She was his. His duchess.
Lady Gertrude had portrayed the relationship between her and her niece as warm, and he thought it must be, for Lady Gertrude was pleasant, kind, and she knew everyone in English society.
Yet his duchess looked aghast to see her aunt.
“Dear child, I’m so happy that you’ve returned from the Continent at last. With that dreadful Napoleon marching around, and all his disgraceful soldiers imprisoning good English citizens, I was worried about you and”—Lady Gertrude looked up at his duchess, and her eyebrows rose—“Eleanor…”
Eleanor glanced over the top of Lady Gertrude’s head at Remington, and he clearly saw her swallow. In a rush of words, she said, “Eleanor stayed behind this time. She’s quite fatigued from the journey.”
“Well! Of course. She must be.” Lady Gertrude sounded brisk—and amused. “Who wouldn’t be fatigued after four years traipsing across every country in Europe? But Eleanor’s absence makes it an especially good thing Mr. Knight requested I chaperon you.” Lady Gertrude leaned up and patted his cheek. “Dear boy.”
The amazing thing was—she meant it. She was kindliness personified, and in the five days of his acquaintance, he had developed an affection for Lady Gertrude. She had that way with people. Everybody liked her, even those who found themselves on the wrong side of her very frank tongue—as he had. She might have consented to be the young lady’s chaperon, she might now be pleasant and caring, but on their first meeting she had made her opinion of this match clear.
In return, he had made his indifference to her opinion clear, and so they’d come to neutral ground, with Lady Gertrude agreeing that she wouldn’t interfere with his marriage plans as long as he abided by the rules of her chaperonage.
Seating herself on the sofa, Lady Gertrude tugged Eleanor down beside her. “What an extraordinary event has brought you to this moment, eh? What do you think about the duke of Magnus and his latest folly?”
On that subject, his duchess spoke decisively. “I think it’s a shame he can’t control his urge to gamble long enough to think of his only daughter.”
The flash of her eyes startled Remington. “Am I so bad a match, then?” he asked, and waited with bated breath and ill-concealed humor to hear her thoughts on his self.
Still in that tart tone, his duchess said, “I don’t know, Mr. Knight, I know nothing about your character. But while perhaps few young women in this day are allowed to wed whom they wish, all at least meet their future husbands before the betrothal is announced. It’s a shame that a duchess is denied that privilege.”
“Exactly my notion! Your sentiments do you honor, dear.” Lady Gertrude shot Remington a glance. “I thought that Mr. Knight was a victim of his own urge to gamble, also, but now that I’ve met him, I suspect he knew exactly what he was doing when he won my niece in a game.”
Remington lifted his eyebrows in supercilious innocence.
Lady Gertrude concluded, “He’s a dear boy, and a good match.”
“For whom?” his duchess snapped.
Then he would have sworn she bit her tongue. “For you,” he answered. “Only for you.”
“Sit down, dear boy,” Lady Gertrude said. “You make me nervous, looming about like a great, leggy brute.”
Reflecting he had never been called a great, leggy brute before, he sat on a chair that placed him so he could best view his bride.
Touching the side of the teapot, Lady Gertrude said, “I was hoping for a spot of tea, but it’s cold.” She frowned at the shards scattered on the table and the floor. “Did you break a cup?”
Madeline blushed a miserable red, and hid her injured hand beneath her skirt. “I did.”
Lady Gertrude blinked. “That’s so unlike you! Or at least as I remember you. Ah, well, no use crying over a few pieces of porcelain. Will you ring for more hot water?”
“With your permission, Mr. Knight,” Madeline murmured, lifting the bell.
He gestured his acquiescence. “Please. I want you to think of this house as your home now.”
“I…I can’t…that’s not possible. I must return home!”
He bent his gaze, impressing his will on her. “If I have my way, you’ll never return to your father’s house.”
She turned her head away, rejecting him with every movement.
That was fine. He liked a challenge, and this duchess, with her modesty and shyness, tested him. He watched as she rang just loudly enough to bring a footman running. He watched, too, as she spoke to the footman firmly but quietly, like a woman who had been trained to get results without calling attention to herself.
