Ella was more than relieved when the evening was over, and she returned to Chancery with relief and no little foreboding.
***
Oscar watched, satisfied, as his opponent swayed, a glassy eyed look on his face, before the fellow crashed to the ground. There were cheers of approval from around the room and Mr Roberts, one of the trainers, clapped Oscar on the back.
“Nice one, your grace. That right hook of yours is a force to be reckoned with.”
With a triumphant grin, Oscar tried to catch his breath. He braced his arms on his legs, which felt as if the bones had been removed and replaced with porridge. He’d been pushing himself harder and harder, seeking tougher opponents and, so far, he seemed nigh on invincible. If he was black and blue beneath his fine clothes of an evening, he was the only one outside the famous boxing club who knew it.
“Who’s next then, your grace?” Robert’s demanded, handing him a towel.
Oscar wiped his face and stood straight again. “Got anyone left?” he demanded with the lift of one eyebrow, trying to find the once arrogant young peer he’d known himself to be.
It felt strange to be here without Bertie, knowing his best friend was furious with him, and with good reason. If he was honest, he felt increasingly isolated. Ella was on his mind more often than he cared to think about, and that he missed her too was just the icing on the cake.
No, he corrected himself, he missed Bug. He missed his friend. He didn’t miss his wife, who he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do with.
“Reckon I might find you someone, if you’re sure you’re up to the challenge?” There was a rather sly tone to the man’s voice, but Oscar was too distracted to pay it much mind. “There’s a chance you might be outclassed.”
Oscar slung the towel around his neck and gave Roberts a reproving look.
“I’m a duke,” he said, his tone amused.
“Not in the ring, you ain’t.” Roberts chuckled. “But if you reckon you can handle a real challenge?”
There was an atmosphere in the club that Oscar only now noticed. Men were watching, listening to the conversation and waiting for the outcome. Well, he supposed he couldn’t back down now.
“Of course,” Oscar replied, with an airy wave of his hand. “Who did you have in mind?”
“Me.”
Oscar turned towards the sound of a deep, rough voice and his eyes widened as he fought to keep the shock from his face. The man was built like a bloody mountain.
Well, hell and damnation. He was going to die.
Hoping he didn’t look as ill as he felt, Oscar held out a hand to his opponent.
“Pleased to meet you Mr…?”
“Blackehart,” the fellow replied as Oscar eyed the vicious looking scar that marred the right side of his face, tugging at his eye.
He was clearly no gentleman, and Oscar wondered what he was doing at Jackson’s, but held his tongue. It would be churlish to make such comments and only make him look afraid, which he absolutely was, but he would walk on hot coals before he admitted that.
“When and where?” he asked the brute, hoping it would impossible to find an opening in their demanding schedules. Blackehart looked like a busy man.
Actually, he looked like the kind of man who dismembered dukes and hid the pieces around London.
“End of the month,” Blackehart suggested, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. Oscar swallowed. “Give you time to… prepare.”
The man smiled, if you could call it a smile. It was closer to a feral baring of teeth. Whatever it was it made a shiver run down Oscar’s back.
“Right you are, then.”
The words were nonchalant, as if he were agreeing to a stroll in the park, rather than getting his teeth knocked down his throat.
Those who’d been watching gathered now, slapping Oscar on the back and wishing him luck. They would write it in the book at White’s. It would be quite an event.
Oscar plastered a smile to his face and prayed it wouldn’t be swiftly followed another event he’d be forced to attend. His own funeral.
***
The next morning found him in no brighter spirits. Oscar sighed and reached for his coffee. He pushed the heaped plate of breakfast he’d just served himself away, discovering he had no appetite.
Sounds in the corridor met his ears and he looked up as the door opened and Bertie’s familiar voice became audible.
“Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll show myself in.”
Oscar stood, wondering if he might be forced to defend himself before he even got to Jackson’s today.
