell?” the Duke asked.

  “A mixed shipping frigate, Captain, I mean, Your Grace,” Major Tomlinson sat heavily down on a spindly chair.The chair held up, in spite of the Major’s weight.

  “Mixed?”

  “Gunpowder, molasses, rum, several bales of raw wool, as well as raw cotton for the mills. The Exchange is in a turmoil.”

  The Duke rubbed his chin, then asked, “Insured by Lloyds, I presume?”

  “Inevitably, Your Grace. And with both your name and Lord Bochils listed as owners of the cargo.”

  “Ah. Our trap ship. The culprit has taken the bait, I believe. Unless he has done something truly foul, what is truly aboard that ship should come as something of a surprise. If all has gone as planned, you should hear from the captain of that ship soon enough. But I would like a list of ships with similar cargo and their insurers, if I might be so bold as to ask.”

  “It is a common cargo,” the Major fumbled in his pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Not at all,” Shelthom replied. “How quickly can you get a list of those ships for me?”

  “Why, I should be able to have it by lamp lighting time. Is time of some special essence?” the Major began to pack a discolored pipe with a rich mix of tobacco and flavorings whose aroma announced it as a product of a local tobacconist.

  “I am scheduled to meet the Earl of Goldstone for a matter of honor at 10 of the clock tomorrow.”

  “God’s Suspenders and Little Fishes,” the Major swore creatively. “The gentleman has an ill repute as a dualist.”

  “That he does,” replied the Duke, “but I have challenged him to a bout of fisticuffs. While I doubt not that he will flout any rules, I believe that I can bring him to a state of reason.”

  “Might one ask whether this has ought to do with the Lady Dahlia seeking refuge in your house, Your Grace?” Major Tomlinson tamped down the tobacco in his pipe and looked about for a means of lighting it. The hearth in the room was cold, so the Duke obliged him by setting the tinder in the fireplace alight.

  When the logs were ablaze, and the Major had lighted his pipe with a splinter, the Duke of Shelthom replied, “It has everything to do with the Lady Dahlia and my recent announcement of our forthcoming nuptials.”

  “’thout her father’s consent, I hear,” commented the Major, “you can soon catch cold at that, Your Grace. It is not well done to run off with a man’s daughter, belike.”

  “It is not well done to hand fast a daughter to a bully and a cheat, either,” the Duke growled. “She came to me, not only of her own free will, but fleeing in terror.”

  “Would you say that she is a flighty miss?” the Major asked, watching the smoke curl up from his pipe.

  “Not so as you would notice,” Roger said. “Moreover, she comes with her older brother’s protection and blessing.”

  “Ah. Young Bochil, whose wool supposedly was on that ship. Unusual, because he normally sells his fleeces to domestic markets.” The major puffed on his pipe, sending up more clouds of tobacco smoke.

  The Duke watched the lazy curls of smoke for a moment. “Who insures shipping for his father, Lord Cottleroy?”

  “Curious you should ask, Your Grace.” Major Tomlinson took out a slim metal tool and dug about in the bowl of his pipe, before relighting it from the fireplace. “Cottleroy had a falling out with Lloyds, not a sennight ago, and I believe has taken up with a new agency called the Red Star or some such.”

  “I need that list, Major,” the Duke said, “the quickest that you can bring it. If you need an excuse to come to the house, a party is planned for this night. Bring a companion, if you would like. For the matter of that, bring a guest or two. It promises to be the liveliest gala of the off-season.”

  “Likely the only gala,” the Major chuckled. “London in September is usually the dullest of the dull, what with the haute ton all off to the country for the hunting. I wonder that Your Grace is not following such pursuits.”

  “Well, and perhaps I should have, had I but thought. I came to London in pursuit of other matters. Now, I am glad that I did for I believe all shall come to fruition in a few days, or months at most.” Shelthom looked remarkably pleased with himself.

  “I will come to your festivities,” the Major declared, “and I shall bring that list. Am I to take it that the hunting expedition that brought you to London has gone well?”

  “Better than I could possibly have hoped, Major. Indeed, far better than I deserved. As it happens, I fear that it might be entangled with the matter on which you asked my help. I can but hope for the best.”

  With that the two old friends shook hands, and Roger rang for the butler to let the Major out. Then he stood looking after his former commander.

  Yes, far better than I had hoped and quite different from how I had planned. Now, if I can just keep her safe.

  Chapter 29

  For an impromptu party with word of mouth invitation, the “small evening entertainment” was turning into quite the gala event.

  Roger, Aunt Garrity, Dahlia and Aaron formed a receiving line, greeting the guests as Peter, two footmen and two maids took coats and hats. The evening had turned unexpectedly chilly, and the large ballroom had a cheerful blaze in each of the fireplaces at each end of the room.

  The fireplaces were guarded by a circle of sofas and chairs to prevent giddy dancers from spinning into the blaze. On one side of the room, two violinists, a drummer and a flautist were tuning up.

  On the other side was a buffet of all sorts of dainties. There were little sandw
iches, which included pickled herring mashed with cream cheese, cucumber and butter, and very thinly sliced hard sausages. A wide sheet cake, decorated with a thin layer of finely ground sugar and a design of crystalized violet and borage blossoms flanked by sugar encrusted mint leaves. Little crystal dishes held a mixed fruit compote, and a trifle made of marzipan stood at the very end of the table.

  The table was presided over by four maids in crisp, starched uniforms, including a very excited Betsy who found it very fine to be included with the upstairs maids.

  The guest list was a highly eclectic one. Lady Amory and Lady Witley were there, along with their sons, daughters, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law. They made quite an impressive crowd for the off-season.