“She’s still angry at me, I fear, for threatening her as I did,” Aurora said. “I far more enjoyed riding with the old dowager.” She sighed. “It is unusual for Cally to have such a prolonged attack of the sulks, but she’ll come around in time. After all, I’m all she’ll have unless she makes some friends among the local gentry.”
“They won’t be tony enough for the likes of our duchess,” Martha decided. Then she said, “Would you like a bath, miss?”
Aurora nodded. “It is to be just George, Valerian, and me at the dinner table, but I think I should make an effort, don’t you?”
Martha agreed. Going to the wall, she yanked on the bellpull. It was answered shortly by a housemaid. “My mistress needs a bath,” Martha said. “Would you be kind enough to have hot water brought?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the housemaid said politely. A personal servant outranked her.
At five minutes before the hour of seven, Aurora descended back down the wide staircase, going to the drawing room where the duke had said they would meet. Her gown was of lavender silk, the underskirt a broad stripe of lavender and cream. The rounded neckline was edged in tiny purple silk violets, and her sleeves dripped lace.
“Good evening, Valerian,” she said, curtsying prettily. “I am early, then, for I do not see George, who is always on time.”
“How pretty you look, Aurora,” he replied by way of a greeting. He was dressed in white knee breeches, a black velvet coat, and a waistcoat of black and white striped silk. “No, your brother has not come down yet. Do you find your room satisfactory?”
“Oh, yes! And Martha is more than pleased to have her own little room next to mine. It was most thoughtful.”
“Excuse me, your grace.” George’s valet, Wickham, stood politely in the door of the drawing room.
“Yes, Wickham?”
“Master George begs your pardon, yer grace, but he’s got the headache fierce, and is already, beggin’ yer pardon again, tossin’ his guts. He can’t come down to dinner. Not that I didn’t warn him to wear a hat today when you was ridin’, but would he listen?”
“Do what you must to cure the poor fellow,” the duke said. “I hope he will be better by the morrow.”
“Thank you, yer grace,” Wickham said, and withdrew.
“Poor George,” Aurora sympathized with her absent brother. “He gets these headaches out of the blue now and then. The worst of them cause his stomach to turn as delicate as a maiden’s. It’s better since he is grown, but when we were children he got them every few months. Mama had to sit by his bed and rub his aching head.”
“Tell me about your growing up on St. Timothy,” the duke said, escorting her into the magnificent dining room and seating her on his right. “Peters, remove the other table setting. Master George will not be joining us. He has been taken ill.” He turned back to Aurora.
“You must be bored to death with hearing about our childhood,” Aurora laughed. “Surely Calandra has spoken at length on it.”
“Your sister speaks only about society, her place in it, fashion, and the latest gossip,” Valerian replied bitterly.
“But surely on your voyage . . . you were several weeks at sea,” Aurora said.
“Our honeymoon voyage was dull, to say the least. Your sister spent a great deal of time alternately boring and impressing the other passengers, depending upon their level of gullibility, with her mindless chatter which revolved about her title, the wardrobe she would purchase when we reached England, and the high place she would take in society. Most nights she was overcome with seasickness, or so she said. I slept in Sally’s cabin, and Sally slept on the trundle beneath Calandra’s bed.”
“Oh, Valerian, I am so sorry,” Aurora said, and without thinking reached out to touch his hand comfortingly.
His fingers closed about hers. “You could not know, Aurora. I apologize for being less than delicate with you.”
“I do not understand Cally at all. She is entirely different from the sister I grew up with,” Aurora responded, her cheeks pink, and then she gently extracted her hand from his. She could feel every pulse in her body pounding at his touch, but she hoped her discomfort did not show. She had begun to suspect that her comparisons of the gentlemen she had met in London to Valerian Hawkesworth were detrimental to her finding a husband of her own to love. She must not be attracted to this man, nor he to her. Valerian Hawkesworth was Cally’s husband.
“Let us forget my wife for the moment,” he told her. “Tell me of what it was like to grow up on St. Timothy.”
