Taming the Wild Captain

by Gemma Blackwood

  "Hmph!" The Dowager Duchess sniffed. "In my day, people had the patience to wait until they were of age to marry, if it didn't suit the parents."

  "But the lady in this case risks her inheritance, Aunt, and it would be a shame to lose everything for love."

  "I cannot sympathise with such recklessness. Though I should very much like to hear all the details when you return."

  "And you shall have them – and more. I'm sure James will be happy to oblige you with the full story. By all accounts it will satisfy even the most insatiable taste for gossip." Catherine rose, looking more like a Queen than a Duchess in her elegant green silk gown, with diamonds in her hair. "There – do I look the part?"

  "You look wonderful," sighed Alice.

  "Very nice," said the Dowager Duchess. "Are you wearing rouge? You do not look as pale as usual."

  "Thank you, Aunt," said Catherine, choosing to take it as a compliment.

  As they followed Catherine out of the dressing room, the Dowager Duchess seized Alice's arm. "We shall have to keep ourselves busy while the others go off to play Duke and Duchess, Miss Sharp. What do you say to a little outing? If His Grace can spare a carriage."

  "My Grace certainly can," answered Harry cheerily. He was waiting in the hallway, his brother James at his side. "Take the landau."

  The two brothers made a handsome pair, although they were not particularly alike. Harry, taking after his father, had an unruly head of dark hair and a mischievous curl to his lips. There was a sense of power about his tall, muscular frame. It was easy to see how he had swept Catherine away.

  James, on the other hand, favoured their mother. He had short blonde hair, a close-cropped beard, and features so angelic that they had lured many a lady to her doom. His eyes were piercingly blue, as deep in colour as the ocean, and radiated innocence.

  Innocence, sadly, was not what he was noted for among the lords and ladies of the ton. Appearances in his case were extremely misleading. James was renowned as a reckless driver who overturned curricles as often as other men changed their shirts, who flirted with every lady high or lowborn that he could get his hands on, and who in general lived a blissfully dissolute existence at his brother's expense. The sum of the most recent debts Harry had been forced to clear on his behalf was so great it was spoken of only in whispers.

  Alice liked James a great deal. She knew it bothered Catherine to see her flirting with him, and so she greeted him with a coquettish smile.

  "My, James, I've never seen you look more handsome."

  "Alice!" gasped Catherine.

  It was true. James was wearing a fine suit with a gorgeous red cravat, and was dressed formally, in breeches and hessians. Only his customary smirk would have completed the ensemble, but he was deadly serious.

  James bowed deeply and pressed her hand to his lips. "Alas, Miss Sharp, our would-be amour must come to an end. My heart is no longer my own to give. It belongs to another."

  "Stop it, the pair of you," said Catherine. Alice laughed.

  "I wish you all the luck in the world, James. Don't be cross, Cathy. He is, after all, practically my brother!"

  "You will love your new sister-in-law," he promised. "As soon as I've made her mine."

  "On that note," interjected Harry, "we had better not keep the Duke of Rawly waiting. Let's be on our way. Aunt, the landau is yours."

  The moment they were gone, Alice and the Dowager Duchess clasped each other's hands in delight and apprehension.

  "Do you really mean to do it?" asked Alice. "You mean to do it today?"

  "If you will come with me," said the Duchess. "You are not afraid of Mr Mallory?"

  "I am not afraid of anyone. In fact, I have been thinking about what our course of action should be. If we ask the footman to cover up the Westbourne crest on the carriage, we may go about incognito. We will stop at the club and send out a servant to ask for Mallory's home address. If we can catch him at home, he will be off his guard. Then we can confront him about his crime."

  "My clever little Miss Sharp!" smiled the Duchess. "I would be terribly nervous if it were not for your spirit. Go and fetch your bonnet. We will depart at once!"

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The famous bay window at White's was occupied by more senior members of the gentlemen's club, so Kirby took up position in a high-backed armchair with a bottle of whisky on the small table at his side. It suited him to be closeted off in this way. His mood was foul.

