by Mary Balogh
The duchess set down the letter and turned to look Fleur slowly up and down. “Slut!” she said sweetly.
Fleur looked at her calmly.
“By whose authority were you in the gallery?” her grace asked.
“By his grace’s,” Fleur said.
“I beg your pardon?” The voice was soft, the face delicate and surprised.
“By his grace’s, your grace.”
“And by whose authority was my daughter playing with the toys there?”
“By mine, your grace,” Fleur said.
“I see.” The duchess picked up a book from a stool and seated herself gracefully on the daybed.
Fleur stood quietly for several more minutes while her grace turned pages.
“Is it your habit,” the duchess said, looking up at last, her voice expressing pleasant curiosity, “to allow every man you meet to fondle you?”
“No, your grace.”
“Are you not satisfied with the salary you are paid?”
“Yes, thank you, your grace,” Fleur said. “I am very satisfied.”
“I thought perhaps it was the money,” the duchess said. “I can understand that for some servants it must be tempting to augment wages in such a manner. In your case it seems to be merely that you are a slut.”
Fleur said nothing.
“I wish you no ill,” her grace said. “You are what you are, Miss Hamilton. Perhaps you are unfortunate to have a mistress who has such tender sensibilities. But it distresses me beyond bearing to think of your being close to my daughter and influencing her. I will expect Mr. Houghton to inform me early tomorrow morning that he has been handed your resignation. I regret having to make such a request. You may go.”
“Sir Philip Shaw’s attentions were unasked-for and unwanted,” Fleur said. “I do not believe you have cause to suspect me with anyone else.”
The duchess laid aside her book carefully and looked slowly about the room, her eyebrows raised. “I do beg your pardon,” she said with a light laugh, “but is there anyone else in this room?”
“I spoke to you, your grace,” Fleur said.
“To me?” The duchess looked at her and smiled. “You have an unfortunate habit of not identifying the person to whom you speak, Miss Hamilton. I did inform you that you are dismissed, did I not?”
But the door from the dressing room opened before Fleur could turn, and Lord Thomas Kent stepped inside.
“Still here, Miss Hamilton?” he said. “You must be fit to drop. Have you not offered her a seat, Sybil? How uncivil of you.” His eyes were laughing.
“You are dismissed, Miss Hamilton,” her grace said.
“From the room?” Lord Thomas said. “By all means. But not from the house, I hope. My sister-in-law has the most volatile of tempers, Miss Hamilton. But she is not vindictive once she has calmed down. I believe you will still find yourself with employment by the end of the day. You had better move now before you fall down. I believe you must have been standing on that same spot for the better part of an hour.”
He smiled at her as she turned and made her way from the room.
Perhaps she should resign, she thought, assuming that she would have any choice in the matter anyway. Perhaps she should leave even before morning. Even before dinner.
But if she left, Matthew would think she was running from him. And he would come after her and fetter her and take her off to prison this time. Her temporary reprieve would prove to be very temporary indeed.
Besides, even if she did get away without being caught, what would she do? She had no money and no references. Her situation would be appallingly familiar, except that this time she would know how it must end.
She shut the door of her room behind her and locked it. And she threw herself facedown across the bed.
She had been so filled with elation just a few hours before. There had been the fresh air and the outdoors and the blessed, blessed freedom. And there had been that ride and her absurd happiness over the mad and dangerous race. Despite the fact that he had been her companion, she had been happier than she could remember being for years. Even happier than she had been at the ball. Her happiness with Daniel had been a quieter, less vibrant thing.
Daniel! She must not think of him. The pain of dull hopelessness would be too hard to bear if she allowed herself to think of him.
“THOMAS,” THE DUCHESS OF RIDGEWAY said indignantly, “that was intolerable. You quite undermined my authority, and people tend not to take me seriously anyway because I am so small and mild of manner.”
