Duchesses in Disguise

by Grace Burrowes

  Stop! Get those thoughts out of your head!

  Yet, even as Mary Alice tried to stay focused on the game, her mind continued to wander to unsafe thoughts of Eleanor as her very own. And Stratton as her—

  No, no. Stratton can only be a friend.

  However, he certainly hadn’t felt like a friend when he kissed her hand the previous night. A wild tickle rushed over her skin and then between her legs, where it transformed into a throbbing desire. She had told herself that she would never physically love another man as she had Jonas. But clearly, the drive to mate was more potent than the rational mind. And her body felt starved to be touched again.

  When Jonas had been healthy, they had enjoyed their frequent intimate time together. Once comfortable with the act, she’d craved it and often brazenly initiated their lovemaking, doing the little things that aroused her husband. She’d never felt more complete than in those moments after their lovemaking, when he’d held her to his pounding chest, his hair wet with sweat, and whispered that he loved her. Those memories haunted her at night. Alone in her bed, her body futilely yearned for a man who could never return to her in this life.

  “Once Helandria chanted the magic words, the ugly beetle’s body began to transform into King Foradora,” Stratton said, pushing forward his doll. Stratton’s body lightly brushed against Mary Alice, eliciting a tiny explosion inside her. She released a choked, tight hum. His head whipped around. She watched in embarrassment as his eyes darkened with understanding. He knew she desired him. The space between them throbbed like the hot, wet pulse between her legs.

  “It’s the king, Karianna!” Eleanor cried in Helandria’s voice. “He’s come to rescue us from this dungeon.”

  Mary Alice gripped her doll and stammered absently, “That’s wonderful.”

  Eleanor continued to play, oblivious to the tension between the adults. Stratton lightly rested his hand atop Mary Alice’s, letting his thumb stroke her skin.

  “My goodness, no one invited us to play,” Francesca said from where she and Olivia stood just inside the threshold.

  Oh Lord! Mary Alice hadn’t heard them enter. She scooted away from Stratton. “W-would you like to play? We need an evil bog lord. You would be perfect.” She hoped her small joke concealed her embarrassment at being caught.

  But what exactly had they caught her doing? Nothing, truly. It was just her guilty conscience causing her body to heat with shame.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Francesca said with a casual wave of her hand to Eleanor. The girl’s shoulders slumped at the attention, and her face resumed its nervous, fearful visage.

  “Perhaps we can play later,” Stratton said quickly. “Come, Eleanor.”

  Eleanor seized Helandria and scurried from the room. Stratton followed her, shooting Mary Alice a farewell glance over his shoulder.

  “I do believe we were interrupting something,” Francesca said after father and daughter were out of earshot. Her voice dripped with knowing.

  Mary Alice pretended not to understand her meaning. “We were merely playing a game with his daughter.”

  “Might I suggest sending the dear little one to her nurse before tearing each other’s clothes off,” Francesca said.

  “Please don’t say that,” Mary Alice protested. “You’re wrong. And it’s not a laughing matter.”

  “But it’s obvious that one of the most handsome men in England is madly in love with you,” Francesca said. “And you’re not impartial to him. Ah, don’t look at me that way.”

  “It’s Stratton!” Mary Alice cried. “A man I have spent years despising.”

  “You said he changed,” Olivia reminded in a non-scolding manner.

  Mary Alice retrieved the jewelry box that had been a muskrat’s home, closed it, and set it on the side table. “Yes, he has. If I have any feelings for Stratton, it is because…” She faltered, not wanting to articulate her embarrassing thoughts.

  But Francesca wouldn’t let it go. “It is because why?”

  “I miss being loved!” Mary Alice blurted. “I miss a man’s touch. I miss holding him and… and… things! But I cannot and will not give in to these desires arising from my weakness.”