  His thoughts, as they had been for some days now, were full of Alice. He had deliberately missed her that morning and now regretted it. Kirby poured himself his first, long glass of whisky. He wished he understood what had happened to him. The strange magic which had placed that beautiful, innocent girl so much further above all others in his heart.

  The thought of her face was almost enough to drown out the whispers from the past which made certain that he would never call a woman like her his own.

  "Ah, Kirby. What a – a – a strange coincidence."

  Kirby glowered up at the source of the unsteady voice. Young Grantham was standing, or rather swaying, beside his chair.

  "I'm afraid it has all come to nothing, old man." The stale fumes on Grantham's breath were enough to put Kirby off his plan of drinking the morning away. He pushed his own glass aside and watched in distaste as Grantham took his silence for an invitation and pulled up a chair. "All my plans," the young man continued. "Nothing! And it's a terrible disgrace...terrible...told everyone I'd have her. Now what? Tell them I –" He stopped, belched, brought his hand up too late to his mouth, and continued. "Tell them I failed?"

  Kirby turned his head away. Whatever misfortune had struck Grantham, he had no wish to be dragged into it. He suspected he was about to be tapped for money to pay off some heavy debts.

  "No reflection on you, of course," Grantham slurred. "No, no... followed your advice to the letter... Solid advice, very good, very good."

  The back of Kirby's neck prickled. "My advice?"

  "Sent her flowers. Asked her to play piano. Did me no good at all. Not that I blame you, no, no, not a bit of it. Dratted girl's a hopeless case. Wretched little fool. What's she playing at? Doesn't – doesn't want to be Viscountess. What kind of woman –?"

  "I will kindly ask you not to speak of Miss Sharp in that manner," said Kirby. The force of his words cut through Grantham's haze, and the younger man blinked.

  Kirby realised with a jolt how much time had passed since he gave Grantham false information to push him away from Alice. It had seemed nothing more than a joke at the time.

  How many days had he spent in love with her without being man enough to admit it to himself?

  "I'll speak of her however I want," said Grantham. "Insulted me. She's insulted me."

  "In what way has Miss Sharp insulted you?" Kirby's voice was a dangerous growl. Grantham picked up the whisky bottle and took a swig. Kirby let him.

  "Turned me down. Imagine! Me! Rejected by some – some nobody! She should've been honoured. Blessed. Was it too much –" Grantham waved the bottle in the air, forcing Kirby to duck aside. "– to expect some gratitude?"

  "You proposed to her?"

  "Exactly. And what did she say? The nerve of it! After I'd told all my friends I had it in the bag. The blasted nerve of it!"

  An icy sensation washed over Kirby, as though someone had thrown a bucket of freezing water over his head. He gripped Grantham by the shoulders, ignoring the belch of surprise.

  "Why did she reject you?" Kirby demanded. "What reason did she give?"

  "Reason? Reason had nothing to do with it." Grantham tried to take another drink, found Kirby's vicelike grip made it impossible to lift his arm, and let the bottle clunk against his leg. "I don't want just any husband, I want a husband I love. Love!" He mocked the word with a sing-song voice flecked with spittle. "Girl must be mad."

  "But you – you would have made her a Viscountess!"

  "Exactly!" Grantham nodded unsteadily. "Exactly!"

 
Kirby let him go. His head was spinning in a way that had nothing to do with drink. He glanced at the whisky bottle and was consumed with disgust for the way he had been planning to behave.

  Was that any way to win a lady's heart?

  Assuming she did not regret her choice over Grantham. Assuming there was still time.

  "Look at you," he sighed, watching Grantham slouch back into his chair. "This woman has made you into a drunken mess."

  And what has she made of me? he wondered. Grantham hardly noticed him as he stood up, leaving all thoughts of drunken dissolution behind, and went to get his coat.

  White's had lost all its appeal for him.

  There was only space for Alice in his mind. Alice, Alice, Alice – why had she rejected Grantham? He offered her everything a girl ought to want. Title, money, property, reputation.

