The Dangerous Duke (21 page)

* * * *

Devlin raced up the stairs to Fenella’s bedroom. Not only was it completely devoid of any sign of habitation, but there were no signs that she had ever occupied it. He stormed out and bumped into Mrs. Perkins.

“Mrs. Perkins!”

The housekeeper dropped him a curtsey.

“Where is …ah…
was
Miss Preston’s room? I thought she occupied this bedroom.”

Mrs. Perkins’s expression was subdued, but Devlin took no notice.

“Her Grace moved Miss Fenella to the back of the house, to the green and white bedroom overlooking the small garden while we had so many guests to accommodate.”

Devlin’s heart sank. Sir Marcus had told the truth. On the night he had seen Sir Marcus drunkenly trying to open the door, Fenella had been fast asleep in another room. He strode down the passage and into the green and white bedroom. Molly, sniffing in a doleful manner, was placing dresses between layers of tissue paper. Devlin marched over to the wardrobe and flung it open.

“What’s this nonsense?” he demanded. “Miss Preston has not left; here are all her clothes.”

Molly swiped her hand across her nose, gave a last loud sniff and burst into tears. “They’re the ones ’er Grace gave to ’er. Miss Fenella only took ’er own things.”

With that, Molly shot a reproachful glance at the Duke before burying her head in a trunk full of tissue paper.

Devlin went red. Obviously, he had been a complete fool. If only he had not jumped to conclusions about the bedroom changes; if only he had waited for the truth before proposing to Lady Vane; if only he had known about the Spanish emissary …if only …

A thought came to him. Of course, Fenella did not walk to the village. She had to have had help.

“Finch!” He stormed back into his mother’s apartments. She was alone.

“Where’s that Don …Don fellow?” he demanded.

His mother levelled a cool stare at him. “He has stepped into the garden for a breath of fresh air. Just because you are to blame for this pickle, don’t burst in here and behave like a boor.”

Devlin paced back and forth. “But she has gone, Mama!”

“Of course she has gone,” his mother retorted. “I would also leave if I had been treated so abominably, as well as been humiliated by an
unjust
accusation of an improper liaison.”

Devlin clenched his jaw in self-reproach. “What can I do, Mama?”

“Get rid of that other creature for a start.”

Devlin froze; he had already forgotten Lady Vane and her threats. When he recounted the meeting to the Dowager, she sighed with relief and said tartly, “Well thank Heavens you had at least a grain of sense to send that baggage packing.”

“There could be a scandal, Mama. I’m not sure if you are aware…but Miss Preston’s father is a suicide.”

Devlin looked so serious that his mother burst into inelegant laughter.

“I know Fenella’s entire history and I do not care a jot; it does not signify as far as I’m concerned.” His mother’s tone was matter of fact. “I also don’t think many people will be prying into the whys and wherefores of his death. Lady Penelope will keep her mouth shut. Of course, she has to. If she blabs a word, then people will suspect she had a hand in it. Simply distract everyone by announcing your marriage to Fenella. It will be the grandest wedding of the year. That’ll get the old tabbies’ tongues wagging.”

Devlin was relieved his mother was not concerned with possible scandal. Nevertheless, one problem remained. “She will not have me, Mama.”

His mother stroked Scheherazade. “I am sure
I
would not have you after such uncouth conduct but there’s no accounting for taste, especially when a girl is in love.”

Devlin gazed at his mother. “Don’t you understand, Mama? She does not love me if she has run away.” He paced up and down, kicking at the carpet.

His mother clucked her tongue in vexation. “It is
because
she loves you that she has run away. Are you so blind, Devlin? You have had much experience
with
women, but very little experience
of
them. You still don’t understand how the female mind works. She has been insulted by your constant reminder to her that she is of low birth, something we all now know to be untrue, as well as your accusations of an affair. She thinks you despise her.”

Devlin stood still, nonplussed. He felt like an awkward adolescent grappling with new and strange emotions. Then a realization washed over him in a hot wave. He was in love. He loved Fenella, and this sensation was what love felt like.

“I think…no, I
know
I love Fenella,” he announced.

“Of course you love her!” snapped his exasperated parent. “And of course she loves you. Not that you deserve it after the way you have behaved.”

“I will marry her,” Devlin declared.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” added his mother, “but unless you hurry up and get her back, you will lose her. Perhaps to some handsome man she may meet on the coach to London.”

“I nearly lost her once.”

“Well, if you’re just going to stand there, then you deserve to lose her again.” His mother’s tone was laden with asperity. “Don’t you think you’d better get along?”

Devlin looked at her, bewildered.

