A Devil of a Duke by Madeline Hunter (8)

Chapter Eight

Amanda worked the journal accounts at a table in the club’s library while the ladies planned the next issue of Parnassus. She eavesdropped shamelessly. She listened harder when the discussion veered off into tangents concerning society. She knew none of the people mentioned, but she still enjoyed the gossip.

After half an hour, one topic did touch on names she knew.

“I am told that bill on penal reform in the House of Lords is finding more support,” Lady Farnsworth said.

“I am not surprised,” Mrs. Galbreath said. “Brentworth took it up. With his name attached, many will give it better consideration.”

“Let us not forget it was not he who conceived it.” Lady Farnsworth smiled meaningfully. “Rather, one of his oldest friends did. Langford spoke most eloquently on its need, I am told.”

“Perhaps you should not take all the credit for Langford being moved to do so. Your essay was published almost a year ago.”

On the mention of that name, Amanda flushed. She hunched over her desk lest someone glance over and notice her hot face.

She had not yet reconciled herself to her behavior four nights ago. Try as she might to castigate herself, the only regret she could summon was that she would never know such intimacy again. Her emotions remained wistful and deep. Memories emerged throughout the day that affected her mind and soul.

“There is evidence he took my words much to heart. Much evidence. He saw himself in my description, I am sure. Who knows what benefits to the realm and to himself will be wrought over time.”

“Untold benefits, I am sure. However, it is possible that something else inspired him on this bill,” Lady Grace said.

“I am at a loss to think of anything else.”

“Maybe he knows a criminal whose punishment he found excessive.”

Amanda almost broke her pen point. Ink splattered over the account page. She blotted quickly and pretended to be very busy indeed.

“He is a hedonist and irresponsible but he does not cavort with criminals,” Lady Farnsworth said with a chortle. “Heavens, what a notion. Have you some information of which the rest of us are unaware? If not, even implying such a thing is rash.”

“I merely say that perhaps we should not assume our little journal changes a man’s character too completely.”

“Is his character so changed as that?” Mrs. Dalton asked.

Lady Grace did not reply at once. Amanda wondered if she would. She sneaked a glance over at the group. Lady Grace was indulging in a cake.

“If you must know,” Lady Grace said, “he has not been seen with a woman in some time. Weeks.”

“That is not very long.”

“It is for him.”

“Perhaps he is being discreet.”

“Langford is never discreet. He flaunts his affairs. He takes his mistresses to dinner parties and drapes them in jewels.”

“It may just be another small change in his character.” Amanda recognized the soft voice of the rarely vocal Mrs. Clark. “The discretion, I mean. Not the—that is to say, he may still enjoy female company, only not so publicly.”

“He needs to marry, of course,” Lady Farnsworth said. “One more duty that he has neglected. If he should perish without a son, the title will go to that brother of his who is almost a hermit.”

“Too distracted to recognize himself in an essay designed to scold him, you mean,” Mrs. Galbreath said.

The ladies all laughed. Except Lady Farnsworth, who tapped something for attention. “Enough of this. Let us finish. Of the two topics for Mrs. Dalton’s history essay, who favors the investigation into whether there were female druids?”

A little vote ensued; then Mrs. Galbreath ended the meeting by reciting the calendar for the next issue’s various tasks. When the ladies dispersed, Amanda felt a presence by her side.

Mrs. Galbreath looked over her shoulder. “I can’t believe how quick you are at this, Miss Waverly. You put me to shame.”

“It is easy for me to be fast. Your accounts are in excellent order.” She really made quick with it so the tradesmen would be paid in a timely manner. When she’d first begun, a few accounts had been in arrears. She felt bad for those who had to wait on their pay due to carelessness.

She also wanted these accounts up to date because she probably would be leaving them to Mrs. Galbreath soon. Or to some replacement for herself that the club would find.

“If you are finished, would you come with me? I want to show you something.”

Amanda put away her ink and pen, then followed Mrs. Galbreath from the library. They went up the stairs. Mrs. Galbreath opened a door and led the way into a bedchamber.

“Lady Farnsworth has confided that she worries about your domestic situation,” Mrs. Galbreath said. “She pictures you in some sad room with no heat.”

“I have heat.” When I buy fuel. She had never told Lady Farnsworth where or how she lived. The good woman had surmised the truth merely using her imagination.

