Duchess Decadence

by Wendy Lacapra

  Wynchester had no love lost for the woman whom his father married to the near-ruin of the Worthington name. On the other hand, Wynchester had repaired his father’s damage with consistent action and dutiful service. Whatever his private feeling for the dowager, Wynchester treated her—at a respectable distance, of course—with all the civility due his father’s wife.

  One could not lift up a mud-stained name with remainders of past fouls.

  As he and Eustace had approached the dowager’s carriage—emblazoned with the Wynchester coat of arms, as was correct—he had reminded Eustace of the necessity of a proper greeting. Eustace had suddenly departed in a gallop. A cut direct. Furious, Wynchester had proceeded as he intended, with a polite and distant greeting. The dowager, for her part, behaved as she ought. She pretended she had not noticed Eustace’s cut, and, with great affection, inquired after Thea Marie.

  He reluctantly admitted the woman had shown far greater discretion than his brother.

  When Wynchester finally reached Eustace, he’d made his displeasure clear. Eustace hastily explained he had not intended a cut, but had left only because he’d seen Lady Hemingford and her daughter, and had been overcome by the desire to see the girl. When that excuse failed to produce an immediate response, Eustace had blamed his long departure from society for his lapse.

  Eustace had remained behind with Lady Hemingford, so there could have been truth in his brother’s explanation. Excuses, however, did not endear Wynchester, especially since he refused them on his own behalf.

  Which left him facing an uncomfortable truth. He’d been quick to welcome his brother home. He’d reasoned that any man reunited with a brother he’d thought long dead would be overjoyed—he especially, since he’d sent Eustace away in the first place. But now, his reasoning bore the tarnished mark of justification.

  He had been too quick and too unquestioning—too willing to welcome Eustace home without question. In his eagerness to make things right, he hadn’t even mentioned the circumstances which caused him to send Eustace away in the first place, nor had he probed too deeply into Eustace’s time in India. He had been assured that the Privy Council considered Sophia’s sister’s death welcome, and that they had no reason to question Eustace’s assertions. Now that he examined the details, however, there were plenty of holes in Eustace’s convenient explanations.

  And no proof of Eustace’s innocence—at least without the Under Secretary’s admission of guilt.

  And other small things had been simply off. Eustace’s hostile response to Thea’s dress. His implied insult regarding the prospect of a pregnancy. And, though less significant, Eustace’s reaction when Wynchester had asked him if he had yet written his one-time nurse, since he’d returned. The question had seemed natural enough—Widow Norton and Eustace had kept a close correspondence before Eustace had been sent to India. However, Eustace appeared not to remember the woman who had practically raised him.

  Perhaps he had better have Eustace investigated. Discreetly.

  He slowed his horse to a stop. Ahead, men worked to clear a carriage mishap. The wreck was such that no more than one carriage could navigate the road at a time. Having no desire to use his title and precedence to insist the workmen make way, he waited his turn. Meanwhile, his gaze roamed over the mottled collection of humanity gathered in the street. Rabble, his mother had called working people: The Bottom of the Natural Order of Things. To her, only the aged, the sick, and the impaired were due any compassion and even then, through proper channels. Everyone else, she argued, had the responsibility to lift themselves up, regardless of circumstances. Unlike his wife, his mother would never have hired a pregnant maid hoping to provide the unfortunate girl shelter.

  Surprisingly, Thea Marie’s act of compassion warmed him still.

  A spatter of rain tapped against his tri-cornered hat. He glanced up to darkening skies and spotted a young man holding an infant in a second-floor window. The man bounced the baby as if to calm the child. Then, he held the baby close. The man pointed to the street and his lips moved against the babe’s forehead, though the babe was clearly too young to speak. He placed a kiss on the babe’s brow and smiled.

  Longing ached in Wynchester’s chest. Rabble, indeed.

