The Secret Duke

by Jo Beverley

  He gestured her into a reception room near the front door, one of the places where he would meet someone not quite suited to the parts of his house he would consider his home. She appreciated that, for it provided distance.

  However, he closed the door.

  “You permit?” he asked. “I don’t think we wish to be overheard.”

  Bella shrugged. “I don’t suppose anyone will think you wish to ravish me.”

  He inhaled, but then said, “I do, you know.”

  Bella turned away. “Don’t. I can’t imagine how all this has come about, but I understand now why you wanted no more to do with me after Upstone.” She found the courage to turn back and face him. “I do understand. But I can’t be your mistress, so there must be an end of this, now.”

  He was smiling slightly. “Kelano the Amazon, I see. But it is Bella I wish to marry.”

  So he had known all along that Bella Barstowe had been Kelano. Known and said nothing.

  Then the second sentence registered.

  “I’m sure I’m honored, Your Grace, but no.”

  “No?”

  His shock almost amused her, but her anger and irritation were too strong. “It’s impossible and you know it. That’s why you’ve not tried to find me. You could have done. Deny it if you dare.”

  “I could,” he admitted. He closed his eyes for a moment before saying, “I wasn’t sure what was best.”

  “Nonsense. You knew precisely what was foolish. Look at you. Look at me.”

  “I know my mind now,” he said steadily. “I can’t live without you. Any minor problems can be dealt with.” He stepped closer, his voice gentling to the one she remembered too well. “Bella, I love you. I love you to distraction.”

  She longed to surrender, but this wasn’t Thorn. This perfectly polished man, this bejeweled aristocrat in his elegant setting, wasn’t her lover, her friend, her dream husband in a cozy parlor.

  “Listen to yourself!” she snapped. “ ‘To distraction.’ This is a passing madness, Thom—” She cut off his name and turned away. “One day soon you will regain your sanity, Your Grace, and I do not want to be your wife when that happens.”

  “What sort of fool do you think I am?”

  “A lovesick one, it would seem.” But she winced at her own words. “I apologize. You’ve been all that is kind.”

  “Bella . . .”

  “I have an invitation to move to Tunbridge Wells to live with some ladies there. I ask you to allow that.”

  Silence pressed at her, but she could not face him.

  “I will give you whatever you want, of course,” he said. “Even that.”

  She heard Thorn’s voice and it made her turn back, but the man before her was still the duke.

  “It is better this way,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “I think it is.” Her illogical hurt must have shown, for he made a sharp gesture. “I didn’t mean that. I’m a lovesick fool to attempt this now. I couldn’t wait. But I will wait. For you to change your mind.”

  “Don’t, please. If I weaken it will only lead to disaster down the road.”

  He took her hands, and his touch almost broke her will, but when she looked down she saw a sapphire ring and the deep froth of lace at his cuffs. Lace that must have cost a small fortune. She looked up and saw a sapphire at his earlobe.

  She moved gently away and took out the handkerchief. The only folly she’d allowed herself all these months was to carry his skull earring around in her pocket. She unwrapped it and held it out to him.

  He took it, considering the ruby eyes. “The whole idea of this and all the other oddities is to support the deception. Caleb and I are alike, but not perfectly so, but when people see the old-fashioned frock coat, the scarlet neckcloth, and the skull, they see Captain Rose.” He looked at her. “Whenever I’m able, I steal some time to be Captain Rose, but that is not frequently. It was my half brother, Caleb, you spoke to at the Compass. He told me, and I traveled to Dover to find out what was going on. At some point, I should have told you all, but it never seemed the right time.”

  “I should have guessed when we met Fortescue.”

  “Caleb has impersonated me a time or two, but only if essential. The duke is the harder part.”

  He meant that literally and it tugged at her heart, but she must remain strong. To him it might seem possible that she be changeable as the sea and become part of his world, but she knew it was not.

  “It would never work,” she said.

