This Duchess of Mine (24 page)

April 3

J
emma kept Elijah in bed most of the next day. In the early afternoon, they found themselves lying on their backs, panting, the sheets twisted around their legs.

“I need a bath,” Jemma said groggily. She felt drained and happy. She had one hand on Elijah's chest, and his heart was beating strong and true. “It's as if we repaired a clock,” she said, changing the subject.

He had his arms thrown over his head and was smiling up at the tapestry hanging over the bed. “My heart can beat normally when it remembers to do so.”

“We'll make love every day,” Jemma ordered.

“Twice a day. Morning and night so that your heart remembers the correct pattern.”

Elijah laughed. “If you tell your friends that plan, every man in the kingdom will be pretending to faint.”
He rolled to his side, propping his head on one hand. “I heard what you said to my mother.”

She tried to pull her mind back from that hot, happy place. “Hmm.”

“I didn't think that you guessed why Sarah Cobbett came to my chambers.”

Jemma raised her head. “So that
was
the reason? I used to think that it was just a question of saving time.”

“I couldn't get anyone to believe that I wasn't sneaking off to The Palace of Salomé in the evenings. God, I was sick of being called Bawdy Beaumont. There was always scorn to it, just under the surface. I knew they were making jokes about spankings behind my back.”

Jemma wound her fingers into his.

“I didn't even really want a mistress. Oh, I wanted to bed someone…at that age, all you see are women, and each one is succulent, and delicious in her own way.”

“You thought every woman you saw was ‘succulent'?” Jemma asked, utterly fascinated.

“They had breasts,” he said, as if that was all the explanation anyone could wish for. “And other parts.”

She giggled, imagining Elijah walking down the street peering at women's breasts. It seemed so unlike him.

“But I didn't have time. I was so determined to mend my father's damage, to change the reputation attached to my name.”

“Your mother shouldn't have told you,” she said, sorrowing for the eight-year-old boy who was told those details far too early.

“She is obsessed with the reputation of the Beau
monts, as you heard. And, of course, it was much harder for her. She knew he had mistresses, but she had no idea about the storm of scandal that would break over her head when he died.”

“It was bad luck that he died at that moment,” Jemma said.

“I used to think about it a lot as a boy, puzzling over it. Why the woman's chemise? Why the spanking? Finally I grew old enough to realize that eccentricities of an intimate sort can't be puzzled out and explained. It gave me a passion for logical facts,” he added.

“I'm sorry. It sounds like a terrible burden.”

“So I found Sarah Cobbett,” he said, staring up at the tapestry. “At first I thought it was enough to have a mistress, but then I realized that no one cared what I did when I wasn't in my chambers or in the House. They just assumed I was wearing lacy gowns and begging my mistress to spank me. So one day I told her to come to my chambers instead.”

Jemma ran circles over his chest with a finger. She didn't like thinking of Elijah with another woman. But she could hardly be jealous of Sarah, under the circumstances. And Elijah's heart still beat smoothly under her palm.

“It was terribly awkward,” he said, turning his head so he could see her. “The desk was uncomfortable. She wasn't pleased, but what could she do? After a while she got used to it and so did I.”

“Did it work?”

“Oh, yes. After a month or so, everyone knew. They all slapped me on the back and said they thought it was a marvelous idea. Everything calmed down. But I was cautious, and I still had Sarah come to my chambers twice a week.”

“When we married,” Jemma said, wondering if she should even voice it, “why didn't you let Sarah go?”

“I didn't think of her in those terms. That is, I didn't think of the two of you in the same way. You were charming and luscious and soft under the covers. I know we weren't terribly good together, but I thought about you a great deal.”

“You
did
?”

He grinned at that. “If you remember, we made love every night. I found you horribly distracting. I would be trying to listen to a speech in the House, and I would start thinking about how soft your mouth was, or about the curve of your bottom, and I would lose track of the argument entirely.”

