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Authors: Cheryl Bolen

BOOK: A Duke Deceived
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Chapter Nine
 
 
T
he country life suited her husband very well, Bonny reflected as he strolled into the dining room dressed simply in country clothes and smelling of fresh shaving soap. That first night she had seen him she had not thought him particularly handsome outfitted in pants and coat of blue superfine with flounced lace shirt cuffs and an elaborate cravat with diamond pin. But in country clothes that matched the shades of brown in his hair, buff cloth breeches and Hessians, he looked ruggedly handsome.
Radcliff looked her over approvingly before lifting the coffee cup extended him by a footman, whom he immediately dismissed. “Marie does admirably with your hair.”
Bonny lowered her lashes and smiled. “I am quite pleased with her.”
Taking a seat across from her, Radcliff shot Bonny a contented gaze. “I am happy to see no dark circles under your eyes, my love. I know I kept you from sleep the greater part of the night.”
She thought of how she had thrown off all covers, how his lips and hands moved over her body, how she hungrily stroked him and lashed about wildly beneath him. Her breath grew short at the memory. And she could not meet his gaze in the morning’s bright sunlight. “Pray, sir, I cannot discuss that in the breakfast room.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “You passionate baggage. If I wanted to, I believe I could have you writhing with pleasure beneath me in this very room in a very short span of time.”
She took a sip of the now cooling coffee and diverted her gaze. “I daresay you could. You do seem to have that effect on me.”
The lopsided grin appeared on his face as he broke open a scone and spread a thick layer of marmalade on it. “But, alas, I must spend the day with my steward.”
“You are so very much at home in the country, I wonder why you spent so much of the year in London.”
“Before you, the company was awfully thin here.” He bit into his scone.
“None of your friends live in the area?”
He shook his head. “I met my closest friends at Oxford, including old Twigs. He’s quite my best friend. You haven’t met him, have you? James Edward Twickingham?”
“No. I suppose he is a bachelor.”
Her husband chuckled again. “I cannot even fathom Twigs noticing a woman, unless she were mounted on an exquisite bay. He cares for nothing except the sporting pleasures.”
“Does he not even know bits o’ muslin?”
Her husband cocked a single brow. “My sweet wife knows about those? Have you not been told that ladies do not discuss such things?”
“Pooh. It is different with you. You are my husband. And you have told me any number of times that nothing between us should ever be embarrassing.” She dabbed a chunk of the warm scone in clotted cream, eyeing Radcliff. “When you were at Oxford, surely you and your chums learned from buxom serving wenches, right along with Homer and Aristotle.”
His eyes twinkled mischievously. “In my case she wasn’t a serving wench, but the upstairs maid of a country squire. There was a little ditty we sang of her.” Lifting his voice to a merry tenor, he sang.
“She’ll show you her breast,
She’ll lift her skirts,
That’s our fair Denise.
And when you are through,
She’ll yell like a shrew,
Next gentleman, please!”
Bonny attempted to scowl, but a faint smile played at her lips. “I shall pretend I did not hear that outrageous verse and return to the subject we were discussing. You have no good friends in the area?”
“No male companions. Our family has always been close with Squire Carlisle.”
“Has he no sons?”
“None that lived past infancy, poor man. Perhaps that’s why he frequently solicited my company when hunting and fishing. I really must call on him. Perhaps this afternoon I could present you to the Carlisles.”
The idea of meeting her husband’s friends appealed to her. More than that, though, she welcomed the opportunity to spend time with Radcliff. “I should like that. While you are with your steward this morning, I had planned to call upon the vicar. What is his name?”
“Philip Widdington.”
“Is there a Mrs. Widdington?”
Radcliff set down his porcelain cup, the corners of his mouth lifting. “There is. She is twice the size of her husband and quite dominates the poor fellow.”
“And are there little Widdingtons?”
“I should say so. Must be a dozen of them. The rotund Mrs. Widdington is a good breeder. Has stout, healthy children.”
How Bonny longed to be a good breeder and have Richard’s stout, healthy children.
“And how do you propose finding the parsonage, my love?”
“I thought you could tell me how to get there. It will be a lovely day for a walk.”
“I will not have you traveling about the unfamiliar countryside unattended. My groom will drive you.”
Bonny rose from the table and crossed the room, stopping by Radcliff’s chair to lightly brush his leathery cheek with a kiss.
“I’ll have Rusty bring the phaeton around for you,” he announced.
She longed for more endearing words. So many times during their night of lovemaking she had bitten back her declarations of love. He must be the first to say it. But would those words ever tumble from her husband’s lips?
 
