The Forbidden Duchess

by Lisa Torquay

  “Oh!”

  “He seems to have vanished in thin air!”

  “He must be in some gambling den. I wouldn’t be too worried.”

  “Possibly.” He said pensively.

  Soon they fell in a fitting sleep until the first lights of dawn filtered through the curtains.

  They spent the next days riding in the meadows, going for long walks along the seashore and in scorching nights. Selene didn’t want this to end. For the first time in her life, she envisioned what she’d really missed on. Companionship, daily contentment, desire. If she didn’t count the scandal and the fact that Philip would never love her, she could say she felt happy. This would not last though. She knew it and, this time, she was prepared for it. Their…story had been much more than she’d expected. She solely hoped that, when they parted for good, she’d be able to cope with his absence.

  “Come stay in the manor with me.” She heard Philip say, as they watched the restless sea break against the rocks.

  She shook her head, eyes on the sea. “London would hear of us living together there.”

  “The hypocrites may talk as much as they want.” The rush of the waves almost swallowed his voice.

  “You know it doesn’t work this way.” The wind played with her hair, sending strands across her face.

  “Yes, it does!” He put a strand of her fluttering hair behind her ear. “As a duke I can afford some privileges.”

  “You have Parliament to attend, you know.” Some drops of cold rain fell on her cheeks. Negotiating this…separation diplomatically proved fruitless. She’d need a more blunt approach.

  “I can ride to Brighton for the weekends.” He placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb caressing her lower lip, moistened with raindrops. She melted to his touch, which made it difficult to think clearly.

  The drops fell fatter and faster. The conversation had to halt as they ran to the cottage. The cool rain cleared her head. Arriving at the siting room she breathed deeply and took courage in her determination. The sitting room deserted as the driver and her lady’s maid performed their duties.

  “I’ll remain here and I want you to leave!” Her heart ached tremendously with her own words. It was an impossible situation. The unique solution, stay apart.

  His brows pleated anger explicit on his countenance. “You’re not serious!”

  She eyes him stonily. “I am dead serious.” Her vivid green eyes confronted the clove ones of his. “Please, depart in the morning, Your Grace.”

  He stared at her, realising she meant it. “I may go, but I’ll be back!”

  She crossed her arms, defiant. “If you show up here, I’ll travel to the continent and you’ll never find me!” Either she hardened, or this crazy circumstance would go on indefinitely. She needed to give some direction to her life. She needed to permanently keep away from him, from society. A self-preservation strategy filled with sorrow.

  He seemed a little startled with the change of her tone. It didn’t matter, he’d get used to the separation.

  “Very well.” An icy tone to him. “I will be gone by dawn.” He turned and walked towards the stable.

  As soon as he left, she crumbled on a settee, an Arctic cold seeping into her.

  That’d be it then. Philip thought. They’d just walk away from each other. After what they’d been through. Pride prevented him from begging, but he felt like his heart turned to a rock. One of those rocks which the sea flogged incessantly. A bleak future waited for him, certainly. So what? He had a title, he had to live by its standards. She had been right. He had to fulfil his duties. He owed this to his uncle, to his lineage.

  Late that night, pacing the garden like a chained beast and wanting her like a demented wreck, he gave way to his impulses. He climbed up the stairs and opened the door to her bedroom. She lay in bed. Motionless. Too motionless. Awake. Good! He undressed, removed the coverlet and lay beside her. Delicately, he brought her loose hair away from her neck and kissed it open mouth. Her skin prickled.

  “We will have this last night.” He stated huskily. “For memory’s sake.”

  Silently, she turned to him and they kissed. They sought each other in the night as if this was the last hours of their lives. In a way, it was. Apart, they’d die a little every day.

