by Wendy Vella
“Honor is the one thing my father has not taken from me.” He heard the pain behind his words. The anger and sense of betrayal still ran deep within him.
“I...I have known you such a short time, your Grace, yet I had believed that unlike the other men in my life you were a man of honor, a man who would not force a woman to do his bidding.”
Daniel listened as his wife spoke, her soft words tickling his skin and seeming to soothe the ache in his chest. Lifting a handful of her hair, he buried his face in the sweet-smelling curls. “I will never be like my father.”
“As I will never be like mine,” she vowed.
Her fingers were stroking his chest, the movements light as a child’s touch, but Daniel felt the sensation through his whole body. “I lived my life believing I knew the future I had mapped out for myself,” he said, “yet in the end, as he did in my youth, my father betrayed me.” Daniel felt the small puff of his wife’s breath on his skin as he finished speaking. “My words amuse you, Duchess?”
She lifted her head to look up at him but in the darkness, her expression eluded him. “At least you had the choice of how to live your life, your Grace. Traveling here with you is the first time I have left my father’s home.”
Slowly, Daniel trailed his fingers over her face, tracing the jut of one cheekbone, the rounded tip of her nose, then the full softness of her lower lip. Everything was different here in the darkness. Inside this room, they were two people who spoke only the truth. He could not do it, could not take her against her will knowing she had been mistreated her entire life.
“No one will hurt you again,” Daniel vowed, swinging her up into his arms.
“No!” She struggled as he carried her toward the bed.
“Ssssh,” Daniel whispered, lowering her onto the mattress. Pulling the covers back, he slid her inside. Bracing his hands on either side of her head, he looked down at her.
“You are right, Duchess. I have no right to take you with so much rage inside me. I apologize for causing you more pain when the reality is that you have had more than your share for one so young.” Lifting a handful of her hair, he smoothed it on the pillow. “I must leave here now before the anger that burns deep inside forces me to do something I would regret. I will return someday under different circumstances, and then we will consummate this marriage and you will have your child, but until then, know that here at Stratton you are your own mistress, safe from the hands of your father.”
She touched the side of his face briefly, her fingers soft as they ran down his cheek.
“Goodbye, Duchess.”
“Goodbye, Duke.”
Taking her fingers in his he gave them a final squeeze and then walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
CHAPTER THREE
“I have written to Reggie but have still received no reply, Betsy. I’m so worried for him.”
Eva raised her face to the sun as she handed Betsy Mulholland a sheet to hang on the line. The heat was soothing on her skin.
Betsy had arrived one week after her husband had left with an armed outrider and Eva knew the Duke had guessed correctly that her father would not give up the woman without a fight. However, of Reggie there had been no sign. Her father had refused to let him come and she knew this was because he had taken Eva’s place in the Winchcomb household.
“We will find a way to get him here, your Grace,” Betsy said, “and in the meantime he is used to your father’s ways.”
Yes, Eva had to believe that and if she could not find a solution soon, she would ask the duke for help again.
She had thought about him a lot since that morning two months ago when he had left Stratton for London. Eva had watched him walk to his carriage, his eagerness at leaving obvious in his long strides. She’d leant on the window ledge to get a final glimpse of him, and as if he sensed her presence, he had looked up and their eyes met briefly. She had raised a hand in farewell but he simply climbed inside and closed the door behind him.
“Your Grace!”
Eva watched Luton hurry toward her. Tomorrow, she decided, they would hire a young boy to serve as his helper. Surely it was not good for a man of his age to be running about collecting his mistress? And two new gardeners, she thought with a spurt of independence. Stratton deserved to be restored to its former glory and since her husband was not here, that task now fell to her.
“Your Grace, Miss Belmont and Mrs. Potter have called to see you.” Luton clutched his side as he drew in a deep breath.
“Oh dear.” Horrified, Eva looked down at her drab grey dress. “Who are they, Luton?”
“I believe Mrs. Potter is the reverend’s wife, your Grace, and Miss Belmont’s father owns property which borders Stratton”.
“Oh dear,” she said again, feeling her newfound confidence wane.
Eva patted and tucked and fiddled with her hair on the way back to the house, took out her handkerchief and scrubbed her face, then tried to brush the grass stains from her skirts.
“It is you who are the duchess, your Grace,” Luton said as they entered the house. “Therefore perhaps they are at this very minute doing the same to themselves.”
Eva’s hands stopped in mid-pat and she looked into his wise old eyes and smiled. “You, Luton, are a prince amongst men.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” Luton opened the parlor door for Eva to enter.
“I’m so pleased to meet you, your Grace.”
Eva watched the beautiful woman walk toward her. She had hazel eyes and an open face and strawberry blonde curls peeking out from beneath her bonnet.
“I am Miss Belmont, your nearest neighbor.”
“How do you do.” Eva sank into a curtsy.
“And this is Mrs. Potter. She is the wife of Reverend Potter from the local parish,” Miss Belmont added, squeezing Eva’s hand hard, thus drawing her eyes upwards. Miss Belmont then winked at her.
Puzzled by the young lady’s actions, Eva turned to face the other woman in the room. And I thought I had bad fashion sense, she thought, looking at Mrs. Potter.