He crossed his legs. “Would you ladies be so kind as to enlighten me how Her Grace has so exalted a title when she’s as yet unmarried?”
“Because of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth,” Lady Gertrude said, as if that clarified everything.
He waited, but when nothing more was forthcoming, he said, “I find that so simple an explanation eludes me.”
“Probably because you’re an American. Not that I have anything against Americans. No, not at all. I find them refreshing, with their odd way of speaking and their open manners.” Lady Gertrude lifted her lorgnette and peered at him. “Although holding my dear niece’s hand while unchaperoned is a little too open, may I tell you!”
“Yes, ma’am.” It was too open in America, also, but he had no intention of admitting that, or that he always pushed every matter as quickly as he could toward its natural conclusion—and that conclusion was always predetermined by himself. He was not a man who allowed fate to take its winding path to God-knew-what destination. He shaped his own destiny—and now he shaped this young duchess’s, too.
“One of my ancestors was lady-in-waiting to Queen Elizabeth, and she saved Her Majesty’s life. In gratitude, Her Majesty granted a dukedom to the lady, one which of course always comes to the eldest son, if there was one—but if a daughter is the firstborn, then the title falls to her.” Madeline spoke slowly, choosing her words as if she considered every syllable, and her voice sounded like…like heartbreak.
And what had the future duchess of Magnus to be heartbroken about? She was born to privilege and wealth, and he’d learned only too well the way English aristocrats dealt with those they considered to be their inferiors. Nothing got in their way. No ethics held them back. They thought nothing of ruin…or murder.
Yet he would get his revenge, and in the end poor Madeline would know the true meaning of heartbreak.
He allowed none of his thoughts to appear on his face. In a properly respectful tone, he asked, “Such a title is very rare, is it not?”
“My family is the only one to be so blessed,” Madeline answered. “But no one could gainsay the will of Queen Elizabeth.”
“A strong woman,” he said. Not like this meek, impressionable girl.
Oddly, she shot him a hurt glance. He would almost have thought she’d read his mind.
So, although it felt a little like kicking a puppy, he pressed his advantage. “As long as your father’s alive, you aren’t yet the duchess. All that deference isn’t truly warranted, is it?”
In an oppressive tone, Lady Gertrude said, “My niece is the marchioness of Sherbourne and the future duchess, a position that warrants great respect among the ton. She is, in fact, frequently called Her Grace, and given all the privileges of her future rank.”
He had been soundly rebuked, and he bowed his head in recognition of a worthy adversary.
“Whether or not he gives me the respect due to a duchess is of no importance,” Madeline said with a flick of scorn. “Americans are not impressed with the aristocracy, or so they claim. One hopes, however, Mr. Knight behaves with suitable courtesy to other women he encounters—in all walks of life.”
Yes, Lady Gertrude had rebuked him, but it was the contempt from his future wife that stung. “I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”
“Do your best not to embarrass yourself,” she said with icy composure. “Now here i
s Bridgeport with our tea.”
The butler entered with a clean tea tray, a new pot of tea, and the maid, who carried a fresh platter of biscuits and cakes. This time Milly didn’t make the mistake of staring at the duchess, but with a nervous glance at Remington, quickly deposited the platter and departed.
Madeline considered him reproachfully.
What had she expected him to do? Allow a little chit of a maid to stare? Sometimes, he didn’t understand women.
But worse, sometimes he did.
She picked up the pot, and this time her hand was quite steady. She poured for him, for Lady Gertrude, and for herself.
When she was finished, Lady Gertrude indicated the handkerchief still wrapped around Madeline’s palm. “What have you done?”
“A small injury,” Madeline said. “Nothing more.”
Rising, he came as if to get his tea. Instead, he took her hand in his, unwrapped it, and examined the mark. “You should be careful in my house. There are dangers here, and I don’t want you hurt.”
Her gaze flew to his. Her lips parted, and again she looked properly anxious.