  After Philip fell asleep, tears rolled down Selene’s cheeks abundant and sorrowful. She cried herself to sleep. She awoke next morning his vacant, cold place by her side. A frosty bed would be her companion from now on. He was gone, by her own doing. The morning chill spread over her skin, presaging the rest of her life. She lay there for a long time, without energy to go out of bed. His manly smell still clung to her skin as much as the torrid images of the night. She’d have to get on with her life one way or the other. It’d be heavily difficult. She inhaled deeply. First things first. Tea. Bath. A walk along the seashore. Small tasks would carry her through the day. Days. Years.

  Chapter 18

  A few days later it started. At first, she thought it food poisoning. It wouldn’t go away, persisting tenaciously. Selene felt awful. Sick to her stomach endlessly.

  Humbly, Nell commented. “Your Grace might be with child.”

  Selene blanched, even more than her present pallor. She looked at her lady’s maid bewildered.

  Nell lowered her head. “I remember it a long time since Your Grace’s bleeding.” As the lady’s maid took care of all her clothes, including her monthly cloths.

  Selene didn’t have much information on these things. She’d been married for a short time. Not enough that other women would confide in her on such subjects. She’d been a virgin on top of that, understanding little of what she heard.

  “How so, Nell?” The girl would be her only source of information.

  “When women are with child, the monthly bleedings stop and they become sick in the stomach for a couple of months.”

  “Oh, dear!” She sat on her bed dizzy.

  “Your Grace has to send for His Grace.” Of course, Nell knew whose child it was.

  Selene darted her eyes to the girl. “No!” Vehement. “You’re not to talk of this with anybody! Understand?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. But you will need to call a doctor eventually. It will start showing soon enough.”

  Selene nodded. “Yes, I know. Keep quiet until I have decided what to do.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.” She curtsied and left.

  As the door closed, Selene placed a hand on her abdomen. Scary and fascinating, she thought. His child, for her to love and treasure. She smiled dreamily, as tears moistened her eyes. Love. It downed naturally on her. She’d fallen in love with the devil of her duke. No, not hers, pitifully. How blind could she be? It’d been there, under her nose all this time! A love that had carved deep roots in her heart. So strong and intense. The things she’d done with him, for him borne of her feelings. Giving herself to him had been part of it. The expression, the token of her heart. She felt it blazing. It’d nurture the child she carried. She wrapped her arms about herself. She could not give this love to him. She’d offer it to the little being growing in her instead.

  Philip stood by the dance floor, glittering couples twirling around. It only made him remember the scarce two waltzes he danced with her. The Roman temple and what followed. The gallery and… Damn it! He had to stop thinking of her. He had to stop missing her. Stop loving her! He had to find someone else. She rejected him several times in several ways. The last, the most painful. Since then he’d had no sleep, no food, no life. He wandered in Parliament, in his club, in social events as if he wasn’t there. Absent. Aloof. Bleak. He had to get out of this state of mind. He had to focus on his duties. He had to carry on.

  The gossips, the murmurs, the stares. He noticed every one of them. He didn’t care. It made no difference. His reputation mattered because he had to find someone to marry, bear heirs. The mere thought of laying a finger on any woman but her churned his guts. He spent his nights in a fever for her, only her. The idea of seeking so
lace with someone else felt so disgusting it nauseated him.

  Lord Pendleton came to stop by his side. “Crompton.” He greeted.

  “Pendleton.” Philip devolved.

  “The dowager Duchess is not in town, I hear.” The others went around the subject a little longer. Not Pendleton.

  “No.” He continued looking at the dance floor. “She’s traveling the continent.” He lied for the thousandth time.

  “Oh, so the rumours are true.” The older man also kept his casual attention on the couples.

  “No doubt.” Philip took a glass of champagne from a passing footman and drank a large swig of it.

  “Perhaps you’d like to come for dinner next week.”

  Direct attack. Lady Emily had a hard team at her disposal. “I’d be honoured.”

  “Fine. I’ll tell Lady Pendleton to send the invitation.” He nodded to the duke and walked away.

  The rest of the night passed in a blur enhanced by brandy.