The Dowager sighed. “I find you most slow-witted this morning. I almost think your dreadful cousin Oswald would make a better Duke. Go and fetch her.” Her last command came nearly as a shout. Devlin was galvanized into action.

“You say she loves me, Mama?”

His mother merely waved him out the room.

Devlin raced down the stairs, yelling for Finch.

Finch was waiting at the front of the house, holding a restless Lucifer by the reins. Devlin glared at his head groom, who hung his head in shame.

“Ye’ll be wantin’ me to go then, Yer Grace? Ye’ll be turnin’ me off?” His voice was gruff as he avoided Devlin’s eyes.

“I could kick you all the way to the village, you scoundrel.”

Finch bit his lip. “But I couldn’t let Miss Preston walk, Sir, and besides, I know which coach she’ll be on.”

Devlin flashed a reluctant smile and Finch grinned. “The gig’s all ready as well, Sir, so’s to bring back ’er bags ’n all.”

Devlin leaped onto Lucifer. “You’ll have a hard time catching me up.”

“I’ll be there,” Finch promised him.

With a loud neigh, Lucifer galloped off, scattering gravel as he thundered past. Finch stood looking after them as horse and rider disappeared down the drive.

“Ride, Sir,” he muttered. “Ride!”

The Accommodation coach rocked alarmingly from side to side as the driver urged the straining horses along the rutted road. It was a lumbering monstrosity, already top-heavy with several outside passengers on the roof, the boot laden with baggage and the bewhiskered guard sitting up behind. Fenella had had no trouble in purchasing a ticket since one of the booked passengers had failed to arrive.

“Well,” remarked the driver, casting a curious glance at Fenella’s pale, pinched face and anxious expression, “if they don’t come along, they don’t get the seat. Hop up, little missy. Ye’re in a hurry then to get to Lunnon?”

Fenella nodded and squeezed herself into the already crowded interior between a stout woman who had all the appearance of a prosperous farmer’s wife, and a scrawny man with a large moustache. He whined about there being no room for one more body.

“Nonsense,” said the farmer’s wife. “Yer no gen’leman, that’s fer sure. She’s jes’ a wee mite. Move up!”

With that, she extended a large red hand and pushed the scrawny man further along the seat. Fenella sat down with a grateful smile. Her benefactress gave her a large grin and opened a basket of provisions. Delicious smells wafted to Fenella’s nose. Although she had not eaten since the previous night, the strain of the events had killed her appetite …until now. She eyed the chicken pasties and fruitcake hungrily. The farmer’s wife laughed.

She plopped a pasty onto Fenella’s lap. “Your eyes is devourin’ me basket already.”

Fenella bit gratefully into the pasty, savouring each morsel.

“Are you ’eading fer Lunnon too?” The question was unashamedly curious. Fenella nodded vigorously, her mouth full.

“Oi expects ye’ll be seeking a post as a—” The farmer’s wife cast an experienced eye over Fenella’s neat appearance. “—governess then?”

Again, Fenella nodded. It was the truth. This time she would be firm with herself and make sure she secured a post with an unexciting, perfectly respectable, middle-class family with no handsome relatives of noble blood to knock her plans awry. And definitely no dangerous dukes popping out the woodwork.

“Yer got relatives there?”

Fenella swallowed the last mouthful. “Yes, I have,” she replied honestly. “My aunt—my father’s sister. My parents are dead.”

“Pore little thing,” crooned her new friend. “Well, yer just take care o’ yerself there and don’ be fooled by no sweet talkin’ gents, see? ’Cause ye’re a real beauty and ye ’ave to be so careful wi’ the men.”

Fenella nodded; she had learned this fact to her cost. She put her head back against the seat rest and tried to sleep. She was exhausted. After leaving Devlin at the foot of the stairs, Fenella had cried for several hours on her bed. The tears had flowed faster and longer than she had ever thought possible. Everything was confusion and turmoil. Fenella reflected upon her own foolishness. She had allowed herself to become emotionally embroiled so easily.

Such naiveté; such idiotic and immature conduct.

Well, it would not happen again.

The vision of Devlin’s face floated in front of her eyes. She squeezed them shut even harder in an effort to push away the picture of his beloved face. It seemed as if she was going mad; now she imagined she could hear his voice. Then she froze. Her eyes flew open.

She
could
hear his voice.

It was Devlin, ordering the coach to stop. She shrank down into the seat. He must not find her.

Lucifer stood in the middle of the road and pawed the ground as the coach lumbered slowly to a halt, like some ancient and decrepit behemoth. The driver eyed him warily and the guard peeped nervously over the mound of luggage to see if the interruption was, in fact, a highwayman. To the simple country folk, he must have seemed a menacing figure; the great black horse snorting and lifting its forelegs in the air; the handsome rider casting a searching gaze at the coach. The vehicle slid to a standstill. Devlin dismounted and walked to the door. It flew open and several heads poked out, a babble of irate voices demanding in both shrill and gruff tones the reason for the stop.

