The Confessions of a Duchess (21 page)

“LAURA! HOW ARE YOU
?” Alice Lister laid down a posy of pale pink roses on the hall table and stripped off her gloves before coming over to enfold Laura in an unexpected hug.

She stood back and surveyed her friend with her shrewd brown gaze. “Oh dear! You look very drawn. Should you be out of bed today?”

“There is nothing wrong with me,” Laura said, laughing as she hugged Alice back.

“At least there was nothing wrong until you arrived and told me that I looked like a hag!” She looked her friend up and down. Alice’s eyes were very bright and her cheeks very pink though it was not possible to tell if it was as a result of the cold wind or some strong emotion.

“I didn’t say you looked like a hag!” Alice protested. She frowned a little. “You look a little pale, that is all, and it is scarce surprising after the accident you had. Rachel told me that you had only just escaped a nasty injury.”

Laura wondered just what Rachel
had
told Alice the previous morning—and more to the point what Dexter had told Rachel to say to anyone who asked. It certainly would not be the truth, that he had spent all of the previous night with her. If that rumor circulated in Fortune’s Folly her reputation would be in the ditch and his prospects of marrying Lydia with it. She shrugged slightly, trying to shake off a feeling of blue devilment. Her shoulder gave a twinge, reminding her to be careful.

“I was lucky,” she said, smiling at Alice. “There was a masonry fall—”

“So I heard,” Alice said. “You were knocked unconscious and barely managed to struggle home alone. What a terrible thing!”

“Alone,” Laura said slowly. “Yes, yes, I was.” So that was the story Dexter had put about. She felt ridiculously disappointed that he had removed all reference to himself from the tale, as though those moments of extraordinary intimacy between them had counted for nothing. But perhaps they did not mean anything to him and anyway, he could hardly take credit for rescuing her without some difficult questions being asked. She swished crossly over to the bell pull and relieved her feelings by almost tugging it from its socket.

“Your cousin told me all about it,” Alice said. She bit her lip. “Lord Vickery is a very officious man. I met him in the lane just now and when I expressed my intention to visit you to see how you were, he quizzed me mercilessly about how I had heard of your accident, and who was talking about it and any number of things that are none of his business!”

“I see,” Laura said, suddenly understanding the cause of Alice’s pink cheeks and militant expression. “I am sorry. Miles can be very protective of my welfare.”

“He need not try to protect you against me,” Alice grumbled. “I am your friend! I find him very…” She stopped, frowning.

“Very overbearing?” Laura prompted, trying not to smile.

“Well, no,” Alice allowed. “Not completely. He is not unpleasant. In fact, he can be extremely charming, although I am in no danger of having my head turned by him, of course.”

“Of course not,” Laura agreed. She reflected that Dexter must have told Miles of her accident though not, she assumed, the scene in the wine cellar that had preceded it. If he had done, Miles would probably have called him out. She sighed.

“I hear from Rachel that you and Lady Elizabeth held Miles up as he was crossing the bridge this morning and demanded payment of the pontage tax,” she added, realizing that Alice was about to ask her what was troubling her and seizing on a change of subject.

“That must have tested his fabled charm.”

Alice’s face broke into a mischievous smile. “Yes, we did. He was very annoyed.

And then several of the younger men chose to try the stepping-stones to avoid having to pay to cross the bridge and then they fell in the water! Lady Elizabeth and I thought it vastly amusing.”

“We must think of some more medieval laws with which to torment the gentlemen,” Laura said. “The Mischief Ball next week may present us with another opportunity.” She picked up the roses. “Are these for me? Thank you very much, Alice—they are very pretty.”

“I know that Hattie brought some lilies for you yesterday,” Alice said, “but one can never have too many fresh-cut flowers about the house. Will Mrs. Carrington put them in water for you, or should I run down to the kitchens?”

“I am sure Mrs. Carrington will do it,” Laura said. “Her arrangements are always very elegant. She is feeling a little better today and has baked a simnel cake for us to have with tea. She says it is a medicinal recipe.”

“That sounds delicious,” Alice said, slipping off her winter pelisse. Carrington had appeared from the kitchens and now tottered away with Alice’s coat, gloves and bonnet. He was almost bent double under their meager weight. He had placed the posy of flowers on the top of the pile and it bobbed about rather like a cork in a stormy sea.

