The Duchess and the Duelist (Friendship Series Book 4) Page 2

  Unfortunately for all of her attempts to dissemble, she glowed wherever she went with a subtle luster and regal bearing. She wore the plainest clothes, even though she’d previously been a dresser to Lady Asterly and possessed a perfect understanding of fashion—another blatant clue.

  Then there was the intriguing fact that no one questioned her rise from upper servant to companion. While it was true that few dared to cause an affront to the wife of Lord Asterly, it was unnatural for no one to comment whatsoever about this extraordinary elevation. He couldn’t help but liken Mrs. Merrick’s change in fortune to the similar gift of conferring a knighthood on Harry Collyns for a service to the Regent never divulged.

  But that was not the oddest part about her rise in status. Crimm, the Asterly’s butler, presented the most intriguing aspect, because Crimm and the entire household staff at Asterly House esteemed Mrs. Merrick, which should not be the case.

  Freddy gazed blindly across the room at the conversing guests as he reviewed this conundrum. Servants didn’t like it when one of their class was set above their station. Mrs. Merrick was liked by the household servants, more so than the lady of the house, who was esteemed for her generosity and fairness. Where butler, footmen and maids displayed the correct amount of respect due to Lady Asterly’s position, the household staff openly doted on Mrs. Merrick. Something was terribly wrong about that. In any other instance, this sort of elevation would be despised. Servants were as snobbish as their masters. How did such a modest mouse, as delicious as she undoubtedly was, accomplish this?

  He returned his attention to the lady in question, observing as she accepted the delivery of additions to the refreshment tray with a smile in her eyes. She bestowed a tiny nod of thanks to Crimm. A footman hurried to offer her a fresh serviette, another hovered for the honor of carrying out her slightest wish. She smiled at them all and they backed away. Crimm followed them to the door where he glanced around the room and gave a stare full of meaning at the footman remaining by the couch.

  Evangeline nodded at Crimm, a graceful dismissal, before handing a cup and saucer to the hovering footman. For a woman so petite, she had lovely, long fingers. She interrupted the thoughts of what she might do with them when she spoke to the footman.

  “For Lady Triverton, John. If you would, please ask the ladies what they will have.”

  When the footman went away, she returned to her task of pouring out. “To answer your earlier question—”

  Freddy patted down a pretend yawn. “I’ve forgotten. What did I ask?”

  “Regarding Monsieur Plaquard.”

  “Ah, Plaquard. I have no interest in him whatsoever. He was a pleasant enough sort after you left. Didn’t put himself forward. If that’s coffee, I’ll have four lumps and bit more au lait. Do you think Lady Triverton is not quite looking her best? Perhaps yet again doing her duty. How many children is it now? Ten?”

  “Five”

  “Poor thing must be exhausted.”

  To distract her, he chatted on, drivel really. Mild gossip, which she didn’t appreciate, he could tell by the dull glaze of boredom in her eyes. When he paused, she changed the subject from gossip to ask him about a newly developed rifle—of all things. Ah well, the world knew of his interest in firearms, and he began to talk about that while enjoying the view.

  He admired the elegant slope of her shoulders and what was exposed of the fragile bones of her upper back. The only jewelry she wore was a thin chain of gold, the end of which lay unseen inside the gown’s bodice. He would rather like to see a rope of coral beads. Her pale skin glowed with a translucent gleam, smooth and unblemished, except for an enticing beauty mark beneath her left ear lobe, a tiny, dark circle that he found almost unbearably erotic and couldn’t think why. Her hair color didn’t seem to fit somehow, paler at the roots with blond wisps at the nape. She often wore caps, and tonight, a turban. Surely, she couldn’t be darkening her hair? Most women desired blond hair. Even though she had a gift for dissembling, she couldn’t hide from him the undercurrent of anxiety. Perhaps from whatever she was hiding. He preferred to think it was caused by the same sexual tension he was enjoying at the moment. So much more amusing than ordinary stress.

  The bland, muddy-colored gown did nothing for her green eyes. Perhaps light hazel. Golden flecks in the jade-green mesmerized. And he adored her slim grace. He couldn’t wait to savor every satiny inch. Was there anything more tantalizing than an un-serviced female?

