by Amy Lake
Lady Millicent said nothing, and Pamela-who soon heard the words ‘bullying cur’ and ‘Castlereaugh'-began to guess what had happened.
Lord Castlereaugh had made advances upon Lady Millicent and been discovered. The bounder had been given a set-to; the duke's injured hand, moreover, suggested it was Lord Torrance rather than the earl who had given Castlereaugh such a drubbing.
Lady Millicent was fortunate to have the duke come to her rescue, and Pamela's heart warmed toward him even as she thought of the complications that might ensue. If Lady Harkins had not been present-what an unfortunate mischance!-Lady Millicent's predicament might be hushed up. As it was, she would now certainly be forced to wed Castlereaugh.
Lady Pamela's ire grew at this. To force a young woman to marry such a lecher...
She risked a second peek around the yew, and saw that the small group was still engaged in conversation. Adding a fifth voice to the discussion would only make matters worse; Lady Pamela backed away and sought another path to the house.
* * * *
Lord Torrance never returned to the ballroom that evening, but Lady Pamela's heart was far too occupied to worry, torn as it was between her own happiness and her anger on Lady Millicent's behalf. The duke had no doubt escorted the young girl home, or gone in search of Castlereaugh. He was doing something noble and wonderful, Lady Pam was sure, and it did not signify that she could not talk to him, for they would soon have the rest of their lives for conversation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Earl of Banbridge had begun making inquiries first thing that morning. A man might take pride in his daughter's becoming a duchess, even a bird-witted fool of a daughter, but the duke's wealth had yet to be considered.
The information he sought was quickly acquired, and what the earl learned of Lord Torrance left him well satisfied. The Grentham fortune was as enormous as ever, which the earl counted a stroke of luck, for there was many a duke who had lost everything of the family riches save the crest and a few tippets of moth-eaten ermine. The duke's fortune should allow him some breathing space, thought Lord Chambers, while his creditors adjusted to the changing situation and revised their plans to bleed him dry.
But if the duke could not be convinced to make adequate settlements, if he could not be prevailed upon to match Castlereaugh's offer, then the earl would not count himself happy. Indeed, he would be in as much trouble as before. Once Millicent was married off he had no more children, no-one else to be put out to bid, and no other means to obtain the money he so desperately needed.
If only he could return to his previous plan, to the worthy Lord Castlereaugh. But that gentleman had sent round a missive even earlier in the morning, informing Lord Chambers that he would no longer be paying his respects to Lady Millicent and, indeed, that he never wished to set eyes upon the girl again.
A sniveler, thought the earl. But some men were like that, one little setback and they were out the door.
No, Lord Torrance must be prevailed upon to marry Lady Millicent, and to pay.
Everybody has a price, thought Lord Chambers. Even dukes have their price. One merely needs to find the proper coin, and the leverage to use it.
The coin Lord Castlereaugh preferred was lust, but the earl suspected that the Duke of Grentham would be a different kettle of fish. He had no personal acquaintance with Lord Torrance, but he had heard reports, and he had seen the look in the man's eyes, in the Lincolnshires’ garden, the night before.
Compassion. Concern. Concern for his stupid chit of a daughter, who'd not the sense to accept Lord Castlereaugh from the beginning, as he'd told her to, and thus avoid all the unpleasantness of that scene. A scene in which she had dragged a duke of the realm down with her to an arranged marriage, happy or not.
'Twas almost funny, and would have been so, had the earl been sure of the duke's position. Compassion, thought Lord Chambers, would have to do. Surely his fool of a daughter could be counted on to show some distress at the embarrassing financial crisis faced by her father and mother. Surely Lord Torrance would not want his new wife's name dragged through the muck of debtor's court.
Yes. Compassion should suffice.
Perhaps the earl was, as the duke was soon to believe, a true villain. Or perhaps he was merely ignorant and crude, his high rank in society owing nothing to his own merits. Lord Chambers had little wit and less imagination. All women were much the same to him-hen-witted babblers, of use only for a man's pleasure-and one marriage like any other.
