by Amy Lake
The blonde woman was familiar, somehow. Lady Millicent thought she must have seen her at the ball.
"Lady Detweiler,” nodded the duke, and he began to make introductions. Lady Millicent, still flustered, heard the names and she must have made the appropriate acknowledgments, for everyone was smiling and gracious, and no-one looked at her as if she was making some horrible faux pax. Lady Amanda Detweiler was the cousin, it seemed, of Lord Maximilian. And Lady Pamela Sinclair was the blonde, as stunningly beautiful as the duke was handsome.
They chatted for a few minutes, engaging in the usual complaints about the weather and exchanging the latest society on dits, although no-one, to Milly's relief, mentioned a word about the Duke of Lincolnshire's ball. All in all, an unexceptionable conversation, as commonplace as rain.
But now, as they drove away, Lady Millicent's heart thudded, and her heart raced, and she thought she could not bear the hours she would need to wait before talking to Lady Annabelle.
She had not known it until that very minute, thought Milly. How could she have known it? But everything was changed, and all her new-found plans and resolutions were as nought.
The Duke of Grentham was in love.
* * * *
Benjamin handed Lady Millicent down from the phaeton and accompanied her to the earl's doorstep.
She smiled up at him tentatively, her eyes wide and brown.
"Thank you, your grace,” said Millicent. “I very much enjoyed our ride."
He bowed, and searched for some commonplace, some phrase that would allow him to bid his fiancée a quick adieu. Did she expect warm glances and words of affection from him? Perhaps even a kiss? The duke did not find Lady Millicent objectionable in any way, but the thought of bestowing even a fleeting peck brought pain, a kind of pain he had never before experienced.
Was this torment to be his daily accompaniment? Or nightly—
But the duke's thoughts shied from that direction.
Benjamin knew that the usual ending to such an afternoon was for the gentleman to accompany his affianced bride into her home, to spend some time with the family. He could hardly imagine passing more than a minute in the company of the Earl of Banbridge, but the daughter should not be held accountable for her father's faults, and indeed Benjamin already felt some affection for the girl.
She had done her best to be pleasant company during their carriage ride, and considering that she had suffered a horrible assault not two nights before, the duke found Lady Millicent possessed of a fine spirit and considerable common sense.
The apple, in this case, had fallen far from the tree.
And he could not walk away. Benjamin could not back out of the engagement now and abandon Millicent Chambers to the earl's machinations. He viewed her in the same light as he viewed his cousin Helène; a young woman, as it were, under his protection.
And he would have happily continued to play the same role in Millicent's life as he had in Helène's, but not as a husband.
The girl interrupted his dreary musings, her voice betraying nothing beyond a sunny good cheer. “I'm sure you have much work to do, my lord, and I find myself a trifle fatigued. I'm sure the countess longs to make a further acquaintance, but perhaps some other day..."
Lady Millicent trailed off, still smiling, and dropped him a quick curtsey. And she was gone.
* * * *
"Engaged?” repeated Josiah Cleghorn, his mouth dropping open in astonishment.
"Aye,” said Mrs. Throckmorton, grim-faced. “To some slip of an earl's daughter, says Cook."
"But—'Taint possible! ‘Taint!"
"'Tis."
"I would ha’ known!” Josiah's conception of his life's role, his relationship to the duke, was foundering. He took a long swig of his half-beer and set the glass down with a thud, making no attempt to hide his anger and consternation. Amber liquid sloshed out, but the housekeeper made no comment.
Engaged!
Mrs. Throckmorton would understand his feelings, thought the valet, sure an’ she would. He and the housekeeper had spent a fair piece of time together this past month, their common interest being the Duke of Grentham. Josiah had explained it all; explained about meeting Lord Torrance aboard that benighted, devil-run ship, and the duke havin’ saved his hide more ‘n a time or two. A fine figure of a woman Mrs. Throckmorton was, and as fond of her pint as the valet. Josiah had grown to appreciate the housekeeper's company, and he found himself spending a bit more time belowstairs as the weeks ran on.