“The duchess suggested that I invite you to live here instead. This chamber would be yours alone. No one would interfere with you and your activities. We do not seek to make a child of you, or place you under supervision.”

Amanda had not even considered that they might try to do that. Mrs. Galbreath perhaps spoke from her own experience, however.

Amanda strolled around the chamber. Although of modest size, she thought it was perfect. The appointments possessed quality but not luxury. The prospect from the windows allowed a view of the activity and trees on the square. The tiny dressing room could hold a wardrobe far bigger than her own.

It reminded her of her chamber at school, only larger and nicer by far. She pictured herself reading in the chair come winter, facing a fine fire. She imagined herself sleeping in the bed with the drapes drawn closed. She might even have Mrs. Galbreath for a friend if she lived here. Or at least one or two of the servants. She might have a real home.

Her heart ached to say yes. She hated all the reasons she could not.

“You and the duchess are too kind. I think, however, that I will remain where I am. It is closer to Lady Farnsworth, for one thing. Not far off Leicester Square. I am moved by the generosity of this offer, and hope you will understand if I decline.”

“I told Clara—the duchess—that you prize your independence too much to relinquish it. I do understand, Miss Waverly. Please know you are welcome here should you ever change your mind.”

Amanda followed Mrs. Galbreath out of the chamber, looking back one last time before she closed the door.

* * *

Gabriel checked his pocket watch, then put it away. Beside him, Stratton did the exact same thing at the same time.

“She is fine. Your son is too,” Gabriel said after he called for cards. “We have at least an hour before I can let you go back.”

He had dragged Stratton to this gaming hall at the new mother’s request. I beg you to take him away for an evening, her note had said. Kidnap him if necessary. His constant watch is driving me mad.

“Should she need me—”

“She only needs you to stay away so she has a few hours of peace.”

“I refuse to believe she told you that. I will ask her, and if you lied so you could have company to relieve your boredom—”

“Has fatherhood made you an idiot? She did not want you to know. Nor would you if you had not thwarted every manner of persuasion I could summon. Informing you of her request was a confidence between friends and you are sworn to secrecy.”

“I did not swear a damned thing.”

“Then do it now, so I do not risk having her angry with me. She scares me, to be honest. I have a list of people whom I never want as enemies and she is high on it.”

Stratton laughed at that. “I confess she is high on mine too.”

“Then swear it, so you don’t do something that gets us both on her bad side.”

Stratton threw in his cards.

“I was not joking. Swear it. Or at least promise.”

Stratton sighed dramatically. “I promise on my word as a gentleman that I will not let her know you revealed her plan.”

My word as a gentleman. The phrase brought forth memories that he had hoped to escape tonight. Irritation spiked immediately. The shepherdess had disappeared into the night again. He had thought she would not this time.

He did not care for being treated like an expendable acquaintance, especially after showing heroic restraint with her.

She had left the locket too. He grudgingly acknowledged that may have shown good character. If she intended no further contact with him, that was. In such a situation, many women would think a gift was a gift and take it.

Still, it also displayed a lack of gratitude, it seemed to him. Or not. He couldn’t decide. He had a difficult time thinking about it clearly due to the way the entire episode had left him . . . dissatisfied in many ways.

An image came to him, of her body naked and pale in the moonlight. Of her astonished ecstasy and her parted dark lips when she cried out her release. Of the way she held nothing back for a brief spell before her fears closed her again.

What caused that shadow? Something real. He worried about her and her safety even though he felt a fool for doing so. She had rejected his help. He should forget about her.

“What are you pondering? That frown is quite deep,” Stratton said, looking over while the dealer pushed winnings his way.

“I am wondering why you keep winning and I keep losing.”

“Perhaps I live right, and you do not.”

“I have no reason to believe that living right brings benefits, so I don’t think that is the reason.”

“Have you tried it recently and been disappointed?”

“Let us say I have stuck one foot into the lake of righteous living and found the water very cold.”

It was Stratton’s turn to ponder. “Give me a few minutes and I will understand.”

“I don’t think so. I have told you nothing.”

“Since it was you doing the telling, you told me a lot.” He waved the dealer away. He propped his elbow on the table and his head in his hand and examined Gabriel.

Gabriel refused to suffer it. He called the dealer back and gestured for another hand. “What nonsense. As if you know me that well, or anyone that well, that you can just look at them and determine what they meant by so cryptic a—”

“It has to do with a woman, of course. It usually does with you.”

