The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “And what of Beaulieu and the servant?” Anthony swallowed hard. “What have you done with them?”

  “Why, I have done nothing to them, Lord Rockingham.” Shaw inclined his head. “I have no intentions of harming your allies, unless you refuse to cooperate. Don’t you want to get well? Don’t you want to return to your home and your position in society?”

  “I think we both know that will never happen, if you have your way.” Anthony shifted his weight and ordered his thoughts. “You are not interested in helping me, or anyone, for that matter. You want money.”

  “Oh, I want more. You know, in your absence, Lady Rockingham and I have become fast friends.” Shaw sniffed and assessed his nails. “Indeed, we have grown quite close, and I believe she has grown rather fond of me. She is a beauty, and it would seem she prefers my company to yours.”

  Shaw’s ploy might have worked, had Arabella not made her declaration the night they parted in Weybridge. She loved Anthony, and no one could convince him otherwise.

  The absurdity. The outright preposterousness of the suggestion reduced Anthony to unhinged mirth he could not control. It began with a chuckle that soon grew into a full-blown belly laugh. He convulsed and howled, uncontrollably. And with each successive peal of mirth, Shaw grew more flushed.

  “Lord Rockingham, how you do go on about nothing. Now, you will be silent. Silence, I say.” Shaw shouted and snapped his fingers. “Bind him.”

  From behind, two guards yanked Anthony from his chair. Crouched on the floor, they thrust a wrought iron ring about his neck and fastened it with a rivet. Attached to the collar, a heavy, thick chain dangled. About his waist, they fastened an iron bar, with two rings affixed at either side. In one of the rings, they pinioned his arm. Additionally, two iron bars, which were connected by double links to the neck ring, passed over his shoulders and were riveted to the bar at his waist, both in front and in back.

  With Anthony confined, the attendants dragged him to his feet.

  “Look at you.” Shaw smirked and slapped his thighs. “All trussed up like a Christmas goose, but you have yourself to blame for that. I would have preferred other methods to cure your dementedness, but you resist my efforts, so you leave me no choice.” To the guards, he said, “Bring him to the pond.”

  Carried on his side into the garden, Anthony prayed for the courage to face whatever abuse Shaw dealt, but the makeshift cage provoked the usual torments, and he moaned when the first enemy combatant lurched from behind a thorny hedge. He jerked, and an attendant struck Anthony in the back of the head with the chain.

  Many afternoons, he stared out the window at the little lily pond, with the stone statue of Venus at center, and noticed the tall, iron pole at the far end. He often wondered after its use, and now he realized it held a sinister purpose. Stifling a cry of alarm, he started as he plunged into the cold water, the shock stealing his breath, and the level of which stopped just below his chin. A blackguard affixed the chain at his neck to the pole.

  “There, now.” With hands on hips, Shaw curled his lip. “Let us see if that improves your disposition and responsiveness to our therapy.”

  “Dr. Shaw, are you sure about this?” the brutish attendant asked. “The last time you employed the water punishment, the soldier died.”

  “When I want your opinion, I will give it to you.” Shaw folded his arms. “Lord Rockingham, you will remain in the pond for a few hours, at which time I shall send my men to retrieve you. What say we try, again, tomorrow, to work on your impairments?”

  “I-It will b-be my p-pleasure.” Submerged for only a few minutes, and already he could not hold still.

  With the guards in tow, Shaw walked back to the main building, halting briefly to pluck a rose from a bush. Subtle hints of lilac and lavender teased his nose, and he recalled his wife’s fondness for lavender water. For a moment, he studied the bright clusters of zinnia and petunias, bordering white daisies. It was an odd contradiction. So much agony amid nature’s splendor.

  After a while, he could no longer feel his feet or his legs. Instinctively, he flexed his fingers but could move nothing else. The biting cold set his flesh alight, and his teeth chattered. Resolved to endure the pain, he opened the door to his memory and let recollections of Arabella warm him.