Bertie looked him up and down and shook his head in disgust. He couldn’t blame the man. Running out on Ella as he had done was despicable of him, he’d known it, but he’d done it anyway. He wondered if he could explain it to Bertie, explain how he’d felt his future pressing down on him until he thought he might suffocate under the weight.
The desire to flee had been irresistible.
He watched, wary, as Bertie came in and sat down in silence, helping himself to a generous breakfast before glancing at Oscar’s untouched plate.
Oscar sat down again.
“Something troubling you?” Bertie asked, the words pleasant enough though the tone was laced with something rather darker. “Not like you to be off your food.”
“Oh, just get it over with, Bertie,” Oscar said, knowing there was no escaping it. “I know I’m a bloody monster, I know I’ve behaved like a blackguard. If you want to call me out you’re well within your rights, I… I just don’t know what to do.”
“Damn well go home to your wife,” Bertie replied, irritated. “I don’t consider myself an intellectual chap, Oscar, as you well know, but even I’m not so bacon-brained I can’t figure that one out.”
Oscar groaned again and then jolted as Bertie dropped his knife and fork onto his plate with a clatter.
“Anyone would think you’d married an ugly old harridan,” Bertie snapped, and Oscar felt a little taken aback by the fury of his words. He knew Bertie loved his sister, of course he did, but surely he must understand the situation he was in? He knew the truth of what had happened, after all.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Bertie,” he said indignantly. “It’s nothing to do with her looks or… or anything of the sort. It’s just that she’s—”
“Yes?” Bertie’s voice was little more than a low growl, his expression daring Oscar to say something less than complementary.
“She’s… Bug, God damn it!” Oscar threw up his hands. “How would you feel if you’d been forced to… to… with your own sister?”
“But she’s not your sister, Oscar, and what’s more, if you’d have seen her the night before I left… well, she’s no little Bug any more, either. She’s changing, Oscar, before my very eyes, and if you don’t go back and put things right, you’ll have lost any chance you might have had. People are noticing her.”
Oscar frowned, not understanding in the least. “What the devil do you mean by that?”
Bertie shrugged and applied himself to his plate.
Oscar slapped the flat of his hand on the table in frustration. “Damn it man, spit it out. What are you saying?”
Bertie glanced up at him and returned a narrow-eyed look. “I’ve said all I’m going to. I promised Ella I wouldn’t fall out with you, so I’ll hold my tongue, but I warned you, Oscar. Don’t you forget that.”
Oscar remembered the last night he’d seen Ella, when he’d discovered her talking to Ranleigh, alone. It had been the last straw. He’d been bloody furious. How dare the man try to seduce his new wife? How dare he? Ella was an innocent, not like the sophisticated creatures Ranleigh associated with. Yet, it had occurred to him in that moment that Ranleigh did not see Ella as a child. When Ella had then threatened to take the man as her lover… it had stunned him. Yet he could hardly take his permission back, could he?
You may take a lover as long as it isn’t Ranleigh?
Could he say that to her?
&n
bsp; He’d certainly said enough that night. Enough to hurt her feelings even deeper than before. Seeing that hurt in her eyes and knowing he’d put it there, again, had been the worst thing he’d done yet. So, what had he done to make amends? He’d turned tail and run like the bloody coward he was.
Was Ranleigh with her now, he wondered, an unpleasant feeling he didn’t recognise nor approve of churning in his guts. Damn the bastard if he was. How could he even contemplate taking the innocence of one as sweet as Ella? The man was far too old for her. He ought to go back and warn her off, at the very least. It was his duty as her friend to protect her from harm, never mind his duty as her husband.
He put his head in his hands.
Bertie made a sound of disgust and Oscar experienced a prickle of misgiving as he lifted his head and stared at his best friend. Perhaps he ought to go home? He frowned as he remembered the Blackehart’s challenge. If he left everyone would think him a coward. His reputation would be shredded. “I… I can’t go, not yet. I have commitments.”