“Are you angry with me?” He leaned down and kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth and bearing her back and sideways until she was lying along the daybed. “Do you want to fight me? Kick me? Come on, then.” He laughed down at her.
“I am serious,” she said, lifting a hand to trace the line of his jaw. “I had quite steeled myself to be strict, and you completely spoiled the effect.”
“What has the poor girl done?” he asked. “Allowed a bored guest to taste her lips? I gather Shaw is a lusty enough character, Sybil. Doubtless he was the seducer and she the seducee, even if she was enjoying what she was getting. And one can hardly fault his taste. She is a pretty girl.” He laughed at the look in her eyes. “Or would be to a man who is not besotted with you, of course.”
“Are you?” she asked, twining an arm about his neck.
“Besotted with you?” he said, the laughter dying from his eyes. “You know there has never been anyone but you, Sybil, and never could be.” He kissed her long and deeply.
“She is a woman of loose morals,” she said. “She really must go. I was shaking with the distress of having to dismiss her, but I did what I knew to be right.”
“She is Adam’s, you said?” Lord Thomas smiled at her as he eased her dress off one shoulder. “Let him amuse himself with her, Sybil. I can be persuaded to comfort you. Or are you jealous?”
“Of Adam?” she said, wide-eyed. “And a governess? I hope I think better of myself than to feel jealousy, Thomas. But I do not think it kind of him to conduct his debaucheries here.”
“Leave them alone,” he said. “And let Shaw have her too if he wants. And Brocklehurst. The two of them were strolling out on the back lawn and looked to be deep in conversation early this morning. Their tête-à-tête was interrupted by Adam.” He laughed. “Let Adam be preoccupied with guarding his hot little property. And I will be preoccupied with guarding you.”
“Oh, Thomas,” she said, throwing both arms about his neck and drawing his head down onto her shoulder, “it is not funny. There is no humor in this at all. What are we going to do?”
“Patience,” he said soothingly. “Something will turn up.”
“But what?” she said. “I am married to him. That can never change. Oh, why did you not take me with you when you left? I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you. You should have known that. I would not have cared.”
“I could not,” he said gently. “I could not have taken you out into the uncertainty of my future, Sybil, especially in your delicate condition. I could not do that to you. It would have been too cruel.”
“And it was not cruel to leave me as I was?” she asked.
“Hush,” he said. “All will work out, you will see. Does anyone ever walk through either of these unlocked doors unbidden?”
“No,” she said. “But don’t, Thomas. I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be,” he said, getting to his feet and gazing down at her. “We belong together, Sybil, and you know it. I shall lock the doors and then you may feel quite secure.”
He lay down beside her on the narrow daybed when his task was accomplished, and kissed her, drawing up the muslin skirt of her dress with one hand as he did so.
“Thomas,” she moaned, her fingers twining in his hair. “Oh, Thomas, it has been so long. I love you so.”
He kissed her again without replying.
HIS WIFE WAS BRIGHT-EYED AND APPEARED FEVERISH, the Duke of Ridgeway s
aw later that evening, although she was playing the game of charades with all their guests with a great deal of laughter and enthusiasm. The game had become decidedly bawdy as time went on.
The outing to Wollaston and the constant activity of the last several days, including the ball and the excitement over his brother’s return, were proving too much for her, though she was not admitting it, perhaps even to herself. But he knew her well enough to know that her fragile health could not take such a hectic pace of living for much longer without breaking down.
He wondered if it was obvious to all their guests that Sybil and Thomas were fonder of each other than one might expect of a sister- and brother-in-law. He supposed that it must be. Certainly Shaw had ceased his marked attentions to her and was directing his gallantries toward Victoria Underwood that evening.
The duke supposed that no one would be particularly scandalized even if they had noticed. As he had suspected before he came home from London, his wife’s guests were not a group renowned for propriety and restraint. Sidney had informed him earlier that a poor chambermaid had been bewildered to find Lady Mayberry in Grantsham’s bed that morning and Mrs. Grantsham in Mayberry’s.
