Duchess Decadence

by Wendy Lacapra

  With his gaze fixed on his brother, Wynchester spoke to his wife. “All is lost, Thea Marie. You must let me have vengeance. I will not fail you…this time.”

  “You have never failed me and all is not lost.” She brushed aside her tears. “You are cleared. William Pitt has taken your part.”

  Wynchester turned slowly. His face was blotchy and red, but hope had dawned in his eyes. Then, it flickered out.

  “It’s true!” Thea cried. “You see, you do not need to do this.”

  “Kasai,” Harrison said darkly, “will hang for his crimes.”

  Eustace cast a soulless glance from Harrison, to Randolph, to Thea, and then to Wynchester. “Have you told her you gave her the poison that caused the loss of her child?”

  One look at Wynchester’s defeated, pain-filled gaze, and Thea knew that he believed she would leave him again.

  “I truly hate you, Eustace.” She spat.

  “A sentiment I wholeheartedly return.”

  Wynchester lifted his sword.

  “No!” Thea threw herself in-between.

  “Why shouldn’t I kill him?” Wynchester asked.

  “Kill him and you’ll be tried for murder,” Thea said.

  “He’s cost me,” Wynchester blinked, “you.”

  “No,” she put all her love into her eyes, “he has not. He could not.”

  Wynchester visibly swallowed. “You only came back out of duty.”

  “I came back to save you. Instead, I saved me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper only he could hear. “Spare him, Wyn. Spare him because I want the life we should have had, too. Spare him because I could be carrying your child.”

  The fight went out of his shoulders.

  “The duchess,” he spoke to Eustace, “wishes to spare your life.”

  “No, Wyn. I wish to spare you. End this duel. Choose me.”

  “I could never choose another.” Wynchester gave her a crooked smile. “I love you, Thea Marie. I love you.”

  He could say it again and again and again, and she would never grow weary of the sound. She reached and, out of the corner of her eye, Eustace lunged.

  …

  The smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils and his ears rang with the terrible crack. Wynchester grabbed Thea, but it was Eustace who fell from mid-air to crumple, and his sword clattered to the ground. Wynchester glanced past Thea. The dowager stood in the doorway, flanked by the constable on one side and her man on the other. He held a smoking flintlock.

  “Excellent shot,” the constable said. “Another second and he would have driven his sword through the duchess.”

  Wynchester clasped her against his chest, not certain he’d ever be able to let her go. He let Randolph and Harrison take charge of the scene—he did not care what happened, so long as Thea Marie was safe.

  The dowager crossed the room to stand at his side.

  “Swithin,” she said tenderly. “You’ve finally done your father proud.”

  “Swithin!” Thea pushed him away and glared at him through her no-longer-tearing eyes. “Your Christian name is Swithin. Now I remember! Wynchester! How could you use your own name as a curse?”

  He shrugged. “Swithin was the Bishop of Winchester and is the patron saint of Winchester Cathedral. Winchester—Wynchester…my father’s joke, I suppose. I hated it.”

  “Well,” she said placing her fists on her hips, “you will stop at once. I allow no one to disparage my duke.”

  “Ah, Thea Marie.” He half-smiled. “If you forbid it, I must listen. I prefer Wyn—at least from you.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye. “I am sorry, Wyn.”

  “As am I, Duchess.” He sighed, looking down at his brother. “As am I.”

  “He tried to kill you.”

  “And I was out for his blood,” Wynchester agreed. “The sight is no less affecting. He was my brother.”

  She came forward and took his hand. “Come away, then.”

  “Yes,” he allowed his duchess to lead him into the corridor and down to what had once been his father’s receiving room. The dowager followed.

  “Your Grace,” he looked at the dowager.

  “Emma,” she corrected, “please.”

  Wynchester heard Thea drawing in her breath.

  “Thank you, Emma,” he said.

  Thea exhaled.

  “Any service I can provide,” she inclined her head, eyes twinkling.

  “Will you come and stay at Wynterhill?” he asked.

  Her lips parted with surprise before she shared a look with Thea and replied, in a light though derisive voice, “Ugh, the ton.”

  “Emma,” Thea interrupted, “you say I have courage. Wynchester has heart…but you would have us believe you lack the pluck to make due with the ton?”

  Emma cast Thea an affectionate but reproachful look. “Why should I bother?”

  “Because you are family.” Wynchester said.

