Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (23 page)

“At least Sebastian Iverley won't be there. For all his faults he's no politician.”

“But he is your brother-in-law. Poor Cousin Sebastian. We were so horrid to him. I feel quite ashamed of the way we treated him as a boy.”

“I suppose I do too. Yet whenever I see him, I remember the way the duke brought him to Mandeville to be an example to me. He always makes me feel like an ignorant fool and I can't get beyond my dislike.”

Later in the day, Minerva told him she'd written and begged Diana Iverley to join the party. She said she needed her sister's support when tossed into the position of hostess to scores of strangers. He had no argument with that. But where Diana went, so did Sebastian.

He was doomed.

Chapter 23

B
lake's reaction to the political gathering was so different from hers she might have laughed, had it not filled her with new doubts about the future of their harmonious relations. Where she was thrilled at the prospect of entertaining a houseful of party luminaries, he looked as though he'd rather spend the summer in a dungeon, complete with torturer and rack. At least he didn't go so far as refusing to hold the party, which he had every right to do.

But it put him in a foul mood. It came as little surprise when he announced he would leave for Shropshire immediately. With guests arriving in less than a month, he claimed he needed the extra time to see to a hundred and one matters pertaining to the Mandeville estate.

“In that case,” she said rather sniffily, “I'll remain in London a few extra days. I need to consult your mother and work on the invitations. Will you take Hetherington with you, or may he stay and assist me?”

“Hetherington is all yours. I'll take Blenkinsop. I will be working with the land steward at Mandeville and have no intention of giving a second thought to politics until I absolutely have to. Are you sure you won't come with me?”

She was tempted. “I have to see the modiste about half-mourning gowns. I have nothing suitable to wear.”

“You'll enjoy that,” he teased, drawing a smile. He was now aware of her dislike of dress fittings. “Or I shall, seeing you in them.” He kissed her ear. “And out of them.”

So they parted on good terms and she missed him, especially at night, but she got on splendidly with Hetherington. The secretary knew everything and everyone and between them they honed the guest list to the few dozen most vital allies and worked out the endless details of entertaining such an enormous group, even in a house as vast and well staffed as Mandeville.

She was resting in the duchess's sitting room one day, hers alone since her mother-in-law had left for Scotland. An hour of leisure would have been an excellent moment for a chapter or two of Scott. Lascivious thoughts were interrupted by Filson.

“Your Grace,” he said. “A caller has asked to see you. A Mr. Thomas Parkes.”

How odd. She still wasn't receiving casual callers and could think of no reason why the Member of Parliament for Gristlewick should wish to see her now. “Did he say what he wants?”

“At first he asked for His Grace. When he heard His Grace had left town, he said only that the matter was urgent and could not be entrusted to Mr. Hetherington.”

“Show him up. No, wait. I'll see him in the morning room. I'll be down directly.”

Minerva wondered why she didn't feel awkward meeting the man she'd once planned to marry. It seemed like a year had passed rather than a few months. She felt no trace of regret for the loss of her future as Mrs. Parkes.

“Your Grace,” he said with a deferential bow. “May I offer my felicitations on your marriage and my condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Parkes. What can I do for you?”

“I intended to speak with the duke, but it occurred to me, since my acquaintance with him is slight, that it might be better to see you. The matter is delicate.”

“I see.”

“It's about the vacant seat at Warfield Castle.”

“Are you looking to make a change, Mr. Parkes? I thought your situation as Member for Gristlewick was secure. I believe it's already been decided who will have Warfield Castle.”

Parkes nodded. “Geoffrey Huntley. That's what I wish to speak to you about. Huntley must not have it.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is not reliable. He is no friend to the cause of reform and will not vote as we would wish. In days past I had the honor of learning your views and trust me, Duchess, they are very far from Huntley's.”

“I don't understand. Naturally I am sorry to hear you don't think Mr. Huntley sound in his opinions, but as member for the duke's borough he must vote as he is told or risk losing his seat.”