  “Weakness?” Francesca sat on the edge of the bed. “My dear, you are still very young. Your feelings are entirely natural. Why not marry again? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “And to be honest, you don’t have to marry.” Olivia crossed to the window and drew back a curtain, flooding the room with rich afternoon light. “You could enjoy a little holiday dalliance. You’re not a blushing maiden but a widow. No one in Society would whisper a word.”

  Oscar strutted by the glass, his glorious feathers spread. He shook them as if to say, Look at me! Look at me!

  “It’s not honorable,” Mary Alice protested. “An affair born of pure desire cheapens my love for Jonas. Don’t you understand? I truly loved my husband in a profound, deep way.”

  Her friends exchanged annoyed glances.

  “Oh dear,” Mary Alice said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t love your husbands as much as I loved mine. I… I … You see, I simply can’t take a lover. Any relations I share with a man must mean something beyond our physical intimacy. It must be honorable. And I told Jonas that I could never love another. So, you see, it’s all hopeless.”

  “Do you think Jonas wouldn’t have wanted your happiness?” Olivia used that maddeningly patronizing tone of someone trying to sound reasonable to an irrational person. As if they knew better than Mary Alice. How could her friends not understand this simple problem?

  “I have three children!” Mary Alice said, her distress surfacing. “What man could love another man’s children as much as his own? What if they didn’t like Stratton in turn? What if he took me away from them? And once we married, what if he changed and reverted to the old Stratton? What if he… he died… I can’t… I can’t bear that pain again.” She covered her face with her hands.

  Francesca drew Mary Alice into her arms. “Hush now,” she whispered. “Let us consider some other, more hopeful courses. What if you were very happy? What if Stratton made a wonderful father to your children? What if he outlived you?”

  “Please don’t talk that way.” Mary Alice pulled away. “I will not marry or… enjoy a dalliance with another man. Say no more on the matter. I see no course but to continue our holiday as planned. We must leave as soon as may be.”

  “But your head!” Francesca exclaimed. “And your foot! You shouldn’t leave that bed. Not for days and days.”

  “They are both better,” Mary Alice assured her. “I can walk with some assistance.”

  Francesca wagged her finger. “Ah, but remember our carriage is still very badly damaged.”

  “We shall hire another,” Mary Alice said. “I’m sure the nearest village possesses some kind of contraption that can drive the few miles to our destination.”

  “Why, dearest, should we hire a carriage when we have a perfectly good damaged one?” Francesca reasoned.

  Mary Alice opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. Her gaze flicked suspiciously between her friends. “Oh, I see,” she said slowly. It didn’t take a huge mental leap, but a mere hop, to discern that gentlemen were involved in her friends’ reluctance to leave.

  “I, for one, find the views here spectacular.” Francesca gestured to the window. Oscar was still outside in resplendent courtship form. “And the chef…”

  “Ooh, yes, yes, the food!” Olivia gushed. “Simply delicious.”

  “And the gentlemen?” Mary Alice asked. “Are they delicious, as well?”

  Francesca hiked a brow, and her lips moved into position to deliver a finishing retort. Mary Alice realized she was going to pay dearly for her little witticism.

  “Why don’t you take a nibble and find out for yourself?” Francesca suggested.

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  Stratton noticed that something about Mary Alice had changed after the day her friend
s interrupted their playing. The shift was tiny and probably perceivable only to him. She continued to laugh and tease and come so close to him as to spark his annoying fantasies of sharing their lives together. But then she always sensed when she had wandered into emotionally dangerous territory. Her smile would remain intact but lose its glow, and she would draw her arms about herself. He knew that she was trying to protect herself, and he couldn’t fault her. But the times when she was unguarded and lost in the moment, she was the easiest person he had ever known. He didn’t have to work so hard around her. Their conversation and laughter effortlessly flowed forth. He hadn’t considered himself in gloomy spirits, certainly not to the degree he’d felt them after coming back from the war, but being around Mary Alice energized him with joy.

  He was greedy for her and her magic. In his mind, they were living as broken pieces, but together, they and their families could become whole again. Yet he had lived long enough to know that some dreams would remain elusive, and trying to catch them would only cause them to vanish into thin air.

