The Grace of a Duke

by Linda Rae Sande

  Charlotte had to fight the impulse to roll her eyes. “Oh, of course,” she replied, trying to remember exactly where the parlor was located in the large house. The butler bowed and backed out of the room, leaving the door wide open. She wondered why she hadn’t been offered refreshment – a cup of tea, at least – and began arranging her skirts as she sat primly on edge of the worn settee.

  She thought of those who bid her good-bye this morning at her parents townhouse in Mayfair. Her married friend, Lady Bostwick, who would have simply requested tea and biscuits if she wasn’t immediately offered some when she made her morning calls. Elizabeth Carlington Bennett-Jones was with child now, her belly rounding out so that it nearly filled her gown, her skin glowing as if lit from the inside with dozens of tiny candles. A gloved hand would be resting protectively on her middle as she would giggle sweetly and say something like, “I find my appetite is simply insatiable,” not the least bit apologetic about her request nor about the fact that she was probably referring to an appetite that had nothing to do with food. Indeed, she was one of the few women of the ton who seemed to be enjoying the marriage bed.

  And there was Lady Hannah Slater, who had tears in her eyes this morning when she watched Charlotte step up into the borrowed coach that would bring her to Wisborough Oaks. A romantic at heart, Hannah had finally, at the age of one-and-twenty, had her first Season in London. She wished for a husband only so that she might have children. “I have no need of a man for myself,” she would say when they attended balls together, her dance card always full, and her personality one that attracted a number of younger eligible gentlemen. She was after an older man, though. “I must find one to be a father to my children,” she said wistfully. “Someone who will appreciate his heirs and make room for them in his life.” Such an odd wish for the daughter of a marquess – to want only children on which to dote and love, because to expect a husband to love her was simply out of the question.

  Although Lady Hannah’s tearful farewell had been expected (she was, after all, Charlotte’s best friend), it was Lady Bostwick’s parting words that gave her much to think about on the trip from London.

  “I am sure you must wonder why it was that I did not accept Gabriel Wellingham’s offer for my hand,” she’d said as she placed her gloved hand on Charlotte’s arm, her manner suggesting she was sharing very privileged information.

  Charlotte had paused in packing the last of her prized possessions into a valise, recognizing Elizabeth’s serious tone. Lady Hannah had straightened in her chair, as surprised at Lady Bostwick’s comment as Charlotte was. “I suppose I was curious as to why you did not accept an offer from the Earl of Trenton, the most handsome and eligible bachelor in all of the British Isles,” Charlotte agreed with a glint of humor in her eye. “You two … seemed to suit,” she’d added, stealing a glance in Hannah’s direction when Elizabeth did not appear to share her amusement. Of all the gentlemen who attended the prior Season’s balls, the Earl of Trenton was the most sought after. He could boast vast land holdings, an annual income said to be in excess of thirty-thousand a year, and a seemingly pleasant personality.

  “I suppose we did,” Elizabeth agreed, her mass of upswept auburn curls catching the light as she shook her head in contrast to her words, her hands resting on her rounded belly. “Although we certainly did not love one another.”

  Hannah had shrugged, not believing marriages among the members of the ton could ever be love matches. “So, why didn’t you accept his offer?”

  Elizabeth had swallowed and then said, “Because I … well, there wasn’t one.”

  Her brows arched in surprise, Hannah had regarded Elizabeth as a stunned Charlotte turned to lean against the edge of a bed post. “Trenton didn’t offer for your hand? Wait … did you know that Bostwick would ask for your hand?”

  Lady Bostwick hadn’t allowed the Earl of Trenton to even make an offer on the day he arrived to do so. Instead, she had quizzed him about his mistresses, deciding she couldn’t be married to a man who would always dress better than she, look more beautiful than she would. And, finally, she decided she couldn’t possibly marry a man who kissed like Lady Hannah’s dog, Harold. Instead, she had proposed to George Bennett-Jones, Viscount Bostwick.