But ‘twas no consolation in the present case.
"Come on fast, says Cook. Met her at that fancy ball."
"The Lincolnshires' ball?” said the valet, aghast. “Jus’ two nights ago?"
"Aye."
The valet shook his head. He would have discounted the intelligence at once, had he less respect for Cook's standing along the servant's grapevine.
"Eh, Mrs. Throck’ n, this be no good."
"Truth be, Mr. Cleghorn.” She took a swig of her own beer.
"He don’ love some earl's chit. He loves that Lady Pam."
"Aye,” said the housekeeper.
* * * *
Lady Millicent was staring at Lady Annabelle in bewildered indignation.
"In debt? But that's not possible!"
"Hush,” said Belle, glancing around at the group of dowagers and bored young gentlemen who were now assembling in Lady Tate's grand salon for the musicale.
"My father is an earl!"
Annabelle sighed. Their conversation had begun in a babble of news. Engaged, said Milly, and at first Belle had assumed the engagement was to Lord Castlereaugh, but Lady Millicent had been less disconsolate than she might have expected, and it was several minutes before Annabelle had understood the situation correctly. The Duke of Grentham! thought Belle, remembering the very handsome gentleman she had seen at the ball. She had not known his name, but her brother had pointed him out during dinner.
Rich as Croesus, said Jason. And to have fought off that horrid Lord Castlereaugh! It all sounded very romantic, with Lord Torrance as Lady Millicent's shining knight, come to the rescue.
But in the meantime, before all this was understood, Belle happened to mention the reason for Millicent's upcoming and precipitous wedding, having agonized for so long about withholding this confidence, and thinking that her friend should at least know why she was being forced into marriage, only to discover that ‘twas not Lord Castlereaugh at all. And now Lady Millicent was upset, and Annabelle could hardly blame her, for her entire world had been turned upside down.
Your father is bankrupt was not something any young woman of the ton wished to hear.
"He bought a carriage and four just last week!” protested Milly.
"All on credit,” said Annabelle, who understood, from Jason, exactly how these things were done.
"But-but he's an earl!” Millicent was repeating herself.
"And Prince George,” said Belle, “is a prince."
Lady Millicent considered this. The debts of the Prince Regent and his brothers were notorious, but of such long standing, and so absurdly large, that she had simply never made the connection between the affairs of royalty and those of lesser folk. That Prince George had been forced to marry-unhappily-for money she knew; that this had any relationship to her own life was unfathomable. But, according to Lady Annabelle, so it was.
Millicent had little true affection for her father, who had never spared her a kind word or moment's attention, but she had always felt the respect due him as a gentleman and an earl. But how could she respect someone who preferred a new carriage over his own daughter's welfare? Milly had never handled more than a five pound note, but she was sure a fine barouche and four beautiful horses cost dear. She recalled all the other expenses her parents were in the habit of incurring, the new gowns that arrived for her mother almost weekly, the jewelry, the fancy watch fobs and gold snuff boxes...
"Then it was all for money,” she said finally. “Lord Castlereaugh, I mean.
"
Lady Annabelle saw no reason to spin fibs with her answer. “Yes,” she told Milly. “Jason says that if your father does not get the cash before the new year, he'll be rolled up."
"What does that mean, exactly?” Millicent had never paid much attention details of finance.
This was even more difficult. “He could be sent to prison,” said Annabelle.
"Prison—” squeaked Millicent. She and Lady Annabelle were sitting in one of the Lady Tate's roomy window seats, and as far from the rest of the group as possible, but her voice carried. The dowager Marchioness of Amesbury turned in their direction and glared.
"Shh!” said Belle.
Both girls smiled apologetically to the marchioness. Lady Tate's soprano had begun one of the arias from Così fan tutte; Milly and Annabelle remained silent, hands in lap, for several minutes, their attention ostensibly focused on the music.
É amore un ladroncello, sang the soprano, Dorabella cajoling Fiordiligi.