Bertie sent him an unloving look and to his horror Oscar felt his colour rise a little. “I have accepted a challenge to box at Jackson’s Saloon… at the end of the month.”
Oscar felt his temper surge at Bertie’s eyes lifted to the heavens, as though praying for patience.
“Then leave and come back again, blast you.”
“I can’t, Bertie. If you saw the fellow I was fighting…. Hell, if I don’t get into shape for this fight the fellow will tear me limb from limb. If I’m honest, you’ll have to pick up the pieces he leaves in any case, but I have to give it a shot.”
Bertie’s eyebrow raised, his expression sardonic and the implication perfectly obvious.
Oscar glowered, indignant at Bertie’s disapproval. Ella had forced him into this blasted arrangement. He’d done the honourable thing and married the wretched girl, what more did Bertie want?
“Oh, come on, Bertie. I’ll go back to Chancery straight after the match. I can’t back out, you know I can’t. It’s a matter of honour.”
“Yes, Oscar,” Bertie replied, his eyes on his plate and his words heavy with sarcasm. “It certainly is.”
Chapter 11
“Wherein Ella takes the reins.”
Patience gave a gasp as Ella negotiated a sharp bend, barely slowing her horses as she went. With a whoop of laughter, Ella urged them on faster as the road straightened, thoroughly enjoying herself.
The high-perch Phaeton and two glorious black horses had been a wedding gift to her from Mintie, and she was never more grateful. When she had driven up to the front of Finchfields, the lovely home of her newest friend, the lady had been agog at the sight of her. It had been rather enjoyable.
Clad in a carriage dress of deep plum velvet with a hussar style cap that sported white feathers, dipped at the ends in the same plum colour, Ella knew she was the height of style.
“What a glorious day,” Patience said, tipping her head back to enjoy the spring sunshine on her face. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“I was never more pleased, I assure you,” Ella said, meaning it. Patience was a good few years older than her and had experienced her own taste of scandal when she’d eloped with August. That her new friend was sympathetic to Ella’s circumstances was reassuring.
“It’s been so strange since I married Oscar. I… I spent so much time in his and my brother’s company before and yet since we married….”
She gave a shrug, wondering if she ought to be so confiding in her new friend, yet there was something about Patience that invited intimacy, and she couldn’t pretend Oscar hadn’t run away. It was the talk of the ton. Ella felt sure she could trust her.
“You’ve not heard from him since he left?”
There was understanding in her friend’s words and Ella shook her head, concentrating on the road to keep her wounded feelings from rising to the surface. “No. Not a word.”
Patience pursed her lips. “You know, sometimes you have to take a man’s attention.”
She smiled at Ella’s snort of amusement but carried on.
“You must bring him home, Ella. If he’s off pretending he hasn’t got a wife, nothing will ever change.”
“I don’t disagree,” Ella replied, slowing the horses as a farmer with his cart became visible up ahead. “But how am I supposed to do that?”
Patience subsided into silence for a moment. “Did you hear, Darling Bertie has moved into the Marquess of Henshaw’s property at Bury St Edmunds? I believe he’ll be there for the summer.”
The words were nonchalant but, Ella wasn’t foolish enough to believe they weren’t pertinent to the subject at hand.
Ella turned and blinked at her friend in astonishment. What on earth was she suggesting? “Of course I’ve heard. Apart from me, it’s the only thing people are talking about.”
“They say the marquess sent him there to keep him out of his hair, and out of trouble. By all accounts, it isn’t working and he’s up to his usual tricks. He’s holding a masked ball. All the most fashionable people will be there. Poets and writers and artists….” Patience left the words hanging in the air.
“It’s not a terribly respectable affair though, is it?” Ella frowned at Patience. Surely she wasn’t suggesting….
“Oh, no, not at all, but I shall go with August to escort me so it’s not so scandalous. Would you like to come with us?”
Ella gaped at Patience and then hurried back to focusing on her horses, who were fidgeting at having to slow down.
“I… I… don’t know.”