“I will bring up the tea tray, your grace,” he said. “And may I say how delighted I am to see your grace up and about this morning?” His face shook with horror and shock. “I had no idea, no idea at all, that you were down in the wine cellars the night before last—”

“Please do not worry, Carrington,” Laura said, interrupting him as she feared that he was shaking so much he would drop the entire pile. “And there is no hurry for the refreshments.”

“Poor Carrington,” Alice said, watching the butler with concern as he tottered off.

“Can he manage?”

“I expect he will need to carry the cake separately,” Laura conceded, ushering Alice into the drawing room, “but he will manage quite well and he does like to do these things for himself. He is very proud.”

Molly had lit the drawing room fire and with its bright flames in the grate and the autumn sunshine flowing in, the room was almost cheerful. Alice subsided with a sigh onto the ancient velvet chaise and Laura took her usual armchair at the fireside. She was aware of Alice’s scrutiny, as though her earlier reassurances had not satisfied her friend, and now she sighed.

“Stop staring at me!” she said with mock severity. “I am perfectly well.”

“If you are sure…” Alice did not sound convinced. “Where is Hattie this morning?”

“She is taking a nap,” Laura said. “We played together in the long gallery with the toys that Miles brought for her from London—he gave her the most beautiful spinning top and a new doll whom she has named Emily, and some wooden animals to start a toy farm.

Hattie was so excited that she quite wore herself out.”

“Lord Vickery does not strike me as the type of man who would have much interest in children,” Alice said. “You surprise me.”

“Miles is a most doting godfather to Hattie,” Laura said, amused at the continued interest in her cousin that Alice was not quite managing to hide.

“And yet he is a rake and a fortune hunter,” Alice said crossly. “It is most inconsiderate of him to have any saving virtues for it makes it impossible to dislike him completely!”

“If you remember that he is officious and interfering,” Laura said with a twitch of her lips, “I am sure you will not find it difficult at all.” The door opened and Carrington came in with a stately shuffle, bearing the tea tray.

He placed it by Laura then retreated to fetch the cake. The whole operation took five minutes.

“Pray let me pour, Carrington,” Laura began, as the butler lifted the teapot with a hand that shook so much half the contents splashed onto the carpet.

“Madam,” Carrington said with dignity, “I could not possibly permit it.” Laura contented herself with cutting the cake whilst he served Alice tea.

“It is a terrible affliction they both suffer,” Alice whispered as Carrington, duty finally completed, withdrew with triumph and the empty teapot. “I am sure the Duchess of Cole must be a monster to have upset them so!”

“It is very sad,” Laura agreed. “And pray do not mention to the Carringtons that Faye and Henry are in Fortune’s Folly, Alice, or they are like to become completely prostrate.”

“Of course not,” Alice said, munching on the simnel cake. “I met the Duchess of Cole in the market square when I was on my way here,” she added. “Naturally she cut me dead. She had just accosted Mr. Anstruther in the street to invite him to join a house party at Cole Court for a shoot.”

Laura felt another twinge to be the recipient of this information, though this time it was her heart rather than her shoulder that pained her. An invitation to Cole would be the next, logical step in Dexter’s courtship of Lydia. She wondered why she had not anticipated it. She wished she did not care about it.

“Perhaps Faye thinks that a week of mindless slaughter will put Mr. Anstruther in amorous mood,” she said snappishly.

Alice giggled. “Poor Lydia,” she said. “Her mama has rather been pushing her in the direction of any gentleman who is remotely eligible, has she not? I am surprised she does not auction her daughter to the highest bidder!”

“For pity’s sake do not suggest it to her,” Laura said, “for she would no doubt think it a splendid plan. I can see it now—a public sale in the market square!”

“Anyway, Mr. Anstruther refused the invitation,” Alice said, with a sideways glance at Laura. “He did not seem very keen at all.”

“Strange, when he has been dancing attendance on Miss Cole this se’nnight,” Laura said, attacking her simnel cake viciously with her knife. “I think he will make her a declaration soon and he will have no one but himself to blame if he thinks it worth taking on such a mother-in-law.”

