The Duke's Revenge

by Alexia Praks

  ***

  “What are you telling me?” she screamed, her eyes flaring a fiery green as she glared at him. He did not answer her and folded his arms across his chest as though he was tired of her useless fury.

  “Are you telling me that she is still alive?”

  He stretched out his legs on the sofa and rested his head back in a lazy posture.

  “They said he found her in the chamber you locked her in. They said he nursed her, day and night. Seem mighty pleased, too, those servants,” he mumbled and fisted his hands in balls at the thought of Maximilian, the bastard.

  “It’s not supposed to be like this!” Grace snapped.

  He raised a brow at her.

  She sighed and dropped to sit beside him. “I have to get rid of her.”

  Sherington turned to look at her. Though his eyes were bright, inside he was disgusted with her. Surely, he had never seen any woman as mad as she was, and to plan murder of her own daughter? Unthinkable! He made no comment on that in front of her, however, and reached his hand out to stroke her cheek instead, gently, to calm her unpredictable anger.

  “I am sure there are ways to deal with this,” he said, moving his fingers down to her throat. She purred like a fat, lazy cat being pampered by its rich owner and cocked her head back, allowing him more access. He moved his fingers lower to her breasts.

  “Hmm, there are other ways, I suppose,” she said with her eyes half-closed at the wonderful feeling.

  “M’ lady!”

  His hand froze as he was about to cup her breast. He turned to look at the maid appearing from the shadow.

  “What now, Gale?” Grace snapped and sat up straight.

  “The duke knew that it was us,” the maid said, her eyes shifting from Grace to Sherington.

  “What do you mean he knows?”

  “He knows that it is us who beat her up and...”

  “He doesn’t know! Dominic is a bull!” Grace snapped with her eyes narrowed. “Men are all the same. They don’t see when a plan is laid out in front of them. They are blind, even Liam?”

  “Aye, that is true.” Gale nodded with her dark eyes still on Sherington who began to caress Grace again, at the woman’s cleavage.

  “Yes, Gale, we will go to Westwood Castle once again, and this time, we will rid ourselves of that girl.” Grace smiled and rested her head on Sherington’s shoulder. “Please leave now, Gale.”

  Gale glared at Sherington who was now kissing her mistress’s neck. She fisted her hands and stalked out the room.

  CHAPTER 27

  It was three days later that Ivy found herself out of bed. She had begged her husband and Mrs. Price who believe that she was still not well enough to be wandering about the castle in such a delicate condition. She got her way in the end, however, by convincing them that she needed fresh air and being stuck in the master bedroom did nothing to improve her health. She had suggested to her husband that they should have a breakfast picnic near the lake since it was, after all, a beautiful sunny morning. He had reluctantly agreed and was now busying himself with the ordering of food.

  She had just finished putting on her chemise and picking up the corset when he walked in through the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting dress, your grace.”

  “Back to that again, are we?” He raised his brows and walked to her. “You are to call me Max, is that too hard?”

  “Nay, your grace—I mean, Max.” She blushed.

  “There, it’s not that hard, is it?” He roughly touched her cheek with his thumb and laughed.

  Her heart sang with the joy of hearing him laugh, and she smiled.

  He nearly choked on his own breath. By God, she was beautiful for her face was radiant when she smiled at him. He cleared his throat and said, “Getting dress, are we?”

  “Aye, Lisa is quite busy preparing our food for the picnic. She told me to wait until she returned, but I’d rather get dress myself. I don’t want to feel useless.”

  “Hmm.” He picked up the white muslin dress lying on the bed. When he turned, he saw her putting on the corset. “Madam, what do you think you are doing?”

  “Getting dress,” she said as she pulled the strings about her body and tried to tie them.

  “You will not wear that horrendous thing. Take it off immediately.” He tugged the strings from her hand and tossed it aside as though they were useless things.

  “But ‘tis what all the women wear,” she protested.

  “I do not care. You are beautiful as you are without that thing on. Now take it off. You’ll suffocate yourself and the baby. How can you breathe in that? You are pregnant, wife, take it off.”

  Without further ado he took her corset off, threw it away, and helped her put on her dress.

  Once she was dressed she shyly said, “Thank you, your grace--I mean, Max.”

  “Good girl.” He kissed her forehead. “Now come along, you need breakfast. You are eating for two now, no skipping meals and no eating like a sparrow.” He laughed as they walked to the door.

  They arrived at the ground floor’s corridor, and Mrs. Price and Lisa was there with their picnic basket.

  “Here, your grace,” Lisa said, handing over the full basket.

  He nodded, and pulling Ivy about her waist, he led her toward the door.

  “Oh, she looks so happy,” Lisa said, sniffing as tears threaten to spill out her eyes.

  “Aye, I’ve never seen her this happy before. Let’s just hope nothing will come to spoil it,” Mrs. Price said.

  The couple chose a spot near the lake under a willow tree where its branches hung low and touching the ground. Max spread out the blanket and took out the food.