  She broke into his thoughts. “Will you excuse me, Mr. Bates? I must speak with Lady Collyns.”

  “I apologize for boring you, but you had asked and weaponry is a subject close to my heart.”

  “So I’d been told, and I was not in any way bored. I happen to enjoy that subject and am enlightened by your expertise, but Lady Collyns has been signaling me for quite some time.”

  He nodded a bow and stood when she rose. Unlike any servant he’d ever seen, she glided with liquid grace across the floor to greet Harry’s wife partway. Arms wrapped around each other’s waists, they strolled around the room, heads together, like the school chums they had been. Evangeline dropped open her fan to hide the lower half of her face as she shared a secret with Harry’s wife.

  That was a mistake—their obvious friendship of longstanding. Servants didn’t attend select seminaries and become bosom friends with the aristocracy. It never happened, therefore she was not of the servant class and somehow Asterly’s staff knew this. There was always one worker in every house who loved gossip. It shouldn’t be too difficult to discover the talker. Not Crimm, of course, who was as territorial as a bulldog and as tough. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d find a way to quiz the servants—find the one who might talk to a friend of the family. One could always trust a good servant to be a bigger snob than anyone in the upper ten thousand.

  And the delicate Mrs. Merrick had an interest in firearms? If it were true, how marvelous. Once he had her caught in his net, he’d teach her to shoot. He felt one side of his mouth lift in a cynical grin as he began to devise the most effective snare.

  He resumed his place by the serving tray and waited for the ladies to walk into view from behind the couch. Lady Collyns was beginning to show the signs of her pregnancy, anticipated, of course, knowing Harry. What a swine, getting the poor woman enceinte. He would certainly show his Evangeline more consideration than that.

  Freddy paused. His Evangeline?

  He shifted his position on the seat to make use of a plump pillow and frowned at his unexpected, protective inclination for a woman of questionable character—one he had yet to bed. Care would have to be taken not to get emotionally involved. Too often, his natural inclination to protect overwhelmed his common sense. Mrs. Merrick was a mouth-watering morsel, but she was also a fraud.

  The whispering pair circled the room, and when they again passed behind the couch, Evangeline laughed. She had a delightful, little chortle, sultry and suggestive. It didn’t matter if her laugh was practiced or natural. The siren sound sent desire rippling over his flesh, heat through his veins. Did she have any idea how provocative she sounded? Out of the corner of his eye, he watched them. They were enthralled with each other and spoke in perfect understanding.

  No, his temptress didn’t know what that laugh did to a man’s insides—how it could turn him inside out. If she did, she would never risk allowing it to bring attention to herself. He’d been taken in by that sort of feminine ploy before and wouldn’t let it wrap him up again, like a limp fish in paper. He was wiser now—knew all the tricks. He’d enjoy her and move on when he had to—if he had to. Evangeline was the sort one didn’t wish to leave. He caught himself meandering down a dangerous path and forced himself to look away and noticed his friend. Harry watched his wife with the sort of vapid, besotted stupidity typical of the recently wed.

  A sudden, sly inspiration settled his irritation. He realigned his ideas of how to capture the elusive Mrs. Merrick. Lady Collyns was the key. She’d known Evangeline since girlhood. U
nearthing his siren’s secrets was only a matter of interrogating Harry’s bride, the former widow known for her placid mien. He aimed a studying gaze on Harry’s wife. Perhaps not so placid. She’d succumbed to an affair outside of marriage. No surprise there. The woman exuded a palpable sensuality beneath all that stiff reserve, a reserve that never had him fooled.

  One only had to recall her vehemence during the noisy argument she and Harry had on the night of their engagement party. An involuntary grin twitched his lips. And what an argument! Harry had to be held back from skewering a former suitor. Furious and embarrassed by the scene, Olivia called off the wedding, only minutes after they’d escaped the party in their honor to indulge in some premarital love play.

  Freddy had never accused his friend of being a dull one. Up to any rig, that was Harry, but his bride had a belligerent streak under her Puritan veneer. Some careful prodding and prying beneath her pretended complacency might glean a few, useful tidbits.

