The Duke's Reform

by Fenella J Miller

  set in motion. This was tantamount to stealing; as the duchess she had no legal right to her husband’s money. He would come hurtling down from Grosvenor Square when he noticed the discrepancies in his accounts. Was that why she'd given her permission without a second thought? Did she feel now was the time to tell him of her condition?

  Word had spread around the neighbourhood that she had returned and had authorised much-needed improvements. Everyone knew she had no right to do so, but the artisans had done the work anyway. When the duke eventually came he would be faced with a fait accompli. All his tenants would be well housed and there would be nothing he could do about it, apart from rant and rave.

  She would take the blame; no one else would suffer. She had done the right thing and was confident those around her would support her when he came.

  Isobel was sitting quietly in front of the fire reading a new novel that had recently arrived from London, Pride and Prejudice. She had never read anything so enjoyable; she was so engrossed she ignored the faint fluttering in her stomach. When it happened a second time her book fell unheeded from her fingers. She placed both hands on her distended belly. Yes, there it was again. The baby inside was kicking, telling her she was going to be a mother in a few months.

  Her heart contracted. The idea of handing over her child appalled her. But could she learn to live with a man she feared and didn't trust?

  Chapter Nine

  Alexander ran his fingers through his hair and frowned at the column of figures. There was something amiss here; the amount of money leaving this account was astronomical. His estate manager was either corrupt or run mad. The man had had no authorization to draw such sums of money from the bank. He pushed the papers to one side with a sigh. He must return to Newcomb and see for himself what was going on. This was a damn nuisance as the season was about to begin in earnest and he was determined to complete the process of re-establishing himself in the eyes of the ton.

  He had easily resisted the voluptuous temptations of his erstwhile mistress and doused his physical needs by vigorous exercise. Much to the astonishment of his staff he'd taken to running round the park at dawn, also hurtling up and down the staircase at regular intervals during the day. He'd also resumed his sparring at Jackson's and during the last bout he'd only been floored once.

  Being fit and clearheaded for the first time in many years had sharpened his intellect—unfortunately it had also made him more aware of the sins of the flesh. One thing was very certain. However much he might lust after a woman, he would never be unfaithful to Isobel. She was constantly in his thoughts. He sent up a fervent prayer every day asking the Almighty to give him a second chance.

  A sharp tap on the door reminded him he was expecting a visit. Gathering up the loose sheets he stuffed them into the drawer of the desk and locked it. For some reason he didn't quite trust Richard Bentley, the young man his lawyers had tracked down as being next in line. Bentley was

  altogether too unctuous and already showing an inclination towards fast play and fast women.

  'Come in, if you must.'

  The door swung open and Bentley stepped in, Alexander struggled to remain expressionless. The man was a popinjay and followed the most extreme of fashions. Good God! The idiot could scarcely turn his head, his shirt points were so high.

  'My lord, I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I've a matter of the utmost urgency to bring to your attention.'

  Even his voice irritated—this was slightly high pitched, and he ended sentences as if asking a question. 'As you see, Bentley, I'm busy. Can it not wait until I've done'

  The young man smiled and nodded as if in understanding but looked as if he intended to stay all morning.

  'Well, get on with it. What is it you wish to discuss with me?'

  Undeterred by the brusque response Bentley leaned forward, placing his hands on the desktop. ‘I’ve heard the most disturbing rumour, your grace. It is being said in more than one drawing-room that the Duchess of Rochester is missing.'

  Alexander's fingers gripped the edge of the table. Have dare this jackanapes ask him such a question? Bentley had only been in residence three weeks and was already behaving as if he were a member the family. 'My wife is at Newcomb, she does not come to town. In fact, I am going down to visit her today.'

  He was dammed if he was going to sit here and be interrogated by someone who was only a relative in the most tenuous of fashions. According to his lawyers Bentley was his heir, a clear line of descent from an ancient uncle, but he was a cousin so many times removed Alexander felt him not to be kin at all.

