A Hint of Scandal

by Rhonda Woodward

  Bella met his smile with her own before leaving the room. “Do not say I did not warn you,” she tossed over her shoulder, and heard his deep laugh in response.

  “He will meet you,” Bella said to Triss upon returning to the front room. Jumping up from her chair, Triss looked nervously at Bella.

  “Oh, dear! I rather expected you to say no. I hope I don’t make a cake of myself by giggling,” she said with chagrin.

  “You wanted to meet him; now come.” Bella laughed lightly at her flighty cousin and led her up to her bedroom.

  As the two ladies entered the room, the duke looked at Lady Beatrice with interest. He saw some family resemblance between the two young women, mostly in the shape of their eyes and the height of their cheekbones.

  That was where the resemblance ended, he noted. Lady Beatrice was several inches shorter than Bella and had golden blond hair instead of dark. Her features were delicate and elegant, but he definitely detected an impish light in her vivid blue eyes.

  Lady Beatrice suddenly sank into a full court curtsy beside the bed.

  Taken aback, the duke looked over the lady’s collapsed figure to Bella. After rolling her eyes heavenward, Bella stepped forward.

  “Your grace, may I present Lady Beatrice Tichley?”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Lady Beatrice,” the duke said in mock formality. “Won’t you both please be seated?”

  Wobbling a little on her way back up, Triss gave the duke her most dazzling smile. Triss proceeded to seat herself in the rocking chair nearest the duke, while Bella pulled out the chair that belonged to the little desk.

  “Your grace, we are so glad that you are so much improved. You had us all quite worried.”

  “Did I?” He looked at the petite blonde with undisguised amusement. “But I have had such a good nurse that it is no wonder I am improving so quickly.”

  “Oh, indeed, our dear Arabella is one of the most capable young ladies of my acquaintance,” Triss replied.

  “But she does expect me to take too many naps.” The duke looked past Triss to give Bella a mischievous grin.

  “I own that my cousin can be a bit bossy at times.” Triss leaned forward and said this in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “So it’s not just a penchant she directs toward me, then?”

  “Oh, no! Bella has always been that way. She is a most curious creature. The rest of the Tichleys have always been an easygoing lot—but Bella likes to manage everyone. She must have a plan for everything, while the rest of the family enjoys spontaneity. In the village she is known as ‘the correct Miss Tichley,’” she explained to the avidly listening duke.

  “All the Tichleys can’t be loons, Triss,” Bella said sweetly to her cousin, suppressing a laugh at the duke’s expression.

  “Oh, fiddle-faddle, Bella,” Triss said with a touch of petulance, for she so wanted to appear sophisticated in front of the duke.

  “I shall be making my curtsy this spring, your grace.” Triss turned back to the duke. “I am sure you will be able to direct me to the most fashionable modiste in London?”

  Bella gave an inward groan at Triss’s obvious attempt to receive some sort of invitation from the duke.

  “I shall give you the direction of my sister, Lady Edgeton. She is all the kick and thinks of little else but clothes and bonnets and such,” the duke offered generously.

  “How kind!” Triss clapped her hands together in her excitement.

  “And what of you, Miss Tichley?” The duke directed his gaze to Bella. “Will you be going to town for the Season?”

  “Bella loathes the idea of a Season,” Triss piped in before Bella had a chance to respond to the duke’s query. “She has plans here in Mabry Green.” Triss giggled at her own play on words.

  “Do you not wish to enjoy the delights of London, Miss Tichley?” The duke pursued his line of questioning because he had never met a young lady who did not wish to make her come-out.

  “I own that the idea of the theater and museums is sometimes tempting, your grace, but other than that, London holds little appeal for me,” she explained.

  The duke held his gaze on the serene beauty of Bella’s face, thinking again that she was an extremely unusual young woman.

  “Your grace, you must endeavor to feel better very quickly,” Triss said, calling his attention back to her, “for my mother wishes to invite you to dine with us at Penninghurst Park.”

  “I shall be delighted anytime,” the duke replied.

  “Capital! I shall inform my mother,” Triss said.