  Next evening in the club, Darius found him plopped on an armchair, brandy in hand, half-drunk. The room rather empty at that time, as men went about the city for balls, soirees or gambling.

  “Are we celebrating or drowning sorrows?” He took his own brandy from a footman’s tray. “The second, I reckon.” He added when Philip lifted a serious look at him.

  “I am not in the mood for jests!” He drawled ill humoured.

  “Duchess out of country, I heard.” He drank his brandy, sitting on the armchair beside his friend.

  “No, she’s in Gloucestershire.” Philip gulped the rest of his brandy and asked for more.

  Darius darted his eyes to him. “In England?”

  Philip only nodded head down on his new glass.

  “Why aren’t you there?” An obvious question that had to be asked.

  “She evicted me.” He said defeated. “Or she’d disappear in the Continent.”

  “Oh, I see.” He observed Philip. “She doesn’t want the scandal to affect you.”

  “To hell with scandal!” He downed his entire brandy.

  “Have you told her you love her?”

  At that, Philip lifted his head and met his friend’s eyes. “Of course not!” He made a helpless gesture.

  “In this case she might think you just want a tryst with her.” Darius spread his arms over the armchair.

  “I asked her to marry me, for pity’s sake!” He raked his hand through his sleek dark hair, which reminded him how she used to do that. “Several times. Several refusals.”

  “You told me she didn’t want a forced marriage again, that she used to dream of a love match.”

  “Yes.” Philip appeared more alert now.

  “She might think you asked her only to put things right.” Darius took another sip of his brandy.

  “I didn’t!”

  “She doesn’t know that, does she?”

  Philip’s brows pleated. “It was clear in…other ways.”

  “Hm. Words?”

  “No, bloody hell!” He clamped one hand on the chair arm.

  “You’d better go there and spell it out.”

  Philip didn’t wait a second longer. Like a bullet, he stood up and left, not even bidding his friend good bye. “Thank you.” He said from the door.

  It’d take Philip about two days to reach her cottage and he had to leave at dawn. He’d be on his way anyhow.

  She retched for the hundredth time that week, the chamber pot empty. There was not a grain of food to throw up anymore. Still, her stomach tried. Nell would bring water and pieces of dry bread to appease the sickness, but it kept going on with little relief. Thinner and paler, she went about her days in between nauseas. She found few books in the cottage, so she took to knitting baby’s clothes. It’d make her feel she accomplished something. The sickness subsided and she put the pot aside.

  Once, looking for books, she opened a chest and came across a gun. It looked new enough, no balls available, though. She took the gun to the sitting room. Even without balls, it could scare intruders away. She hadn’t hired more staff, like footmen for protection. The fewer people knew she lived there, the better.

  Tobias, the driver, and Nell went to the village for provisions, under instructions for extreme discretion. Sometimes, they’d bring London’s newspaper, days old. It came with the mail coach. She read them avidly, looking for news from the duke. She never found any.

  Since he left, her only solace had been the life growing inside her. This and the newfound love for him. It swelled her heart, even though her body still burned for him. Some days, the longing felt almost unbearable. When it happened, she tried to think about her child, boy or girl, and what it would look like. She dreamed it’d look like him, dark hair and clove eyes.

  She stepped in the bath Nell had prepared and soaked with a sigh. She hadn’t decided yet what she’d do. If she could chose, she’d take a cottage in the manor and raise the infant there, where its family was. A bastard child had no rights; and would grow up in the margins of society. However, she reckoned she’d have to tell Philip sooner or later. She didn’t know when though. Surely, she’d sort this out.

  Having had her child in secrecy, she’d be able to go back to London and resume her place in society. Cases were when a woman left the child in the country or took it with her as a relation, depending on the possibilities. She didn’t feel worried with her unexpected pregnancy. As a widow of means, she’d be able to provide for her and the child. The secrecy would have to be maintained or society would shun her and the child. If her infant took too much after its father, people would put two and two together, especially after they’d been caught. She’d have to be very careful.

