Dair Devil

by Lucinda Brant

  Shrewsbury was incredulous at this young man’s presumption. To be lectured to about the most precious thing he owned turned his face purple with rage.

  “Shine? Poppycock!” the old man spat out. “She won’t shine, she’ll wilt and die as sure as you’ll return to your whoring and your devil-may-care ways once you’ve had your fill of her! God knows what perverted lust demon drives you to want to marry a creature who can no more climb the stairs on the other side of that door, as fly! I know about men like you. No one suspects but deep down there are unnatural desires, inclinations and urges that if allowed to bubble to the surface wreak untold damage that can never be repaired! I won’t let that happen again, and not to her. Find yourself a lame female elsewhere. There’s a cathouse in Covent Garden that caters to such perversions—”

  “Enough!” Dair growled, spinning away from the fireplace, where he had his head lowered, gripping the mantel to force himself from grabbing Shrewsbury by the throat. “I’ve heard enough of your salacious drivel! If you weren’t her grandfather, I’d shut your foul mouth with my fist!”

  He took a deep breath, reminding himself Shrewsbury was seventy years of age, and it was the love he had for his granddaughter making him lash out with irrational and absurd statements. In such an emotionally charged state, it was fruitless to continue arguing with him. He decided the old man needed time to come to terms with his proposal. He hoped that with the dawn, Shrewsbury would see that what was best for Rory’s future happiness was to give his blessing to the marriage. If the old man proved immoveable, then the marriage would take place without him, and the sooner the better.

  There was nothing left for him to do here tonight. Yet, the thought of walking out of the study and seeing Rory on the stair, smiling with happiness, blue eyes full of expectation, was almost too much for him to contemplate, and he wished he could scramble out a window and make off across the park, like a thief in the night. Still, he was no coward. But how was he to allay her natural distress when she learned her grandfather had rejected his proposal? He must give her a word or a look before being shown the door, so she knew he was determined to marry her, and would brook no opposition.

  “I’ll say goodnight,” he said calmly. “But I will return tomorrow morning—”

  “That would not be wise or welcome.”

  “I will come anyway.”

  “No. You won’t.”

  “You cannot stop me.”

  Shrewsbury sneered his superiority.

  “No? Some time ago I requisitioned that particular betting book from White’s in the national interest. I will show Rory the offending wager if necessary. But I hope it does not come to that. You must understand I will do whatever it takes to preserve her innocence and her happiness. If that means locking her up, I’ll do it. Regard me, Fitzstuart: I am deadly serious.”

  Dair believed him. But two could play his game, and he fully intended to return at sun up and kidnap Rory if need be. With nothing left to say, he bowed civilly to the old man and followed him out of the study and into the hall, where the butler waited by the front door.

  And there was Rory, curled up on the stair, head resting on her arm, blonde hair falling across her flushed cheek, asleep.

  Dair took a step forward, to go to her, but a hand on his linen sleeve forestalled him. It was Shrewsbury. He brushed past him and, like a sentinel, stood between the couple, blocking Dair’s view of her. He jerked his powdered head at the butler and the front door was opened on the night air.

  Dair hesitated, hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. As much as he wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and leave this place with her, he could not do so, knowing the old man was fully capable of creating a distressing scene. So he turned on a heel and left.

  He calculated there were less than eight hours until dawn.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  W HEN ANTONIA finally reappeared from behind the paneled screen, Alisdair Fitzstuart was no longer there, and the Duke was perched on the window seat looking out on the view. She had splashed cold water on her face and tidied her hair, catching up the waist-length tangle of fair curls with a cream silk ribbon. When her attendants followed her across the room, she waved them away, a nod to Michelle to also leave her alone with M’sieur le Duc. She then resumed her seat on the chaise longue as if there was nothing untoward in her behavior, a sideways glance at her silent son before saying conversationally in French (the language they always used when alone),

  “Was there something in particular you wished to speak to me about, Julian?”

  Roxton turned from the window.