  “Not until Dr. Pearce gives his consent,” cautioned Bella.

  “See what I mean?” Triss beamed at the duke, quite pleased with herself. “The correct Miss Tichley.”

  Again the duke looked past Lady Beatrice to Bella’s composed expression and wondered how accurate the title really was.

  Chapter Eight

  A day later, Bella took pity on her pale patient and offered to help him out to a low chair in the garden.

  “There is not much to look at,” she apologized. “Spring has not yet arrived, but the day is not too chilly and we will wrap you in blankets.”

  She had said this to him as if she were offering a treat to a child.

  The duke said nothing for a moment. He looked up at her as she stood in the doorway. She was quite lovely, he thought. With her dark hair and stormy blue eyes, she had a sultry, haunting beauty that was most appealing. He was almost tempted to start a flirtation with her.

  Two things stopped him. For one, despite her beauty and obvious intelligence, it was quite apparent that she was a simple country lass and would probably mistake his attentions. The second reason was that she would probably laugh at him outright.

  Besides, it was dashed difficult to flirt when he could barely stand by himself, he thought with growing impatience at his own weakness.

  “Thank you. It would be pleasant to be out-of-doors for a while.”

  The gentle smile on Bella’s face stilled at the formality of his tone. Frowning slightly, she moved across the room to help him as he struggled to his feet.

  “Take your time. Remember what the doctor said. You mustn’t overexert yourself,” she cautioned as she stood close enough so that he could lean on her with his right arm.

  Very slowly they made their way out of the bedchamber. The duke did his best not to lean too heavily on Bella. It was humiliating enough for a man renowned for his physical prowess to have to depend on a slip of a girl to help him out of a chair, much less to walk across a room.

  The duke was determined, despite his fatigue, to be as active as he could. He needed to get his strength back, he thought with grim resolution.

  Bella said nothing as they slowly made their way.

  Again Bella was surprised by the duke’s height. She had grown used to his being prone. It was a bit startling to find that he was nearly a foot taller than she was.

  By the time they reached the low wooden chair in the winter-barren garden, the duke was leaning heavily on Bella, despite his resolve. She could perceive that his breathing had grown labored during their walk.

  As gently as she could, Bella helped steady him as he lowered himself into the chair. Her concern for him grew when she noticed how pale he had become.

  “I won’t be a moment, your grace. Enjoy the sunlight while I fetch some blankets for you.”

  Not trusting his voice to sound firm at that moment, the duke said nothing and only nodded as Bella turned swiftly and reentered the house. Again he cursed his weakness and tried to ignore the piercing throb in his shoulder and the light-headedness that seemed to increase every time he moved.

  In spite of his discomfort, Westlake was glad to be out-of-doors. Shifting his weight in the chair, he looked around the garden with its dormant flower beds and leafless trees. He thought the gardens were well designed, and that the manor was decorated in refined taste, but was rather small. He estimated that the entire manor, kitchen and all, would fit into the great
hall at Autley, with room to spare. No wonder he was beginning to feel claustrophobic, he thought.

  But in spite of the close quarters, the Tichley family was obviously happy, the duke concluded. Bella and Tommy laughed a lot and teased each other. Mr. Tichley played chess with both Bella and Tommy, and was obviously proud of his children. The duke very much admired the closeness they all displayed.

  Bella interrupted these musings when she appeared next to him, arms laden with blankets.

  “Here we are. You shall be more comfortable momentarily,” Bella said brightly as she approached him.

  As she knelt to tuck the blankets around his shoulders and legs, she thought again how romantic he looked, like a wounded lion.

  “There. You can now enjoy the afternoon while I prepare our tea.” She rose from her kneeling position and smiled at him.

  The duke nodded and watched her return to the house. A moment later, he espied Tommy at the far end of the garden, near what he assumed was a chicken coop.

  “Greetings, young Thomas. How fare you today?” he called to the boy.

  Tommy smiled and approached the duke shyly. “I am well, thank you. I hope you are feeling better, your grace.”

  The duke looked at the solemn youngster for a moment, thinking how much he looked like his sister.

