The Secret Pearl (18 page)

If she had not met him under such terrifying circumstances, if she could but rid her nightmares of the image of that face bent over her while he did painful, humiliating things to her body, perhaps she would always have seen him as handsome.

He shifted his gaze to his daughter. “What can I do, Pamela?” he asked her. “What can I do to set things right?”

It felt as if he were talking to her, Fleur thought with an inward shudder.

“Nothing,” the child said, pausing for a moment in her crying. “Go away!”

“Mama promised that you could meet the ladies someday, didn’t she?” he said. “And I promised to talk to her and remind her. But I have not done it yet. I’m sorry, Pamela. Will you forgive me?”

“No!” she said against Fleur’s bosom.

He sighed and laid his hand over the back of her head. “Will you give me a chance to put it right?” he asked. “There is to be
a picnic at the ruins this afternoon. Shall I arrange for you to come too?”

“No,” she said. “I want to stay with Miss Hamilton and learn French. She is to teach me this afternoon.”

“Please, Pamela?” he said. “If we persuade Miss Hamilton to postpone the lesson until tomorrow?”

Fleur kissed the child’s hot temple. “We will learn French tomorrow, shall we?” she said. “It is such a lovely day for a picnic. I expect the ladies will all be dressed in their muslins and have pretty bonnets and parasols.”

“And there are to be lobster patties, so I have heard,” the duke said. “Will you come, Pamela?”

“If Miss Hamilton comes too,” Lady Pamela said unexpectedly.

Fleur’s eyes locked with the duke’s.

“But Mama and Papa will want you all to themselves,” she said.

“Miss Hamilton will be glad of a free afternoon,” he said at the same moment. “She does not have many.”

“Then I won’t go,” the child said petulantly.

He raised his eyebrows and Fleur closed her eyes.

“Do you like lobster patties, Miss Hamilton?” he asked quietly.

“They always were my favorite picnic fare,” she said.

Lady Pamela jumped down from her lap and pushed untidy strands of hair away from her flushed and puffed face.

“I am going to find Nanny,” she said. “I am going to tell her to put my pink dress on me and my straw bonnet.”

“Ask her, Pamela,” his grace said. “It is better than telling.”

He got to his feet as his daughter whisked herself from the room, and looked down at Fleur. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that you had to cope with that alone. Nanny sent Houghton running for me with the news that Pamela was screaming and you half-throttling her. I have been greatly at fault in hoping that she would forget her desire to meet the ladies.”

Fleur said nothing but gathered up the ruined remains of the handkerchief.

“I will make the arrangements for this afternoon,” he said. “If it is any consolation to you, Miss Hamilton, I would say that your pupil is becoming attached to you.”

But she did not want to go on the picnic, she thought in some alarm as he left the schoolroom. She would do almost anything to get out of going—except break a promise to Lady Pamela. And so she was stuck with having to go.

She looked back with considerable nostalgia to the first two weeks of her life at Willoughby, when she had been happy despite the disapproval of the duchess and Mrs. Clement.

How she wished that the Duke of Ridgeway had not turned out to be who he was. But of course, she had realized before now, she would not have her post at all if he had not. She would be in London, living in her bare little room, a seasoned whore by now.

She supposed that, after all, she owed him some gratitude.

And if it were true that Lady Pamela was developing something of an attachment to her—though she was not at all convinced that it was so—then it was equally true that she was developing an attachment to the child. Petulant and stubborn as she could be, Lady Pamela had very real feelings and needs. And she needed Fleur, however little she might admit it. It was good to be needed.

It seemed that she had to prepare for a picnic that afternoon.

T
HERE IT IS,” THE DARK-HAIRED, HANDSOME GENTLEMAN said to his companion, leaning close to the carriage window as it crossed the bridge and left the lime grove behind and the house came into sight. “Impressive, wouldn’t you say?”

The fair-haired gentleman traveling with him followed his gaze. “Very,” he said. “I can see why it is so frequently admired. And it was all yours for a few months, Kent.”

“An amusing experience,” Lord Thomas Kent said, “suddenly to be everyone’s property just because I was the owner of it all. Almost as if the property owned me instead of the other way around. I thought never to see it again.”

“You can be sure,” Lord Brocklehurst said, “that when your brother told you never to return he spoke in the heat of the moment. He will receive you with open arms.”

Lord Thomas looked amused. “I wonder,” he said. “But I am not sorry you persuaded me into coming, Bradshaw. It will be priceless to see their faces—Ridgeway’s, all the servants’. And it will be interesting to see my sister-in-law once more. They were not married when I left, you know.”

“Magnificent!” Lord Brocklehurst said as the carriage drew to a halt and he gazed up at massive Corinthian columns and the great pediment, which hid the dome from that vantage
point. “Quite magnificent. It was good of you to persuade me to accompany you here.”

Lord Thomas laughed. “Since it was you who talked me into returning,” he said, “it seemed only right that you be witness to the touching reunion.”

The look on the butler’s face as he came out onto the horseshoe steps to greet the unexpected visitors must have been everything Lord Thomas could have wished for. His wooden butler’s expression deserted him for the whole of three seconds as he watched his grace’s younger brother descend from the carriage and look up at him with a grin.

“Jarvis!” he said. “So you did get the promotion after all. Are you going to stand there and gawk, or are you going to send someone down to carry our trunks into the house? Is my brother close at hand?”

Jarvis had himself under control. He bowed stiffly from the waist. “His grace is at the ruins with her grace and their guests, my lord,” he said. “I shall have the carriage and your bags seen to if you would care to come inside.”

