Lady Saves the Duke

by Annabelle Anders

  Had she been correct in her accusation? Had he avoided his sister’s children, thinking it would lessen his own pain? He bore a lancing pang inside and was not certain if it was guilt or sadness.

  A small hand reached up and touched the corner of his mouth. “Kwistophew, I am Kwistophew,” a hesitant voice answered his question.

  “And I am Michow,” the boy in Margaret’s arms said with more conviction.

  The child in his arms spoke up again. “And you are Uncle.”

  Alex turned surprised eyes toward Margaret. “They are talking now, Margaret?”

  His words caused Margaret to tilt back her head and laugh. “Oh, Alex,” she said finally, “They have been talking for nearly a year now.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “Let us go inside and get out of this sun. It has been a rather warm summer, don’t you think?”

  Alex glanced over at the boy in Margaret’s arms. “Would you like to come inside, young man? I imagine your nannies are ready to get out of the sun as well. Tea and biscuits will be served in the nursery shortly, I’m sure, or better yet, iced lemonade.” Alex set young Christopher down, and a nanny quickly claimed her charge. He then offered his arm to both his aunt and his sister and led them through the large foyer and upstairs to a drawing room.

  “Whose house party was this, Alex?” Margaret persisted as they entered the comfortable sitting area.

  “The Earl of Ravensdale. I had thought it prudent to consider the irrigation system he’s set up. Some of my own estates require considerable modernization, and I wished to look over what the earl has accomplished.” Margaret relinquished his arm and allowed herself to recline on the loveseat away from the window while Alex continued talking. “It was time well spent.”

  But Margaret waved away his opinions of the irrigation system. Her eyes twinkled. “Were any young ladies present at this house party?”

  The image of Miss Abigail Wright came to mind immediately, which was ridiculous. “Lord Ravensdale spent considerable energy foisting his daughter, Lady Natalie, in my direction.” Alex grimaced. “Don’t start with me, Mags. I’m not interested right now.”

  And again, one of Miss Wright’s annoying comments came to mind. Will you wait until you are a doddering old fool and then take a wife a quarter of your age and impose an old man’s body on her?

  Margaret, thankfully, was not in a pestering mood. “Lady Natalie only recently ended her engagement to the Duke of Cortland. It’s no wonder her papa is trying to secure her a husband again. Poor girl, such a scandal!”

  Aunt Cecily stayed up on the most current gossip. “The Duke of Cortland has already replaced her. He married just a few days following the broken engagement. It is said to be quite the love match, which causes one to wonder exactly how much of the blame really ought to fall upon Ravensdale’s daughter.”

  Alex thought back to when Margaret had married. “It is a relief, I must say, to marry off one’s dependents.” Margaret had been willful and stubborn, turning down numerous proposals before accepting Clive. She’d participated in five seasons before finally marrying. “Lady Natalie cannot be nearly as difficult as was a certain duke’s sister.”

  Margaret refused to take the bait. “Not a smattering of it matters if the marriage is an unhappy one—as you well know. If the girl wasn’t in love with Cortland, then bravo for her, I say.” She looked curiously at Alex. “Was she interested in you?”

  At that, Alex could not help chuckling as he remembered Lady Natalie virtually shoving Miss Wright into his boat. “Not at all. In fact, I think the notion of marriage to me repelled her.”

  “Hmpff,” Margaret said.

  His sister obviously thought any woman who would not be interested in him must be daft indeed. Alex considered the opposite to be true. He was not sociable and completely unwilling to play society’s courting games. Why would any chit worth her weight be interested? Oh, yes, but of course, the duke thing.

  “Nobody else then? Was she the only marriageable girl at the party?”

  That was when another unworthy thought drifted through Alex’s mind…Beddable, if not marriageable. Miss Wright certainly presented a beddable option.

  He was going to have to find himself a new mistress…soon. He’d gone far too long without sex. Whyever else would he be having lustful thoughts about such a spinsterish, barely genteel lady?