  By the time he reached the gates of Wynchester House, drizzle had turned to rain. He dismounted, handed off his horse, and was met by Bates, ready with a dry banyan. Bates assisted in removing his coat, and informed him Harrison waited in his study, while Her Grace was attended by Lady Vaile in her parlor. Lady Randolph, he continued, had been present, but had since returned home.

  Well then, the Furies had come together again. He wondered what mischief the three had contrived and whether or not it had anything to do with misbehaving.

  He donned banyan over dry waistcoat and near-dry breeches and proceeded to his study. While aware of Harrison lounging in a chair, Wynchester’s gaze fixed on a far more welcome sight.

  “Ah.” He lifted a corked bottle from his desk. “Contraband.”

  “Perfectly legal,” Harrison said, rising.

  “In the Kingdom, perhaps, but here, I answer to an additional monarch.”

  “Surely,” Harrison said with a clear-eyed-twinkle, “your rule is absolute.”

  “I’m afraid,” Wynchester said pouring a measure of liquid gold into two glasses, “the duchess possesses an unwritten Magna Carta, pitifully restraining my power.”

  Harrison’s lips twitched and Wynchester handed him a glass. “Has the duchess, at least, revealed her charter’s contents?”

  Wynchester considered his own metaphor. “No, although I grow more confident in my deductive skill.” He closed his eyes and took a sip, bliss radiated outward in the form of an unintentional smile.

  “Will you tell the duchess I’ve brought you a bottle from my cask?” Harrison asked.

  The duke opened one eye. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I wasn’t aware there was a battle, Your Grace.”

  “Like hell you weren’t.” He sighed. “How do you manage?”

  Harrison frowned. “You might be more specific.”

  “Our ladies are up there, trading confidences at our expense.”

  A dark look passed over Harrison’s features but quickly dissipated. “I trust Lavinia to reveal only what she deems necessary and only to people worthy of her faith.”

  Wynchester humphed. “Would Thea were so easily read.” Wynchester set down his drink and tossed himself into his chair. “An enigma, my wife.”

  “I would not call any woman easy to read,” Harrison replied, “but are you right to complain? Nothing so fascinates like a puzzle.”

  He sent Harrison a wry glance. “Quite so.”

  Harrison held up his glass and let the light of a nearby sconce illuminate the liquid. “Do you believe that repeating something one has overheard holds the taint of dishonor?”

  Wynchester kicked back his chair and balanced on the back two legs. “I abhor gossip.”

  “As do I,” Harrison replied.

  “Something troubles you,” Wynchester said. “I know that look.”

  “Several things,” Harrison said.

  “We have dealt together long enough for you to speak plain.”

  “Even if it concerns your brother?”

  Wynchester nodded slowly.

  Harrison inclined his head in a silent gesture of appreciation. “As you know, I refrained from general society after returning from my ordeal at Kasai’s hands.” Harrison’s gaze grew dark. “Leaving that dungeon, it turned out, was more than a simple matter of walking out the door.”

  Wynchester set down his chair and leaned forward, conscious of the weight of male confidence. Conscious and, indeed, humbled.

  “You tell me this because you think Eustace suffers the same challenge?”

  Harrison remained silent, his gaze heavy and weighing. “I believe there are challenges ahead for Eustace. Challenges he cannot yet fathom.”

  Wynchester thought of his br
other’s behavior toward the dowager duchess and nodded. “What you say has merit.”

  “In his state,” Harrison continued, “he could be a danger to others.”

  Wynchester raised his brows. “Possibly violent?”

  Harrison replied, “Yes.”

  Wynchester’s mind went directly—disconcertingly so—to his duchess. His proud, still-hurting Duchess. He weighed his duty to Eustace against his duty to his wife. The experience was hauntingly familiar. His memory glittered with scattered sapphires.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You have, I believe, a suggestion.”

  “You know me well,” Harrison replied. “You mentioned once, that the room I use for a study once served as a nursery for you and Eustace.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “I have suffered what Eustace suffered. We share a dark past. I would, with Your Grace’s permission, invite him to reside with me for a time. Familiar surroundings, in his condition, are sometimes a comfort.”

