Stolen Encounters with the Duchess

by Julia Justiss

  Back in the countryside she loved, for the first time in ten years free to manage her own time where her actions were not dictated, observed, or criticised by anyone else, she could almost feel herself growing stronger, more relaxed, and confident. The ability to read, think and act solely according to her own inclinations was setting her firmly back on the path to the person she’d once been, the path on which Davie had started her the night he’d rescued her in that Mayfair lane.

  Ah, Davie. The only problem she hadn’t resolved was what to do about Davie.

  She’d penned him a note the night of their arrival at Ashedon, explaining her sudden change of plans, and received a brief one from him in return, approving her actions and wishing her a happy sojourn in the country. He’d added that, once the Parliamentary session came to an end, he might pay her a visit at Ashedon.

  The prospect filled her with excitement—and flung her into an agony of indecision. Here, in the open countryside, there were scores of forest bowers, shepherd huts, shady glens where there were no armies of servants, tradesmen or gossips with prying eyes to observe or report. Even the mansion at Ashedon Court was vast enough, nearly all its several dozen chambers unoccupied, that a midnight tryst in a guest bedroom could take place with almost no chance of discovery.

  If he did visit, should she hold fast to her promise not to try to seduce him again? Could she? She might feel stronger and more resilient than she had in a decade, the continual disparagement that had taken such a toll on her sense of confidence and self-worth gradually fading into unpleasant memory, but she still couldn’t do without Davie’s friendship and support. If she lost that, trying to entice him into her bed, she wasn’t sure how she would go on.

  But she also wasn’t sure how she could resist attempting seduction, when she wanted him so badly, wanted so much to experience the loving embrace of a man who truly cared for her—and sensed that, if she pushed just a bit harder, she might shatter the iron will restraining him and catapult him into responding.

  The very idea sent a wave of arousal and excitement through her. Oh, how vividly she could envision it: his mouth on hers, his large, gentle hands tugging loose the hooks, undoing pins, freeing her from her garments so she stood naked before him. His mouth at her breasts, his hands parting her, caressing her; his lips back against hers, his tongue stroking hers as he entered her, thrusting that magnificent, rigid member deep inside again and again until she shattered, the incomparable pleasure of it carrying him over the brink with her...

  She wouldn’t hold him very long, of course. He would tire of her, as men did of the women who pleasured them, and move on. Would it be worth it to have him for that little space, knowing she could not have him for ever?

  Was it worth risking, knowing that if she pushed them into becoming lovers, it was unlikely she’d be able to hang on to his friendship afterwards?

  And so, round and round the two possibilities rolled in her head, as they had since the moment she’d had enough peace and time to think about them. Deny herself the pleasure she wanted so badly, the pleasure she knew he could give her? Or seize it, and risk losing the friendship so essential to her well-being?

  Colin’s cry of delight as he captured another fish brought her back to the present. With a regretful sigh, she let go the dreams of lying in Davie’s arms, which, sadly, were likely to remain only dreams for a very long time. At least now, she had the joy of being with her boys, their days together structured just as she wanted them.

  ‘Put that fish in the basket, too,’ she called, rising to shake out her skirts. ‘We should start back.’

  Laughing at the chorus of protests, she said, ‘Sorry, boys! We’ll fish again tomorrow, if the weather is good, but remember, we planned to stop by the widow Banks’s cottage on our way back. Matthew, will you carry the basket we brought for her?’

  Subsiding with sighs, the boys dutifully gathered their gear, and after carefully adding their latest catch to the other three trout today’s expedition had won them, they set off.

  ‘Why does Mrs Banks need us to bring her bread and soup?’ Colin asked, skipping along beside his brother.

  ‘Because she’d old, and sick, looby,’ Edward replied.

  ‘Why doesn’t her maid or cook help her?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘As a farmer’s widow, she doesn’t have a maid or a cook,’ Faith explained. ‘Usually, there would be children to help—’

  ‘Like Mr Smith said, when he told us about having lots of chores on the farm when he was growing up?’ Matthew interrupted.

