The Desirable Duchess

by M C Beaton

  “Then go into battle! If you feel you owe him something, then get him out of the clutches of Lady Macdonald. She is greedy and avaricious—and ’tis said she drove poor old Lord Macdonald into his grave.”

  “Mrs. Duggan, I do not know how to thank you. I have had no one to turn to for advice. Mrs. Vere is too young and happy to be burdened with my problems. I have been estranged from my parents because I felt they had betrayed me. I know Sir Gerald would not have rejected me had they not interfered.”

  “As to that,” said Mrs. Duggan cautiously, “has it ever dawned on you that had the roles been reversed, you would never have given up Sir Gerald without a fight?”

  “Who knows what they really said to him,” replied Alice impatiently. “They probably told him I loved Ferrant.”

  “Did Sir Gerald tell you that?”

  “No, but—”

  “Shhh. The music is about to begin.” Mrs. Duggan sat back in her chair, well satisfied. She decided she would not pursue the subject of Sir Gerald Warby, because any criticism of the man might only make Alice stubbornly keep him up on a pedestal.

  She closed her eyes and thought instead of her husband, who was stationed in Paris. She would join him in two months’ time, and in that two months, she meant to see if she could make this pretty duchess happy. She had faithfully followed her husband through the rigorous campaigns of the Peninsula, only this year leaving his side to travel to London to see the birth of her first grandchild. Now her daughter and baby were doing well, she could turn her attention to Alice. Strategy, that was what Alice needed. Just like in a military campaign. Mrs. Duggan fell asleep and began to snore gently in a sort of counterpoint to the music.

  Alice received a visit from Mrs. Duggan the following afternoon. “I am come,” said the Irishwoman, “to see if you plan to attend the Sandwells’ ball.”

  “I planned to go to the opera this evening with Lucy Vere and Edward,” said Alice. “The Sandwells’ ball is to be attended by my husband and so—Oh, I see.”

  “Exactly, my love. Into battle. Send a note round to Mrs. Vere and cancel the opera. The Sandwells’ ball it is. You will be chaperoned by me.”

  “He might be angry,” said Alice cautiously. “Oh, and I have already told Lady Sandwell that I would not attend.”

  “And I told her you had made a mistake and that you would attend,” said Mrs. Duggan. “Have you anything dazzling to wear?”

  “I had an enormous trousseau made and have worn some of the gowns only twice.”

  “Listen to the chit!” Mrs. Duggan raised her pudgy hands in exasperation. “You are married to one of the richest men in England. You must start ordering the finest gowns. And this drawing room? What d’ye think of it?”

  Alice looked about her. It had heavy Jacobean furniture and heavy plum-colored curtains at the windows. A huge oil painting of a stag being savaged by hounds hung over the fireplace.

  “In truth, I do not like it very much,” she confessed.

  “Then change it! Make your stamp on the duke’s household. The drawing room is always the ladies’ room.”

  “I would need to ask his permission.”

  “As to that, he’ll give it readily, because at the moment he don’t think he cares what you do.”

  Alice’s face lit up in a rare smile. “Mrs. Duggan, I fear you are a disruptive influence.”

  “Isn’t that after what Colonel Duggan is always saying! But he always has to admit, my interfering in things always works out for the best. Now let’s go up and look at that wardrobe of yours.”

  A few moments later, Mrs. Duggan was shaking her head over the array of white muslin, silk, and satin ball gowns. “All very jeune fille,” she mourned. “You need color, and we have hardly any time at all, at all. New just let me send one of your servants round to Madame Duval and we’ll have her round here like a shot.”

  Despite her wealthy upbringing, Alice had had stern rules of economy dinned into her head by her parents and governess. It seemed profligate in the extreme to send for London’s leading dressmaker when she already had so many gowns to wear. But Mrs. Duggan had her way. Madame Duval mourned the lack of time, but servants were sent running between her workroom and the duke’s house. Mrs. Duggan left them all to it and went off to her own home to change for the ball, returning in time to see a new duchess, one with large sparkling eyes, wearing a slip of white satin worn under an overdress of French gauze painted with Chinese roses. Ropes of pearls had been twisted into the burnished curls of her auburn hair by the court hairdresser, who had also been summoned by Mrs. Duggan before she had left to go and change her own gown. The gauze overdress floated gracefully about the duchess’s perfect figure and the lowered neckline of the gown exposed the top halves of two excellent breasts.

