Dukes In Disguise

by Grace Burrowes, Susanna Ives, Emily Greenwood

  They turned upon Lucere and Harris’s entrance, their brows lifted to see what mate had rolled in. When finding two non-tribesmen, the customers’ affable faces hardened with cold hostility.

  An unspoken it’s them rang in the air.

  The townspeople couldn’t have discovered Lucere’s identity. News of that magnitude would have run like a lightning bolt through the town, sending nosy neighbors to Estella’s door.

  He couldn’t account for the inhospitality. It severely altered his plans to befriend a local cove over a drink and discreetly ask about Todd. Now he might as well stand on a table and shout, I’m looking for a Mr. Todd.

  Lucere sheepishly smiled in the manner of I come in peace and edged to a corner table outside the inner circle around the fireplace. All the while, he felt like a stalked deer. “Bloody hell, Harris,” he muttered.

  The barmaid, glancing nervously around, hesitated to approach. Lucere beckoned her with his hand, smiling to show he wasn’t some murderous cannibal.

  She slowly crossed to his table, all eyes following her, ears straining to hear.

  “Good morning, miss,” Lucere said pleasantly. “What a lovely locket you’re wearing,” he added to relax her stiff countenance. Ladies loved a compliment.

  She fingered it. “It keeps a lock of my husband’s hair.”

  “He’s a lucky gentleman indeed to have such a wife,” Lucere replied.

  “He’s been dead a year tomorrow,” she said quietly.

  The pain in her face pierced that place inside him where he kept Catherine’s cherished memories.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” he whispered. “I truly am.”

  She swallowed, as if trying to push down an emotion. When she spoke again, her tones had softened. “What would you like?”

  “Ales for my good mate and me,” Lucere replied.

  “Very good.” She returned to the bar.

  The customers, having witnessed the exchange and their barmaid surviving unscathed, slowly returned to their previous conversations, but their untrusting eyes continued to stray to Lucere and Harris.

  Then the door opened again, and in strolled a familiar face. Starlingham! Lucere knew it was unmanly, but at that moment, he desired to hug his friend and assure Starlingham of his lifelong devotion.

  Starlingham glanced at Lucere and then the hostile customers. The edge of his lip hiked in amusement. He ambled over. “I’m Mr. Fitzwilliam. I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.”

  “Mr. Stephens,” Lucere said and gestured to his manservant. “And this is Mr. Harris.”

  “How pleasant to meet you,” Starlingham replied.

  He sat down and leaned in, his face turning grave. “What appears to be amiss here?” he whispered. “What have you done to garner this cold reception?”

  “I swear I’ve been a saint,” Lucere hissed. “Another week in Puddlebury and I may make it to heaven yet.”

  “Then why is everyone staring at you?”

  “A fine mystery indeed.”

  Lucere caught the barmaid’s eye and held up three fingers. She nodded.

  “I’m feeling uncomfortable,” Starlingham admitted, gazing about.

  “I believe we may have a mutual friend, Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Lucere said, changing the subject. He had sent notes to Starlingham and Mowne by urchins, giving his whereabouts but asking them not to reply unless Mowne’s condition had worsened or they were ready to leave for Scotland. The Duke of Lucere’s Boarding House family was so small, any correspondence would be noted.

  “A friend who suffered a most grievous injury to a delicate region?” Starlingham inquired.

  “The very one. Have you heard recently from him?”

  “Yes, we enjoyed some tankards on market day.”

  The barmaid returned with the ale. Lucere overpaid her and only waved his hand when she pointed out his error. “Then it is for the lovely lady with the sad eyes.”

  Then Lucere sipped from his glass, thrummed his fingers on the table, and waited until the barmaid had retreated a safe distance. “What tidings do you have of this friend?”

  “It seems he has taken up sewing and folding linens in his convalescence.”

  “What? I thought he was shot in the arse, not in the head. We need…” Lucere caught himself. “He should repair to Scotland very quickly. This is dire, indeed.”

