The Duke (42 page)

“They’re unbearably handsome,” Lizzie whispered.

“Damien is a colonel in the Infantry and a very great war hero, I don’t mind telling you,” Jacinda said proudly. “He once took a French eagle in battle. The officers in his regiment had a copy of it made for him and it hangs in Knight House.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve seen it,” Bel said, mystified. “And what of Lucien?”

“We’re not exactly supposed to know where he is,” Lizzie started.

“But now that the war is over, I’m sure it doesn’t signify anymore if we tell you!” Jacinda looked at Bel with a streak of mischief in her grin. “Lucien’s in Paris. He’s a
spy!”

“Observing officer,” Lizzie corrected, but Jacinda snorted at the polite term.

“A spy, really?” Bel asked in amazement.

“Yes, but you must never tell a soul. We’re all supposed to think he’s on an archaeological dig in Egypt for the Royal Society.”

“Why are we supposed to think that?”

“As an explanation for his absences from England and the main body of the army. Poor Lucien, I think he really would have preferred to be an archaeologist, but duty called. He tried the army at first with Damien—they asked him to design weapons and work with the military engineers—but he was quite perfectly miserable. He hated taking orders.”

“Lord Lucien is a scientific gentleman, Miss Hamilton,” Lizzie stated knowingly. “Everyone says he’s a genius.”

“If you say so, Lizzie. Lord knows I can never comprehend a word he says. I’m hungry,” Jacinda suddenly whined.

“Then let’s have our feast,” Bel said with a bright smile, still fascinated by the exotic menagerie of Knight brothers, but uneasy at Jacinda’s brazen words about taking lovers when she was grown up. Even if the girl had only said it in an adolescent attempt to be shocking, it did not bode well.

As they sat down to a repast of sliced ham, cheese, and fruit, Bel passed a searching glance over Jacinda’s pert, elfin features. “Tell me about your mother, Jacinda. Do you remember her?”

“Some. She was ever so beautiful and clever and fearless,” she said, looking away wistfully toward the babbling river. “Everyone was jealous of her, that’s why people hated her—because her spirit was too big for the little box the world would put her in.”

Lizzie looked uneasily at Bel.

“Robert is ashamed of our mother, but only because Papa deliberately turned him against her.”

Bel knit her brow. “Is this true?”

“Alec says it is,” Jacinda said, her wide, dark eyes unusually somber. “Robert won’t even let me ask him questions about Mama, though he’s the eldest and knew her best. It’s not fair. People talk about her lovers and her salons and her scandals, but did you ever hear of how she died, Miss Hamilton?”

Bel shook her head, not certain she could bear it. There was something so grim in the girl’s fresh, lovely face.

“Our mama’s involvement with the French émigrés began at the time of the Terror. She received a plea from her bosom friend, the Viscomtesse de Turenne, with whom she’d studied at the Sorbonne. The lady begged Mama to take her children and get them out of France—her husband, the Viscount, had already been killed by a mob. Risking her life, Mama went straightaway to Paris and from then on became involved in helping the children of the aristocrats escape to England. Over the years that followed, she made several trips back to France, bringing more of the nobles’ children to safety each time. Though the Jacobins finally put away their guillotine, émigrés were still considered traitors to France and aiding their escape was illegal. Mama was arrested in the fall of 1799 in the final months of the Directory. She was charged with being a royalist agent and an English spy and then taken before the firing squad and shot.”

Bel stared at her. “It’s true,” Lizzie murmured with a grave nod.

Bel couldn’t seem to absorb it. For several moments no one spoke. This was the woman of whom Robert was ashamed?

“Jacinda,” Bel said gently at length, “your mother was a true lioness. I never heard of anyone so brave. I know you want to be like her, but for her sake, I hope that you will try with all your might to follow the rules of decorum, at least until you are married, because in truth, my dear, it’s very painful when the whole world disapproves of you. I feel she would want me to warn you of that. I don’t want to see you hurt, and I also hope you’ll remember that if you get into a scrape with a young man, it may well mean that one of your brothers will have to duel to defend your honor. Sweetheart, to see someone you love put his life at stake for some foolish mistake of you own—that is a very dark thing indeed. Take it from me.”

