Governesses had tried to interest her in her children’s lives and well-being in the past but had failed. Margaret had hated every last one of the women who had come to care for them during their first years of life and had discharged or run them off every time. After the first few she had attempted to hire governesses that were as indifferent as she, but they would quit after only a couple of years, having no real attachment to make them stay.
Hugh had been even worse, attempting to bed any that were remotely attractive and intimidate those who were not. He had viewed his children much like a Greek or Roman god would have viewed his statuary likeness in a temple of worship. On the one hand, they were his flesh, blood, and bone. On the other, they were competitors for his dukedom. He had never once viewed them solely as children but as heraldic symbols of his own might and glory.
Margaret had passed each of their children off to a wet nurse the moment they were born. She had despised being made to marry the Duke of Rosenhill, but her father had been turned by the large sum of money he had been paid for her hand, as well as the threatening manner with which Hugh had demanded it. Heinous cretin. He had seen her during a dinner party and decided he had to possess her. He had not bothered to speak to her once before demanding her hand.
On their wedding night, they had been complete and utter strangers. I was so afraid of him. He had not courted her a single day, but had paid for her, ignored her until their wedding day, then had forced himself upon her on their wedding night without even a by-your-leave. I bled for days, the monster. She conceived Arthur on their wedding night. When he was born nearly ten months later, she could not stand the sight of the devil’s spawn and had refused to look upon him.
I prayed every day for Ludlow to come and take me away, but he never did. The years passed by and Margaret became pregnant many times, losing children to miscarriage and stillbirth until the arrival of the twins. I should have lost them as well. In celebration of his good fortune, Hugh had hosted a dinner party at Rosenhill inviting his friends and business associate to dine.
She would never forget how she had felt when Ludlow had walked through the door. Their eyes had met and all the pain and hurt over the many years they had been apart faded away as she slid her hand into his and he bowed to kiss it. I could barely breathe, she remembered as a tear slid down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away before the maid could witness its presence.
They had carried on a torrid secret affair from that day forward. When Hugh had died, it felt as if she could finally breathe again. For the first time in years, she was free of his tyranny, with the exception of the constant reminder of their children. Every time she looked upon their faces, she was forced to remember her husband’s rough hands upon her body and the cruelty of his many abuses. Were it not for Ludlow, she would have leaped out of the tallest window long ago.
The years have not been kind to either of us. His once handsome roguish figure was not as muscled or trim as it once was, nor his hair as dark and sleek, but he was hers, and that was all that mattered. He had said he felt the same of her finding her now silvery hair to be as luxuriant as ever before and her figure just as lovely. She chose to believe him even though she knew full well her figure was too matronly to be considered as lithe and winsome as it once had.
The lies we tell ourselves for the tiniest inkling of happiness.
She stared into the cold green eyes of her reflection and pushed away the memories of her past. The young naïve girl of long ago was gone, never to return, ripped from her by the cruel, vindictive hands of Hugh Huntley. She might have to live under the rule of their eldest son for the remainder of her years, a fact she loathed and despised greatly, but as long as she had Ludlow, she would find a way to get through it. If that meant she had to pretend to care for her children for an hour or two, then that is what she would do.
When she had heard that Arthur had nearly been killed in a carriage accident, she had felt a keen moment of disappointment that he had not died. She knew that such an emotion was forbidden to a mother, but in her heart, Arthur was simply another chain that bound her to the degradations of the past. Had he died, she would have been free to marry Ludlow, and they would have ruled Rosenhill together, relegating Gabriel and Charlotte to the nursery. It would have mattered not that Gabriel was the rightful heir. He would have been too young to do anything about it.
Now she must go and pretend that she cared Arthur still breathed. She hoped she would not have to lay eyes on the rest of her offspring. Arthur would be more than enough to test her patience. It had been an absolute delight to have had Rosenhill to herself with Ludlow visiting nearly every day. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that it was only she and he that remained upon the estate, blocking out the coming and going of the servants and their disapproving looks.
Who are they to judge my behavior? I am a Duchess, and they are nothing.
Anger flashed in the depths of green eyes causing her maid to shrink away in nervousness. Margaret closed her eyes to calm herself, and when she opened them again, they were as cool and indifferent as always.
When she was ready, she descended the stairs and met Ludlow by the carriage. “Shall we?” he asked extending her his hand so that she might climb up into the conveyance.
“Of course,” she answered taking his hand. If we must.
* * *
“The Dowager Duchess of Rosenhill and the Marquess of Denlington await Your Grace in the library,” Mr. White announced from the dressing room door. Arthur and Duncan exchanged a look of wariness. They, Eliza, and the children had spent the entire night and morning together in the dressing room enjoying each other’s company and caring for Arthur.