  Yet, for Lucere, the idea of going to Scotland had lost its appeal. He could not leave Estella for his princess until he knew she was safe and financially secure. Nor did Starlingham appear to harbor a great desire to gallop off. He stared at his ale, disappearing into a thought that relaxed his visage and caused a strange smile to play on his lips. Alas, he had found a woman too!

  What had the Lesser Puddlepiss females done to them?

  They finished their ale, and then Lucere ordered another round. Again paying a penny more. They spoke of cricket matches and horse races for the sake of appearing normal, until Lucere could take no more of being studied like the bones of some unknown and exotic creature brought before the Royal Society. When he rose, Starlingham and Harris quickly followed.

  Outside the tavern, Starlingham inquired about living arrangements at the Duke of Lucere’s Boarding House. Lucere had shared everything with his friends, except Catherine. And now he found himself loath to speak of Estella too. She was his precious secret for now. He was in the midst of making a deflecting, sarcastic remark about setting up his own household in accordance to the rules of the boarding house, when Harris cleared his throat.

  Lucere stopped mid-sentence. What ghastly crisis had occurred to rouse Harris?

  Harris discreetly glanced to his right. Several houses down from the tavern, the barmaid waited in a small alley.

  Lucere broke from the other men and strolled to her. She receded several steps into the shadows of the alley.

  “I’m Mr. Stephens,” he said when he reached her.

  She didn’t introduce herself, but said, “You’re the men staying at the boarding house, no? Everyone is talking. This town is so small they have nothing better to do. Pray, you seem like pleasant enough men, but you need to leave. Miss Primrose is spoken for by Mr. Todd.”

  “Who is Mr. Todd? Where is he?”

  “He’s not here for the time being. In York. But he’s got spies here. And he won’t like hearing about you.”

  Lucere protested to keep the conversation going. “We are mere boarders with no dishonorable intentions towards our landlady.”

  “Mr. Todd won’t see things that way. He’s fiercely jealous of her. You see, I’m a barmaid, and my sisters work in his house. I’ve heard things about the man’s temper that I best not repeat. But pray, I tell you that you should be leaving as soon as may be.”

  “Has he hurt Miss Primrose?” Lucere demanded, his fury rising.

  She shrugged. “Not unless she vexed him. He’s like any man, really. Won’t give you any trouble as long as you give him what he wants. Miss Primrose should consent to have him. She won’t do any better here.” She wrapped her arms about her. “Thank you for the money. I have two little ones.” The sadness returned to her features.

  “If there is anything—”

  “I best return to my work.” She stepped around him.

  “Wait!” He dug into his pocket and retrieved a half-guinea. When he finally revealed his identity, he would give her more. He pressed the coin into her hand. “For your little ones.”

  She gave him a wavering smile. “Like I said, you seem like pleasant men.” She hurried on.

  Back at the boarding house, Lucere returned to the drawing room to find Estella curled on her side, asleep on the sofa. She still clutched the dusting rag. He watched her, wondering what anxieties wrinkled her sleeping brow. He nestled a blanket over her and then quietly pulled a chair close. There he remained, guarding her sleep, waving away her sisters when they tried to enter.

  He was still watching over her when she awoke. A gentle, drowsy smile graced her lips when she saw him. “
Mr. Stephens,” she whispered. He slid from his chair and knelt before her. “My dear, Mr. Stephens.”

  He cupped her cheek in his hand. She leaned against it and closed her eyes again. He couldn’t help but muse how it would be if every day she awoke so lovingly at his side.

  Then a troubling thought darkened her face. She bolted up. “Oh dear, I should…” She gazed about, confused. “I should make dinner.” She hurried to the door.

  “Wait!”

  She spun around so fast, her skirts flared about her ankles. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stephens, but we should never be alone again.”

  “But—”

  She didn’t let him finish but fled.

  After that day, Estella withdrew from him more and more and, despite telling himself to keep a safe distance, the harder he chased her.

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  Estella was grateful that Mr. Todd was in York. She required all her strength to keep from falling further in love with Mr. Stephens.