“It was wonderful,” Aurora began. Perhaps her recollections would help him to understand Cally better, and allow them to forge a deeper, more loving relationship. “I remember nothing but St. Timothy, although George says he thinks he remembers Jamaica. Robert Kimberly formally adopted us immediately. He filed the papers in Barbados. He is the only father I have ever known.” Well, at least that was the truth, Aurora thought to herself. “There was never any rivalry between any of us. I have been told that brothers and sisters often fight, but we never did. When we were small, we made up a motto, and we have adhered to it all of our lives. You heard us speak it the day you and my sister departed St. Timothy. Together. Forever. As one.”
The duke nodded. “Cally never explained it to me,” he said. “I think it is charming. Go on.”
“There is really little to tell,” Aurora continued. “Our home was filled with love. Mama was the gentler parent, and it was easy to get around her. Papa was the sterner one, but he was never cruel, never beat any of us, and getting around him was a victory.” She laughed with the memory. “We had a tutor for lessons. George and I excelled, and were in frequent competition. Cally did not like learning a great deal. She was better at female pursuits like embroidery, painting, and music. George and I rode a great deal, but Cally has never really liked horses, as I told you previously. My brother and I loved swimming together, but Cally does not like the water, and always feared for her delicate skin in the sun. When we were small, the three of us would paddle about in the shallows beneath Martha’s eye, but from the time she was about six, Cally did not enjoy being naked, and refused to swim with us. And when we were eight, Martha decided that George and I could not swim together unless he wore his drawers and I wore a chemise. We did not understand why at the time, but we obeyed her directive. Martha can be very severe, and Mama told us we must obey her.”
“And you never left your island kingdom?” the duke said.
Aurora shook her head. “No. There was no need to leave it. We had everything we needed there.”
“And no one came to visit?”
“Rarely. Mama’s family in Jamaica had disowned her when she ran away with her first husband, our father. He was of good family, but the black sheep, I fear. He was killed in a duel. Poor Mama. She always believed she could reform him, but it was not to be. He had been dead over a year when she met Papa. Her first husband had left her practically impoverished. A cousin, who knew Papa, took pity on Mama and invited her to dinner the same night she had invited Papa. Mama says it was love at first sight. They were married a month later, shocking Mama’s family once again. They would not even come to the wedding, and voiced their opinion about Kingston that Mama would once again suffer for her impulsive behavior. I do not believe they would have been welcome on St. Timothy even if they had come. No, we had few visitors on the island. An occasional planter or sea captain. No one else.”
A simple meal was served as she spoke. A clear soup, a lemon sole, a roast of beef with Yorkshire pudding, a dish of carrots, and another of turnip. For all her chatter, Aurora managed to eat with a hearty appetite, much to the duke’s amazement. Her appetite was quite astoundingly prodigious for a girl with such a small frame. In London they had rarely taken a meal together, Calandra preferring to serve her guests meals on trays before departing for a ball, and when they had had dinner at another house he had been nowhere near Aurora to see her eat with the gusto with which she was now eating. Wher
e did she put it all? he wondered.
“Tell me about your childhood,” she said as she spooned up the last of her sherried trifle from a Wedgwood dish. “You lost your parents when you were young, didn’t you?”
“Like you,” he said, escorting her back into the drawing room, “I had a happy childhood, cut all too short when my parents, and sister, Sophia, were drowned returning from France. My grandparents then took it upon themselves to raise me. I was tutored until I went off to Oxford. I came home after two years. I prefer my country life, my horses, the cattle and sheep I raise. I have my own mills, and Hawkes yarn is becoming quite well known throughout England. I have formed a small company and market it myself. Your sister was quite horrified when she learned of it. She considers farming and trade beneath a gentleman, but the king loves farming too.” They sat together upon a tapestried settee. “Will you miss London, like Cally?” he asked her.
“No,” Aurora told him. “Like you, I am a country mouse.” The scent of him was filling her head and making her dizzy.
“Then perhaps you will ride with me in the morning. If your sister keeps to her schedule, we shall not see her much before two in the afternoon,” he said dryly.
