by Cheryl Bolen
“Ah,” he said, looking back at Bonny, “my beautiful wife. I must introduce you to my friends, my dear.”
Smiling shakily, Bonny crossed the room to her husband’s side and stood gracefully rigid as he leaned to kiss her cheek. And then she knew why his eyes and voice disturbed her. He smelled strongly of liquor.
Radcliff introduced Bonny to William Clyde, who was taller than her husband and rather handsome with dark auburn hair, to Huntley Harrington, who was short and jolly, with a red nose and red eyes; and Stephen Langford, a nice-looking young man who couldn’t seem to remove his eyes from Bonny.
What was William Clyde doing here drinking with her husband if his poor wife was being confined? “Do I understand, Mr. Clyde,” Bonny said, “that you are to be congratulated on the impending birth of a third child?” Make him feel guilty, she thought.
He coughed. “Thank you, your grace.”
“Your wife stays in London?” Bonny asked.
“No. In Fairfield with her mother.”
Bonny stiffened, then held out her hand to the other two young men, who assured her they were single.
“I had heard the duchess was beautiful,” Langford told her, “but you are beyond anything I expected.”
She saw a smug look pass over Richard’s face at this comment and she thanked Langford, then turned to her husband. “We missed you at dinner.”
“Our first dinner apart,” he said snidely.
By his tone, she feared it would be the first of many dinners apart.
“If you ask me,” Twigs said, “she was damned—” He cast an apologetic glance toward Bonny. “Pray, forgive my language, but, Richard, the duchess was deuced worried about you. Couldn’t you have sent a note around?”
Radcliff’s eyes met hers. “Were you worried that highwaymen slit my throat for my purse, my dear?”
His cool manner sent a chill along her spine. “I filled my head with all manner of worries about you, sir.”
A flicker of warmth lit his eyes as he trailed a finger over his wife’s smooth cheekbone. Then he stiffened and spoke casually. “Pray, don’t worry about me tonight, for I intend to spend the evening in the company of my friends.”
When the three bottles of Madeira were dry, Radcliff and the blades took their leave of Twigs and Bonny.
Although she was downcast over her husband’s behavior, Bonny determined to play cribbage with Twigs, who was quite low himself.
Like Bonny, Twigs’s thoughts were not on the game. “I say, would you mind dreadfully if I don’t finish the game?” he asked Bonny. “That fox of a husband of yours knows how to restore my health.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Deuced well made me want to walk, he did.” Twigs swung his legs round the side of the bed, and holding on to the table, he removed himself from the bed.
Bonny jumped to her feet to assist him.
“No, Duchess, I’ve got to do this on my own,” he said, gritting his teeth. He put his weight on both legs and stood there for a moment as Bonny watched in silence.
After a minute, he took a step on his good leg, then dragged his injured leg behind him. He followed by taking another step, but this time he lifted the mending leg off the carpet and set it back down as if he were walking.
He proceeded to cross the long room slowly.
Bonny felt helpless as she watched. What if he fell and reinjured himself?
He did neither. Slowly and not without a great deal of pain, he came back to the bed and collapsed.
Bonny turned to Twigs, her eyes flashing with excitement. “I can’t wait to tell Richard of your progress.”
A troubled look swept across his face. “You’d best wait till tomorrow. Don’t expect to see Richard tonight.”
Hours after her husband left the house with the three rakes, Bonny called for Marie to help her undress. Marie took the pins and plumes from her hair and brushed it out, black ringlets falling over the ivory lace nightgown. Before she left the room, Marie stoked the fire for the night and put a fresh candle beside Bonny’s bed.
At first Bonny tried to read, but she could only think of Radcliff. The strong smell of liquor on his breath had repelled her. She wondered if her husband had been foxed. She had little experience with drunkenness save for Mr. Woods back in Milford, who beat his wife when he was in his cups. Many a time her father had been called to assist Mrs. Woods after her husband had imbibed.
Would Richard beat her? That was a stupid question. She knew her husband could never harm anyone. This was the man who took the orphaned Rusty off the streets and gave him a job as groom, the master who was revered by his adoring servants, the duke who gave his title to the penniless daughter of a country cleric.
She remembered a hundred kind gestures from her husband and wanted so much for things to be the way they had been during the first weeks of their marriage. She wished so very much that he was beside her this very minute. How she longed to feel his arms around her, to have his life spring passing into her body, to feel his lips against hers. Even if he did smell of liquor.
If tonight he remained in his room as he had done last night, she decided to let herself into his chamber. She would say she was excited to tell him that Twigs walked on his own. And then, maybe, her husband would see her in the soft nightgown and want to make love to her.
Bonny plumped up her pillows, picked up her book and read. At three in the morning her eyelids became heavy. She blew out her candle and went to sleep.
The next morning, after Marie had done her hair and helped her into a muslin day dress, Bonny went through the dressing room to her husband’s chamber.
He was not there, and the smooth silk bedspread indicated his bed had not been slept in.
Evans entered the room, gave a Bonny a stiff greeting and proceeded to the dressing room to gather up his master’s boots.
Bonny followed him and sat down in Richard’s gilded chair. “How long have you been in service to the duke, Mr. Evans?”