“I apologise for the delay,” said Devlin, with an exquisite bow, “but I am looking for someone. I believe the person is on the coach.” He peered inside.

All the passengers’ heads bobbed around as they eyed at each other with suspicion. The intruder was obviously a man of quality, so what could he want with a person who travelled on the Accommodation coach, that being a means of transport for lesser mortals.

Finally, a gaunt old man quavered, “Ye ain’t got a shooter then?”

Devlin shook his head gravely. “No, I ain’t—er—do not have a shooter and I am not a highwayman, as you can see.”

The passengers muttered together. The man was not offering violence and his manner of speech and fine clothes indicated he was a gentleman.

Devlin’s eyes rested upon Fenella and his expression changed. Fenella stared back at him, her eyes wide and frightened. However, a touch of defiance lurked in those violet depths. She squared her shoulders, determined not to surrender without a fight.

“Aha!” he exclaimed in a brisk tone. “There is the young lady I seek. Come along, Miss Preston.” He stepped back to make room for Fenella to exit the coach. However, Fenella did not move.

The farmer’s wife rose up as protectively as a mother hen over her chick. Her head filled with thoughts of the dissolute, uncaring men who would seek to ravish the lovely young female next to her, she bristled in anger.

“Whatcher want wi’ ’er? Yer got no rights to demand as she must coom wi’ ye, she bein’ but a defenceless gel.” She laid a shielding hand on Fenella’s arm.

“You are absolutely correct, madam.” Devlin repaid this unintelligible tirade with a dignified inclination of his head. “But this is not just any young lady. Until this morning, she has been in the employ of my mother.”

Fenella felt as if she was about to faint. Devlin’s cultured tones, manner of speech and address all indicated he was a member of the
Ton
. These country folk would be more likely to believe him than her. She clutched her shawl around her shoulders and braced herself.

At the word “employ” all eyes swivelled to Fenella.

“Is this true?” asked a thin woman who looked like a frightened rabbit.

“Yes, it is—I mean was!” Fenella burst out. “I have left because I have tendered my resignation, so I no longer work for his mother.”

Devlin was walking Lucifer around and he cocked his head as he heard her words.

“Well,” squeaked the octogenarian in triumphant tones, “it looks like ’er doan work no more fer yer Ma, Sir, so can we git on our way?” There was a general mumbling of agreement with the old man.

“I am afraid not,” Devlin replied with a shade of menace in his voice. “I insist she return and take proper leave of my mother.”

“An’ ’oos yer mother then?” demanded the farmer’s wife, launching into another incoherent tirade. “An’ oo’re you by the way ter jes’ stop the coach wi’out so much as a by yer leave?”

The remaining passengers all nodded and made oo-aye sounds, grumbling and muttering. Resentment simmered. Fenella closed her eyes, wishing this were all just a bad dream.

“I,” said Devlin, poking his head into the coach again, “am the Duke of Wyndlesham, and my mother is the Dowager Duchess.”

This pronouncement had the desired effect. The passengers sat up in unison and regarded Devlin with new respect.

“A Dook, hey?” mumbled the old man. “That’s diff’ren’.” He shook his head solemnly as he regarded Fenella with rheumy eyes. “Ye’d better go back and sort it out, lassie.”

“But I don’t wish to return!” Fenella cried out. It was an anguished cry that struck all her companions as the truth.

“She doan wan’ ter go and ye canna force her, an’ that’s that,” announced the farmer’s wife, folding her arms.

Devlin gave an exaggerated sigh. “I did not wish to reveal the sinister circumstances of my quest here today, but you give me no option, Miss Preston.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward. Fenella bit her lip. Sinister? What was he going to say? The passengers were riveted once more and everyone looked at Devlin with expectant eyes.

“No doubt, this young lady appears to you as a blameless female of respectable parentage.”

All heads nodded. Fenella looked indeed to be a charming young woman of modest pecuniary circumstances, but certainly of decent background.

“Alas, she is no such paragon of virtue, since her outward appearance of modesty and beauty hides a heart blacker than soot, and an evil intent that would horrify you all.”

Some of Devlin’s rhetoric passed over their heads because there were several exchanges of bewildered glances, but the majority understood.

“What has she done?” piped up the thin lady in a trembling treble.

“She has stolen precious family jewels!” thundered Devlin, pointing an accusing finger at Fenella. “Heirlooms!”

The audience murmured, aghast at the crime, and every eye rested on Fenella who was red and shaking.

