The Duke's Tattoo: A Regency Romance of Love and Revenge, Though Not in That Order

by Miranda Davis

  “Who is this Mr. Smithson to you?” Ainsworth asked rather more sharply than necessary.

  “He’s the lawyer upstairs in the Trim Street building. He’s helping me.”

  “How fortunate.” The duke sounded crestfallen. “Are you a forgiving person, Miss Haversham?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Have I proven to be a forgiving man, all things considered?”

  She blushed, “You’ve been gracious about…well, about everything.”

  “Sadly, I’m not always gracious. When angered, I’m at times too hasty,” Ainsworth continued.

  “You were justified in your anger and your reproaches have been restrained given the provocation.”

  Ainsworth interrupted her mea culpa, “The trouble is that I am prone to act without forethought. Perhaps we’re similar in this.”

  “No, I believe we’re opposites,” Miss Haversham said, considering carefully. His abrupt turn in the conversation confused her. “By training and of necessity, you must act decisively. It’s kill or be killed for a soldier, no? I, on the other hand, think too much and do too little.”

  “I disagree. You’ve done quite enough.”

  “Yes, well, I see,” she stuttered, “b-but for years I contemplated what you refer to as my ‘Vile Assault Upon Your Person.’ I schemed and fantasized about it yet I didn’t do the simplest thing. I didn’t make sure you were the man I meant to take. Worse, if what you say about your brother is true, and I suspect it is, I failed to confirm his true character. If only I had, I wouldn’t have tattooed him, or rather you. Too late, I realized I should never have done it.”

  “I can sympathize,” the duke responded.

  Chapter 17

  In which Lady Jane Babcock lays claim to the Mayfair Stallion.

  Exhilaration joined the horde of emotions laying waste to Miss Haversham’s peace of mind. It had been nearly a week since she last saw the duke, or rather, since he last crept into her bedroom for an unorthodox chat. During that week, she told herself he would not return and tried to ignore the pall his absence cast over her life. Then last night at the Upper Rooms, the duke asked her to dance twice. The memory of it still left her breathless.

  He appeared without warning to sweep her up into his arms and swirl her under the tiered crystal chandeliers while the stringed quintet played. She would never forget any of it: how high she reached to touch his shoulder, how small her other hand felt clasped gently in his much larger one and how safe she was within his arms.

  Her reverie ended abruptly when into her apothecary shop swept one of the marriage-minded young misses stalking Ainsworth. Lady Jane Babcock appeared just before 1 o’clock, the time appointed for the duke’s treatment. As the Duke of Bath’s youngest sister, she arrived in all her highborn, icy blue-eyed, blonde-haired splendor accompanied by a much plainer friend, Lady Iphigenia Thornton.

  Looking about with a pale brow arched, Lady Jane spoke without bothering to conceal her voice’s serrated edge, “What a quaint little shop, don’t you think Iphigenia? Hello, Miss Haversham. Do you work here?”

  “I own it,” Prudence replied. To Lady Jane’s friend she said, “I am Miss Haversham, Lady…”

  “Oh yes, how silly of me,” Lady Jane cut in, “Lady Iphigenia Thornton, this is Miss Haversham, the apothecary I mentioned.” She finished the introduction with a taut smile.

  Lady Iphigenia blushed and mumbled the usual pleasantries about being pleased to meet and added, “You own this lovely place?”

  “It was my father’s folly. And now it’s mine, Lady Iphigenia,” Prudence replied, smiling at the shy young woman.

  “How interesting,” said Lady Jane, not at all interested. Her friend receded from the conversation and drifted to the window to look out at the flowers in the boxes just below. Nor did Lady Jane keep her in the conversation because, as she explained to her on the way there, she had a few matters to explain to ‘that pushing mushroom of an apothecary.’

  “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Lady Jane inquired, sweet as treacle. “I was told you were a spinster not much in Society. So imagine my surprise when I saw you dancing not once but twice with Ainsworth.”

  “His Grace and I are a little acquainted,” Prudence replied, intentionally vague.

  “More than a little, I should say. Two dances and waltzes at that! I don’t hesitate to tell you it raised eyebrows,” Lady Jane wagged a finger. “Have a care, Miss Haversham. You wouldn’t wish to be seen as overreaching.”

