The Corinthian Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  Once in the secluded darkness of the carriage Ella allowed herself to remember the elegant white-gloved arm, and the familiar image of her sister’s bracelet, which seemed branded upon her mind.

  ***

  Two days later, Ella found herself at an informal rout party in the company of Mintie, Fluff and Patience and August. Mintie and August had hit it off at once, both being shocking flirts but quite obviously deeply in love with their partners. Their banter was hilarious and had everyone in peals of laughter as August pretended to have fallen for her charms and the dowager made out she was as old and haggard as Methuselah.

  Ranleigh and his friend the Earl of Falmouth were also present. Ella blushed to remember the last time she had encountered the earl—when he’d stumbled upon her and Oscar—but the man was charming despite his severe appearance, and quick to introduce her to his lovely wife.

  Falmouth’s wife, Céleste, was a hoot. A beautiful blue-eyed blonde, the French émigré stole the hearts of everyone she met with little more than a whisper of her charming French accent. Under the somewhat intimidating and protective gaze of her husband, she circulated the room with Ella on her arm. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her, and before the end of the evening Ella had met so many interesting people her head quite spun with it. There had been invitations at every turn and she hardly knew how she would fit everything into the coming days as her diary grew full to bursting.

  “Your grace is becoming quite a sensation. The sight of you tooling those flashy black horses like a top sawyer in that impossibly high Phaeton of yours is the talk of Newmarket.”

  A flutter of warm breath against her neck made her skin flicker with awareness and her stomach drop as Ranleigh’s voice whispered in her ear. She turned a little and looked up at him.

  “Well, I try to keep from allowing Rothborn to snatch all the headlines,” she replied, the words somewhat bitter.

  Ranleigh chuckled and moved to stand beside her. “Does it occur to you, Duchess, that your errant duke well knows about your rapid rise to the heights of the ton and is feeling a little … discomposed?”

  Ella arched one eyebrow at him, too cynical of the gossip still circling her reputation to put much faith in her increasingly positive press. She still didn’t believe that the beau monde considered her the height of fashion and watched with slavish attention. That she never doubted the verity of the stories of her husband’s exploits was likely unfair of her, in the circumstances, but it was what it was.

  Oscar had been mentioned several times in the scandal sheets for attending the most glamorous events or, more often, for some reckless sporting endeavour. However, he’d not been mentioned so much of late and, far from being reassuring, this only made her worry the more. Had he feathered some little love nest with a new mistress, perhaps?

  Ella told herself she didn’t care. She was making her own way, carving a life for herself, just as Oscar had told her to. What did it matter to her how he spent his time?

  The lie sat heavy and cold in her heart, and she could never seem to dislodge it.

  Ranleigh moved closer. “Rumour has it you have me eating out of the palm of your hand. Did you know that?”

  Ella felt hot all at once and refused to meet his gaze. Yes. She knew it. That many believed the duke was pursuing her was a rumour that had reached her ears some days ago.

  “They seem to think my heart is at your feet. Are you going to grind your heel, sweet?”

  “Don’t call me that,” Ella said, flushing hotter still. “And don’t be so provoking. We both know your heart is nowhere near my feet and I haven’t the slightest power over you. Do stop this foolishness before someone overhears you.”

  Ranleigh chuckled, quite unembarrassed. “Now, now, don’t pluck a crow with me. I don’t write the scandal sheets and, besides, I cannot believe you wouldn’t be thrilled if Rothborn came charging back home and called me out.”

  Ella gaped at him, horrified. “Of all the idiotic suggestions! You must think me an unnatural creature indeed if you believe seeing one of my dearest friends and my husband fight a duel would please me!”

  Ranleigh paused, surprise in his eyes. “Have I really that honour?”

  She stared up at him, giving a little huff of irritation. “When you are not acting like a shameless rake, yes. Odious creature,” she added, shaking her head.

  To her surprise, Ranleigh gave a bark of laughter, and she smacked him on the arm with her fan.

  “Stop it, everyone is looking and there will be even more rumours to discredit.”