  On the ninth evening since her lodgers had arrived, Estella delivered her mother’s dinner to her apartments. The gentlemen had forgone port, as they had every night since the first, to join the sisters in the drawing room. Estella desired to fly back downstairs so that she wouldn’t miss a fascinating word that Mr. Stephens uttered or a beautiful song he sang. But she forced herself to stay upstairs, safe from his powers.

  Although she struggled to conceal her true feelings for him, her senses were alive to every aspect of the man. The slight downturn of his lip caused her to panic that she had in some way offended him. That impish half smile especially kept her enthralled. She made a compromise with herself: If she managed to avoid him during the day, her imagination would be free to venture unchecked to any shocking fantasy about him. Thus her hours were passed with cleaning, cooking, mending, folding, ironing, and mentally making wild, passionate love to her handsome lodger.

  “You look quite lovely tonight,” her mother said between bites. “Something in your face and eyes. Has it to do with our special lodger? Hmm?”

  Was Estella so obvious in her affections? She moved quickly to divert her mother from forming such an opinion. “Both lodgers are pleasant enough gentlemen.”

  Her mother continued to eye her, penetrating her daughter’s breezy casualness. “Are they? The twins extol Mr. Stephens’s handsome face and manners. He has made quite an impression on them, but you are not so moved. Perhaps this Mr. Harris is more to your liking?”

  “Mr. Harris is a kind gentleman.”

  “Ah, look at you, your hands in your lap, your composed face. Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.” She pushed her plate away. “If you will not elucidate this mystery…” Her mother pulled the string to call a servant.

  “Mama!”

  Mrs. Primrose pushed herself up to her feet.

  “Tonight, I shall go down and form my own opinion of our lodgers.”

  “No, no, Mama, it is too much. The physician said—”

  “Pooh the physician,” she said, straightening her gown. She glanced in the mirror. “Good heavens, I’m embarrassing myself. This cap is hideous! And you adorned me in this? We have handsome men about, and I’m in this cap. Quick, my girl, remedy!”

  Estella smoothed her mother’s hair with a brush and replaced her cap with a pretty lace one, all the while trying to talk her out of this folly. But Mama wouldn’t relent. Lottie bounded from downstairs to help assist her mistress.

  The two of them assisted her mother to the parlor. Estella could see her eyeing the house, no doubt noting how in disrepair it had fallen. Guilt weighted on her shoulders for not being able to maintain their home.

  As she watched her mother shuffle along, shame racked Estella. She was making everyone suffer because she didn’t want to marry a man she didn’t love. She should admit that she couldn’t care for this house, her mother, and siblings, as Mr. Todd said. She should stop believing she could improve her lot, thinking the Duke of Lucere could save her, and fantasizing about Mr. Stephens. She must marry Mr. Todd. She owed it to her family.

  The drawing room door had been kept open, and she could hear the twins laughing and reading bombastic love poetry—no doubt from a vapid ladies’ journal—to Mr. Stephens.

  He protested the harsh treatment. “Good God, stop this cruelty! Have you no compassion for my pure artistic soul? No sympathy for my delicate ears? Don’t tell me you fancy that silly rot.”

  Her mother glanced at Estella. “At least he possesses good sense, this lodger.”

  Estella waved off Lottie and escorted her mother into the drawing room. Mr. Stephens was comically hiding his head beneath a green brocade pillow as the twins continued their bombardment of his delicate senses. How he reminded her of her boisterous, playful grandpapa.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Harris sat by a candle, quietly reading and sipping tea, unperturbed by the wild activity.

  The twins fell silent upon their mother’s entrance. Mr. Stephens removed the pillow from his face and then shot up to his feet.

  “Mrs. Primrose, may I present Mr. Harris and Mr. Stephens,” Estella said.

  Mr. Stephens performed an eloquent bow. “Thank you for letting us apartments in your kind home. Allow me,” he said, offering his arm. He gingerly led Mama to a chair and then wrapped blankets about her. “Do you require anything else for your comfort, ma’am?”

  “You are a thoughtful gentleman,” her mother remarked and gave Estella a furtive look that said, I approve.