  “Nothing in particular. I had Shrewsbury over to the house for the day and just now set him down at the Lodge. So I thought I’d ride on and see how your journey was from Westminster.”

  Antonia shrugged a shoulder. “Uneventful. Thank you for asking.”

  Roxton suppressed a smile. “Surely not as uneventful as every other journey home?”

  “I do not understand your meaning.”

  “I thought perhaps the motion of the carriage may have been disagreeable upon this occasion? And that you had more frequent stops than usual…?”

  Antonia frowned. “How did—” Then quickly changed the subject. “How are the children? May I see them soon?”

  “Constantly asking after you. I told them they could resume their bi-weekly afternoon teas with you, which set them all off screaming with delight around the Nursery! I’ve never heard the like before. Nurse’s ears were still ringing an hour later.” He cocked his head. “But perhaps their visits should be postponed until you are feeling—”

  “No. No. Do not do that. Let them come. This feeling it will pass, I know it. How is Deborah?”

  The Duke could not suppress a grin.

  “Well indeed. She thinks she may be carrying twins again.”

  “Mon Dieu. That is something not to be grinned at, Julian. I could not bear it!”

  The Duke lost his smile.

  “You do not have to bear it, Maman. And Deborah she is just as thrilled. We both want a large family.”

  “Yes, of course, you do. That was uncharitable. Forgive me. I am not myself.” She darted another sidelong look at him then stared down at her hands clasped in her silken lap. “I blame it on the-the—weather.”

  The Duke stared at her long and hard, and then he did something most uncharacteristic when in her presence. He burst into uncontrollable laughter. At first Antonia was affronted, but then she began to giggle. Mother and son laughed until their eyes watered.

  “Oh, Maman! Do not ever change!” Roxton declared when he could finally speak, wiping dry his eyes. “I do love you so very much.”

  Antonia took a few staggered breaths and then burst into real tears, overcome by his heartfelt declaration. When she had mastery of herself, she patted the space next to her on the chaise longue and the Duke willingly sat beside her. She then rang her little handbell for Michelle, who was sitting just inside the next room at her embroidery, and had her fetch the smaller of two tortoise shell jewelry cases that always traveled with her.

  Antonia unlocked the case with the little silver key hooked on her gold and enamel chatelaine, and took from it a small carved ivory box. This she placed in the palm of her son’s hand and told him to open it. One look at the contents and he glanced up at her with a frown of enquiry.

  “I have been meaning to give you this, but when the time it was right,” she explained with a gentle smile. “The ducal emerald it should have been yours a long time ago. Always it has been passed from one Duke to the next. That is the proper order of things. Your father he would want you to wear it. I know now why Monseigneur he did not give it to you but into my safekeeping. He possibly told you so himself…” When Roxton nodded but was too overcome to speak, she was not surprised. Of course Monseigneur would have confided his intentions in his son. Still, she said it out loud. “He worried, did he not, lest I was not strong enough to carry on without him. He made me promise to giv
e the ring to Frederick on his twenty-first birthday. In that way, he knew he had prevented me from doing something—idiotic. Your father he—he was thinking of me—right to his—right to his—last breath.”

  “Yes, Maman.”

  The Duke slipped the ring on a finger of his right hand and marveled at how well it looked. He knew it well, remembered his father was never without it. The square-cut emerald on the slim gold band was large and the same color as his mother’s beautiful eyes, the same color as his own.

  “You have your father’s long elegant fingers, mon chou,” Antonia said, as if reading his mind. “It looks well on you I think.” She gave a little sigh of happiness. “May Frederick be old and gray before it is his turn to wear it, yes?”

  The Duke embraced her then kissed her hand.

  “Thank you, dearest Maman. I will never take it off…” He kept hold of her hand and said with a crooked smile, “Is there something in particular you would like to confide in me?”

  Antonia put a hand to her cheek. She was suddenly forlorn.

