My Dear Duchess (19 page)

Stafford’s interpretation to Mrs. Cholmley that Priscilla “yea, was beating her breast in sore distress over the slaughter in the land” did little to help. It simply made the other guests laugh hilariously at the unfortunate Priscilla who looked in a fair way to become the joke of the Christmas season.

Frederica was lonely and Jack Ferrand sensed it. He put himself out to be so agreeable that she almost forgot her mistrust of him. He introduced her to the delights of gambling and praised her skill extravagantly. Frederica began to look forward to the card tables in the long winter evenings where she could forget her sorrows in the skill of the game. Archie teased her about her gambling and said she was trying to compete with the Prince Regent who was having trouble in Parliament over his Civil List, being more than €300,000 in debt.

But Frederica was unconcerned. They were playing for pennies after all.

The arrival of Mr. Pellington-James was a welcome diversion. He shared Priscilla Wheatcroft’s dislike of blood sports, which should have thrown them into each other’s company, but Chuffy had so long been in the bachelor habit of paying court to unobtainable beauties that he did not know how to go on with an available girl and avoided her as much as he could, much to Archie’s disappointment.

On Christmas Eve, Archie announced they would have a skating party since the lake had frozen solid. Lanterns were threaded through the skeletal winter trees at the edge of the ice, their myriad colors setting the frosty landscape sparkling and flashing like diamonds. It was a romantic setting and Frederica as she glided inexpertly on Jack Ferrand’s arm, could not but wish that her husband had decided to join them. She had sent him a gift of a Sevres snuff box from Gray’s and kept looking at the presents in the long gallery in the hope that he had sent her something in return to show that he still remembered that he had a wife.

She saw the forlorn figure of Priscilla standing at the edge of the ice and called to Jack Ferrand to halt. “I am sure Miss Wheatcroft would enjoy a turn on the ice, Mr. Ferrand,” she cried.

Jack Ferrand surveyed the trembling figure of Miss Wheatcroft with dislike. She was dressed in an extremely smart skating rig of scarlet velvet with gold frogs but her long nose was just as red and her thin sandy hair poked out in wisps from her under bonnet. With a sigh of relief he spotted the approaching bulk of Chuffy.

“Ah, Chuffy,” he cried. “There is a vastly pretty lady waiting for your escort!” Priscilla turned around with a radiant smile on her face but Chuffy lumbered straight past her and took Frederica’s arm. “Delighted to oblige,” he said, gliding off with Frederica.

There was nothing else Jack Ferrand could do but escort Priscilla. Then he noticed the jealous and venomous glance Miss Wheatcroft threw in Frederica’s direction and felt more charitably inclined towards the girl. She could yet be useful.

“Where is our dear Duchess’ husband?” said Priscilla, following Frederica’s slim figure with a wintry look that sparkled like the frost-covered fields.

“He is at Chartsay,” replied Jack Ferrand, neatly executing an intricate turn. He lowered his voice, “May I tell you something in strict confidence?”

“But of course!” breathed Priscilla, her long nose twitching like a rabbit.

“It is said that the Duke seeks a divorce.”

Priscilla put her gloved hand to her mouth and gave a delighted “Oh!” and her fervent assurances that the news would go no further. She then glided off to spread the delicious tidbit round the other guests as soon as she could. She was clever enough to keep the news from Emily, however. Even Priscilla knew that her dear friend was positively “blinded with affection” when it came to matters concerning the Duchess.

Jack Ferrand looked on with delight as Miss Wheatcroft sped from group to group over the lake, glad to have people stop and listen to her at last. Mr. Ferrand reflected on the ways of the world and considered it was simply marvellous that no one would consider telling Frederica what was being said about herself.

Frederica became uncomfortably aware of whispers and pitying glances and suddenly wished that the card tables could be set up so that she could lose herself in the game.

A thaw set in on Christmas morning with a great gusty wind driving sheets of rain against the window panes. A parcel arrived for the Duchess of Westerland and she tore open the wrapping with shaking fingers. It was a pretty gold filigree bracelet which she tossed aside while she searched for a note. With trembling fingers she opened the thin slip of paper and read the spidery handwriting. It said, “His Grace, the Duke of Westerland, presents his compliments to Her Grace, the Duchess of Westerland with many wishes for a pleasant Christmas.” The note was signed, “Your humble and obedient servant, James Entwhistle, secretary.”