Why not Lord Castlereaugh, then, when the man could be of real use to the family coffers? And, if the proper arrangements could be made, why not the Duke of Grentham?
Lord Chambers had little idea that his daughter carried strong feelings upon the subject, or indeed, that her mind possessed any thoughts at all.
* * * *
"Your grace,” said the Earl of Banbridge. “'Tis my honour. Do sit down."
"I prefer to stand.” Lord Torrance stood at the far edge of the desk, his hands flat upon its surface. He loomed above the earl, who raised his eyebrows and seemed to reconsider whatever he had been about to say.
"Yes, well, do as you wish,” said Lord Chambers. “Let us not bandy words, then. You have compromised my daughter, and done so in the presence of Lady Harkins. ‘Twill be known throughout the ton. You will be married to Lady Millicent within the fortnight."
The duke stared at him. The words did not come as a surprise. He had half expected as much, after all, from the unpleasantness of last evening's exchange with the earl.
* * * *
"My darling, darling daughter! What has happened?"
An older man, portly and out of breath, hurried forward. The young woman was trembling, in shock, but made no sound. Lord Torrance had helped her to stand and was supporting her with one arm about her shoulders. The girl's bodice was ripped, and the fabric covered with bits of grass and dirt.
His daughter, the man had said. How fortunate, thought Benjamin, that the girl's father had happened to be nearby.
But when the portly gentleman saw the duke he stopped short, his expression showing surprise-and dismay. He looked around quickly, as if expecting someone else to be nearby.
"But ... what-?"
"Oh! Oh! My heart!"
An older woman, a few steps behind the man, bustled up, clutching her chest. Benjamin saw, to his horror, that it was Lady Beatrice Harkins. This was unlucky chance, as the duke knew her, from Luton Court, to be a busybody and a gossip. Ignoring Lady Harkins for the moment, the duke steadied Millicent, leaving her standing on her own just long enough to remove his own coat and wrap it around her. She looked up at him in mute thanks, showing no inclination to leave his side.
"You, sir,” said the man. “Explain yourself at once. What disgrace is this?"
Benjamin made allowances for the jolt of seeing one's daughter abused and in the arms of a stranger, but he still could not like the man's tone. Surely it was obvious what had happened. And what sort of a father would leave his young daughter, even for a moment, in the hands of such a knave?
"I am Lord Torrance, the Duke of Grentham,” he answered stiffly, counting for once on his title, trusting it would bring the man to his senses. “I found your daughter here, as you see, and left to the mercies of some wretched scoundrel."
They were wasting time. The girl needed to be taken home at once, given a soothing tisane and put to bed. “And you are, sir?” he added, wondering if a man who would treat his daughter so carelessly would have the courage to own it.
"Lord Chambers, the Earl of Banbridge,” the man answered. His eyes had widened at Benjamin's words, and the duke had hope that the girl's father was fast becoming heartily ashamed of himself. “This is my daughter, the Lady Millicent—"
"Father,” said the girl, faintly. “'Twas Lord Castlereaugh..."
Benjamin looked down at her. “Castlereaugh, is it? The man ought be called out."
"Oh, no! Please—"
"My good-your grace,” s
aid the earl. “You've quite mistaken matters. A lover's spat, I am sure, and no more. Lord Castlereaugh is my daughters fiancé."
"No,” whispered Lady Millicent. “No..."
"Castlereaugh!” Lady Harkins stared aghast at Lord Chambers. “Enoch Castlereaugh is engaged to your daughter?"
"My dear Lady Harkins, I can assure you-"
"The man,” said Benjamin flatly, “is a bullying cur. And worse than that. He should be removed from society."
"Lord Chambers, this is impossible!” said Beatrice Harkins. She was shaking in outrage. “Lord Torrance-your grace, you cannot allow this! Lord Castlereaugh is ... is ... Oh, my heart!"
Further utterance deserted Lady Harkins who, for once, had progressed beyond self-interest. Under different circumstances the duke would have been pleased.
"I will not marry him!” Lady Millicent cried. She seemed to have taken courage from Beatrice Harkins’ words. “Father, I will not!"