  “The air is nice here,” Ivy commented and turned to look at her husband. “Max?”

  “Hmm?” He handed her two plates and took out toasts, hot rolls, and cakes.

  “I want to clean the nursery.”

  “The nursery?” He looked at her with his eyebrows rose.

  “Aye, for when the baby is born,” she said, blushing and lowering eyes.

  He found her shyness amusing and chuckled.

  “Do not laugh, Max,” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry, my dear wife, I shall look into it myself,” he said, and because she looked so damn beautiful and he couldn’t helped himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips. When he lifted his head up, he said, “When do you want it finished?”

  “I don’t mind. Why don’t you have a look in the room today when you’re free?”

  That sounded like a fine plan to him. He nodded and kissed her forehead. She laughed.

  “Madam, did you know that every time you laugh, you make my nuisance member turn his head?”

  “Oh, Max, how could you say that in front of me?” She frowned and turned to pick a small piece of the roll. “Here, eat this,” she said and pushed it against his lips.

  He laughed. It was long and loud. The sound of his happiness rumbled within his chest and it echoed in her ears. He narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth. He took a bite, and before she could move her hand away, he caught her wrist and started to lick her fingers.

  “Max!”

  He smiled with mischief, and ignoring her cry of outrage, he moved his lip toward the inside of her wrist. He kissed her long and gentle.

  Ivy felt excitement rushing through her stomach. She groaned and rested her head against his shoulder.

  From afar within the thick bushes, a shadowy figure glared at the two loving couple. The woman clutched her hands into fists and vowed to get her revenge.

  ***

  Lady Grace Westwood had disappeared, and Max wasn’t sure where the woman had run off to. She had disserted London according to his bow-street runner. By the time his private man had reached the woman’s town house, she was gone. His wife’s uncle and the servants were still there, however, and they had begged the man to take them to the Duchess of Lynwood. Once they had arriv
ed at Westwood Castle, Max suddenly found himself confronted, for the first, a real family reunion. The impact had left him breathless and he realized, with an overwhelming emotion, that a happy and loving family does not need to be wealthy.

  He glanced up at his wife sitting across the table from him sipping her tea. He remembered how she had been crying and smiling at the same time when she met her uncle and servants only yesterday.

  He drank the last of his coffee and leaned back, his eyes were still on her. She looked up to him and smiled. “Would like more coffee?”

  He shook his head and stood up. “I’m going to see how the nursery is coming along.” He came around to her and kissed her on her lips. “Don’t tire yourself,” he said, saw her nodded, and left.

  He climbed up to the second floor and was just coming through the door when he heard the two maids talking.

  “I’m so happy for her grace,” Rena was saying as she reached up to clean the spider webs with a damped cloth. “I knew she would get a very nice husband in time. God doesn’t over look good people. If his grace hadn’t come in at the right time, she might be married to that crazy old Lord McNeil by now. He would probably make her cry every day. Oh, I’m so glad the duke came in on time.”

  “I agree,” Tracy said, vigorously wiping the wall cleaned of dust with her damped cloth.

  “What color do you think her grace will put in here?” Rena asked curiously.

  “Don’t know.”

  “You think his grace will let her choice for herself?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Max folded his arm across his chest and leaned his weight against the door frame. The nursery, he saw, was cleaner now. Truth be told he had never really look in this particular room before. In fact, he had never really took particular interest in anything in life expect to concentrate his mind on avenging his brother’s death.

  “It would ever be so nice if he allow her to. Her grace had never been allowed to make her own decision before. Her ladyship won’t permit it, poor thing. I remembered how she was whipped by that witch.” Rena sighed, dipped the cloth into the bucket of water, and twisted the cloth dried.

  Max frowned and straightened up.

  “Aye, starved almost weekly, too,” Tracy said, nodding her head. “I’m glad they’re gone.”

  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  The two maids gasped and turned to see him at the door.

  “Oh, your grace,” Rena began, her voice shaking, “We shouldn’t really talk. We’re sorry. Oh here, we’ve finished cleaning,” she said, and Tracy agreed by nodding her head vigorously. They curtsied, took their cleaning materials, and rushed out the room.

  Max frowned as he watch them hurried away.

  Had Ivy being whipped, he wondered.

  He walked into the middle of the room and examined the maids’ handy work. As a whole, the room itself was clean of dusts and spider-webs, but there were crakes on the wall on certain places. More work needed to be done, he thought.

  He was about to leave when he saw a crake that was far too big for his liking and moved closer to inspect it. He kneeled down and tapped on the wall. It was loose, and as he tapped, crumbles of thick debris fell down. He tapped harder and a thick chunk of stone brick fell out. It landed inches from his knees. He picked up the block of brick and peered into the dark hole. He couldn’t see anything and moved his head back. He slipped his hand into the hole and searched around. He touched something hard. He put his other hand in and felt his way around the item. It was a box. He secured it in his hands and brought it out.