“We had made love that very morning,” Jemma said. “That was what hurt the most. You turned from me, as if I were nothing more than an hors d'oeuvre, and then you took
her
.” Despite her best effort, a thread of pain ran through her voice.

Elijah groaned. “I can't say anything to make you feel better about it. I remember feeling sated by you. I didn't want to bed her. But at that age, if a woman lies in front of you with her legs spread, you can manage it, even if you are tired. How could I have explained to Sarah if I didn't continue? There she was, and it had become part of my responsibilities in the House. If that makes sense.”

In a male sort of way, it did. After all, she and Elijah had hardly known each other when they married; the marital contracts had been signed by their fathers years before. She had been in love with him, but he had no reason to feel the same emotion for her.

Suddenly he rolled over on her, and she felt him
against her leg, urgent and hard again. “You are the most succulent of all.”

“I am?” But his hand was on her breast, a rough caress, and he didn't answer in words.

That morning they had spent hours making love. He had kissed her shoulder blades and the backs of her knees. He had kissed her eyebrows and the tips of her toes. Now he took her fast and hard, without preliminaries.

Jemma kept her eyes open, and watching his face, loving him, felt again like a young bride in love with her husband.

“I love you so much,” she whispered. The heat was building in her legs, starting to cloud her mind and pull her into some other place, a place without fear.

Elijah cradled her face in his hands and said something hoarse that she couldn't hear, but she knew what it was because their love was there between them. It hardly needed to be said.

April 4

F
owle entered the study and bowed before Jemma. “The Duke of Villiers regrets to tell you that his carriage has returned from Birmingham empty; the doctor has apparently moved to London but did not leave a forwarding address.”

“I might also add that Mr. Twiddy and his two daughters arrived this morning, and I dispatched them to the country estate, as you had instructed.”

Elijah nodded. “Thank you, Fowle.”

Jemma heard the news with no more reaction than a tightening around her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and tried to warm her up. “We never expected the doctor to come to anything,” he said, wishing she'd never heard of him.

“I want to read his article,” she said, stepping out of the circle of his arms.

“Villiers has it; I'll—”

She turned. “I'll fetch it.”

“Wait! You can't—”

She was gone. Elijah gritted his teeth for a moment and returned to his work. He was cataloguing the estate: going through it item by item. If Jemma wasn't with child when his heart gave out, then his hairless, brainless second cousin would inherit. He needed everything to be as clear as possible.

An hour later, he was writing a letter, instructing his cousin in clear language about how to oversee crop rotation, when Jemma burst through the door.

“I have the piece. The doctor's name is William Withering. I'm going to hire a Bow Street Runner to find him.”

He looked up. “A runner?”

“Why not? I've already sent Fowle to fetch one. Withering's work is rather interesting, Elijah,” she said, sitting in a chair opposite him and waving the sheets in the air. “Withering extracted a medicine from a flower. If you take an overly large dose, it acts like a poison. But in small amounts, it seems to cause an irregular heart to change its pattern and…” Her voice died out.

Elijah laid down his pen. “He extracts this poison from
a flower
?”

“The market at Covent Garden!” She jumped to her feet.

“There must be many poisonous flowers that have medicinal properties. Do you remember what that old man was growing?”

“He called them Dead Men's Bells.” She scanned the article again. “But Withering discusses a flower called foxglove or
digitalis purpurea
. I can't tell from that.”

But Elijah's tutors hadn't drilled him in Latin for naught. “
Purpurea
,” he said, “means purple. And the flowers were purple.”

“Let's go,” Jemma cried.

But Elijah stayed behind his desk. “I don't want you to become hopeful.”

“I am not overly hopeful. I am determined. I will not sit by and simply wait for you to die next to me. I will
not
!”

When they reached Covent Garden, the flower stalls were closed.

“The market is open Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday,” their footman said, after making inquiries.

“Stay with the carriage,” Elijah told him, walking after Jemma. She was moving through the stalls at top speed, heading for the place where the old man sold his flowers. He hadn't had a proper stall; he'd simply put out a few buckets of flowers for sale.