"I tell you, daughter,” sputtered Lord Chambers, “you will!"
The earl was clearly furious, and Benjamin could not make it out. Furious that his daughter had escaped rape?
Lady Harkins renewed her attack. “I will faint! I will faint!” she cried. “Your grace, my dear sir, you must marry the girl! You must!"
A long, shocked silence. Finally—
"Oh,” whispered Lady Millicent, and collapsed. The duke caught her in his arms, and glared at the earl.
"What ails you, sir?” he asked the earl. “Take your daughter home at once. I will attend you tomorrow, at your convenience."
Lord Chambers nodded. “Very well. But if you—"
"Shut up,” said the Duke of Grentham. Lady Millicent's eyes had fluttered open; he gave her over to the ministrations of Lady Harkins, and her father, and walked away, not looking back.
* * * *
Not unexpected, no. But Benjamin did not like the feeling of being backed into a corner.
"I,” he told Lord Chambers, “did not compromise Lady Millicent. As you know full well."
"Yes, yes, ‘tis most unfortunate,” the earl replied, “but my daughter's reputation must come above all other concerns."
"I will have a talk with Beatrice Harkins,” said the duke. “The woman is an acquaintance of both mine and the Marquess of Luton; she can be prevailed upon to hold her tongue.” One could hope, thought Benjamin, that Lady Harkins wished to remain in the good graces of the Duke of Grentham.
"You may find you are too late,” Lord Chambers replied. “The story is most likely making the rounds of London already."
"What story?” retorted the duke, feeling disgust do battle with a growing anger. “That the Earl of Banbridge left his young daughter in the hands of a cad?"
Lord Chambers smiled, an expression that did not reach his eyes. “I doubt you will find my name much involved. Yours, on the other hand—"
The duke knew that losing his temper would not help keep his wits about him. He forced himself to speak calmly. “I would venture to guess,” he told the earl, “that the reputation of a duke is not so easily smeared. But it matters little to me one way or t’ other."
Did he see a flicker of alarm in the man's eyes? Perhaps, for the earl's attack now changed its direction. “Nevertheless, Lady Millicent is the true innocent here,” he said swiftly. “Her chances for another marriage must be greatly harmed."
"Lady Millicent,” said the duke, “is a young girl. Surely she cannot wish to be married to me, to someone she saw for the first time last night."
The earl shrugged. “Perhaps you are right. She knows Lord Castlereaugh, of course—"
This was infuriating. Did the man have no concern for his daughter's well-being? Abandoning any niceties of address, the duke leaned over the desk and glared at Lord Chambers.
"I have made it my business this morning,” he told the earl, “to discover what I could of that individual. He is no gentleman."
"Oh, come, sir, you are too harsh."
"He is a revolting lecher of the worst sort. I wouldn't allow one of my scullery maids to marry Enoch Castlereaugh."
But nothing seemed to discomfit the Earl of Banbridge. “Then let us have no more pretty words,” he told the duke. “I need money. A few, trifling debts, you understand-but I must have the ready to pay them off. Lord Castlereaugh and I had an agreement."
"You mean to tell me, sir, that you have sold your daughter?"
"What does it matter?” said Lord Chambers. “A female cares for nothing but jewelry and gowns, and I wager Castlereaugh will keep her well enough clothed.” The earl's expression became suddenly sly. “When she's allowed out of his bed, of course."
The duke came across the desk, his clenched fist aimed at the earl's jaw.
"Come now,” said Lord Chambers, hastily pushing back his chair. “There's no call for violence. If you are so concerned for my daughter you may marry her yourself, as I said from the beginning. The girl has decent manners and I dare say she's no antidote."
Marry Lady Millicent. He could not marry Lady Millicent, thought the duke. He must marry Lady Pamela, had intended to call upon her that very morning, in fact, to insist upon her hand.
But would she accept him?
The duke shook his head. It was a gesture born more from his own thoughts than the present conversation, but Lord Chambers did not know to take it as such.
"Ruin her, then, if you wish,” said the earl. “I will wash my hands of the chit."