“See how guilty she is,” mourned Devlin. He shook his head and tutted as if commenting on the moral turpitude of the fairer sex in general.

“You are a liar!” The words exploded from Fenella’s lips. She looked around desperately at her travelling companions. “He’s a liar. I have taken no such things.”

“’
E’s a Dook!” warbled the old man, as if Devlin’s social status somehow conferred upon him a moral elevation unknown to lesser beings.

Fenella was enraged. “Just because he is a Duke you believe him and not me. I am a defenceless female.” There were a few nods in her favour at this remark.

She glared at Devlin. “What have I stolen?”

“Do you or do you not have about your person or concealed in your baggage one diamond and pearl ring, one diamond and pearl bracelet, and one pair of diamond and pearl earrings?”

A collective gasp of horror swept through the coach—these were gems indeed.

“Yes, I have,” said Fenella. “But they are mine. They belonged to my mother.”

In a flash, she knew he had neatly trapped her. Of course, she had her mother’s jewels with her. However, any ordinary individual, looking at her for the first time, would not belief she owned such jewels. Although neatly turned out in her tobacco-brown travelling costume, Fenella could not pass for a member of the
Ton
.

“I told you so,” Devlin announced in triumph.

“But they’re ’er mother’s!” protested the farmer’s wife.

Devlin gave a sorrowful smile and tapped his head significantly. “My mother has been very good to her and I think in this young lady’s confused state, she has come to believe the jewels are her own.”

“Watcher goin’ ter do now wi ’er?” asked the old man, voicing his anxiety at the predicament in store for Fenella. The magistrate…a jail sentence…?

“We simply want to clear up any misunderstanding,” Devlin said. “She will return the jewels and I will ensure that her family—her aunt, I believe—can collect her and return her safe.”

Since Fenella had already volunteered the information about an aunt, the passengers were relieved.

“’
Ow do we know ye ain’t goin’ to spirit ’er away and have yer wicked way wi’ ’er?” demanded the farmer’s wife, seeing her chick’s safety slipping out of her hands.

Devlin beckoned the damsel to peer out the window where Finch was waiting patiently with the gig. He gave a small salute when he saw several pairs of eyes staring at him.

“Now, madam, I would hardly bring my groom along with the gig if…er…ravishment were my intention.”

The farmer’s wife sat back slightly mollified. She nodded to herself, then patted Fenella’s shoulder.

“Wha’ever ye’ve done, lassie, best go along wi’ the Dook ’n sort it out. It’s prob’ly a misunderstandin’ and yer can explain the whole story to the lady.”

The other passengers nodded and Fenella sensed an air of restlessness. Time had passed and the coach was now delayed by a good twenty minutes. She climbed out the coach and the guard found her luggage, setting it down next to her. Seconds later the vehicle lumbered off down the road and she was alone in the middle of the dirty track, staring at the Duke of Wyndlesham.

Fenella proudly tilted her chin. “I fancy you have won, Sir. I am in your hands. You have tricked those people into believing I am a common thief. Now you have me here, what do you want?”

Devlin walked up to her. He gazed into her eyes.

“I have not won, Miss Preston. I have lost. I am lost. Hopelessly, irrevocably and for eternity.”

A puzzled frown crossed Fenella’s brow. “I don’t understand you. What have you lost?” Her voice was cold. Why was he toying with her in this way?

Devlin took her hand. “I have lost my heart, my dear Miss Preston. And see what a desperate man I have become, stooping so low as to lie and trick in order to get you to stand here in front of me.”

Fenella felt suddenly giddy, as if she had been struck a blow. “I …don’t understand.”

“I am sure you do not,” Devlin replied, grasping her other hand. “I have been a churlish boor, always criticizing you, always seeking to trip you up, seemingly always out to seduce you, and then having the temerity to accuse you unjustly of an affair with another man.”

Fenella stared at him as if he had gone mad.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “You have done all that to me. However, I’m afraid I have no idea why you are telling me this.”

She made a small move to pull her hands out of his grasp but he only clasped them tighter, raising her hands to his chest.

“I love you, Fenella!” Devlin’s voice was hoarse. “I never knew what love was before, and you must understand how this coloured my thoughts and actions. I thought all women were like Penelope Vane …cold, heartless and self-seeking, looking only for a rich, titled husband. When you came along, I thought you were just a clever young female, pretending to be this sweet, wonderful woman. I could not believe you were exactly what you appeared to be.”

Fenella stared at Devlin. Had she heard him correctly? She pulled her hands away.

“No!” she burst out. “You cannot love me. You have always insinuated how disparate our social levels are and how you cannot love anyone not of your social class. If it is
carte blanche
you are offering me, Your Grace, then I can only say you have insulted me to the core.”