The woman before her looked like a brightly colored Christmas parcel. She was as wide as she was tall, her body swathed in yards of bright red fabric that scooped low over her ample bosom and nipped in tight around her waist, which in turn was accentuated with a wide green sash. Then again, perhaps she resembled a gaily wrapped sausage, Eva thought, looking at the rolls of fat protruding over the sash. Even Mrs. Potter’s hair was curled in tight sausage ringlets that framed a round face punctuated by two small eyes of indeterminate color.
“Please allow me to welcome you to the village, your Grace. Reverend Potter urged me to call upon you now you have settled in and ask if you will be attending services this Sunday.” Mrs. Potter’s smile was hopeful.
“Uh, I…”
“We are delighted to at last have another duchess living here at Stratton, and hope that soon you will honor our small village with a visit.”
“O-of course,” Eva said, feeling guilty that she had not already done so. “Please tell Reverend Potter I will attend church this Sunday, and forgive me for not doing so sooner. I am afraid it has taken me some time to settle in.’
“Oh no, your Grace.” Mrs. Potter clasped her hands to her ample bosom. “Please do not apologize. We are aware of the pressures such a great lady must have upon her time and it will be such an honor to have you attend our service. I will have the Stratton pew cleaned in expectation.”
“Please do not go to any trouble on my behalf, Mrs. Potter,” Eva added. She had visions of the village all turning out to clean before she arrived and she did not warrant such attention.
“It will be our pleasure, your Grace.” Mrs. Potter sank into a curtsy so low Eva wondered if she would need help rising.
“Would you ladies care for tea?” Eva looked longingly at the door. She had no experience with social chitchat and the prospect of sitting in a room with them was making her feel uneasy. She envisaged long, awkward silences
.
“Tea would be delightful, would it not, Mrs. Potter?” Miss Belmont said, taking the lady’s arm and leading her to a chair.
“Oh, indeed it would, Miss Belmont. Tea with the Duchess.” Mrs. Potter patted her sausage curls. “The ladies of the village will be most envious.”
Eva did not say a great deal through the subsequent tea. She sat on the edge of her seat, very aware of her worn dress with its frayed hem, and listened to the other two ladies chat.
“I fear it is close to the reverend’s lunchtime,” Mrs. Potter said finally, struggling out of her chair, which took quite a bit of maneuvering, due to her bulk. “I like to be there when he takes his meals,” she added, sinking into another curtsy, and then she was gone.
Miss Belmont chuckled at the startled expression on Eva’s face as she looked at the closed door. “She is a kind-hearted lady who feels it’s her duty to poke her nose into everyone’s business. You are lucky she is in awe of you. The rest of us must suffer her moral sermons regularly.”
Eva returned her gaze to Miss Belmont. She looked so gracious in her lemon dress with satin trim. In fact, Miss Belmont appeared exactly as a duchess should and Eva felt a hot wave of shame at her own dowdy appearance. Catching sight of the worn toe of a slipper, she pushed her feet under the hem. What was she to say to this lady who had obviously been raised in society? Surely they had nothing in common.
“Do not feel guilty over not attending church, your Grace.” Miss Belmont patted Eva’s hand. “You needed time to settle into your new surroundings. Unfortunately, the villagers’ curiosity has reached fever pitch and now they have made up all sorts of convoluted tales about you.”
“Oh dear, that was never my intention. I merely needed time to adjust and did not feel comfortable...” Eva’s words trailed off as she lowered her eyes.
“Can I help you with becoming more comfortable?” Miss Belton said gently.
Eva spread the skirts of her dress wide. “I fear there are so many things, Miss Belton, I would not know where to start.”
“Perhaps your dress is not quite the thing, but we could -”
Eva could do nothing to stop her splutter of laughter. “Not quite the thing!” She lifted her head. “That is a polite way of saying my dress is a rag.”
“Yes, well...” Miss Belton studied Eva. “If you will allow me to assist you, we shall soon fix that. If you are free, perhaps you could come to tea tomorrow afternoon and meet the local seamstress. Her dresses are adequate and will surpass what you are wearing.” She waved her long, elegant fingers toward the skirts of Eva’s dress.
Eva found herself laughing again. “I could not impose on you like that.”
“Nonsense. I would love to help you,” Miss Belton said. “In truth, we would be doing each other a favor. I can help you feel comfortable and you can stop me from incurring my mother’s wrath, as in her eyes, all I do is read, sleep and ride my horse.”
“And this is bad?” Eva questioned.
Claire rolled her eyes. “Very. I should be hosting tea parties and visiting local ladies with whom I should stitch quilts and make myself useful.”
Eva felt sick at the thought. “Oh dear, should I be doing that, too?”
“Yes, and now we shall do it together and my mother will be happy.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be much help.” Eva felt she had to point this out.
“Nonsense, you’re a duchess, and therefore all you need do is turn up and it will be enough.”
A rush of excitement had Eva nodding. Although the idea of taking tea and visiting people sounded terrifying, she had always longed for a new dress and perhaps now she was worthy of such a treat. The duke had left instructions that he would pay for any new clothes she acquired, so perhaps she would even order two!
