Duchess by Mistake (12 page)

I must conceal my disappointment
. "But, dearest, do you not need to ring and have your gig brought around?"

He shook his head. "I can walk there much faster. It's less than five minutes from Berkeley Square to White's."

"Pray," Elizabeth pleaded, "Do. Not. Walk. Home. I wouldn't at all like for a cut-throat footpad to leave me a widow a week after my marriage."

Caro whirled to her brother. "She's absolutely right, Aldridge. You must give us your word that under no circumstances will you walk home."

He chuckled. "Ladies, I give you my word. I'm not so great a fool." He strode to Elizabeth and brushed a kiss across her cheek. "Don't wait up for me."

His first night back in London, and already he was slipping away from her.

* * *

Damn, he'd not been at White's in nearly five years. Where had all these bloody strangers come from? Not one of his friends was there. Is that what marriage did to one? Thinking back on it, marriage had never previously affected his acquaintances a whit. If they wanted to dine at their club and gamble the night away, their wives accepted it.

Were Haverstock and Morgie so besotted over their wives that they were squashed beneath their ladies' thumbs?

He nodded to Palmer, whom he'd known most of his life, though the two had never been close. The nod opened him to a series of questions about his return to England and queries regarding his marriage.

He attempted to give the appearance he was looking for a specific person, and when he did not find him, promptly took his leave. He would try Brook's just down the street.

He'd more often gone to White's because that's where his father and his uncles had always congregated. But now that he was going to take an active part in government, he thought perhaps the Brook's crowd might be more to his liking.

His father would roll over in his grave if he knew his son was considering aligning himself with the Whigs. The old duke had been a Tory through and through. All of the Dukes of Aldridge had been Tories.

It wasn't that Philip was actually a Whig. It was just that he preferred to be open minded and wanted to adopt the best features of each of the political camps. His guiding principle would be to do what was best for Britain.

At Brook's he was pleased there was at least one person he knew: Elizabeth's cousin, Richard Rothcomb-Smedley. The fellow leapt to his feet, offered Philip his hand, and begged him to join his table.

"I'm surprised to see your grace back so soon from your wedding trip. Did the weather in Middlesex turn bad?" The man's dark blond eyebrows lowered.

Philip directed a cold stare at the young man. There was a faint resemblance between him and Elizabeth. Perhaps it was just that he was blond. He supposed Rothcomb-Smedley's better-than-average height and broad shoulders would appeal to women. No matter how important the fellow was in government, Philip could not warm to him. Not when the only two times Philip had been in his presence he had the audacity to intimate that Philip did not properly appreciate the woman he had married.

By Jove! Philip--not this youthful upstart--had asked for her hand. Wasn't that enough to prove his commitment to her? It was not in the duke's nature to dance attendance upon any woman.

"The weather in Middlesex is the same as it is in London. But after being from England for five years, I have many calls upon my attention." He sat down, and Rothcomb-Smedley introduced him to his companion, Lord Dessington who served with Elizabeth's cousin in the House of Commons.

"I believe I know your father, the Earl of Lancer," Philip said.

Dessington nodded. "I understand you will be serving in the House of Lords with my father."

"I begin this week."

"Tell me, your grace," Rothcomb-Smedley said, "did you finish reading the tax bill?"

"I did. As a matter of fact," Philip peered at the viscount Dessington, "your father was kind enough to furnish me his copy--one of only three, I'm told."

"My father means to butter you up in the hopes that you will support the Whigs."

"I will support whatever faction I believe is right. As it happens, I think the tax bill is damned good, and I mean to support it."

"Then we are gratified to have you as an ally," Rothcomb-Smedley said. "I still find it incredible that you chose to spend your honeymoon reading a tax bill."

Philip glared. "What I did on my honeymoon is no concern of yours." Especially those other, intimate activities which rather dominated their very satisfactory wedding trip.

Rothcomb-Smedley sighed. "You're a fortunate man. Were I not a second son who needed to marry an heiress, I would have offered for Elizabeth."