  Going down to the sitting room, after bath, she saw Nell had brought more London newspapers. She opened one, her eyes caught on a news. “Disappeared. Mr Charles Eastwell, son and heir to Baron of Drawbridge, has evaded due to gambling debts. His creditors are searching for him.” Oh, dear. More scandal coming her way. Now she’d be the sister to a man who didn’t honour his debts. She knew she’d had a part in this, as she refused to lend him money. If she’d done it, she’d be feeding his gambling endlessly, while he’d come for more repeatedly. She didn’t regret her decision, as she’d need the money for her child. The publicity would be the problem though. Society regarded a married woman belonging to her husband’s family, being the same with a widow. The connections would be there, though. She had a long time ahead of her to see how circumstances developed.

  After dinner, of which little she ate, she sent Nell and Tobias to bed and sat knitting. Both servants had been working hard to keep the cottage going. She’d think about a pay raise for them; they deserved it.

  The settling sun came through the window, a fading light. The cosy decoration of the sitting room also received the warm glow from the fireplace, making her feel comfortable and content. Her sickness seemed to have subsided a little, even though she still felt queasy. She lifted the tiny wool shoe she’d just finished, completing the pair. A wave of tenderness invaded her. She placed the pair on the table and started organising threads and needles.

  The knock on the door startled her. She sat frozen, a gelid shudder going over her. Another knock. Whoever stood outside knew people to be inside, as the fireplace gave out smoke and light possible to be seen outside.

  Resolutely, she took the gun she’d found, stood up and walked to the door. She opened it with a dry movement. Her heart burst in a crazy rhythm. What did the devil come here for? Sod him! Oh, but she’d have to make good on her word and go to the Continent, as she’d threatened. Fury dominated her. She lifted the gun and pointed at him, his clove eyes surprised.

  “I told you not to come here again!” Both hands pointed the gun firmly at him.

  “I have something to tell you.” His eyes focused on her, no fear in his stance.

  “Say it and leave.” She commanded dryly. Why did the blasted man have to come here and destroy the shred of peace she’d achieved?

 
“Don’t do this, Selene.” Calm deep silky voice “Let’s talk inside.” He gave one step towards her.

  She pointed the gun higher. “Stay where you are!”

  He didn’t. One more step. “Give me that, Selene.” One step closer. “Before someone gets hurt.”

  Her hands grabbed the gun so tightly they shook. “Go away!” She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want to see him. Desire him. Would this never end?

  One more step of his and the gun touched his chest. Their eyes clashed in the twilight, hers hostile; his firm, calm.

  Slowly, he lifted his arm; his hand closed on the gun and pulled gently. She let go, with a low sob.

  He took the gun, opened it. “No balls.”

  “I found the gun, but no balls.” She answered as her eyes took his tall, broad figure, his ruffled sleek dark hair, his chiselled face. Lowering her gaze, she saw his muddled boots. It had been raining earlier. Her vivid green attention went back to his clove one. Oh, how she’d missed him.

  “Finished the inspection?” They looked at each other seriously, immovable.

  At this her eyes darted anger. And then they went astounded as he walked past her and entered the cottage unceremoniously. There was nothing she could do but close the door and go after him.

  In the vestibule, he turned to her. “I came here to talk to you. That’s what I’m going to do.” He turned his back to her and entered the sitting room cum dining room.

  She followed again, not bothering to invite him to sit. “So say what you must and be gone.”

  “I-“ His eyes fell on the table. The little woollen shoes! He strode there and caught them. He turned to her. “Are these yours?”

  She blanched. Never did she plan to tell him this way. “Yes.” She breathed.

  “You’re with child.” A statement rather than a question.

  “Yes.”

  The expression on his face a mixture of bewilderment, wonder and…smugness. The devil!

  He strode to five inches from her. Lifting his powerful hand, he placed it on her abdomen. “My heir.” He murmured huskily.