  “Not a one,” he answered Margaret’s question firmly. And in a well-needed change of subject, he asked after Lord Clive. Being enamored completely with her husband, Margaret was more than capable of expounding upon this topic enough to fill in the rest of tea time.

  ****

  The day after the duke had departed from the Ravensdale’s house party, Abigail was awakened by Penelope with the news that the Rivertons and most of the other guests would be departing early as well. She was surprisingly relieved to make her escape. The guests had not been as agreeable as she’d thought they had been on the first day of her visit. Perhaps word of her scandal from years before had spread or perhaps it was merely her imagination. But the atmosphere had become somewhat tense, and a few of the guests turned their backs on her on more than one occasion.

  But the reason for their departure erased all of Abigail’s personal concerns. Apparently, a dreadful scandal was in the making when it was discovered that Lord Hawthorne had absconded during the night with Lady Natalie, compromising her completely. Following several anxious hours, a missive arrived assuring the earl and countess of her safety, but most of the party atmosphere had been eclipsed by Lady Natalie’s future troubles.

  And so the next day, the Baron and Baroness of Riverton thanked the earl and countess formally and departed from Raven’s Park as did most of the other guests. The withdrawal resembled something of a mass exodus.

  Although the countess took the time to wish each guest safe travels, the pinched lines around her mouth exposed her worry. She most certainly was still deeply troubled for her daughter. Abigail wished she knew the woman better; she would have liked to have given her a reassuring embrace. The leave-taking already felt awkward, though, because nobody looked her in the eyes.

  Expecting that she and Penelope would either return to Raebourne together or perhaps travel to the Rivertons’ country estate, Abigail was surprised to learn that her aunt would be joining them in order to deliver Abigail, alone, back to Raebourne. Penelope would not be spending the summer with her after all. Her uncle, she discovered, would travel alone back to his estate without his wife.

  “But it will be no trouble, Aunt. Mother is most likely completely healed of her injury now. She wasn’t really an invalid at all when we left. And Penelope and I can be quite independent. We are not children, you know.”

  “Penelope will return with me to Helmsley Manor.” Her aunt gave no further excuse or reason. Her terse reply brooked no arguments. All plans for the two young ladies’ holiday together were cancelled with no explanation.

  Furthermore, her aunt’s attitude had turned distant and aloof. But for what reason? Abigail wondered and Penelope seemed just as confused.

  Although Abigail had experienced discomfort at the imposition of their pending visit during their journey to Raven’s Park, she knew an even greater foreboding as they traversed the miles home in an unnatural silence.

  Penelope sent her a few apologetic glances, shrugging as if to say she had no idea what was the matter either. Neither of the women were children, but both were dependents, which did not allow for them to question their elders’ plans. As they drove, her stomach dropped lower and lower as she gradually comprehended something to be terribly, dreadfully wrong. Could it have something to do with her unfortunate encounter with the duke on that first day of the party? Had he told her uncle? He’d promised he would not reveal her gaffe to anybody. And she had believed him!

  By the time they rolled onto Raebourne, Abigail had worried her bottom lip as well as nibbled several fingernails half away.

  The carriage surged to a halt at the door of her parent
s’ home, and they all climbed out in somber silence. In response to Abigail’s mother’s confusion, the baroness frowningly took Mrs. Wright aside to speak privately.

  While Abigail’s trunks were unloaded, Abigail waited in the parlor with her father and Penelope. They sat somberly, listening to the clock tick between stilted conversation as though awaiting a verdict. What was being said across the foyer? Abigail shuddered upon imagining what the duke had told her uncle. She’d convinced herself by now of his betrayal.

  Finally, the baroness appeared in the doorway. Alone. “Come now, Penelope.” Her aunt’s voice brooked no argument. “We must get back on the road so as to arrive home before nightfall.”

  Her father merely downed a tumbler of his usual vice and eyed her suspiciously. Penelope met Abigail’s eyes and grimaced.

  What had Abigail done to deserve this?

  Abigail rose quickly and embraced her cousin. “I will write you. Surely whatever this is about will pass soon,” she whispered in Penelope’s ear as she pulled her close to wish her farewell.

