The Duke's Mysterious Lady

by Maggi Andersen

  Viola turned away. A man dressed in a brown coat, buff pantaloons, and a yellow mask entered the room. He came straight to her side, bowed, and requested the next dance. His burnished copper hair gave him away immediately. Jeremy Forester had also succumbed to the freedom the disguise allowed.

  He whirled her around the floor far more exuberantly than in previous encounters. Her toes miraculously escaped a mauling.

  When they collided with another couple, he halted, bowed, and apologized profusely. They began again as he counted the steps until he grew confident of the rhythm. The second time this happened, Viola had great difficulty not laughing, particularly when Hugh was the injured party. His furtive grin almost brought her undone.

  Mr. Forester, however, retained his serious focus on the dance. “That silver mask is the same color as your hair in the candlelight, mademoiselle,” he whispered in a tolerable French accent.

  When the clock struck twelve, the musicians ceased playing.

  The ballroom resounded with chatter and laughter as everyone peeled away loo-masks. Mr. Forester untied his strings and threw his mask off with a dashing gesture.

  “Why, it’s you, Sir,” Viola said, with fake surprise, tapping him with her fan. “La! I felt sure I was dancing with a mysterious Frenchman.”

  He responded with a serious nod. “I knew it was you, Miss Viola. How could I not?”

  Like the donning of familiar old coats, people sobered after the unmasking. Some of the older members of Bath Society sought their host and hostess before calling for their carriages.

  Mr. Forester seemed reluctant to leave. He asked Viola to accompany him in a walk along the garden path.

  “Such a lovely, mild evening, don’t you think?” He gave his pleasant smile as they leaned over the stone balustrade. He took her arm as they left the terrace and walked down the steps, following the line of lanterns to a stone garden seat. A night bird called from the shadows. “Miss Edgeworth, I have something to ask of you.”

  Viola sat the cold stone of the seat sending a chill through her.

  To her dismay, Mr. Forester then sank down on one knee before her.

  “Oh, Mr. Forester, do please get up. You will catch cold.”

  “I have fallen deeply in love with you.” His eyes widened but he stoically maintained his position as his knee sank further into the damp grass. “I know this is sudden, but time is of the essence as you are soon to leave Bath. I have reached ten and twenty without suffering such strong emotions as I now feel. I would be honored if you would consider becoming my wife, although I realize that a lovely young lady such as yourself, with excellent connections, will have many opportunities to marry.” Now Viola was truly appalled. This fashion is so silly.

  She suffered a dreadful impulse to giggle. Stilling her features, she gave him the attention he deserved. He was both courageous and kind, and she liked him. She sought to frame a tactful reply, but fell mute when, behind him, a dark figure appeared on the terrace.

  Hugh spied her with Mr. Forester kneeling before her and abruptly re-entered the house.

  “I thank you, indeed, but might I have time to consider your kind offer?” Viola asked quickly.

  “Of course. Please think on it overnight, if you will. I believe we would deal very well together.”

  To her relief, he rose, brushing leaves from his knees, while manfully ignoring the round patch of damp on one knee.

  When they reached the terrace, Hugh came out to meet them.

  “Jeremy,” he said, nodding to him, before facing Viola.

  “Lord and Lady Silverton are leaving and wish to say their goodbyes to you, Cousin Viola.”

  Viola and her now restrained beau followed Hugh inside.

  She glanced at Hugh’s stern face. Did he think her indiscreet?

  ****

  The last of the guests departed, and the household began to retire. Viola was preparing to follow Clarissa upstairs when Hugh approached her.

  “Might I have a word?” he asked her.

  Clarissa raised her eyebrows, but continued on her way to her chamber without comment.

  Viola followed Hugh into the library, wondering if she was to be censured for her behavior.

  “I hope Jeremy Forester didn’t ruin his evening clothes. I gather he asked you to marry him.”

  She shook her head at his gesture for her to sit. “Yes, he did.”

  Hugh’s mouth thinned. “And what did you say?”