  “He was merely expressing appreciation.”

  “I should think one dance — a country dance — suffices to convey gratitude.”

  “Perhaps he was carried away in a moment of irrational goodwill.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Jane said, ignoring her sarcasm, “You dance passably well. Did you have a Season in Town when you were younger?”

  “No, Lady Jane,” she gritted out. Lady Jane’s emphasis on the word ‘younger’ made Prudence’s seven and twenty years sound positively ancient.

  “Well, the duke is a gracious man and entirely too compassionate.” Lady Jane turned to address herself to Lady Iphigenia, “He’s forever taking in strays.”

  “Indeed,” Prudence murmured, her temples pounding.

  “Ainsworth’s a lovely man but too ramshackle by half,” Lady Jane continued. “It’s as if he would liefer be a second son — doing just as he pleases because no one notices or cares. Well, he is a duke and ought not make a cake of himself. He becomes the object of absurd speculations, or so Lord Seelye tells me.” Current on dit in Bath even linked a certain apothecary with the duke, precipitating Lady Jane’s admonitory visit.

  “I hadn’t heard,” Prudence said.

  “Of course you hadn’t!” Lady Jane replied curtly, “Even here, you live on the fringe of Society after all. In London, he clomps around Hyde Park with a pack of mongrels that terrorize people willy-nilly. His name’s been connected with notoriously fast women — he is not discreet, shall we say. His duchess would do well to see that he puts such public nonsense aside and assumes his proper role.”

  Lady Jane wandered further into the front room, among tall cabinets filled with small drawers neatly labeled with Latinate names. Now begun on the topic, she continued with the enthusiasm of one who knows all and never hesitates to share her abundance, “Ainsworth House is overrun by misfits and mongrels. He has a one-legged valet and a one-armed butler. I don’t doubt the cook’s a reformed whore. What’s more, he allows his clutch of misbegotten beasts to eddy and flow about one’s legs alarmingly. He welcomes any mangy cur that scratches at the door. The large one, Caesar or Augustus…”

  “Attila.”

  “…is a monster with a great blocky head and vicious toothy jaws. Utterly terrifying. A fighting dog or some such. Extremely dangerous. That dog will no doubt eat the heir.”

  “Then one can only hope the duke sires several.”

  It must be said, Lady Jane was not in the least reticent on the subject of the Duke of Ainsworth or his betterment. It was clear to everyone in the ton that he needed a firm hand; she was born with such a hand. What’s more, everyone expected her to make a brilliant match and told her so. Frequently. After three seasons unwed, her older brother the sixth Duke of Bath, made it abundantly clear that if she came to Ainsworth’s attention, it behooved her to cultivate the connection.

  Lady Jane was loath to do so until the most vexing man of her acquaintance set her on her current course.

  Having known her since childhood, Lord Seelye felt free to inform her she was nothing but an overindulged female to whom everything came easily because she was well born, well heeled and passably well made. His lordship had snorted that she ‘mustn’t set her cap at Ainsworth, old thing.’ He concluded rudely that it would ‘never happen, ne-ver!’ Thus, Lady Jane found herself doing whatever she must to prove the detestable Lord Seelye wrong. That it wasn’t going well only made her more unpleasant and opinionated.

  “Disgraceful how he let
s them run riot!” Lady Jane sniffed. “Not just the dogs, his staff, too. They treat him with shocking familiarity. His duchess must put his household to rights, of that there can be no doubt. She’ll clear the principal houses of all the refuse, staff, mongrels, the lot of them.”

  “Surely not!”

  The door of the apothecary shop closed with a light click. After greeting the Duke of Ainsworth with a timid whisper, Lady Iphigenia moved away hoping to catch Lady Jane’s eye but the beauty stood facing away from her friend and the door. Nor did Prudence notice the patron who entered. She was too distracted by Lady Jane Babcock, who at that very moment gathered a full head of steam.

