Lady Saves the Duke

by Annabelle Anders

  Alex would not stay around to bid the guests farewell.

  Exiting through the terrace doors, he headed around back to the mews. Damn his eyes, but he did not regret his actions. Farley more than deserved it. It had taken far too long for anybody to punish the villain for his actions years ago.

  No, Alex did not regret it.

  He did, however, regret that Elise had been the person dancing with the blackguard in the moments before justice had been served. Society would have a field day with all of it. And, goddamn it, he was to be wed tomorrow.

  Stepping into the stables and bending forward, Alex grabbed his knees and took a few deep breaths. A drop of red appeared on the newly swept wooden floor. He raised a hand to his lip, and it came away wet with blood. Farley had managed to land a few blows himself. Alex’s left eye throbbed.

  This was not what he’d planned for this evening.

  “You’re going to have a shiner tomorrow, Monfort.” Danbury’s voice interrupted the litany of swear words currently running through his head. “I’ve a side of meat for you to put on it.”

  Alex stood up and accepted the cold piece of beef held out to him.

  “One question.” Danbury raised his brows. “Did you pummel the bastard because of what he did to your fiancée years ago or was it because of his involvement with Elise Gormley?”

  A damned impertinent question. “What the fuck do you think?” he answered gruffly.

  “What I think is of no matter. The trouble is everybody in that blasted ballroom thinks it’s because of Mrs. Gormley, your fiancée included.”

  Alex touched his eye and winced. More due to Danbury’s words than physical pain. Goddamn it, this situation had become far too complicated. It should not matter what the hell Miss Wright thought. It should not matter whether he chose to maintain a mistress or not. He was a bloody duke, for God’s sake.

  “She can believe whatever she likes,” he said impatiently. “It’s not a bloody love match, for Christ’s sake.” As soon as he spoke the words, guilt beset him.

  Because it did matter—what she thought that is.

  She trusted him.

  And for the love of God, he’d done it for her. He’d done something that ought to have been done ages ago.

  “I did it to punish Farley. He more than ruined Miss Wright years ago. He forced himself upon her, and nobody did a damn thing about it.” Why was he telling Danbury this? Where had his control gone to?

  “So Mrs. Gormley had nothing to do with it.” Danbury stated. Handing Alex a handkerchief, he added, “Here, take this, your lip is bleeding all over the place. You’ll make a colorful groom come tomorrow morning.”

  “I ought to call the whole thing off,” Alex said wishfully, “take her up to Gretna, and have it be done with there.”

  Danbury chuckled. “Why don’t you?”

  But Alex was already shaking his head. “We decided on a proper wedding to put an end to the scandal surrounding her. The only way to face this situation is to go ahead as planned.”

  “I don’t envy you, my friend.” Danbury pulled a flask out of his jacket. “The least I can do is celebrate your last night of freedom with you. Shall we head over to one of the clubs?”

  Alex considered his options. Return to the blasted ball and face polite society after the spectacle he’d made of himself or retreat upstairs to his chambers for what promised to be a sleepless night. The obvious choice, of course, was to drink himself senseless with Danbury.

  “Lead the way, good man, lead the way.”

  ****

  Abigail climbed into one of the duke’s coaches along with her parents and then leaned back into the plush upholstery. Tonight had been, although not the worst in her life, among the top three. She’d heard the gossip but had done her best to hold her head high. She’d even given the cut direct to a matron who’d had the gall to comment upon Monfort’s absence.

  Her head pounded, her neck ached, and her slippers pinched her toes something awful.

  And her heart was bleeding.

  She’d known the duke had no affection for her. He’d proposed out of his sense of duty and honor. What had he said? How could she forget? I proposed to you because I had committed an egregious error in judgment where you are concerned. And my actions were dishonorable. My own sense of honor demands expiation. Marriage is the most effective way to do so.

  She nearly choked on the sob rising in her throat. But she could not cry with her mother there. She needed to press forward bravely. She instead looked up at her mother and smiled. Her father had already nodded off, and soft snores hummed from his corner. “Well, I’m certainly glad that’s over. Are you as tired as I am, Mother?”