He watched the scene about him rather grimly. Good breeding dictated that he continue to act the courteous and amiable host despite all. He could not possibly do what he dearly wished to do and get to his feet to make the public announcement that the gathering would be at an end the next morning.
The thought afforded him the only glimmering of amusement he had felt all evening.
Sometimes—just sometimes—he wished that he had not been born to a privileged and decadent class. But he wondered if any class was totally different if one just knew the truth. Perhaps people were people wherever one looked.
The duchess, flushed and laughing, sat down on a love seat.
“You always were wonderfully clever at charades, Thomas,” she said, smiling up at him until he seated himself beside her. “I am very glad I was of your team. Now we need something quiet and soothing to calm us down.”
“I could think of something without even trying,” Sir Hector Chesterton said.
Her grace reached out to tap him sharply on the arm with her fan. “I said quiet and soothing, you naughty man,” she said. “Who can sing? Walter?”
“No breath, I do assure you, Sybil,” that gentleman said. “Let one of the ladies play us a sonata.”
“Not I,” Mrs. Runstable said. “I am quite hagged.”
“I make it a practice,” Lady Mayberry said, “to be out of practice whenever I am from home.”
Laughter greeted her words.
“It seems that my suggestion was not such a foolish one after all,” Sir Hector said, seating himself on the arm of the chair occupied by Mrs. Runstable.
“Music is the soul of love,” the duchess said, smiling and wafting one delicate arm in the air. “Give me music, do.”
“How I wish I could sing,” Lord Thomas said, taking her hand and carrying it to his lips.
“I know of someone who can play like an angel,” Lord Brocklehurst said, “and who is not at all hagged from playing charades all night.”
His grace felt an uncomfortable premonition and shifted in his chair as Sir Philip Shaw yawned delicately behind a hand.
“And who is this paragon of endless energy?” he asked.
“Miss Hamilton, the governess,” Lord Brocklehurst said.
“Ah.” Sir Philip fixed him with a languid gaze. “So you have a prior acquaintance with the damsel, do you, Brocklehurst, you lucky devil? And even succeeded in discovering that she plays like an angel? Ah, the pianoforte, I assume you mean? Let us have her down by all means, Sybil.”
“It is late,” the duke said. “Miss Hamilton is quite possibly in bed.”
“Is she, by Jove?” Sir Philip said. “Your suggestion begins to sound more attractive by the minute, Chesterton.”
“We do not like to keep our servants busy beyond their working hours,” the duchess said.
“But, Sybil, Sybil.” Lord Thomas reached for her hand again. “If Miss Hamilton plays like an angel and if it will give Bradshaw pleasure to hear her play, then you really should humor your guest. And if she is in bed, Adam, then you must cancel morning lessons for Pamela and allow her governess to catch up on her sleep. Nothing could be simpler. Bradshaw, pull the bell rope beside you, my dear chap. We will have the governess sent for.”
It must be close to midnight, the duke thought as restrained applause greeted his brother’s suggestion. Perhaps he should have spoken his protest more firmly. But it was too late. Thomas was giving instructions to Jarvis.
Fifteen minutes passed before the doors opened again to admit Fleur. Such a length of time suggested that she had indeed been in bed.
His grace jumped to his feet even as his brother got to his, and crossed the room to her.
“Miss Hamilton,” he said, “my guests have requested that you play the pianoforte for us for perhaps half an hour.”
Her face was shuttered, her eyes calm. She looked very much as she had looked in that bedchamber at the Bull and Horn, except that now she was healthy and beautiful. He had not realized then, as he realized now, that she often wore a mask to hide the real and vivid Fleur Hamilton.
And it struck him suddenly that she must think that he had betrayed her, that he had given her access to the instrument in the music room and listened to her each morning just so that he might use her talents for such an occasion as this.
“Will you, please?” he asked her.