  “My apologies,” he said, the words serious even as his eyes lit with pleasure.

  Sending Ranleigh off with a flea in his ear and a demand to fetch her a drink, she smiled as Mintie came and took her arm.

  “I hope you don’t mind, darling. I promised you would play loo with me after supper. We needed a fifth player and I felt sure you would oblige me.”

  “Of course,” Ella replied.

  Mintie sighed and looked at her, reaching out to touch a curl of hair. “Look at you,” she said, looking misty eyed. “Have you heard there has been a rush of young ladies cutting their hair short to emulate the dashing Duchess of Rothborn?”

  Ella blinked. That one she hadn’t heard. “Surely not!” she exclaimed, too startled to laugh.

  “It’s true,” Mintie replied, chuckling and shaking her head. “I knew you would captivate, given the chance.”

  “But I have done nothing remarkable,” Ella protested. “In fact, I try my hardest to be unremarkable. All I do is turn up at a variety of social events and do my best not to make a spectacle of myself.”

  Mintie gave her a mischievous look, pursing her lips for a moment. “Yes, dearest,” she said with the utmost seriousness. “But you do it with such style.”

  Ella sighed. Privately she thought the world ought to have better things to do, but she knew well enough how the ton worked by now.

  “If only my son wasn’t such a blithering idiot and would come home.”

  Mintie’s voice was plaintive and Ella could do nothing but echo the sentiment, though not aloud. She took care to allow no one to know how much she longed for her husband to come home.

  “My word,” her mother-in-law murmured, smiling now. “The poor boy won’t know who you are.”

  Chapter 13

  “Wherein.”

  Ella looked up from her book as a commotion in the hallway reached her ears. Putting it aside she got up and went into the entrance hall to see what was going on.

  “It ain’t right. I demand to see the Duke of Rothborn.”

  “His grace, is not at home, however I will make sure that word gets to him as soon as may be,” Mr Wilkes was saying as a tall, angry, ruddy-faced man stalked closer to him.

  Wilkes squared his shoulders as the footmen hurried forward to back him up. Sensing disaster, Ella rushed to see what could be done.

  “Hello,” she called, diverting the angry man’s attention for a moment before he could take his frustration out on the butler. “I’m so sorry, but my husband is away from home at the moment. May I be of assistance?”

  “You the Duchess of Rothborn?” the fellow demanded, suspicion in his eyes.

  “I am,” she agreed, holding out her hand to him as Wilkes sucked in a breath of shocked disbelief. Ella ignored it, holding her hand out to the man with a little defiance.

  Her visitor stared at it, apparently as shocked at Wilkes. For a moment he frowned, as though he thought it was some kind of trick, before reaching out two hesitant fingers and giving her slender hand a gentle shake.

  “Pleased to meet you, your grace.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mr…?” she queried as the burly man flushed and belatedly snatched the hat from his head.

  “Mr Burrows,” he said, turning the somewhat battered article back and forth in his hands.

  “Well, Mr Burrows, I can see that something has upset you. Won’t you come into the parlour and tell me all about it? Wilkes, br
ing Mr Burrows some tea, please. He’s clearly had a trying day.”

  Once Burrows had sat down, looking quite startled as Ella handed him a cup of tea and poured one for herself, she asked him once again what the trouble was.

  “There was a fire, night afore last, down at Cripps corner. There’re five families what have lost their homes. Seventeen kids between them. Well, we’ve done our best to find places for them to stay for the time being, but something permanent must be done. Some of those kiddies are sleeping in stables and outbuildings. They’re his grace’s tenants. Good, hardworking folk what don’t deserve to be out on the street.”

  Ella blanched. It had rained hard the night before and the temperature had been cold. The thought of anyone having to endure such a night in a stable, let alone a child….

  “I quite understand your distress, Mr Burrows,” she said, appalled that she hadn’t even known anything about it. Had anyone even told Oscar?

  “You are quite right, this is a dreadful situation and we must remedy it. May I ask if you have any suggestions?”