  A sense of relief accompanied his contemplation of Harrison’s plan. He could release the burden of his brother, and concentrate instead, for a time, on his wife. In the end, if Eustace indeed was the aggrieved innocent he claimed to be, they could come back together stronger. However…

  “The Privy Council,” he said, “required he be confined to ducal households while the Under Secretary remains missing.”

  “And so he would be,” Harrison said. “I live in a ducal residence.”

  “And so,” Wynchester, again, kicked back his chair, “he would be.”

  He templed his fingers and bounced them against his lip. “You believe you can help Eustace?”

  “I believe I can prevent future violence, yes. When I returned from India, Lavinia’s father performed the office for me.” Harrison set down his glass. “If you and your duchess were to sojourn out of London for a time, would it not be natural for Eustace to visit,” Harrison paused for a moment, “an old friend?”

  “Of course.” He brushed aside the slight suspicion of being managed. This was Harrison. Harrison was honor to his core. “Consider the matter settled. Just this morning, I had the notion there was more to Eustace’s past than he has revealed.”

  Harrison sat forward. “And what gave you that impression?”

  “A terse exchange between Eustace, Lord Nutley, and Sir Bronward Layton.” Wynchester frowned. “I am concerned Eustace has not been fully forthcoming. You share a past with him. Would you—with the utmost discretion—look into the associations he had when in India?”

  Harrison blinked. “Of course.”

  “Now,” he tossed down the rest of his drink, “what gossip have you overheard?”

  “Did I say gossip?” Harrison asked.

  “You said overheard.”

  “Yes, I did,” Harrison said thoughtfully, “didn’t I?” He adjusted his collar as he sat back in his chair.

  “It must be quite the on-dit to have you so exceedingly out-of-sorts.”

  “Not an on-dit at all. What I heard was for my intended’s ears only, and, would have never traveled beyond.”

  Wynchester narrowed his eyes. “So I was the ladies’ chosen topic.”

  “If you were,” Harrison said with care, “would you find fault?”

  He turned a withering gaze on his friend. “I suppose ladies must be allowed their ways. Thea Marie has never been one for idle gossip.”

  Harrison exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath.

  “That bad?” Wynchester asked.

  “My intelligence,” he replied, “goes more to the matter of clarifying your enigma.”

  “Go on,” Wynchester said.

  “In an indirect quote, the enigma named your approval foremost in her desire.”

  Wynchester angled his head so his ear pointed out. “Come again?”

  “The duchess voiced her wish to make you happy,” Harrison sighed, “in a tone suggesting she’s baffled as to how.”

  The chair hit the floor. “Are you quite certain?”

  “If I weren’t,” Harrison again adjusted his collar, “would I have exposed myself to this awkwardness?”

  “Point taken.” Wynchester said. She had told her friends she wanted to make him happy? What kind of nonsense—a swell of sentiment interrupted his internal verbal tirade. How interesting. “Might you reveal her exact words?”

  Harrison’s exhale was distinctly perturbed. “I believe her exact words were, all I want to do is be certain I’ve pleased Wynchester.”

  “Damn me,” Wynchester said.

  Harrison watched him with a wary eye. “Do not expect a habit of such revelations, should I be privy to one again.”

  “No—no.” The exchange had been uncomfortable enough for them both. “You were right, in this case.” Now his collar had grown tight. “Helpful.”

  Harrison flashed a dubious glance.

  “I am obliged,” Wynchester said.

  Harrison drained the last of his glass.

  Wynchester rang for Bates. The butler arrived posthaste. “Will you send word to the Lady Vaile, that Mr. Harrison will escort her home?”

  Harrison grinned. “Banished, am I?”

  “I have food for thought.” He grinned. “And you, I believe, a distinct wish to be gone.”

  …

  Thea sent away Bates, assuring him she would see to her guests’ departure. Poor Mr. Harrison looked like he’d been through a brawl. He assisted Lavinia as she donned her coat.

  “You’ve set the stage?” she whispered.