  Leaning back against the couch, Freddy crossed his arms and grinned at the two ladies chatting and basking in their friendship. Poor dears. He had plans for them. Before he broached Evangeline again—and win her over this time—he’d have an edifying tête-à-tête with Lady Collyns.

  Chapter 3

  “Is he still watching us?” Evangeline whispered.

  “More like eating you with his eyes.” Olivia shivered. “When Harry looks at me like that, I never know whether to laugh, shriek, or run for my life. Did Edward ever make you feel that way?”

  “You can’t remember Edward if you ask me that.”

  “I was so proud of you, Evie. Still in school and you snatched up the most fought-over prize in Scotland.”

  “It’s hard to believe that it was fourteen years ago. He was the kindest, quietest, most dignified man I’ve ever known. He had no ill-will, no artifice.”

  Olivia snickered and peeked at the couch. “That is not a description that in any way resembles Alfred Bates. He’s like a caged tiger under all that suave bravado. Although, to be fair, he’s never been other than respectful to me. Utterly different from the way he treats you. Both of you are dissemblers. Ow! Stop pinching me.”

  “You deserve it, and I have reason to dissemble. Mr. Bates has no reason to do so, and I did not mean to make my dear Edward sound so uninteresting. He wasn’t. Merely kind-hearted and considerate. I miss him every day. What did Monsieur Plaquard have to say?”

  Olivia’s expression saddened. She tilted her head a bit closer to Evangeline’s. “He gave me a letter. After all the years since Percy’s been gone, and a letter surfaces. It was discovered at the inn where he took ill. Perhaps the innkeeper hid it or merely forgot it. There must have been a dreadful to-do when so many people met their end there.”

  “Spoiled food, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. They thought it was some pork that went off. Eight people died with Percy, including a child. In the confusion and uproar, his letter to me was set aside. Forgotten, I suppose.”

  “Then how did it come to Monsieur Plaquard?”

  “You remember that Percy was an abolitionist.”

  “My love, we all know that you were both abolitionists.” Evangeline flinched this time when Olivia returned an admonishing pinch. “Not fair, Ollie! You pinched harder. Explain the mystery.”

  Olivia glanced at the intriguing guest. “It’s very simple, actually. He wanted to extend his gratitude, offer his compliments. You know, Evie, that no other hostess in town would think of asking him to dine, and I thank you for that. The letter he brought explains that my dear, martyred Percy assisted Plaquard to achieve his freedom. He was freeborn but had been enslaved by a tobacco grower. Somehow, Percy got him freed. Most likely bought him with what was left of my dowry.”

  “Plaquard still lives in the state of New York?”

  “No, he immediately left the Colonies as soon as he was freed. His brother is a governor of one of the Caribbean islands. Harry is quite well known down there. Through him, I’ve become as famous.”

  “Why does Sir Harry scowl so whenever anything about your late husband is mentioned? No, don’t look. He’s staring daggers at poor Plaquard.”

  Olivia attempted to get her husband’s attention with an admonishing frown. Evangeline chuckled when Sir Harry returned the glare with a sunny smile.

  Olivia shook her head and muttered, “If you can believe it, I think he’s jealous of my poor, dead Percy.”

  Evangeline felt a smile curve her lips. “Rather romantic.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Evie. His nonsense makes me feel like a bone two dogs are fighting over.”

  “You’re an unnatural female, Ollie. We women are supposed to be the sentimental ones. Harry has us all beat to flinders.”

  “I would disagree and suggest that your Mr. Bates is as soft of heart.”

  “He’s not my anything, and you must have gone fuzzy in the head to think anyone so scary could be covering a gentle nature.”

  “I don’t think he’s covering it. I think he’s trying to smother it. Perhaps that is for the better. Viscount Grieves is about to breathe his last breath, which means Mr. Bates will be making his way to parliament. No sentimentality allowed, if you please, unless it has to do with being a proper Englishman.”

  An unexpected twinge of her heart made Evangeline hesitate and stumble over her next words. “Will he…do you think he’ll marry as soon as he takes up the title?”