  He put the skull in a pocket. “Take your rest, Bella, after service nobly done. You can trust your ladies to me, and I will arrange for you to travel with the excellent Mr. Clatterford tomorrow.” At her surprise, he said, “He came to me for help, but I’d already been recruited. If we’re to be honest, I went to Lady Fowler’s without any awareness of your presence, to rescue Ellen Spencer.”

  Suddenly Bella laughed. “Mary was right all along. I recommend her to you, Your Grace. She has the soundest head of all of us.”

  He just smiled at that, but he held out a hand. Bella felt compelled to put hers into it, even though she knew he’d kiss it, which he did.

  “I wish I were a sea captain, for that is what you want. But I am what I am, and always have been. I will hope you can forgive me for it.”

  He let her go and went toward the door, but she asked a question.

  “Why did you give a thousand guineas to Lady Fowler’s fund?”

  He turned, surprised. “How did you discover that? No, never mind,” he said with a wry smile. “You are you. A piece of folly, Bella, nothing more. Did you imagine some plot? I paid it for a friend, and he owed it because of a foolish vow.”

  Bella met his eyes. “A piece of folly, but it almost destroyed a number of people. Bear that in mind, Your Grace.”

  She opened the door for herself and entered the magnificent hall.

  One maidservant waited. Bella dropped a curtsy to the Duke of Ithorne and went up to a quite handsome bedchamber, where she was finally, finally allowed some privacy and could weep until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 32

  Tunbridge Wells, December

  “Lord Youland, Bella, dear. Flirt with him.” “But I don’t want to, Lady Thalia,” Bella said amiably. “You know he’s too easily encouraged.”

  “But you need practice, my dear. You rather frighten the gentlemen away.”

  They were walking, well swathed in fur-lined cloaks, along the Walks in Tunbridge Wells. In December those present were mostly residents of the Wells or hardy invalids, but it was still a sociable gathering.

  Bella had emerged here two weeks earlier, once she had the complete new wardrobe the Trayce ladies insisted on. She’d protested that she needed only to rest a little and reclaim her identity as Bella Barstowe before finding some worthy purpose in life. However, Lady Thalia Trayce, a petite confection of a lady despite her years, had insisted almost tearfully that Mr. Clatterford had promised that Bella would be their companion for a while.

  How could she refuse?

  “We had a young companion last year,” Lady Thalia had explained, “and found it quite rejuvenating. Dear Genova. But then she married. We did try another young lady, but such a droopy creature, always assuming the worst would happen. We recommended her to Lady Vester, who is of the same inclination.”

  There were three Trayce sisters, all daughters of the Marquess of Ashart. A previous one, for the current one was young. In fact, he was one of the rakes Lady Fowler had followed most carefully. He had rewarded her with juicy morsels of debauchery, showing no sign of caring a jot for her rants.

  He was married now, and to that Genova who had been the ladies’ companion. She had been only a sea captain’s daughter with no portion to speak of—a fact Lady Thalia produced whenever Bella said she was too ordinary for the grand gentlemen presented to her.

  Lady Thalia was the youngest sister at a sprightly seventy. She’d never married, for her beloved had died in a
war long ago. She still dressed in a youthful manner, because the only thing that seemed to worry her was what her beloved would think to see her so old when they met in heaven.

  Lady Urania, a few years older, was calm, stately, and a widow. She had already left for the home of her oldest son to spend Christmas there.

  The oldest of the Trayce sisters was Lady Calliope, a large and forceful lady who could manage only a few steps at a time. The ladies kept two stalwart footmen to carry her around in a special chair, and Lady Thalia shamelessly admired their muscles.

  At first Lady Calliope had alarmed Bella, for she seemed sharp and angry about everything. But Bella had learned to look for the twinkle in the pouched eyes, and listen for the sardonic tone. By now, she knew to trust Lady Calliope above all. She was a rock. Lady Thalia, though delightful, was a butterfly.

  Bella agreed to be presented to Sir Irwin Butterby, who looked somewhat lost, but as she approached with Lady Thalia, something like panic widened his eyes. Lady Thalia did have that effect on a number of people, for she was always attempting to devise love matches.

