Least Likely to Marry a Duke

by Louise Allen

  ‘You are awake,’ he observed, redundantly.

  ‘So will you be when you have been and washed in the lake. It is most invigorating. Did you sleep well?’

  No, was the truthful answer. ‘Yes, surprisingly so,’ Will lied. ‘Perhaps if you’d not mind going outside for one moment while I get up?’

  And get my overenthusiastic body under control.

  ‘Of course. I will put the kettle on while you are bathing.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  Icy water. Perfect.

  * * *

  Will stripped off on the beach and waded in, gritting his teeth against the cold, then ducked right under. He came up streaming and was standing waist-deep, shaking the water out of his eyes, when he heard the hail.

  ‘Your Grace! Thank God!’

  It was Truscott, his Steward, standing in the stern of a large rowing boat. Judging by the width of the shoulders of the man propelling it, he had brought one of the gamekeepers with him to do the hard work.

  Will waved, splashed back to shore, rubbed himself more or less dry on his shirt and was in his breeches and pulling on his boots when the boat grounded on the shingle.

  ‘Well done, Truscott. And—Pratt, is it not? Strongly rowed. Thank you both. When did my brother admit what he had done with us?’

  ‘After breakfast, Your Grace.’ Truscott stood on the beach, a stolid figure in buckskins and good plain broadcloth, his jaw set pugnaciously. ‘And I have to say, begging your pardon, Your Grace, for referring to his young lordship in such a way, but the little devil is as pleased as punch with himself over the matter.’

  ‘I will wager he is,’ Will said grimly. ‘And the Bishop? I am most concerned that he has suffered a great deal of anxiety.’

  ‘He is not happy, as you might imagine, Your Grace. But he said firmly—through Mr Hoskins, you understand—that if Miss Wingate was with you, then she would be safe and he would say a few extra prayers for you both.’ His direct gaze shifted a little. ‘Having another clerical gentleman with him was a great support, I am sure.’ Truscott seemed positively uneasy now, Will thought, mystified. ‘And is Miss Wingate safe?’

  ‘She is perfectly well. There is a weatherproof, if very simple, cottage on the island, so she was sheltered and warm last night. If you will wait here, I will go and see if she is ready to leave. I had left her making tea.’ Hopefully that gave the impression that last night Verity was in the cottage and he was not. And tea was so very innocuous and reassuring, he told himself as he made his way up to the clearing, dragging on the damp shirt as he went.

  ‘Miss Wingate! Rescue has arrived.’

  He saw that Verity had already folded the bedding and packed away everything except the makings of their breakfast. ‘Oh, good. I don’t suppose they want a cup of tea. No? I’ll just put all this away in the basket then, if you will douse the fire. Should we take the hampers and bedding back with us?’

  ‘No. Basil can row out and collect it,’ Will said. That would be the start of the penance he was intending to inflict.

  He gave Verity—Miss Wingate, he reminded himself—his arm down to the waterside. ‘Mr Truscott, my Steward. Pratt, one of the gamekeepers and a fine rower.’

  Verity greeted the men with no self-consciousness whatsoever and was helped into the boat, settled in the stern and smiled cheerfully at Will as he took the space next to her, leaving Truscott to wedge himself into the prow. ‘What a lovely morning, Mr Truscott,’ she remarked, setting her deplorable hat straight on her head. ‘The storm seems to have left the air as clear as crystal.’ She chatted on as they went, mentioning the charcoal burners, hoping that none of the staff had got wet searching for them and thanking Truscott for putting her mind at rest about her father.

  ‘The clerical gentlemen did a lot of praying, miss. That must have been a comfort to him, to have that support.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Hoskins is a great assistance and help to Papa.’ But she frowned at Will as though puzzled. It seemed a strange way of putting it, now he came to think of it. Gentlemen? What other clerical support would the Bishop have? He sincerely hoped the Vicar had not called to add yet another person who knew about this. Perhaps it was Truscott’s clumsy way of referring to the Almighty.