  Could it possibly be true that Alice did not want those things? If so, what did she want? She spoke of love – but had she found it?

  Kirby would be consumed by speculation until he discovered where her heart lay.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The address they had been given was a tiny terraced house in the miserable heart of Seven Dials – not a part of town that either Alice or the Duchess had ever visited before.

  The streets were littered with rubbish and unswept leaves. There was a tavern at the end of the road from which unruly laughter spilled, though the day was still young.

  Alice stepped out of the carriage first, ignoring the warning look from the footman.

  "I thought Mr Mallory's business had brought him wealth?" she said, looking about uncertainly. The Duchess joined her and surveyed the area with a calculating expression.

  "There is a certain type of man who does not waste money on frivolous, material things, my dear. The type who wishes to remind himself at all times where he has come from – to the extent that he cannot enjoy the fruits of his success. Either we have been misled as to Mr Mallory's success, or he is that type of man."

  "I suppose some might call that admirable."

  "We are talking of a thief, Miss Sharp. I suspect Mr Mallory chooses to live in these conditions because he has no desire to better himself." The Duchess stepped in front of Alice and rapped smartly on the door. "Open up!"

  "Is that wise?" asked Alice, who was beginning to have misgivings about their adventure.

  "How else are we to gain entry?"

  To Alice's surprise, the door was opened by a smartly-uniformed footman, who bowed formally.

  "We have come to pay a call on Mr Mallory," said the Duchess imperiously. "Here is my card. We are of a mind to wait until he can receive us."

  The young man stared at the gilt-edged card in his hands. He began to shake.

  "I – I'm sorry, Ma'am – I mean, Your Grace –" His cheeks turned bright red. It was painfully obvious that he never imagined he would speak to a Duchess in his life.

  Alice moved in front of the Duchess. "Don't be alarmed," she said softly. "Just go and convey the message to Mr Mallory. We'll wait in the hall."

  "But I'm afraid Mr Mallory is not at home!" said the footman.

  "Not at home to company, or not in the building?" asked the Duchess.

  "He is not here at all, Your Grace. He is attending to a business matter in Cheapside."

  "Then we will await his return."

  The footman looked down at the card between his shaking fingers. "Perhaps...perhaps I can see if Miss Mallory is receiving?"

  The Duchess raised an eyebrow at Alice. "Thank you. That would be ideal."

  "A sister, do you think, or a daughter?" Alice whispered, as they waited inside the cramped hall. The carpet was surprisingly thick, and, though the building was small, it was in a good state of repair.

  "Either way, we will soon see how she reacts when she hears of her relative's crimes." The Duchess ran a finger along the top of a chair and brought up a clean white-gloved finger. "A well-kept house is a sign of a law-abiding woman, I have no doubt."

  The footman returned in due course. "Miss Mallory is in the drawing room. Please, follow me." He bobbed his head nervously and led them down the narrow corridor and into a room at the back of the house.

  As was customary, Alice allowed the Duchess precedence as they entered the room. This meant that the old woman's voluminous body concealed Alice's view of what lay within, so the cause of the scream which emerged from the Duchess's mouth was completely hidden.

  The Duchess staggered backwards and fell into Alice's hastily outstretched arms. Alice stumbled under the sudden weight, but did not fall.

  "Your Grace! Your Grace, are you well? What has happened?"

  The Duchess clutched at Alice and whimpered pitifully. Alice gently lowered them both to the floor, so that she was kneeling with the Duchess in her arms.

  "A ghost," murmured the Duchess, pointing into the drawing room. "Heaven help me, I have seen a ghost!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "I am terribly sorry to have caused such distress," said Miss Mallory, as Alice sipped tea from surprisingly fine china. Alice kept a close eye on the Duchess, who had been conveyed to a comfortable sofa and amply supplied with smelling salts. "I do not suffer from fits of nerves myself, but I have great sympathy for those who do." She was a rather pretty woman about ten years above Alice's age, with a warmth of manner which had Alice instantly at her ease.