“Apparently not, and that is the reason I was relieved to speak to you and not to the duke. According to a reliable source, Huntley has been boasting that the new Duke of Hampton will support him, whatever he does. That he could even take a place in the government without forfeiting the duke's favor because they were intimate school friends. I don't need to tell you how close things will be after the election. We cannot afford to lose a vote. I beg you, Duchess, speak to the duke and persuade him to give Warfield Castle to someone else.”

“Is Sir Gideon Louther aware of this? I understand he favors Mr. Huntley.”

“I would have spoken to Sir Gideon, had it not been for the report of Huntley's friendship with the duke. I thought it better to be direct.”

Minerva found the business very odd. Did Huntley really put so much store in the strength of his friendship with Blake? She had the impression—based on a certain irritation in his manner when the topic arose—that Blake wasn't in fact fond of his former schoolmate. She needed to get to the bottom of the matter before she left London.

“I must speak to Mr. Huntley. Much as I respect you, Mr. Parkes, it would be wrong to destroy a man's future on hearsay.”

At her request, Huntley called the next day.

“My dear Duchess. What an honor to receive your invitation! What a pleasure to meet you again! May I felicitate you on your happy new position?”

Minerva drew back. Huntley, whom on the occasion of their meeting at the theater she'd found quite amiable, was standing a little too close. She withdrew her hand from his, before he should take it into his mind to kiss it, and wished she was wearing gloves.

“I assure you, Mr. Huntley, there is nothing about the late duke's death that is cause for celebration.”

“Of course not, Duchess. I meant your marriage. It pleases me greatly that my old friend Blake should have found such a beautiful bride.” His brown curly hair and round face gave him an appearance of youth and openness, but his manner struck her as devious. She strove to keep an open mind, in case her feelings had been prejudiced by Parkes.

“Your acquaintance with my husband goes back to Eton, I understand.”

“More than acquaintance. Our friendship. Blake used to say he could never have survived school without me.”

“Naturally life at Eton must have been dreadfully hard for the heir to a dukedom.”

“Exactly,” Huntley said, as though her sarcasm had sailed over his angelic head. Apparently he didn't think her very bright.

“And out of his very great affection and gratitude you are to have a seat in Parliament.”

“Exactly! Thus ensuring my
eternal
affection and gratitude. He couldn't have a more reliable ally in Parliament than a friend from his youth.”

“I suppose,” Minerva said carefully, setting him a test, “Warfield Castle isn't as valuable as it once was.”

“What can you mean, Duchess?”

“Correct me if I've misunderstood, but I believe the rotten boroughs will be abolished when reform comes to Parliament. Your safe seat will disappear.”

“My dear Duchess,” Huntley began, making her itch to slap him—she wasn't his dear anything. “If you don't mind my saying so, you are naïve. Yes, there is a great deal of talk of reform. But in the end, why would the Duke of Hampton, or any great nobleman, willingly relinquish his power?”

Sometimes looking like a doll could be used to advantage. She gave him the benefit of her most candid gaze. “Do you suggest the reform party is disingenuous?”

“I'm sure there are many good souls in the party who truly believe reform is in the interests of the country. We know better. England is better off if the great families continue to hold the reins of government. Look what happened when they let the common man run matters in France.”

“You are very good, Mr. Huntley, to explain this to me. I am, indeed, naïve. Just an ignorant woman, alas.” She feared she was overacting but he seemed to drink it in. “Am I to infer, since the two of you are such very good friends, that your views are also my husband's? He doesn't tell me much about his political business.” She fluttered her eyelashes and tried to look stupid.

“He has not said so in so many words. But I know Blake very well. He will give lip service to reform but, in the end, I know how he will wish me to vote.”

Minerva hardly trusted herself to speak. She waited a couple of minutes, as though in deep cogitation. Did Huntley think her a fool? Or was he so sure of Blake's complete loyalty that he felt he could safely betray the party? Deep down she also feared Huntley was telling the truth. Not that Blake was selfishly opposed to reform, but that he cared too little for the issue. That in the end he would hesitate to punish any of his followers who voted against it.

