Dancing in The Duke’s Arms

by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel

  Althea hesitated. It was bitterly unfair that Speck’s attack at Vauxhall, one of the most horrible nights of her life, should rear its head when her relations with Linton were improving. She couldn’t be sure he’d believe Speck’s accusation, but he might, and so would others. Any number of people had seen her after she’d fled from Speck and sought the safety of the rotunda. She had made up a story for her friends about tripping in the dark and getting ensnared in a bush. Now she wished she’d told someone, but the same consideration had kept her silent: Everyone would believe she had asked for it.

  “Very well, Mr. Speck, you may stay until after the boat race.” She had to dig her nails into her palms to stop herself from slapping his sly, triumphant face. “But do not ever lay so much as a finger on me again.”

  “I never touch a lady who doesn’t want me.”

  “Now stay out of my way. If you even attempt to get me alone, Linton will learn all, because I shall tell him myself, and he will ruin you.”

  Chapter Seven

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  Althea came down to the lake to cheer them on and hold his watch, but she showed more enthusiasm for Nicholas’s performance behind the oars than his. Understandable, since her brother was the competitor. Nicholas had shown himself to be a talented oarsman, and Linton couldn’t complain about his diligence. He’d never have thought the young man had so much determination. Still, it was more than two weeks until the race, and it would be no surprise if he slacked off.

  “Fifteen seconds faster that time, Nick,” Althea said, “even in this wind. Well done!”

  And I was only a second behind, Linton wanted to say. Pay attention to me! “Are you cold up there?” he asked her.

  She huddled in her shawl. “A little. I think I shall go in.”

  The next day it rained. Though no reason to forgo their practice, they had to manage without a timekeeper. He entered the house late in the afternoon having rowed better than ever. His dormant muscles had loosened and were regaining their old facility, but they’d pushed themselves today, and everything ached. He knocked on the door between their rooms.

  “Good Lord, Linton, you aren’t dressed yet.”

  “Neither are you.” Her shift, stays, and petticoats covered her as thoroughly as an evening gown, but the lace-trimmed silk gave him ideas, and a pain in a new place.

  “The vicar and his family will be here in half an hour.”

  “How long will it take you to finish your toilette?”

  “Maybe ten minutes. I only have to put on my gown.”

  “I can be ready in five.” A gross exaggeration. “Could I beg you to rub my shoulders for a few minutes?” He managed what he hoped was a winning smile. Begging and cajoling were not things he’d often had to do. If ever.

  “A quick one,” she said.

  Her maid regarded them with curiosity. “You may go,” he told her. And when Althea started to object, “I will help you into your gown.”

  “Dictatorial as ever, Linton,” Althea said.

  “Dictatorial? I was begging.”

  “You’re not very good at it. Sit here.”

  She placed him on the padded stool in front of her dressing table. The mirror let him see her standing behind him and, when she leaned over, gave him a splendid view of the tops of her breasts.

  “Shall I remove my shirt?”

  “We haven’t time.”

  The massage didn’t feel as good through cloth, and it was over far too soon. “We must dress,” she said, giving his shoulders a last kneading.

  To prolong the moment, he laid his hand over one of hers. “I wouldn’t have expected you to invite the vicar to dine with you.”

  “Why not? I do it several times every year.”

  He did the same at each of his estates, but he couldn’t see Althea in company with Mr. Foster, an expert on local ancient monuments, of which he was a prime example, it being a miracle he could still climb the steps of the pulpit.

  “I’ll have you know that I like the vicar’s sister Mrs. Widmerpool immensely. She enlivens meetings of the church floral committee.”

  “I’m having difficulty seeing you in those surroundings.”

  “I don’t see why. I provide flowers from the garden, and may I inform you that I am quite skilled at arrangements?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I pass my time in innocuous activities when I’m not busy with mischief and debauchery.” She tried to pull away her hand, but he held it fast.

  She saw his remark as critical, which was far from his intent. “That’s not what I meant.” The last thing he had in mind was a scolding. He was rather desperate to kiss her.