The most recent addition to the Duke’s household, secretary James Entwhistle, could never have guessed what agonies his simple note had caused.

Frederica’s misery was complete. The noisy Christmas festivities washed passed her as she stood on a little rocky island of loneliness and despair. Only in the intricacies of piquet or whist did she manage to escape from her tortured thoughts.

She took her new-found gambling fever back to the empty rooms of Grosvenor Square with her but, to Jack Ferrand’s eternal disappointment, she drew the line at visiting gambling clubs, however select. The stakes were too high, she protested, and it was not her own money to lose. She contented herself with lady-like games of whist or silver loo when the card tables were set up after dinner in the households of her friends.

The quiet Miss Wheatcroft had been busy and it eventually came to Emily’s ears that her dear friend had been gossiping about Frederica’s supposed impending divorce around every salon and drawing room in London.

In a towering rage, she sent Priscilla packing and then rushed round to Grosvenor Square and asked Frederica bluntly if the news were true. “
I
am not considering a divorce,” said Frederica. “It must mean that it is your brother who is considering it.”

“Then it’s a piece of idle gossip,” snapped Emily. “If, by any chance, Henry were considering a divorce he would certainly not tell anyone. He never discusses his marriage. I am one of the few who know it was a marriage of convenience and the two of you seem to have been rubbing along tolerably well. It’s not as if either of you were in the habit of having lovers’ quarrels!”

Perhaps if Emily had not been so robust and matter-of-fact, Frederica might have confided in her. But she had received so many hurts and humiliations since her marriage that she cringed from another rebuff. Emily might point out that she should never have married brother Henry unless she was willing to meet the terms of the marriage.

Frederica plunged once more into the social round and, when her husband returned to town, she found herself accepting as many as four or five invitations a day. The Duke returned to his Corinthian sports of boxing, curricle racing, and other manly pursuits and spent most of his evenings in either White’s, Watier’s, or Brooks.

Priscilla’s one piece of gossip died as the ducal couple continued to share the same roof and more tantalizing
on-dits
began to circulate.

Frederica felt as if she had never led such a dissipated life but to Jack Ferrand’s jaundiced eyes, she seemed the model of propriety.

He decided to call on Clarissa.

To his surprise, he was informed that Miss Sayers was not at home although he could hear her laugh echoing from the drawing room.

He returned to his carriage outside the house in Clarence Square and waited patiently. Half an hour later, the thin mincing figure of Lord Adderson descended the stairs. Lord Adderson was a young widower who had reportedly run through his own fortune, his late wife’s fortune, and was now said to be on the look-out for another.

Jack Ferrand waited until Lord Adderson’s carriage had turned the corner of the square and then mounted the house steps again. He pushed past the startled butler and strode into the drawing room. Clarissa and her mother were in a great flutter about something and both of them turned and stared at him with haughty displeasure.

“A word with you in private, Miss Sayers,” said Jack, holding open the door for Mrs. Sayers who started to bridle and protest but was cut short rudely by Clarissa.

“Go on, mama. I am quite capable of dealing with this… gentleman.”

Both waited in silence until Mrs. Sayers had left. “I gather you are to be congratulated,” said Jack Ferrand.

“Yes,” yawned Clarissa, waving her fan languidly to and fro.

“Then my girl, let me remind you that the marriage will never take place if you continue to give me such cavalier treatment.”

“Do your worst,” mocked Clarissa. “Percy Adderson will never believe you. He is much too interested in my fortune.”

“He may not, but the rest of London society will. And Adderson has a grim mama and a very old name to protect. You would never get near the altar.”

Clarissa turned white and dropped her fan. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You know I would,” he said. “You have only one more little thing to do for me. You will go to the Duke all concern for your little sister. You will tell him that Frederica has been keeping low company and is in the habit of frequenting a certain Mrs. O’Brien’s establishment. You will say as a clincher that she is to be there tonight. And you will leave the rest to me.”

“You are too cruel,” Clarissa sobbed. “I am tired of this whole matter.”

“Don’t waste your tears on me,” he said brutally. “I am not one of your gallants. You will do this one last thing or you will never be Lady Adderson.”

She did not reply but stared at him white-faced through her tears.

