“With each passing day,” he assured her.
She nodded. “Kissing is very pleasant, but rather repetitive, isn’t it?” she said to him.
“There are variations,” he told her.
“Show me,” she whispered against his mouth.
His tongue slipped between her parted lips, and fervently caressed her. Allegra almost swooned in his arms.
“Ohhh,” she gasped. Her heart was hammering erratically, and a frisson of pleasure raced down her backbone. “Oh my, Quinton, that was quite exciting! Are there other forms of kissing? I must know!”
“Yes,” he said, “but they are much too advanced for you to be taught now. They involve caressing.”
“Caressing what?” she asked him innocently.
“You,” he answered with a small smile.
“Me? What do you mean?” Allegra queried him.
“Your breasts, and other more intimate parts,” he told her.
“Do you want to caress me, Quinton?” she asked hesitantly.
“Oh, yes, my dear, I do, but I do not think the time is right for you now. I want you to know me better. I want to know you better before we become closer, Allegra.”
“You are considerate of me,” she said. “I hope we are not separated for too long,” she remarked. “I really am anxious to come to Hunter’s Lair. Even if my rooms aren’t ready, couldn’t we set up a tented pavilion upon your lawns for me? Papa and Aunt Mama are so involved with each other. It is as if I do not exist for them, Quinton. I think I shall be quite uncomfortable in my childhood home now. I am beginning to see that I do not belong there any longer. Morgan Court is theirs.”
He stroked her dark hair. It was very soft, and fragrant with lilacs. “I expect you will spend little time there, Allegra. I think that your new rooms will be ready for you quickly, and if they are not, I shall see that they are.” He suddenly realized he did not like the idea of being parted from her either for he enjoyed her company. How odd, he thought to himself. He could not remember ever before having enjoyed female company. He was not misogynistic in the least, but other than his late grandmother, whom he had admired and respected, and the women who had soothed his carnal desires, Quinton Hunter had little knowledge of women.
They parted the following day. The Duke of Sedgwick rode west into Hereford while Lord Morgan and his family turned off the highway following a smaller, local road to Morgan Court. Reaching home that evening Allegra found herself alone. Honor had begged permission to visit her parents as she had not seen them in several months. As for Lord Morgan and his wife, they had hurried upstairs once the evening meal had been cleared away. It was midsummer, and the twilight was long now. Allegra wandered out to the stables to visit her gelding.
The horse greeted her with a welcoming nicker, obviously pleased to be back home after their journey from London. Allegra saw that the beast had been thoroughly brushed, fed, and watered. She rubbed its velvet muzzle, and then left the stables to walk through her father’s garden. The marble summer house by the lake beckoned her. She climbed the three broad, wide steps, and entering the little pavilion, sat down. She already missed the duke. His company had been more than pleasant if she were willing to admit it. She liked being kissed as well.
“I thought I should find you here,” a voice said.
“Rupert! How kind of you to come and welcome me home,” Allegra replied. “Come, and sit with me. It is such a glorious evening. Do you hear the nightingale singing in the woods? There is no place as beautiful as Morgan Court.”
“Then why leave it, Allegra?” he asked her. Rupert Tanner was a pleasant-looking young man with light brown hair and pale blue eyes. “You don’t have to marry that duke. Your father is not so cruel as to make you marry a man you don’t love.”
“But I do want to marry Quinton,” Allegra told him.
“Do you love him?” Rupert queried her. “Does he love you?”
“Of course we do not love each other.” Allegra laughed. “We haven’t known each other long enough to even know if we really like each other, but I think that we do. We get on very well.”
“But I love you, Allegra!” Rupert cried. “I have loved you ever since we were children. Even if you did not love me, I should love you. A woman should be loved.”
“Rupert, I can never think of you as a husband. You have been my brother, my best friend next to Sirena,” Allegra responded. “Now stop being so foolish. My wedding date is set for October fifth in London at St. George’s. The king, the queen, and Prinny are coming. Lady Bellingham says it will be the wedding of the year. Madame Paul has already begun making my wedding gown. It is to be white and silver. Quite fashionable, I am told,” she finished with a smile.
