To Marry a Duke (2 page)

Chapter
Two

Evans wrung his hands. ‘This is a black day.
A black day indeed.
Have you much jewellery, Lady Allegra?’

‘None that I
would sell.
They are mostly priceless heirlooms that have been in our
family for hundreds of years.’

‘For God’s sake, Allegra.
It’s too
late for such niceties. You heard the man, we’re all but penniless. This is not
the time for scruples.’

‘How can you say so? Remember who we are, Richard.’

‘Who are we? We’ll be nothing without the Priory. We have to
have funds in order to find somewhere to live, to pay our bills.’

Hysteria bubbled inside her. She needed to escape from this
nightmare. How could Richard dismiss it so calmly - their lives were over,
couldn’t he see that? She pushed herself upright, her movements that of an old
woman. ‘I am going to my room. I cannot deal with this now.’

She stumbled upstairs, her remaining strength focused on
reaching the privacy of her chamber and swallowing sufficient laudanum to send
her into the sweet darkness she desperately needed.

Her dresser, Abbot, took one look at her face and sent a
chambermaid running for Miss Murrell.

*

Downstairs, Richard turned away and leant his face against
the coolness of the leaded window, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Half an hour ago he had been rich, master of all he surveyed; now he was just
another impecunious aristocrat.

‘Evans, who owns St Osyth’s Priory now?’
 

‘A businessman from Cornwall, Mr Jago
Tremayne.
He has tin mines, manufactories and ships; he is as rich as
Croesus.’

Richard was impressed. ‘He could have thrown us out after
the funeral. We must, I suppose, be grateful he allowed us the extra nine
months.’

‘Indeed you must, your grace. I don’t know of any other man
who would have done the same. Have you any idea how much you and Lady Allegra
have spent since last July?’

Richard shook his head. Such matters had never concerned
either of them. There had always been ample to sustain their extravagant
lifestyle. The estate included several villages as well as gravel pits, a brick
yard, timber and dozens of well-run farms to support it.

Evans named a sum that made even Richard blush. ‘Good God!
That much?
I had no idea keeping an establishment in Town
was so costly. This man, Tremayne, he owns the London house and the other
estates in Suffolk and Kent as well?’

Evans nodded. ‘All of it, your grace.’

The clock chimed five times and Richard swore.
‘God’s teeth!
Our guests will be arriving in an hour. I have
yet to put them off.’ He yanked the bell strap and nodded dismissal to the
lawyer. ‘Can you come back tomorrow, Evans, and go through things when I’ve had
time to adjust?’

‘Yes, your grace. This has been a black day, a very black
day.’

‘So you have said. I bid you good day. Show Mr Evans out,
and send Yardley to me at once.’

The footman, who had answered the summons, bowed the lawyer
from the room.

Richard paced, waiting for the butler to arrive. ‘Yardley, I
wish you to send messages to both Great Bentley and Frating Hall. Inform them
the dinner tonight is cancelled. Also let the kitchens know.’

Yardley
bowed,
his lined face
impassive. ‘Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it at once. Will there be anything else?’

Richard ground his teeth. ‘No, Yardley, thank you.’

He needed to get out of the house, clear his head and drown
his sorrows. He didn’t wish to be alone. He’d unearth Gideon and they could
ride across to Weeley. There were always officers at the barracks ready to
share a bottle, or three, of claret.

*

Miss Murrell forgot decorum and ran along the draughty
corridor. Jenny had said the matter was extremely urgent. ‘Abbot, what is
wrong?’

‘Oh, madam, I’m glad you’re here. Her ladyship is that
distraught, she’s searching for the laudanum. The state she’s in I fear to give
it to her, but if I don’t, I’m certain she’ll dismiss me.’

‘Leave it to me, Abbot.’ Miss Murrell held out her hand and
closed her fingers around the small, deep-blue, ridged bottle. ‘I will ring if
I need you again.’

She could hear the crashes and thuds of articles being
thrown and her heart sunk even lower. It was years since Allegra had resorted
to hurling objects to vent her spleen. With some trepidation she pushed to bedchamber
door open.