  Although she kept him at a distance, she brought Eleanor closer. Every day that they played Bogland on Mary Alice’s bed, a little more of Eleanor emerged. He was beginning to see the true girl hidden beneath the fear and emotional scars. He wouldn’t dare endanger that bond forming between Eleanor and Mary Alice by foolishly admitting his dreams. So, he kept his feelings tamped down as, day by day, he watched Mary Alice recover. Soon she would leave them. He could no longer keep her caged, and she would fly away from them. He positively panicked when he and Eleanor came to visit Mary Alice and found her out of bed and limping about the chamber in a lavender gown of half mourning. Her head bandage was gone, replaced with a cap. When she saw them, a joyous smile that devastated his heart stole across her lips.

  “I simply couldn’t spend another minute in bed.” She turned her gaze to Eleanor. “Would you care to give me a tour of your lovely home? Mind you, I adore secret places and hidden passages. Do you have any of those?”

  “I… I can show you the workrooms!” Eleanor suggested. “They aren't secret places but they have many interesting things.”

  “Visiting scientists and artists use the workrooms,” Stratton explained. “However, you have just recovered from an accident. I wouldn’t—”

  “Oh, stop with that good-sense talk,” Mary Alice protested. “I’m as stubborn as I am reckless. I would love to see the workrooms.” She winked at Eleanor. “I’ve been cooped up for so very long that I would be perfectly happy to visit the stables and dairy too. Lead the way, dear Eleanor.”

  He told himself that he was only being gentlemanly when he held her arm as they toured the estate and cottages, but in truth he just wanted to hold her because he knew she would leave soon. He carefully watched her gait, looking for any signs of fatigue or pain as they ventured through the gardens. Eleanor clutched her doll and walked ahead, nervously glancing back to ensure that Mary Alice was well.

  He requested that all the fountains be turned on in her honor. The sunlight sparkled on the arc jets of water. Colorful parakeets and canaries darted about in the aviaries.

  “This is magnificent,” Mary Alice said, holding out her hand to let the water splash upon her palm.

  “It’s actually just a large, overgrown scientific experiment. Water in its forms—liquid, solid, gas—fascinates me.”

  “How do you control the pressure for the water?” Mary Alice asked. “Yes, yes, I know ladies shouldn’t find such matters fascinating, but I do. Especially with the exciting advancement in steam engines. I tell my father that soon a steam engine will do the work of a dozen men in his old factory. He doesn’t believe me. But I am right, of course.” She flashed him a devilish smile.

  “Of course, you are. Without a doubt.” He chuckled. “Shall I show you the future plans for my fountains for your approval?” He gestured to the first of a series of brick outbuildings at the garden’s edge.

  “Please.” Mary Alice smiled.

  He led her across the grass and then shoved open an old outbuilding door that had swollen with the rain. He let Mary Alice and Eleanor enter before him.

  “Ah, we have it all to ourselves today.” He left the door open, letting the sunlight pour into the otherwise dark workroom. Three rows of tables ran down the room, and shelves covered the walls. Scattered about were glass beakers, weight scales, burners, and books. The future plans of his hydraulics were open on the first table, anchored at the corners with iron weights.

  “You see the extent of my foolish ambition,” he quipped, gesturing to the drawings. “What did Macbeth say about ambition?”

  Before he could answer his own question, Mary Alice quietly quoted, “‘I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition, which o’er leaps itself and falls on the other.’” She ran her fingers over the plans. “Anna would adore these sketches.”

  “She’s interested in pipes and plumbing?” he asked incredulously, without thinking.

  Mary Alice didn’t take offense. She shook her head. “She’s interested in drawings like blueprints and plans. It’s hard to explain, but she can picture very complicated things in her head.”

  “She sounds brilliant.”

  “She is, in certain ways. Not in others.” Mary Alice glanced about the workroom. “And you fund all this work?”

  “I try to advance the good work of scientists and scholars. People with far greater minds than mine.”