He rounded a corner to find Jemma staring at the back wall where the man had sat. “There's his stool,” Elijah said. “We'll come back on Saturday and find him.”

“That's three days.”

Elijah didn't like the implication that he might not live three days, but he could hardly protest. Jemma turned in a slow circle and then set off, like an arrow free of its string.

He walked after her. The closed-up stalls of the market had a melancholy aspect, as if they had grown tired and shut their eyes for the night.

Finally he saw where Jemma was going. She had spied one stall with an occupant and was bending over the counter, talking to a little old lady wrapped in woolens.

“Do you know which gentleman I'm referring to?” he heard as he walked up.

“That's not a gentleman!” the woman said with a gentle string of giggles. “That's Stubbins. Ponder Stubbins.”

“Of course. Could you possibly tell me how to find Mr. Stubbins?”

She giggled again. “It does sound odd to hear a ‘Mister' attached to Stubbins's name.”

“Does he live close to the market?”

“Oh no,” she said. “You'll have to wait for the market again. Just a few more days, that's all. I'll be here with daffodils, oh so many daffodils. And tulips. Do you like tulips?” she asked Elijah.

He bowed and said, “Good afternoon, ma'am. I do like tulips.” Though in reality he hadn't the faintest idea what they were. Certainly his cook, Mrs. Tulip, had nothing flowery about her.

“I hope you don't mind if I tell you something. I'm that old that I allow myself a leeway now and then! You look,” she said, leaning on the counter, “ezactly like my idea of a duke.” Giggles once again burst from her mouth. “Now isn't that something for both of us to laugh about! As if a duke would be coming down to the flower market to find old Stubbins.”

He smiled at her and she actually turned a little pink. “My saints, but you've got a pretty face,” she added. “I always says to my husband that someday I'll meet a duke. It's our joke. The duke'll take me away, see, give me a carriage with gold wheels to it, and make me his beautiful bride.”

“And what does your husband say to that?” Jemma asked.

“He says as how what he gives me is better than
a gold wheel any day,” she said, giggling madly. “But here, even as you're not a duke, you won't want to find Stubbins until the market opens. He lives in a bad area. I don't even go there unless I has to.”

“Where?” Jemma asked.

“Spitalfields. I can't see the two of you there.”

“We were there less than a week ago,” Elijah said.

“Could you give us his direction? Does he live anywhere around Cacky Street?”

Her giggles stopped and she narrowed her eyes. “You're missionary types, aren't you? I know your sort. You'll be trying to turn Stubbins into some sort of churchgoer and make him wear a hat and the rest of it.”

“That would make me a miracle worker, not a missionary,” Elijah pointed out.

“Well, at least you know that much.”

“We just want to find the doctor who uses Stubbins's flowers for medicine,” Jemma said. “It's terribly urgent, so could you please help us?”

“Stubbins lives in Wiggo Lane,” the woman said.

“You'll find him there or behind the mews, most likely. That's where he grows all his stuff. I think he even sleeps there sometimes.” She didn't look like laughing now. “You're from the Watch, aren't you? You jist look like a duke, but you're really the law.”

“No, not at all,” Jemma protested.

“You're going to drag him off to the workhouse and it'll be my fault. I wish I'd never told you.”

“I would never put Stubbins in the workhouse,” Elijah said mildly. “And I've nothing to do with the Watch. As it happens, I
am
a duke.”

“You never!”

Elijah gave her an extravagant bow. “The Duke of
Beaumont, at your service, madam. I would take you away with me, but—”

“His gold wheels are just made of brass,” Jemma said, taking his arm.

“Oh my, and isn't it just like a fairy tale,” the flower seller said. “The duke and duchess, and you loves each other, just like a tale, don't you?”

Jemma felt her smile waver. “Yes, just like that.”

“And do ya have a carriage with gold wheels?”

“No. But I have a beautiful bride,” Elijah said promptly.