He continued about his task of polishing one boot and did not look up. “Since the fourth duke died. I was valet to the father before the son.”
“Then you knew my husband when he was a child.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Was he an affectionate child?”
Evans glanced up from the already shiny black boot and gave her a quizzing gaze. “He was much like his father. The Moncrief men do not speak of emotions except by their actions.”
“The old duke was fond of his son?”
“He never spoke of it. Nor would he boast of the young duke’s many accomplishments, though those who knew him could see he was proud of his son. We always knew when the young master was coming home from Eaton or Oxford by his levity.”
How very much Richard must be like his father, Bonny thought. Obviously, something troubled him, but he had been schooled not to allow anyone past the cool barriers he had erected around his heart.
She watched Evans rub more polish onto the boot. “I know you could not welcome the idea of his grace taking a wife, Mr. Evans, but I do assure you that you and I have the same goal. We both want his grace to be happy.”
“Quite so, your grace,” he said placidly.
Chapter Sixteen
His blond head towered over everyone on the dance floor, md he was coming straight toward her. Emily’s knees began to quiver. She looked away from him and feigned interest in her mother’s conversation.
“My poor daughter needs to sit this one out, Lady Sutton, for she’s quite fatigued from dancing every dance.”
“But, Lady Landis,” the other woman said, “it appears Lord Dunsford wishes to dance with your daughter.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to examine Dunsford as he stood shyly beside Emily.
“I have waited all night for the opportunity to ask you to stand up with me,” Lord Dunsford said to Emily.
At first she merely sat in her armed chair looking at him, stunned that his voice was not Harold’s voice at
all, though tie looked so much like Harold. Then, she cast her gaze at her satisfied mother, got to her feet and moved silently to the dance floor with the earl, her breath ragged and her insides shaky.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said to her as he clasped her hand. “I am Henry Black burn, the Earl of Dunsford.”
“And I am Emily Wickham,” Emily said softly.
“Alfred’s sister?” he asked as he held her at arm’s distance to begin the waltz.
“Yes, do you know my brother?”
“We were at Oxford together, but he was ahead of me.”
Emily found it difficult to converse with the earl. Had he asked her to dance because she had been staring at him all night? She had tried to look away quickly every time he directed his gaze toward her. Now, as it had throughout the night, his presence evoked painful memories of her dead lover.
The earl’s tongue was as unskilled as his clumsy dance steps. He spoke no more until the waltz was nearly finished. “How is it that I’ve not seen you before, Lady Emily?”
“I’ve been out of London most of the past year.”
“Where?”
She started to say Spain, but decided against it. It would do neither of them any good to think of Spain. “I have been to my cousin’s wedding in Northumbria. My cousin, Bonny Barbara Allan, has recently married the Duke of Radcliff.”
Dunsford’s step slowed and she felt a stiffening in his manner.
When the music stopped, he walked her back to her mother. “May I have the pleasure of calling upon you, Lady Emily?” he asked.
She nodded.
And cursed herself for it.
The following day Emily called to coax Bonny into accompanying her to look for ribbons, but Bonny cried off, begging her cousin to stay with her awhile. Bonny would not budge from Radcliff House until her husband returned.
Emily, dressed in a fine mint green worsted dress and matching pelisse, took a seat in Bonny’s sunlit study. “I only used the ribbons as an excuse to talk to you. You will never guess whom I danced with at the Teagues’ ball last night.”
Bonny laid her embroidery on her lap and cocked a brow.
“Harold’s brother,” Emily said.
“The earl?”
Emily nodded solemnly.
“And you didn’t faint?”
“No, for I had rather been watching him throughout the night. He looks so very much like Harold. That is, until I heard his voice. It sounded so strange for that unfamiliar voice to come from that so-familiar face.”
“Did you tell him you knew Harold?”
“No. I was afraid I might break down and cry.”
“Then it’s best you remained silent.”
Emily stayed silent for a moment before she calmly said, “He asked if he could call on me.”
“And what did you say?” Bonny ran her needle into the cloth.
Emily twisted a handkerchief. “I said he could.”
“Then why are you here this morning?”
“I can’t be with him and not want to confess everything.”
“You wouldn’t do that with your mother sitting right there.”
“That’s just the problem. If an earl came to call, you can be sure she would find a reason to leave me alone in the room with him—anything to compromise my virtue and aspire for a noble offer.”
Bonny knew good manners demanded that she defend her aunt, but good sense told her that Emily spoke the truth. She remained silent.
Emily got up. “I must make an effort to get some ribbons before I go home. Mama will be furious enough if Lord Dunsford called while I was out.” She turned from the door of the duchess’s study. “Need ribbon?”
Bonny shook her head. “Please leave the door open.” She wanted to hear Richard when he returned. Long after Emily left, Bonny sat quietly sewing, listening for her husband. She saw Evans stealthily creep down the hall toward his master’s room. Shortly afterward he walked past her open study door, a valise in one hand and a suit of Richard’s clothing in the other.
Seeing Evans with her husband’s clothing was nothing new. Fine coats and trousers were frequently draped over his arm as he saw to their needs. But the valise? Was he taking Richard a fresh suit of clothing?