"Your own daughter..."
"Tarnished goods. A disgrace to her family. A good thrashing is what the girl needs, and she shall receive it at my hands, I can assure you, if she remains in my house."
Lord Torrance was beyond even anger.
"I will discuss this with ... my man-of-affairs,” he said finally, the only answer he could think of to allow him time to stall. He had no family to consult, and the earl must know it. Benjamin was not willing to accede to any marriage, but equally unhappy at the thought of throwing Lady Millicent back to the mercies of her father. Something could be worked out, he thought. Something must be.
"Then we are agreed."
The duke wanted nothing more than to remove himself from that room, to never see or speak to the Earl of Banbridge again. But he would not give in that easily. “Do not fool yourself,” he told the man. “We have agreed upon nothing."
"Very well,” said Lord Chambers. “See your man-of-affairs, then. But for Lady Millicent's sake, you may wish to cut the discussion short.” He picked up a decanter of heavy crystal. “Brandy?"
Did the man have no shame? “I can find my way out, thank you,” said the duke, his jaw set.
Benjamin strode toward the library door and flung it open. He had barely made two steps down the hall when a small figure appeared in the doorway to an adjacent room.
Lady Millicent. She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.
Benjamin took a deep breath, his anger at once dissipating.
"Your grace.” She curtseyed low.
The duke bowed in return. “Good day to you, my lady,” he said, wanting to reassure her but having no idea what to say. Nothing, perhaps. As he turned to continue down the hallway he heard a rustling of skirts behind him and then, once again, Millicent's soft voice.
"Lord Torrance?"
He turned back to Lady Millicent. Her hands were clasped together tightly; her eyes sought his.
"I will make you happy,” said Millicent Chambers. “I promise you. I will make you happy."
* * * *
Lady Pamela slept late that morning, and awoke refreshed and feeling more cheerful than she remembered in ages. The Lincolnshires’ ball had extended so far into the early hours of the morning that no-one would be expected to make or receive calls that day, a custom among the ton for such an event. Pam longed to see the duke, but she almost welcomed the respite. ‘Twould be a day to recover, and to plan what she would say to Lord Torrance when he did make his visit.
As he would do, surely. Lady Pamela fe
lt a moment's unease, remembering the waltz and their last words together. She dismissed the feeling at once, certain that the duke somehow felt what she felt, knew that she resisted him no longer. ‘Twas no more than a silly misunderstanding!
He had called before after a quarrel, thought Lady Pamela, remembering the Marthwaites’ ball. He would do so again.
A day to wait, only. A single day to dream.
* * * *
The duke rued the hour he had left Wiltshire. Would that his only problem was burdock in the pasture or a stable needing to be mucked out. Would that he could return to Corsham Manor, and spend his days on Xairephon, riding his lands, and never see London again.
You cannot abandon Lady Millicent, the little voice told him, much as he tried not to listen.
If only Lady Pamela had accepted his proposal, if only they were already wed.
But she had not, and they were not. And how could he even have hoped, last night, that matters between them would ever change? They had quarreled again, and she had left him on the Lincolnshires’ dance floor, and walked away, and perhaps this was indeed the end.
And in the meantime, even as her father had said, Lady Millicent Chambers was an innocent. Their current predicament was no more her fault than it was Benjamin's own, but she alone was left to pay.
Lord Torrance's thoughts flew in circles. He had tossed and turned that night in his bed, and finally given up on sleep. He roamed the hallways of the second floor for a time, eventually finding himself at the doors to the duchess's suite.
'Twas as lovely a set of rooms as one might hope, now. The new bed Lady Pamela had selected had been delivered only days ago, accompanied by a matching wardrobe and two comfortable, overstuffed chairs. The chairs had been arranged in front of the fireplace, and Benjamin imagined himself sitting there in front of a cheerful blaze with his ... his wife.
Lady Millicent Torrance, Duchess of Grentham.
He had no wish to marry the girl, but that was a selfish consideration, thought Benjamin, a mere trifle against the magnitude of the consequences she would face should her reputation be ruined.