“Once you reach London, you can have a new wardrobe made, but for now the local seamstress will do.”
“I have no plans to go to London, Miss Belmont,” Eva said quietly.
Miss Belmont smiled and patted Eva’s hand. “You will one day. Now tell me what changes you have made here at Stratton besides Luton’s clothing.”
Happy to change the subject, Eva launched into a detailed inventory of what she had changed and hoped to change.
“Well I am pleased to see you taking an interest in the place, your Grace. No one has for many years.”
“It is so lovely here,” Eva said meaning every word. “And I hope, given time, that I can restore some of its beauty.”
“There are plenty of skilled local tradesmen, should you need them, and they would be happy for the work.”
“Of course.” Eva knew that often villages survived off the trade from big manor houses in the surrounding area. “I do not yet know any of the local people but I will endeavor to change that soon.” She was the Duchess of Stratton now and would live out her life here. It was important she made herself known.
Miss Belmont then told Eva about the local community and some of the more colorful characters that lived in it and before Eva realized it, they had been talking for another hour.
“And now I must return home to accompany my mother on her afternoon visits, however before I do I would ask that you now call me Claire, as we are sure to be firm friends.”
Were they? Eva had never had a friend, firm or otherwise.
“And you must call me Eva, Claire,” she said, hoping this was the right thing to say.
Apparently it was, as Claire smiled at her and then rose to leave.
“I will see you tomorrow, Eva.”
“I look forward to it,” she replied, surprised that she meant every word.
“A gentleman has called, your Grace.”
With a final wave to Claire, Eva turned to face her butler. “A gentleman, Luton?”
“He did not furnish me with his name, your Grace, but said you would be pleased to see him.”
“Where have you put him?”
“In the small blue parlor, your Grace.”
Dear Lord, could it be her father? That thought wiped the smile from her face. However she was a duchess now and would have to see whomever it was. Throwing back her shoulders, she walked through the door Luton directed her toward and came to a halt as she saw who sat inside.
“Berengaria, it is lovely to see you again.”
“Dear God!”
“I hope you are as pleased to see me as I am you?”
Eva stiffened as Lord Gilbert Huxley walked toward her. She hated this man. He was evil and lecherous and took liberties with those weaker than himself. Always dressed impeccably, no hair out of place, he looked at a person only to calculate his or her weaknesses and then determine how best to exploit them. He had touched and taunted her for years, telling her what he would like to do to her, and she had always run and locked herself in her room when he was in the house.
“I would ask you to leave my property at once, Lord Huxley.” Eva tried to sound calm. This man could hurt her no longer.
“It seems you have forgotten you manners, Berengaria.” He kept walking, stopping only inches from where Eva stood. “It would be remiss of me not to reacquaint you with them in your father’s absence.”
“Do not touch me!” Eva pushed his hand aside as he reached for her. “I loathe and detest you and I will ask you again to leave my property.”
Gilbert Huxley was a nobleman and she had never really understood why he spent so much time in her father’s company, until the day she’d overheard them talking.
“I have travelled all day to see you, my darling little Berengaria.” Huxley moved closer, backing her into the side table.
She had heard her father and Huxley discuss how best to cheat the men they were meeting out of their money. It seemed they had done this often, the commoner and the nobleman making money though lies and deceit, and if there was a slur cast upon Huxley at any stage, he simply challenged the accuser to a duel and won. Eva knew many men had been maimed or lost their lives at his hand. Her father had told her he was on
e of the most skilled swordsmen in England.
“I have no idea how you found me, Lord Huxley, but your journey has been wasted as I have no wish to see you, now or ever.”
“Your father told me where to find you, my sweet, as he thought you would grow bored, now your husband has returned to London.”
Her father’s betrayal shouldn’t have had the power to still hurt her but it did.
“Leave my property at once, Lord Huxley, or I shall - ”
Eva did not see him move but suddenly his hand was fisted in her hair, pulling her closer. She shuddered as he put his mouth on hers, his teeth biting into her lower lip.
“No!” She tried to scream and fight her way free but he was too strong and within seconds he had her beneath him, lying on the table. She heard the vase crash to the floor and several books follow as he lifted her onto the surface.
“I have wanted you for a long time, Berengaria, and now that your husband has taken your innocence, I will teach you the art of how to really please a man.”
Eva bit him.
“Bitch!” He slapped her cheek and then reached for the bodice of her dress.
“Unhand her at once!”
Eva nearly wept at Luton’s voice.
“You evil beast! This time I should do the world a favor and shoot you right between the legs. Get off her now!” Betsy Mulholland yelled.
Suddenly Eva was free. A firm hand hauled her upright and pulled her toward the doorway. She was then thrust behind a wall of her servants. Mrs. Stimpel slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Tis alright, your Grace,” she said softly. “You are safe now.”
Eva took several deep breaths to stop herself from collapsing onto Mrs. Stimpel’s ample chest. Betsy Mullholland held a shotgun pointed at Gilbert Huxley’s private regions. Luton held a kitchen knife; Mrs. Stimpel, a rolling pin. Geoffrey, the footman, had an axe.