  The viscount, a rather unattractive man, owned little in the way of lands, but possessed three coal mines in the south and an annual income one-third of Trenton’s. Having met Elizabeth at an early autumn ball, he courted her for only a few days before he appeared at Elizabeth’s home, intending to make his offer, and had only done so an hour after Elizabeth turned away Trenton. In the end, it was Elizabeth who asked for George’s hand.

  “Because you loved George?” Charlotte had ventured carefully. Why else would Elizabeth turn down Gabriel Wellingham?

  “No,” Elizabeth had responded with a shake of her head, although her denial had been a bit too quick. Charlotte often wondered if Elizabeth had fallen in love with the viscount. The woman didn’t even learn he was a member of the aristocracy until moments before the proposal, and only then because her father had told her. “Well, I did not love him then,” she’d clarified, hinting that she had since changed her mind and was now in love with her husband. She’d taken a deep breath then, as if she was still uncertain about sharing her information. “Charlotte, remember at the Weatherstone ball when I said I had experienced my first kiss, and it was horrible?” she’d asked suddenly, her eyes rolling dramatically, as if she decided she might as well tell her two friends everything.

  Charlotte had nodded, recalling the evening quite clearly. George had escorted Elizabeth to the supper, and, at George’s insistence, Charlotte joined them at their table. And, she did not quite know how the conversation changed, but Elizabeth had grown quite upset over the fact that her first kiss was quite unpleasant.

  “Well, if you’ll recall, I was talking about Trenton. And, truly Hannah, no offense to your dog, but Trenton kissed like Harold MacDuff,” she announced then, referring to Hannah’s beloved Alpenmastiff.

  Lady Hannah’s mouth had dropped open in astonishment, never having heard her dog being compared in any way to an earl. “None taken,” she murmured with a shake of her head, since she agreed that her dog did tend to slobber a bit when he was sharing his affection.

  “But George was … he is an excellent kisser,” Elizabeth had sighed emphatically, her cheeks turning pink as she made the pronouncement. “And he is an even better lover. And he was quite adamant that he would never take a mistress nor visit brothels should I agree to marry him.” She didn’t add that George was especially supportive of her charity, “Lady E’s – Finding Work for the Wounded” while Trenton seemed especially offended that she worked at her own charity.

  Charlotte had stared at Elizabeth for several seconds, the implication of the viscountess’s comments slowly sinking in. Hannah’s own gasp of surprise was quickly masked by a fake cough. Within a moment, all three women were exchanging nervous glances. “Elizabeth!” Charlotte had finally admonished her friend. “Did you know this about George before you agreed to marry him?” she’d wondered, surprised at herself that she would ask such a personal question of her friend. Kissing before marriage, she could understand. But lovemaking? Elizabeth was suggesting she and the viscount had shared sexual congress prior to their engagement!

  “Why, yes, I did,” Elizabeth had stated as she held her chin up. “Well,” she’d rolled her eyes again as she corrected herself. “I knew about the kissing and … well, most of the rest.”

  Charlotte had let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “George was quite insistent that I be left with my virtue intact should I decide not to marry him, which, of course, only made me want him more. I had to know what more there could be after that one glorious night.”

  Charlotte had blinked. And blinked again. “So, you allowed him to bed you, but …”

  “I asked him to do so, to prove himself capable of pleasuring me,” Elizabeth had clarified. �
��He considered me a beauty, and he knew he was not.”

  “By bedding you.” Hannah was on her feet and standing next to Charlotte’s bed, her arm wrapped around the bed post, presumedly for support.

  “By making love to me,” Elizabeth whispered, her face blushing quite prettily. “George was quite convinced I wouldn’t give him the proper consideration as a prospective husband. He was … correct, in that respect, I am now very sorry to admit,” she had explained quite humbly.

  Charlotte had been so surprised at Elizabeth’s admission, she’d said the first thing that popped into her mind. “So, you had no intention of marrying him before ..?”

  “Of course not!” Elizabeth had replied, her manner suggesting she was offended that anyone would even think she would marry George Bennett-Jones without some kind of side benefit. “But, having endured Trenton’s awful kiss and finding his entire approach to mistresses and marriage … repulsive, I asked George to kiss me. That was the night of Lady Worthington’s ball, just a few days before Trenton called on me to propose. And the reason I didn’t even allow him to do so, I suppose.”

