Unmasking the Duke's Mistress

by Margaret McPhee

  Arabella was just about to speak when her mother rushed in there before her.

  ‘Indeed, Doctor,’ agreed Mrs Tatton. ‘Your visits have made all the difference to my grandson’s health.’

  The doctor glanced away, slightly embarrassed. ‘I am sure the improvement is down to Mrs Marlbrook’s intervention at the school.’

  ‘Miss Wallace is keeping a close eye on Archie and the boys who were taunting him.’

  ‘Archie certainly seems to have taken a shine to you, Doctor,’ said Mrs Tatton.

  ‘And I, to him. He is a pleasant child, ma’am,’ said Doctor Roxby politely. ‘And a credit to his mother.’

  ‘Would you care to stay for dinner, Doctor?’ Arabella heard her mother ask and could have cringed in disbelief.

  Doctor Roxby’s eyes met Arabella’s and she saw in their clear blue-green gaze both question and interest. She looked away, not wishing to encourage him.

  ‘Thank you for your most kind offer, Mrs Tatton, but I am afraid I must decline upon this occasion. I have other patients to call upon and the hour grows late.’

  ‘Perhaps another day, Doctor.’ Mrs Tatton smiled.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Doctor Roxby and he smiled as his gaze once more went to Arabella. He gave a bow and, lifting up his black leather bag, he left.

  Arabella waited until she heard the creak of the garden gate before she rounded upon her mother. ‘Mama, what on earth did you think you were doing inviting him to stay for dinner?’

  ‘It was a simple enough offer, Arabella,’ her mother protested.

  ‘I do not wish to give him the wrong impression.’

  ‘Nonsense, Arabella,’ said her mother brusquely. ‘He is a respectable gentleman. I can see in his eyes that he is kind, and look how well he takes to Archie, and Archie to him.’

  ‘He is only doing his job. Do not read more into it than there is.’

  ‘Oh, stuff, Arabella. I am not yet in my dotage. I see the way he looks at you, and why not? You are still a young and comely woman. As a doctor within our community, young, handsome, and not yet married, he must be in want of a wife.’

  ‘Mama, it is just a matter of time before he hears the village gossip about…’ She could not bring herself to say Dominic’s name. The pain was still too intense. ‘About Archie’s parentage. Indeed, I am surprised he has not heard already.’ She knew she sounded bitter, but she could not help it. She just felt so miserable.

  ‘You imagine the gossip to be something it is not,’ chided her mother. ‘And have I not already told you the truth? Of course there are whispers, but the villagers are our own people, and it was not as if you were left unwed with a child. They know you married Mr Marlbrook, and would have accepted you and Archie just the same. And, yes, it is unfortunate that the boy is the very image of…’ her mother’s voice hardened as it always did when she spoke of Dominic ‘…that man, but it was the old duke who forced us from this village, and nothing else.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right, and indeed I pray that you are, for I want more than anything for Archie to be happy here.’

  ‘And he will be.’ Her mother patted her hand. ‘The children will soon tire of their taunting.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Arabella.

  Her mother looked into her face. ‘I can see that you are unhappy and I do not blame you after all that you have been through with that villain Arlesford. But you must move on, Arabella, both for your own sake and for Archie’s. The boy needs a father and you, a husband.’

  ‘No, Mama,’ Arabella objected. ‘We are fine as we are. We do not need another man.’ She knew her mother meant well, but Mrs Tatton did not know the truth. She did not know the terrible lies that Arabella had told. She did not know the guilt and the misery that weighed heavy on her heart.

  ‘Will you hide yourself away here in this cottage for the rest of your life because he broke your heart? That is not you, Arabella. You have pride. You have spirit. You are a strong woman. A woman not unlike myself when I was younger.’

  Her mother smiled at her, but in the smile was sadness and her eyes were filled with worry. Arabella felt all the worse, because it was her own fault. One lie upon another, and too many of those that she loved were suffering because of it.

  ‘You must do what is best for Archie,’ said Mrs Tatton.

  ‘I always have,’ said Arabella, ‘and I always will.’ No matter how hard that would be. No matter what it cost them all.