  “I am perfectly content,” Mama continued. “My twins tell me that you are a tutor and have endeavored to help them with their studies. I hope my daughters haven’t been making a May game of you and your friend. High-spirited ladies, they are.”

  “Your daughters, all of them, are well-mannered, gentle ladies.”

  Estella appreciated his willingness to lie to appease her mother.

  Her mother sighed. “I’m afraid my dearest Estella has shouldered more burdens than a young lady her tender age should.”

  “Miss Primrose is an extraordinary lady,” Mr. Stephens said. “A true noble Primrose. You are blessed to possess such a dutiful and intelligent daughter.”

  Although Mr. Stephens spoke in respectful tones, devoid of the usual playfulness, there was something intimate imbuing his voice that caused Estella’s face to heat.

  Her mother studied Estella, her eyes filled with motherly knowing, as when Estella had been young and promised her mother that she hadn’t broken her favorite necklace. That she had wandered into the room to discover the beads everywhere and was trying desperately to fix it. And, yes, she’d thought she needed to try on her mother’s gown and cap while repairing the necklace.

  “She is a loving daughter,” her mother said, and then shifted her gaze—still filled with that annoying knowing—to Mr. Stephens. “And whomever captures her heart will be a lucky man indeed. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Stephens?”

  Estella was embarrassed by her mother’s transparent ambition. Everyone was in the process of coloring or shifting uncomfortably in their seats, except for her mother and Mr. Harris; nothing seemed to ruffle his placid countenance.

  “Mr. Stephens, I am given to understand that you are a fine singer.” Her mother continued her matchmaking. “Might I implore you for a song? Perhaps the one that Estella is always humming.”

  * * *

  Lucere was tempted to laugh, until he glanced at Estella. He had been the target of many a scheming mama. He was wise to their designs and plots—the little offhand remarks to cause gossip and a sense of obligation by him. On the scale of shameless matchmaking, Mrs. Primrose’s efforts hardly signified. Yet, Estella’s eyes were hot agates, and her nostrils quivered, as if the very prospect of their marriage emitted a feculent odor in the room. She couldn’t even look at him, but stared at her hands, which were balled in her lap.

  Did she not want to marry him?

  This made no sense. His wicked reputation aside, every young lady in London desired to be the Du
chess of Lucere.

  But then, he wasn’t the duke here, but dull Mr. Stephens. He was himself.

  He should rejoice that she didn’t want to marry him. That he wouldn’t break anyone’s heart when he told her the truth and galloped off to his German princess. But that cool reason did nothing to stop his foolish despondence.

  Wasn’t her heart affected at all? Had their long conversations meant nothing to her? Did she bestow those warm smiles he thought so exclusively his own on other men?

  He was furious. Or was he bereft? She didn’t want him. The entire drama playing in his head, the struggle to contain his desire, was for nothing. He had lied against his principles, against the vow he made to his father, to be her friend. And that’s all he was to her.

  Now they expected him to perform like some Astley circus act. He was too broken. He struggled to come up with an excuse, because the only song he wanted to sing was, I’m the Duke of Lucere. Do you love me now? Am I special in your eyes?

  Harris set down his book. “I believe Mr. Stephens complained of a sore throat this morning. Perhaps you should like to hear the twins sing the song they have been working on all week.”

  So it was decided. Lucere fumed as he played the keys. The twins sang their harmonies perfectly. Not a week ago, they’d sounded no better than cats mating. Now they were musical angels.

  Meanwhile, Estella sat, scowling, all the beautiful words of Italian love falling like stones around her.

  The evening quickly closed when Estella and Lottie returned the tiring Mrs. Primrose to her chamber. The twins tried reading their poetry again. Lucere barked at them to stop, then he felt instantly remorseful. They may have been insipid gigglers, but they worshiped him—unlike their older sister—and didn’t deserve his ire.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  He stalked to his room, ready to tell Harris to pack the bags. Forget about Mowne and his wounded arse. Lucere wanted his German princess. He would have his man of business give Estella whatever money she required. He would continue his transformation, putting this episode behind him.