  The shore was getting closer and he realised they had not had the opportunity for a calm, honest discussion about the future. He was honour-bound to offer for Miss Wingate, however little he wanted to marry her. She, it seemed, did not want to marry him. But their wishes were irrelevant if her reputation was at stake. The gossip and speculation that would swirl about a lady who had spent the night with a duke and then refused to marry him boggled the imagination. No one would believe the reason was as simple as straightforward dislike. The vulgar would be counting the months, the ton would cut her.

  ‘Truscott, when we land I want you to go straight up to the house to inform the Bishop that we have arrived safely. Miss Wingate and I will follow more slowly. She must take great care not to exert herself after such an exhausting time.’

  Verity whispered, ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘We need to discuss exactly what we are to say and do,’ he murmured.

  ‘I suppose so.’ She leaned sideways a little to get a clear view of the approaching boathouse round Pratt’s wide back. ‘Your Grace, there appears to be a welcoming party. I cannot see Papa or Mr Hoskins and who on earth is that? I cannot make it out against the dazzle on the water.’

  Will squinted against the early morning sun. ‘That, I very much fear, is the Bishop.’

  ‘It cannot be. I would recognise my own father,’ she protested.

  ‘Not the retired Bishop of Elmham,’ Will said, with a sinking sense of doom. ‘The current incumbent.’ And all his staff by the look of the small flock of black coats and fluttering white clerical bands surrounding the tall figure.

  ‘So it is! But we were not expecting him—were you?’

  ‘No. I met him at my grandfather’s funeral and told him how delighted I would be if he called—not expecting him to do so without warning.’

  A cold hand slipped into his. Will glanced down. Verity’s face, completely exposed under the flat brim of her hat, was set and pale. For the first time he saw vulnerability there. He squeezed her hand and released it. ‘We must not do anything to suggest the slightest familiarity or impropriety,’ he warned, low-voiced.

  ‘No, of course not.’ She snatched away her hand and composed her features into a look of vapid blandness. ‘I will take my cue from you, Your Grace. I am sure your perfect grasp of every possible social situation will carry us through this with aplomb.’

  There was a tremor of anger in her meek voice.

  Now what have I done to anger her? he thought.

  Chapter Eleven

  Foolish of me to expect some support. Even more foolish to betray my nerves, Verity thought savagely as she gripped her chilly fingers together until the nails dug into her palms. But what was Bishop Alderton doing here?

  Her father had been a gentle, scholarly bishop, unwilling to judge harshly, always seeking to offer forgiveness, compromise and accord. His successor was far more energetic in the discharge of his office. Bishop Alderton’s sermons were more emphatic, his tolerance of sins and errors far less elastic. The Church Militant was his ideal and he saw it as his duty to carry the light of the Church of England into every sin-infested corner of his diocese, seeking to correct even the smallest error.

  The boat bumped against the landing stage before she could summon any constructive thought. Will was on his feet and on to land the moment the lines had been secured.

  ‘Miss Wingate, may I assist you?’

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

  Smile, gather up your creased skirts, step out as though alighting from a carriage at a ball.

  ‘Why, my lord.’

  Look surprised, curtsy.
/>   ‘What an unexpected pleasure. Mr Carne, Mr Wellings, Mr Trafford.’

  One chaplain and two curates bowed.

  ‘My dear Miss Wingate.’ Bishop Alderton advanced on her, his hands held out. ‘We have prayed throughout the night for your safe return and our petitions have been answered. What a dreadful ordeal you have undergone!’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. But it was hardly an ordeal. It was the result of a childish prank and, as I was ably protected and looked after by the Duke, I was quite safe and comfortable throughout. Shall we go up to the house? I am sure Papa will want to be reassured as soon as possible.’

  ‘This way, my lord.’ Will gestured towards the path and offered his arm to Verity. ‘Have you all been here throughout the night? I trust my staff made you comfortable.’

