Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

D
ru entered the Benbridge house in London, pulled along in the wake of her sister. Now that Priss was resigned to the return, she took the lead, treating Dru as though she were nothing more than a servant, waiting to catch what scraps of affection remained after the tearful reunion with Father.

‘Priscilla!’ The duke had heard the commotion and came into the hall, hands outstretched, when they had barely crossed the threshold. ‘I wondered at your absence. And all I had was your sister’s cryptic notes.’

He glanced at Dru with a raised eyebrow. ‘But your Mr Hendricks has been to explain already, and I am not quite so in the dark as I was before.’

‘He was here already?’ She hoped she did not sound as eager as she felt.

‘You missed him by little more than an hour,’ her father said.

Dru nodded, as though it were little more than a sign of his efficiency, and not a missed opportunity for another look at him. ‘I am sorry, Father, that I was not able to explain further, nor to give you warning of his visit. But the situation was quite complicated. And speed seemed to be required.’

‘You were in a great hurry. Yet you had time to engage Mr Hendricks.’

She wondered what John had said, on his visit, for it did seem that Father was unusually suspicious. ‘That was a fortuitous happening, and nothing more. He protected me from the unwelcome attentions of another passenger. And I engaged him in case further aid was needed.’

‘Next time, Silly, have the sense not to leave without a maid.’ After one last glare, he turned his attention to Priss. ‘And I suspect that you did not leave for Scotland unaccompanied?’

‘No, Papa.’

‘But that you returned alone.’

‘Yes, Papa.’

‘And does anyone else know of this trip that I am unaware of?’

‘No, Papa.’

‘Then we will speak of it no more.’

Even Priss seemed surprised at how quickly it was to be dismissed. ‘I was gone for quite some time with Mr Gervaise, Papa.’

‘According to my estimation, almost four days.’

‘And in that time—’

‘I said,’ their father’s booming voice cut the sentence short, ‘we will speak of it no more.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ Whatever declaration Priss had been preparing was discarded and forgotten.

‘And you, Drusilla, will speak with me, in my study.’

‘It is hardly fair, Papa. For if you mean to lecture her for something that I…’

‘I said, Priscilla, we…will…speak…no…more. Drusilla!’

Priss seemed to recede from the scene almost without moving, and Dru did not even have the time to cast a backward glance of thanks. The effort to defend her had been kind, even though it was ineffectual. It had been more than she’d expected to receive from Priss.

But it had failed, and she had no choice except to follow her father into the study, to give her side of events and accept punishment for her part in them.

Once behind the closed oak door, her father appeared almost warm to her, holding a hand out to her and gathering her into his arms to offer a fond kiss upon the cheek. ‘It is so good to have you home, my dear, and that you have brought Priss back to me unaccompanied. I meant what I said before, although perhaps I should not have been so harsh with you. You cannot traipse across the country without so much as a groom.’

She gave a respectful nod. ‘I would not have done it, your Grace, if I had been able to think of another way.’

‘See that it does not happen again.’

Dru swallowed the confusion, for it did not seem that her father understood the gravity of the situation. ‘Let us hope not. For Priss’s behaviour tarnishes my reputation as well as her own. If she is so foolish as to breathe a word of what she has done, her supposed friends in town will use it to their advantage against us.’

He nodded. For a moment, she thought that he cared what might have happened to her. But then he said, ‘It is better, if she ran at all, that she went without you. It was far more likely that she would have been recognised had the two of you been seen together. Next time, do not chase her. If I learned anything in the years your mother was alive, it was that when a woman realises that no one is in pursuit she will find her own way home.’

‘Oh,’ she said. For what more could she say to that? For it seemed that however it might seem, her father did not care any more for Priss than he did for her. Then she added, ‘But it was good that I had Mr Hendricks to help us on this trip. Once he realised my dilemma, he was most eager to assist me.’

‘Ah, yes. Your stalwart companion,’ her father said, making a small face. ‘I am sure, once he realised that you were my daughter, he smelled the money on you and could not keep away.’

‘Not at all, sir,’ she replied. ‘He came to my aid before he so much as knew my name. It was only later, when I offered to retain him, that we discussed my family.’

‘Well, he knows it now, for I have just had a visit from him.’ Her father was laughing. ‘If you could have seen the poor man, Silly, you would have been most amused.’

‘Really,’ she said faintly, listening to the blood ringing in her ears.

‘He stood before me, all pomp and ceremony, polishing his little spectacles, and asked to pay you court.’

‘He did?’

‘He was quite effusive in his praise of you. Complimented your easy temper and your wit.’ Her father gave a derisive snort. And then, as though he had forgotten, he added, ‘And your looks. He seemed to favour them.’

John had wanted her, then. It had not been a mistake. Her heart leapt like a doe. Then it came crashing back to earth and she said, cautiously, ‘How kind of him.’ And added casually, not wanting to ruin the moment by seeming too eager. ‘What did you tell him?’