  She lifted a brow. “I suspect you are more clever than you give yourself credit for.”

  The way the light caused her eyes to glow like dark amber arrested his thoughts. He wanted to kiss her. The pull was as strong and natural as Newton’s gravity.

  There was a crash of glass, and Eleanor gasped. Stratton whirled around, thinking she had been hurt. “Eleanor!” He rushed to the back worktables.

  The child clutched her doll to her chest. Shards of glass were strewn at her feet. “I’m sorry!” Eleanor cried. “Don’t whip me! I’m sorry! I wasn’t holding Helandria tight enough, and we accidentally hit it. I’m sorry. Please.”

  “Love, I would never whip you. Never. Look,” he said, motioning to the shelves where more beakers and vials sat. “There are many, many more. This one won’t be missed.”

  His words didn’t soothe his daughter. She backed fearfully away from him, tears in her eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. Truly.”

  Mary Alice came to her side. “Eleanor, it was an accident,” she said gently. “No one is upset with you.”

  “I’m sorry!” Eleanor cried, unconvinced. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Stratton panicked. Things had been going so well. He grabbed a small element sample from a box containing other elements and metals and held it before her in his palm.

  “What do you think this is?” he asked to distract her.

  She wiped her eyes and looked at the tiny orange fragment in his hand. “A… a small rock?”

  “Yes, but it’s a very special rock. It’s an element. Do you know what an element is?”

  She sniffed and shook her head.

  “Why don’t you keep this element?” he said. “I’ll tell you and Helandria all about them while we picnic. I was very sneaky and didn’t tell you, but I asked that a picnic be set up at a special hiding place, in honor of Mrs. Mary Alice’s love of secret passages and such. Come.”

  * * *

  Mary Alice let Stratton lead her and Eleanor through a greenery maze of boxwoods and trees, then under an arch built of trailing vines and into a small oval glade. In the center of this private garden stood a lovely female statue with downcast eyes. Water flowed quietly from her head and down her body, forming a veil of water.

  “It is my favorite fountain,” he told them. “But I keep it hidden, showing it only to my favorite people.”

  A blanket had been laid on the grass and set with china, silver, cloth-covered baskets containing sandwiches, and corked jars of wine and lemonade. Mary Alice glanced
at Stratton and smiled approvingly at the small detail of including a doll-size china plate for Helandria.

  After helping Mary Alice sit, Stratton stretched out on the blanket beside her. Something about how he gazed at her, his eyes squinting in the sun, his head propped on his elbow and his long legs extended, made her self-conscious. She focused on pouring drinks and passing along baskets so she wouldn’t look at how his tailored trousers fit his muscular legs or the bulge at his crotch.

  He drew a biscuit from a basket and held it up. “Do you know what makes this biscuit?” he asked Eleanor.

  She dutifully answered, “Flour, eggs, sugar, and milk.”

  He turned the biscuit, observing it. “Yes, those are the basic ingredients of a biscuit,” he said. “Elements are the ingredients of the earth. If you were to break the earth apart to its smallest units—its core ingredients—you would find it’s composed of elements. Some are solid, some are gas. Most are too small to see. They have names like oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon. We don’t know all the ingredients yet. That’s what some of my scientist guests are trying to discover in the workshops.”

  Stratton patiently explained basic science to Eleanor in terms a child could understand. Watching them interact, Mary Alice realized what a good papa meant to a child. Her children still had their uncle and maternal grandfather, but neither lived with them. They didn’t share meals, or flow in and out of their lives in the course of a day. She wondered how Little Jonas would fare without a proper father to guide him. Was she enough for him, or did boys need a strong paternal role model?

  “Have you discovered an element, Papa?” Mary Alice was pleased to hear Eleanor call Stratton Papa.

  Stratton shook his head. “No, but perhaps you will someday.”

  “I’m not intelligent enough.”

  “Yes, you are!” Stratton assured her. “You are extremely intelligent. Don’t ever think otherwise.”