Duncan rose to his feet and rubbed his hands over his face. “Thank you, Mr. White. Please offer them refreshment while I make myself presentable.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr. White bowed and headed to the kitchen to warn the cook of their guests.
“What could they possibly want? It is most certainly not to inquire as to mine or the children’s health,” Arthur remarked sardonically.
“Perhaps he has news pertaining to your attacker,” Duncan suggested.
“Perhaps, but why would he bring the Duchess?” Arthur asked.
“I know not,” Duncan replied. “You don’t think he would be so indelicate as to harass you upon your recovery bed about joining his enterprise, do you?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Arthur answered, uncertain what the pair of them could possibly have to say to him that could not have been said in a letter.
“Well you cannot receive them here in my dressing room with sleeping children and governesses strewn about the floor,” Duncan remarked.
Arthur chuckled. “Perhaps it would deter them from calling ever again.”
Duncan laughed. “Were it only that simple. Your mother will be up in arms if she were to see you all as you are.”
“I doubt she would care a single jot, but for the effect such a scene might have on her social standing,” Arthur replied.
“Unfortunate that,” Duncan gave Arthur a sympathetic look.
“I have grown accustomed to it,” Arthur shrugged, then instantly regretted it as pain shot through him.
“We really should not move you, Arthur. You could suffer even further damage than you already have,” Duncan noted. He had a perplexed look on his face as if he did not quite know what to do. “We could attempt to move you ever so carefully into my bedchamber. I could say I surrendered to you under the guise that it suited your needs better. It would not be untrue.”
“I hate to turn you out of your own bed, Duncan. It is bad enough that you slept in a chair last night,” Arthur replied.
“Nonsense. Think nothing of it,” Duncan brushed Arthur’s concerns aside. “All we need do is find a way to move you without causing further damage.”
“Help me up and I will attempt to walk,” Arthur groaned as he tried to sit up on his own.
“Walk? Did you no
t hear what Dr. Burns told you? You are not to walk about on your own for any reason until your body has a chance to heal. You are fortunate beyond comprehension that you did not break your back and die out there on that road.” Arthur could see how much the idea pained his friend. They had not talked about how hard it had been on Duncan to find him in such a condition.
“I am sorry, Duncan,” Arthur murmured.
“For what?” Duncan asked in confusion.
“For causing you to worry,” Arthur replied meeting his friend’s eyes so that he would understand what Arthur was trying to say.
It took a moment, but then Arthur saw recognition bloom in their depths. “I am not ashamed to say that I was afraid we had lost you when I saw you like that out upon the road and then again when the fever took hold, but you are alive. There is no need for apologies.”
“Nevertheless,” Arthur held his gaze for a moment longer so he would know how truly sorry he was for putting him through it, then moved on. “If I am not allowed to walk then how do you propose we go about moving me?”
“By calling in reinforcements,” Duncan answered.
Arthur grinned. He and Duncan had loved playing soldiers as children and when they had needed reinforcements for their imaginary armies, Mr. White had always come to the rescue. Duncan rang the bell for the butler.
Looking down at Eliza and the children still sleeping soundly Duncan asked, “Shall I wake them?”
“I suppose we must, but I regret that it is necessary. They need their rest as do we,” Arthur remarked.
“Such is our lot in society. Ever the slave to etiquette and decorum,” Duncan bemoaned causing both men to laugh heartily, for at that moment., neither truly cared what society thought. Decorum had been blown completely out of the water by their overnight assembly in a dressing room. Arthur could just imagine the looks of horror on every lady within the ton’s face at the idea.
Their laughter awoke the children, and they each at up rubbing their eyes. Duncan knelt down to greet them both good morning. “Your mother, the Dowager Duchess, is here below stairs in the library. The Marquess of Denlington is with her.”
Both children frowned and looked to their elder brother. “She isn’t here to take us back to Rosenhill, is she?” Charlotte asked a nervous expression upon her face.
“I won’t go,” Gabriel announced emphatically. “I want to stay here with you.”
“And you shall. No one is going anywhere except downstairs to see what it is that they want,” Arthur answered. “Uncle Dunc will be doing that, but we do need to get both of you cleaned up and presentable on the chance that Mother desires to see you.”
“That is most unlikely,” Charlotte answered frankly.
“I am all too aware, my dear,” Arthur answered feeling empathy for his siblings. He remembered what it felt like to be young and vulnerable under her indifferent gaze only broken by the occasional irritated glare.
“Come let us awaken Miss Bolton, and then she can assist you in preparing for the day,” Duncan suggested.
Charlotte opted to keep a respectable distance and simply call out her governess’s name. Gabriel did quite the opposite as he crawled into her lap and shook her by the shoulders. Eliza awoke with a start, her eyes wide in question. “What has happened?” she asked as she observed them all standing and staring down at her.