  That last comment forced a couple of gasps from her audience. They had both been under the impression that the Earl of Trenton had proposed and been turned down by Lady Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth paused for a moment, absently rubbing a hand over her belly while a wan smile appeared on her face. “George kissed me because I asked him to, you see. And he was quite thankful for the honor of kissing me. And once George had quite thoroughly satisfied me with his abilities in that regard, I decided to give him a chance to prove himself in bed. I figured if I had to marry someone, I wanted to at least enjoy my time in the marriage bed with him,” she’d stated emphatically. “And, as you well know, he proved himself quite adept,” she’d added, patting the evidence of her pregnancy with the palm of her hand. “I am telling you this, Lottie, because I believe you should be sure your duke can satisfy you in bed. Or where ever you make love,” she’d added with a careless wave of her hand. “Before you meet him at the altar. And those hideous burn scars be damned!”

  Charlotte had gasped at the suggestion, gasped again at the implication that Elizabeth had been making love somewhere other than in a bedchamber, and a third time at her friend’s curse. “But … I love Wainwright!” she’d countered defensively, not thinking that anything done in the bedroom might have an affect on her feelings for the duke. And she’d already come to terms with his scarred visage when he was still in hospital.

  “Love has nothing to do with it, milady,” Elizabeth had replied quietly. “Trust me.” The lack of conviction in how she made the proclamation suggested she might believe love had just a bit to do with it.

  “That’s because men do not love their wives, Lottie,” Hannah had chimed in to say brightly, despite her tear-filled eyes. “For if they did, there would be no reason for mistresses.”

  Charlotte stared at her two friends, not believing half of what they claimed and hoping, for her own sake, at least, that they were mistaken. How simple Hannah’s situation is! she thought as she considered her own. She just needs to find an older man in need of an heir.

  And, of all the women in the ton, how odd that the beautiful Elizabeth Carlington would marry a man based on his abilities between the sheets!

  Charlotte wanted a father for her children, of course, but, secretly, she also wanted that man to love her.

  And if he was a good lover, she would consider that a bonus.

  Lady Charlotte Bingham was contemplating whether or not her host would oblige her in any of those situations when Gates suddenly returned to the parlor.

  “His Grace will see you now.”

  Angus McFarland had followed the Earl of Torrington’s coach from the time it had left a fashionable townhouse in Mayfair. His employer, a nattily dressed gentleman whom he knew from the gaming hells they frequented, had given him a crown and instructions to follow the coach to its final destination. “When you know where she’s staying, see to it she doesn’t live through the night,” the man had said, giving him another crown. “There will be more if you succeed. And, for God’s sake, man, make it look like an accident.”

  McFarland’s eyes widened at the sight of the coins, and he nodded. “I’m your man,” McFarland replied with an eager nod.

  Having been on the road for nearly five hours, McFarland was starting to wonder if the assignment would be worth it. He was tired, thirsty, dusty and saddle sore. The coach’s one stop had been to change horses in Guildford. McFarland had been forced to stay back in the trees and wait until the coach was on its way again before he could hurry into the coaching inn for a quick ale and a hunk of cheese and bread. Back on the road, he had forced his horse to a quicker pace and then, when he realized the coach had stopped to allow a herd of sheep to cross the road, he had been forced to ride on ahead in order to avoid suspicion. Once he was well in front, he pulled his horse off into a thicket and waited for the coach to pass again. It was another two hours before he sighted the coach pulling off the main road and into the half-circle drive of an estate home.

  The house near Kirdford wasn’t a castle nor overly large; two wings on either side of a central hall. He noticed the wing on the west side looked a bit newer, as if the stones had been scrubbed clean and the windows had been washed. From his vantage point well away from the house, he watched as two woman departed the coach. The one dressed in a traveling gown would be the cousin, he thought, remembering his employer’s reference to the gel he was to off during the night. The other woman, dressed in black and walking behind the gel, would be the lady’s maid.

