Chapter 10

“Wherein friends, alliances and enemies are in attendance.”

The ball was being held by Lord and Lady Marchmain, and all the ton who gathered for the Easter meetings held in Newmarket were in attendance.

Ella kept her head high and a smile on her face as she entered with Mintie and Fluff. She knew the whispers and gossip about her were far from running their course, but she would not give anyone the satisfaction of believing it bothered her. It did, of course. That people believed they had caught her in a compromising position with the man her sister was betrothed to made her appear the worst kind of wicked female, but all she could do was endure.

The evening progressed in the usual manner. There were the sycophants, eager to know her because she was a duchess; there were the tattle mongers, hoping to gain a juicy morsel to share with the rest of the company; there was jealousy and there were barbed little comments that were delivered with deceptively sweet smiles. Ella endured it all and discovered, to her relief, that there were still some genuine and kind people in the world who would give her a chance.

Patience Bright, Lady Marchmain, was one such.

“What a beautiful gown, your grace,” the lady said, her admiration genuine and her expression full of warmth. At first glance she was not a beautiful woman, but her obvious kindness and sweet nature shone from her. It drew people’s attention, and kept it, and unlike a pretty face it would never fade. Her quiet warmth, and her readiness to laugh, made them want to know her.

“Oh, please call me Ella,” Ella replied, a rather pleading note to the request. “Whenever someone says, ‘your grace,’ I think they’re talking to my mother-in-law.”

Lady Marchmain laughed, looking pleased by the invitation.

“I’d be delighted to, Ella, thank you. The dowager duchess is in fine spirits this evening. What a lovely creature she is.”

Ella watched Mintie and her devoted viscount as they danced the waltz. Such elegance and style, and such adoration shining between them. She sighed.

“She is, and such a generous soul. I always envied Oscar his mother, and now she’s mine too and I know how lucky I am.” She blushed then, wondering if Patience thought she’d engineered being caught with Oscar to force his hand, as many people were whispering. To her surprise, Patience reached out and laid her hand on Ella’s arm.

“I hope you will come and visit me, if… if you would like to. We live quietly here at Finchfields and I would be so pleased if you could spare the time.”

Ella returned a smile, her first truly genuine smile of the evening.

“It would be my pleasure, thank you, and I hope you will call on me at Chancery. I’d love to have a visitor who hasn’t come to try to wrangle some juicy gossip from me.”

Patience gave her a sympathetic smile and took her arm, and Ella felt a flush of warmth for her new friend.

The two women looked up, still feeling pleased with their burgeoning friendship as Patience’s husband sought her out, in the company of the Duke of Ranleigh.

The two men made a striking combination. August Bright lived up to his name. Everything about him was as golden as a summer’s day. His hair was the colour of ripe corn and glinted in the candlelight, his eyes were a startling emerald green, and he was stunningly handsome. It had been the talk of the ton when plain Patience Pearson, with neither fortune nor beauty. had snared the town’s most sought-after rake. That it had been a love match made it even more gossip-worthy.

Ranleigh stood beside him, August’s opposite in every way. Where August was fair, Ranleigh was dark. His hair was a rich mahogany, with just a touch of grey at the temples. His eyes were likewise dark, and alight with cynical amusement. He was a man who had seen it all, and no longer expected to be surprised. August’s face was open and obviously pleased by the world.

Ranleigh’s gave nothing away.

“My Lady Rothborn,” Ranleigh said, bowing over Ella’s hand. “A delight as always. May I say how lovely you look this evening? That gown is the envy of every woman here tonight, I assure you.”

Ella smiled at his compliment but said nothing. She believed Ranleigh was a friend to her, but Mintie’s comments had given her pause.

“I hear your husband is to be congratulated once again,” August said, grinning at her.

Ella faltered, embarrassed not to have the slightest idea of what he was talking about. Oscar hadn’t written to her since he’d left, so she didn’t know what he was up to.

August caught the intense look his wife was sending him and hurried on.

“Oh, well, I bumped into someone who was there, so I don’t suppose word has spread yet, but he challenged Sheringham to a curricle race over fifteen miles. Swore his greys were faster that Sherry’s pair. I must say, I thought he’d bitten off more than he could chew, as those bays of Sherry’s are as pretty a pair of horseflesh as I’ve ever seen. He did it though, and in grand style, as Rothborn always does.”

Ella listened, imagining Oscar’s delight in the race, and his subsequent win. She smiled, though there was a hollow feeling in her heart.

“I wish I had seen that,” she said, unable to hide the wistful note to her voice.

“But I seem to remember you have a fair hand with a whip too, Duchess,” Ranleigh said, as Ella started with surprise. Few people knew that. Oscar and Bertie had taught her, at her insistence. Her father had been furious as she’d only been about twelve at the time, but it was something she had a pleasing amount of skill with.

“Really?” Patience was staring at her with obvious admiration. “How wonderful. I should like to see that.”

“You would?” Ella replied, surprised and rather delighted. “Well. then, I shall come and take you out. How does Wednesday afternoon suit you?”

“Oh, famous!”

Ella laughed at her new friend’s enthusiasm, happy to have pleased her. She looked up at Ranleigh, who had taken a sudden step closer to her.