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ How like Davie, to explain so vividly Matthew still recalled his remarks. How wonderful it would be, if he were here to share all this with them!

  Pushing that unattainable desire out of mind, she said, ‘Yes. But apparently all of Mrs Banks’s children left to work in Manchester. One of Edward’s most important tasks as owner of Ashedon is to know which of the tenants are old, or sick, or in need, and take care of them.’

  ‘And I will, Mama.’ Straightening to his full height, Edward reached out to Matthew. ‘Let me carry the basket.’

  ‘What can I take, then?’ Matthew asked, reluctantly giving up his charge.

  ‘Why don’t we give her our fish?’ Colin piped up. ‘Fish is good to eat, isn’t it, Mama?’

  ‘That would be very fine,’ Faith said, warmed by her son’s spontaneous generosity. ‘We’ll see if she has anyone to cook it for her.’

  ‘Can you cook fish, Mama?’ Matthew asked. ‘I know you can climb trees.’

  Her thoughts flashed back to several impromptu barbecues with her brother Colten, fresh fish grilled over open fires they’d put together beside the banks of the trout stream at Wellingford. ‘It’s been a long time, but I suppose I still know how. Very well, we’ll cook a fish for Mrs Banks, if she feels up to eating it.’

  ‘If it was jam tarts, I might not give one away, but she can have one of my fish,’ Colin confided, setting Faith to chuckling.

  * * *

  A short walk later, they reached the Banks cottage. The fields beyond it were fallow, the widow obviously not feeling up to working the land for some time. The cottage itself also looked neglected, Faith noted. She must remind the estate manager that it required fresh roofing thatch and a thorough inspection of the soundness of the timbers in the windows and framing.

  Nodding to Edward, she let him knock at the door. ‘Mrs Banks, may we come in? We’ve brought some things for you,’ he called.

  But instead of the frail widow, the door opened to reveal a husky, broad-shouldered young man, dressed in the rough clothes of a labourer.

  ‘Who are you, and what do you want with my gran?’ he asked, scowling at them.

  ‘It’s all right, son,’ they heard the widow’s weak voice from within. ‘It’s the Duchess and her sons. Please, Dickon, let them in.’

  The man didn’t move aside. Looking Faith up and down contemptuously, he said, ‘Come to play Lady Bountiful, have ye, after paying no heed to nobody for years? Too late for that now, I reckon. As for you, little lordling, your grip over this land won’t last much longer.’

  Knowing her husband’s lack of involvement in the estate, the man probably had a right to his grievance. But furious at his tone and manner, Faith looked him in the eye, saying coldly, ‘Mrs Banks is ill, and we have food and provisions. Would you deny them to her?’

  After a moment, the man looked away. Moving aside reluctantly he said, ‘I s’pose you can bring them in.’

  Head held high, Faith ushered her boys past Dickon, Colin, his eyes wide, clinging to her skirts. Ignoring the man who followed them in, as if he expected they would do his grandmother some harm, she walked over to the pallet on which the old woman lay and took her hand. ‘How are you today, Mrs Banks? We’ve brought some bread and soup. And the boys caught you some trout, if you’d care for one.
’

  ‘And how do you expect her to eat it?’ Dickon asked. ‘She ain’t got no cook to fix it for her, Your High-and-Mightiness.’

  Faith looked back over her shoulder. ‘She might once have had children who would care for her. But since apparently they don’t any longer, I can cook it.’ She looked back down at the old woman. ‘If you fancy it now, Mrs Banks.’

  The old lady smiled. ‘A taste of fresh trout? Ah, Your Grace, can’t say when I last had that!’

  ‘You shall have it today, then. Boys, would you go outside and find some wood? There isn’t any by the hearth.’

  Ignoring the woman’s grandson, who was now loitering uncertainly beside the woman’s pallet, Faith walked the few steps to the hearth, hunting among the meagre supplies for a pan in which to cook the trout, and hoping she would remember how to gut and prepare it. She’d spent years being disparaged by a duke; the last thing she wanted was to have this arrogant commoner laughing at her ineptness at frying fish.