  When Lady Thalia flitted away, Bella set to putting the baronet at his ease. She worked in a casual comment about Lady Thalia’s ambitions as Cupid and a vague reference to a gentleman who was elsewhere.

  He instantly settled and confessed to a similar situation. He was here as escort to his sickly mother, but the illness had meant delaying his marriage to his dearest Martha, who was a saint not to complain. After a quarter hour they had agreed to be each other’s shield. Bella moved on, well pleased with that new friend, but sad in other ways.

  Sadness lived in her these days, and she saw no help for it. She feared she would be perpetually sad over Thorn, but whenever she encountered starry- eyed lovers whose paths were smooth, her grief cut deep. Even Sir Irwin, suffering a delay out of duty to his mother, was in a much better case than she.

  She cried too often. She’d never been quick to tears, but now they came too easily, threatening to embarrass her, for she didn’t want anyone to know. At first she hadn’t slept well, but at least insomnia had exhausted itself. Her dreams, however, were gloomy. It would not do. She was twenty-one years old and with most of her life in front of her. She would not spend it moping.

  Come the spring. That was what she’d resolved. Come spring she would begin to establish her independent life, though how, she wasn’t sure. Ed Grange had begun an apprenticeship in London, and she feared Peg wouldn’t want to leave there, but Bella knew she could not live in London. She could not live anywhere where there was danger of meeting the Duke of Ithorne. Her will might prove too weak.

  She lived in fear that he’d come here. She’d joined the Trayce ladies to mend her reputation, but not expected to be carried into the highest levels.

  Perhaps she should join Mary and the others in their nunnery. That was what they laughingly called it, for the five ladies lived in a pleasant house on the fringes of London, sharing the management of it and undertaking charitable works in the neighborhood. Hortensia was still fiery, but she’d agreed to take on manageable reforms. Mary was unofficial mother superior, with Betsy as her earnest assistant. Once they were truly established, they planned to find other suitable ladies to join them.

  Bella couldn’t go there, however. It would be just another flock and it was under the patronage of the Duke of Ithorne, who had set it up and funded it.

  Lucinda had suggested that they set up house together. Two miserable spinsters together—that had been the implication. Bella had felt a slight pull of pity, but she wouldn’t weaken on that case.

  To everyone’s relief, she was sure, Augustus had managed to kill himself. So had Squire Thoroughgood, but he’d done just as he’d said—shot himself the day after the events at the Hart in Upstone. Sir Newleigh Dodd had fled abroad like the scared rabbit he was.

  Augustus had attempted to recover from the scandal, certain he could somehow wriggle out of his shame. When that had failed and he’d suffered the ostracism he’d perpetuated for her, he’d taken to laudanum in increasing amounts. Eventually, accidentally or deliberately, he’d taken too much. Bella felt absolutely no guilt about that after the way he’d acted not just toward herself, but toward any who fell under his power. The world was better for his absence. Charlotte Langham was now betrothed to a pleasant, reliable man.

  That part of Bella’s life was over. Soon a new one must begin, and, despite temptation, without Thorn . . . but not until spring.

  “Time to prepare for Christmas,” said Lady Thalia one evening as they sat in the small drawing room, made cozy by a large fire.

  “Load of nonsense,” grumbled Lady Calliope.

  “Now, now, Callie, you know you wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Miss Christmas? Bella wondered.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Bella said. “My last four Christmases were spent at Carscourt and were stingy affairs.”

  “Then this will be very different!” declared Lady Thalia, “for we are to spend it at Rothgar Abbey.”

  Bella paused midstitch. “But isn’t that quite far away?” Lady Thalia and Lady Calliope never traveled. Bella wasn’t sure Lady Calliope was able to.

  “Damnably long way,” grumbled Lady Calliope.

  “You know you want to go, Callie. Rothgar’s baby!”

  Ah. “Has Lady Rothgar had her child, then?” Bella asked. The event had been eagerly anticipated all the time she’d been here.