  “I feel very daring… half-naked,” said Alice, with a rueful laugh.

  “You are fully armed for the battle,” said Mrs. Duggan, herself resplendent in plum-colored satin.

  “I heard Ferrant leave half an hour ago,” said Alice. “We are a trifle late.”

  “And isn’t that the idea, child? We shall make an entrance.”

  The Duke of Ferrant stood talking to a group of friends, Lady Macdonald on his arm. Contrary to the belief of society, he had not yet shared her bed—but he had more or less made up his mind to accompany her home that very night. She was very attractive, with a seductive, husky laugh. Her perfume was alluring, and he was conscious of the beauty of her breasts, exposed in a way that he would not have allowed in his wife. His wife! That caused a shadow to cross his face. The time was fast approaching when he would need to make up his mind about his marriage. Brief glimpses of Alice looking hangdog and miserable only increased his distaste for the whole sorry farce. Let her go and be happy with her Sir Gerald. The divorce would cause a scandal, but in the fickle minds of society, such things were quickly forgotten. He should have chosen someone like Lady Loretta Macdonald to be his bride, someone mature and poised.

  He became aware that all eyes had turned to the doorway and that people were chattering and whispering with excitement. “What’s the commotion about?” drawled Lady Macdonald. “Has Prinny arrived?”

  The duke, with his commanding height, looked over the intervening heads. Standing in the doorway, being welcomed by the Sandwells, was his wife. She looked radiant and happy. She looked young and fresh and very beautiful. Beside her, like some sort of squat guardian watchdog, stood Mrs. Duggan, her small periwinkle eyes roaming this way and that as she appreciated the sensation her beautiful companion was causing in the room.

  The waltz was announced. “Our dance, I think,” said Lady Macdonald at his elbow.

  He murmured something but kept looking at Alice. Someone asked her to dance, a tall guardsman, splendid in his scarlet regimentals. Alice smiled up at him and floated off in his arms. The duke could not believe that the sight of his wife performing the waltz with anyone else should cause him such pain.

  “I did not think you an admirer of Prinny,” mocked Lady Macdonald. “Or rather, I assume that is the reason all are gossiping and staring.”

  “My wife has arrived,” said the duke, and, putting his arm around Lady Macdonald’s waist, he led her off in the steps of the dance.

  Lady Macdonald was merely amused. Scandal was what was causing the buzz of excitement in the room. She had seen Alice once at a distance and had damned her as a provincial miss.

  But as the duke swung her round, she had a perfect view of the Duchess of Ferrant and bit back an exclamation of dismay. The duchess was beautiful, with a rare, fresh beauty not often seen in the overheated ballrooms and saloons of fashionable London. The duke, normally an expert dancer, stepped on her toes and muttered an apology. She looked up at him and saw his eyes were fixed on his wife. Lady Macdonald felt a stab of fear. Up until that little duchess had arrived, the road had lain clear before her. He would get a divorce and she would become the duchess. She had heard the gossip about Sir Gerald Warby and had enjoyed it immen
sely but never for one moment considered this wife to be a rival in any way. Lady Macdonald was thirty, but she enjoyed all the license and freedom of a widow and the admiration of many courtiers—and so she was able to forget her age and feel that in beauty, she reigned supreme. Under the mask of her makeup, her face hardened. Something would have to be done.

  The duke felt he simply had to speak to his wife to find out why she had defied his instructions, forgetting that these instructions, conveyed to Alice by his secretary, had merely been put as a suggestion that they did not attend the same events. But her hand was eagerly sought for each dance. He was furious that she appeared to be enjoying herself immensely. He was obliged to take Lady Macdonald into supper, but that lady had little pleasure in his company, for he answered all her flirtatious remarks automatically, his eyes always sliding in the direction of Alice, who was sitting with that wretched guardsman and laughing at something he was saying.