“Answer me,” he commanded, twisting her arm behind her back.

“Yes… yes,” whispered Clarissa. “But, by God, I hate you more than any other vermin on the face of this earth.”

“Just do it,” he said, releasing her. “Here is Mrs. O’Brien’s direction. Go to the Duke this morning.”

Clarissa watched him stride from the room through a mist of tears. She decided to call on her brother-in-law while she was still distressed and frightened. Henry had an uncomfortably shrewd eye.

“If ever I get out of this coil,” she swore to herself, “Frederica can marry the Prince Regent for all I care!” It suddenly struck her that this was at least a somewhat unselfish thought and she felt strangely comforted.

She was leaving to collect her cloak and bonnet when she almost collided with Mrs. Sayers. “Sit down for a minute, Clarissa,” said her mama with unwonted severity. “Are you going to throw your engagement to Adderson to the winds by receiving that man, Ferrand, unchaperoned?”

“Why, mama, he is an old friend!”

“A young unmarried man who whispers in corners with a young unmarried girl is no friend,” said Mrs. Sayers grimly. “What is behind these meetings? Out with it!”

For a split second, Clarissa thought furiously, then she forced a smile. “Why, mama. I was sure you would have guessed. It was Mr. Ferrand who fostered my engagement to Lord Adderson.”

“Indeed!” cried Mrs. Sayers, much mollified. “Then we are very much beholden to him. Lord! I’d love to see Frederica’s face when she hears you are marrying a title.”

Clarissa looked at her mother in some surprise. Could not Mrs. Sayers understand her stepdaughter enough to know that Frederica would not care one way or the other?

“You know, mama,” remarked Clarissa in a conversational voice, “you are a remarkably stupid woman.”

“How dare you!” gasped Mrs. Sayers and mother and daughter fell into one of their tormenting, harrying and chivvying arguments with all the enthusiasm of old campaigners.

They went at it hammer and tongs for nigh on an hour until Clarissa, who was just about to throw one of her famous tantrums to somehow clinch the argument of her mother’s stupidity, recollected her appointment and left a startled Mrs. Sayers in mid-scream.

The Duke had not yet left for his club. Clarissa was ushered into the Egyptian room and left to await him. A cheerful fire was crackling on the hearth, sending little sparkles of light glinting from the glass sphinxes heads on the pilasters of the fireplace. The Duchess was fortunately absent. Through the long windows, she could see glimpses of the leaden sky outside. Her mission began to take on an air of unreality and Clarissa fervently wished that she could simply get up and go away and forget about the whole thing.

The door opened and the Duke entered. He was dressed to go out in a blue fitted swallowtail coat, striped waistcoat, buckskins, and polished hessians. He had lost his tan and his thin, white handsome face looked unwontedly severe. To Clarissa, he seemed like a formidable opponent. Her nerves and distress returned and she began to cry most convincingly. Despite her very obvious distress, the Duke experienced nothing more than a pang of boredom until through her sobs, he caught the mention of his wife’s name.

Three quick strides took him to her side and he jerked her to her feet. “Frederica! What about Frederica?” he demanded, holding the sobbing girl by the shoulders and resisting an impulse to shake her hard.

With an effort, Clarissa pulled herself together. She may as well get it over quickly.

“Poor F-Frederica,” she stammered, holding a wisp of handkerchief to her eyes. “She has got into bad habits and bad company and spends her nights g-gambling in low dives.”

The Duke released her. “Fustian,” he remarked coldly.

Clarissa was suddenly terrified that he would not believe her. “It’s true,” she cried. “Why, I know that tonight you will be able to find her at her usual rendezvous, a Mrs. O’Brien’s.”

“Mrs. O’Brien’s. Come, come. Do you take me for a flat? My wife may not yet be up to all the ways of the world. But she certainly would not attend a gambling hell frequented by card sharps and the demi-monde.”

“But it’s true!” wailed Clarissa, almost believing it herself in her desperation.

The Duke sat down and crossed one muscular leg over the other and surveyed her coldly. “It occurs to me that if Frederica were disgracing herself by frequenting a low establishment it would surely be a source of joy to you rather than otherwise. You can act very coyly and prettily, my girl, but I am persuaded that there is not one whit of truth in all this farradiddle. Why this sudden concern for Frederica’s welfare?”