Un serpentello...
Love is a thief. A snake...
"I must speak to Lord Peabody,” Millicent said suddenly, when the dowager's attention had returned to Mozart.
"Oh, for the love of—” Lady Annabelle could have cried in exasperation. Lord Peabody? Clarence Peabody? He was the last person who could possibly be of any help.
"You don't need the viscount,” she told Millicent. “For heaven's sake, Milly, you have the duke. I'm sure he's arranged for the settlements with Lord Chambers. Everything will be fine."
Millicent was momentarily diverted. “Settlements?"
"Money, goose. To pay what your father owes."
Milly frowned, biting her lip. Despite Annabelle's dire announcements, she still could not comprehend that the earl might be in any real difficulty. She had never known a member of the haut ton to be jailed for debt. Such things did not happen to the nobility.
"I must speak with Clarence,” insisted Milly. “I can borrow one of my father's coaches, and we will run away to Scotland. By the time they find us, Lord Peabody and I will already be married."
The money would come from somewhere, she was thinking. The money must come from somewhere. Perhaps the Peabody family—
Belle shook her head, which was swimming. What on earth was Milly babbling about? First Lord Castlereaugh had been set aside in favor of the Duke of Grentham-and Lady Annabelle had no quibble there, although it was unfortunate that Milly had suffered an assault to bring this about-but now they were back to Lord Peabody.
"Millicent,” she said patiently. “Think. The duke is one of the wealthiest men in England. He's a duke, for heaven's sake. You can learn to love him-I certainly could-and he will learn to love you. Arrangements such as this are made all the time."
"But that's just it. I cannot marry Lord Torrance no matter how rich he is,” said Lady Millicent. “I didn't have time to tell you yet, but—"
"What?” hissed Lady Annabelle, in flat outrage. If Millicent tells me, thought Belle, that she refuses to marry anyone other than Clarence Peabody, that gapeseed, that insignificant, repulsive little worm, I vow I will scream.
"Don't be a goose,” she told Milly. “The duke has ten times the consequence of Clarence, a hundred times! And he's handsome."
"The Duke of Grentham,” said Lady Millicent, “is in love with Lady Pamela Sinclair."
In love. The words hung in the air. Annabelle stared at Millicent.
"In love?” she whispered. “How can you know that?"
"I saw them, today—"
"Today!"
"Shh!” hissed the Marchioness of Amesbury.
"-in Hyde Park. Lord Torrance had taken me for a drive, and we came up to this carriage-it was the most gorgeous barouche you've ever seen, Belle, painted in green and gold-and there were two ladies sitting there, and a young gentleman, Lord Detweiler-I danced with him at the ball, you know—"
Lady Annabelle raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, you do so remember, I told you, Belle-at any rate, the one woman is Lord Detweiler's cousin, but the other was Lady Pamela Sinclair—"
"Milly. Take a breath."
"-and I knew, the moment I saw them, that they were in love. So I can't marry Lord Torrance, and I must see Lord Peabody."
Annabelle sighed, giving up. She knew Lady Millicent a great deal better than Milly's own father did, and was well aware of the stubborn streak in her friend's character. If Millicent was determined on seeing Clarence Peabody, then she would see Clarence Peabody, and ‘twas better if the matter was arranged carefully, in a manner not likely to get either of them in trouble.
"Oh, all right,” she told Milly. “I'll talk to Jason."
* * * *
Amanda had not wanted to leave Lady Pamela to her own devices that evening, but Pam insisted, and now she walked alone, through the small and bitter sea of her rose garden, where the few remaining blooms shone softly in the light of a waning moon.
Engaged. Engaged. And no way out, no possibility of reprieve. The Earl of Banbridge would never allow Millicent to cry off, and Lord Torrance would never allow it of himself.
And she knew, as well, that she would now never marry. The Duke of Grentham was to have been her husband. There could be only one such man in her life.