  ‘And I am glad of it. I know you do not believe me when I tell you there will come a time, not so very far in the future, when the affection of a good and kind gentleman will heal your heart, Arabella, and make you forget all about Dominic Furneaux.’

  No one and nothing would ever make her forget Dominic. She would never stop loving him. But she knew it would be a mistake to say this now to her mother. She did not want to talk any more about such a tender subject, especially one about which she could not tell her mother the truth. So she just smiled and gave her mother’s hand a gentle pat.

  ‘I know you have ever had my best interests at heart, Mama, and I thank you for it, but matters are still too raw. It needs to be just you, me and Archie for now.’ And then she rose from the table and went to check on her son.

  Dominic dealt with matters as speedily as he could the next morning. He visited the Archbishop of Canterbury, Moffat, his man of business, and finally Hunter, who, despite the afternoon hour, was only just up following an ‘all nighter’ at the gaming tables, but who nevertheless rallied to Dominic’s request.

  ‘And so Smith was really Linwood all along,’ said Hunter as he stood there in his bedchamber with his chin up, letting his valet tie his cravat in some wonderful new knot. ‘Damn the man. You should have run the villain through.’

  ‘No doubt,’ replied Dominic drily. Around them was a flurry of activity, as servants hurriedly took Hunter’s clothes from their drawers and wardrobe and packed them in a travelling bag.

  ‘Does Arabella know you are coming?’

  ‘No. A letter would not arrive significantly before we do, and besides, I think what has to be said would be better in person.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Hunter with a grin. He glanced at the coat that was being folded into his bag and spoke to his manservant. ‘No, no, Telfer, my best one, man, the black superfine from Weston.’

  In a matter of fifteen minutes Hunter was ready in his riding coat and breeches, his fully packed travelling bag strapped behind his saddle, and the two men geeing their mounts out on to the Aylesbury road.

  Dominic waited until they had left London behind and were trotting along in the countryside before he spoke again.

  ‘There is one other thing that I ought to tell you before we reach Amersham, Hunter.’

  ‘What is that?’ Hunter glanced across at him.

  The small matter of his son. And Dominic told his friend all about Archie.

  ‘Hell, Dominic, I had no idea. So Arabella married Marlbrook because she was—’ He stopped himself just in time.

  Dominic raised an eyebrow and drew him a droll look.

  Silence, and then Hunter asked, ‘Did Linwood know of the boy?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  ‘Ah, I think I understand your feelings towards Linwood. Bad enough threatening your woman, but your son too?’

  Dominic’s eyes darkened at the memory. Linwood was lucky to have walked out of his house alive.

  ‘Anything else you have not told me?’ Hunter asked with a grin.

  ‘Nothing you need know,’ said Dominic, and smiled. ‘Now, you’d better get that horse moving if we want to reach Amersham before midnight.’

  Hunter laughed and kicked his horse to a canter. And Dominic thought of Arabella in the little Tatton cottage in Amersham, and he raced his mount past Hunter.

  It was late by the time they reached Amersham. A waxing moon near to fullness hung high in the dark night sky and helped guide their way. The glow of light from the edges of windows shone in some of the cotta
ges down in the village, but all was silent, all was still. Dominic glanced in the direction of the Tatton cottage, and although he was tired, travel stained and saddle sore he was restless to spur his horse down there and knock upon Arabella’s door. Was she awake? Was she thinking of him as he thought of her?

  ‘Do not even think it,’ warned Hunter’s quiet voice by his side. ‘You want her to see you in your best light, Dominic, not when you are in need of a bed, a bath, a shave and some fresh clothes. Besides, I need a drink, very, very badly. I hope you have got some of that rather fine brandy of yours up here.’

  Hunter was right. Dominic wanted everything to be readied and perfect when he saw Arabella again. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right. ‘Come on then, five minutes to the Hall. And then you may have your brandy.’ With one last longing glance towards the Tatton cottage he turned and spurred his horse along the road towards Shardeloes Hall.