  Her mother let out a short huff. “To think Lady Margaret thought that I would say something scandalous, or untoward, and then her brother creates such a spectacle. And with his mistress, no less! I don’t blame you for putting up with him, Abigail. He is a duke, after all. And you shall not want for anything. Did you realize he has settled an annuity upon your father and myself? We spoke this evening, and we are proud you’ve managed to net such a lofty gentleman. And as I’ve said, you shall not want for anything. And really, if he has a mistress, you shall not be forced to perform the deed so often yourself. Give him an heir and a spare, and you will be left alone after that. At least we know you are good at childbirth.” She chuckled at her own joke.

  Every word her mother spoke twisted a knife in Abigail’s gut. For, although she’d known the duke did not love her, she’d wished to make something more of her marriage. She’d wanted affection between the two of them. How was she to endure intimacy knowing he was enamored of another woman? She knew she was already tarnished, but to share him with another…

  The act was so very intimate. And allowing her person to be violated thusly without trust and intimacy would be unbearable.

  But she’d promised him.

  “Abigail? Abigail? Are you listening to me?”

  Abigail glanced back up at her mother. “I’m sorry, Mama. I am more tired than I’d thought. What did you ask me?”

  “I was telling you that I did not intend to give you the talk…the one about what a wife is to do with her husband on their wedding night. You know, because you’ve already experienced it for yourself. Nothing I can say that you don’t already know.”

  Her mother’s words ought to have hurt, ought to have drawn a bout of tears, but the pain of the evening had left her feeling numb. Thankfully, blessedly numb.

  She wanted to be alone. Only then would she wrap herself in a blanket and allow herself to feel the pain. But for now she stared out the window and saw only darkness.

  “You are quite right at that, Mama,” she said dully. “Nothing I don’t already know.”

  Chapter 14

  “Hugh—” Hiccup. “Danbury, the sun is on the horizon. It’s my wedding day already.” Alex peered through gritty eyes just enough to make out the hazy image of his butler. Although the man stood at attention holding the door wide, the rest of the house rocked alarmingly to the left and then to the right quite indiscriminately. Alex blinked until it settled and then grasping the door frame, and then a wall, he entered Cross Hall.

  “See, I tol’ you we had plenty o’ time, Monfort.” Danbury’s mouth apparently wasn’t functioning normally either.

  Both men leaned upon each other for support. When Danbury nearly toppled over, Alex steadied them, and when Alex lost his balance, Danbury miraculously kept them from falling. They’d spent the entire night traversing from White’s to Brooks’s and then on to some other, less elevated, establishments, each time emerging deeper into their cups than they’d been before. A few familiar fellows joined them for most of the night, Lords Hawthorne and even Cortland, but Alex could not remember the names of the others.

  He grasped the doorframe again to stop it from swaying and then allowed the butler to assist him along the foyer. “Set my good friend up in one of the guest rooms, Montgomery.” He formed the words ca
refully, his mouth not quite responding to his brain’s instruction. “One o’ the finest fellows of my acquaintance.”

  The butler and footman dragged him across the foyer until his valet appeared to guide him upstairs.

  “Your Grace,” Villiars was saying. “You are to be wed in less than four hours. You can only rest for a short while, and then we need to get you cleaned up and over to the church! Lady Clive is mad with worry.”

  And then Margaret appeared, coiffed and already dressed for such an early hour. “Oh, thank God, you’ve returned.” Her arms flew around him. “I’ve been so worried. Thank the heavens Abigail is not here to see you thusly. She would be frantic!” And then, pulling away from him, she made a disgusted face. “You reek. I could kill you! And your eye!” She stared at him with a combination of horror and disapproval. “And your lip is swollen! Oh, dear God, we’ve got to get you cleaned up.”

  Alex scratched his head, trying to follow his sister’s lengthy monologue. “Plenty o’ time, Meggie.”