  The wretched man sprung to his feet all eagerness and conciliation. 'How delightful! Then if you'll permit me, I shall accompany you the country. I believe it will be in order for me to meet your wife. I can't tell you how much I am anticipating the pleasure.'

  This was too much. With one swift stride Alexander was beside him. He was a head taller and twice his weight. Bentley took a step backward and, tripping over his feet, landed heavily on his backside. Alexander could not stop his bark of laughter at the man's expense.

  'Get up, man. And get rid of those high-heeled boots, you'll break your neck falling off them one of these days.' He offered his hand and pulled him to his feet.

  'Thank you, my lord. I do beg your pardon for being so clumsy. I take it you have no wish for me to accompany you this morning. I quite understand, perhaps I may join you in the country next week?'

  The young man was a buffoon. Bentley had been brought up in very different circumstances to his own but maybe in time he would improve. 'Very well, if I don't return to town before then, you're welcome to follow me to Newcomb, if that's what you wish to do.'

  Bentley bowed and retreated leaving Alexander to consider his options. He would not disturb his staff, they could remain in situ as his visit would be brief. He would deal with Reynolds and then depart immediately. Newcomb would be cold and unwelcoming with only a handful of staff in residence to receive him.

  He frowned and rubbed his chin. The Season was about to start—why did Bentley have this sudden urge to visit Newcomb? That he wanted to meet Isobel was fustian. Surely he was not already running from his debts? He shrugged and dismissed this unpleasant notion. It could be dealt with on his return.

  Today was clear and crisp; the storms and poor weather of the previous months gone. March weather was notoriously fickle, but spring appeared to have arrived early this year. He decided to ride. The distance was no more than twenty miles and his restlessness demanded the extra exercise.

  There had been no word on Isobel's whereabouts, but he was determined to find her eventually. When he did she would see at once he was a different man, not the one who had mistreated her last year. Somehow he would persuade her to return and then would spend the rest of his life demonstrating how much he loved her, and how their lack of children made no difference to him.

  He was resigned to passing on his title and estate to a virtual stranger. He shuddered at the thought of what damage Bentley could do when he became the Duke of Rochester. God willing, that would not be for another thirty years. Hopefully the man would have grown out of this sartorial extravagance and tendency to be profligate and have learnt what it meant to be in a position of power. He scowled. Small wonder Bentley was going astray— the young man would know all about his mentor's profligacy and thought he was expected to sew his wild oats. This was something else he must rectify on his return.

  His valet was following behind in a closed carriage with the luggage. Alexander did not require much for an overnight stay, and there was still a closet with sufficient garments languishing at Newcomb.

  Foster had been horrified to think of his master returning to an empty house with only a handful of staff to serve him. Nowadays the staff were more impressed by his importance then he was. He'd assured his butler he was making a fleeting visit, and would come to no harm during a single night without a flock of flunkies at his beck and call.

  He was wel
l aware the majority of his older staff treated young Bentley with barely concealed contempt. They were not quite disrespectful, that would have been easier to deal with, but they had closed ranks at his appearance. Were they refusing to accept the inevitable— that he would never produce a son of his own,

  The ride from London to Hertfordshire was invigorating. He had purchased a magnificent chestnut stallion with a fiery temper to match his own. The horses in his stable were more than adequate, but he'd been taken by this beast the moment he'd seen him.

  He had two grooms in attendance mounted on equally impressive horses, but even so they were hard pressed to keep up. Rufus could gallop across country all day, taking huge hedges and ditches in his stride. He halted at midday to rest him and take refreshments. He had made good time and would be at his destination long before dark.

  As he cantered down the drive he was aware there was something odd about Newcomb, but he couldn't quite place it. He reined back and studied the huge edifice with interest. The main building was, as expected, shuttered and dark. But there was quite definitely smoke spiralling into the sky and it could only emanate from the east wing. Had the remaining staff moved in there for some reason?