  Pursing her lips, Olivia considered the question. She waited until they’d strolled well away from the couch where Bates sat, still pretending not to watch them, but Evangeline knew he did without looking at him. A strange, emotional antenna told her where he was at all times—an excitement that felt as if she were ready to burst out of her skin—annoying and invigorating at the same time.

  Olivia tipped her head closer to Evangeline’s. “It’s a young cousin, you know, but that’s not in the least unusual. Nor that they await her fifteenth birthday. Other aspects of the connection are decidedly awkward. Although, I must say, I’ve always wondered what older men see in girls barely out of the schoolroom.”

  Heart beating rapidly, Evangeline whispered to keep the subject on track, “And the odd part?”

  “His intended is the daughter of the woman who jilted him when he was a youth! Indeed, the girl’s mother left Freddy waiting at the church.”

  “I’ve never heard of this. There’s so little talk about him, other than his extraordinary talent for shooting, and that he’s the last of the Four Eligibles.”

  “It’s no surprise that you wouldn’t know. Scarcely anyone knows about it. The family estate is in far off Cornwall, the church in a nearby village. Harry said Freddy never talks about his personal life. None of his friends would have known if Freddy hadn’t let it slip while in his cups. That was long ago, during school days. He horrified them and himself when he later learned that he sobbed throughout the entire story. Poor boy.”

  “How devastating that must have been for a lad. How could anyone be so cruel as to do that to another? The least she could have done was sent a message ahead of time.”

  “The little witch probably didn’t care. Most likely before he became heir to Viscount Grieves. The chit threw him over for a duke. She had nothing but a meager dowry, her looks and Freddy’s slavish devotion. She broke his heart as if it were a piece of chipped crockery and never looked back.”

  “Ollie, I don’t understand. Is he’s marrying her daughter out of spite?”

  “No, of course not. The connection to the girl was always sought-after by Freddy’s family. There’s some property involved. A tin mine or some such, that Freddy’s late father wanted to add to the estate. The duke wasn’t interested in the property, which is meant to be a dower portion for the eldest girl. In order for Freddy’s heartbreaker to breach their marriage contract without legal issue, the property was passed to the next firstborn girl. Freddy was contracted to marry the dowered daughter before the babe was born.”

  Evange
line flicked a covert glance at the brooding man on the couch. “How medieval. No wonder he prefers the mode of a heartless swain. I wonder, what would have happened if no girl had been born?”

  “Harry never said. He did mention that the soon-to-depart from us, Lord Grieves, also had an interest in the property. But I’m prodigious curious, Evie. How did you manage to pass yourself off as a servant? I was forced to scrub and polish out of necessity and Father’s parsimony, but you willingly stepped down. How did you manage?”

  Evangeline didn’t bother to hide the defensive hardness in her tone. “What would you do if your child were in danger?”

  Olivia paused. Lifting her chin, she answered, “Anything necessary.”

  Blinking back tears, Evangeline whispered, “I learned a great deal about necessity and practicality from my family’s misfortune. Maman sewed jewels into her clothes, and Papa took his best mounts when they fled Madame La Guillotine. He trained horses after they settled in Edinburgh. She made hats. After I was born, they purchased a respectable house with the jewels Maman saved so that I would marry well.”

  “You once told me that two brothers did not survive.”

  “They stayed in France to cover my parents’ escape and were sent to the blade. The line of Le Vicomte Tour de Doudonairre is no more.”

  Olivia stopped moving. She slid her arm around Evangeline’s shoulder. “Oh, Evie, why must life be so difficult?”

  Evangeline tilted her head to rest it against her friend’s. “Chére, you are the clergyman’s daughter. You must explain it to me. I merely do what I must to keep my son out of the hands of his guardian.”

  Chapter 4

  Freddy watched Sir Harry stroll across the room to the couch and arrange his coattails to sit. He followed that with a sustained, contemplative regard until Freddy asked, “Something on your mind, Harry?”

  Sir Harry paused before demanding, “Why must you act the swine around Mrs. Merrick? She doesn’t deserve your coarse behavior, and it isn’t like you.”