What a dichotomy she was! She seemed timid until he spoke derisively of her title, and then she spoke in an icy ferocity. A few minutes later, with a few words artfully couched to sound like a threat, he once again reduced her to diffidence.
If he was not careful, this woman would fascinate him.
Taking his cup, he returned to his chair. “On Lady Gertrude’s advice, I have accepted invitations on our behalf to a number of parties.”
Madeline sat up straight, and her hand went to her throat. “You didn’t!”
So. At last she showed the snooty behavior he’d expected. She didn’t want to be seen in public with him. He stirred his tea. “No doubt you object because you didn’t bring the proper clothing.”
Taking a relieved breath, she grasped onto the lifeline he had thrown her. “Yes! That’s why!”
Coolly, he yanked it from her hands. “I have a seamstress waiting to fit you into the gowns worthy of my wife.”
“You can’t…I can’t…that wouldn’t be proper.” She turned to Lady Gertrude. “Would it, ma’am?”
Lady Gertrude frowned at him. “You didn’t tell me you had taken the liberty of getting Madeline clothes.”
“I thought you would object, and I find it easier to ask forgiveness than beg permission.” An explanation that covered many sins. “For the next few nights, we’ll be attending parties all over London, being introduced as the duchess and her most devoted fiancé.”
“Oh.” Madeline scarcely breathed the word.
He could have sworn this new development horrified her more than any of the rest of the shocks that had come before. How much he would enjoy dragging the little snob about on his arm, forcing her to face London’s hostesses with a smile.
But this week held more and bigger shocks for her—starting now. “Then, three nights hence, we’ll be hosting our own party right here. The invitations have gone out. The acceptances are pouring in.”
“A party. Here.” Her dark lashes fluttered as she tried to maintain eye contact. “Why…why is that necessary?”
He seldom smiled, but he smiled now, and with a great deal of charm. “We must have a party. We must celebrate our betrothal—and our upcoming nuptials. And on that night, I will present you with your betrothal ring, and place it on your finger. As a symbol of our eternal love, never will you remove it—until your death.”
Chapter 4
Eleanor stared in frustration at the flint she usually handled with such dexterity. She snapped it again, but no spark appeared. “This stupid thing must be broken,” she said aloud, talking to the empty room, trying to convince herself.
Of course, she knew that wasn’t true. The onset of evening deepened the shadows that lurked in the corners of the luxurious bedchamber Mr. Knight had assigned her, but her fingers trembled too much to successfully light even one of the candles. She tried again to ignite the wick. A spark sprang from the flint, but the candle remained stubbornly dark. “It’s the wick. The wick must be damp.”
A knock sounded, the door swung open, and Lady Gertrude stuck her head in. “Dear girl, may I enter?”
Eleanor jumped in alarm, then stared wildly at Lady Gertrude’s kindly face. “Yes! Please! Do!” She didn’t know when she had started speaking so emphatically, but she would wager it was soon after she’d laid eyes on the inscrutable Mr. Knight. She looked over Lady Gertrude’s shoulder, half-expecting him to be there, lounging in the corridor and waiting for his turn to enter…which, if she had her way, would never happen.
Unfortunately, since she’d arrived in this household, she’d not had her way even once.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your unpacking.” Lady Gertrude seated herself on one of the elegant chairs near the fireplace. She was so petite that her feet dangled, and she pressed her toes to the floor to stay in her chair. “I understand you didn’t bring a maid. So unlike you, dear Madeline! When I knew you, you were unable to mend a seam or fix your hair. You depended on Eleanor for everything!” Lifting her lorgnette, she examined Eleanor. “Of course, that’s the Madeline I remember. Probably you’re quite different after the rigors of travel in such difficult circumstances.”
Eleanor stared at her and wondered what to say. How much to say. Lady Gertrude was a kindly woman with a delightful sense of mischief, but this trick Eleanor and Madeline had perpetrated could only be called ramshackle.