  *

  A fortnight had passed since Arabella bade farewell to her husband and boarded a coach that would part them for what felt like forever. Ensconced in the back parlor of her family home, she reclined on the chaise and stared out the window at the blue sky, her thoughts filled with harrowing assumptions of what Anthony suffered in Dr. Shaw’s clutches. In the wake of their separation, she realized her imagination could conjure such fanciful dreams and the most wretched nightmares, all of which centered on her tortured soldier.

  Did he think of her? Did he suffer? Did he lose faith?

  “Would you care for more tea?” Patience asked. The perfect picture of feminine deportment, she lifted the pot with the grace of a delicate swan. “And you should try not to worry. It is not good for the babe.”

  “Oh, Patience, I miss him.” Arabella rolled onto her side and hugged a pillow to her belly. Many a holiday was celebrated in that very room, with its pale blue wall coverings, oak paneling, navy upholstery, cream-colored draperies, and a renowned frieze depicting the fateful lovers, Orpheus and Eurydice. Mama always kept fresh, long-stemmed lilies on the sofa table, and the familiar scent comforted her, but nothing could replace Anthony’s embrace. “I want him home, with me.”

  “You really do love him.” It was a statement, not a question. Patience, always poised, scooted to the edge of the sofa and bounced like a giddy debutante. “Lord Rockingham, I mean.”

  “I do, more than I ever thought possible.” Arabella sat upright and tossed the pillow to the floor. “When I married Anthony, I hoped we might become good friends. It never occurred to me that I would fall in love. That I would commit my heart, body, and soul, to my husband. But I will neither deny nor hide my feelings.”

  “To be honest, I am not surprised.” Leaning forward, Patience folded her arms and rested elbows to knees. “You do nothing halfway.” She stretched her feet and stared at her slippers. “What will you do if the duke does not answer the summons your father dispatched? After all, it has been more than a sennight, and you’ve had no word.”

  “Papa had his solicitor draw up papers, accusing Swanborough of breaching the marital contract.” It had been a difficult decision on Papa’s part, owing to his longstanding friendship, but he pledged to protect Arabella, and footmen continued to guard the house. “Even now, he meets with his advisor, concerning the return of my dowry.”

  “Then he means to go through with it?” Patience’s mouth fell agape, and she blinked. “He will sue for dissolution of the union?” When Arabella nodded, Patience gasped. “Then Lord Ainsworth will take the duke to court?”

  “It is the only way to bring Swanborough to heel and negotiate Anthony’s release.” Arabella pushed from the chaise and stood before the window. “Given the law defines me as chattel, I have no standing to pursue legal remedies to rectify the absence of my lawful husband. My father must take action, on my behalf.”

  “What happens if the duke counters your father’s suit?” Patience inclined her head. “Where does that leave you?”

  “I’m not sure.” And the answer to that question kept Arabella awake most nights, pondering life without Anthony. “However, I will not surrender without a fight, and neither will I simply go along with whatever Swanborough wants. I will see my husband freed, or I will not yield.”

  “That is wise.” Patience tapped a finger to her cheek. “In reality, you hold the power, because you carry the babe. While it is not the most reputable defense, it is the most logical, and I would argue you have no choice. Lord Rockingham’s heir is the key to your success or failure. To secure your future happiness, you must avail yourself of every advantage. After all, you said it yourself, you are but property, with no standi
ng.”

  “Which is why I must bargain with Swanborough for my husband’s salvation.” Arabella worried her lower lip and pondered Anthony’s location. Where could his father have sent him? “Thus far, we have heard nothing. Papa awaits a letter or some response from his friend. I would prefer the duke make his case, in person, because—”

  The door opened to reveal Lord Beaulieu. As his gaze lit on Patience, his expression morphed into something almost wolfish.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Rockingham.” He saluted Arabella and marched straight to Patience, where he took her hands in his and kissed the backs of her bare knuckles. “Miss Wallace, always a pleasure to see you. And how is your father?”

  “He is well, Lord Beaulieu. I shall tell him you remembered him.” Cheeks flushed, Patience dipped her chin in deference, given he outranked her. “And your parents?”