  The dowager blinked, pursed her lips, and turned away, a suspicious wetness in her eye. “I will think on it.” She turned to leave but paused in the doorway. “On holidays, perhaps.”

  Thea turned to Wynchester, eyes smiling.

  “Now, my darling,” he said, “Let me take you home.”

  …

  The carriage rolled into the courtyard of Wynchester’s fortress and Thea glanced out the window and into the marble eyes of Diana, Goddess of the Hunt. The Goddess’s smile glinted in the summer sun, as if Diana smiled just for her.

  Thea grinned back. She had been rather brave, had she not? The danger was over. Her duke was safe. He’d said he loved her. He’d invited Emma to Wynterhill. She could hardly believe all the above was true.

  “I must find a new Abigail,” She glanced over at her husband. “Lavinia recommended I visit the Magdalene Hospital.”

  “You’d have a reformed prostitute as your maid?”

  “Have you an objection?” She challenged with a smile.

  “Of course not,” he replied without missing a beat. “You may do what you please.”

  She placed a kiss on the delicious plane of his cheek. “I love you. And you love me.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Was that a question spoken as a statement?”

  “No. You already told me, Clodpate.”

  “Ah yes, so I did.” He sighed. “But did you know I loved you when you first laid your little, impossibly perfect hand in mine and curtseyed to my bow? Did you know I loved you when you left me the spattered ink letter? Did you know I loved you when you invited me to dance the Allemande?”

  She swallowed down the happy tears that threatened in her throat. “How about at your grandfather’s folly?”

  “Definitely at my grandfather’s—” he paused. “Why should it be called a folly at all? I should think it was rather wise of him to build a tribute to his wife.”

  “Wise indeed.” Thea grinned. “I love you, Clodpate.”

  “And I love you, Little Minx.”

  Epilogue

  Duchess of Wynchester, the Countess of Randolph, and Mrs. Maximilian Harrison

  invite you to an evening of music and dance

  held at the home of the Duke and Duchess of Wynchester

  October 23, 1785

  Over a year had passed when the ladies formerly derided as The Furies announced their next soiree. Unlike activities rumored to have taken place during their former fetes, this soiree was to feature music and dance. Invitations were sent to select members of the ton, and, despite the fact no gaming would be offered, those invitations were widely coveted.

  On the evening of the event, the Duchess of Wynchester played a song of her own composition to a hushed assembly. As she played, the duke leaned with one shoulder against the opposite wall, observing his wife with what one sighing lady later referred to as rapt appreciation. One matron went so far to suggest he had wiped a discreet tear from his eye, although no one else could confirm such a shocking on-dit.

  When the duchess finished, Lady Herefor
d dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “So,” she said to her husband, “so lovely.”

  “Indeed,” replied the Marquess.

  “Love match,” Lady Hereford whispered loudly. “Such a wonderful thing.”

  “Really?” her daughter said in a droll accent, “I distinctly remember—oomph.”

  “I am sorry to bump you, my child.” The Marchioness gave her daughter a warning look as she rose. “This soiree is such a crush.”

  Later in the evening, the duke, his duchess, Lord and Lady Randolph, Mr. and Mrs. Maximilian Harrison gathered together inside the duke’s private study. Sir Bronward Layton and Lady Layton entered the study soon after.

  “Having been a Fury Soiree connoisseur,” Sir Bronward said, “This one, I must say, is sadly lacking.”

  “Sir Bronward,” Polly scolded, “the night has been lovely.”

  “But not a Fury soiree.”

  “Why not?” Polly asked.

  Sir Bronward gestured toward Lavinia. “Lady Vice is positively polite.”

  Lavinia cleared her throat. “That would be Mrs. Harrison, to you.”

  “Lady Scandal,” Sir Bronward continued, “has not once been coy.”

  “Lady Randolph,” Sophia replied smugly, “hasn’t the need.”

  “And finally,” Sir Bronward sighed affectedly, “Duchess Decadence no longer gambles.”

  “The Duchess of Wynchester never gambles.” Thea shrugged. “I lost my last wager, and yet,” she placed her hand on the duke’s arm, “I won. A terribly rare event. I do not care to chance a repeat.”

  “Alas,” Lavinia said, “we have become shockingly domestic.”

  “Furies no longer,” Lady Randolph said with a sly look to her husband, “but Goddesses still.”

  “Humility,” Randolph said to the party, “is my wife’s most salient feature.”

  “Speaking of domestic,” Polly replied, “May I go up and check on the children?”

  “Of course, Polly,” Thea replied.

