The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  “Certainly not,” Leonard replied, instantly reclaiming his composition. “I was merely trying to place the faces of these fine ladies, Mr.…?”

  He stepped forward but his eyes remained suspicious.

  “Mr. David Follett, son to the Viscount of Gordon.”

  “Leonard, Duke of Pembroke,” the older man introduced himself. He was having a difficult time keeping Mr. Follett’s gaze with Lady Liza so close.

  Leonard realized then that Liza must be the sister to the young man and therefore Miss Liza Follett but the title was the least important matter on his mind in that moment. Leonard deigned to reach for her, to touch her skin, propriety be notwithstanding.

  “Charmed,” the boy said. “I daresay, you study my sisters with a great deal of intensity.”

  Leonard stifled a smile at the boy’s brave words for he could hear the tremor in his voice.

  He does love his sisters but he is merely a boy.

  “Forgive me if I appeared forward,” the Duke replied cordially. “I am quite certain I did catch a glimpse of the ladies in town yesterday, quite near Pembroke.”

  “Yes!” Frances cried with remarkable glee, startling for a woman of her age and stature. “We searched high and low for a headdress of pearls and golden strands, did we not, Liza?”

  Leonard was finally able to set his eyes back toward the object of his interest, his pulse quickening when their gazes locked for the first time. To say he felt a spark between them sounded commonplace, even tawdry. Their unspoken connection was more intense than that written on the pages of silly poetry books.

  “Indeed we did,” Liza replied and when her lyrical voice reached his ears, he knew she was precisely whom he had sought. “I daresay, Your Grace, I did not see you.”

  “I confess, I did not make myself seen,” Leonard offered. “Yet, I knew when I saw you across the room, you were unmistakably her…ah, them.”

  He shot Liza’s sister an apologetic look, lest she think he had forsaken her but his concern was only with the smaller of the two ladies. He wondered if Liza could hear the emotion in his voice, the truth of his words. If she could, she made no comment although her face did seem to reflect more than a polite interest in his scrutiny.

  “Are you well acquainted with Lady Fife?” Leonard asked, determined to keep the conversation flowing between them. “Miss Liza?”

  “Miss Elizabeth,” David corrected sharply, not overly happy with the interest the Duke was showing in his sister.

  “Forgive me,” Leonard replied smoothly although he did not much care if he was forgiven by anyone but the lady with the remarkable eyes before him. The expression upon Elizabeth’s face told him that she did not see cause for mercy. She appeared to be conflicted over the attraction between them.

  Her face hides nothing. It is like reading a book.

  “Your Grace, do you like to dance?” Frances asked brightly, breaking the gaze between him and Elizabeth. “I like to dance.”

  “Is that a fact?” Leonard asked. “While I do enjoy dancing very much, I have a companion who would be much better suited to partner with you than me, I daresay. I have been told I am quite a horrendous dancer, in fact. No, Miss Follett, do permit me to find you a decent partner.”

  Leonard turned to search for Herbert whom he found in quite a short time. The man lingered off to the side, watching the Duke with a bitter awe in his eyes. Leonard waved him closer. The lawyer’s face turned pale and he tried to shake his head and avert his eyes but Leonard was having none of it.

  “Mr. Barlough!” he yelled through the crowded ballroom. “Your presence is requested!”

  Herbert saw he had no choice in the matter and reluctantly approached.

  “Miss Follett, I understand you have met my attorney, Mr. Herbert Barlough.”

  “Indeed!” she giggled.

  “Mr. Barlough, Miss Follett has requested a dance. Would you do the honors? I would not like to shame her with my awkward movements.”

  “I do not think that is wise!” David said quickly, his eyes darting toward Elizabeth. She wore the same expression of concern on her face.

  “Oh please!” the oldest sibling begged, tears pooling in her gentle eyes. “Please, David?”

  “You cannot say no now,” Elizabeth muttered to her brother almost inaudibly. “She will have a fit.”

  It hardly seemed a reason to Leonard to permit Frances a dance but he was quickly learning that the oldest Follett sibling was not in full capacity of her senses.

  “You may have but one dance!” David told his sister sternly.

  “Two!” Frances called but she was already out of earshot, dragging Herbert in her wake. When they had moved away, Leonard turned to the remaining sister.

  “May I have this dance, Miss Elizabeth?”

  She eyed him warily but an amused smile touched her lips.

  “Your Grace, with respect, you did speak rather ill of your dancing abilities,” she reminded him and Leonard could not resist a laugh. Her wit was sharp. He had not expected it.

  “Perhaps with the right pairing, I would do better, Miss Elizabeth. Will you help a struggling man with his ineptitudes?”

  Before she could decide, he swept her into his arms and led her toward the dance floor. Elizabeth gasped at the brazen move but she did not fight against him which Leonard took as a good omen.