  Alice met Mrs. Duggan as she was leaving the supper room. “Time to go,” whispered Mrs. Duggan.

  “But why?”

  “He’s been trying to secure a dance with you, talk to you. Now let him look for you.”

  “But he does not even appear to have noticed me!”

  “He noticed you. Now we beat a tactical retreat.”

  As Alice climbed down from her carriage outside the duke’s town house, Mrs. Duggan leaned forward. “He will no doubt call on you this night to berate you about something or other. Be cool and dignified. He is now the one that is in the wrong. Don’t forget that. Oh, and I am getting up a little party of friends to go to Vauxhall tomorrow night. Come with us. Don’t let him see you sitting about the place, pining.”

  “Very well,” said Alice, “but he has never called on me before.”

  However, mindful of the Irishwoman’s remarks, Alice put on her prettiest nightgown and a lacy confection of a nightcap and lay in bed reading, waiting all the while for the sound of her husband’s footsteps on the stairs. At last, she heard him coming home. She felt a stab of fear and wondered whether to feign sleep, but then she decided to face him. But although she heard him slowly mount the stairs and hesitate at the top, he turned off to his own quarters. Feeling sad and relieved at the same time, Alice blew out the candle beside the bed, drew the curtains, and fell asleep.

  She awoke late in the morning and stretched and yawned and drew back the bed curtains. And then she fell back against the pillows with a little gasp, drawing the blankets protectively up to her chin, for her husband was sitting on a chair beside the bed.

  “What do you want?” asked Alice, fighting down her nervousness and remembering Mrs. Duggan’s words that the duke was now the guilty one. “Have you been waiting there long?” she added in a milder voice. “You should have told Betty to wake me.”

  “I came in only a few moments ago,” he said. He was in his undress, a long banyan of cloth of gold wrapped about him over a nightgown trimmed with more lace than Alice’s own. “I wish to speak to you.”

  Alice settled herself more comfortably against the pillows and regarded him steadily. “What about?”

  “I thought we had more or less agreed to attend separate functions.”

  “I will do so in future. Had I known the reason was because you wished to attend certain events with your mistress, Lady Macdonald, then I would not have changed my plans.”

  “How dare you! Lady Macdonald is a friend.”

  Alice blinked at him and said, with pretty surprise, “La, sir. When a gentleman squires a lady of overblown looks, immodest dress, and doubtful morals about London, the gossips will chatter so. But I see now you have only been kind to an aging lady long past the first blush of youth.”

  “You little hellcat. Have you no shame for your own behavior?”

  “That was in the past,” said Alice calmly, although her heart was hammering. “Lady Macdonald is in the present. I am to attend Vauxhall this evening with Mrs. Duggan. I tell you that in case you fear we might meet.”

  “I have no fear of our meeting socially.”

  “Then what is this conversation about? Ferrant, if you are trying to tell me that you wish to divorce me and marry Lady Macdonald, please say so and stop this tiresome sparring.”

  Amazement flickered in his eyes. Where was the crushed Alice, the guilty Alice now?

  “I do not wish to discuss such weighty matters before breakfast,” he said, his voice sounding unbearably pompous to his own ears.

  “As you wish,” said Alice politely.

  He gave her a baffled look and rose and stalked from the room.

  Alice lay still after he had gone, fear warring with a certain triumph in her bosom. They had crossed swords, but, oh, how much better that was than to creep about this great mansion, frightened of meeting him.

  The duke went to his club that afternoon. He had promised to take Lady Macdonald to the opera that evening. For the first time he began to worry about Lady Macdonald’s thoughts. She could surely not expect to marry him. And yet, that was an idea he had been toying with since he first met her.

  Edward Vere was lounging in a chair in front of the fire in the coffee room. “Delighted to see you,” he cried when he saw the duke. “My poor Lucy is not very well and I have been sent out.”

  “What is the matter?” asked the duke sharply. “Have you called for the physician?”