Was the man telling him he was in love with Philip's wife?
What cheek!
  To refrain from glaring once more at his arrogant companion, his gaze fanned over the cozy chamber with an air of boredom only a duke could get away with. "Does Haverstock no longer come to his club?"

"My cousin is the only man I know who's even more serious than I over his duties to his country," Rothcomb-Smedley said.

Philip stood. "A year from now I hope you say that about me."

"Then you'll be in the House of Lords tomorrow?"

He nodded. And at the Foreign Office--but he needn't have that be widely known.

"Will I see you at the Holland's Thursday night?"

"Yes."

Rothcomb-Smedley lifted a brow. "With the duchess?"

Was the damned ass obsessed over Elizabeth? Philip had a good mind to go without her just to disappoint her cousin. But he had already invited her.

He'd told her not to wait up. Did that mean he had no plans to come home? Would he be visiting Belle Evans or a woman like her? The very thought nearly brought her to her knees. As much as she wanted to push such torturing thoughts from her mind, she far too keenly felt her first separation from her husband. It stung that he wanted to be away from her for she treasured every minute they spent together.

After she and the sisters returned from a visit to Almack's assembly rooms, Fanny assisted her in dressing for bed, then Elizabeth went through her dressing room which connected to his. She stood before the door to his dressing room, fighting with herself. She wanted to stroll into his bedchamber on the odd chance that he had returned. But how would that look?

It would look as if she were forcing herself on her husband.

She also considered leaving the connecting door ajar so she would hear him when he returned, but were she to do that, he would believe her a nosy, meddling wife. A clinger. She did not fancy doing anything that would drive them apart. Husbands found such actions distasteful.

She stormed to her lonely bed.

The honeymoon was over. She must accept that and not force herself into her husband's pocket. That would be sure to chase him into the arms of a woman like Belle Evans. Why did men of their class consider mistresses as necessary as a fine equipage? It was such a despicable practice.

She knew with certainty neither Haverstock nor Morgie had taken a mistress since they married. But, then, the demands on Haverstock's time barely allowed him to be with his adored wife.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. She must welcome Philip's plan to take seriously his duties for that could keep him from other women's beds.

Those very duties of his could work in her favor in another way. Were she to share his interests, that would bring them even closer together. She remembered how Lord Wickshire practiced all his Parliamentary speeches on his lady, who was vastly interested in matters of government. It was said that Lady Wickshire's suggestions made her husband's stellar speeches even more memorable.

It was no accident, Elizabeth thought, that Lord and Lady Wickshire were one of the most devoted couples she'd ever seen.

At least until Haverstock wed Anna.

As soon as she could, Elizabeth planned to cultivate Richie's absorption with Parliament. He was just the person to school her!

As she lay there in the darkness she attempted to direct her thoughts away from her absent husband. Number 7 Trent Square would give her purpose. In fact, the only good thing about returning to London was that it would allow her to proceed with her plans for the widows. Her last waking thoughts were of the many things she needed to do the following day to give the neediest of the widows a new home.

* * *

He'd been mildly disappointed upon returning from Brook's to learn that his wife and sisters had gone to Almack's. When he'd left a few hours earlier, he'd thought he would be away several hours. But he had not considered that the men and diversions that had occupied him so fully five years previously no longer held allure.

Much had changed. Especially his two closest friends. Philip found he did not enjoy his club without Haverstock and Morgie, both of whom had changed vastly. He was still trying to determine if they had changed for the better. As young men, their hedonistic ways barely kept them on the fringe of respectability. But, oh, the fun they had!

Now Haverstock certainly had earned the admiration of a great many men in exalted positions in government. That change, Philip must grudgingly admit, was for the better.

But what of Haverstock's total capitulation to that lovely wife of his? Was it not a sign of weakness for a man to be ruled by a wife? Not that the marchioness actually ordered Haverstock about. It was more that he seemed incapable of things that would separate him from her.