She thought of how extremely neat her husband was about his clothing and appearance. Not that he was vain. Just very clean. The only man she could measure him against was her father, who had a habit of wearing his favorite clothes for days on end.
Could Richard have sent a note to Evans and not to his wife? she wondered, anger welling within her like a steaming cauldron.
Before an hour passed, Radcliff returned home wearing the clothes Evans brought him. “Is the duchess home?” he asked Mandley, passing his gloves and riding crop to a nearby footman.
“Yes, your grace. I believe she is in her study.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, your grace. Lady Emily left some time ago.”
Radcliff nodded and went to sit at the rich walnut desk in his own study, hanging his head in his hands. God’s teeth, but his head ached unmercifully. He was too old and too unused to the excesses for which his crowd was noted. He had been so ripe for aging at Hedley Hall with Bonny by his side and a nursery full of their children. Why had they ever come back to London? Bonny had seemed happy with him in Kent. He thought perhaps she had been growing to love him.
He pounded the desk at the thought of his rival.
“Are you all right, Richard?”
He looked up to see Bonny, lovely as ever, standing before him, a look of concern on her perfect face. “I have a bad head.”
She slid into a velvet chair near his desk, a sly grin on her face. “I feared you would have a bad head today, dear husband. I understand that generally follows a thorough foxing.”
“Thank you for such sympathetic words, my dear.”
She got up and came to feel his forehead. “I’m sorry to be so callous. Would you like Mandley to bring you ti-sane?”
“Pray, no. It won’t help.” His eyes raked over her as she sat back down. “You’ve been here all day?”
“How could I leave, not knowing where you were or if you were all right?”
“Keep it up and I will believe you worried about me.”
She squared her shoulders and shot a cold glance at him.
Why hadn’t she asked where he had been? Didn’t other wives pry? But, then, Bonny was not like all wives, he thought with a tightening in his chest.
“Have you see Twigs today?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m too bloody miserable.”
“Then you need to be in bed.”
“I would feel no better there.” He shuffled through papers on his desk, feeling his wife’s eyes on him.
“Twigs walked on his own last night,” she announced quietly.
He turned smiling eyes on her. “This calls for a celebration.”
“Please, no more toasts, sir.”
“I was thinking you could have a small dinner party for him. Have your aunt and uncle and Emily, and any others you may wish.”
“Like your cousin, Stanley?”
He nodded. “You have complete liberty with the guest list.”
All signs of old Lord Heffington were now gone from the late baron’s morning room, Stanley Moncrief reflected as he waited for the baron’s merry widow to come down. Lady Lynda Heffington’s touch shone everywhere in the room, from its brocaded sofas the color of saffron to the Sevres urns on the marble mantel. Color and light and delicate objects had replaced the heavy wood, suits of armor and deep claret-colored trappings of the morning room.
Lady Heffington floated into the room, her heavy floral scent announcing her arrival before she greeted Stanley in her deep, rich voice.
He rose and took her outstretched hand, his eyes skimming past her loveliness to observe her deaf companion, Mrs. Breed love, as that old woman sat in a French chair near the window and took up her embroidery. “Surely a lady of yo
ur prestige no longer needs the appearances of a watchdog,” Stanley said mockingly.
Lady Heffington stiffened and withdrew her hand. “A woman alone in the world always needs a protector.” She sat on a sofa behind the tea table recently set by her butler. “Your cousin’s ill use of me did nothing to improve my reputation.”
Stanley came to sit beside her. “Ah, my cousin. He is the reason I am here today.”
She shot him a questioning glance.
“I regret to say his marriage does not go well. I am sure you know he stays away from his young bride for days at a time.”
“Such talk has come to my ears. I am given to understand he prefers the company of other bloods over that of his wife.”
“You of all people must know a man like Richard cannot be content with only a pretty face. He needs a mature woman of experience and intelligence.”
“You and I are in complete agreement on that, Stanley. However, if dark clouds threaten Richard’s marriage, I cannot but believe you would rejoice. I know you dislike the prospect of Richard begetting an heir that would displace your hopes.”
“It seems you and I understand each other well, Lynda.”
She handed him his tea. “Why are you here?”
“To enlist your help in my plan to sabotage Richard’s...I hate to call it a marriage...his misalliance.”
Her brows lifted, then she leaned toward him, a smile spreading across her pretty face. “Pray, how can I be of service?”
Bonny knew a dinner party for a dozen was child’s play for her experienced servants, who had to remove several leaves from the great dining table to accommodate so small a gathering. Nevertheless, this was her first dinner party, and she wanted to be certain everything went smoothly. Above all, she wanted Richard to be proud of her.
She stood back to study the table. She had arranged the flowers herself and had to admit no one could have done better. She examined each of the twelve place cards. Assured the table was in perfect order, Bonny scurried up the stairs to her chamber, where Marie skillfully arranged her hair and helped her into the low-cut black sarcenet gown with train. She thought of how lovely the Radcliff Jewels would look but knew they were too showy for one in mourning. Instead, she pulled from her jewel case a simple strand of pearls. Marie fastened them on before she left the room.