“It has been a long journey,” Aurora replied. “I think perhaps tomorrow I shall stay abed until at least nine o’clock.”
“Of course,” he said. “We shall ride later, and I will show you one of my little mills. Perhaps George will be up to coming too.” What was that fragrance that surrounded her? It was so clean and fresh.
“That would be nice,” Aurora murmured. His big hand lay almost next to hers upon her skirt, his upon his knee. She could feel the heat from it. She had to get a grip upon herself!
There was a long, deep silence between them. He did not know what to say, and feared to speak to speak at all lest he break the spell between them.
Finally Aurora forced herself to her feet. “It has been a tiring day, Valerian,” she said. “I believe I shall go to my room now.” Were her knees going to hold her up?
“Let me escort you,” he said, jumping up and taking her arm.
She wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary. That she was perfectly capable of finding her way out into the hall and walking up the staircase to her bedroom. There was no danger in it. Martha would be there waiting for her, but somehow Aurora could say nothing except “Thank you, Valerian.” His fingers gripped her elbow in a firm yet gentle grasp. It was ridiculous, but she felt safe with him somehow, and there was really nothing wrong in his polite actions. The problem was with her. He was engendering feelings within her that she had never before experienced, and she must get a hold of herself at once. She must remember that this man was her sister’s husband. If their marriage had not been a happy one to date, it soon would be. It had to be! Cally would have a child, and everything would be all right.
They mounted the stairs together. Behind them the servants were snuffing out the candles. Reaching the door of her bedroom, Valerian stopped, and releasing his grip on her arm leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.
“Good night, Aurora,” he said. “Pleasant dreams.” Then he walked off down the corridor to his own rooms.
She stepped through the doorway into her chamber. Her heart was pounding. When he had moved toward her she had thought she would faint, and then his lips had touched her forehead. She had been actually disappointed. Aurora knew she ought to be ashamed of herself, but she somehow couldn’t bring herself to be. I must never again be alone with him, she thought. It is too dangerous. He is unhappy, and it is all my fault, but I cannot change anything now.
“You’re as white as a sheet,” Martha said, coming up and taking Aurora’s hands in hers. “And you’re cold as ice. What has happened?”
“Nothing,” Aurora lied. “Nothing at all. I am just beginning to feel the effects of our journey, and am exhausted. I want to go to bed.”
“Very well, miss,” Martha said, but she did not for one minute believe that everything was right with her young mistress.
Chapter 6
It was past ten o’clock in the morning before Martha awakened her mistress the next day. Gently she shook the girl, and when Aurora had finally opened her eyes, the serving woman said, “I’ve brought your breakfast, miss.” Then she plumped the pillows up behind the girl’s back and placed a tray upon her lap. “The duke asked if you would ride with him this morning, but I told him you was still sleeping, and much too tired for all that activity today. I hope I did right, miss.”
Disappointment commingled with relief. “You did, Martha. I am far too fatigued. I think I shall take a leaf from Cally’s book and remain the morning in bed.”
“An excellent idea, miss. The dowager’s Jane tells me that’s what the old lady is going to do too.”
“Have you spoken with Wickham? Is George recovered?”
“Recovered, ate a huge breakfast, and gone off with the duke,” Martha reported with a smile. “Now, there’s some nice oat stirabout I sweetened with honey on your tray, and a soft-boiled egg. You eat every bit of it up, miss. You need your strength.”
It felt good to be cosseted, Aurora thought as she spooned the oat cereal, rich with honey and heavy cream, into her mouth. She had certainly imagined last evening. Valerian Hawkesworth was too much of a gentleman to make advances to his wife’s sister. She was simply overtired. They had had the voyage from St. Timothy, and then she had not really had a moment’s rest since they arrived in England. Cally would not hear of it, and was constantly on the go, George and Aurora in her wake. The country was going to be a lovely change of pace.
