Compromising the Duke's Daughter

by Mary Brendan

  She was far from feeling mellow. The sight of Saul Stokes boldly stationed outside her home that afternoon had sent Joan into a horrible state of uncertainty. She’d paced about in her bedroom, inwardly debating whether to pay an unchaperoned visit on the vicar and enlist his help. She’d considered writing to him, but that would simply create a delay, prolonging her inner turbulence and making more likely the odious villain carrying out his threat to contact her sick papa. Impulsivity had suddenly overwhelmed her and Joan had bolted down the stairs with Anna in tow to find Pip and a carriage. But now she had arrived at her destination her negligence in protecting her own, and her family’s, good name was pricking at her conscience once more.

  The elderly servant who’d opened the door was squinting her disapproval, heightening Joan’s misgivings. She gave Mrs Pickles a polite nod and stepped over the threshold. The woman had obviously remembered that her aunt had guarded her reputation last time. The stooped servant peered left and right along the street, muttering that a shop girl would know better about calling on a bachelor even if he were a man of the cloth. Anna had insisted in getting down from the carriage so at least people could see her mistress wasn’t completely alone. Joan knew that her maid hadn’t approved of her coming here either. But Anna kept her own counsel and was loyal to a fault.

  Briefly Joan had considered asking Maude to accompany her, but her stepmother was already upset over her husband’s health and Joan didn’t want to add to her woes. Maude would have expected an explanation for the necessity of the visit at such a crucial time. Joan could hardly tell the truth...yet neither did she want to lie.

  ‘Of course, I’m at your service and will do whatever I can to help.’ Having conquered his surprise, Vincent ushered Joan towards the parlour. ‘Would you like some tea? Shall Mrs Pickles take your maid to the kitchen to wait while we talk?’ The moment Vincent had heard the knock on the door he had dropped his pen and jumped up from his desk. Parishioners turned up at all hours with their problems and he did what he could to provide succour. But he’d certainly not expected this young woman to interrupt him composing a sermon.

  ‘Thank you, but, no.’ Joan didn’t want him summoning back his grumpy housekeeper. ‘Anna will wait outside and I cannot tarry as I’m sure you appreciate—’ Joan broke off as a loud knock was heard before they had set foot inside the parlour.

  Mumbling beneath her breath, Mrs Pickles again attended the door, allowing a youth to hurtle into the hallway. Vincent strode to meet the lad, recognising him as Constance Cook’s brother.

  ‘Can you come quick, Reverend? Me sister’s sent me to tell you that Old Blackie’s got the rattle and he’s asking for you. He’s gabbling on about getting sent to Old Nick ’less you’re there with him when he croaks.’

  ‘Benny Cook’s come to say that an elderly parishioner begs my presence at his deathbed, fearing he’ll go to hell without my blessing,’ Vincent explained as Joan frowned incomprehension.

  ‘Oh, of course, you must hurry then,’ Joan said immediately.

  ‘But you have come to ask for my help on an urgent matter,’ Vincent reminded her. ‘Will it wait till I return? I’m not sure how long I might be gone.’

  ‘Oh...never mind that now.’ Joan knew her selfless decision to be the right one. Nevertheless, a twinge of guilt pricked her insides; just for a moment she’d been tempted to delay the vicar to make him hear her out first.

  ‘I feel I should spare you ten minutes at least.’ Vincent felt awkward turning out of his house the daughter of an aristocrat known to support Christian causes.

  ‘Please go and give the poor fellow what comfort you can,’ Joan urged, aware of the housekeeper and the shabby youth listening.

  ‘I’ll return your call tomorrow, Lady Joan, and we’ll have that talk.’ He began donning his sombre hat and caped cloak, fetched by Mrs Pickles.

  ‘There’s really no need, sir...’ Joan scoured her mind for another meeting place. She didn’t want a clergyman attending the house when her papa was so ill in case the servants jumped to conclusions about last rites being nigh.

  ‘Then forgive me...I must dash...every minute counts at a time like this.’ Vincent picked up a small bible from the hall table and put it in his pocket.