  It was small and covered with dusts and spider-webs. He blew the debris away and cleaned the box with his hands.

  The item was beautifully designed with fairies and exotic flowers. He found that it was not locked, and curiously, he opened the lid.

  Inside were various treasures that seemingly belonged to a little girl. There was a pack of neatly bound up papers. There was also an old, miniature portrait of a couple. He picked it up and cleaned the dust away with his fingers.

  The portrait was incased in a lavish setting of gold and pearls. He brought it closer for a good look. His eyes lit up when he realized that it was a portrait of Ivy’s parents.

  The longer he stared at the painting, the more he could feel the couple themselves pulling him in. The woman’s smile was so familiar. He closed his eyes, and once again, he was that lost, lonely boy.

  He was in the farm tending to his small land when he saw her running down toward him. She was so beautiful, and when she smiled at him, there was light in his desolated life.

  She was Grace Anderson and she had befriended him. But she had changed and had murdered his twin brother with her vile acts.

  The longer he stared at the miniature painting, however, the more he was confused. He could not match this face in the portrait to that mad woman. It was as if they were two completely different people.

  His eyes lit up.

  ‘It’s so funny how Papa always gets us confused,’ Grace had told him that night on her seventeenth birthday.

  ‘What do you mean?” he had asked.

  ‘Julie always pretended to be me, you know. I bet you won’t even notice the different either.’ She punched his thin arm and laughed merrily--like the way Ivy laughed when she was happy.

  ‘Bet ye I can,’ he had insisted, puffing up his chest.

  Then four months later, his mother, who had been sick for a long time, had died. It was about weeks later that he and Dominic, lost and alone, had met Grace again. Dominic, always needed someone to care for him and always needed love, had taken a liking to Grace who had felt pity toward them. From then on those two were childhood’s sweetheart.

  It was not until a year later that Grace was married to the Earl of Westwood and broke Dominic’s heart. In the same year, they had moved to London because of an inheritance from his great uncle, the Duke of Lynwood, that he had never known existed.

  In London, Dominic had told him that he had met Grace and she had insisted that they still see each other, and thus their affair began. When the earl had found out, however, the man had demanded a duel to defend his wife’s name. It was that cold morning that he had found his brother drenched in blood, dying.

  Max put the miniature portrait back into the box, his mind reeling. He picked up the bundle of old papers and untied the crisscrossed strings that bounded them together. Once he had them undone, he flicked through them. They were apparently very old and the writings were very large and childlike. He picked the bottom one and started reading that.

  February 18, 1799.

  Dear lord:

  Let Papa come home soon. I miss him so much. Mama slapped me this morning because I asked her if I could have a hug from her. Last night I dreamt of Mama, and she was so nice to me. She hugged me and kissed me too. Why can’t Mama be nice to me like in my dream?

  March 10, 1799.

  Dear lord:

  Make Mama stop hitting me. She locked me up in my room. The maid whipped me too, with the long strap. P.S. tell Papa to come home soon.

  Max shifted through a couple more pages. The writings were smaller and neater now.

  September 14, 1800.

  Dear Lord:

  Thank you for brining Papa home. I love him so much. He gave me lots of presents. I had a bad dream last night of Mama and Gale whipping me again. I ran to Papa’s room when I woke up, and Papa was ever so nice. He let me sleep in his bed. He hugged me, and I felt very safe. Mama won’t hurt me when he is around. Thank you, Lord.

  August 23, 1801.

  Why did you take him away from me? I hate you, Lord.

  December 24, 1801.

  Dear Lord:

  We have to leave tomorrow morning. I hate the duke. I hate him so much even though I don’t know who he is or what he looks like. I don’t know where we are going. This is the only home I know. How could the duke be so cruel? Didn’t he know we are so poor now? I hoped he suffer for his bad deed. Punishment him, L
ord.

  P.S. Lord, tell Papa that I’ll be all right, I promise.

  The last entry was dated 24th December of 1801. He remembered that day well; it was the day he had felt very satisfied indeed. It was the day he had accomplished one of his many planned revenges. But he had never considered how his action might have affected others, and this little girl had surfer because of his thirst for revenge.

  “Ivy...” he whispered. He felt her pain, and he wondered how she was able to bear such burden at such a tender age.

  He tidied up the rest of the papers, put them back into the box, and took it up to his room. There he kept them in a nice, secure place so that he could clean it himself later.

  He went to find his wife and found her in the library with her head buried deep in a book. He came to sit beside her and took her book away from her hand.

  She looked at him in confusion.

  “My poor wife,” he said, stroking her cheek. He moved his head down and kissed her deeply and passionately.

  When he lifted his head from her, she touched his cheek and looked deep into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I am so sorry, my dove,” he said. In his heart, he meant what he said though he knew that she didn’t know what he was on about.

  Her “For what?” confirmed his suspicion.

  He hesitated and changed the subject. “I have a surprise for you. Will you meet me this afternoon near the lake before dinner?”

  She nodded.