“You are so young,” he replied. “You cannot know what you want. You do not see past the excitement and the glamour of it all. You have never even been kissed!”
“Of course I’ve been kissed,” Allegra snapped, now becoming irritated by this cow-eyed young man. “The duke and I have kissed many times. I quite like it, Rupert.”
He suddenly stood, pulling her up with him. Then he kissed her. His mouth mashed against her; his tongue tried to push into her mouth; and he smelled of onions. “Allegra, Allegra, I love you! Marry me, my darling girl. I realize a country churchman’s life cannot match the excitement of a duke’s, but I adore you. Tell me you will send this duke packing, and be mine.”
Allegra struggled from his embrace. She smacked him hard upon his cheek. “How dare you, Rupert Tanner? I was almost ready to forgive you for telling the duke that you and I had an informal agreement; but now I shall not. I am marrying Quinton Hunter because I want to marry him. No one is forcing me to it. It is my duty as my father’s daughter to make the best marriage possible. As Papa’s heiress a duke is just the right husband for me. Now go away. I do not want to see you again!”
“London has not been good for you, Allegra. You have grown hard,” he accused her.
“Oh, Rupert, do not be such a dunderhead,” Allegra told him. “My papa loved my mother, and what did love bring him? Scandal, embarrassment, and heartbreak. Quinton’s antecedents all married for love. What did it bring them? Poverty, and the loss of much of what his family once had. The betrothal between the Duke of Sedgwick and myself is based upon sound principles. He has the pedigree, and I have the fortune. It is a perfect match. One made in heaven, you might say,” she concluded with a small chuckle. “Go home. Find a nice young woman who will make a good clergyman’s wife. One who will enjoy teaching the children their Bible stories, and ministering to the sick. I certainly shouldn’t. Lord Stoneleigh’s daughter, Georgianne, is moonstruck over you. In another year she’ll be out of the schoolroom, and ready to marry. You really should ask for her before someone else does. Papa says she has a small, but respectable dowry.”
“What has happened to you, Allegra?” he said.
“I have grown up, Rupert, but even before I did, I never said I would marry you, or that I desired to be a clergyman’s wife with all the onerous duties it entails. You and I spoke about marrying so I might escape my London season. It was a childish fantasy, and Papa wisely saw that. I don’t care for you except as a brother. I surely never will. In fact I shall never love anyone. Love only brings a host of problems I should rather not deal with, Rupert. Now, please go home. I don’t want to see you again. Perhaps after I am married, and come to visit at Morgan Court, I may forgive you your behavior this evening, but not now.” She stood stonily as he turned abruptly and departed the pavilion.
Allegra sat back down. Rupert had kissed her, and she hadn’t liked it one bit. And he had pushed his tongue at her! Quinton had never done such a thing until she had become used to his kisses. Then she laughed to herself as she remembered asking Quinton if he was good at kissing. Well now she knew. He most certainly was good. Very good!
Madame Paul arrived two days later from London ready to fit Allegra’s wedding gown. She brought with her a number of fabric samples from which
Allegra would choose so Madame could make up a trousseau of gowns for the future duchess. She was full of the latest gossip she had received from France. The little king, Louis XVII, had survived his murdered parents by two years, dying in his prison on the eighth of June, in Paris.
“Some say he isn’t dead, that the child in the Temple was an imposter,” Madame told Allegra, “but those savages would never allow a Bourbon to escape their vigilance. The king is dead, poor child. Did I not hear that your brother was also a victim of the revolution, Miss Morgan? It was when Monsieur Danton took over the royal power in the autumn three years ago. That was when I escaped. It was a bloodbath, I tell you! No mercy was shown. Priests, artisans, people like me who did business with the well-to-do. Who else, I ask you, Miss Morgan, could afford a Madame Paul gown but an aristocrat? And plenty of them died. It was horrible. Little children in their satin gowns and suits guillotined before their parents’ eyes. It was terrible! Terrible!”