“Mother and the Marquess are here,” Arthur explained, his tone unamused at their presence.
“I see,” Eliza replied attempting to get to her feet. “I will have the children ready in but a moment.”
“Duncan is going to go down and fend them off the best he can,” Arthur informed her.
“You rang, Your Grace,” Mr. White appeared in the doorway.
“Yes, I need your assistance in moving Arthur from my dressing room to the bed in my chamber,” Duncan answered.
“You can’t. His wound.” Eliza objected to the notion of moving him. She accepted Duncan’s hand assisting her to her feet. “I do not know how many more times it can take being sewn closed. It is already inflamed.”
“We will simply have to proceed with caution,” Duncan answered. “Mr. White, if you would be so kind?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mr. White answered, and each man grabbed a side of Arthur’s body and moved him ever so gently to the bed in Duncan’s chambers.
Eliza and the children followed behind and helped to make sure that he was comfortable with plenty of pillows and blankets. Duncan returned to the dressing room and within minutes emerged looking clean and fresh ready to face the day.
“Mr. White has secured your rooms, so you may return to them in safety,” Duncan informed Eliza and the children. Turning to Arthur he said, “I will hold them off as best I can.”
“I thank you, old friend,” Arthur replied, wishing Duncan success. He did not envy him the chore of entertaining their guests or attempting to deter them from remaining. “I wish you good fortune.”
“I have a feeling I am going to need it,” Duncan murmured under his breath as he left the room.
“I will remain with His Grace while you, Lord Gabriel, and Lady Charlotte ready yourselves for guests,” Mr. White offered to Eliza.
“Thank you, Mr. White,” Eliza replied, took each child by the hand, gave Arthur one last look, then she, too, exited the room.
“Is there any way in which I can be of service to Your Grace?” Mr. White asked. “Perhaps a bath and a shave?”
“That would be splendid, Mr. White,” Arthur agreed and submitted himself into the butler’s capable hands. A brief time later the quiet of the morning was shattered by a loud crashing sound followed by an ear piercing scream.
Chapter 17
Eliza rushed from her room and down the stairs leaving one of the upstairs maids with the children. The scream sounded as if it had come from below. She prayed it was not another intruder or assassination attempt. When she entered the library, she found the Dowager Duchess had fainted into the Marquess of Denlington’s arms. Duncan knelt on the floor before her as if he had just proposed marriage. A vase lay shattered on the floor just off to the right.
Eliza was quite confused by the sight before her until she saw the dead crow with the white arrow at Duncan’s feet. “My apologies,” Duncan was saying. “I had Mr. White place the bird in here so that I might study it in more detail at a later time.”
“I say, Durton, keeping dead fowl in one’s library is preferably done after they have been stuffed,” the Marquess chastised. Seeing Eliza, he motioned for her to come to his aid. “You, Governess… The Duchesses’ reticule upon the table there. Extract the bottle of smelling salts and bring it to me.”
Eliza walked over and lifted the burgundy velvet rose embroidered reticule. It was of exquisite craftsmanship. The fabric felt as soft as a horse’s muzzle in her hands. She opened the clasp and sorted through its contents until she found the vial of smelling salts. When she uncorked it, the pungent odor nearly overpowered her senses, and she quickly put it away from herself and dangled it beneath the Dowager Duchesses’ nose.
The Duchess coughed and sputtered slowly regaining her senses. Eliza quickly resealed the odorous concoction and placed it back within its velvet hiding place. “He is dead. I know he is dead. I saw his body with my own eyes,” the Duchess mumbled to herself staring at the dead crow in confusion. She clutched the front of the Marquess of Denlington’s coat and insisted, “Hugh is dead.”
“Yes, Margaret, Hugh is dead, and he is never coming back,” the Marquess comforted her.
“Do you know of anyone who might have adopted the late Duke’s calling card?” Duncan asked. Eliza could tell by his wary expression that he was not at all comfortable speaking with the pair of them. She had to admit, she could not blame him for his reservations. They were not the most pleasant of people to converse with.
“No, I cannot think of anyone. The only person I have ever known to have done such a gruesome thing was my late husband,” the Dowager Duchess answer
ed. “I hoped to never see such a sight again.”
“Nor should you have had to,” the Marquess gave Duncan a disapproving look. “I think it would be best if we saw Arthur now and were on our way.”
As if on cue Mr. White entered the room and announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Rosenhill, will see you now.”
Duncan released a visible sigh of relief at the news. Eliza fought back a smile of amusement. Poor Duncan. He is such a very good friend.
“If you would follow me, Your Grace,” Mr. White bowed to the Dowager Duchess.
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