Lady Pam felt anger at herself and, when she could no longer endure that misery, anger at Lord Torrance.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lady Pamela spent most of that next day, both morning and afternoon, doing violence to her garden.
All flowers benefited from a good pruning, she told herself. ‘Twas good for them. She made a last assault on the rosebushes and then applied herself to the nasturtium and the sweet peas, which were uprooted by the score, finally turning her attention to the poppies. The poppies were a scandal, and Lady Pamela was happily occupied with that problem until early tea.
In the evening she began to plan her remove to the country. Pam and Lady Detweiler always spent the Christmas holidays at Luton Court. No-one would mind if she left London a month early this year, and Amanda could always follow when she wished. Jonathan and Celia-her brother, the marquess, and his wife-would remain in town for some weeks yet, but that was all to the better. A spell of solitary in the wilds of Bedfordshire would be just the thing, and it would give her a chance to talk with Luton's steward, and to review the winter provisions made for their tenants.
Jonathan tended to be forgetful in these details. Lady Pamela remembered the year she had returned from a trip to Paris a few days before Christmas, only to discover that neither wood nor a store of peat had been laid in for the cottagers’ hearth fires, and that the marquess, oblivious, had spent the week shooting with his guests.
"Yes, yes—” he had sputtered, when Pamela brought the matter to his attention. “But they can cut down a tree or two, can they not?"
"Wet, green wood? ‘Twill smoke worse than the peat."
"Ah, well—"
"Harrison!” Lady Pam had called, and she and the steward had managed to work it out before anyone starved or was frozen.
Bedfordshire, of course, was where she had met the Duke of Grentham. But Lady Pamela would not hold that against the place, and she began packing, arranging for her trunks to be brought down from the attic, and for various items of warm clothing to be aired in preparation for the trip.
* * * *
Lady Millicent held back sobs.
"Drive on!” she said to the Fitzroy's coachman, attempting a shout, but her voice was hoarse with unshed tears, and the man did not hear. Millicent banged against the roof of the coach with her parasol; the carriage jerked forward and they began, once again, a slow journey through the streets of London.
Clarence Peabody did not love her. Had never loved her, thought Millicent, for true love did not wilt under some trifling inconvenience of money.
And Lord Peabody had left no doubt of his feelings on that subject. Millicent's lips formed a moue of disgust as she remembered how he had near to fainted at her first mention of Gretna
Green.
"What? What? Don't be a goose,” Clarence had gasped, panicked and edging away from Milly as far as he dared. “We can't marry. You've no fortune, and neither have I."
"We could make do, somehow. I'm sure—"
"Make do?” Clarence stared at her as if she had just suggested an evening's swim in the Thames. He wiped his brow and glanced about nervously, perhaps expecting Lord Chambers to pop out from behind the nearest bush. “Make do?"
"But—"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” said Lord Peabody. He was still attempting, without success, to catch his breath. “It's late. I must leave."
He'd nearly jumped from the carriage in his haste, although by that point Milly was hard pressed not to push him.
Hateful person, thought Millicent, who had yet to master Lady Annabelle's vocabulary of insult. Hateful, hateful person. She threw a cushion out the carriage window, and regretted it immediately, for ‘twas the Fitzroy's cushion and not the earl's. She stuck out her tongue and blew, a horrible, razzing sound.
She began to feel a little better.
Well, she could live without him, thought Lady Millicent. Live without that stupid, hateful man. She almost laughed out loud. She would be a duchess! She would marry the Duke of Grentham, and be a duchess, and have ten children, and every one of them would be far higher ton than that miserable, mushroomy Clarence Peabody!
The Duchess of Grentham.
Milly's sudden good humour evaporated. She wanted to be married. She had always wanted to marry someday, and have a husband, and children, and a home of her own. And there was the problem. If she married the Duke of Grentham, none of it would be of her own, would it? ‘Twould all belong, in the duke's heart, to Lady Pamela.
Lady Millicent, suddenly energized, stuck her head out the window of the coach.
"Driver?” she queried.