  “Much better. How is Zeus? Your uncle tells me that you have taken on the responsibility of tending him. I warn you, he can be difficult.”

  “Oh, no, sir! He is a bit particular, but as long as he has had a good gallop in the morning, he is no trouble.”

  “Gallop? Do you mean to say that beast lets you ride him?” the duke questioned in a tone of mild surprise.

  Tommy hesitated and tugged on his brown woolen coat nervously. Suddenly he worried that maybe he should not have taken the liberty of exercising the duke’s horse.

  “I apologize, your grace. I should have asked permission first,” Tommy said, biting his lip.

  “That would have been difficult, as I have been indisposed for a few days,” the duke said with a deep chuckle. “I appreciate your care of Zeus. I am just surprised, and impressed, that he behaves with you. My best groom has a hard time handling a high-spirited blood like Zeus. Treat him as yours,” he finished, leaning his head back on the wooden chair and pulling the blanket closer around him.

  A relieved smile spread across Tommy’s face. “Thank you very much, your grace.”

  Behind Tommy, in the distance, coming across a low hill, the duke noticed a horse and rider approaching.

  Tommy looked over his shoulder to see what the duke was looking at.

  “That is Robert Fortiscue, Bella’s beau,” Tommy informed him.

  The duke straightened his shoulders.

  Bella stepped out of the house bearing a tea tray and also took note of the rider approaching.

  “Tommy, would you please bring us another teacup? We may have another guest.” Bella set the tray on a low stone table before seating herself in the chair next to the duke’s. “You are not feeling at all chilly, are you, your grace?” Bella asked her patient with concern.

  “I am perfectly comfortable. Thank you, Miss Tichley,” he said as firmly as he could. He did not say that his shoulder felt as if someone were taking a pickax to it every minute or so.

  The rider had reached the garden, dismounted, and stepped through the gate, waving a greeting to them.

  The Duke of Westlake, whose only rival in sartorial elegance had been Beau Brummell, immediately noticed the multitude of capes gracing the visitor’s greatcoat. The sheer weight of the garment seemed to engulf the man, who, in the duke’s opinion, obviously had not the height, nor the breadth of shoulder, to carry off such a fashion.

  “I wonder that he doesn’t topple over.” The duke drawled this aside to Tommy, who had seated himself on a stool next to the duke.

  Tommy hid his snigger behind his hand as Bella made the introductions.

  “Forgive me if I don’t get up, Mr. Fortiscue,” the duke said to the newcomer.

  “Not at all! Not at all, your grace.” Mr. Fortiscue bowed deeply. “May I say that it is very good to see your grace up and about, so to speak.”

  “Thank you.” Westlake briefly inclined his head as Mr. Fortiscue seated himself on a bench across from the duke and Bella.

  “I am off to London next week,” Mr. Fortiscue told them, without preamble. “I have business to attend to and I must also see my tailor.” Robert gave the duke a familiar, conspiratorial grin. “We men of fashion must be slaves to our tailors on occasion. Eh, your grace?”

  The duke looked at Mr. Fortiscue for a moment before responding. If he had encountered such a toad-eating parvenu at one of his clubs in London, he would have given him a very direct set-down. As it was, he would be nothing but gracious to anyone Miss Tichley welcomed to her home.

  “Yes. Tailors can be as temperamental as artists,” he finally responded.

  “I have very definite opinions on fashion, which I am sure your grace will agree with,” Robert stated as he accepted a cup of tea from Bella.

  For her part, Bella was looking at Robert with some surprise. She had never seen this side of him before. He was being much too familiar with the duke, she thought, throwing a glance at the duke to see if he was offended. Bella was not much relieved to notice that the duke’s expression was completely closed.

  “I believe fashion,” Robert continued, waving his hand in a flamboyant gesture, “is the main difference that separates humans from animals.”

  The duke raised one eyebrow at this statement.

  “Egad. And here I always thought it had something to do with the size of our brains and the ever useful opposable thumb,” Westlake said dryly.

  Bella had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. But Robert was not at all deterred from his dissertation.