  Why, how serious he looks. He surely would be glad for someone to take me off his hands.

  “I haven’t decided. I promised to give him my answer tomorrow.”

  He leaned against the back of a leather chair. “Jeremy is a good man. Do you care for him?”

  “I like him. He is a decent man. And a brave one,” she added.

  He folded his arms. “I agree. I have no right to interfere, but you have no father to advise you and it’s my opinion he is not the right man for you.”

  His mention of her father caused an inexplicable, painful jolt to Viola’s heart. Hugh was only a few years older than she was. What right did he have to advise her?

  “The right man? I am not the right woman for him,” she said heatedly. Aware she was being unreasonable, she spun away from him, as despair and anger made her rash. “Jeremy believes me to be part of this noble family. I have no family. I am not Viola, and if I don’t know who I am, what do I have to offer anyone?”

  Viola walked the length of the room, her skirts swishing about her. Ashamed of her outburst, she inhaled deeply, attempting to calm herself. She returned to where he stood, his shoulders tense, his mouth tight and grim. Her ungrateful outburst had angered him. “You are right, he is a good man and he deserves better,” she said softly.

  “Everything will right itself in time,” he said, his voice rough.

  Will it? “I shall have to refuse him, of course,” she said. “I need to tell him the truth. May I?”

  “I trust Jeremy’s discretion. But why must you? Are you considering marrying him?”

  “I don’t know. But I will need to be honest with him.” Viola rubbed her temples, suddenly exhausted. “Please excuse me, Hugh, I would like to retire. I am quite tired.”

  He took a step closer and rested his hands on her shoulders.

  “You must decide what’s best, Viola, but I can’t help feeling this is not right for you. If you decide against the marriage, Nanny and I will be pleased for you to accompany us back to Vale Park.”

  “And then what, Hugh? I can’t stay in Nanny’s cottage forever.”

  “I know.” He captured her eyes with his.

  She gasped, startled at the heated look she found there. Did he suffer the same longing as she? There was a pause where the only sound was the grandfather clock’s loud ticking. Her heart fluttered in her breast as she silently and disgracefully willed him to kiss her.

  His hands fell to his sides. He bowed stiffly and stood aside.

  “It’s late. You must be tired.”

  “Goodnight, Hugh.”

  Picking up her skirts, she walked past him. He followed her into the Great Hall. As Viola climbed the staircase, she stilled herself not to look back, knowing that if she did, she would run into his arms and beg him to hold her. Eight, nine, ten…she counted the stair treads to help control her raging emotions.

  Reaching the upper landing, she released a breath, but the counting hadn’t helped at all. If he is still standing there, she was lost.

  The front door banged shut. She whirled around. Only the footman stood impassively in the hall. Hugh had left the house.

  She ran to her bedchamber, threw herself on the bed, and sobbed into her pillow.

  The only way to sort out the muddle her life had become was to take control of it. Face her fears. For Hugh’s sake, as well as hers.

  ****

  Hugh stalked to the stables and saddled his horse. He rode hard into town, straight to a pugilist’s gymnasium he used when in Bath. He knew the owne
r kept late hours and a couple of men were still there, one, skipping rope.

  “I know it’s late, but I fancy a bout, Glyn,” he said to the owner.

  Glyn eyed him carefully. “Want to vent some spleen, Your Grace?”

  “Not spleen, exactly.”

  Glyn grinned. “There are pleasanter ways, Your Grace. There’s a brothel up the road apiece. Prime stuff there. All the toffs visit the place.”

  Hugh grimaced, as he peeled off his coat. “Not this time.”

  He pulled on the boxing gloves while Glyn did the same.

  They climbed into the ring and circled each other.

  An hour later, they leaned against the ropes, gasping.

  “I’m done, Your Grace,” Glyn said, shaking his head, as Hugh wiped the sweat from his brow. “Hope you’ve cured what ails you. You’ve seen me out.”

  “Perhaps not cured,” Hugh replied, “but ready for my bed.”