As these thoughts drifted through his mind,  Philip realized he had initiated the present separation from Elizabeth. It struck him that this was the first time they had parted since the day they had spoken their wedding vows. He found himself wishing she were lying there in his bed beside him. A sudden void came over him. Though it was an unfamiliar feeling, he attributed it to acute desire.

For he could not deny his desire for her had nearly become an obsession.

Good lord, was he becoming Haverstock?

* * *

The following morning, she carried the breakfast tray into her husband's chamber. She would not have exercised so assertive a measure had he not told her the previous day that his full schedule of activities would take up all of the day.

Upon hearing his chamber door squeak open, he rose up onto his elbows and regarded her with a devilish grin. "How did you know I would not bite off your head for awakening me at so ungodly an hour?"

She set the tray beside him on the bed. "Because you told me yourself yesterday that you had a full day of activities planned." She sat there and tried to speak casually. "Were you very late coming home, my dearest?" There! It was out, and she thought perhaps she hadn't sounded too much the meddlesome shrew. In fact, one hearing her remark would think she found nothing whatsoever troublesome about her husband staying away most of the night.

What a good actress she was!

He chuckled. "Actually, I was home before you."

Her mouth opened into a perfect O. "I shall be offended that you didn't wait up for me." So much for being a good actress.

"I thought I owed it to you to give you a rest from my bothersome self."

Without thinking on what she was doing, her hand stroked the lean plains of his face. "You're never bothersome." As soon as she'd said the tenderly spoken words, she wished she had them back. He was sure to think her the most clinging vine imaginable.

She had all but confessed that she never tired of making love to him. He was sure to think he'd married a doxy!

He took her hand, pressed a nibbly kiss into her palm, then diverted his attention from her as he began to slather marmalade onto his toast.

Taking a cue from him, she poured his strong coffee into a delicate porcelain cup and began to add the sugar just as he liked it.

"What plans have you today--other than sitting in the House of Lords?"

"Can I trust you with a confidence?"

"Of course!"

"I shall be working at the Foreign Office, but I'd as lief not own up to it."

"Then you'll be doing what Haverstock does?"

His eyes widened. "I thought your brother's activities were clandestine."

She shrugged. "They are, but give me credit for not being a complete moron. I daresay it's difficult to hide those kinds of activities from those with whom one lives--not that Haverstock hasn't tried!"

"No one, save you, is to know what I'll be doing there," he said in a stern voice.

"I perceive you're good at ciphers."

"I am grateful I have not wed an imbecile; now, you must prove your trustworthiness."

He bit into his toast. "Tell me about your day."

"I am ever so anxious to get started at Number 7 Trent Square."

"I'm sorry I won't be able to spend as much time there as I'd like, but you must inform me if there's anything your widows need."

"I don't know myself yet. By the way, your sisters are most enthusiastic about the Trent Square project and begged to accompany me there today. They have vowed to assist in any way needed. Dearest Margaret even insisted I accept some of her own pin money to give to the widows."

"I'm very proud of the Ponsby women. And that includes you." He threw his bare legs over the side of the bed. "I can't linger. I told Haverstock I'd meet him in Whitehall this morning."

"Are you still planning on the theatre tonight?"

"I am indeed." He brushed his lips across her cheek.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson and her little girl were not the only ones at Number 7 Trent Square when the sisters arrived there that morning.

"Oh, Lady Elizabeth," Mrs. Hudson began, "I hope you don't object, but I took the liberty of inviting Mrs. Leander to come here when she and her five children were thrown out on the street."

Elizabeth had never before met Mrs. Leander, but she sounded as if she was in need of any assistance they could provide. "You did the right thing, Mrs. Hudson. Is Mrs. Leander also the widow of a soldier?"

"Aye. Mr. Leander served with my Harry."

Elizabeth turned to her sisters. "Allow me to present to you Mrs. Hudson." Then turning back to the youthful widow, she said, "These are my new sisters-in-law, Lady Margaret on the left, Lady Caroline on the right."