‘Miss Murrell, please give me the laudanum.’ Allegra’s
smooth chignon was in disarray and her pale cheeks had a hectic flush. She saw
the bottle hidden is Miss Murrell’s hand ‘’

Miss Murrell ignored the hand and gestured towards the old-fashioned
Dutch bedstead. The moulded panels and carved lion masks were enough to give
the most sanguine of sleepers nightmares. Small wonder Allegra slept poorly.

‘Hush, my dear. You shall have it in a moment. First, let me
assist you to disrobe. You don’t wish to sleep in your gown, surely?

Allegra stared in confusion; first at her gown then at her
companion. Slowly she regained control. ‘Papa killed himself because he had
gambled away the estate. Richard and I have nothing, we are destitute. We have
been ordered to vacate the Priory by the end of the month.’

‘Good heavens, child, that’s scarcely two weeks away. Where
shall we go at such short notice?’

Dry eyed Allegra collapsed onto the bed. ‘I do not know.
Richard insists I must sell my jewellery to fund the removal. How can I part
with mama’s heirlooms so easily? Does he not understand they are all I have
left to remember her by?’

‘Put your faith in the lord, my dear. That’s the best thing.
Pray hard for an answer and he’ll give you what you ask. It might not be what
you want, but he will answer your prayers, I promise.’

‘I will try. I wish I had your certainty, but after what has
happened these past two years I find myself unable to trust as I once did.’

Miss Murrell completed her task and assisted Allegra into
bed. Then she carefully removed the stopper from the bottle and tipped a
generous measure onto the silver spoon kept ready on the side table.

‘Here, my dear. I don’t approve of your use of this, but
tonight I consider is one of those exceptional occasions when it’s allowed.’

Gratefully Allegra swallowed the syrup and lay back on the
pillows. Miss Murrell pulled up a small tapestry chair and sat down beside the
bed.

‘I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, my dear. Now,
close your
eyes,
let the laudanum do its work.
Tomorrow is soon enough to worry about the future.’

Her dear girl didn’t hear her brother and the captain gallop
off into the twilight. She was in a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

The Red Lion, Colchester

Jago Tremayne prowled back and forth in his private parlour,
stopping every few minutes to stare out of the window and down into the yard.
Damn the man, where was he? He had carefully chosen Southey to deliver his
message, not Evans, because he wished his victims to be suitably crushed by his
news.

His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. There, the
carriage had returned at last. Unable to remain in his rooms he pounded down
the stairs and met Evans and Southey as they entered the inn.

‘Well, is it done?’

‘It is, sir, exactly as you requested.’
 
Southey smiled.
‘Hardly a
peep out of either of them.
I promise they’ll not kick up a dust,
they’ll leave like lambs on the appointed date.’

Jago’s expression hardened. ‘Your job is done, Southey. Take
your money and make yourself scarce.’ He tossed a bulging purse at the man, who
caught it deftly.

‘You know where to find me, sir, if you should have need of
my services again.’

Jago turned to the lawyer his expression almost friendly. ‘Come
up, Evans, and tell me exactly what happened. I wish to know every detail
however insignificant.’

Over two bottles of port the story unfolded. He was not
displeased by what he heard. ‘So, they are expecting to be evicted in less than
two weeks?’ Evans nodded. ‘Don’t look so downcast,
man,
it will not come to that. I could not tell you the whole before, you had to
believe what Southey told them.’

‘Believe? Is it not true then, sir? Will Lady Allegra and
Lord Witherton be able to stay on at the Priory?’

Jago smiled slightly and poured himself another brimming
glass. ‘As you know I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes. Good
God, I could buy and sell half the aristocrats in London and still see change.’
He swallowed deeply and wiped his mouth on his cuff. ‘But, do you know, Evans,
I’m still
persona non grata
at the
best homes. I belong to all the right clubs, dress at Weston’s, and own a
townhouse in the fashionable part of London, but the tabbies won’t have me. I
am a
cit
! They would rather welcome
an impoverished
émigré
than invite me
into their houses.’

He paused as he considered the injustice of it all. Leaning
forward, he stared blearily at his companion. ‘Why is that, Evans? Why is
that?’

‘You do not have the pedigree, sir. Money counts but in some
circles bloodlines are everything.’

Tremayne banged the table, sending both glasses flying.
‘Exactly!
So I decided if I could not buy my way into
society I would marry into it. My daughter, Demelza, will marry a duke and my
grandchildren will be aristocrats. How is that for a man descended from Cornish
tin miners?’