  He kicked Rufus and despite the length of the journey the stallion responded and he arrived outside the stable yard, sending gravel in all directions. He vaulted from the saddle and pulled the reins over his mount's ears in order to lead him through the archway.

  To his astonishment several equine heads turned to view his arrival. The stables should be empty. Someone had taken up residence here in his absence.

  ****

  Isobel was sitting contentedly in front of a roaring fire completing a small garment. She was not a skilled needle woman but was determined to make something for the baby. This was the least she could do if she managed to adhere to her plan to abandon the child soon after birth.

  She looked up as door burst open and Ellen, the senior parlourmaid, came in. They stood on no ceremony here; this was a happy establishment, unlike Newcomb next door.

  'Good heavens, Ellen, why are you in such a fuss?'

  'He's come. He's just ridden into the stable yard. What shall we do, your grace?'

  Isobel was on her feet, her sewing slipping unnoticed to the carpet. 'Who's come? Are you telling me the Duke of Rochester is here?'

  The girl nodded, her complexion pale. 'He is, my lady, what shall we do? There's nothing ready for him and Newcomb is abandoned and we all work for you here.'

  Isobel was confident she could face Alexander with equanimity and not be bullied or browbeaten into making a permanent return. But her hands were damp and her stomach churned at the thought of seeing him again. He was terrifying when he was angry.

  'You must tell Mrs Watkins to prepare a guest chamber for the duke. No doubt his man will be travelling separately and he can fetch whatever his grace requires from next door and bring it here when he arrives. Don't look so worried, no one will suffer because of this.' She prayed she was speaking the truth. He was stronger than her, if he wished to abuse her there would be little she could do to stop him. The idea that she could use Sam and Bill to protect her was nonsensical —Alexander would see them on the gallows if they raised a hand to him.

  She must make sure he did not vent his spleen on the staff that had deserted their posts in order to join her employ. His appearance was not really unexpected. He was bound to have noticed the discrepancies in his account eventually and come to investigate for himself. It was Mr Reynolds who would require protecting from Alexander's wrath, for the agent had withdrawn the money for the repairs and refurbishment.

  She glanced around her cosy parlour. She would not receive him here—this was her domain as the study had been his. She would greet him in the grand salon. The fires were lit throughout the ancient edifice so it would be perfectly comfortable in there.

  Mary met her in the corridor, her face anxious. 'My lady, Ellen says we are to let him in. Are you sure this is wise?'

  ‘I’ve no option, Mary. I've my people around me and he is by himself. He owns Newcomb so we can hardly leave him standing outside in the cold.'

  'I shall prepare the blue room, and Cook has instructions to make a more substantial dinner. Unfortunately it will be delayed an hour, but his grace never liked to eat early so I expect there will be no complaint on that score.'

  'It is no matter to me, Mary, when I eat. It is my authority that matters, here I make the decisions and you answer to me, make sure all the staff are well aware that.'

  Her words were mere bravado. Alexander could do as he wished and there was nothing at all she could do about it. She checked in the over-mantel mirror that her cap was not askew, her velvet gown hung straight and that the bulge of her pregnancy would not be immediately apparent. The high-waisted gown dropped in tiny plates from under her bosom, the rich russet colour matching what little of her hair that could be seen. The emerald green sash and matching slippers completed her ensemble perfectly.

  Her shorn locks were so much easier to manage than waist length hair. She'd never let it grow to that length again. Now it curled into her neck, framing her face and emphasising her eyes. The baby fluttered and she placed a protective hand on her stomach. Five months had passed since that dreadful night; she had moved on. She no longer hated Alexander, but she neither loved nor respected him.

  He strode in without knocking. If she had not been braced against the back of a chair she would have swooned. She scarcely recognized this smiling man as the husband who had mistreated her last year. The love she saw in his eyes was genuine. Why did he finally love her when it was too late? However much he changed she could never trust him, would always fear he could lose his temper and turn on her as he had before.