  “Lucy is being sick in the mornings, due to her condition, or so I’m told, but it worries me greatly.”

  “Congratulations. So you are to be a father.”

  “Do you think it will be a boy?” asked Edward anxiously. “Should I put his name down for a good regiment?”

  “Too premature,” said the duke, with a laugh. “It might be a girl.”

  “A girl! Well, that would be splendid, too. I shall be quite the doting father whatever comes along. Did you ever think to see me married?”

  “No, in truth, I thought you would remain a bachelor.”

  “That was until I saw my Lucy. How goes Alice?”

  “Well, I thank you.”

  “Heard she was belle of the ball last night. Fellows are writing poems about her.” Edward shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “In fact, lots of gossip about that ball.”

  “Ah… and are the gossips saying that I was there with Lady Macdonald?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Tcha! I do not care what the gossips say.”

  “You don’t? Demme, the way you’ve been going on since your wedding one would think you cared for little else,” exclaimed Edward.

  “Explain yourself.”

  “No, I won’t. Work it out for yourself. I ain’t telling you, for you’d only call me out—and I have a mind to live long enough to see my child! Your affairs are your business.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So let’s have a bottle of port and talk about something else.”

  Chapter Four

  It was not Alice’s first visit to Vauxhall, but it was turning out to be the most enjoyable one she had experienced. In Mrs. Duggan’s party were two young Irishmen, Lord Dunfear and Mr. Donnelly, both easygoing rattles who paid her such extravagant compliments, they made her laugh. Lord Dunfear was tall and gangling and Mr. Donnelly was small and black-haired, with those intense blue Irish eyes fringed with heavy black lashes.

  They listened to the music, promenaded in the walks under the lanterns, and then returned to their box for supper, where Mr. Donnelly tried to demonstrate his expertise in juggling with two wineglasses and a fork and dropped all of them—and looked so outraged that Alice giggled.

  And that was how Sir Gerald Warby saw her. She was simply dressed in a white muslin gown with a blue silk pelisse and was wearing a frivolous confection of ribbons and flowers in her hair.

  He had been strolling along with a noisy party of bloods, but with a hurried excuse, he detached himself from his party and approached the box.

  Before Alice had even introduced him, Mrs. Duggan could tell by her blush and sparkling e
yes that this was Sir Gerald Warby. Mrs. Duggan looked at him in surprise, for how could such a man even begin to compete with Alice’s husband? He had a handsome face, but it was marred by a rather weak and sensual mouth. His clothes were of the best, but the diamond in his cravat was made of paste.

  Alice, after the introductions had been made, asked him to join them. He entertained the company with some of his adventures abroad and then, when Mrs. Duggan turned to talk to the two Irishmen, he said in a low voice to Alice, “How can you ever forgive me? Walk with me for a little and I will explain.”

  “There is no need for explanations,” said Alice, with a lightness she did not feel. “You forget I am a married lady.”

  “An unhappily married lady, if the gossips have it aright.”

  “I never listen to gossip,” said Alice coldly. “My marriage is no concern of yours, sir.”

  He put his hand on his heart. “Would that it were,” he breathed.

  Alice felt uncomfortable. There was something very stagy about that gesture. Her initial rapture at seeing him was fading fast. She was now more experienced in the ways of the world than when she had first met him. And he had changed in a subtle way. There was a glittering, hectic look in his black eyes and he smelled strongly of the Gardens’ rack punch and tobacco smoke.

  “I am feeling faint,” said Mrs. Duggan, looking remarkably hale and healthy. “Forgive me, but I must go home.”

  Alice immediately rose to her feet. “We will all go,” she said, picking up her fan and reticule. “My apologies, Sir Gerald.”

  He bowed over her hand and said huskily, “I shall call on you tomorrow.”

  Alice withdrew her hand and said gently, “No, that would not be wise. Good night, sir.”

  Gerald sat on in the box and finished the rack punch. He was joined by his friends.

  “So that’s the Duchess of Ferrant,” said one. “Had I such a charmer as a bride, I would not waste my time on Lady Macdonald.”