  “I do not know if me I have come to terms with the matter to confide it in anyone. I have not said it out loud, as if saying it will somehow make it more real than it already is. My women know, of course they must, and sometimes I catch them looking at me as if I am witless. But me I want to ignore it because it is quite shocking for a woman of my age. I am nine-and-forty this autumn. I can hardly believe it myself. It is incroyable, yes?”

  “I grant it is not usual, but it is not unheard of for a female to bear a child at such a great age.”

  Antonia sat up tall, eyes wide with affront.

  “Great age? Do I look in my dotage, Julian?”

  “Far from it.” The Duke smiled. “Then again, you have always been unique in every way, Maman. So, tell me: When will you inform the weather of your wonderful news? Kinross will be over the moon with joy.”

  Antonia could not help dimpling.

  “Jonathon he was adamant we would have a child, and me, I thought him mad. Now, it seems the wretched man he is right. And where is he when I have such momentous news to tell him? Hundreds of miles away! He should be here, with me, to see what I am going through to give him an heir. No! That, too, is uncharitable. I know it. But what I do not understand is that one minute I am happy that we are to have a child. The next, I am miserable, because Monseigneur he is not here to share in my happiness. But how could that be? Is that not a ridiculous notion?”

  The Duke shook his head, eyes on the large ducal emerald ring he now wore.

  “No. Not at all,” he said softly. “Father would be pleased for you—for both of you. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy—again.”

  Antonia took a deep breath and heaved a great sigh. Then she rallied and said with a little laugh,

  “I must visit and tell him my news, and you know what he will say? That me I am a wicked woman and that is what comes from marrying a much younger man.” She shrugged a shoulder. “It is so strange being enceinte again. But my bébés they came fifteen years apart, and so, too, now this one on the way… Please, Julian, you are not to say a word, to anyone, until I am certain the event it is to occur. A fortnight and then the danger it will be over, and the baby it will be here to stay. Then I will write and tell Jonathon he is to be a Papa.”

  “Not a word. But I will share your news with Deborah.”

  Antonia covered her son’s hand and looked up into his eyes.

  “I am sorry to be a burden to you both. Now you have two pregnant women to worry about, mon cher.”

  The Duke kissed her hand again and smiled into her eyes.

  “The best kind of worry to have, Maman. What of Henri-Antoine? Shall you tell him? He and Jack are on their way here. I have had their old apartments made up, but if you would prefer they stay with you—”

  “Julian, mon cher, you must do as you see fit. Do not second-guess what I want or think. It is most appropriate the boys they stay in the big house with you and Deborah. What would they do here with me, particularly while I am suffering this wretched morning sickness? The big house has always been their home and you are their guardian. And if you want the truth of it,” she added with a sad smile, “since Monseigneur’s final illness, you have been Henri-Antoine’s papa—”

  “Maman, please, I—”

  “It is the truth, I tell you! And your father, he would agree with me. And I am certain Henri he believes it too. So no more consulting me, unless of course when it is time for him to marry, and then, me I will want to know all about the girl well ahead of the engagement!”

  “Very well, Maman. Now you will excuse me. I have a desk covered in correspondence. And that reminds me. The crates arrived from Paris yesterday; the crates with your personal effects from the Hôtel. I will store them until you come across and go through them and decide which are to be brought here, and what objects and books are to go up to London and on to Leven Castle.”

  When his mother merely nodded, otherwise preoccupied—he had expected her to clap her hands with joy to finally be reunited with her personal effects from the Roxton Hôtel—he went to take his leave of her, standing and kissing her forehead. But it was then that she caught at his hand and said, as if he had not spoken about the crates at all,

  “Julian, you are to write to Frederick Cornwallis tonight requesting a special marriage license, and tell him you need it at once; within the sennight. Send a courier to fetch it if need be.”

  The Duke flicked out the skirts of his brown velvet riding frock and patiently resumed his seat on the chaise longue. He tried to sound offhand.