  'Isobel, I can't tell you how delighted I am to see you and looking so radiant. Though I am bewildered to find you living in the east wing. Why did you not send to me; I would have returned the staff to Newcomb.'

  Even his voice was different, the edge had gone, his tone was soft and charming and there was no hint of the chilly aristocrat she had once known. He had changed in his appearance also, and somehow managed to look years younger than before. What could have happened to bring

  about this transformation?

  'I had no need to bother you, sir. As you can see I am happily established here. I've no intention of returning to live as your wife next door.' She stared at him, daring him to disagree. His eyes flashed but he held his tongue. Emboldened by his restraint she continued. 'My lord, you also look remarkably well. I believe you have lost weight and it suits you, I must say. Would you care to be seated? Coffee is being fetched for you.'

  She pointed to a chair on the other side of the hearth. Then not waiting to see if he complied, she carefully arranged herself in an upright chair making sure the folds of her gown concealed her pregnancy. She was certain her nervousness had not been apparent even to someone as sharp eyed as he was.

  He moved to the chair she indicated, allowing her time to compose herself. There was no doubt he was a different man. Her eyes filled as she thought of how things could have been—but he was five months too late. He had killed her love and nothing could rekindle it.

  'What brings you down here at the start the season, Alexander? I did not expect to see you until May.'

  He smiled lazily. 'You know very well why I'm here, my dear. As soon as I saw you I realised that you must be behind the withdrawals from my account. Tell me, Isobel, how did you persuade a man of such probity as Mr Reynolds to steal from me?'

  ****

  Her eyes narrowed. 'Mr Reynolds has not been stealing from you. He has been doing what you should have done years ago. On my instructions he has repaired all the cottages, farms and outbuildings that you have neglected these past years.'

  Alexander swallowed a brief surge of anger. Isobel was quite right to castigate him. He stared at her and his spirits sunk to his boots. She had become someone else entirely, there was a rigidity about her person
, a darkness in her eyes that had not been there before.

  His brief flash of ill-humour vanished to be replaced by the all too familiar shame. His self-indulgence these past years had not only caused his darling wife to suffer but his unfortunate tenants also. His neck-cloth became unaccountably tight and he ran a finger around it. He cleared his throat, for the first time in his life unsure of what to say. Perhaps now was the time to apologise— clear the air between them.

  'Isobel, I can't tell you how ashamed I am of my past behaviour. No— please let me finish. I don't expect your forgiveness, I can't forgive myself for what I did. But I give you my word, it will never happen again. You're looking at a changed man; I no longer drink to excess, I've cut free from the toadies I mixed with and have re-established contact with my former intimates.'

  He waited for her response but there was none forthcoming. Her expression remained friendly but distinctly unimpressed. He ploughed on hoping she would receive this next piece of news with more enthusiasm. ‘I’ve also had my lawyers discover my heir, one Richard Bentley, a young man of nine and twenty years. The matter of your childlessness is no longer an issue between us. I shall attempt to turn Bentley into someone deserving of this title before I kick the bucket.'

  'How interesting, my lord. Do I have your permission to speak?' Her eyes bored into him. This wasn't going well. He nodded and waited for her to continue. 'I've something important to tell you.'

  She glanced down at her hands and a slight smile played about her lips. She raised her head and met his eyes with a strength equal to his own.

  'I returned for one reason only. I am carrying your child. The baby will be born in July. I intend to remain here until the baby is born. However, when I am certain the child is well-established, I shall depart. At no time will I reside next door.'

  His glance followed her fingers as she smoothed the material over the quite distinctive mound of a well-established pregnancy. He felt a rush of such happiness, such joy, he did not take in the full import of what she had just told him. He was not going to die childless; he had been given another chance. Whatever she thought, somehow he would convince her he could be a good husband.