“We have been told that you play like an angel,” Sir Philip Shaw said.
But they were not my words, his grace told her with eyes that hardened against the cool expression in hers. It was just such an expression that had angered him on that first occasion and had changed the course of his encounter with her.
“She is shy,” Lord Thomas said, bowing to her. “Miss Hamilton, would you please do us the honor?”
His grace held out a hand for hers, but her eyes had shifted to his brother, and she stepped past him and across the room to the pianoforte without looking back to him.
She seated herself on the stool, very straight-backed, and looked coolly at Lord Thomas.
“Is there any music in particular that you wish for, my lord?” she asked.
He continued to smile at her. “Something quiet and soothing, Miss Hamilton, if you please,” he said.
“A lullaby, no less,” Sir Philip said. “Something that will put us in the mood for, ah, sleep, Miss Hamilton.”
The duke stood where he was, just inside the doorway, and watched her. She sat looking down at her hands clasped in her lap for a few moments, perfectly calm, perfectly self-possessed. And then she began to play Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. She had no music.
She played faultlessly, very well even. If something of the magic of her morning performances was missing, probably only he would know it.
And if he continued to stand where he was, he thought as a buzz of quiet conversation spread around him again, then he was going to draw attention to himself. He moved to sit beside one of the ladies who was listening to the music and watched Brocklehurst move around to stand behind the music stool.
Did she play like an angel? If she did not, she certainly looked like one. The unadorned simplicity of her pale blue dress, the same one she had worn to the ball, the plain smoothness of her red-gold hair, the calm beauty of her face—all set her apart from any of the other ladies present. Yes, she looked like an angel.
Who was she? Isabella? Last name unknown? “Her—,” she had begun to call her former home. Brocklehurst lived at Heron House in Wiltshire.
He would get to his feet when the music had ended and escort her to the door. She could return to her bed and to sleep.
But his brother spoke before he could do so.
“Bravo, Miss Hamilton,” he said. “You have a superior touch, indeed. You have some acquaintance with Lord Brocklehurst? I am sure I speak fo
r the whole gathering when I say that you may be excused now with our thanks. Indeed, both of you are excused. Bradshaw?”
Lord Brocklehurst bowed as she half-turned on the stool.
“I had hoped that I might take a stroll with Miss Hamilton in the long gallery,” he said. “With your permission, your grace?” He turned his bow on the duchess.
“You have my permission, Miss Hamilton,” her grace said with a smile, “and you may for the present forget about the task I set you for tomorrow morning.”
His grace resumed his seat and watched her leave as calmly as she had entered, Lord Brocklehurst a few paces behind her. She afforded him only a brief expressionless glance as she passed him.
“Well, I am for bed,” Sir Philip said with a yawn. “May I escort you to your door, Victoria?”
“I think everyone is ready for bed,” the duchess said. “I never felt more tired in my life.”
The duke rose to offer her his arm. And he wondered if it had been a trick as deliberate on her part as on his brother’s, to bring Fleur to the drawing room at a shamefully late hour and then to snare her into a tête-à-tête meeting with Brocklehurst.
“You are feverish again,” he said to his wife, a hand over one of hers when they paused a few minutes later outside her dressing room. “You need rest, Sybil. Why don’t you stay in bed until noon tomorrow? I will see to the entertainment of our guests.”
“I will be better by morning,” she said. “I am just tired. And how can I miss a single hour with my guests? Life is so dull when they are not here. You are either away altogether or about your own business somewhere all day.”
“It need not have been that way,” he said. “We might have made a marriage of it, Sybil. We might at least have shown each other some kindness.”
“No, it need not have been this way,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes bright and feverish. “I might have been happy. He would not have neglected me, Adam. He would not have left me for months at a time and then resented my inviting guests here to relieve my boredom and loneliness. But then, I would not have needed guests with him. I would have been neither bored nor lonely.” The color was high in her cheeks.