  “Fashion is a unique expression of human individuality. I am sure you agree.”

  “To be sure,” the duke said obligingly.

  “Especially for gentlemen,” Robert continued. “I believe there is nothing more civilized than a gentleman of fashion.”

  “Especially for gentlemen? What about ladies of fashion?” Bella asked, thinking that this whole topic bordered on the absurd.

  Robert sighed patiently. “I stand by my opinion, Miss Tichley. I believe there is nothing more civilized than gentlemen of fashion, such as the duke and me. And I will confess that I find ladies of fashion unnatural and annoying. That is why I have long admired your simple taste in dress, Miss Tichley.”

  “Really, Mr. Fortiscue. How can anyone find a lady of fashion annoying or unnatural?” Bella was becoming annoyed herself.

  “I am very interested in Mr. Fortiscue’s opinions,” the duke stated, wondering what else Mr. Fortiscue would say to make himself ridiculous. “Please go on.”

  Mr. Fortiscue preened a little at the duke’s approval.

  “I believe it is unnatural for ladies to garb themselves in bright colors, as so-called ladies of fashion often do,” he stated baldly, raising his cup to his lips with his pinky raised high. “I will use the animal world as an example. It is always the male of the species who is more beautiful. Take birds, for instance: the male always has the more elaborate, brightly colored plumage. So ladies of fashion, truth be told, are going against nature. I should never tolerate a wife of mine wearing colors more vibrant than my own.”

  “What a unique perspective you have, Mr. Fortiscue,” the duke opined.

  “I believe a lady should wear whatever color she deems flattering,” Bella said firmly. She looked at Robert with a frown between her blue eyes. She had known him for most of her life and had had no notion that he subscribed to such fustian. She found this new side to him quite disturbing.

  Having finally exhausted the subject of fashion, Mr. Fortiscue turned once again to the duke.

  “Your grace, I have had the pleasure of touring the grounds of your magnificent estate some years ago. I am curious as to how it came to be
named Autley?”

  The duke shrugged. “I really have no notion; it has been called Autley for close to six hundred years.” He had the casual self-assuredness of someone who could trace his ancestry back to William the Conqueror.

  “Er… quite so,” Mr. Fortiscue fumbled.

  The conversation then turned to such mundane topics as the weather and farming, and soon Bella decided it was time to get her charge indoors.

  “You must excuse us, Mr. Fortiscue. It is time for his grace to rest.”

  “Certainly, Miss Tichley. Your grace, I have enjoyed our visit and look forward to continuing our conversation when you are feeling better.” Mr. Fortiscue executed a flourishing bow to the duke.

  “I, too, look forward to our next conversation, Mr. Fortiscue,” the duke replied with a slight smile.

  After Mr. Fortiscue took his leave, Tommy announced he was going to Penninghurst Park to visit Zeus. Bella nodded and helped the duke back into the house. When they reached her room, the duke sat on the bed and Bella knelt to help him take off his boots.

  Glancing up, Bella was slightly taken aback by a new, indefinable expression in the duke’s eyes as he looked down at her. Dropping her gaze from his, she felt unaccountably disturbed.

  “So, Miss Tichley, I am quite interested in your Mr. Fortiscue. Have you been acquainted long?”

  “Yes, for many years,” she replied as one boot came off.

  “Oh? What an interesting fellow he is.”

  Bella looked up, suspecting she heard a hint of mockery in his tone.

  “Mr. Fortiscue and I have an understanding, your grace,” she said a little stiffly as the other boot came off. Despite Robert’s rather foolish behavior earlier, Bella was still loyal to him.

  Westlake looked down at the closed features of his lovely young nurse and felt something close to astonishment. It seemed incomprehensible to him that someone as obviously intelligent and sensitive as Arabella would be partial to an overweening coxcomb like Robert Fortiscue.

  He continued to watch her for some moments as she placed his boots at the end of the bed.

  “I confess I’m incredulous, Miss Tichley. You cannot possibly believe yourself in love with that… Mr. Fortiscue,” he said with a disbelieving laugh.