Lady Gertrude prattled on. “I must tell you why I accepted this position of chaperon when you must be dreadfully unhappy about the betrothal to Mr. Knight. I always said your father could make a cake of himself better than any man I ever met…excuse me, dear, I know you’re fond of him, but if he didn’t have his ducal title, people would call him a fool to his face. Not that he would take offense, he’s too amiable by half, but nevertheless…I say, this is quite a lovely room. Mine is beautiful, too, but not nearly so elegant.”
Eleanor peered around. “It’s grand,” she said flatly. Sky blue walls and midnight blue drapes presented a sense of the outdoors, and the abundance of fresh flowers on every surface gave the room a fresh, country scent. The rug was rich with amber and azure hues mixed in a Persian’s graceful pattern. The furnishings were delicate, ladylike, and airy…yet she added, “It’s oppressive.”
“It’s dark, certainly. Why don’t you ring for a maid to light the candles and make up the fire?”
Eleanor stared at Lady Gertrude. Of course. Ring for a maid. For someone who had done everything for herself and the duchess for eight years, using a maid for such a simple task was unprecedented. Eleanor hurried to the bellpull and gave it a yank. “An excellent idea. Thank you, Lady Gertrude.” Faintly she heard a jingle beyond the door.
Almost at once, a sturdy young girl appeared and, with a curtsy, proceeded to efficiently use the recalcitrant flint. “I’m Beth, Yer Grace, the upstairs maid, an’ Mr. Knight says I’m t’ serve yer every need. If ye need anything, anything at all, please let me know.”
“Thank you.” Eleanor hoped she didn’t need another thing ever. She hated being waited on. Most of all, she hated being called Your Grace.
But Lady Gertrude broke into the conversation. “Her Grace seems to have left her lady’s maid behind. Do any of the girls below stairs have training in clothes and hair?”
Beth broke into a wide grin. “Aye, ma’am. I ’ave. I’m good with an iron an’ never put ’oles in the silk stockings. Best o’ all, I can cut and arrange ’air in the newest styles. I coiffed Lady Fairchild’s ’air until she went lunatic and ’ad t’ go t’ Bedlam.”
Lady Gertrude tapped her cheek as she thought. “Lady Fairchild was well turned out.” She looked Eleanor over with a critical eye. “And, my dear, your hairstyle could be freshened.”
Eleanor touched the severe bun at the base of her neck and brushed her fingers around the wings of hair that framed her face. “I like this.” This coiffure was proper fo
r a companion, and regardless of what anyone in this house thought, a companion was what she would always be.
“But if I trimmed it a little around the face.” Beth made a clipping gesture with her fingers. “The color’s so grand, an’ tis so thick.”
“Yes.” Lady Gertrude stroked her chin. “A cut would give you a whole new look.”
“Not that ye need one,” Beth added hastily. “But every lady likes a change now and then.”
“I don’t,” Eleanor said.
“Think about it,” Lady Gertrude urged.
“Why did Lady Fairchild go insane?” Eleanor couldn’t help asking. Had Lady Fairchild been trapped in such a crazy situation, too? Had she perhaps been exposed to Mr. Knight?
“All of the Fairchilds are insane one way or the other,” Lady Gertrude said.
The maid made a humming noise that sounded like agreement.
“Very well, Beth, you can wait on Her Grace.” Lady Gertrude gestured the girl out the door, and when she had gone, Lady Gertrude said to Eleanor, “The Fairchilds’ family tree doesn’t split, you know. Now, where were we? I remember. I was going to explain why I took the position as your chaperon.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Eleanor said, and wondered, should she admit her true identity to Lady Gertrude? Or should Eleanor have faith that Madeline would appear at any moment and make confession unnecessary?
“How very unlike you, Madeline! You’ve always been so properly aware of your position and your title. Even as a child, you understood your importance and demanded clarification for the least of matters.” Lady Gertrude slid down on the hard cushion until her toes touched flat on the floor, then sighed and used her arms to scoot back up.
“Here, ma’am.” Eleanor brought a stool and placed it beneath her feet. “That will help.”
Lady Gertrude brightened. “Thank you, dear. How kind of you to notice. Such a tribulation to be short. One wants to saw the legs off of all the chairs.”
One Kiss From You Page 3