“I certainly have no intention of standing outside here until permitted to enter by his august grace,” Lord Thomas said with a laugh, turning back to Lord Brocklehurst and ushering him up the steps. “Drinks in the saloon, if you please, Jarvis. What the devil are they doing at the ruins?”

“They are picnicking, as I understand, my lord,” Jarvis said, directing the guests with a bow into the saloon.

“How long have they been gone?” Lord Thomas asked, looking about him. “Nothing has changed, I see.”

“About one hour, my lord,” the butler said.

“An hour?” Lord Thomas frowned. “I’ll have time to do the honors and show off all the state rooms to you, then, Bradshaw—after we have refreshed ourselves with a drink and a change of clothes, that is. Have my old room made up for me, Jarvis, and have the housekeeper prepare another room for Lord Brocklehurst. Is it still Mrs. Laycock?”

Jarvis bowed.

“Take yourself off, then,” Lord Thomas said. “The drinks first, though.

“So,” he said, “we are to kick our heels here for a few hours and feel the suspense mount. I wonder if Ridgeway would be choking on his chicken bone and his wine if he knew I was standing in the middle of his saloon at this very moment.” He laughed.

“I am glad to be here, anyway,” Lord Brocklehurst said. “I have wanted to visit Willoughby Hall for some time now.”

T
HE
D
UKE OF
R
IDGEWAY
watched his daughter leave the group with her governess and make for the stables and her puppy. And he wished that he could go with them, take the dog out into the paddock, and romp with it and with them for half an hour.

But he had Lady Underwood on his arm, and the Grantshams were engaging them in conversation.

The picnic, he thought, had gone well enough. Sybil had been alarmed at his announcement that Pamela was to be taken, and had looked defiant when he had reminded her of a broken promise to allow the child to come down to see the ladies on the day of their arrival.

But she would not have to worry about having to look after her daughter, he had told her. Her governess would do that—at Pamela’s own request.

Pamela had been in the highest of good spirits and had been made much of by all the ladies and by a few of the gentlemen too. She had grown flushed and loud by the time they had reached the ruins, but Fleur had taken her quietly by the hand, whispered something in her ear, and taken her to see the inside of the tower—Sir Ambrose Marvell had followed them there.

Fleur herself had succeeded in staying in the background the whole of the afternoon and had assisted in the serving of
the picnic food at his wife’s request. She had made no objection at being treated like a menial servant. Indeed, he had thought, she was probably glad of something to do.

And so they were home, and if he were fortunate he would have a few quiet hours to himself before dinner—unless Lady Underwood contrived to keep him in her company, that was. They made a rather noisy entry into the hall. Jarvis was waiting for him there and bowing before him.

“You have visitors in the saloon, your grace,” he said.

The duke sighed inwardly. Who would be calling at this hour of the afternoon? He hoped it was no one who would linger. He turned to make his excuses to Lady Underwood and strode toward the saloon.

“Visitors?” he heard his wife say in her light, pleasant voice. She had been in the best of spirits all afternoon, Shaw dancing attendance on her every movement.

The duke stopped inside the doorway of the saloon and clasped his hands at his back. Strangely, he did not feel particularly surprised, he thought, taking in the bronzed good looks of his brother, his fashionable clothes, his smile. He had surely always known that Thomas would come back.

“You look as if a feather could knock you backward, Adam,” Lord Thomas Kent said. “Have you no welcome for me?”

“Thomas.” The duke extended his hand and strode toward his half-brother. “Welcome home.”

Lord Thomas was smiling, but his eyes moved beyond the duke’s shoulder as he took his hand.

“Thomas.” The word was whispered, but it filled the saloon.

Lord Thomas’ grasp loosened on his grace’s hand and his gaze fixed on the figure in the doorway. “Sybil,” he said, and his eyes and his smile softened. He moved toward her, both hands outstretched. “How beautiful you look.”

“Thomas,” she whispered again, and her small white hands disappeared into his bronze grasp.

“Sybil,” he said quietly. “I have come home.” Then he
turned his head, smiling. “Do you know Bradshaw?” he asked his brother. “Matthew Bradshaw, Lord Brocklehurst, of Heron House in Wiltshire? He was the first friend to call on me after my return from India. And he helped persuade me that I should come all the way home. I have brought him with me for a few weeks.”

His grace shook hands with Lord Brocklehurst. “You are welcome,” he said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Brocklehurst.”

“India?” the duchess was saying, her large blue eyes fixed on her brother-in-law, her hands still clasped in his. “You have been in India, Thomas?”

“Yes,” he said, “with the East India Company. I came back to see if jolly old England was still in the same place. So you are the Duchess of Ridgeway after all, Sybil?” He squeezed her hands before releasing them.

“In India,” she said. “All this time?” And she began to cough.

“I’ll escort you to your room, Sybil,” his grace said, taking in her pallor and the spots of color high on her cheeks. “The afternoon’s outing has been exhausting for you.”

Surprisingly, she took his arm without argument and went with him after he had directed his half-brother to entertain their guest until dinner.

She said nothing as he led her along the hallways to her sitting room and rang the bell for her maid. She just held her shoulders back and stared blankly ahead of her, occasionally coughing.

“Armitage,” she said when her maid came into the room, “I will want you to undress me and brush out my hair. I wish to lie down.”

She sounded like a tired and bewildered child.

The Duke of Ridgeway, closing her door quietly behind him as he left, could not remember a time when he had felt more furiously angry.