  “Quite well, thank you.” To Arabella’s shock, the bold lord plopped beside Patience, on the sofa. Then he splayed an arm, to drape it along her shoulders, in an outrageous display of familiarity, and Patience slowly inched to the end of the cushion. Arabella bit her tongue against laughter but made a mental note to monitor the situation. “I thought you might like to know the results of my man’s search for the major.”

  “Do tell, my lord.” Arabella came alert and returned to sit on the chaise. “What did he learn?”

  “Not much, I am afraid.” Beaulieu extended a leg and scrutinized his polished Hessian. “He made a thorough investigation but discovered no hint of Rockingham’s whereabouts. After canvassing Weybridge, he interviewed the innkeeper, who stated the major made a decent run of it, after our departure, but in the end Shaw’s men, in too great a number, overcame Rockingham. Beyond that, we discovered nothing new. I am so sorry.”

  “Thank you, for looking for him.” Crestfallen, Arabella slumped and considered her next move. “Any news of Swanborough? I had thought we would have heard something by now.”

  “I have it on good authority that he is en route to the city.” Although he focused his gaze on Arabella, Beaulieu shifted and moved closer to Patience. “And he has engaged his solicitor. I expect we will know something, sooner than later, which bodes well for the major. Also, it should please you to know the remaining Mad Matchmakers arrived, last night, so we are all in attendance.”

  “That is a most welcome development.” Arabella cautioned herself not to overstimulate herself. Then something occurred to her. A mystery she had longed to solve. “Lord Beaulieu, forgive my impertinence, if I give offense, but I would pose a personal question, if I may.”

  “By all means, Lady Arabella. I have no secrets.” When he sidled nearer still, Patience jumped from the sofa, but Beaulieu caught a fistful of her skirt and held fast. “Where are you going, Miss Wallace?”

  “Unhand me, sir.” Patience tried to wrench loose, but Beaulieu refused to relent. “You are no gentleman, and you take liberties that are not yours to own.”

  “Did I ever claim to be anything so noble?” He snorted and tugged Patience back to her seat. “Now then, where were we? Ah, yes. Lady Arabella’s query. Suffice it to say, I address my friend by his military rank, as opposed to his title, as a sign of respect, given the one he inherited by birth and the other he earned.”

  “You say you are no gentleman, but those are pretty words for a rake.” Arabella knew not what to make of the one-eyed earl. “And I warn you, Lord Beaulieu, do not accost my friend, or you will deal with me, and I am in no mood to be trifled with. Do so at your peril.”

  “A thousand apologies, Lady Rockingham, if I injured the delicate flower.” Beaulieu chuckled.

  “Delicate flower, indeed.” Patience drew herself up with high dudgeon. “I would have you know I am a vast deal stronger than I look, and you would do well to remember that, sir.”

  “Delighted to hear it, as you do not disappoint, Miss Wallace.” To Arabella, Beaulieu said, “It has nothing to do with polite decorum, my lady.” He averted his stare and sighed. “It is a sign of deep and abiding admiration for a man I consider family. We served in the trenches. We witnessed war, we faced death, and we survived, together. Before that, he supported me during numerous adversities, most of my own making, almost from the cradle. Believe me when I say I would give my life to preserve his.”

  “I do believe you.” A knock at the door brought her up short. “Come.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady.” Travers held wide the oak panel. “Lord Greyson, Lord Warrington, and Lord Michael Donithorn are just arrived. I installed them in the drawing room, your ladyship.”

  “Excellent.” Arabella stood. “Let us join them and strategize, because I shall go mad if left to my own devices.”

  “Perhaps, we could consider sending the Mad Matchmakers to make a thorough survey of the areas surrounding Weybridge.” Patience attempted to take Arabella’s escort, but Beaulieu shamelessly anchored the general’s daughter at his side. “Lord Beaulieu, I am quite capable of walking on my own accord. I assure you; I have been doing it for years.”

  “An interesting proposition, but I am left to wonder how much of your suggestion is rooted in a desire to rid yourself of my company.” Beaulieu steered Patience into the hall, and Arabella led them into the foyer. “However, I am honor-bound to guard Lady Rockingham, so you must learn to tolerate my presence or devise another scheme to rid yourself of my much in demand companionship. Who knows, you might enjoy my special attention, which I am more than willing to bestow.”

