Julia Justiss - Stolen Encounters With The Duchess

‘From what Maggie tells me about the character of the late Duke, I doubt the Duchess is experiencing very much grief.’

‘More like regret for what might have been, probably,’ Davie admitted, advancing to the wine decanter on the sideboard. ‘I understand the Duke...frequently availed himself of the company of other women, particularly after the Duchess had borne him several sons to secure the succession.’ Choosing two glasses, he poured them each some wine.

‘Now that I’ve reconciled with my father and been more or less forced to attend ton gatherings, I’ve had to listen to a lot of gossipy rubbish,’ Giles said, accepting the glass from Davie. ‘One bit, from that fribble Darrow, said the late Duke met his demise while attempting to...copulate with his current doxy while racing his high-perch phaeton. A drunken wager, apparently.’

Shocked, Davie froze, the wine glass halfway to his lips. ‘The devil he did!’ he exclaimed a moment later. Faith told him she’d never enjoyed the attention paid to a duchess. Especially as Ashedon and his women provided so much scandal for society to watch my reaction to. How embarrassing and degrading it must have been to face down that bit of salacious gossip! ‘I hadn’t heard. Poor F—poor Duchess.’

‘Not much to lament about the passing of such a man,’ Giles said acerbically.

‘I don’t believe he ever truly cared for her,’ Davie said, trying to mask the anger that fact always aroused in him. To have been able to claim the beauty and innocence and joy that was Faith, and not appreciate it, was stupidity of such colossal proportions he could never forgive it.

Why couldn’t that gift have been tendered to a man who would have treasured it? Not him, of course—it could never have been him—but surely there was some man of suitable birth and station who could have loved her and made her happy.

At least now she was free of the husband who hadn’t. He squelched the little flare of excitement that resonated through him. Free, maybe, but not for you.

Ah, but a man could dream, couldn’t he?

He surfaced from that thought to find Giles frowning at him. ‘Maggie told me two days ago that you’d asked her to invite the Duchess tonight, so I made sure Ben and Christopher were occupied elsewhere. You ought to tell them, before they find out from some other source, that you’re...involving yourself in her life again. I’ll make sure they don’t harass you about it. But...be careful, Davie. Don’t let yourself hope too much from this.’

‘I’m not!’ he assured Giles—and maybe himself? ‘If I can help her break free from the unhappiness of her life with Ashedon that will be enough.’

‘Will it?’ Giles asked, giving him a penetrating glance. ‘I’m not sure how much she can “free” herself from that life. Don’t forget, Davie, she’s a rich widow, her oldest son now the Duke, her minor children protected by a trust. Her family may well have further plans for her.’

A fierce protectiveness rose in him as the austere, disapproving face of the Dowager surfaced in his mind. ‘As long as she has a say in making those plans, rather than have them imposed on her.’

‘As long as you remember it’s not your place to determine that.’

‘I just want to stand her friend. She has few enough of them.’

‘Well, here comes one who should be.’

Davie looked over as a tall, well-dressed gentleman entered the parlour. ‘Englemere,’ Giles said, walking over to shake the Marquess’s hand. ‘Good to see you. Perhaps tonight we can make some progress on hammering out that coalition.’

‘I hope so,’ the Marquess replied. ‘If your lovely wife has anything to do with it, there will certainly be a lively discussion. Good evening, Mr Smith. You’ll add your voice of reason to that debate, I’m sure.’

‘Always,’ Davie answered, reaching out to shake the hand the Marquess offered. He owed a great deal to Englemere, the best friend of his sponsor, Sir Edward Greaves, and one of his backers for his Parliamentary seat, and respected him even more. Did the Marquess know his sister-in-law was going to be present this evening? he wondered.

Almost before he’d completed the thought, the lady in question appeared at the doorway as the butler intoned, ‘The Duchess of Ashedon.’

For a moment, everything in Davie’s world halted while he took in the loveliness that was Faith. Her gown, a lavender confection of lace and silk, hugged her tiny waist and moulded itself over her rounded bosom in a way his hands itched to trace. Her golden hair, pinned up in an elaborate arrangement of curls, made him yearn to rake his fingers through it, freeing the heavy mass to cascade around her shoulders, as it had when she was a girl. She wore only simple diamond drops in her ears, the soft expanse of bared skin and shoulders rising above the bodice of her gown her only other adornment.

She married the look of the angel she’d always been with the allure of a siren. Davie wasn’t sure which was more powerful—the ache of his love for her, or the burn of desire.

While he simply watched her, spellbound, Englemere answered his question as he paced forward to take her hand. ‘Faith! What a delightful surprise! I didn’t know you would be here tonight. How are you? It’s been far too long.’

He took her hands, and Faith leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Lady Lyndlington was kind enough to invite me. I didn’t know you’d be here either, Nicky. How lovely to see you! How is Sarah?’

‘Still carefully nursing Elizabeth, our youngest, who was very ill with a congestion of the lungs last winter. Gave me quite a scare, I have to admit. With Lizzie so slow to regain her strength, I wanted her out of the noise and smoke of the city, so I’ve taken a house near Highgate Village, with a large garden for her to walk in and fresh country air to breathe. If you have time, I know Sarah would love to have you call.’

‘Fresh country air? How Sarah must love that, and...and I would, too. I will try to visit her, Nicky.’ She raised her chin, almost defiantly, Davie thought. ‘We’ve grown apart, and I’d like to rectify that.’

‘As would we,’ Englemere said, giving her hands a squeeze before releasing them. ‘But I mustn’t monopolise you. You know Lyndlington? And Mr Smith, of course.’

‘My lord,’ she said, making a curtsy first to Giles, then to him.

‘Duchess,’ he said, taking the hand she offered. Savouring the contact, he retained her fingers for as long as he could without exciting comment before forcing himself to release them. To his delight, she gave his hand a brief squeeze as he let hers go.

‘Who else can I expect to see tonight, my lord?’ she asked Giles.

‘Elder statesman and your host’s political sponsor, Lord Coopley, whom I’m sure you know. Lord Howlett, another member of Witlow’s Tory coalition in the Lords. Two of my Reform MP colleagues, Richard Rowleton and John Percy.’

‘I’m acquainted with all of them,’ she said, her apprehensive smile steadying. ‘Particularly Lord Coopley. He used to take Ashedon to task about his behaviour, which annoyed my husband exceedingly.’

Bravo for the baron, Davie thought. Counting on his age, lineage and position to protect him from retribution for criticising a gentleman of higher rank? Or too principled and courageous to care?

Laughing, Englemere said, ‘I’m sure it did, though I wager Ashedon didn’t choose to respond. Coopley has never shrunk from calling a spade a spade, and he’s too intelligent—and belligerent—for most men to willingly argue with him.’

‘As I’ve experienced on several occasions, when promoting ideas he does not favour,’ Giles inserted wryly. ‘But you mustn’t worry, Duchess. Lady Lyndlington has you seated beside her father, and near Mr Smith, so you’ll have a dinner partner you know well to chat with.’