  He walked up to the Hall from the stables, and a sleepy footman opened the door. Moving quietly up the stairs, he paused in the corridor outside Viola’s bedchamber.

  Candlelight still flickered from beneath her door. He raised his hand to knock, then dropped his arm, cursing under his breath. The boxing bout hadn’t helped at all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Viola lay awake as the hours passed. Every time she closed her eyes, Hugh’s face filled her thoughts. Her treacherous body yearned for him. She hugged herself at the thought, and allowed herself a moment to dwell on what might happen should that passion be unleashed. It was beyond her imaginings, but drove her almost mad with desire. She struggled for objectivity and common sense. Exhausted, she tossed and turned, as if she lay on a bed of stones.

  Bashing her pillow, she realized she hadn’t spared a thought for Jeremy’s proposal. Marriage could be the answer to all her problems, and she wished she didn’t shudder at the prospect. She must gear herself to be stronger. To make sound decisions about her future.

  At last, in the early hours when she’d convinced herself things would be easier once they’d returned to Vale Park where she and Hugh would rarely see each other, she slept.

  The next afternoon, Viola sat alone in the drawing room, with a book open in her lap.

  After she’d read the same sentence several times, she left the chair and went to sit at the pianoforte. Her fingers moved over the keys, and soon she was lost in the beauty of Handel. It was so odd how she remembered this. It was as if only a piece of her memory had been removed, leaving in place all the things she most enjoyed. Someone in her past had loved to hear her play.

  Someone she loved. She gasped as the wisp of memory hovered close.

  Viola had moved on to Mozart when Jeremy sent up his card. She went to sit by the window, fingering her locket. Could she learn to love another man when Hugh filled her thoughts?

  At breakfast, Clarissa had urged her to accept.

  “Please consider it, Viola,” she’d said. “We would be neighbors. I should like that very much. Jeremy Forester is quite young and attractive, is he not? Not wealthy, of course, but very comfortable, and tolerably well bred.”

  A sensible woman in her predicament would accept. Viola waited her throat dry. What would she do? By the time the footman showed Jeremy into the room, she knew.

  “Miss Edgeworth.” He bent to kiss her hand. “How charming you look sitting by the window with the light striking your hair. You might be Helen of Troy in that Grecian-styled gown.

  “Thank you for the pretty compliment, Mr. Forester, but please, sit. I have an unfortunate story to tell. I pray you’ll forgive me for the falsehoods.” Ignoring his gasp of surprise, as Jeremy perched on the edge of his seat, she took a breath and continued. “But before I do, I must have your promise that you will not repeat any of this to another soul, as the truth could severely embarrass the duke and duchess, who have been so very wonderful to me.”

  Jeremy, who was in the process of lowering himself onto the chair, perched on the edge.

  “Untruths? Why, Miss Edgeworth! I cannot believe you capable of such a thing.”

  She proceeded to tell him her story from the time Hugh first found her. She spared him nothing, even describing in detail the clothes she wore.

  If he could accept her warts and all, she would marry him. And Hugh could then get on with his life.

  Jeremy listened with a look of open-mouthed wonder, which turned to something more subdued as she finished.

  “So that is why you have been unwell,” he said, glancing at his hands.

  “I am well now, apart from my loss of memory.”

  “It is a very kind thing for the Duke of Vale and his family to have befriended you.”

  “They’ve been kindness itself.”

  “The Duke of Whitcombe is a charitable man much liked in these parts. And Her Grace…well, she is known to be a trifle whimsical. But much loved for it, you understand,” he added hastily. He tugged at his carefully arranged cravat. “Miss Edgeworth, I find myself in a difficult situation. It makes no difference to me, of course, but my mother, who resides with me is getting on in years, and she can be a little difficult…”

  Viola placed her hand lightly on his arm. “Mr. Forester, you were under a false impression when you made your offer. Rest assured you have not committed yourself in any way.”