  “Thorny business,” he replied under his breath. “I split very fine hairs.”

  Lavinia put a comforting hand on Harrison’s chest. “You’ve acted with earnest care in the interests of your friend.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “But God help us all if Wynchester should discover our meddling.”

  Although not cold, Thea wrapped her arms across her chest and rubbed her shoulders.

  Harrison gave her a hard look. “He’s asked me to look into Eustace’s past.”

  “Well,” Thea said. “That is a surprise.”

  “A welcome one, I think, for you.” Harrison lifted his brows. “Can I trust you to keep him out of Eustace’s path and his mind otherwise occupied?”

  The duchess returned his expression. “With luck and a great deal of cunning.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you will need all that.” Lavinia wiggled her fingers and giggled as she leaned in to kiss Thea goodbye. “You will be well?”

  “Yes,” she kissed Lavinia back. “Now go. Mr. Harrison needs tending.”

  Thea allowed Harrison to kiss her hand.

  “Mr. Harrison,” Harrison corrected, “would enjoy tending.”

  “I stand by ‘needs,’” Thea replied firmly.

  Mr. Harrison’s smile made her grateful on behalf of her friend.

  She watched the carriage leave the courtyard and stood admiring the statue of Diana for a long time. There was something comforting in the statue’s drawn bow. Diana—Goddess of the hunt, yes, but also of the moon and of childbirth. The statue, fierce and intent, no longer intimidated. I am watching over you, she seemed to say.

  Thea left Diana to head for Wynchester’s study. She knocked on and then opened the door.

  “I said I was not to be bothered.”

  “I will come again later,” Thea responded.

  He looked up, and surprise softened the lines in his face. “You.”

  “Yes.”

  What next? Uncrossable, this chasm. Thank you, carry on would have been so much simpler.

  “To what,” Wynchester asked, “do I owe this unexpected visit?”

  “Last time I was here,” she swallowed—ineffective in a dry throat, “you said you wanted our life back.”

  He had the wary look of a hunted fox. Was she so forbidding?

  “I understand Parliament is still in session, but could we plan a visit to Wynterhill?”

  “Really?”

  She heard his further surprise and hadn’t consider
ed he’d refuse.

  “If you cannot, I understand—I—”

  He rose from his chair so quickly it toppled.

  “Oh dear,” she said.

  “The chair’s sturdy enough.” He circled his desk and took both of her hands into his. “That’s not the first time it’s tumbled.”

  “Are you frequently moved to knock over furniture?”

  He chuckled. “More so in the past few months than ever before.”

  He approached. Last night, when a similar banyan had fallen open to his nightshirt, the barest hint of dark hair had shown. She stared at the spot as if her eyes could penetrate his clothes.

  “You were saying?” he prompted.

  “I was saying,” she repeated. Had she been saying anything at all?

  She looked up into his eyes. Fine eyes. Like bark. No, bark would not do. Bark was rough and bland. His eyes were chocolate. Smooth and dark and something you wanted to savor.

  “Thea Marie?”

  He asked his question to her lips. Odd, was that not? Then again, he was probably willing her lips to speak. Why had she come?

  Chocolate? No. Chest hair? Definitely not.

  Wynterhill.

  “Wynterhill this time of year is very fine,” rather like your eyes. “Time together would not be amiss.” And would you mind undoing your neck cloth? I would like to see your chest.

  “Extraordinary,” he said.

  She hadn’t said that last part aloud, had she? “How so?”

  “I was going to suggest the same.”

  She exhaled. Bless Harrison. Bless him well.

  Chapter Eight

  Ensconced in the comfort of her London bed, Thea listened to the church bells chime—eleven in total. She stared up at the bed canopy. The floral patterns carved into the wood were still vaguely visible even though night’s veil had transformed her chamber into shadows. Her movement was shrouded in gray, made dull and indistinct by darkness and, still, she had…difficulty.

  She groaned and nestled further into her mattress.

  Every day she inhabited her body. Why should the idea of touching certain parts dissemble her so?