  “Go to your room at once,” she said. “I’ll call my maid to help me. We don’t have time.”

  So he didn’t even have the pleasure of fastening her gown, though, in truth, he’d rather be undressing her.

  *

  At dinner Mrs. Widmerpool, who made a study of the publications of Mr. Debrett, subjected Nigel Speck to a probing interrogation.

  “Are you one of the Dorsetshire Specks?”

  “Sir Donald is my cousin,” Speck said with the air of false modesty with which he boasted of his distinguished relation at dinner each night. “Larchmont is a magnificent house. Have you seen it?”

  “I’ve never been to Dorset,” Mrs. Widmerpool said, implying that the county wasn’t worth honoring with her presence. “You are not Robert Speck’s son, are you?”

  “No.”

  “A third or fourth cousin, I suppose. A mere speck on the family tree, one might say.” She chortled. “Are you often invited to Larchmont?”

  Linton caught his wife’s eye down the length of the table. She appeared to be struggling to suppress mirth.

  Once she could speak, she changed the subject. “Tell me, Mr. Foster, will you go to Teversault to watch the Dukeries Cup race?”

  “I never miss it. I remember when His Grace won by almost a hundred yards, one of the most extraordinary feats of rowing I ever witnessed.”

  “I think that says more about the competition that year than my own skill,” Linton said.

  “You are too modest,” the vicar replied. “None of the other houses had a strong entrant that year, but your time remains a record for the race.”

  “It could be broken this year. My brother-in-law is rowing for The Chimneys and promises to put up an excellent time. Do you know who else is racing?”

  “The Duke of Stoke Teversault’s brother Lord William will try to win for the fourth time in a row.”

  “That has never been done.”

  “He’s a very strong young man.”

  Linton saw that Nicholas looked worried. “Do you know William Besett, Nicholas?”

  “I raced him once in London. He beat me soundly.”

  “You never told me you rowed in London, Nick,” Althea said.

  “Just once, with the Star Club. I was thinking of joining, but it didn’t come to anything. You know how it is. Other things came up.”

  Other things being drinking and gaming and leading his sister astray.

  His wife turned to the vicar and looked so beautiful his breath caught. A base craving roiled his loins, and something more. Tenderness. Tenderness for the young girl she’d been before being spoiled by the worst London had to offer, and for the lovely woman she’d grown into.

  For now he’d settle for a look, but she favored the vicar with her smiles.

  “Mr. Maxfield is fortunate to have His Grace as his guide,” Mr. Foster said. “Winning on the lake at Teversault requires strategy and knowledge. I assume you will practice in situ.”

  “I sent a message to Stoke Teversault asking if we could take our sculls over there tomorrow. Nicholas and I have the use of the lake for the day. Will you come with us, Althea?”

  “I’d like to see Nick row the famous serpentine lake, and,” she added, causing his chest to swell, “to see the site of your triumph.”

  If he didn’t kiss her soon, he
was going to die. Desperate merely to touch her, after dinner he proposed they play the Mozart duet.

  They made a decent job of it. Althea had mastered her part, and Linton had to make several deliberate mistakes to achieve the accidental meetings of their hands that he craved. They finished with a flourish and looked at each other. Amid the applause, he kissed her hand, and she did not snatch it away. Then Nigel Speck ambled over to the piano.

  “Congratulations. I had no idea you were such an excellent player, Duke.”

  “Why would you? I don’t know you,” Linton said.

  Ignoring the snub, Speck leaned over Althea’s shoulder. “And you, Duchess, have improved much since I last heard you.”

  She slid off the bench and moved out of Speck’s orbit. Out of Linton’s too, but not before he caught the look of disgust on her face. “I didn’t know you had ever heard me play, Mr. Speck.”

  “You entertained us with some songs after dinner at Linton House. I have never forgotten the delightful occasion.”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I believe you did dine with us once.”

  “Us?” Speck said. “Linton wasn’t there. As he just remarked, we were not previously acquainted.”