“Well, you became notorious when you stole your sister’s husband, and he’s embellished your reputation by leaving you all alone within weeks of your marriage. At this point you’ve little to lose, and a duchess will always rise above minor scandal, so you may as well enjoy yourself.”
Ella chanced another glance at Patience, who laid a reassuring hand on her arm.
“August and I will be there to keep things respectable, so it’s not that big a risk.”
“No,” Ella mused, turning the idea over in her mind. “And I suppose if I am enjoying myself a great deal, I’ll stop mooning over Oscar.”
Patience nodded, her smile approving. “Exactly, and you can guarantee the minute you do stop mooning over him will be the exact moment the wretch will come home. Perhaps it might do him good to see how well you get along without him.”
For a moment Ella didn’t speak, biting her lip with concentration while she eased the Phaeton past the farmer and his heavily laden cart once the lane widened enough to attempt the manoeuvre. If she were honest it was not the horses that held her attention so much as Patience’s words, which seemed to echo much of what Mintie had suggested.
“Yes,” she said, allowing the impulsive nature she had promised to hold in check just a little leeway. Mintie had determined that she ought to become all the rage, so she may as well give it a go. As Patience said, there was very little to lose.
***
Oscar threw down his cards. He’d lost badly tonight but he couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to care.
“I need some air.”
Bertie nodded and gathered the cards, dealing to the remaining players. The private gaming rooms at Lady West’s were exclusive and high stakes only. The elegant parlour was lit with dozens of candles and wreathed with cigar smoke.
Oscar rose, his movements a little stiff after this morning’s physical exertion. Roberts had become a hard task master. He knew the trainer believed Blackehart would crucify him, but Oscar was damned if he’d make it too easy a job. Even the great Mr Jackson himself had come to look over Oscar’s form and give him so tips. Things must be desperate.
He made his way to the back of the house, hoping to get some fresh air in the gardens. One of Lady West’s footmen opened the door to him. No doubt he was on guard to dissuade those fellows who had lost heavily from leaving via the backdoor before they’d settled their debts. Happily, Rothborn’s credit was all but li
mitless and they knew he was not the kind to run away from his debts. A cold, sick feeling stirred in his guts as he thought about that statement.
This morning’s scandal sheet had been no different from others he’d been reading of late. Ella, just as he had predicted, was swimming the dangerous waters of the ton like a lovely mermaid. He’d frowned over reports of her fashionable attire, and over a woman whose beauty was blooming so she even rivalled her lovely sister. Could they really be speaking of his little Bug?
One thing was clear, she would never sink, had never been in any danger of sinking. He told himself he ought to be pleased as any guilt he felt over leaving her alone was clearly misplaced. She didn’t need him.
Instead he felt hollow, and horribly lonely. Bertie was barely speaking to him, and he’d probably hurt Ella so much she would never forgive him. He cursed himself for the stupid fight with Blackehart. God, he was a fool.
The cool evening air wrapped about him as he headed out into the gardens and sat down on the steps that led from the terrace down to the lawn. He’d only been there a second when the soft sound of sobbing reached his ears.
With a frown, he got to his feet and searched the garden until he found the source of such sorrowful crying.
A little girl was sitting under the canopy of a large rhododendron bush in a rather dishevelled white nightgown, her knees drawn up to her chest. She clasped an ugly looking doll in one hand whilst the other wiped her tears, large, frightened eyes staring as Oscar in alarm.
“Hello there, don’t be afraid,” he said, trying to make himself as small and unthreatening as he could as he peered under the branches. “Are you all right?”
The girl wiped her nose on her sleeve and blinked back her tears, staring at him with misgiving. She was perhaps seven or eight years old, with long brown hair tied back in a loose plait.
“No,” she said, her voice faint. “I… I can’t get back inside. Nanny has shut the window I climbed out of and Smith is guarding the back door. I’ll never be able to sneak past him and I’ll be in such trouble when they find out.”
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