  Surely she, too, can feel the connection between us .

  “Your Grace, may I be frank with you?” she asked as they fell into a quadrille with other couples and he was instantly disappointed at having to release her from his arms.

  “I expect it,” he replied cordially, stepping in time to the music. “I feel that is the basis of a solid friendship.”

  Elizabeth ignored his bold assessment of their relationship and continued in a rather serious but low tone.

  “My sister has the mind of a child. She does not appreciate the affections of a man vying for her attention. She cannot return his desires the way he would wish.”

  It was not what Leonard had anticipated from her sweet lips. He frowned slightly as they paired off separately before returning to one another’s company. He dipped down and as he came back, he met Elizabeth’s surreal eyes. For a moment, he lost his train of thought but quickly regained it when he saw the concern in her golden irises.

  “If she has the mind of a child, should she not have the heart of one, too?”

  Elizabeth turned to the side as he did and back before he saw the look of perplexity on her face.

  “I am afraid I do not understand,” she confessed. “My sister is like a child in most ways, if that is what you are inquiring. Do not be fooled by her womanly appearance.”

  Leonard offered her one of his disarming smiles and stopped in the middle of the dance. Taken aback, she did the same, permitting the couples to move around them as the music continued.

  “Miss Elizabeth, there is no purer love than one felt by a child,” he explained. “There is no harm in permitting her to dance with Herbert. He is a good, albeit odd, man who would never do anything to dishonor your sister.”

  “I would hope not!”

  “I would not permit it if I suspected anything of the sort,” the Duke assured her. Elizabeth stared at him for a long, silent while, clearly weighing his words. He knew she had no reason to trust in his words but it was important to him that she did.

  “Nor would I do anything to dishonor you, Miss Elizabeth,” he murmured. The unexpected statement caused her mouth to gape and a surprised shadow crossed over her face.

  “Your Grace, I do not know you from Adam,” she breathed as she stepped back and lowered her eyes. “You are being quite forward.”

  “I believe that life is much too fleeting to waste time with formalities, Miss Elizabeth. Do you not agree?”

  He could tell by the expression on her face that she did not know what to concede. Cautiously, he stepped closer, her nearness intoxicating to him.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered. �
�I would like very much to know you better. Do you believe that is a possibility?”

  She raised her gaze toward him, the uncertainty clear. He could feel the positive response ready to spring from her lips as she opened her mouth to answer.

  “I am—”

  “Your Grace!”

  Time resumed its normal rate and Leonard did not need to turn to know who shouted at him, quite nearly in his eardrum. The look of confusion on Elizabeth’s face slowly shifted into one of dubious anger.

  “I did not know you would be here,” the lady in his ear continued, her grating tone a reminder of the difference between the delicate beauty standing before him and the lady he was going to marry. “Why did you not tell me? We could have traveled together from Pembroke!”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Leonard turned to address his fiancée.

  “Good evening, Miss Priscilla. May I present Miss Elizabeth Follett, second daughter to the Viscount of Gordon?”

  Yet, as he turned to introduce Priscilla and Elizabeth, the Viscount’s daughter had already slipped away and out of sight. Leonard was left with a sense of great loss in the pit of his gut as he scoured the hall with his eyes for one last glimpse of Elizabeth but he would not let it overwhelm him. Fate had brought them together not once but twice. Leonard knew that there would certainly be a third opportunity to see Elizabeth Follett.

  And when it does, I will ensure she does not slip away again, he vowed.

  Chapter 6

  Elizabeth stormed from the ballroom toward the twin staircases in the foyer, her breaths jagged with anger.

  So foolish of me! She thought, shaking her head with disgust. Elizabeth could not imagine what she had been thinking while dancing with the Duke. It was clear he was a Lothario, a Casanova who believed he could conquer any lady he so desired. How could a man so attractive be anything but? Whatever tingle she felt when she had looked at him was one felt by a thousand unsuspecting ladies across the land, she was sure. As she made her way up toward her quarters, she willed herself to be calm but the image of the comely article on the Duke’s arm troubled her a great deal more than it should have. She did not know the man, after all. She had no reason to be distressed that he was attached to another.

  Elizabeth had never looked lovelier than she did that evening, her slender but ripe form enveloped in a gown of green and white satin. The bodice clung to her provocatively but not so much that it would rouse the attention of her petty adversaries. Yet she felt decidedly unattractive in that moment.

  “Are you ill, Liza?”

  Her father’s shadow emerged from what looked to be the wall. If Elizabeth had not been fuming, she might have started at his sudden appearance but she was much too occupied with being irate with herself.

  “No, Father,” she replied quickly, determined not to let the Viscount sense her foul mood. “Simply tired. I will retire, I think.”

  “So soon?” Lord Gordon asked curiously. He stepped closer to his daughter and examined her face. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face with fatherly wisdom. Elizabeth was sickened to think he might read her shame upon her face.