Gabriel tried to ignore him and picked up his cards. Just his luck, it was a bad hand. The odds of winning were all but nil.

“If you were trying to live right where a woman was concerned, I assume that means you did not seduce her even if you thought you could.”

Gabriel threw in two cards and received two more.

“Since there has been no gossip about your adventures recently, I assume that means this is a quiet pursuit. Your shepherdess?”

He studied his cards even though he already knew he had more than twenty-one.

“I see I hit my mark on that.”

“You do not see anything, let alone that.”

“I do. When you are caught, your eyes narrow.”

“I was looking at my cards in bad light.”

“So you saw your shepherdess. I do not think you would fall asleep again, so if you—I have it. You met her again. You restrained your impulses. And she was not impressed by your behavior.”

Damn Stratton. “She was very impressed.”

“Yet there will be no more meetings. Hence the cold water of righteous living.”

“I did not say that there would be no more meetings. The cold-water reference was to the restraint itself.”

“Do you know her name yet?”

Gabriel threw down his cards and stood.

Stratton pulled out his pocket watch again. “How long did you say you would keep me away?”

“Longer than this, but go now.”

“Should I? We don’t want Clara angry with you.”

“Go. I insist.”

“I can dally another hour if that is appropriate.”

“Go home. Go to hell. Go anywhere before I punch you.”

* * *

Two nights later, Gabriel entered his brother’s house. The servant no longer slept near the door. Rather, he sat upright, probably hoping for just such a visit and the coin he received to make himself scarce.

As soon as he saw Gabriel, he was on his feet. “Dawn as usual, Your Grace?”

Gabriel handed over the money.

“No. Wait here. If I am not back by ten-thirty, then go away until dawn.”

The fellow cocked his head in curiosity, but accepted the change. “Oh, I should probably tell you. Lord Harold wrote that he will be returning in the next few days.”

“That was not long. One wonders he bothered to leave.”

“He won’t be staying. He will just visit, then go back.”

Why would Harry even need to visit? Gabriel did not wonder long. He had ceased trying to comprehend Harry years ago.

He went below and unlocked the garden door. Then he mounted the stairs to the library. He made himself comfortable, took out his pocket watch, and set it on the divan beside him.

He had placed another notice in the newspaper. Shepherdess, same time, same place June 10. In twenty minutes, he would know if she’d seen it and came.

He had no champagne with him tonight. That served as a testimony to his soul-felt belief that she would not show. There had been a finality about how she’d slipped away last time. And yet—

The time moved slowly. He could not distract himself with thoughts of the bill or memories of prior conquests. He forced himself not to stare at that watch, but he managed to glance over every five minutes just the same.

Ten o’clock came and went.

At ten after ten, a floorboard creaked. His heart rose. He almost jumped to his feet as well. Only no form materialized in the shadows. It had only been a sound such as houses make at night.

At ten-twenty, he accepted she would not come. The depth of his disappointment surprised him.

At twenty-five after, he walked down to the entry door. “Lock up after me,” he said to the servant. “Then go down and lock the garden door too.”

He stepped out into the damp night. Damnation. You are an ass, Langford.

* * *

Amanda entered Mr. Peterson’s print shop on The Strand. She shook the rain off her wrap. Despite the steady drizzle, she dared not skip this daily detour on her way home.

Her humor matched the dreary day. The recent lure by Langford had shadowed her since last night, when, painfully aware of what she rejected, she had not gone to him again.

The decision had not come easily. She had ached to comply with that new notice. It flattered her that the duke continued to pursue her. She did not lie to herself about his interest. At the moment, she was a novelty for a man bored from years of adventures with women. All the same, the pull toward him had been strong. He may have experienced nothing truly deep in that last encounter, but she had known a warmth of connection that had been denied her for most of her life.

She almost had gone. What could it hurt? You owe it to yourself. That was how her inner debate went. On the other side, her heart weighed in, reminding her that further intimacy would only cause pain when she had to turn away from it altogether.

So she turned away last night instead. She sat in her cellar chamber picturing what she missed, hearing the duke amuse her with his banter, feeling the pleasure he knew so well how to give. She imagined again her armor dropping away until her vulnerability trembled and his presence melted into her.