  “Oh, no, not yet,” Thalia said. “And not, I hope, before we arrive. Lady Elf—Rothgar’s sister, Elfled—had her child right on Christmas Eve last year. Wouldn’t that be perfect? To have another Christmas baby. And Genova had her presepe—that’s a delightful representation of the stable at Bethlehem, dear—and we sang that song she knew. About joy and bells. I do hope someone remembers it.”

  “Oh, stop your chattering, Thalia,” Lady Calliope grumbled. “Not but what it wasn’t pleasant enough once we arrived.”

  “Rothgar is to arrange everything, and you know he’s promised some special seating to make it easier for you, dearest. And his daughter is to be there. I do so want to meet her. So romantic. A love affair in Venice,” she said to Bella, without a hint of embarrassment. She was quite extraordinary.

  “A scandal in Venice,” Lady Calliope corrected. “He was scarce more than a lad.”

  “Young love!” exclaimed Lady Thalia. “And now Rothgar’s daughter is married to Huntersdown—the Earl of Huntersdown, dear,” she explained to Bella. “Such a merry rascal and a delightful flirt. You’ll be enchanted by him, Bella, dear.”

  Bella was suddenly wary. From the Fowler letter she knew Lord Huntersdown was cousin to Ithorne. Might he be there?

  “Will this be very grand?” she asked.

  Thalia pouted. “Not this year, alas. Because of the baby, only close family are invited. But it will still have all the essentials, I’m sure. Wassail and feasting. Holly and ivy. The Yule log.”

  Bella’s head was whirling, which was often the case around Lady Thalia, but now that she didn’t need to fear another meeting with Thorn, she could be easy.

  “Then I look forward to it, ma’am. Thank you for including me.”

  Thorn read the letter, recognizing pure temptation. It was from Rothgar, and it invited him to Rothgar Abbey for Christmas.

  Damn the man. How had he learned about Bella?

  That had to be it. The same post had brought a letter from Clatterford with the news that Bella herself was going to Rothgar Abbey for Christmas. That fact played havoc with his plans.

  He’d purposefully given her a month to recover her equilibrium in the hope that time with the Trayce ladies would convince her that ducal splendor was tolerable. They were among the highest of the high, and though they didn’t host grand events, she’d learn from them how to deal with the elite.

  He would have liked to give her the opportunity to experience court circles, but his patience wouldn’t stretch to January when the winter seas
on began. He’d been planning a courtship visit to the Wells just before Christmas. If he won her, he’d carry her off to Ithorne Castle for Christmastide with some sort of chaperone.

  Once he had her commitment, he’d give her as much time as she needed to adapt to his world and learn its ways, but he must have her commitment. He lived in fear of hearing that she’d married another man. She was capable of making a sensible marriage to prevent herself from surrendering to him.

  He’d been waiting, keeping his sanity only because of the intelligence sent by Clatterford, but now the solicitor reported that the Trayce ladies were about to travel to Rothgar Abbey for Christmas, and they were taking Bella with them. Even if he raced there now, they would already be on their way.

  He’d been attempting to resign himself to more patience, but now the unexpected invitation was hard to resist. It would mean taking what he wanted at Rothgar’s hands, and neglecting his duty to celebrate Christmastide here at Ithorne Castle.

  “Your judgment?” he asked Tabitha, who was sleek now that her kittens were less demanding of her. Instead, the kittens demanded a great deal of Thorn and his servants, for they were intrepid seekers of adventure.

  The oracle remained silent.

  “Dare I wait?” he asked.

  “Ee-ah-a.”

  “No, no, you will like having her in residence.”

  “Ay-a.”

  “You will be obliged to like having her in residence.”

  “Ah-oo-ee-a!”

  “No point in protesting, and I must settle the matter. I can’t bear this torture much longer.”

  He considered Rothgar’s letter again, but he could find no malice in it. It annoyed him that Rothgar had learned of his love, but to let that turn him from what he wanted would be folly.

  His main obstacle, as always, was duty, damnable duty.

  He paced to the window that looked out over the frosty grounds of Ithorne Castle, where he’d celebrated Christmas every year of his life, even in the cradle. Many a time he’d longed to go with Christian to his home, where there were a vast number of brothers and sisters, and merry celebrations for all ages.