  That was enough. Linton was now certain that Althea merely tolerated Speck for her brother’s sake. Whatever there might have been in the past between them, she disliked him now. The thought of anything between Althea and Speck made him want to smash something. It was time to take action and get rid of the worm.

  He’d done nothing about his discovery of Speck’s cheating because he wasn’t certain how Althea would react, and he didn’t wish to start an argument. In the past her response to perfectly reasonable requests had been unpredictable. This time he wasn’t going to ask. Speck had upset her, so Speck must go.

  *

  Speck had ruined her evening with his innuendo about his visit to Linton House, the only time he’d set foot in the London residence.

  As she prepared for bed, Althea remembered the dinner. Linton had been away, and she’d invited her coterie: Nick and some of his young bachelor friends, including Speck; some dashing young couples; and a couple of young married women who, like her, were in the habit of going about alone when their husbands were occupied with their own affairs. Things got a little merry, as they often did, and after dinner she was persuaded to accompany some singing. Her simple playing was good enough for the rum-ti-tum of raucous drinking songs. It was all in good humor and ultimately innocent. She could imagine how the account of the evening would sound with the embellishments of Speck’s cloven tongue.

  She’d enjoyed having Linton as host with her tonight. She used to dread the dinners she’d attended with him in London, where she’d feel young and stupid among people of the highest rank and political influence. Nothing she said ever seemed to be right. She’d look for him, longing for his support, but he was always deep in conversation with some important person. Once, when she tried to explain, he had brushed off her concern, telling her she was doing well enough and would learn to be more comfortable. Little wonder she had preferred to racket around town with Nick and his friends.

  During that first massage, when he asked her if she had felt neglected by him, she denied it. Perhaps she should have told him the truth.

  Tonight she hadn’t felt stupid, except sometimes when she intercepted a hot glance that addled her brain. He wanted to return to her bed, she was sure of that. She was almost sure she wanted to invite him. The prospect of Linton as her lover enticed her; having him back as her husband filled her with doubt.

  A knock at the door made her leap to her feet. Linton. What was she going to do?

  He was fully dressed and not looking at all amorous.

  “I have come to tell you,” he said, “that I have asked Mr. Speck to leave tomorrow. I do not feel that he is a suitable person for us to introduce to our guests.”

  “I see,” was all she could manage. Had Speck said anything to Linton about her?

  “Are you displeased?”

  Displeased? She was delighted not to have the horrid man in the house. “No,” she said faintly.

  “Good,” he said.

  It didn’t appear that Linton knew about Vauxhall, for surely he’d be furious. If he believed Speck’s tale, he might be so angry that he’d divorce her, whatever he’d said before. There had been times when she was in low spirits and wouldn’t have cared. If she was to be a scandalous duchess, she might as well do it properly. Things were different now. Hope of a better future had crept into her heart.

  “Where is he going?” If he returned to London, she’d feel much easier, but she couldn’t believe he’d leave the neighborhood before he’d collected on Nick’s debt.

  “I will deliver him to the Duke’s Arms, and after that I neither know nor care.” He stared at her, apparently waiting for something, but she had nothing to say. “I’ll say good night then.”

  “Good—” Before she could finish, he strode over, took her by the shoulders, and planted a firm kiss on her lips. Oh Lord, she had forgotten how good his mouth could feel. She wanted a longer, deeper kiss, and that wasn’t all. But before she even had time to respond, he withdrew, wished her good night again, and returned to his own room.

  *

  Althea changed her mind about joining them at Teversault. Instead, Speck came with them in the carriage, a very poor exchange. But they dropped him at the Duke’s Arms, and Linton hoped never to set eyes on him again. He’d gone easily enough when Linton mentioned the shiny snuffbox, though he claimed innocence. It was true that he hadn’t actually been caught marking the cards or hiding an ace in his sleeve, but he knew Linton could damage his reputation. That was exactly what Linton intended to do once he returned to London. In the meantime, he was merely relieved to have him out of the house.