She needed to get the unctuous fellow out of her house before she gave into the urge to hit him with a poker. “I'm glad we've had this conversation, Mr. Huntley. I have been naïve, as you put it. But no longer, I promise you.”

Huntley bowed low over her unwilling hand and she was certain she detected mockery in the gesture. “If you have any doubts at all about what about what I have said, you can ask Blake.”

Since her husband was over a hundred miles away, she would have to wait. She relieved her annoyance by hunting down Mr. Hetherington and having Huntley struck off the guest list for Mandeville.

Chapter 24

I
t was good to be home. And he was home, Blake realized. Fond as he had become of Devon, the varied greens of Shropshire and Mandeville's rolling acres spoke to him the way the coastal landscape could not. He spent several days riding around his lands, inspecting fields and woods, farms and cottages, and talking to his tenants and dependents. To be in charge, to make decisions, initiate improvements without permission, was a heady power.

The only drag on his satisfaction was how he missed Minerva. He found himself composing accounts of his activities in his head. Reluctant for his own reasons to discuss the political affairs she loved, he'd enjoyed the perspective she'd brought to their discussion in the carriage crossing northern France. And though he was finally getting the kind of extended physical activity his body craved, it didn't stop him wanting her.

He'd moved into his father's rooms. The late duke hadn't been at Mandeville since the previous autumn and somehow his presence in the private ducal apartments seemed weak. In London Blake had found it hard even to enter the room where he'd witnessed his father's death. Sleeping under the elaborate red velvet hangings of the Mandeville bed felt like easing into his father's position without disrespect.

He wished he didn't have to occupy the bed alone. The mattress was firm and comfortable and completely suitable for energetic activity.

The afternoon Minerva was expected he meant to stay near the house, to greet her on the portico steps upon her arrival at her new home, but she arrived earlier than anticipated. He'd just returned from the stables when she swept into the estate office like a blond tempest, trailing bonnet strings and a long gauze scarf in her wake.

He scooped her into his arms for a lingering kiss, which she returned warmly, until noticing the presence of the land steward.

“We're not alone,” she murmured.

He gave her another quick kiss before she pulled away. “I'm glad to see you, Minnie. I've missed you. How was your journey?”

“Don't call me that in public,” she said, though without much heat. He did believe she was coming to like the name.

“Let's go somewhere private then.” Firmly he led her in the direction of the hall and the grand staircase.

“You hardly let me say a word to poor Mr. Hudkins,” she complained. “I've known him for years. He was embarrassed.”

“Let me show you to your rooms. They're next to mine.” He was about to raise the interesting topic of his bed, and its remarkable size, when he noticed that his bride no longer looked happy. In fact he was fairly sure something had upset her very much.

“I need to speak to you about something,” she said. “Something important and extremely disturbing.”

“We'll go to my sitting room, then. Your rooms will be full of maids unpacking.” And his sitting room was right next to his bedroom, he didn't add.

It took a long time to get anywhere in the huge house. Minerva answered his trivial questions about the journey with diminishing patience and by the time they entered his room she was like a steaming kettle. Blake searched his mind for what might have set her off. He prepared for a harangue on the pernicious actions of someone, most likely a member of government. A smile tugged at his lips and was hastily quashed. His duchess looked very appealing when enraged, but not in the mood to appreciate levity or compliments.

“What has you so overwrought?” he inquired.

Her forehead creased in a ferocious scowl, so at odds with her porcelain beauty. “Warfield Castle,” she said and his heart sank. Surely she had no objection to Huntley? No one did, except him, and he wasn't saying. Nonetheless, it made him anxious even to approach the topic of his nemesis.

“What about it? It's all settled.”

“You cannot give that seat to that man. He is a villain.”

She was, of course, absolutely right. He spoke carefully. “Huntley? What makes you think that?”

“He will vote against a reform bill and claim it is your wish.”

“Will he?”