“Yes,” Allegra said tightly. “That was when my brother was murdered.” She felt faint, but reaching out she steadied herself, her hand gripping the back of a chair.
“Ahh, Miss Morgan, I have upset you,” Madame said, genuinely distressed. “I did not mean to do it. I have tried to put it all behind me, but the news of the young king has brought it all back to me once again.” Reaching for her lawn handkerchief she dabbed at her eyes.
“It is all right, Madame Paul,” Allegra told the modiste. “You have suffered, too, losing your sister, and having to leave your homeland. We don’t even know where my brother’s body was interred. There are no niceties in a revolution, are there?”
“No, there are not,” the older woman agreed. She did not increase Allegra’s sorrow further by explaining to her that the bodies of the slaughtered in Paris, and elsewhere in France, were tossed helter-skelter into open pits. The baskets of heads were dumped atop them, and then lime was poured on the carnage before it was covered with dirt. There were no markers, and by the following year the mass graves were invisible, covered by weeds and wildflowers.
Allegra was measured for her glorious wedding gown. It would, along with Allegra’s new wardrobe, be delivered to the Berkley Square house at the appropriate time.
“For you, Miss Morgan, I have turned away at least half a dozen important clients,” Madame Paul told Allegra.
“Gracious,” the younger woman exclaimed, “why would you do such a foolish thing, madame?”
“My shop is small, and I have but Francine and two seamstresses,” came the reply. “I must weigh and balance who I will accept as a client. Your papa is the richest man in England, and your husband-to-be is a duke. Then, too, there is the fact that you pay your bills on time.”
Allegra thought for a long moment, and then she said to the Frenchwoman, “Could you use an investor, madame?”
“An investor?” Madame cocked her head to one side.
“Yes, an investor. Someone who would finance a larger shop, and more staff for you. In return you would render a portion of your profits. It seems a shame that you cannot increase your business when everyone knows you are the finest dressmaker in London. You could still remain exclusive while turning a neat profit,” Allegra said.
“Turn a bit for me, Miss Morgan,” Madame Paul said. “You could arrange for your papa to invest in my business?”
“Not Papa,” was the reply. “Me. My father will tell you I am quite astute at picking my investments.”
“And what kind of a return would you expect on such an investment, Miss Morgan?” Madame asked despite the fact her mouth was full of pins.
“I should want thirty percent of your business,” Allegra said.
“Sacrebleu, mademoiselle! C’est impossible! C’est fou!” the Frenchwoman cried. Then her eyes narrowed, and she said, “Fifteen percent, mademoiselle.”
“Madame, I will not haggle with you,” Allegra answered her. “I am young, but I am no fool. Twenty-five percent, and I will accept nothing less. Think, Madame Paul! A man would not put his monies in a dress shop. Only a woman would, and who among the ladies of the ten thousand would make you such an offer as I. I will not tell you how to run your business, or what clients to take, or what fabrics to purchase. I will be a silent partner, contributing only the monies you need to succeed. In return I will receive twenty-five percent of the profits, and Madame Paul, there will be profits.”
“You may step down, Miss Morgan, I have finished,” the dressmaker said, and then she added, “you drive a hard bargain, but I agree.”
“And Mr. Trent will oversee the books,” Allegra added.
“Miss Morgan!” The Frenchwoman looked outraged.
Allegra laughed. “Why should you have to bother with the business of your business, madame? You are an artiste.”
Now it was Madame Paul who laughed. “And you are a very clever young lady,” she replied.
“Where will you go on your wedding trip?” Madame Paul asked Allegra. “Portugal and Italy are beautiful, I am told.”
“We have not discussed it,” Allegra said. “I am not even certain we will go away. It seems a waste of good coin to me.”
Madame was shocked. “Every young lady of your station should have a wedding trip,” she said. “Even if it is only to Scotland.”
Allegra laughed. “Then I must certainly ask the duke when we meet again what he has planned. Perhaps he wishes to surprise me.”