  “No doubt our little chap sleeps soundly,” Bronward held out his arm to his wife, “But I would be happy to escort you up.”

  The duke patted Thea’s hand. “Would you like to check on our little Emma?”

  Thea shook her head no. “I have no need. I saw the dowager duchess sneak up the stairs not a quarter hour past.

  “Her namesake is presently spoiling our daughter, then?”

  Thea grinned. “Like as not.”

  Thea, Sophia, and Lavinia spent a moment with their heads together and their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. But when she would have taken leave of the study with the other couples, Thea felt a tug on her sleeve.

  “So,” Wynchester said, “Duchess Decadence truly no longer gambles?”

  “She has been,” Thea replied with a sly smile, “far, far too busy.”

  Wynchester cocked a brow. “If her husband were to issue a wager, would she accept?”

  Thea hummed as if considering. “She would be intrigued.”

  “Then allow me to issue a challenge.” The duke took her into his arms. “Two throws each, equal numbers merit a third.”

  She laughed low and throaty. “And what do you wish to win?”

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her eyes widened.

  “Here? Now? With a house full of guests?” To his nod she continued, “And to think, I thought you unable to speak sin.”

  “Sentiment,” he said with a hungry smile, “can be quite transformative.” He cleared his throat. “What is your answer, duchess?”

  She laughed again and then spoke her reply into the duke’s ear.

  He groaned. “Please.”

  “You don’t need a wager for that, my duke.” Her hands crept to the buttons of his falls.

  Outside the study, Lady Randolph and Mrs. Harrison engaged in a rather animated conversation. Dr. Smith, from across the room, made a mental note to check on their health, as they both seemed to cough loudly at certain intervals.

  Mrs. Harrison cleared her throat after an affected cough. “Did you hear that, Sophia?” she asked in a whisper. “I think the duke called Thea his darling little minx.” She smothered a giggle.

  Sophia grinned. “I knew his conversation would improve.” She leaned toward Lavinia. “In tandem with her abandon, apparently.”

  “Minx, I can see,” Lavinia said with a slightly disapproving scowl, “but little? And darling?”

  Sophia shrugged. “A man in love is permitted delusions. Besides,” she took Lavinia’s hand and squeezed. “She will always be our Decadence.”

  Acknowledgments

  I cannot believe The Furies series has come to a close and the ladies that have dominated my imagination have finally found their happily ever after.

  I knew from the start Thea and Wyn would be trouble—the gap between them was wide and deep and full of disappointment, but they deserved love and healing and happiness. Without the help of my writing friends, I don’t know if I could have given them those things. First, the three women to whom this is dedicated: Mary Behre, Madeline Iva & Erin Molta. Mary, I whimpered on your shoulder and you made me laugh. I handed you a mess and you sifted sand from silver. Thank you. Madeline, our weekly check-ins are invaluable. And, although the people in line with me at the Post Office may not have appreciated me squealing into my iPhone, you inspired an ah-ha moment that unfroze my flow. Thank you. And, Erin, I’ve learned so much from working with you. Trusting your editorial judgment helped me learn to trust mine. Thank you.

  Stacey and Katrina—thank you for braving blustery, wintery blasts and joining me for the writing sprints that launched this story. Talia, thank you for listening to my long-winded puzzling about Wyn and for walking and talking until somehow the book and life all made sense again.

  To all of my family, I love you. But to the men in my family who, to my great surprise, read Lady Vice, I am honored. I didn’t expect so much support and I am very grateful. Natali & Quintana…your calls always brighten my day. I said it before, but I love being an Aunt. And, of course, thank you to Richard, who makes me dinner every night and pasta on nights when the writing has been particularly challenging. Romance Novels may not be your thing (yet), however, you excel at real-life romance. There is a little bit of you in every one of my fictional heroes.

  I’ll end with the biggest thank you of all: thank you readers. So many excellent reading choices exist in the world of Historical Romance—so many opportunities to feel and to fall in love. I feel privileged you chose to curl up with The Furies.

  About the Author

  Wendy LaCapra has been reading romance since she discovered Victoria Holt on her first old-enough-to-go-alone bicycle trip to the library. From that point on, she has dreamed of creating her own worlds of historical richness, intrigue, and pleasure. She lives in NYC with her husband and can occasionally be found gossiping about history and romance with the Dashing Duchesses or burning up the web with those mystical mistresses of resilience, the GH class of 2012 aka the Firebirds.

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