  After Vincent had sped away Joan gave the housekeeper a firm nod, indicating she was ready to leave. When outside she noticed that Anna was again seated inside the carriage, seeking shelter from the stirring breeze while peeping beneath the blind. Joan closed her eyes in exasperation; after all her agonising over it, the trip had been a squandered effort. But Vincent had the unhappy task of sitting with a frightened man as he breathed his last. The favour she’d been about to ask him now seemed irrelevant and tawdry by comparison.

  Her fingers closed about the folded parchment in her pocket that she’d wanted Vincent to deliver for her. She couldn’t wander the slums herself seeking the Squire and the only other person cognizant with his whereabouts was Thadeus Pryke. She could hardly approach that man to help!

  ‘’Ere...you can have them back, lady.’

  Startled, Joan pivoted on a heel to see Benny Cook tendering a couple of pennies on a grimy palm. She identified the youth then as the dirty-faced young ruffian who’d threatened to steal her aunt’s brooch. Today his features appeared less mucky and his expression less defiant. In fact, he looked sheepish.

  ‘You remember hounding me for money, do you? Has your conscience got the better of you, Benny?’

  He shook his head. ‘Me sister’s conscience gets the better of me,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘She tells me I’ll end up with Old Nick if I don’t go straight and get honest work.’

  ‘Your sister sounds like a sensible young woman.’

  ‘She weren’t till she got mixed up with the Squire. Now Constance thinks she’s a lady like you.’

  ‘The Squire?’ Joan echoed hoarsely.

  ‘He’s the fellow what threw all of us off your coach that day you got lost. He forfeit his purse when he saved your bacon, and he had the other cove on the run, too.’ Benny gave a proud smile. ‘Me sister Constance is the Squire’s girl.’

  Joan glanced at the lad’s thatch of matted fair hair. She recalled Stokes taunting her over the Squire’s Cockney Blonde so could believe the family connection. Benny looked about thirteen and had a solid physique and regular features that held a promise of the handsome man he’d become.

  On impulse Joan said, ‘Would you like to keep those pennies by earning them honestly, Benny?’

  The youth nodded eagerly, his fingers already closing over the coppers.

  Joan pulled the letter from her pocket. ‘Would you give this to the Squire for me?’

  ‘He’ll be supping in the Cock and Hen, I expect. I’ll take it to him direct, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you...’ Joan handed over the sealed parchment. As she watched the boy sprint away doubts set in over what she’d done. If Benny couldn’t find the Squire in the tavern he might forget all about the errand...or worse, he might give the letter to Drew’s paramour. Suddenly Joan felt very uncharitable. She might have helped Vincent teach slum urchins to read, but she was counting on Benny and his sister not being able to make head or tail of her message, should they open it. There was nothing incriminating in it and she’d not signed her name, but Benny was sure to say a posh lady had handed over the note. Joan didn’t want a jealous mistress thrown into an already explosive mix of lust and greed.

  Earlier Joan had penned, then crumpled up and lobbed into the glowing embers of her bedroom fireplace, more than half-a-dozen drafts of the note. Finally she’d settled on dashing off a short paragraph, requesting Rockleigh meet her at five o’clock on the following afternoon. The lane she’d nominated was within reasonable distance of her home, yet was remote enough for their conversation to take place unobserved. She hoped Benny would deliver the letter, yet Joan was agai
n acutely conscious of the risks in such a rendezvous. But there was nothing else to be done; she’d never commit something so scandalous and embarrassing to paper, or speak of it in anybody else’s company. In Joan’s mind there was no option but to meet Drew Rockleigh swiftly and discreetly and tell him why she now believed that Stokes was an even greater devil than either of them had suspected.

  She wondered what Rockleigh would read into her summons. He wouldn’t expect her to bring up the matter of the fraud again, but his arrogance might lead him to believe that she’d allowed her passion for him to conquer her pride.

  Immediately after their hostile parting on that stormy night Joan had believed that every nuance of his mood would remain lodged in her memory. Now she found it hard to recall if anger had dominated his frustrated lust when he brought her home. The journey done, he had pulled her from his mount quite brusquely as though keen to be rid of her.