“You will not have the proper clothing if he does that,” Madame Paul said, “but then that is just like a man. Give them two pairs of breeches with matching tailcoats, some neckcloths, and they are content. They do not realize what we women go through for the sake of fashion.” She helped Allegra from the gown she was fitting. “Send word to me in London when you know your destination. I will see you have the appropriate garments, Miss Morgan.”
When the Frenchwoman had returned to London Allegra found that she actually missed her. She had sent Rupert away since he could not behave like a gentleman, and Sirena no longer lived nearby. Her father, for the first time since Allegra could remember, was depending entirely upon his secretary, Charles Trent; occupying himself instead with his new wife. They arose late, and sought their apartment early. They rode out over the estate daily, and as each day went by seemed more involved with one another. Allegra had never felt more bereft in her entire life. The knowledge that they were not doing it deliberately was no comfort at all. Several of their neighbors called with good wishes for the newlyweds, but it was Allegra who accepted them, thanking them, and promising that Lord and Lady Morgan would be entertaining quite shortly. Allegra read. She rode her gelding. She wandered about the gardens. And she was growing very bored.
Hunter’s Lair was less than a day’s ride from Morgan Court. Finally one clear morning in late June, Allegra mounted her gelding and rode off to find the duke. Only Honor knew where she was going, and she had promised not to tell Lord and Lady Morgan until evening came. Allegra wore her riding skirt, but beneath it she had on a pair of her brother’s old breeches which allowed her to ride astride, a posture she found far more comfortable than the sidesaddle ladies were supposed to affect. The upper portion of her body was clad in a white shirt, but she had eschewed her jacket as the day was warm. Her dark hair was pulled back and fashioned into a single braid. She wore no hat.
She had never ridden off of her father’s lands alone, and found the idea of being on her own very exciting. After two hours she finally reached the high road. She was just able to make out on the worn wooden sign, the word hereford, and the arrow pointing west. The duke’s estate was located just over the border that separated the two counties of Worcester and Hereford. Allegra rode past orchards and fields of ripening grain. The road traveled through pastures of sheep and cattle. There was little traffic but for an occasional farm cart to be passed by. When the sun was at the midheaven she stopped to rest her horse, and to eat the picnic she had brought along for herself.
Refreshed, she had traveled onward. Then final
ly in late afternoon she saw it. A signpost pointing in several different directions, and indicating several destinations, one of which was Sedgwick village. Allegra turned her horse, wondering as she did so how distant Sedgwick was. She had never ridden so far in all of her life, and she was tired. Worse, her bottom ached from the long ride. Coming to the top of the hill she saw it. Stopping, Allegra could only gaze down with pleasure on her new home.
There was the village. Rows of neat thatched-roof cottages with their colorful gardens, all abloom now. There were orchards of pears and apples just as he had described and fields around them with his fine horses grazing peacefully in the summer sunshine. There, just beyond, was Hunter’s Lair, set upon a low rise, the sun setting its windows ablaze with the afternoon light. Allegra kicked her horse into a canter, and hurried down the narrow roadway. She slowed her mount as she passed through the village, pleased to see a fieldstone church, and several small shops. And then she was at the road’s end, and the gates of Hunter’s Lair were before her—open—and to her eyes welcoming.
She was home at last, Allegra thought as she cantered through the gates. She loved this place already, and she fully sympathized with Quinton’s passion to keep his seat from the hands of strangers. Then she saw him, and waving, she brought the gelding to a halt, laughing at the surprised look on his face.
“I got tired of waiting for you,” she told him as he lifted her down from her horse. “I am bored senseless at Morgan Court. Papa and Aunt Mama see no one but each other. Sirena is no longer there. I had to send Rupert Tanner packing. I could not wait a moment longer to see Hunter’s Lair.”
“Does your father know where you are?” was his first question.
“I left a note for Honor to give them when they realize I am not there. Perhaps today. Perhaps tomorrow, the way they are carrying on these days. Gracious, Quinton, love makes one foolish, doesn’t it?”
“And you rode all the way from Morgan Court unaccompanied?” was his next stern question. He did not look happy, she realized.
The Duchess Page 13