This, Bel saw, sank in. Jacinda stared at her and nodded, wide-eyed. Abandoning such grim topics, they finished their picnic and then sat for a while, sketching the ruins of Pendragon Castle with the tree hanging over and the river snaking by. Bel was drowsy with relaxation by the time they gathered their things and trudged back toward Hawkscliffe Hall.

She was lulled by the twittering of the thrushes in the field, when suddenly she heard hoofbeats drumming down the road. The girls and she turned, while the footman got out of the way of an open landau drawn by a team of grays.

“Oh, Lord,” Jacinda groaned under her breath. “It’s Lady Borrowdale and the milksop sisters.”

“Jacinda!” Lizzie scolded, fighting a smile.

“Who is it?”

“The Marchioness of Borrowdale, our most bothersome neighbor. She’s determined to snare a couple of my brothers for her awful daughters. Poor Robert. He bears the brunt of it.”

Bel heard this and stiffened as the liveried driver pulled the team.

At once a large matron in a plumed hat leaned out of the carriage and called in a thunderous voice, “Yoo hoo! Lady Jacinda! Hallo! Hallo!”

Jacinda heaved a sigh. Lizzie followed her over to the carriage to greet their neighbors.

“We were just coming to call on you, my dear! How lovely you look! Why, you are nearly full grown!”

“Thank you, your ladyship,” Jacinda said in a long-suffering tone.

“Miss Carlisle,” said the marchioness in begrudging acknowledgment of Lizzie.

“Lady Borrowdale. Lady Meredith, Lady Anne, how nice to see you,” Lizzie replied obediently, offering them a small curtsy.

With an air of brisk self-importance Lady Borrowdale turned back to Jacinda and tried to start an exchange of pleasantries between her and her two daughters.

Bel shook her head to herself. She could spot a matchmaking Society mama at twenty paces. This was without doubt the most unpleasant aspect of her existence as an outsider. Every marriageable daughter of the northern nobility likely burned with ambition to become Robert’s duchess, and there was not a thing she could do about it.

He had kept their arrival quiet and had simply gone about his business, but word had obviously spread that one of the most eligible bachelors in England was at home. Bel had the dismal feeling that this trio was just the beginning. Fortunately there was no way either of these pasty-faced girls could pose any threat to her place in Robert’s heart. With tense, unpleasant expressions, the girls showed no glimmer of wit, sympathy, or amusing conversation to make up for their lack of looks.

They just sat there in the landau across from their overbearing mama, sullen, staring at Jacinda as though they despised her for her beauty and spirit and fire. One had a weak chin and lackluster eyes; the other had a pointy nose and looked, in all, like a sly little baggage.

“And who,” the woman warbled, eyeing Bel mistrustfully, “is this?”

Having been singled out, Bel approached cautiously, wondering what sort of wicked rejoinder Harriette Wilson would have had for the marchioness of Borrowdale.

“Lady Borrowdale, may I present my governess, Miss Hamilton,” Jacinda said.

Bel inclined her chin. “Lady Borrowdale.”

“Governess?” Lady Borrowdale looked her over from the brim of her bonnet to the tips of her kid half boots. “Mm-hmm. I thought you were attending an academy in London, my dear,” she said, turning again to Jacinda.

Apparently only those with a title were worthy of Lady Borrowdale’s address.

“I’ve been suspended,” Jacinda announced, grinning proudly.

“Ah, not exactly suspended, my lady,” Bel corrected Jacinda in a chiding tone as Lady Borrowdale’s eyes flew open. Bel contrived to laugh at the girl. “You are such a naughty thing.” She turned to the marchioness with her most charming air of management. “The child is jesting, of course, your ladyship. His Grace merely felt that Lady Jacinda could do well with some country air after so many months in Town.”

“Ah, how nice that the duke of Hawkscliffe consults you on his sister’s well-being, Miss, er, what was it?”

“Hamilton,” Bel said coolly, taken aback by the note of innuendo in her words.