  “Another Special License? His Grace the Archbishop will begin to wonder if I am on-selling these licenses. This will be the second in two months. But I doubt Cornwallis could be more surprised than when he signed over a license to marry you to—”

  “This is no time for levity, Julian. It is my cousin Alisdair who is to marry my goddaughter Aurora, and as soon as possible.”

  “Dair and-and Miss Talbot?”

  “Yes. That is what I said. And I tell you in the strictest confidence, and no other, not even Deborah, that after having dinner with Alisdair, and knowing they spent the afternoon on Swan Island—”

  “Swan Island?”

  “Yes, Swan Island. He rowed her over there.”

  “To Swan Island? But it’s strictly off-limits.”

  “Nevertheless, that is where they went.”

  The Duke set his jaw. “He must know he does not have permission to go there, and still he went!”

  Antonia counted to five then said patiently, “Julian, did you not as a boy, perhaps with Evelyn, sneak over to Swan Island and take a peek, to satisfy your curiosity, or in Evelyn’s case, just to be naughty?”

  Roxton was offended. “While Papa was alive? Of course not! I gave him my word never to trespass on the island. I do not break my word.”

  “You have always been a good boy,” Antonia said with a laugh and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for keeping your promise. Your papa he would be proud of you; he always was.” She tried to sound light-hearted. “You have been to the island since-since Monseigneur he left us, yes?”

  The Duke was made momentarily uncomfortable, and when he could not meet his mother’s gaze, Antonia realized he had not only been to the island but into the little temple and seen the tapestries. She knew he was aware she and his father spent two nights of every year in celebration of their marriage on the island, and was certain the bacchanalian setting of temple, bathing pool and tapestries would be a sore trial on her son’s prudish temperament. Yet, she made him even more uncomfortable by waiting for him to answer her question.

  “Yes. Yes, I have. I went with the surveyors,” he said, returning the conversation to less intimate matters. “It seems—and I was going to discuss this with you and Kinross upon his return—that before the surrounding lands were flooded by the fourth Duke to make way for the lake, the boundary separating the Strang-Leven lands and the ducal seat of Treat cut
through the high ground that became Swan Island. Thus half the island is part of the Treat estate, the other part of the Strang-Leven land attached to this house, which is now part of the Kinross ducal inheritance.”

  Antonia dimpled and said mischievously, “I do hope the temples are on my side of the boundary…?”

  The Duke failed to hear the playful note in his mother’s voice, such was his discomfort discussing the island at all, that he flung up a hand and said bluntly, “As far as I’m concerned you and Kinross are welcome to it all! And so I told the surveyors, when drawing up the new boundary. So it will be up to you and Kinross to decide if the island is to remain off-limits to the likes of Fitzstuart and Miss Talbot, not I.”

  “Thank you. That island, it means a great deal to me…”

  Roxton nodded and smiled. “Yes, Maman. I know. I am happy for you to have it.”

  Antonia gave a little sigh.

  “But I do not think even if I were to retain Monseigneur’s edict and keep the island off-limits that Alisdair he would heed the warning. Some people—no, that is not so—most people are not like you, mon chou. They see warnings and edicts as guidelines not absolutes. And our cousin Alisdair, he is of the temperament that would see such an edict as a challenge rather than a barrier.”

  “Reason why he gets himself into all sorts of scrapes!” Roxton replied with irritation. “If he’s not breaking into the studios of a respected painter, he’s breaking the nose of Lord Shrewsbury’s secretary! And now I hear he has the impudence to row Miss Talbot over to an island that is forbidden to all but the Duke, and that’s me!”

  “Of course it is you, Julian. And yes, he rowed her to the island,” Antonia repeated, hoping he would soon realize the significance of their cousin taking to open water in a row boat. She smiled when the Duke looked at her askance.

  “He rowed her over there?”

  “That is what I said. He rowed her over there. So you see how serious it is for them.”

  “He rowed her? He went out into open water with no other incentive than to row Miss Talbot over to the island?”