  The man lit up at the question and sat forward. “Aye, that I do. There’s them old cottages down at Berry Street. I know his grace had plans to restore them. Sound they are, though the roofs are in a shocking state, but I thought perhaps….”

  He trailed off as Ella got to her feet and fetched paper and pencil. She sat down again, giving him a broad smile.

  “An excellent suggestion, Mr Burrows. Just the thing. Now, would you be so good as to let me know what needs to be done, and what materials you will require to go about making the repairs? I will ensure Rothborn’s bailiff gets them to you as quickly as may be. As for the children, you must bring them here. We are hardly short of space and I can’t bear to think of the poor things spending another night in the stables.”

  Mr Burrows blinked, looking a little dazed.

  “Is that acceptable?” Ella asked, feeling a little anxious suddenly. Had she said something wrong?

  “Aye,” the fellow said, a smile breaking out over his broad face. “You know, I’d heard tell that the new duchess was summat special. Reckon they spoke true.”

  Ella flushed, more pleased by his words than any other fulsome compliment she’d heard over the past weeks.

  “Well,” she said, endeavouring to keep her tone brisk and business-like. “Let us hope I can live up to expectations.”

  ***

  “Are you quite sure this is the place?” Bertie demanded, holding onto Oscar’s arm with a death grip as he held him back.

  “Yes,” Oscar replied, though he wished he wasn’t sure.

  The huge warehouse appeared filled to the rafters with men who looked like they’d stick a knife between his ribs if they had the opportunity. He could well understand Bertie’s reluctance to enter. However, this had been the address at which he’d been assured he would find Blackehart, and so this was where he needed to be. Bertie let him go with obvious reluctance and followed him further into the cavernous space.

  “What in the name of God were you thinking?” Bertie demanded, the rising of his voice underscoring his terror. “Do you have a death wish?”

  Oscar shook his head as they climbed the stairs, sweat prickling down his back. He’d heard a thing or two about Blackehart since he’d accepted his challenge, none of it the kind of thing to help a man sleep at night.

  Two burly men stood outside the door indicated as the Blackehart’s office.

  Oscar cleared his throat, trying to sound like a duke with the world at his feet, and less like a terrified boy who might soil his smallclothes at any moment.

  “The Duke of Rothborn to see Mr Blackehart,” he said, the words curt.

  The men didn’t even blink. Did the fellow see dukes on a daily basis, perhaps? From what some of the rumours had indicated, it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility.

  One of them disappeared inside whilst the other regarded Oscar with a bored expression, unimpressed by his lofty title. A moment later the door opened and thug number one jerked his head in what Oscar interpreted as a go in gesture.

  “You stay here,” he said to Bertie. “I… I think I’d best see him alone.”

  Bertie nodded, eyeing the two guards with misgiving. “Hurry up,” he said succinctly.

  Oscar steeled himself and stepped into Blackehart’s office. It was lit with dozens of candles, brightly illuminating the room despite it being daylight hours. The morning was overcast, however, and the space would have been dim without them. Blackehart could clearly afford to burn as many candles as he wished.

  The man himself was leaning against his desk, and the scent of a recently extinguished cigar lingered in the air. With a jolt of regret, Oscar realised he had not misremembered the size of the brute.

  “Your grace,” Blackehart said, the words polite if faintly mocking. He didn’t get up, Oscar noted, which irritated him rather, but he was damned if he’d remark upon it. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you hoping to… er… cancel our arrangement?”

  “Certainly not,” Oscar snapped, stung by the implication.

  Blackehart grinned at him and then gave a low chuckle. “Glad to hear it. I would ’ave been disappointed.” He did stand now and gestured for Oscar to sit. “Would you care for some tea or coffee?”

  Oscar’s eyes widened, a little startled by the question.

  “I ain’t no gentleman, but I reckon I know how to hold a cup and saucer,” the fellow said, a derisive sneer at his lips.

  With a flush, Oscar shook his head. He had meant no insult, though he’d obviously given one. “No, I’m not staying. I only wished to ask if… if we might defer our meeting by a few weeks?”

  Blackehart raised one eyebrow.