  Footmen hurried to claim luggage and trunks from the back of the coach as he continued to watch from his hiding place. When the coach suddenly left, not even changing horses before it departed the estate’s drive, McFarland headed his horse toward the nearby village of Kirdford. With her mode of transport gone, the gel would not be leaving the estate anytime soon, he figured. Now he just had to decide on a method of seeing to it she left in a coffin.

  Chapter 3

  His Grace and Lady Charlotte Contemplate Matrimony

  Joshua’s breath caught as he realized why Lady Charlotte must have come. To pay her respects, no doubt. To offer condolences and ask if there was anything she could do.

  A pang of guilt shot through him as he remembered meeting her for the first time. She had sought him out, his brother not being in attendance at a ball several Seasons past. Dressed in an apple green and white gown of satin that displayed her décolletage to his advantage, she had curtsied to his bow and smiled as if he were the only man on the planet. And while dancing, she was poised and confident whilst asking him about his life. And he kept up his end of the conversation, realizing too late that their happy moment was shattered when he brought up the topic of his brother, and she said she looked forward to the day when he would become her brother by marriage.

  His father once admitted that, as Earl of Grinstead and heir to the Chichester duchy, John Wainwright II had no choice as to whom he would marry. The daughter of an earl, Charlotte Bingham was arranged for him when he was but ten years old. Knowing he would one day become the Duke of Chichester, John accepted the fact that he would marry the woman to whom he was betrothed. And he planned to do so when she turned one-and-twenty. She would bear his heir, and he would continue to see his string of mistresses and Cyprians and an occasional trollop, one of whom would infect him with the French pox before he was twenty.

  The thought of Lady Charlotte Bingham marrying his brother was not one that Joshua Wainwright entertained very often, however. It made him angry to think that such a beautiful, refined and well-educated woman would be wasted on his unappreciative brother.

  And now she was here.

  And her betrothed was dead and buried in the small graveyard on the eastern edge of the ducal property.

  The implication of that last thought hadn’t quite been considered when Gates entered and bowed. “I apol
ogize, Your Grace,” he said, almost in a whisper. “There is a …”

  “Send her in,” Joshua responded quickly, his attention back on the coach that was making its way back to the main road. Grandby’s? he wondered, surprised it was already leaving. Perhaps arrangements had been made at a nearby coaching inn for the horses to be watered and fed.

  Finally moving away from the window and back to the library desk, he remembered his mode of dress. “Wait. Is my topcoat around here somewhere?” he wondered aloud. At least he was wearing a waistcoat, he considered, thankful he had donned more than his usual breeches and soft linen shirt that morning. The problem with burn scars was that clothing tended to bind and scrape them during the day. The less he wore, the faster his skin seemed to heal.

  “Should I send a footman for one, Your Grace?” Gates inquired, noting the suddenly nervous behavior of his master with a cocked eyebrow.

  “No,” Joshua replied with a quick shake of his head. He reached up to ensure his leather mask covered the worst of his facial burn scars. “Please send in our guest,” he said, trying to take on an air of casual interest. “And be sure she’s given a suite of rooms appropriate to her rank.” With her mode of transport gone, it was obvious she intended to stay.

  “As you wish,” the butler replied as he bowed and disappeared, not reminding His Grace that there was only one apartment available in the entire house; the east wing included only three on the second floor, and two of those were being used by Joshua and Garrett. At least there were several servants’ quarters available near the kitchen. Gates would see to the lady’s maid as soon as her mistress was shown to the study.

  Stunned at how quickly she’d been escorted to the study, Charlotte made sure to afford the Duke of Chichester her very best, deepest curtsy followed by a brilliant smile and the words, “It is so very good to see you again, Your Grace.”

  Although a simple nod of his head would have sufficed, Joshua bowed, his vision taking in the woman he had often dreamed of having as his own. She seemed even more beautiful than when he’d last seen her. At a ball, no doubt, her honey blonde hair shimmering under the candlelight of the ballroom, her infectious smile wiping out the glum he’d felt at his continued losing streak in the card room.