“He virtually told me as such. And I have it on good authority he will accept a place in the government, doubtless in exchange for his vote.”

So that was Huntley's game. Blake had wondered why he was so anxious for the seat in Parliament, which came with no income unless he won a government position. Even if their party won the election, there was a long list of candidates for lucrative places, most of them with better credentials than Huntley. After so many years in opposition, the scramble for patronage was going to be vicious.

“If he does so,” he said with all the calm he could muster, “he won't hold onto his seat beyond the next election. I shall dislodge him.”

“Will you? He claims that no matter how he votes you will never desert him.” She moved close and took his hand, looking up into his face with troubled eyes. “Why would he believe that? Is the friendship of this man so important to you?”

Blake stared back into her blue gaze and his heart sank. He couldn't have written the names in Greek, or spelled them in English, but he knew what it meant to be caught between Scylla and Charybdis. If he stuck by his promise to Huntley and dismissed her concerns about his motives, Minerva was going to be furious with him. In the end she would be proven right too. He didn't know how his father and Gideon had come to be fooled, but Blake knew Huntley to be rotten through and through. As rotten as the borough of Warfield Castle. Not that he hadn't been deceived himself. For fifteen years he'd believed the fellow his good and loyal friend.

In a minute Minerva was going to ask him to dismiss Huntley, to change his mind about Warfield Castle. That dismissal would be followed shortly by a full and public account of the educational shortcomings of the Duke of Hampton.

The ignorance of Lord Blakeney would have been cause for gossip; that of the Duke of Hampton would be news. He could see the caricatures in the print sellers' windows, mocking his inability to read a book. Imagine the items in the newspapers: “We hear the new D___ of H____ is an unlettered fool.”

Blake had always believed with his father gone that he would no longer care what anyone thought of him. Alas, that wasn't true.

“I owe Huntley a favor,” he said, hoping she'd leave it at that.

Not a chance. “What kind of favor? What hold does he have over you?”

Could he bring himself to confess the truth, as he'd lost the chance with his father?

He remembered Huntley's cruel imitation of Blake's pathetic attempts at reading.

He remembered the constant complaints of his tutors, his schoolmasters, and his father.
You're lazy. You don't study. Why won't you apply yourself?

And Minerva's words on a Parisian street.
You don't even try.

What was the use?

“I don't know whether your opinion of Huntley's intentions is correct,” he said. “I don't know how we can know. But he can have the seat. I gave my word.”

A
fter refusing to see reason, Blake avoided her for the rest of the day, claiming business in some far-flung corner of the estate. Dinner was an even more formal affair than it was in London. If she'd expected to dine with her husband tête-à-tête she learned her mistake. At Mandeville it was the custom for gently born retainers to dine at the duke's table.

The Duke and Duchess of Hampton were prevented from airing their differences by the presence of the land steward, the chaplain, the librarian, the keeper of muniments, Mr. Blenkinsop, and Mr. Hetherington, lined up on either side of the table in the misnamed small dining room, a chamber large enough to hold most of the ground floor of Wallop Hall, the ancient manor where Minerva had grown up.

The comparison was inevitable in Minerva's mind. With the exception of the two London secretaries, all the men at the table were frequent visitors to her parents' house and to other houses in the vicinity of Mandeville. She knew them as social equals, older gentlemen who merited her deference. Now they were her husband's servants and, she supposed, hers.

They seemed as thrown by the situation as she and it was up to her to break the ice.

“Have you made any new acquisitions, Mr. Lindsey?” she asked the librarian, a friend of her father's.

“Thank you for asking, Your Grace,” replied the elderly man, who had called her Minerva since she was old enough to lisp a greeting. “You must see the additions to the map collection I have made on His Grace's behalf this year. His late Grace, that is. I hope the new duke will be interested too.” He sounded about as dubious as Minerva felt.

“My sister and Iverley will be joining us next month. I know
he
will want to see them.” She spoke with special clarity and glanced up the length of the table to see if Blake heard her. Sufficiently miffed at him to be solidly in Sebastian's camp this evening, she was glad to detect a twitch of discomfort.