  Weeks ago he’d warned her to keep a safe distance from him, but she had found staying away impossible, just as she had found resisting his kisses and caresses impossible...

  With a sigh Joan increased her pace towards the carriage stationed at the kerb and allowed Pip to help her inside. She pushed thoughts of Rockleigh to the back of her mind and concentrated on her father, eager now to get home and see how he was.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning Joan was awake shortly after a coral-coloured sunrise patterned her bedchamber ceiling.

  On her return from the vicarage she had been thankful to find her short absence had gone unnoticed, but her relief had been brief. Her father had been delirious and no amount of gentle coaxing from Joan could make Maude, seated at his bedside, relinquish her husband’s hands and go to her chamber to get some rest. Mrs Lewis and Tobias Bartlett had also been keeping a vigil and had looked drawn from the effort of trying to reassure their mistress while concealing their own anxiety over his Grace’s deterioration.

  Realising she could be of little help, Joan had withdrawn from the room and its fraught atmosphere, charging Mrs Lewis to summon her back should the Duke’s condition worsen.

  The night had seemed interminable; she had hardly slept for fretting over her father and her coming meeting with Rockleigh. When the night sky had seemed to be at its blackest, so had her mood. Unable to endure the turbulence in her mind she’d pattered barefoot to the window and gazed into the dark, feeling frightened and very alone; if Rockleigh ignored her summons, she’d be forced to fend for herself against Stokes. Joan knew for all her bravado she was no match for a man practised in corruption.

  Although feeling unrefreshed, Joan threw off the bedcovers with a groan and shrugged on her velvet wrap. She set her shoulders and inhaled deeply, determined to prepare herself for the challenges that awaited her on this particular day.

  A tap on the door heralded Anna’s arrival. The maid entered quietly, bearing a copper pitcher of washing water. Her mistress had never been one to idle in bed, nevertheless Anna looked surprised to see her up so early. Lady Joan was always full of vigour and spontaneity. Anna suspected that her exuberance had again landed her in a scrape. Her mistress’s brief meeting with the vicar yesterday had seemed to go badly. For the duration of the journey home Joan had frowned morosely into space, but Anna had suspected that more than an untimely visit and her ailing father had been preying on the young woman’s mind. Pip had told her he’d seen Lady Joan creeping into the house on the night of the storm. Much as Anna had wanted to scold her mistress for going abroad without her, she had held her tongue for two reasons: she didn’t want to get Pip into trouble for breaking a confidence and neither did she wish to be thought insubordinate.

  ‘Is my stepmother abed?’ Joan asked.

  ‘She is, my lady. Tobias told me that the Duchess didn’t retire until the early hours when his Grace was finally sleeping soundly.’ Anna sorrowfully shook her head. ‘Your stepmother will tire herself out.’ She continued pouring the steaming water into the washing bowl, then added a few drops of scented oil. ‘Take care, my lady, it’s very hot...I didn’t expect you to be up yet or I’d have fetched it lukewarm.’

  ‘It is good news that the Duke eventually settled down for the night.’

  ‘Indeed, it is,’ Anna agreed.

  ‘I can manage, thank you...’ Joan slipped free as her maid began to help her remove her night things. ‘I might go back to bed and try to snooze for a while longer.’ She’d felt a weight lift from her on learning that her father had managed to get some sleep.

  ‘Shall I arrange for a breakfast tray if you’d rather not go down, my lady?’

  ‘I’ve no appetite, but thank you, anyway.’

  Anna’s smile was sympathetic. The whole household seemed subdued at present. Below stairs people weren’t simply worried over their livelihoods should his Grace take a turn for the worse. Their employer was a good man made better by the woman he’d married a few years ago. The Duke’s second wife took a sincere interest in the servants’ welfare. In fact, her Grace had made an effort to come to know them all, from scullion to stable hand, greeting them by name. In return, the staff had great respect and affection for the couple.