“Of course, so sorry. I marvel that His Grace has not provided additional chaperonage.”

“Miss Hamilton is a highly qualified governess,” Jacinda retorted staunchly, her golden eyebrows knitting together. She moved closer to Bel.

“I’m sure she is, but she looks as though she is barely out of the schoolroom herself. You know, my niece’s governess is looking for a new position, now that her charge has married. Swiss, don’t you know, most efficient. She would be very suitable for you. I’ll be sure to mention the matter to His Grace when we go up to the Hall. After all, what do bachelors know of the proprieties?”

Lady Borrowdale’s eyes darted to Bel again with quick, gleaming malice.

Bel just looked at her. Did this self-important creature really think that the Paragon Duke would fool around with his little sister’s governess? Of course, it was all a charade, but whom did this woman think she was, to question the duke of Hawkscliffe?

“Lady Borrowdale,” she said, unable to hold her tongue, “I assure you His Grace’s sterling reputation is constituted by a keen observation of all the proprieties and a more than ordinary measure of honor.”

There. She had defended her employer like a loyal servant.

But then she saw that if her intention had been to put Lady Borrowdale’s mind at ease about her presence at Hawkscliffe Hall, her words had had the opposite effect. The matron’s small eyes blazed at the challenge to her authority, but Bel stood her ground.

“What extraordinary impertinence!” she gusted. “Is
this
to be your example of ladylike behavior, Jacinda? A London miss with haughty London airs? It will not do, I say. It will not do!”

“A refusal to grovel to your ladyship is hardly arrogance,” Bel replied, amazed at how easy it was to put down overblown women. It was as easy as setting down overly amorous peers.

Lady Borrowdale gasped. “I will not be talked to thus by a governess! Young woman, apologize.”

“For what, ma’am? I am merely reminding you of His Grace’s excellent good name.”

“I need no reminding from you, miss! Reminding me? Oh, you are bold. His Grace will hear of this.”

At this threat, Bel did the one thing she should not have done.

She knew better. But after so many months of taking hateful stares from women like the odious marchioness, this time she could not help herself. She answered Lady Borrowdale’s glare with a half smile of cool, knowing amusement, as if to say, “Tell him anything you want, he’ll not get rid of me.”

It was the smile of a courtesan.

Lady Borrowdale stared at her, flustered and taken aback.

“Your ladyship,” Jacinda broke in gingerly, “perhaps now isn’t
the best
time for a visit.”

“We’ve been out to see the ruins today and we’re all a trifle tired,” Lizzie offered anxiously.

“Won’t you come tomorrow for tea?”

“Humph!” said Lady Borrowdale, looking suspiciously from Jacinda to
Lizzie
to Bel. “Tomorrow I’m engaged. Will His Grace be at home on Wednesday afternoon?”

“It’s hard to say. My brother has been extremely busy of late—”

“Tell him I wish to speak to him,” she ordered Jacinda.

Even the free-spirited Jacinda looked cowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Driver!” Lady Borrowdale barked. She shot Bel one last pointed glance as the driver and postilion worked to turn the carriage around.

They stood by the road and watched as the marchioness and the milksop sisters rolled away in their landau. Jacinda turned and stared at Bel, her eyes sparkling with incredulity. Bel returned her gaze uneasily, but Lizzie was the first to give way to a giggle.

“Oh, the look on her face! I thought she’d fall out of her carriage on the spot!”

“It was wrong of me,” Bel started, but both girls began laughing uproariously and even the footman chuckled.

“She deserved it! She’s deserved it for years!” Lizzie cried, wiping away a tear. “My dearest Miss Hamilton, please, will you teach
me
how to fight back like that?”

Robert smiled at the story of what had happened with Lady Borrowdale and assured her he would smooth it over, but Bel had been right—the marchioness and her daughters were only the first of many, and not all were as plain as the milksop sisters.

Demure and beautiful innocents from around the district came calling on the pretext of visiting Jacinda, meanwhile poking their noses into every room they passed like curious kittens, always trying to catch a glimpse of Robert. He had all but evacuated the first floor in order to avoid them.