“May I have the honour of this dance, Duchess?”

There was an intense look in his eyes and she opened her mouth to make an excuse, but he lowered his voice.

“Your sister is heading this way,” he said, a rather grim set to his mouth.

Ella blanched and took his arm. “Y-Yes, I would love to dance,” she said in a rush, wondering if she was being the most dreadful coward but not entirely sure she cared.

Ranleigh led her onto the floor and Ella didn’t dare look back to see what Pearl’s reaction had been.

“Thank you,” she said, the words heartfelt as they took their positions.

“The pleasure is entirely mine, Duchess,” Ranleigh said, with a smile. “It grieves me to inform you, but your sister is doing her utmost to begin some unsavoury rumours. I assure you myself, Falmouth and Lord Marchmain have scotched them with a word or two in the right ears, so there is no need for alarm. In fact, Pearl is doing herself more harm than she is you by persisting, but I thought perhaps you should know as… she has also said things about your husband which might reach you.”

A sick, unsettling feeling rose in Ella’s stomach and she looked up at him.

“Are they true?” she asked, wishing the question hadn’t sounded so pitiful and anxious.

She knew well enough that Oscar had at least one mistress in town, and that he saw their marriage as a sham was no secret to her, or to anyone else. That he was off carousing and living life as he always had would not come as a surprise to her.

Anger surfaced in a wave, chasing away her sorrow. Couldn’t he have at least given her a chance? Couldn’t he have tried? Yet then she remembered whose fault this wretched alliance was, and her anger subsided into guilt.

Ranleigh glanced down at her. “I would not give any credence to words that come from your sister for the foreseeable future. Whilst her anger might be understandable, her behaviour does her no credit. I assure you that whilst the scandal still captivates its audience, there is a noticeable shift in the perception of who is to blame in the affair.”

Ella noticed that he hadn’t answered the question, but she was too intrigued to hear opinions were changing to pursue it.

“What do they say now?” she asked, curious despite herself.

Ranleigh smiled at her, the admiration in his eyes obvious even to her.

“That you have behaved with dignity and poise in trying circumstances. I believe you have nothing to fear. Just be yourself, my dear. All will be well.”

“Being myself is what landed me in this position,” Ella muttered with a snort.

Ranleigh laughed, a warm sound that made her smile in response. He was a charming companion.

“Quite so,” he replied, giving her a discreet wink. “Fear not, beautiful duchess. Fortis fortūna adiuvat.”

“Fortune favours the bold,” she translated, looking up to see amusement glinting in his dark eyes.

“Don’t ever forget it. If you want something, you must put fear aside and take a risk, and I know just how brave you are.”

Ella’s heart picked up as Ranleigh spun her faster, guiding her effortlessly through the moves of the dance. It was the closest sensation she could imagine to flying and her only regret was that it wasn’t her husband holding her in his arms.

“What if I take a risk and still lose?” she asked, the words breathless as they flew around the ballroom. “What if he can never love me?”

Ranleigh was quiet until the music ended, and the dancers grew still. He bowed to her and when he raised his head his eyes were serious.

“Then you’ve played your best hand and done all you can. Then you must become accustomed to the fact and move on, but regretting something you can’t alter is one thing, regretting something you never tried to change… that is another.”

He led her away from the dance floor and back to Lord and Lady Marchmain. To Ella’s relief, Pearl was nowhere in sight.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked, trying to figure out his motivation before they reached them. Was it just for the memory of Oscar’s father?

“I told you my reasons already,” he said, glancing down at her. “But you may add that I admire bravery, and you have the heart of a lion. You are a fearless creature, Duchess.”

“I’m not!” she objected, laughing. “I spend most of my life terrified to open my mouth for fear of saying something outrageous. Riding Virago was terrifying. I still quake just thinking about it!”

“And yet, you did it,” he said, his voice low. “That is what makes you brave. Not the absence of fear, but your mastery of it.”

“Are you sure you don’t mean reckless?” she asked with a wry smile.

Ranleigh laughed, and the rich, deep sound could have made a more susceptible woman go weak at the knees. “Well, perhaps a little of that, too, but that is no bad thing in my book.”

Ella avoided Pearl for the rest of the evening, though she found herself a little startled by her sister’s behaviour. Her usual elegant reserve seemed to have fled and she seemed to burn with vivacity and laughter. She held the attention of nearly every man in the room, though she failed to secure a dance from the Duke of Ranleigh, after whom she was clearly angling. Ranleigh appeared to rebuff her with a polite excuse and a smile, but Ella feared her sister would not take such a slight well when he had already danced with her.

Pearl continued to shine throughout the evening however, with no signs of diminishing as the hour grew late, but Ella thought her sister’s laughter sounded a touch brittle, the vivacity too brilliant, too bright to be genuine. More worrying to her was Pearl’s flirtatious manner. She seemed intent on drawing every man that crossed her path under the spell of her beauty.

At one point she caught Ella’s eye, and the look she returned was cold and hard and made Ella shiver with misgiving. As much as she regretted what had happened, and understood Pearl’s fury with her, it became harder to feel sympathy for her sister’s position when she was so intent on revenge and used such underhand tactics.

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?

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.”