  ‘We called upon my brother Wingate yesterday afternoon. My carriage was forced to make a detour as the bridge at Little Felling was damaged by a timber wagon.’ The Bishop was clearly able to discourse fluently while walking uphill. Behind him the curates were breathing heavily. ‘When I was told he was here I decided to call upon you both. Only imagine my horror to discover that you and Miss Wingate had mysteriously vanished! Naturally, I felt it our duty to stay and offer what comfort and succour we could. In fact, one might think that the accident at the bridge was divine intervention to send us to Wingate’s side.’

  ‘So kind,’ Verity murmured.

  ‘Everyone in your household, under the leadership of my dear brother Wingate, were quite remarkably calm, I must say. When one considers the hideous possibilities—assault, kidnap, the perils of the wilderness—one can only wonder at your dear father’s strength of mind, my dear.’

  ‘It is remarkable, my lord,’ Verity agreed. She kept only the tips of her fingers on Will’s arm and walked with a good foot of clear space between them.

  ‘But, of course, the fact that you were with His Grace must have calmed his mind considerably.’

  There was the faintest of sniggers from Mr Trafford, one of the curates. Will turned to look at him. ‘Did you speak, sir?’ he enquired, his voice icy.

  ‘No, Your Grace. I merely cleared my throat. Ah, see, Miss Wingate, there is your papa.’

  He had come out on to the terrace, supported by Mr Hoskins. The butler and two footmen waited a few steps back.

  Verity let go of Will’s arm and ran across the lawn, up the terrace steps and into his embrace. ‘Papa, I am quite well, nothing at all untoward occurred and there is no need to worry about anything except keeping this foolish trick of the children’s a secret.’

  He hugged her to him, then held her at arm’s length so she could read his lips. ‘Welcome home, dear.’ Then he released her and began to make signs.

  ‘I must discuss some matters with the Duke,’ Mr Hoskins interpreted. ‘There is nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘I am not worried, not now I know you are well. And I will not marry him, Papa,’ she warned, realising too late that a large male form was right behind her. ‘There is absolutely no need for it,’ she added with a defiant look upwards as Will came to her side.

  ‘I cannot apologise enough for my wretched siblings and the anxiety they have caused, my lord,’ Will said. ‘They will be severely chastised. Naturally you will want to discuss this in private once you have assured yourself that Miss Wingate is quite well. Shall we go inside? My housekeeper can escort Miss Wingate to a chamber to refresh herself and rest and I will await your convenience in my study just as soon as I have tidied myself and said farewell to my other guests.’

  Verity did not miss the compression of his lips as Will glanced towards the clerical group making their stately way up the lawn.

  ‘I doubt they will be leaving yet,’ Mr Hoskins said tartly, for once speaking on his own behalf. Her father, after a sigh, had merely looked resigned. ‘They are ensconced in comfort in your best bedchambers, from what I can gather, and seem determined to interf—’

  Her father cleared his throat.

  ‘Assist,’ the Chaplain finished.

  ‘I see. Miss Wingate, here is Mrs Blagden, who will make you comfortable. Bishop, Peplow will show you and Mr Hoskins to my study.’

  Verity heard no more before the tall woman in grey, whom she recalled from her arrival the previous morning, swept her towards the house.

  Make me comfortable? That would be a fine trick if she can achieve it. Will looks set to martyr us both in the name of respectability, Papa is distressed, however well he hides it, the Bishop and his little flock of sycophants seem determined to interfere and even dear Mr Hoskins is reduced to snapping.

  ‘I sent the staff to heat the water for your bath as soon as we heard you had been found, Miss Wingate. And Miss Preston, the children’s governess, appears to be similar to you in figure, so she has lent a gown and linen, which we hope will be acceptable as a temporary measure. What refreshments would you care for? Breakfast, perhaps?’

  Verity pulled herself together. After a bath, clean clothes and a cup of chocolate she would be ready to face the world and she did not want to look like a ruined woman in need of rescue. ‘Thank you, Mrs Blagden. That sounds delightful. A cup of chocolate and some bread and butter would be most welcome.’

  And then I can do battle for my future.

  * * *

  The razor edge slid over the pulse of Will’s jugular, up over the angle of his chin. Notley lifted the blade away, handed Will a hot towel, then leaned in to inspect the result. The ‘tsk’ he produced seemed to signify approval of the shave and decided disapproval of everything else his employer had presented him with.