  “I don’t mean, turn them out entirely, mind you, Ainsworth has too much affection for them to allow that. Just move them to a lesser property. The duke has so many scattered about. Surely one won’t fall to pieces in the care of the crippled and unruly. They’ll be perfectly suited to the life. Little to do, the invigorating effects of country living…” Her pale blue kid-gloved hand made languid circles in the air to encompass all the benefits to which she referred. So carried away was Lady Jane, she ignored Lady Iphigenia’s anxious throat clearing.

  “That defeats the purpose, doesn’t it, my lady?” Prudence asked in a distinctly tart tone not lost on Lady Jane.

  “The purpose of his staff,” Lady Jane responded with greater hauteur, “is to serve the duke, his duchess and eventually his children. In their condition, they can hardly do so!” Huffing, Lady Jane concluded, “Surely even you see that, Miss Haversham.”

  “The duke’s object, I presume, was to employ people useful and loyal to him.”

  Lady Jane gave a moue of distaste.

  “I’ve found in my work, there’s a greater injury to a man than the loss of a limb. That is the loss of his livelihood. Perhaps, His Grace understands such men are still capable and need employment to restore their dignity.”

  “There are charities for such causes,” Lady Jane sniffed.

  “It’s not charity they need, but purpose,” Prudence retorted with heat. “No doubt, the duke has a devoted, discreet staff, which is more than most of the nobility can claim.”

  Ainsworth felt something warm and bothersome seize in his chest. He swallowed hard. She truly was an irksome chit, reading his mind like a broadsheet. No man should leave a part of himself behind on a battlefield only to be told he was useless if he survived. The duke was only too happy to find positions for a couple of these men, especially his own batman. He returned his attention to the serrated pronouncements of Lady Jane.

  “His staff discreet? Ha! Everyone knows about his indiscretions. His doings are scandalously common knowledge.”

  “I’d wager it wasn’t his staff but his inamorata who gossiped,” Prudence said with answering asperity, “And they grossly exaggerated his romantic skills to gain greater notoriety for themselves.”

  Like hell they did.

  Ainsworth almost spoke up in outrage but Lady Jane waxed on, “No matter. Taking in a one-armed butler and a peg-legged valet is simply beyond the pale. He may indulge his whims for now. I’m confident, however, his duchess will establish his principle estates with staff that befits a duke. Why just a few months ago, I witnessed his valet remonstrate with him in full view of the street. It was misting, nothing of consequence, yet his man chided him like a fishwife about taking ill and his butler cajoled him into a greatcoat he was loath to wear. I was mortified.”

  “I admit, so was I,” Ainsworth said, finally stepping into view. His deep voice rumbled with good humor. “But Smeeth’s insolence comes from long association, Lady Jane, and Thatcher has more sense than I.”

  • • •

  Prudence looked up into laughing indigo eyes and her heart did a flip-flop in her chest. She wondered how Lady Jane had known of his appointment time. Had he mentioned it to her? It seemed as if he welcomed her intrusion, grinning like a chaff wit. Do they already have an understanding? Is that why she spoke so candidly about what his duchess would do? Prudence shook herself. The doings of nobility were not her affair. She resolved immediately to curtail her untoward feelings about a certain duke.

  Lady Jane’s timid friend drifted a few steps closer.

  “Your Grace!” Lady Jane said and dipped a coquettish curtsey. Her friend shyly followed suit. He bowed slightly.

  “Lady Jane, Lady Iphigenia,” he responded. He turned to Prudence, “Was Lady Jane regaling you with gothic tales of my domestic shortcomings? I warn you, it will take the afternoon. Mine is a bachelor’s establishment with few concessions to general opinion or propriety. I fear it must frighten off sensible females like Lady Jane.”

  Prudence looked up into the duke’s dancing eyes and smiled in reply. What could Lady Jane say to that? To agree she was put off by his odd household would hardly further her aspirations to be duchess; to deny it would define her as foolish. He had punctured the lady’s pretensions neatly. Unless he meant to flirt with her. Either way, Ainsworth grinned like a naughty boy, dipping his head to hide his mischief. He was so easy to love. It was grossly unfair.

  Lady Jane paled but recovered enough to bat her eyelashes and swiftly change subjects. “You find us here quite by chance, Your Grace. Last week, Lord Seelye recommended I avail myself of a complexion cream.”

  “Ridiculous,” he said. “How can perfection be improved upon?”