  Penelope pulled back and shook her head with a grimace, leaning in again she said, “I fear that there were more scandals brewed this week than just that of Lady Natalie’s. Perhaps we are being protected?”

  But Abigail knew that was not the case. Her aunt’s attitude had changed abruptly toward her.

  And her mother, who had finally rejoined them, watched her now with pinched lips and red eyes.

  With a strong sense of foreboding growing in Abigail as each minute passed, the Wrights followed their guests outside and then waved while the baron’s elaborately crested carriage drove off her parent’s small land holding. As soon as it disappeared around a bend, her mother broke into tears.

  “Why would you do this to us again, Abigail?” Her voice caught on a sob. “Have you no consideration for your father and me? For your own reputation?”

  But she’d done nothing really! “What, Mother? What have I supposedly done now?” The duke must have shared her shame. Or even worse, someone had witnessed her while she was on the boat with the duke. Oh, dear God, no, please, God, no!

  “You were seen,” her mother said, seemingly confirming Abigail’s suspicions, “in a compromising situation with one of the gentlemen who attended the house party.”

  No, please God, no!

  “He was seen leaving your room in the middle of the night. You were also seen embracing him, in your nightclothes, outside, alone, in the middle of the night!” And then her mother gasped and pressed her face into her husband’s shirt front. Her sobs somehow increased in volume in spite of the fact that they were now muffled.

  Abigail’s father stared at her over his wife’s head with disappointment in his eyes.

  Abigail, rather foolishly, knew only relief that nobody else had seen her bosoms exposed. This minor reprieve was irrational because she knew all too well how damaging gossip could be. This cannot be happening. Not again!

  “But Father, I only went outside because it was so hot on the third floor. I stumbled upon the duke in the library, and he offered his escort out of concern for my safety! I did nothing wrong! He was never in my room. For Pete’s sake, Penelope was in there! What were we to have done with Penelope inside?” Abigail was astonished that such an innocent act had been so terribly and scandalously misconstrued. “A duke, of all things! Really? And I was not in my nightdress!”

  Her father shook his head wearily. “With your history, Daughter, you ought to know it is better to endure the heat of a thousand fires rather than put yourself in another compromising situation. It is unlikely anyone will allow you the benefit of the doubt. I’m not certain I am inclined to give it myself.” He pushed his wife away from him and admonished her. “Whatever were you thinking? Sending her to a house party?”

  With Mr. Wright’s words of criticism hanging in the air, her mother turned and dashed out of the room and up the stairs to her room with quickness, if not grace, wailing loudly all the way. Surprisingly, her ankle had miraculously healed over the past four days. Yes, it had only been four days.

  Enough time to ruin Abigail’s hopes for the future, this time, beyond all repair.

  Abigail stood, still as a statue, and looked out the window onto the drive where her aunt and Penelope had just disappeared. She needed a plan. But what? What could she do? She was used to the powerless conditions of her life. She’d long ago spent her efforts mastering her emotions instead.

  But the more she dwelled on her parents’ words, the harder it became to breathe. If she was as ruined as they said, Abigail could never be a companion to any respectable lady. She could not be a dressmaker or governess. She was not fit for any employment that could be considered respectable. And there would come a time when employment would most definitely be necessary.

  This could not be happening! A dreadful mistake had been made!

  Abigail forced herself to meet her father’s gaze with a confident smile. “It cannot be as bad as all that, Papa,” she asserted, too brightly. “There will be another scandal involving someone else soon enough, and this will be forgotten again, I promise. Please, do not worry about me. I am most forgettable, you realize. It cannot be as bad as the other, surely…All will be well. Of course it will!” Placing her hand over her heart, she boldly went on, “I feel it right here.”

  Her father grunted, turned on his heel, and marched away. Was all hope truly lost this time? It could not be.

  Abigail chuckled ruthlessly to herself. She absentmindedly remembered a biblical verse that was appropriate to her life…Was it in the book of James? Something to the effect of “you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away…” Like her coming out in London, like her plans for the summer, like the house party…like her life.