  At half past six the following evening Arabella bathed Archie. Once he had been dressed in his nightclothes with his hair dried by the fire and his supper of honeyed toast and warm milk long since eaten, she settled him in his little truckle bed. Then she drew the curtains across the small bedchamber window to block out the light, which was still bright. With the curtains closed the room felt dim and safe. Archie yawned as he snuggled down beneath the covers.

  She bent to give him his goodnight kiss. ‘Sleep tight, little lamb,’ she said as usual, determined not to let her son see how miserable she felt.

  ‘Mama,’ he said quietly, ‘I miss Dominic.’

  ‘I miss him too, Archie.’ She stroked his hair and kept her voice light.

  ‘Will he come to visit us soon?’

  ‘I do not know.’ She forced the smile to her face. ‘No more questions, my darling. You must go to sleep like a good boy, for it is Sunday tomorrow and we have church.’

  ‘Not church, Mama,’ he grumbled, but snuggled down and closed his eyes just the same.

  Arabella walked down the stairs to the parlour, where her mother was sitting waiting for her.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Fine, because there is no school. I only hope he is well enough come Monday.’ Arabella pinched the bridge of her nose and curbed the rest of her worries for Archie and his future.

  ‘That Dominic Furneaux has much to answer for.’

  Arabella did not feel strong enough to withstand another argument with her mother over Dominic. Her confidence felt shaken and her normal calm disposition ruffled. She was tense and anxious. ‘Mama, please let us speak no more of Dominic.’

  ‘No more? We have not spoken of him at all for the sake of the boy. And I have held my tongue long enough.’

  Arabella gave a sigh and sat down in the armchair by the window. She lifted her needlework. ‘Mama, there is nothing to be gained by this.’

  ‘He abandoned you, not once but twice, Arabella, and in the worst possible of ways. Publicly announcing a betrothal only to break it off again. Of all the cruel most humiliating ways that he might—’

  ‘Mama!’ Arabella said quickly. It had been cruel. It had been humiliating. But for Dominic, not for her. ‘Remember that it is Dominic who gifted us this cottage and Dominic who is paying us an allowance that we may live a comfortable existence.’

  ‘It is only right that a man should pay for his own child, Arabella. Especially a man who is now as rich and powerful as Dominic. Archie is his son; heaven knows he has done precious little else for the boy. Casting him off without a care—it breaks my heart to see it. The boy should be heir to a dukedom, not suffering the taunts of illegitimacy or begging for the crumbs Dominic deigns to spare him!’

  Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. ‘Cease this talk at once, Mama! I will not hear you say it.’ If only Mama knew the truth. I am guilty of all of these accusations, not Dominic.

  ‘I cannot, Arabella, for it needs to be said,’ cried her mother. ‘The spite of that man! The cruel arrogance! How you can still have a care for such a scoundrel defies logic.’ Mrs Tatton was leaning forwards in her chair in full rant. ‘I should have gone round to Arlesford House and given that man a piece of my mind before we left London. I should have told him exactly what I thought of him. That snake in the grass, that conniving, ill-mannered—’

  Something snapped within Arabella. She could not hear her mother vilify Dominic for one minute more, blaming him for what she had done. The words blurted from her mouth,

  ‘It was not Dominic who broke the betrothal, Mama, it was me. I did it, not Dominic.’

  Silence followed her words. A great roaring loud silence.

  Mrs Tatton gaped at Arabella in confusion and shock. She gave a strange little disbelieving laugh and then smiled. ‘Come now, Arabella—’

  ‘It is the truth. I told him that I did not love him and was leaving him and still he gave me this cottage and an allowance.’

  The smile slipped from her mother’s face. She looked as if she could not fully comprehend what Arabella was saying. ‘But why would you do such a thing, Arabella? Why, when I know that you love him?’

  ‘I do love him.’ It was the first time she had admitted it aloud.

  ‘Then why?’ All vestige of colour had drained from Mrs Tatton’s face. ‘Why would you ruin it for yourself and for Archie?’

  Arabella sat very still upon the chair; her hands lay slack. The floodgates had been opened, and there was no way to close them again. So she told her mother about Mr Smith and his threats. She told her everything, even of Miss Noir and Mrs Silver’s.

  ‘Oh, Arabella,’ he mother whispered as she came to stand by her side. ‘Why did you not tell me?’