“Excellent. I'd like Lord Iverley's expert opinion on the provenance of several pieces. How do you find Mr. and Mrs. Montrose?”

“I haven't seen my mother and father for some months. I had hoped to call on them this afternoon, but His Grace was otherwise occupied and they will expect to see us both when we call the first time since our marriage.” She smiled sweetly at her husband and raised her voice a notch. “But no matter. Doubtless the duke will have leisure to attend to me tomorrow. Or next week.”

Mr. Lindsey shifted in his chair and Minerva felt ashamed for involving the old man in her quarrel. “I spent the afternoon touring the house with Mrs. Courage and settling into my rooms,” she continued more quietly. She managed to get through the rest of the meal with propriety, though not much wit.

“M
innie?”

She thought about pretending to be asleep. She wanted to see him and she wished he'd go away. It would be easier if the decision wasn't hers.

“Minnie?” He came closer. “You're still awake. I just want to say I'm sorry.”

She'd behaved badly this evening too—not as badly as him over Huntley—and owed him an apology back. “Hmph” was all she could manage.

The mattress dipped. “I have a good reason for giving Huntley the seat,” he said as he joined her under the blankets, his chest against her back. “But I can't tell you. In the future I may be able to, but not yet.”

“What—”

He cut her off. “Please don't ask me now. Let's be friends again.”

His arms came about her and his lips started nibbling at her ear. As usual, it felt good. Very good. But she was furious at him. A so-called “good reason” was no reason at all. He was prepared to share her bed, but not his decisions.

She loved it when he kissed her neck. And when his hand found the neck of her nightgown and dipped inside. “Oh, Minnie. You have the loveliest little breasts,” he breathed. They loved him back, swelling under his questing fingers.

She ought to tell him to go away, rather than let her anger be overcome by his wicked touch. She stopped herself from arching into his hand. She didn't want to encourage him. She wasn't in the mood tonight. How could he be such a dolt as to think she'd forgive him for handing a parliamentary seat on a plate to one of his drinking companions?

Good Lord! How could he possibly think she would, under the circumstances, allow him to suck on her nipples? In just a minute she was going to push him away. The way her heart pounded and little streaks of bliss shot down into her sex was really quite irritating. A mere animal reaction. Quite despicable.

But wait, her brain chimed in through a mist of desire. She herself had been less than perfect this evening. Quarrelling with Blake always made her behave quite horridly. Instead of apologizing she could let him do what he liked to her. That was only fair. And as long as she didn't actively participate it wasn't like giving in.

She repelled the part of her mind that told her the argument was specious nonsense, and concentrated on resisting the urge to turn into his embrace and rub her aching groin against him. It wasn't easy and required her to stiffen every muscle in her body.

At once she was free. Blake rolled away and sat upright. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to, Minerva. Obviously you're very angry.”

She flopped onto her back. “I know my duty. You are my husband and I won't turn you away.”

“Thank you, but no thank you. I'm not interested in bedding a woman who merely endures me.”

“I'm perfectly willing to welcome you in my bed.”

“Welcome! Some welcome. A carriage shaft would be more responsive!”

Frustrated desire, combined with an obscure sense that she might be in the wrong, frayed her temper. “I suggest you go to the stables then. It's where you'd rather spend your time anyway, since the well-being of your horses is so much more important than the well-being of the country.”

“The trouble with you, Minnie, is you think you know everything. Everything must be done the way you want it. Just once I'd like you to trust that I know what I'm doing.”

That was so unfair! She'd spent weeks keeping her thoughts to herself and refraining from interfering in matters she was far more qualified than he to decide. She buried her head in the pillow to stop herself screaming at him in unseemly rage.

“So, Minnie? What do you say to that?”

“Go away, and don't call me Minnie.”

“Fine, Duchess. And welcome to Mandeville.” He stamped out of the room, making an impressive series of thumps considering that the floor was extremely well carpeted.