Her father laughed again. ‘I told him to go away, of course. Although he is well mannered for one of his sort, he is far too common for you, my dear.’

‘I found him to be most gently bred,’ she said, a little hopefully. ‘And most pleasant company.’

‘That is all well and good. But nice manners do not make a husband.’

Then what does?
she was tempted to ask. But there was little point, for she knew what the answer would be. The man she wanted had no title and no money. If those two faults could be remedied, all others would be overlooked.

Unless Priss had been right. And then, no fortune or rank would be sufficient.

‘I do not think I would mind so very much, if my husband was not a lord,’ she said. ‘And would it not be better for me to marry first, so that it would be quite clear to any potential suitors, that there is no impediment to courting Priss? I would hate to stand in the way of her happiness.’

He looked her over carefully, as though searching for the things that this strange man had seen in her, and then nodded to himself as though he had confirmed his first assessment of her. ‘Do not worry, Silly, my dear. The men who court your sister are not bothered by your presence in the least. You will make a match yet. Perhaps next Season, when your sister has had time to cool her blood, I will send the pair of you on the rounds of Almack’s and you shall have your pick of the young bucks there.’

The odds on there being a young buck that would notice her if she travelled with Priss were near to non-existent. That her own hunting should be put off for a year, while her foolish sister rusticated after this last embarrassment, or that hunting was even necessary, now that she had freely given her heart…

And her body…

She swallowed, not wishing to give away the sinking feeling inside at the risk she had taken while pretending that she would not be parted from him. ‘It is really not necessary to give me another Season, Father. I fear, after all this time, there is little hope of success. And Mr Hendricks did seem quite capable and devoted to my happiness, even if he was not what you expected for me.’

‘Nonsense, my dear. He was nothing more than a fortune hunter.’ He stared at her.

Suddenly she was sure of a thing she had only suspected before. This was why there had been no shouting or threats over her lapse in allowing Priss to escape. This was to be her punishment. Her father knew she wanted John. And that was why she could not have him. ‘No,’ she said softly, so that there could be no misunderstanding. ‘I am quite sure of it. He wished the best for me.’

‘But you will need to fix your affections on a man that is more constant than that, if you wish my consent.’

‘Not constant?’ For that was the last word in the world she would have chosen, had she wished to insult him. John Hendricks was as constant as the rising and setting of the sun.

‘He gave up the idea with barely a fight, I assure you. Left here with my cheque in his hand and his tail between his legs.’

‘Your cheque?’

‘You did not think that I would send an employee off from my service without paying him, did you? Considering the audacity of his interest in you, I think a reference is quite out of the question. But the ten thousand pounds I gave him covered the matter of his help, and there was more than enough extra there to make him forget his penchant for you.’

‘You bought him off.’ She would have sworn that it was not possible. The things he had said to her, the way he had sworn. And the way he had made her feel. All had counted for nothing, when compared with such a sum.

‘The money was well earned if he managed to scare the dancing master away from your sister as handily as he claimed. The man is not all bad. But when all is said and done, he is no better than a servant. But he assured me he will be returning whatever love tokens you have pressed upon him with this afternoon’s post. Then he was gone. That should tell you all you need to know about the focus of his affection. It had very little to do with you, and much more to finding a way into our family, and our fortune. He chose you because you are the weaker and more vulnerable sister. After this recent escapade with Gervaise, Priss would have seen through him and sent him packing. Now dry your eyes and go upstairs to see to your sister. I am sure she is most cross to have her plans so easily thwarted, and your hands will be full with placating her.’

As she walked from the room, Dru wiped absently at her face with the back of her hand, surprised to feel no tears.

Chapter Twenty-Two

S
he walked slowly, numbly, back to her room, as silent and polite as she ever was when in her father’s house. And with each step, her brain screamed.

How could I have been so wrong?

Wrong about her life, which had seemed full, but was proven empty. And wrong about John, who had said he loved her. After the return from Scotland, she had been sure that she would see him again. Not positive he would go through with his plan to visit her father, but fairly confident that he could be persuaded to attempt it, if he faltered once he had seen the formidable Duke of Benbridge.

She had been much more confident of her father’s response, which had been the dismissal she had expected. Of course he would say no, for he would see no further than the Mr at the beginning of her love’s name. But she had assumed, after the initial disappointment, that John would come to her. She could have told him not to be put off by the first inevitable refusal, and when best to approach for another interview. Perhaps, with time and strategy, some progress would have been made.

If her father could not be moved, then at the very least they could have prolonged the parting so that he would have been allowed a proper goodbye to her. She had not thought that, with all the pride he had shown, he would simply take the money and leave. By doing so, he had proven all that her father had ever believed about the common men of England. And about her as well.