  ‘I could not risk that you would go to Dominic. Smith will send his ruffians after him if you reveal any of this. Dominic’s life hangs in the balance. And so too does Archie’s, for Smith will publish the story and there will be no going back from that. I have hurt them both, terribly, but it was only to protect them from Smith. Dominic must never know. You do understand that, do you not?’

  Her mother nodded.

  ‘And as for Mrs Silver’s, well…’ Arabella fidgeted with her fingers and could not look up to meet her mother’s gaze. ‘I knew what the knowledge would do to you, and I could not bear to burden you with such shame.’

  ‘I already knew, Arabella.’

  Arabella glanced up at her mother. ‘But how could you know?’

  ‘Dominic told me where he had found you, that day he came to Curzon Street and you had taken Archie to the park.’ There were tears rolling down Mrs Tatton’s cheeks. ‘You should have told me, Arabella. I would never be ashamed of you when all you have done has been to save those you love. You are the best of mothers to Archie. And you are the best of daughters to me.’

  Arabella got to her feet and put her arms around her mother’s shoulders, holding her and laying her cheek upon the top of her mother’s head.

  ‘Thank you, Mama, and bless you. Bless you for all that you have suffered because of me.’

  Her mother looked drained and worried and Arabella felt more guilty than ever.

  Mrs Tatton’s health was too fragile. Arabella knew she should not have weakened and burdened her mother with the truth. It seemed to Arabella that however hard she tried, no matter what she did, she hurt the people she loved the most.

  Dominic’s voice echoed in her head. I love you, Arabella.

  And she winced. The weight of the pain and the guilt was growing heavier with each passing day. And she wondered when Dominic would come, and she wondered how she was going to bear that meeting when eventually it happened. She felt as if she were suffocating from the weight of worry.

  ‘Mama, I do not think that I will sleep feeling the way I do. Would you like to go for a walk along the woodland path, to help clear our heads a little?’

  ‘I am tired, and would prefer to sit by the fire. But you go, Arabella.’ Her mother took Arabella’s hand in her own. ‘Do not wander too far and be back
before it is dark.’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’ Arabella dropped a kiss on her mother’s head.

  From outside she could hear the blackbirds calling and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.

  Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, Arabella slipped from the cottage out into the fresh air. She walked to straighten the thoughts in her head and to revive her resolve.

  ‘What do you mean you are going out alone?’ Hunter grumbled. ‘We have not stopped all day. And we are supposed to be attending to other matters tonight, such as drinking and making merry and celebrating the joys of the bachelor life in all the most carnal of ways.’

  Dominic threw his friend a speaking look.

  ‘You are a changed man since you became reacquainted with Arabella, Dominic. A changed man, indeed.’ Hunter shook his head in a sorrowful way.

  ‘So you keep telling me. We will see how changed you are when you meet the woman you wish to marry.’

  Hunter gave a disgusted snort. ‘I assure you I have no plans in that direction for a good many years. And if I must eventually succumb to such a fate there will be no changing involved.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Dominic.

  ‘Indeed, you shall,’ sniffed Hunter and helped himself to another brandy. ‘All is ready for tomorrow?’

  ‘Almost,’ said Dominic and he thought again of Arabella.

  ‘I shall be glad of the return to London. I do not know how you can stand it out here in the sticks. I bet they do not even know how to play faro or macao.’

  Dominic laughed. ‘I am sure they do not. Indeed, I doubt there is such an inveterate gambler as yourself within the whole village. You will have to wait for your return to London for that.’

  Hunter sighed and sipped his brandy. ‘Dear, dear London town, how I miss her sweet allures.’

  Dominic laughed again and, gathering up his hat, gloves and riding crop, departed the Hall.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The evening sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves and branches to spill in small pools and spots upon the woodland floor. There were still some patches of pale yellow primroses, although the heads of the bluebells had gone over. In their place were the tiny blue flowers of forget-me-not, bright splashes of colour amidst the earthy browns and greens of the soil and grass. A dove was cooing softly, sounding above the song of the smaller birds. Arabella walked on, small dry twigs crunching beneath her boots.