She stayed the morning in bed. Calandra was nowhere to be found, and Aurora assumed she would still be in her chambers. George and the duke had not returned. The dowager kept to her bed. Aurora found her way to the duke’s library, and, taking down a book on the history of the Hawkesworth family, settled into a chair by the fire to read. Peters, the butler, interrupted her at one point to ask if she would like him to bring her a tray with some luncheon.
“What time is it?” Aurora asked him.
“Almost one o’clock, miss,” the butler replied.
“Is no one else taking lunch, then?”
“The duchess and the dowager duchess have called for trays in their chambers, miss. The duke and Master George have not yet returned. They were to ride over to Malvern mill, and that is a bit of a distance. They have undoubtedly stopped at one of the farms to eat. There is only yourself up and about.”
“I am hungry,” Aurora considered aloud.
“A nice pot of tea with your meal, miss?” the butler said.
“Yes, please,” she answered. “Thank you, Peters.”
The butler bowed slightly. Miss Aurora had nice manners, he thought to himself as he departed the library. What a pity her sister did not. The young duchess was the most demanding and ungrateful woman it had ever been his misfortune to know, and her servant, Sally, wasn’t much better. He hoped they would not ruin young Moll, who was his granddaughter. The girl would be useless in service if they did.
Aurora read all day until the light began to fade in the library. Peters brought her luncheon. A footman added more logs to the fire twice. Finally a maid entered the room and began lighting the lamps. Aurora put the book back on its shelf and hurried upstairs to dress for dinner. If the duke and George had returned, she had not heard them come into the house. Cally, she knew, had not sent for her, else Peters would have come for her. She wondered how long her sister would sulk and allow her anger to burn.
She found George and Valerian awaiting her when she entered the drawing room. Cally and the dowager were still recovering from their journey. George was talkative, and full of enthusiasm over what he had seen that day.
“I believe we can apply some of the principles used in setting up the knitting mills to the bottling factory we shall build on St. Timothy,” he said. “First, however, we ought to get a contract for the rum. Do you know of anyone in the Royal Navy who might hel
p us, Val?”
Aurora let them talk, eating her dinner quietly.
There came a lull in the conversation between the two men as the dinner was drawing to a close, and the duke said, “Have you seen Calandra today, Aurora?”
Startled to hear her name spoken, she looked up. “What? I do beg your pardon, Valerian, but I was daydreaming, I fear.”
“Have you seen Calandra?” he repeated.
“No, I spent my morning in bed and my afternoon reading in your library,” she responded, not quite looking at him.
“Do you find my library satisfactory?” he said.
“Satisfactory? Why, it is the most incredible library I have ever seen!” she enthused. Then, “I hope you do not mind that I invaded your privacy, Valerian.”
“Not at all. What did you read?” The dark blue eyes were willing her to look directly at him, but she would not.
“I came across a history of the Hawkesworth family. It is quite fascinating,” she told him. She could feel him staring, and turned to her brother. “You must visit the library, George. There is a whole section on Greek history, and I know how you love that.”
“I should like that!” George said, his voice excited.
“Why do you not take George to the library now,” Valerian suggested. “I must leave you and go up to see Calandra.” He rose from the table and bowed politely to them. “I bid you both good night.”
Valerian Hawkesworth mounted the stairs purposefully, but instead of entering his wife’s chambers, he entered his own. There, with Browne’s help, he disrobed, washed, cleaned his teeth, and rinsed his mouth. He refused the silk nightshirt Browne offered, instead wrapping himself in a quilted silk robe the color of his best claret. Then he dismissed his valet courteously. Browne departed, his ageless face impassive, knowing what was to come, and knowing he would never divulge even the slightest hint of it to the other servants. Let the women gossip. He would not.
Entering his wife’s bedchamber via a connecting door, the duke saw Calandra seated at her dressing table, Sally brushing her mistress’s long black hair. He heard the servant counting off the strokes. Walking across the room, he took the silver brush from Sally, saying, “You are dismissed for the night, Sally. And Moll too.” He began to ply the brush, taking up the count from where the maid had left off. “How many do you usually do?” he asked Calandra.
Deceived Page 11