 

They found Wiggo Lane without a problem. It was one of the narrow channels that led off Cacky Street, not far from the glassworks. In the afternoon, Spitalfields looked utterly different than it had in the morning. People were sitting on stoops, and children were dashing everywhere, howling and shrieking with laughter. Laundry was hanging out to dry, nothwithstanding the fact that smoke billowed onto the clean cloth from cook fires in the street.

Finding Stubbins wasn't as easy as finding the lane.

“He used to live here,” one man said, giving their footman an extremely unfriendly look. Most other people wouldn't even answer, but just backed away or stared at the coach with grim dislike.

“This isn't going to work,” Elijah said, watching James approach a man who looked as if he might knock the footman down before he gave out any information. He leaned forward and called, “We'll go to Cow Cross, James!”

The door was unlocked, as usual, the hallway dim, and Knabby came toward them squinting. “It's the
duke again,” Elijah said, “with the duchess as well.”

Knabby was clearly surprised. “It's a pleasure to have you again so soon! Everyone's in the courtyard.” He turned around and started bustling away.

“We're trying to find someone who lives in Spitalfields,” Elijah said, but Knabby was already through the door to the courtyard.

It wasn't nearly as lively this afternoon. “Cully's sleeping,” Knabby announced. “Sophisba's husband took her away again, and Mrs. Nibble went to stay with her sister, as has a stomach ulcer.”

After greeting everyone in the circle, Elijah said, “We're trying to find Ponder Stubbins, who lives in Spitalfields and raises flowers. Does anyone know him?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Waxy said, “'Course it is the duke.” But it was clearly a struggle between Spitalfields loyalty and glassworks loyalty.

“We don't mean him any harm,” Jemma put in. “We only want to find a doctor who buys his flowers.”

“Oh,” Knabby said, sounding very relieved. “In that case, Stubbins is just around the corner. He lives somewhere, maybe on Wiggo? But he's never there as his wife is a proper terror. He sleeps behind the mews in Fish Street.”

“Excellent. We are most grateful for your help.” Elijah made the rounds of the circle again, shaking the wavering hands that were held out in his direction, and they left.

The mews were a two-story wooden structure. The ground-story rooms were occupied by horses, busily producing manure, which made it easy enough to find Stubbins. They had only to follow the smell. It was a particularly rich, brown type of smell, perhaps be
cause the back of the mews faced east, and sun struck the manure piles all morning.

Stubbins had everything neatly arranged. To the left were flower beds, and to the right were fresh piles of dung.

“Oh, it's you, is it?” he said, leaning on a shovel. “I thought you'd be about.”

“You did?” Jemma asked, shocked. “You thought we'd follow you here?”

“Not you, ma'am, but your husband here. I reckoned he was curious about the manure, and I was right wasn't I?” Without waiting for an answer, he started showing Elijah his arrangements. “It can't be too hot. Fries the flowers, I suspect. So I rakes it here, and then I give it, oh, four or five days. Sometimes I pour fresh milk on it.”

That would explain some of the pungency, Jemma thought.

“Then I pile it over here and mix in a little o' that and a little something else. Then I plant my seeds.”

He showed them the shack where he kept his seeds, and Elijah looked at everything gravely and asked just the right sort of questions, and Jemma knew exactly why the Cacky Street Glassworks was doing so well. It was Elijah. He was grave and compassionate, and so honorable that people longed to be near him.

A few minutes later Elijah led Stubbins to the question of the doctor.

“He used to live in Birmingham,” Stubbins confirmed. “And then he went to one of them far-off countries, but it didn't do the doctor's lungs any good, so he's back in London now. He has rooms on Harley Street, I think. 'Course I never go there because he just sends a man to pick up my flowers.”

Jemma's heart was pounding in her throat. “It
is
he,” she said, clutching Elijah's hand. “Dr. Withering! He's the one, Elijah, he's the one!”

A moment later they were back in the carriage and racing to Harley Street.