  A cart had delivered their sculls earlier, so Nicholas and Linton went straight to work, practicing the serpentine lake’s tricky curves and tight turns before a run-through of the three-mile race. Linton was gratified to complete it without killing himself and only a few minutes behind Nicholas, who rowed superbly.

  Resting on one of the lakeside benches, they shared a picnic of bread and cheese washed down with small beer. Linton had never felt so fondly of his brother-in-law. They talked of past races at their respective schools and Linton’s at Oxford.

  “Why didn’t your brother send you up to university?” he asked.

  “He said our father had done enough for me by paying for me to go to Westminster. When I finished there, he handed over my inheritance from my mother and told me to leave the house. Our father didn’t care for Allie and me, because of our mother, you know, and Geoffrey was as bad.”

  Linton never knew the father, but he thought Geoffrey an unpleasant man and was glad Althea wasn’t close to him. Taking care of the future of your dependents was the decent thing to do, family animosities aside. Nicholas was too young to have been thrust into the world without the benefit of masculine counsel.

  “Yet he provided for Althea.”

  Nicholas emitted a short, unamused laugh. “Only because she made him. Even Geoffrey couldn’t toss out his sister. People would have talked. He tried to marry her off to some old neighbor, but she dug in her heels. Allie was always the strong one—not like me—and Geoffrey knew it. So he bought her a few new gowns instead of the old rags she wore and ponied up for the Season in London.” Now he was grinning. “I can just imagine how Geoffrey must have felt when she landed the catch of the Season. She always said he hoped she’d have to settle for a nasty old man with the pox.”

  “No danger of that. I had plenty of competitors for her hand.”

  “Geoffrey may have been annoyed by her good luck, but it meant he could finally wash his hands of me. Told me before the wedding that I could go to Allie if I wanted anything and told Allie I was her responsibility.”

  Unfortunately, Althea hadn’t done her brother any favors by cosseting him. Linton accepted that she’d acted out of
love, but Nick needed to be his own man. The efforts he put into his rowing showed that he was capable of hard work and persistence. A little self-absorbed and lacking in confidence, but he was still young, and Linton had found a new tolerance for the weaknesses of youth. Once the Dukeries Cup was theirs, Linton would find him an occupation since Maxfield would not.

  “I’d have paid for you to go to university. Sooner that than your gaming debts.”

  Nicholas had the grace to look ashamed. “I daresay I wouldn’t have gone. I was enjoying London too much. I’m not much of one for responsibility myself.”

  Linton could have agreed, but Sir Geoffrey’s was the greater fault. A boy didn’t acquire a sense of responsibility without guidance and example. Sir Geoffrey certainly hadn’t provided the latter.

  “I’m pretty worthless, I’m afraid. Only thing I was good at was rowing, but that time I rowed for the Star Club I was drunk. That’s why I lost to Besett. Or perhaps I would have anyway. He’s strong.”

  “If I have anything to do with it, you’ll beat him. But to get back to you and Althea, why didn’t she tell me this and ask me to help you?” He had a nasty feeling his young bride had been too frightened to confide in him. He was beginning to wish he’d done things differently.

  Nicholas gave the matter his consideration. “I expect she was ashamed to admit that Geoffrey was such a shabby fellow. Or perhaps—yes, I remember her saying something like this once—she didn’t want you to think she’d married you only for my sake.”

  Linton had assumed, at least after things went wrong, that Althea had accepted him for mercenary reasons. “Why do you think she married me, then?”

  “She didn’t want a man like our father or Geoffrey, and she said you were a good fellow. She trusted you.”

  The words lightened his heart. The lovely, willful girl had trusted him to treat her well. He understood her better now, her unreasonable support of Nick, even her extravagance after living with a pair of misers. How dare the Maxfields, neither of whom was short of a guinea, dress their daughter and sister in rags? Little wonder a spirited girl like her would go a little wild when free from their cheeseparing tyranny and defy a husband who did nothing but criticize her. She’d thought him a good fellow, trusted him, and he had let her down.