  Jeremy gave his cravat another tug. He had quite destroyed its arrangement, and his face was flushed. “Bath is a very small place, rife of gossip, Miss…Edgeworth. I do hope that you regain your memory soon, and this adventure will not have compromised you in any way. Why, there must be a logical explanation. It would not be like you, I am sure, to be imprudent.”

  One thing Viola did know about herself was that she might well be imprudent, if circumstances required it. And she might even laugh about it afterward. Jeremy would never find amusement in unseemly matters. Whereas, Hugh…

  She rose to her feet in order to put an end to the awkward conversation.

  Jeremy leapt up with even more eagerness than he had shown in asking for her hand. “I thank you for your understanding, Mr. Forester, and know I can rely on your discretion.”

  “You most certainly can. I shan’t say a word to anyone. Not even to Mother.”

  When Jeremy Forester left the room, he looked like a man who had escaped the gallows, leaving Viola to dwell on the sorry state of her character. She was most disreputable. No one would want her now.

  She sagged with relief at having been saved from a restrictive life that would have crushed her. She was learning all about her faults afresh, and knew she could not have endured a loveless marriage. It was likely to be her imprudent nature, which landed her in this fix in the first place. But she would not marry but for love, no matter what the future held for her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The rest of Viola’s stay in Bath was spent in the duchess’s company, for her husband was busy with the pressures of running a large estate. He only appeared toward evening, looking dreadfully tired.

  Viola discovered why. The duke had vast business interests in shipping and the Colonies.

  Hugh didn’t question Viola about what was said between her and Jeremy. Clarissa must have told him.

  Viola was relieved; she didn’t feel strong enough to face his questions. He rode out after breakfast and did not appear again until dinner. Then, after a game of piquet, he excused himself and left the house. She wondered if he visited a lady. It was none of her business and she fought the twinge of unreasonable jealousy.

  Left alone, the she and Clarissa spent the afternoons in the library reading passages from books and discussing the latest publications.

  With only a week left of their stay, Viola perched on the window seat, with the afternoon sun streaming in, warming her back, while Clarissa read aloud from Lord Byron’s Childe Harold.

  She gestured dramatically, her pleasure of the words intoned in every line. Viola leaned back, closing her eyes, and committed every detail of the room to memory. She ne
ver wanted to forget any of this.

  The next morning, Nellie entered with Viola’s hot chocolate.

  She placed it on the bedside table and went to open the curtains.

  “Morning, Nellie,” Viola said, yawning.

  “I’m so glad you’re awake, Miss Viola. The servant hall is abuzz with news about the Master.”

  Viola sat up. “What news?”

  “The duke had a nasty turn during the night. They’ve sent for the doctor.”

  Viola threw back the bedclothes. “Tell me all about it while I dress, Nellie.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Viola descended the stairs, just as Hugh entered through the front door in his riding clothes.

  “The duke is unwell?”

  Hugh’s eyes were dark and troubled. “The doctor’s following in his chaise. Clarissa remains by Edward’s bedside. She won’t leave him. I’m concerned she’ll become ill herself. She’s never been strong.”

  “I’ll go to her now,” she said, “I’ll take her away while the doctor attends the duke.”

  His eyes softened. “Thank you. I knew we could rely on your common sense.”

  As soon as the doctor was shown into the duke’s bedchamber, Viola drew Clarissa away.

  “He clutched his chest and moaned. I didn’t know what to do,” Clarissa said, in a low voice. “I mustn’t leave him for long.”

  Viola tucked her arm in hers. “As soon as the doctor has seen him you can return. Come and have something to eat. You need to remain strong to be of any help to him.”

  Clarissa gave her a glazed look. “Yes, you’re right of course.”

  Viola, her arm around Clarissa’s waist, guided her to the breakfast room. She watched as the duchess drank some tea and nibbled bread and butter.

  The hot tea put color back into Clarissa’s cheeks and calmed her. “I’m sure His Grace is going to recover,” Viola said.

  “Just having you there will make him strong. He loves you so.”

  Clarissa dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  “I love him, too,” Clarissa whispered.