  The Duke of Monfort had brought nothing but trouble to her. He’d so adamantly told her she ought to be planning for her future. Ha! Plans got her nowhere. She had planned on thanking him the morning after he’d escorted her safely up to her room, and lo and behold, he had already departed. He would never even hear about the repercussions his attentions were heaping upon her.

  He most likely was riding his horses and drinking his brandy, happily enjoying himself on his large ducal estate with not a single thought for poor Miss Abigail Wright. Poor Miss Wright and her gigantic bosoms, that is. No, he’d most likely banished her from his thoughts completely. And she, well she, was supposedly ruined forever.

  Again.

  ****

  Having Margaret as a guest was really not a bad thing, after all. Her presence, and that of the children, broke up the monotony of his days. Certainly, he kept busy. He normally spent a great deal of time with his secretary, Harris, and his steward. There were always decisions to be made, reports to read, and papers to sign, but Margaret and the children forced him to step away from the dukedom occasionally. The three of them, Aunt Cecily, Margaret, and Alex, took dinner together, formally in the evenings. Each day, they informed him of the visits they had made that day and any interesting gossip they’d stumbled upon. The information was surprisingly…well…informative. Tidbits and news he would never hear otherwise, as the duke. News the women shared only with each other and presumably, their spouses: who was courting whom, who had purchased what, and which scandals were in the making. Some of it explained certain issues Alex had run across with his steward. This evening proved no different. Alex sipped from his goblet of wine and watched his sister as she fussed at her asparagus. From the gleam in her eyes, she had come across something meaty today.

  “You were at Raven’s Park last week, Monfort? It was their house party from which you departed early, was it not?” She raised a petite bite to her mouth and allowed it to hover there.

  Alex merely raised one eyebrow.

  “Well, of course, that was where you were. You did not tell me the Earl of Hawthorne was in attendance.”

  Alex picked up his own fork and knife
and cut a tender slice of beef from the steak on his plate. “I did not inform you of all who were in attendance. Was I to have done so, Margaret? Was it my duty to inform you of the guest list at Lord and Lady Ravensdale’s party?” He purposefully allowed his voice to sound lazy and uninterested. Something about teasing his younger sister never lost its appeal.

  “Did you speak with him? Did he seem as nefarious as his father was?” Margaret asked, not disguising her interest in the least. “For, apparently, he kidnapped Lady Natalie!”

  Well. Alex looked up. Interesting. Except, remembering the exuberance with which the young woman had literally pushed Miss Wright into his boat so she herself could partner the nefarious new earl, he doubted that “kidnapping” was an accurate label for what likely occurred.

  Perhaps more of an elopement? He doubted Lady Natalie Spencer had much to worry over. She had proven quite adept at handling matters to suit herself.

  In a flash, his mind triggered the image of Miss Abigail Wright in the moment before she’d fainted in his arms. A woman, considered to be of easy virtue, who had been so shocked by his touch that she’d literally swooned.

  The thought of malicious gossip hurting Ravensdale’s daughter struck him suddenly as not so humorous at all. “Mags, I would have that such damaging hearsay stop at my own dinner table.” He picked up his napkin and swiped it irritably across his mouth. “Lord Hawthorne is not the sort of man who would undertake a kidnapping, and if some such calamity has occurred to that family, I would suggest the family is more in need of our sympathy than our judgment.” He sent an icy and ducal glare in his sister’s direction.

  Margaret merely stared back at him uncomprehendingly. “You are saying it must be untrue, then? So Sir Bentley and his wife then are now liars?”

  Alex pushed his shoulders back and continued glaring at his sister, but his aunt interrupted his thoughts before he could respond.

  “They were themselves in attendance at the party after all, Monfort. I’ve never known Lady Bentley to make up untruths, and I have known her for nearly half a century!” Aunt Cecily sat back as a footman removed her dish quietly. The other footman immediately replaced her plate with a parfait dish featuring one of Margaret’s longtime favorite desserts, Rhubarb Fool. It consisted of elderberry cordial and rhubarb swirled over sweet cream. Alex had requested cook prepare it specially for his sister.