“He has not known her very long,” Alice said, her brown gaze resting thoughtfully on Laura’s face.

“They first met years ago,” Laura said. “Besides, it takes very little time for a fortune hunter to weigh up the value of an heiress’s dowry, Alice, and everyone knows that Mr.

Anstruther’s prime consideration is to marry a fortune.” Alice smiled. “You seem quite put out by the whole affair, Laura.”

“Not at all,” Laura said hastily. She had momentarily forgotten just how observant her friend could be.

“Perhaps the duchess will invite him for Christmas instead,” Alice said.

“Perhaps,” Laura agreed. The thought of Dexter newly betrothed to Lydia and celebrating Christmas at Cole Court caused her a stab of pain, for she could suddenly see that this would be the beginning of her torture, not the end of it. There would be Dexter and Lydia’s wedding, and the honeymoon, and the birth of their first child, and the christening—she could only hope that she would not be invited to be godmother—and then the appearance of a whole brood of little Anstruthers. They would be a proper family. They would belong together.

Laura swallowed hard. How would she feel when she watched Lydia walk up the aisle to join Dexter at the altar? It seemed impossible to imagine that she would feel indifferent enough to attend the wedding. Faye and Henry would be sure to invite her, not because they wanted her there but because it would be the appropriate thing to do. She would have to make sure that she and Hattie were taking an extremely long trip when the invitation arrived.

With a huge effort of will she turned her thoughts aside before Alice could sense her unhappiness.

“Are you going to the recital at the pump rooms tonight?” she asked. Her voice did not sound quite right even to her own ears and there was a prickle of tears in her throat.

“I fear so,” Alice said gloomily. “Mama has decided it would be a good thing. She enjoys music, whereas I am tone deaf.” She looked closely at Laura. “You have turned very pale, Laura. Are you quite well?”

“I am absolutely fine, thank you,” Laura said, smiling brightly even as she felt wretched. She had never confided in another person in her life. She realized that she did not even know how to do so. What could she tell Alice, after all? That she had spent the night with her cousin’s suitor? That she was in love with him even though he thought her a faithless wanton?

Rachel knocked at the door and Hattie rushed in with shrieks of excitement, upsetting the teacups. She grabbed Alice’s hand and dragged her away to see the Emily doll and Laura followed, smiling and chatting, just as she had always done at Cole Court, gracious, guarded, the perfect dowager duchess once more.

DEXTER SAT BACK
in his uncomfortable gilt chair in the pump room recital hall, rubbed the back of his neck and tried to relax as he waited for the start of the evening’s concert.

Conversation had been stilted around Sir Montague’s dinner table that night. Every heiress invited had declined the summons to dine, with the inevitable exception of Miss Lydia Cole. In fact there had been only three women present in total: Lydia, her mama and Lady Elizabeth Scarlet, who had claimed that the only reason she was eating at her brother’s table was that she would otherwise starve. Sir Montague had been almost incandescent with rage to be snubbed by the ladies of Fortune’s Folly and had glowered and growled his way through the entire meal.

Dexter had been seated with Lady Elizabeth on one side and Lydia, inescapably, on the other. Lady Elizabeth had spent the meal baiting Nat Waterhouse, who seemed impervious to her teasing, whilst Miss Cole had been silent for most of the time. She had answered Dexter’s pleasantries in monosyllables whilst her mother had craned her neck to watch the progress of the happy courtship from her place farther up the table. It had been stilted and ghastly.

The rest of the day had not been much better. Dexter had met up with Miles and Nat to discuss the most recent developments in the investigation of the murder of Sir William Crosby. There had not, in fact, been a great deal to discuss. Dexter himself had had no success with his inquiries at the Red Lion. Nat had gained little from his discussions with the local constable who had originally investigated the case. Miles had interviewed the game-keepers and beaters who had been out on the estate with Sir William when he had been shot but none of them had apparently seen or heard anything unusual or remotely helpful. The only thing that had caught Dexter’s eye was a note in the transcript of Miles’s interview with the widowed Leticia, Lady Crosby, to the effect that an engraved ring had been stolen from her husband’s body.

“There was no mention of this in the constable’s original report,” Dexter had commented.