If he left so easily, what reason could he have had to attach himself to her, other than as a way to increase his paycheque? John had thought her gullible. He had forced himself into her rooms, taken advantage of her inexperience and her feelings for him. He had reduced her to a state where her virtue had seemed more of a disadvantage than a precious gift. Now he was ten thousand pounds richer. And he was gone. Lost for ever, for she had no clue how to contact him.

Though if she had, she did not know what she would say. She did not think herself likely to weep and beg him to return, for if she had nothing else, she had her pride as well. If she were a man, she would have called him out, for the embarrassment of being tricked and acting the fool for him was still stinging in her heart.

He was no better than Gervaise.

She lay down upon the bed, wishing that she had the abilities of her sister to throw a proper sulk. Priss would begin with tears, follow with the kicking of slippers and pounding of pillows, and finish by shrieking loud enough to bring the above-stairs servants to whisper at the door, and raise her father’s anger at having his peace so disturbed. She would have a new gown out of it to stop her crying, and perhaps some ribbons as well.

And Dru would have a megrim. She sighed. There was little room in the emotions of the house for another fuss. Even if she had attempted it, her tantrum would have been met with a simple, ‘Do not be absurd, Silly. Now see to your sister, for she seems most unhappy.’

She lay still in the bright sunlight of the room, wishing that there were tears sliding slowly down her cheeks and into her ears and hair. What Priss had to cry about, she was not sure. Unless she had realised what Dru had: that they might both be in the very devil of a fix, in a month or so.

But was that anything to cry over? Father might be less particular of their choice of suitors, with less than nine months to make a decision.

She smiled a little in grim satisfaction at the thought, and felt the first angry tear burning her cheek. While it worried her that a child might be possible, it hurt far more to think that she had been so easily abandoned by its father. After all his high-and-mighty words about not caring for rank or wealth, he had taken her father’s bribe and never looked back.

She wondered, as she always had, if it would have been different if he’d met Priss. Quite possibly Mr Hendricks would be howling outside the gates like a rabid wolf, eager to have the company of one who was not only rich and well born, but vivacious and pretty as well. For had she needed to protect her little sister from the likes of John, she doubted that she would have been so successful.

She blotted her tears with the edge of a pillowcase, surprised that they had not yet stopped, for she was rarely able to manage more than one or two of them, even with effort. But the thoughts of her sister and John—Mr Hendricks, she told herself firmly—had been so clear in her head, that for a time, it had consumed her. The sly smile he had given her when he had begun to take liberties, and the masterful way he had of touching just the right places on her body, were not things she wished him to share with any other woman in the world.

If her father was right, he had chosen her specifically because she was the weakest link in the family. While Priss was just as likely to have fallen from grace, she doubted that it would do the girl any permanent harm to be rid of Gervaise. While she might enjoy raising a fuss, Priss would not waste much time crying real tears over a man who was even tonight drowning his sorrows in expensive wine and a willing and experienced woman, laughing at the foolish heiress he had left behind.

* * *

Time had passed. Dru had a vague recollection of her maid poking a head into the room with offers of luncheon, and then tea. She had sent the girl away with a cross word, preferring the way the bitter emptiness of her stomach matched the sharp, empty feeling in her heart. This time, when the maid came again, she sat up and hitched up her skirts, grabbing a slipper and preparing to toss it at the head of the unsuspecting girl.

‘My lady,’ she said hurriedly, shielding her face against a blow. The poor thing had already been to see Priss and prepared herself for battle. ‘There is a package for you, come with the afternoon’s post. If you wish, I will take care of the contents.’

‘No.’ Dru took a deep breath, for even the one short word made her head sound stuffy and weak. Hadn’t her father said something about John returning her possessions to her? Although what she had left with him, she’d no idea.

‘Do not touch it. Bring it to me. I will open it here.’ Perhaps it would be the letter of farewell that she hoped for. For if she was to be guilty of a horrible misalliance, she at least deserved a
billet doux
to hold against her quaking breast so that she could weep and swoon, cursing her father and the gods.

Priss had a box full of them, after all. And when she had nothing else to do, on a rainy day, she pored over them, reading choice lines and sighing. It was not too much to ask, was it, if Drusilla could have one such for herself?

But the package the maid brought to her looked more like forgotten laundry than it did anything else. Dear God, had she left some personal item in John’s room that might indicate what they had been to each other? She was torn between the equally horrible ideas of him keeping a shift or a stocking as a trophy of her downfall, and the idea that it would mean so little to him that he would think she’d want it returned. The least he could have done was pined over the thing, whatever it was, to make her believe that he had trouble parting with it.

The girl was reaching for the strings to untie the bundle, and Dru said sharply, ‘Leave it.’ When the girl hesitated, hoping to get some glimpse of the contents, Dru dismissed her, then waited the few minutes it took until she was sure that she was alone.

Then she pulled on the string that held the brown paper in place.

There was but one item within. A pair of familiar leather breeches, and a single sheet of paper pinned to them.

Eight o’clock. Tonight.
Hyde Park.