  Her eyes flew wide open after he’d spoken. “You are out of your mind with drink, Monfort.” Turning her head, she shouted directions at the servants. “Coffee, bring plenty of coffee to His Grace’s chambers immediately. And Villiars, you have a bath prepared? Yes! Very well. We must get His Grace sobered up and clean. And see what you can do about his face. It’s a godawful mess.”

  “It‘ll be jus’ fine, Meggie.” Alex tried again to reassure his sister as he was pulled up the long staircase. “How many stairs are there? I don’ member there being this many las’ night.”

  But Margaret ignored him. She threw her hands in the air and merely shouted, “You’ll be the death of me yet!”

  It took a considerable amount of tugging and dragging, but eventually Alex arrived in his chambers. When he saw his bed, in a surprisingly agile motion he climbed the step and threw himself on top of the coverlet. As his head hit the pillow, Villiars tugged at his boots.

  “I can allow you to lie there for one hour, Your Grace. Any longer and her ladyship will have my head.”

  “Iss fine…fine,” Alex muttered into a pillow. He wanted to rest, but the bed suddenly began spinning. This must be the sensation he might have experienced had he jumped from the balloon, before being caught by the parachute.

  Except this whirling motion was getting out of hand.

  Crawling to the edge of the bed, Alex moaned. Villiars just barely managed to arrive in time with a chamber pot before Alex heaved up what must have been the entire contents of his stomach.

  “Probably for the best, Your Grace,” Villiars tutted, “getting most of the spirits out of your system. That way the drink should wear off more quickly.”

  This did not feel like it was for the best. In fact, this was the worst Alex had felt in years. Stupid thing to have done, really, consuming so much scotch—and brandy—and wine—and…he couldn’t remember what else. Too much everything, really. Oh yes, gin. There had been some gin. Horrible stuff.

  And then his stomach convulsed again.

  After a knock on the door, a footman entered with what smelled like a pot of coffee. The aroma was just enough to bring on another bout of retching. “Oh, hell.” Alex spoke into the disgusting pot being held in front of him. “Oh, hell.”

  ****

  Just a mile away, a small sense of relief ebbed into Abigail when the sun finally made its appearance. She’d slept little. Not at all, really. Tossing and turning with worry, sadness, and yes, anger. She tried desperately to be optimistic about this day, but a stubborn, selfish part inside of her grew louder and louder. It was telling herself that she deserved to be happy. She deserved to matter.

  And then another, calmer voice interjected to argue that this marriage would give her more than she ever could have hoped for while living at Raebourne with her parents.

  Along with her scoundrel of a husband, she would gain a sister! And nephews! While staying at Cross Hall, she’d often found time to steal away to the nursery for a few moments at least once a day to hold and play with little Michael and Christopher. They were adorable!

  And she could look forward to having her own children after all.

  A sob escaped her upon this thought. Always—always the memory of having her own flesh and blood ripped away from her.

  A good deal of the night she’d wept silently. Over the years, she’d perfected the talent of crying without making a sound. By morning, her pillow was quite damp and her eyes red and puffy, but she’d awakened no one.

  Abigail turned and hung her bare feet over the side of the bed. Slipping off the edge, which was farther down than she’d remembered, Abigail tiptoed across the cool floor to stare out the window.

  The sky was still mostly dark, but a hint of red, orange, and pink glimmered on the horizon. A few stars still twinkled. What was Monfort doing right now? What was he thinking? Did he regret his proposal? Most likely. Mrs. Elise Gormley was a glamorous and beautiful woman. When Margaret pulled Abigail away from Monfort last night, her last sight of him had been of the woman throwing herself into his arms.

  Had he gone to her last night?

  Abigail forced herself to breathe as that possibility hit her. She held no claim on his person—nor his emotions—and of course he’d never promised her affection.

  A quick knock on the door and then Penelope’s face peeked in. “You are up? I thought I heard a sound in here.” Her face disappeared for a moment. “Fetch the hot chocolate and biscuits, Harriette, will you? Miss Wright is awake now.”

  Penelope slipped inside, wearing only her nightdress and dressing gown, and pattered over to where Abigail was standing. “Oh, Abby, you’ve had a dreadful night, haven’t you?”