  When Anna left Joan decided against curling up under the eiderdown, knowing that however tightly she squeezed shut her eyes she’d be unable to fall asleep. Placing her warm forehead against the window glass, she watched a vivid blush spreading on the horizon. It was a splendid sight, but her gaze was soon drawn to the spot where she’d last seen Stokes loitering. At present only a delivery boy occupied the opposite pavement, swinging to a precarious height a basket of eggs as he bowled along.

  Joan turned back into the room, regretting having made her meeting with Rockleigh so late in the afternoon. An interminable day seemed to stretch out in front of her and nothing to fill it but her active imagination. She’d as soon grasp the nettle now than anticipate its sting for so many hours.

  Bucking herself up, Joan dipped a muslin square into rose-scented water, then briskly washed her face until her cheeks stung and she stopped yawning. Her toilette over, she opened her wardrobe, choosing a silk day dress that she’d not worn for some time as the plain style had gone out of fashion. She’d not had the heart to discard the garment after her papa had complimented her on it, declaring that its marron colour reminded him of her pretty locks, inherited from her dear mama.

  Hoping to please him, Joan put on the dress, then vigorously brushed her hair, tying back the abundant glossy waves in a length of silver ribbon secured at her nape. She doubted her father would be awake, but nevertheless set off towards his chamber. She would be happy to simply sit with him, taking comfort from knowing that a deep sleep helped him heal.

  The Duke’s even complexion and rhythmic snores reassured Joan that his fever had broken. The rumbling sound had the added bonus of being soporific. She noticed that Tobias had stayed the night with his master; the butler had slumped low in the wingchair opposite, his chin propped on his chest. Following the faithful fellow’s lead, Joan settled further into her armchair, closing her eyes.

  * * *

  ‘There is a gentleman waiting to see you in the small library, my lady.’

  Joan came awake with a start, but it took only a few seconds for her daze to clear. The ragged youth she’d met at the vicarage had just figured in a disturbing dream. Now her thoughts jumped to the other person she’d spoken to yesterday evening and the likelihood of Vincent having returned her call despite her asking him not to. She quickly stood up, moving away from her father’s side in case the sound of voices woke him.

  ‘What is the time, Anna?’ Joan had no idea how long she’d been dozing.

  ‘It is not quite ten o’clock, my lady.’

  Only a visitor lacking in manners would arrive at such an hour. And the vicar was well versed in etiquette; either he had been unable to contain his curiosity until the afternoon or... J
oan’s mind suddenly veered to a fellow who certainly was no stranger to vulgar behaviour. Saul Stokes had threatened an early visit on her father.

  ‘Is it the man who called before?’ Joan demanded in an undertone.

  ‘I don’t know, my lady. A junior footman attended the door in Tobias’s absence and he omitted to press for the gentleman’s name.’ Anna looked apologetic. ‘We’re all at sixes and sevens below stairs since his Grace has been poorly.’

  Joan was convinced then that Stokes, acting bumptious and aware the Duke was unwell, had returned to turn the screws on her, anticipating that she’d do her utmost to protect her father.

  With an anxious glance at the patient she moved swiftly and softly on slippered feet to the door. Darting down the stairs, she arrived at the small library with slashes of angry colour on her cheekbones, ready to do battle.

  Joan stood motionless on the threshold, staring in disbelief into a pair of narrowed amber eyes that had turned her way. He suddenly put to the floor the polished Hessian that had been idly propped on the fender. The movement broke Joan’s trance; she remembered to breathe and stepped inside the room. Tugging the door to behind her, she pressed her spine against the panels, gaining support for her wobbly legs. A challenge had sprung immediately to mind, but Joan couldn’t force it from her dry mouth; neither could she remove her fingers from where they had clenched on the cool brass handle.

  ‘What...what on earth do you want?’ she finally stuttered.

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’ With slow deliberation Drew placed Joan’s letter on the mantelshelf. ‘You desire to see me urgently, I gather. So here I am.’

  His cool irony piqued. Her heart was racing from the shock of his presence, yet he seemed quite at ease. No hint of embarrassment caused his eyes to swerve away, as hers did when their gazes collided. Their intimacy on that tempestuous night wasn’t memorable for him, Joan guessed...whereas for her the havoc of how close her wantonness had brought her to utter ruin never quit her consciousness.