  A few minutes later, sticks and branches in hand, the boys hurried back in. ‘Mama, there’s so much smoke in the sky!’ Matthew cried.

  ‘Smoke?’ she repeated, frowning. ‘Where?’

  ‘Coming from the direction of Ashedon Court,’ Edward answered.

  Putting down the pan, she followed the boys back outside. As they’d described, there was indeed a large pillar of dark smoke rising in the distance, from the place where the ducal palace stood.

  Alarm fluttered in her chest. Sticking her head back inside the door, she called, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Banks, but there appears to be a problem back at Ashedon Court. I’ll just leave the bread and soup, and come back later to prepare the fish.’

  ‘You go on, then, Your Grace,’ Mrs Banks said.

  ‘Come on, boys, at the double-quick,’ she said, breaking into a trot herself.

  Only to have Dickon follow and stop her with a hand to the shoulder. ‘You oughtn’t go back, ma’am! Take the boys and head for the village. There’s only trouble back there.’

  For a moment, Faith stared at him incredulously. ‘Not go back? That’s my son’s house afire! With a score of servants working inside, we must make sure everyone has got out safely, and organise a party to fight it.’

  Shrugging off his hand, she made a scooting motion at the boys and picked up her pace, consumed with worry. The heart of Ashedon Court was an Elizabethan Great Hall, whose ancient hornbeam timbers would ignite like paper in a bake oven. Fortunately, the flanking wings were of brick and the roof was slate, which would slow a blaze. But where had it started—?

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Dickon cried, trotting after them. ‘This fire—it weren’t no accident. It were set, deliberate.’

  Astonished, she stopped to face him. ‘Set? Why?’

  ‘Lords like your husband saw fit not to pass the Reform Bill. We aimed to show ’em we’ll not bow to their refusal no more.’

  ‘Were the servants warned first?’ she demanded. ‘It wasn’t their fault the Bill didn’t pass.’

  He looked away, not meeting her gaze. ‘Dunno.’

  Furious, she turned back towards Ashedon Court. ‘A right fine victory it will be for your lot, if the under-butler gets trapped in the wine cellar when the roof falls in, or some maid in the attics! We’ll go to the village and leave the house to you, but not until I know everyone’s safely out.’

  Dickon trotting by her side, Faith and the boys ran for Ashedon Court, the volume of smoke increasing as they neared.

  As they burst out of the cover of the Home Wood and ran up the Long Drive, Faith was relieved to see the fire appeared to be in the stable block, not in the main house. By the time they reached the turn where the drive split, one trail leading to the stables, one to the house, she halted, panting. She was about to continue to the stables to check that all the horses had been led out when she realised that a crowd of men had gathered in the courtyard before the manor house, their angry shouts just discernible in the distance.

  They must have spotted her, for several broke away and headed down the drive towards her. While Dickon beside her swore, Faith drew in a trembling breath and gathered her boys behind her.

  This must be what Davie had meant, when he said Parliament must pass the Reform Bill. She’d just never imagined the repercussions of failure would touch her, and her boys, here.

  Suddenly, she heard the sound of galloping hooves approaching on the Long Drive behind them. Ranging her sons behind her to face this new threat, she braced herself, wishing a bit hysterically that she had her riding crop, or even one of the sticks the boys had gathered for the fire, with which to defend them.

  Her heart racing so hard she could scarcely breathe, Faith clenched her teeth and waited as the horseman reached them and vaulted from the saddle.

  ‘Lord have mercy, are you all right, Faith?’ he cried.

  Faith gazed up, astonished. ‘Davie?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Relief at finding her unharmed making his knees weak, all Davie wanted was to throw Faith on the back of his saddle and carry her to the safety of the village. But he couldn’t take her and the three boys, and he knew she’d never leave without them.