  "And you say you have never met my friend before?" asked Alice.

  "Never in my life. Though you are both most welcome to stay until she is fully recovered."

  Alice set down her tea cup and patted the Duchess's hand. "See, my dear friend, there is no need to rush."

  "Please excuse me," said Miss Mallory hesitantly, "but – your card –" She indicated the Duchess's calling card, which lay on a table covered in immaculate whitework embroidery. "We did not have the chance to make proper introductions. Are you the Duchess of Westbourne?"

  Alice contained a nervous laugh. "Me? Goodness, no!"

  "I am the Dowager Duchess of Westbourne," said the Duchess. Even in her weakness, she managed to sound imperious.

  A look of horror passed over Miss Mallory's face, but was swiftly hidden away.

  "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  "I wish I could say the same," said the Duchess. Alice jumped, astonished at her rudeness – particularly when Miss Mallory had only moments before assisted them so kindly when the Duchess had taken a fright. "I would very much like to know who you are."

  "My name is Julia Mallory."

  "Whose child are you? What is your family?"

  "Your Grace," Alice whispered, "I think you are not yet fully recovered. Remember that we are Miss Mallory's guests."

  Julia's eyes were fixed on the ground. "I am afraid I did not know my parents. My mother was Mrs Anna Mallory, of this very house, and she died when I was hardly more than a baby. The only parent – mother or father – that I have ever known is my brother, Mr Edmund Mallory."

  The Duchess eased herself upright and leaned towards the trembling Julia. "And your father?"

  Julia looked at her pleadingly. "Your Grace, I am afraid I am a natural daughter. An illegitimate child."

  Alice could not bear to see anyone in such distress over an accident of birth which they could not control. She took Julia's hand in her own. "There is no need to be ashamed. Your family history is a private matter." She emphasised the last two words for the Duchess's benefit.

  "I ask," said the Duchess, "because of the resemblance I saw in you the moment I stepped through that door. A strong and unmistakeable resemblance which almost caused me to faint. I assume you know that of which I speak?"

  Julia nodded, not daring to answer aloud.

  "You are the daughter of my own husband, the late Duke of Westbourne," said the Duchess. Julia lifted a hand to her mouth.

  "Please, Your Grace, I never intended any trouble for you or your family! I have kept my parentage secret all my life."

  "You would never have m
anaged it if you had lived in a more genteel area," said the Duchess. "You are the very image of my poor son." Alice was horrified to see the old woman's lip begin to tremble as she spoke. "My loving Charles – Miss Mallory, when I looked at you for the first time, I must confess that I thought – I thought –"

  "I am so sorry for your loss," said Julia. She rose from her seat and knelt beside the Duchess, wrapping her arms around her. It was a sweet, instinctive gesture which drew a flood of tears from both women.

  "You are a good soul," sighed the Duchess, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "I am so glad to find that you are a good soul! It was wrong of Westbourne to keep you hidden from me – wrong of him to leave you in such conditions! How you must have suffered!"

  "But I have not suffered," Julia assured her. "I have led the most comfortable life. I have the most loving brother you can imagine. Oh, I know his reputation is poor, but his heart is golden."

  "I have spent the past year with so few reminders of my husband and my son," said the Duchess, touching Julia's face. "Now, in you, it is as if I can see them all over again."

  "I am sorry to cause you pain."

  "Not a bit of it! I only regret not knowing you sooner. To think once again that a piece of my dear husband remains on the earth! It is sweet – sad but sweet."

  Alice passed the Duchess her own handkerchief, as the one currently in use was soaked through.

  The Duchess dabbed her eyes. "Only one matter remains, my dear Julia. The necklace. It was wrong of you, child. It caused me great pain to lose it."

  Julia's eyes widened. "The necklace?"

  "You should not have taken it," said the Duchess quietly, pressing her hand.

  Julia shook her head and backed away from the old lady. "I did not take anything. My brother Edmund gave it to me freely. He said it was my inheritance."

  "It was not his to give," said the Duchess. Julia looked at Alice helplessly.