  “Silly, ridiculous cretin.” Patience humphed, and Beaulieu burst into laughter.

  “That is quite enough, you two.” Arabella rotated on a heel and folded her arms. “Lord Beaulieu, you test the limits of my charity and forbearance. Patience, I dearly love you, but you must not take the bait, because his lordship is a past master at trickery and temptation. Now, I have no time or inclination to arbitrate your association, so I expect you to behave as befits your station.”

  “I’m sorry.” With her head bowed, Patience at least had the sense to appear contrite.

  “I will not apologize.” Beaulieu lifted his chin. “I shall be hanged if I do.”

  “Patience is right.” Arabella stomped a foot. “You are a silly, ridiculous cretin.”

  “Well, at least we understand each other.” Beaulieu arched a brow and clucked his tongue.

  “What is going on out here?” Looming in the doorway of the drawing room, Greyson rested fists on hips. “Lady Rockingham, commiserations and felicitations are both in order, I am sad to admit.”

  “Unfortunately, you are correct.” She extended a hand, and he placed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. In turn, Lord Michael and Lord Warrington made similar greetings. “We eagerly anticipate the Duke of Swanborough’s acknowledgement of my father’s letter, which challenged the validity of the marriage contract and rightful custody of my person, given Lord Rockingham’s admittance to an asylum. Of course, my husband’s location is merely speculation, as we have had no word from him.”

  “I have a man surveilling Swanborough’s residence, and I am told the duke emerged from his traveling coach, in the forecourt, early this morning.” Warrington scratched his chin. “We thought it best to journey here, given we are all charged with preserving your safety.”

  As if on cue, someone pounded on the front door.

  Arabella hugged her belly and her insides tightened.

  The tension in the room weighed heavy, as Travers crossed the foyer, and all eyes focused on the main entry.

  “Hold hard, Travers.” Papa strode forth. “I shall see who pays call.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The butler bowed and stepped aside.

  Again, the unknown visitor pummeled the door.

  Papa turned the latch in the bolt and swung wide the thick, oak panel, to reveal the Duke of Swanborough, along with two liveried footmen.

  “Ainsworth, what is this meaning of this?” A vein pulsing in his temple, and his face flushed beetroot red, the duke stormed over the threshold,
waving an unfolded piece of paper in his upraised fist. Then he spied Arabella and narrowed his stare. “You are to come with me, this instant.”

  “I don’t think so.” Lord Beaulieu drew her to stand behind him. “If you want Lady Rockingham, you will have to get through me.”

  “And me.” Lord Warrington stepped forward.

  “And me.” Lord Greyson stood tall.

  “And me.” Lord Michael squared his shoulders.”

  “And what of you, old friend?” Swanborough bared his teeth. “Am I thus hailed?”

  “I would ask the same of you, old friend.” Papa moved to confront the duke, toe-to-toe, and Arabella clutched her throat, else she might scream. “You invoke our lifetime allegiance, as you threaten my only child. I would submit you drew the first sword. I merely meet your challenge. What have you to say for yourself?”

  “What do you mean?” Swanborough shrank and retreated. “You knew of my plan and my justification. Now you pretend a slight? Who is the disingenuous party?”

  “You never mentioned anything about kidnapping my daughter.” From his coat pocket, Papa produced Shaw’s letter and thrust it at Swanborough. Arabella swayed, but Patience provided unshakeable support. “And I never agreed that she should be imprisoned under the supervision of a so-called doctor whose credentials breach the limits of any semblance of probity.”

  “Shaw’s methods may not be the most popular, but he has unmatched success.” Swanborough licked his lips. “As to Lady Rockingham’s confinement, I reneged in the best interests of my son, as I saw fit. I am convinced Shaw is the best possible hope my son has of resuming a normal life.”

  “A normal life?” Arabella pushed forward, with Beaulieu and Patience perched at either side. “Do you even know your son? Do you not recognize that he suffers lingering effects of battle and naught more? Lord Rockingham is not mad. He is human. Yes, he lost an arm. He is different, in that I will not argue. But that does not mean he is less than you or any man. He is merely unique.”