After one hour in the Widdingtons’ chaotic household, Bonny was not so sure she wanted to be
that
good a breeder. The house was hopelessly cluttered and smelled of an unpleasant pet odor, Mrs. Widdington had scarcely been able to get the hair out of her eyes, and shrieking, crying babes vied with one another for their harried mother’s attention.
But one of the babes made the nerve-splitting hour worthwhile. His name was Jonathan. Not quite old enough to walk, the chubby fellow with deep blue eyes and an adorable giggle bounced happily on Bonny’s knee and thoroughly enjoyed her making a cake of herself over him. With reluctance, she gave him back to his mother at the end of the hour. “It was so very good to meet all of you, but I must get back to Hedley Hall.”
Mrs. Widdington pushed her light brown hair from her brow. “Our pleasure, your grace.”
At that second, two-year-old Anna collided with the tea table, sending the teapot and teacups clattering to the floor.
Bonny stooped and gathered the broken pieces of glass before Anna could cut herself, and the vicar found tea towels to wipe up the spill.
“Oh, your grace, I am so very sorry,” Mrs. Widdington said, color rising to her already rosy cheeks as she slung Jonathan halfway over her shoulder. “Pray, don’t clean that up. Philip will get it.”
Bonny placed a chunk of broken china in her palm. “It’s nothing. I was afraid Anna would get cut.”
“She’s seen worse, that one has,” her father said, crouching to the floor and relieving Bonny of the broken porcelain. “She’s a right whirlwind, she is.”
Having watched her climb on top the piano, pull the cloth off the table and poke Jonathan in the eye, Bonny could not deny the parson’s remark. She hoped poor little Jonathan would not emulate his sister’s behavior when he got older.
On the lane leading to her phaeton, Bonny met an extremely well dressed young lady whose eyes swept Over her, and a flicker of emotion—was it envy?—crossed her pretty face. She stopped in front of Bonny, smiled broadly and extended a gloved hand. Her pink glove perfectly matched her gown and pelisse, and she wore a rose-colored bonnet trimmed in the same pink. “You have to be the new duchess. You are just as beautiful as they said.” She smelled of rose-scented perfume and spoke in a girlish voice.
Bonny took her hand. “You’re very kind...and correct about me being the Duchess of Radcliff.”
“I’m Cressida Carlisle.”
“Squire Carlisle’s daughter!”
“Richard’s mentioned us?”
“Indeed he has. In fact, we had planned to pay you a call this very afternoon.”
“You make me ashamed we have not called on you.”
“Pooh. I daresay you had no way of knowing before yesterday that we were even here.”
“True. I heard that your cousin was with you. Will we have the pleasure of meeting her?”
Bonny frowned. “I am sorry to say she has returned to London.”
Bonny felt the young blonde studying her. “I fear you will sadly lack female company,” Cressida said.
“I do miss my cousin, but I’m enjoying getting to know my husband.”
Cressida coughed. “Well, I shan’t keep you, since we will have the pleasure of a nice, long visit this afternoon. My parents will be delighted—and I will, too.”
On the way back to Hedley Hall, Bonny struck up a conversation with the freckled groom as they bounced along the bumpy country road. “How old are you, Rusty?”
“Fourteen, your grace.”
“Do your parents work at Hedley Hall?”
“I ’aven’t got no parents, your grace.”
“How is it you came to be employed by his grace?”
“I would ‘ang around his grace’s town ’ouse ‘opin’ to earn me a shillin’ watchin’ ‘is grace’s ’orses. The duke could see I loved me ‘orses, and ’e asked me if I would like to come learn ‘ow to take care of ’em. Now I got me a regular post, a roof over me ’ead, three meals a day and the best master in all of England.”