  Noting the stream of men now approaching them, he calculated the distance to the stables, and realised he couldn’t get them there and harness a vehicle to take them away before the crowd reached them.

  ‘Who are you?’ he barked to the labourer who hovered at her side. If the man were part of the mob, keeping her here until the others could arrive, he could at least dispatch that threat.

  ‘Banks,’ the man answered. ‘She were helping my gran. Don’t think the two of us can hold ’em off, but we can slow ’em down.’

  ‘We won’t just slow them—we’ll stop them,’ Davie replied. Setting free his nervous, rearing gelding, who was more likely to trample them in his smoke-induced anxiety than provide a means of escape, he told Faith, ‘The village knows what’s happening, and the fire engine is on its way. Is there anyone you can trust at the stables?’

  ‘Yes. Abrams, the groom who is teaching the boys to ride. He’ll help us, I’m certain.’

  ‘Take the boys and go at once. Tell him to ready a gig or a farm wagon, whatever he can put a horse to the quickest, and drive you to the village.’ When she hesitated, he said, ‘I know you are worried about the servants at the main house. But your first concern must be the safety of your sons.’

  Her face clouded, she nodded quickly and gathered the boys. ‘Come along, my dears. I’m afraid we’ll just be in the way here.’

  ‘Will you come with us, Mr S-Smith?’ Matthew asked, his voice breaking.

  Fury coursed through Davie anew, that Faith’s home and perhaps safety had been put at risk, that her precious sons had been frightened.

  ‘I’ll come to you in the village afterwards.’

  ‘Sh-shouldn’t I stay, Mama?’ Edward said, his words at odds with the anxiety on his face. ‘This is my land, you’ve been telling me, and I’m responsible for the safety of its people.’

  While Faith’s eyes filled with tears, Davie said, ‘You can delegate that task to me today, Ashedon. If you will allow me the privilege.’

  The boy gave him a short nod. ‘I—I will.’

  The faint sound of jingling harness had Davie looking over his shoulder. To his relief, an open farm cart approached from the stables, pulled by two shying horses the driver was struggling to control.

  ‘Abrams!’ Faith cried, spotting the vehicle. ‘It’s all right,’ she told Davie. ‘He’s the groom I told you about.’

  ‘Here, Your Grace,’ the man said, pulling up the team. ‘Climb up with the youngsters, and I’ll get you safely into the village.’

  Without waiting for Faith to reply, Davie lifted her to the bench, while Dickon quickly assisted with the children
.

  ‘Take her to the inn. I’ll come later.’

  ‘No!’ Faith cried. ‘Just to the edge of the drive. If things...get out of hand, we’ll continue, I promise. But I’ll not leave Ashedon Court’s people to the mercy of these rowdies unless I absolutely must.’

  While Davie would prefer to countermand her, the mob was on foot, and as long as the cart kept its distance, the groom would be able to get her safely away, if necessary, before they could catch up.

  He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Much as he’d like to break a few heads, it would be much better if he could defuse this situation before it got any more out of hand, resulting in far too many angry farmhands being hung or transported.

  ‘Very well. But make sure it’s a safe distance,’ he told the groom.

  ‘It will be, I promise,’ the man said, and set the vehicle in motion.

  Watching until the wagon halted a good distance away at the curve of the drive, Davie turned back towards the manor house.

  The first members of the crowd were almost on him.

  * * *

  Seeing his imposing size—and no doubt the furious determination on face—the first three halted, wisely hesitant to take him on by themselves. Spying a large boulder set decoratively at the juncture where the drive branched towards the stables or the house, Davie trotted over and scrambled up on it, until he stood a half-a-man’s height taller than the men gathering below.

  Knowing the importance of projecting authority and confidence, he simply stood, holding the men below by the power of his presence, not attempting to speak until the majority had arrived from the courtyard. He had an orator’s voice, born for addressing a crowd, and as they assembled below him, he drew on every bit of it.

  ‘Men, you have a just grievance, and good cause for disappointment. But this is not the way to express it, or to bring to reality the goals we all share.’