Evans righted the glasses and refilled them. ‘I should have
guessed, sir. A real villain would never have allowed Lady Allegra and Lord
Witherton to remain so long or paid all their living expenses.’

‘He will agree, won’t he, Evans? My girl’s pretty and has
little to say for herself. That would be considered an advantage by many men,
wouldn’t it?’

The lawyer drained his glass and beamed. ‘He will bite your
hand off in his eagerness. But forgive me, sir, I must warn you, the duke is a
pleasant enough young man but not what I would call
good husband
material. He gambles and drinks to excess and runs a
string of expensive ladybirds.’

Tremayne yawned. ‘But he will not continue in that vein, I
promise you. I shall keep a tight hold on the purse strings. I might be rich
but I’m not stupid.’ He pushed himself upright, swaying a little. ‘Good God,
I’m foxed! I’d no idea I’d consumed so much. I’m going to my bed, Evans. I will
bid you goodnight.’

‘What time will you be visiting the Priory tomorrow, sir?’

‘Not before noon. Come here at eleven o’clock, there are
some documents I’ve had drawn up and I would like a second opinion.’

Evans bowed, almost losing his balance. ‘I should be honoured,
sir. Goodnight until the morning.’

Jago walked unsteadily to the
door that led to his bedchamber and, neglecting to lower his head, swore
viciously as he reeled back. ‘God dammit, Sam Perkins, why didn’t you warn me
to duck?’

His valet, and friend, grinned unsympathetically. ‘I would
have, sir, if I’d known you
was
coming in at that
precise moment.’

‘I need a…’

‘It’s in that closet, sir. Mind your head!’ Years of living
with his formidable master had inured him to his moods. He knew, as probably no
other did, that under the brusque exterior lurked a much gentler man.

Breakfast was taken in the private parlour. ‘I’ve a damnable
headache, Sam. Have you any of your quackery to fix it?’ Jago flinched as he
turned his head too quickly.

‘I do, sir. It’s by your plate. It
don’t
taste too clever but it’ll do the trick.’

Jago peered suspiciously into the pewter pot. ‘If it tastes
as vile as it smells, Sam, I might well cast up my accounts.’

‘Drink it down in one. It’ll clear your head and settle your
digestion, sir.’

He did as instructed and the bitter liquid, for a moment,
threatened to return. Then miraculously his head stopped thumping and he could
view the assembled dishes with more favour.

‘Are the trunks packed, Sam? We’ll be leaving here this
morning. Our residence from today will be at St Osyth’s Priory.’
 
He drained his tankard of porter before
continuing. ‘Demelza will be arriving this morning, keep an eye on her for me,
I’m going to look at the castle. It’s Norman you know.’

‘Maybe Miss Demelza would like to
see the castle with you, sir; I know she likes historical things.’

‘Does she?’ How do you know that? She never mumbles more
than yes or no to me.’

‘You’re still a stranger to her, sir. Remember, she sent her
away to school when she was but seven years old. And how often have you seen
her in the past few years?’

Jago frowned. ‘There was no place in my life for a child. I
was abroad or occupied with business. I saw her when I could.’

‘As I said, sir, she’s barely acquainted with you. She’s
still shy. She’ll come round when she knows you better.’

‘Come round? Confound it, Sam, she’s my daughter. My own
flesh and blood, why is she shy with me?’

‘Have you looked at yourself in the glass lately, sir?’

‘In the glass?
What the devil are
you talking about? Why should I do that; I leave my appearance to you.’

Sam grinned. ‘There’s a glass over the mantel, take a look.
You might be surprised.’

He strode over to stand glaring into the mirror. What game
was Sam playing with him? Then, as he looked, his expression changed. He began
to see what Sam was getting at. The tall dark man staring back at him was
almost a stranger. Somewhere, over the years, the slim, casually dressed
Cornishman he had been, had metamorphosed into a broad shouldered, immaculately
dressed, worldly gentleman. From the top of his elegantly cropped black hair
down to his shiny top boots he was perfectly turned out. His dark blue, square
fronted coat, his crisply starched cravat with its single diamond pin, his pale
blue waistcoat and calfskin
inexpressibles
screamed
wealth and quality.