  Abigail shook her head. She thought her tears had all but dried up, but apparently a few more would demand escape. “Oh, Penelope,” was all she managed before moving into her cousin’s arms.

  “Hush.” Penelope smoothed Abigail’s hair and rubbed her back. “You must remember, Abby, who it was that your duke beat into a pulp last night. From what I understand, he set Mrs. Gormley aside last spring. It may have simply been a coincidence that she was the one dancing with Farley.”

  Abigail pulled back and blinked several times. “It seems too much to hope for.”

  Penelope tilted her head to one side. “Perhaps. But would he have beaten Damien Farley so severely for merely dancing with his ex-mistress? Husbands and wives dance with people who are not their spouses all the time. In fact, it is expected. Can you imagine if they only danced with one other? What a dreadful bore it would be! But if Monfort were to somehow have gotten wind that it was Farley who’d ruined you all those years ago, I think it highly likely he would wish to punish him. Monfort seems an honorable fellow. He’s marrying you, after all, you ninny!”

  Abigail choked as ironic laughter caught in her throat. “That is true,” Abigail said, retrieving the handkerchief she’d already used throughout the night and dabbing it at her eyes.

  “Your eyes!” Penelope exclaimed, appalled. “We need to soak them in lavender water to calm the redness. What will your groom think?”

  Her devoted cousin threw open the drapes and gestured for Abigail to lie on the bed. She then dipped a cloth into the basin on the dresser before hovering at her side. “Close your eyes.” She pressed the cool cloth firmly against Abigail’s eyelids. “And for God’s sake, no more crying.”

  “How long will it take?” Abigail mumbled, trying to hold still so the cloth wouldn’t dislodge.

  “Not long; a quarter of an hour ought to do it. It won’t remove all the swelling, but it will help. And it will make you feel better.” Penelope must have sat down on the chair by her bed as her voice drifted away. “I think you were wonderful last night, by the way. Surprisingly, even your mama managed to avoid saying anything mortifying.”

  “I thought if I left early, matters would appear even worse. It was bad enough form, wouldn’t you think, for Monfort to depart?” She wasn’t sure of this. She was no
t familiar with all that a duke could get away with.

  “Oh, pox on him.” Abigail could picture Penelope waving her hand through the air. “I think you were brave to have stayed until the guests began leaving. And you looked so lovely last night, Abigail. You are going to make a wonderful duchess. I don’t think the duke yet realizes what a gem he has in you.” And then Penelope fell silent for a moment. “Or perhaps he has.”

  Both girls pondered the idea. But only for a moment or two.

  “What makes you think that?” Abigail asked timidly into the silence.

  Another pause. “He flew into quite the rage when he went after Farley. It was not a cold-blooded sort of punishment. Rather a fit of passion. One does not exhibit such an emotional outburst if one does not care—if one does not have strong feelings. Especially the Duke of Ice.”

  “He does have feelings, Penelope.” Abigail would address this issue. “I would ask you please not to refer to him by that name. It is not flattering. Imagine how he must feel for people to be referring to him with a word that reminds him of his family’s death each time he hears it.”

  “I had not thought of that, Abby,” Penelope said contritely. “You know I wouldn’t be deliberately cruel. I’ve not been as considerate as I ought with you lately. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings.”

  “Please don’t feel badly. You are my only cousin, and I love you to distraction. But I do hate hearing him called that.” Abigail spoke softly. She didn’t mean to chastise her cousin, but she’d been thinking about this for a while now.

  “I won’t speak of it again.” Penelope’s voice lightened. “I promise. I’ll merely refer to him as your husband.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail barely managed before the sound of the door opening alerted her that they were no longer alone. Was it possible Monfort had feelings for her? Again with the wondering. The endless cycle of hopefulness and doubt.

  “I’ve your chocolate, miss,” Harriette was saying. “And water heating for your bath.” Then apparently noticing the moist cloth on her mistress’s face, she addressed Penelope. “I’ve more lavender oil on the table over there. If my mistress has need.”