Her dear Richard had obviously taken pity on the poor orphan and had wanted to ease life’s cruel harshness for the lad. Bonny fixed a smug smile on her face.
And I have the best husband in all of England.
When she got back to Hedley Hall, Bonny went first to check on the cleaners. Mrs. Green was overseeing the removal of the old draperies in the musty banquet hall. Their absence brightened the room with undiluted sunlight, but as the drapes came down, clouds of dust rose, causing Bonny and Mrs. Green to start coughing.
Alarmed because of the elderly housekeeper’s frailty, Bonny led her from the room. “Come, Mrs. Green.” She coughed. “We shouldn’t want your lungs to take a disease.”
The old woman issued no protest as Bonny escorted her from the room.
“I must commend you on the progress being made at Hedley Hall,” Bonny said when they reached the ballroom.
“Thank you, your grace.” Mrs. Green sneezed. “Did you have a nice visit with the vicar’s family?” Mrs. Green’s lips twitched mischievously.
“Why, Mrs. Green, I believe you know how very unpleasant those children of theirs can be—all except for the precious baby boy.”
“Indeed. They’re a wild bunch. Unfortunately, the poor little babe will probably turn out like all the rest.”
They walked across the ballroom’s parquet floors, which were in need of a good polish. Mrs. Green took a dust cloth from her pocket and ran it over the gilded frame of a massive painting of the Spanish Armada. “This place is sadly in need of a great deal of work, I’m sorry to say.” Mrs. Green’s thin, shaky words echoed in the vast room.
“With the extra day help, it will be done before we know it,” Bonny said reassuringly.
Mrs. Green sniffed away the last of the dust. “I do hope your visit to the rectory wasn’t altogether frightful.”
“Oh, no. In fact, as I was leaving, I had the good fortune to meet Miss Cressida Carlisle.”
Bonny detected a slight stiffening in Mrs. Green’s manner at the mention of Cressida. “’Tis a pity that one never married,” Mrs. Green said. “She had many offers during her season in London but turned them all down. I always felt she was holding out for his grace.”
Bonny thought of the lovely young woman and swallowed hard. “For Richard?”
“Yes. They were the best of friends as children.”
“Then she’s past thirty?”
Mrs. Green nodded. “Though she’s younger than his grace. She rather followed him around like an adoring pup.”
Bonny’s chest tightened. “Did he return her ardor?”
“No. He treated her as a sister, if you ask me.”
“Well, I must say she was quite nice to me.”
“I feel sure it has been many years now since she accepted that she would never be his duchess.”
Bonny left Mrs. Green to supervise the laundry and went to her room to freshen up before Radcliff returned, her thoughts on the unfortunate Cressida Carlisle, who had chosen the lonely life of a spinster.
 
On the ride to Squire Carlisle’s manor in Radcliff’s curricle, Bonny inhaled the fresh country air, not objecting to the cool winds, which ruffled her hair and caused her bonnet to flap. This was the first time she had truly observed the green Kent countryside. “I must scold you, Richard, for praising Northumbria when your own Kent is so much more beautiful.” The sun shone again today, glancing off the many lakes. Sheep grazed in hedged meadows, and gently rising hills seemed to hunker over the landscape.
“They are different types of beauty.”
She watched Radcliff’s masculine hands holding the ribbons to the high-stepping bay and spoke in an offhand manner. “Speaking of beauty, do you find Cressida Carlisle beautiful?”

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