She approached the counter. Mr. Peterson knew her by sight since she had been coming here for years, but he still waited for her to request the letters left to her false name of Mrs. Bootlescamp. He rustled through a box out of sight below the counter. He lifted a letter, and handed it over.

She grasped the letter and stared. It had taken long enough to get here. She had begun to wonder if it ever would.

Normally she would wait until she returned home to read it, or at least leave this shop first. Today she pretended to peer inside a print bin while she broke the seal.

The address to Mrs. Bootlescamp was not in her mother’s hand, nor were the few lines in the letter. Another person had penned them.

That was all. No reassurances that her mother would be released or even remained in good health. That the kidnapper probably had written this, and not her mother, worried her.

Morris’s Grocery. A new place. She did not like that. Why not the same directions as for the brooch? And why so long before delivery too?

Mama would have never counseled such carelessness. It is important to move the goods fast. It doesn’t do to be caught with them. Of course, the danger did not lie with her captor. Amanda would be the one holding stolen goods all that time. Perhaps Mama had refused to write the letter because of that.

She saw only one good thing about the directions. She could use the time for another purpose. She could lay her own plans carefully, and take steps to ensure their success.

She plotted her course while she walked home in the rain. Upon entering her building, she found Katherine sniffling outside the stairs to the cellar.

“Have you some fuel?” Katherine asked. “I’ve the chills and the damp is in my bones. I went to the tavern and the man sent me home. Too sick, he said. His patrons would object, he said.”

Amanda let them both in. She set a chair near the hearth and lit a low fire. “You don’t sleep or eat enough. That is why you have a summer fever.” She plucked one of her knit shawls off a peg and draped it around Katherine’s shoulders.

“Need to work late if there’s ale to lay down, don’t I? I never learned to sleep during the day in town. Too much noise. Back home on a summer morning I never wanted to get out of bed but had to for chores. Things never seem to match up.”

Amanda touched Katherine’s forehead. “You’ve a fever for certain. Once it breaks, you will feel better in one way and worse in another.”

“If it breaks.”

Amanda chose not to think about the fevers that never broke. Katherine did not appear especially weak yet, nor did she feel all that hot.

She set about warming the soup on the hearth hook.

“You never told me about your meeting with that lord,” Katherine said.

Amanda busied herself with supper while she decided what to say.

“Not that you have to tell me about it,” Katherine added.

“There is not much to tell. We met, I left, and I have not seen him since.”

“Was he a gentleman after all, then?”

Amanda reached for two bowls off a shelf so her back might be to Katherine and her expression invisible. “Yes. Very much a gentleman.”

“Oh. How disappointing.”

Amanda laughed, because it had been disappointing.

“Not even one kiss?” Katherine asked. “There’s something wrong with him if he didn’t even try one kiss.”

“There was one kiss,” Amanda admitted. “One very long kiss.” More than one, but she would never forget the almost endless first one. Or the sweet, touching last one. Or the one when he all but inhaled her scream when she shattered from pleasure. Or—

“You like him, don’t you? The way you said one very long kiss sounded like you do. If so, it is sad if you won’t see him again. He would want nothing respectable, but there’s worse things than having a gentleman take care of you.” She looked around the cellar.

“There would be no point in finding out. I will be leaving soon, you see. Leaving London.”

Katherine’s expression fell. “Why? You’ve a good situation where you are. That lady is generous. If it is this chamber, you could do better, I am sure, or even live with her perhaps.”

“I’ve a better situation waiting elsewhere.”

“Better than the lady? I can’t imagine anything better than that.” She tucked the shawl closer and looked at the fire. “You are my best friend here. The only one really, since I don’t trust the others who might call themselves that. I don’t think any of them would burn their own fuel if I had the chills or needed some for a bath.”

Amanda knelt beside the chair and placed her arm around Katherine. “I will miss you too. I was all alone until that day when I heard you cursing in the bath next door. I will leave whatever fuel I have left so you might enjoy a few baths in my name. Perhaps you can live here after I go. It is far quieter during the days here. You might sleep better.”

“I fear I’d never see the light if I slept down here. It is kind of you to leave any fuel, though.”

“I will have to leave some other things too. I can’t take all of the dresses. You can have them if you want, to remake or sell.”

Katherine brightened. “I will use one at least. It has been over a year since I had a new dress.” Her expression dimmed again just as fast. “When will you go?”

“Before the month is out.” She got to her feet. “Soup is warmed. Stay there and I will bring you some.”