  “I’m not backing out,” Oscar replied, annoyed now. “It’s just….” He trailed off, watching the curious look grow in the man’s eyes. Somehow Oscar knew this man could smell a lie a mile off. “It’s my wife,” he said with a sigh.

  “Ah,” Blackehart said, a surprisingly understanding tone to his voice. “Yes, reckon I ’eard the Duchess of Rothborn is all the go of late. All the young bucks looking her way, eh?”

  Oscar nodded, increasingly gloomy. “Yes, she is, and…. Damn it, Blackehart. You’ve read the papers I don’t doubt, so you know the rumours as well as I do. I’ve been a bloody fool and I want to go home and see if… if I can’t salvage things before it’s too late.”

  Blackehart stared at him for a long moment and then smiled. “As you like.”

  Oscar’s eyebrows went up. Had he just agreed? Without breaking any fingers?

  The man snorted at his astonishment. “Go ’ome and make things right, your grace. Come back when you’ve sorted it out. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Truly?” Oscar said, still having trouble believing it. “I… I don’t know what to say.” He paused and then frowned as a disturbing thought occurred to him. “Wait, am I going to owe you a… a favour or something?”

  Blackehart’s eyes darkened further, black as pitch and just as welcoming.

  “That ain’t how I work,” he said, a razor-like edge to the words.

  “I meant no insult,” Oscar replied, wondering how the devil he did work. He had a fearsome reputation and looked like the devil made flesh yet—apart from a few rather barbed comments that seemed to spring from an awareness of the class divide between them—he’d been… well, rather gracious.

  Oscar hesitated, feeling he ought to make amends for any slight, intended or otherwise. He held out his hand to Blackehart.

  It was a gesture not lost on the man. A duke rarely shook hands with anyone, even others of the nobility, and certainly never a commoner.

  Blackehart met his gaze, curiosity glinting in eyes before he reached out, his massive hand clasping Oscar’s.

  “Thank you,” Oscar said, meaning it. “I will be in touch to make a new date, you have my word.”

  “Don’t fret, lad,” Blackehart said, grinning. “I believe you.”

  Oscar wa
s too relieved to take exception to being called a lad, and simply nodded.

  “Goodbye, Mr Blackehart.”

  “Your grace,” he replied, inclining his head.

  ***

  Oscar stepped down from his carriage in front of his home, sick with nerves. Six hours sitting still and rehearsing what he wanted to say to Ella had not given him any more confidence than he’d left with.

  Good Lord, what was wrong with him? This was his home and he was a bloody duke, not some naughty schoolboy sent down from school. He tugged at his cravat, unable to persuade himself of that fact when he knew he’d behaved like a child, far more infantile than he’d believed Ella to be.

  The last scandal sheet he’d read had once more implied that she had Ranleigh following at her heels, as meek as a lamb. Had he already lost his chance to make things right? With a frown, he realised he still didn’t know exactly how he felt. The idea of her with Ranleigh made him sick to his stomach, though, and he missed his friend with an ache that became sharper by the day. Yet he had never desired Ella, had never seen her that way. Could he, in all fairness, demand she be faithful to him if he still couldn’t find those feelings within himself?

  He wondered if she believed him to have betrayed her already. When he’d left, he’d intended to. He’d believed he could carry on his life as before but… he was a bloody fool.

  He’d barely set foot in the door of his mistress’ home before he realised he couldn’t do it. No matter how he felt for Ella, he’d made vows before God, he’d given his word to forsake all others, and too late he’d realised that he’d meant it.

  “Wilkes.” He nodded at the butler as he entered the grand entrance hall. “How are you?”

  “Your grace,” the butler intoned, his expression devoid of interest. “Her grace is not at home at present, though you will find the dowager in her rooms.”

  Oscar raised an eyebrow, noting his butler’s cool tone and that his question had been ignored. Well, it was like that, was it? He supposed he deserved no less but, really, the staff too?

  A scream of laughter, followed by a shriek had Oscar looking across the hallway as a little girl with plaits ran across from the library and out the back door. A boy, not much older, ran after her making a growling sound akin to that of a wild beast.