  ‘The hat, Your Grace, has responded to steaming and a soft brush. The coat, I regret to say, is beyond saving. I understand that the correct term for what it was immersed in is bilge water.’

  Will stood up and reached for one of the neckcloths laid out for him. ‘You mean that my brother actually brought them to you for attention?’

  ‘They were found here in your dressing room last night, Your Grace, laid out neatly on the chest. It added considerably to the confusion of the situation, if I may say so.’

  ‘You may, Notley.’ Presumably it also made it look as though they had been kidnapped. ‘You may also establish the cost of the ruined coat for me so that it can be deducted from Lord Basil’s allowance.’ He frowned at his neckcloth, decided that an Oriental was a suitably subdued style for dealing with outraged bishops, and stuck in an onyx pin. A chaste choice—if that was not an unfortunate pun.

  Notley eased the coat over his shoulders, handed him a handkerchief and nodded his approval. Apparently the ducal appearance passed muster.

  Now what would his grandfather have done in this situation? Will paused at the turn of the stair. Wrong question. Firstly, his grandfather would never have got himself into such a fix and, secondly, this was Will’s problem to solve. His dilemma.

  The right thing, according to every tenet of correct behaviour, was to insist on marrying Miss Wingate. But she did not want to marry him and, given how eligible he was, that argued a real aversion, not simply an attack of pique. And he could not blame her. He had made no secret of his disapproval, of his dislike of her behaviour, and, by extension, his antipathy to her. He might desire her, but that was not the basis for a successful marriage.

  As for himself, he owed it to his position to make a suitable and successful match. He owed it to a young lady who had been compromised, thanks to the disgraceful behaviour of his siblings, to respect her wishes. He examined his conscience. Yes, that was definitely the right decision.

  ‘The Bishop and his Chaplain are in your study, Your Grace. I have sent in refreshments.’

  ‘Thank you, Peplow. See that we are not disturbed.’

  ‘My lord.’ Will closed the door and took the seat behind the desk with a nod to Mr Hoskins. ‘I have not yet spoken to my brothers and sisters, but I understand
they concocted this outrageous incident because they have taken a liking to Miss Wingate and believed that she would make a sister-in-law who would indulge their wayward behaviour. They will, of course, present their full apologies to Miss Wingate and yourself before being suitably punished.’

  The Bishop’s hands moved. ‘They are young,’ the Chaplain translated. ‘They did not mean harm.’

  ‘Basil is old enough to know better. Lads younger than himself are serving as midshipmen or supporting their families with honest labour. That aside, I hope I do not need to assure you, sir, that Miss Wingate is unharmed in every way. In every way whatsoever.’

  Mr Hoskins was blushing as he said, ‘My lord fully accepts that assurance, Your Grace. No other possibility occurred to him.’

  ‘You will expect me to offer marriage, sir,’ Will said, ignoring the sudden frown on the face of the man opposite. ‘And I have already done so, making the case for its necessity as strongly as I know how. But Miss Wingate is adamant that she will not marry me. She insists that, as the events are not known outside this household and ourselves, there is no scandal and, therefore, no need.’

  ‘But—’ Mr Hoskins began before the Bishop’s hands could move.

  ‘I fully understand your feelings, gentlemen. However, my lord, your daughter seems to have taken me in dislike—a feeling that predates our stranding, I should add—and maintains that our union would result only in unhappiness. I cannot square it with my conscience to attempt to force a young lady to the altar.’

  ‘But others know,’ Mr Hoskins interjected, again without waiting for the Bishop.

  ‘The current Bishop and his attendant clergy, yes,’ Will agreed. ‘But they would hardly damage a lady’s rep—’

  The door opened and Peplow came through it as though propelled by a determined push from behind. ‘Your Grace, I could not prevail upon His Lordship to wait...’

  ‘Your butler appears to fail to grasp the nature of this crisis, Your Grace.’ Bishop Alderton swept in, almost flattening the agitated butler against the door. The three junior clergymen followed him.