  “You’re too kind,” Lady Jane said with a smug smile at Prudence.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Prudence ground out.

  “I apologize, Miss Haversham, I am tardy. You’ll have to excuse us, ladies, I must take the cure.” With that, the duke dismissed them and moved to Prudence’s side.

  “Good day, Your Grace,” Lady Jane purred. She curtseyed with a regal tilt of her head and exited with her bashful friend in tow.

  After the door closed and their shadows slid out of sight, Prudence teased, “Careful, Your Grace, or you’ll soon find yourself with a duchess.”

  “You seem equally determined to save me,” he teased back. “What am I to think?”

  Her smile winked out. “I see. Perhaps you intended the rendezvous. If only I’d known, I could’ve lured Lady Iphigenia away to give you two more privacy.”

  “Peace.” He bent his knees to look directly at her, “Let’s forget Lady Jane Babcock today.”

  What of tomorrow and the next day, Prudence wondered.

  Alone in her bedroom later that night, Prudence let her mind poke and prod the sore subject of His Grace, the Duke of Ainsworth.

  A week had passed since the duke last invaded her bedchamber in person but still he waltzed through her thoughts and dreams with annoying regularity. Each time it happened while she was awake, she reminded herself sternly, he was meant for the likes of Lady Jane Babcock. She was, after all, a diamond of the first water and an obvious candidate for duchess. What’s more, he clearly underestimated Lady Jane’s determination to be the next Duchess of Ainsworth.

  Prudence retired early, thoroughly dispirited. She climbed into bed, snuffed the candle and eventually fell into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 18

  In which our hero cannot help himself.

  Ainsworth solemnly swore to leave Miss Haversham undisturbed henceforth and forever more. He never made this vow to her directly but he certainly meant to honor it. The little apothecary distracted him from ducal duties. Unfortunately, his self-control was badly frayed by his sixth night of abstinence.

  That evening, his resolve began to unravel the moment he happened upon Prudence Haversham with Lady Abingdon in the Upper Rooms. He immediately found technical grounds for an exemption in his vow of avoidance allowing a dance with her. Waltzing with her the first time made the balance of his pledge impossible to keep. For one thing, he enjoyed holding her much too close just to see how flustered he made her by doing so. For another, he simply enjoyed holding her much too close.

  The following day, he went to the apothecary shop to see her because it was only good manners to
call on his principal partner of the previous night and inquire after her health, or rather confirm she survived his raffish familiarities with her good humor intact. By doing so, he violated the spirit as well as the letter of his vow.

  There, he found her pale and tense under the relentless barrage that was Lady Jane Babcock. Prudence Haversham looked woebegone. It couldn’t have been the threat of eviction. He already instructed Sterling by post to delay registering the sale and halt her eviction indefinitely. Something else preyed upon her mind — and that preyed upon his. Why he cared so deeply, he couldn’t fathom but his plans no longer included achieving her misery.

  Besides, it was past time he attended to his own misery. This involved finding himself a duchess. There was no time to lose, as his sister and every dowager in his late mother’s circle of friends reminded him ad nauseum in person and in correspondence. (It was as if his procreating within the bonds of matrimony were a matter of national significance.) Ainsworth knew a dowagers’ cabal stood poised to close ranks and herd him toward someone or other when he returned to London, so he lingered in Bath to enjoy what freedom he had left with prickly Miss Haversham instead. He dismissed this compulsion to be with her as nothing more than his contrary nature. Miss Haversham offered him a tart, refreshing respite from the toadying and awed respect he generally received in Polite Society. Still, he knew he mustn’t let her continue to distract him from What Must Be Done.

  So why did he cross Pulteney Bridge in the wee hours for more distraction? He concluded that he did it as a selfless act for the sake of the dukedom. It was necessary to see her once more before he braced himself to face his fate. Indeed on this his absolutely final midnight visit to Miss Prudence Haversham, Ainsworth intended to get her completely out of his system once and for all. Once he exorcized the enchanting girl from his thoughts, he could return to London and do his duty.

  With this rather convoluted bit of self-justification, the Duke of Ainsworth excused his third, inexcusable foray to Miss Haversham’s neat, stone cottage.