  “What happened, child?”

  Elizabeth wondered if her emotions were painted upon her cheeks or if her father knew her so well, he could merely sense the turmoil she was feeling.

  “Nothing,” she assured him, summoning a smile to her face. “I am merely tired. I will see you in the morning, Father.”

  Impulsively, she leaned forward to dart a kiss upon his cheek before vanishing into the long corridor toward the west wing. She could not trouble her father with such a trivial thing. What would she say?

  I was misled by a dashing duke who is likely spoken for already? Father would shake his head in disappointment if I did. He did not raise a foolish child, after all.

  No, it was best to keep her embarrassment silent. There was no need for anyone else to know she had been seconds away from confessing to the Duke that she, too, felt a charge between them. She reasoned she should be grateful that the Duke’s companion had arrived when she did and saved Elizabeth from embarrassing herself.

  Elizabeth made her way into her chambers and closed the door. The servants had already been through to light the lamps. Elizabeth sat at the vanity and reached for a silver-handled brush to stroke her gleaming hair one hundred times. It was a tradition she had started with her mother, in another lifetime perhaps but it made Elizabeth feel closer to her even still. Idly, she wondered how her mother would have felt about the charming Duke. In a small way, the Duke reminded her of her father, charismatic and affable. Elizabeth suspected that her mother would have approved of the man and the thought made her feel worse, somehow.

  A gentle rap on the door stirred her attention and Elizabeth felt an unexpected leap in her heart.

  Would the Duke of Pembroke follow me to my quarters?

  It was daring and unlikely but she recalled the way he had swept her into his arms without a care and she bit on her lower lip. She was ashamed that she hoped it was him on the other side of the door.

  “Miss Elizabeth” a timid voice called. “I saw you enter.”

  Elizabeth exhaled and again chided herself for being so foolish.

  “You may come,” she called. The door opened and a girl of no more than twenty hurried toward her, head bowed.

  “May I help you ready for sleep, Miss Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth turned away from the glass and examined the girl closely. She was a gaunt thing, perhaps underfed. A spark of anger sprung through her. It defied grace that a household as wealthy as the Fife’s could justify malnourished staff.

  Particularly, when Baron Fife will spend so recklessly to see his daughter wed!

  “You may help me,” Elizabeth agreed slowly, rising to permit the abigail to slip off her gown. The girl’s fingers trembled and Elizabeth wondered why.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked gently before turning to stare at the maidservant. “You are shaking and quite thin.”

  Wide, terrified eyes met her question and she shook her head. The query clearly took her aback as though no one had ever asked her such a thing.

  “No, my Lady,” she whispered.

  “What is your name?”

  “Lucy, Miss Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips together. She was quite sure the girl was starving but she did not wish to frighten her any more.

  “Please, Miss Elizabeth,” Lucy breathed. “Do permit me to help you with your gown.”

  “In a moment. I shall return but you must remain in my chambers. Am I clear?”

  Lucy nodded, hanging her head, anticipating trouble. Elizabeth made her way back into the manor, carefully closing the door behind her. She thought of how many other servants might be hungry. Possibly all of them. The thought only fuelled her determination.

  “I thought you had retired for the night,” Lord Gordon said, surprised as she descended the staircase. Elizabeth considered telling him about the servant girl but there was so little he could do for her. Why would he? She was just a girl and hardly worth starting trouble over. Moreover, Elizabeth was speculating about the servant’s situation. She had no proof that the Baron of Fife was abusing his staff.

  “I was feeling a bit peckish,” she replied sheepishly. “I had hoped to bring some food into my quarters.”

  “For shame, daughter,” Lord Gordon said but his voice was light. “You must know that is the best method of attracting mice.”

  “Will you tattle on me, Father?” she asked solemnly and he laughed jovially.

  “Certainly not but if you are caught, do not tell the Baron I knew of your scheme.”

  Elizabeth smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “I am sworn to secrecy, Father.”

  She moved away, her skirts sweeping along her ankles and sought the banquet table rife with cheeses, fruits and bread. The party had taken on an intolerable din and Elizabeth knew even if she had not been off put by the Duke of Pembroke, she would have retired forthwith.<
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  At thought of the Duke, Elizabeth’s eyes raised and she gazed toward where she had last seen him. To her dismay, he remained precisely where she had last seen him, on the arm of the honey-haired lady.

  “Is he more to your fancy?”

  Elizabeth tensed and moved her head to look at Lord Cooke. It was quite clear he was a trifle disguised, his eyes bloodshot, and reeking to the high heavens of scotch. She did not justify his crassness with a response. Instead, she reached for a napkin and began to pile samples of finger foods upon it. Lord Cooke, however, did not appreciate her silence and moved closer to her side to demand her full attention.