Lady Pamela (28 page)

“Oh, very well,” pouted Millicent. “But you must tell Lady Pamela at once. I could not bear to see her again as your fiancée.”

The duke sighed. “I will decide when ’twill be told, and to whom.”

“Oh, but–”

“Go home, Lady Millicent.”

* * * *

And now Benjamin regretted his own resolution, for he saw the suffering in Lady Pamela’s eyes. He must say something, and yet nothing could be said. Perhaps it had been a mistake, after all, to approach her, but the duke had woken that morning and determined that he would speak with her alone, whatever the offense to propriety. Lady Pamela had known of his engagement to Lady Millicent for a full day, at least, and he had never had the chance to explain.

“There is no need for explanation. I was there, that night, in the gardens. I saw.”

Her words should have eased his mind, but they did not. Benjamin took both of her hands in his and held them to his cheek. She allowed his touch for only a moment.

“I cannot bear your censure,” whispered Benjamin. He saw Lady Pamela slipping away from him. They had quarreled before, but this time ’twas different. This time was to be the last, he sensed, and was in despair.

“I do not reproach you,” she told him. “Truly I do not. You did what you must, but–but–it
hurts
.”

She shuddered and the duke’s heart was broken. He reached for her but she stepped quickly back, her hands out as if to push him away.

“And ’tis not only Lady Millicent, not only your engagement,” said Pam. Her voice grew passionate and heavy with tears. “Each time I see you, each time we meet, something
happens
, something reminds me that we can never be together, that you will never–that I will–”

“Pamela–”

“What do you think I feel? I was fine before I met you! I have family and friends who love me, and do not judge me. ’Twas a mistake. That is all. A
mistake
.”

Benjamin shook his head. “A mistake? I don’t understand.”

She gulped for breath. “But you do. You’ve said so yourself. I was a man’s mistress, and that will not change and I cannot make it up to you. And I will not continue to try. It just hurts too much.”

She broke down, and buried her head in her hands. “ ’Twill always be thus. I will always pay, and I
deserve
to pay, I suppose, but I cannot bear it any longer. I will never, ever be able to bear it again.”

Benjamin was at sea. Why was she speaking of her past life, of her years with the Earl of Ketrick? He cared nothing for those years, they were forgotten. Surely she must realize that by now–

“Your past means nothing to me,” he said, intending this as reassurance.

She raised her eyes to his. “Nothing?” she whispered.

“No–” Benjamin’s level of frustration rose by another notch. Would he never be able to explain himself? Must she take everything amiss?

“My past is part of who I am,” she told him. “And that is the problem. You want me to be someone I am not.”

“No–” Benjamin felt that he could handle years of his own torment, but not another moment of hers. The engagement with lady Millicent was ended, and he was free. Lady Pamela was to become his wife, and Benjamin felt it wrong, somehow, to deceive her even by an omission of the truth.

“There is hope,” he whispered, hardly knowing that he spoke aloud. “Hope for us still.”

Lady Pamela stopped. She stared at him, eyes wide.

“Hope? What can you mean, sir?”

The duke, who had slept poorly for two nights, was slow to answer. He was still caught in a dream, a dream where Lady Pamela was his bride, and where their future spread before him in an endless season of gladness and peace.

He spoke his next words to the ground, still unwilling to betray Lady Millicent, not daring to look at the woman he loved.

“We will be together,” he said. “Somehow, we will be. ’Tis not the end.”

In present circumstances these were foolish words, suffused as they were with longing, and with the duke’s lingering worries for Millicent. If Benjamin had been less entangled in his own thoughts, he would have realized that Lady Pamela had no idea of his meaning. He looked up to see her still staring at him. The pain in her eyes had turned to an anguish that pierced his heart.

“What is it?” he whispered.

 “I,” said Lady Pamela, “never wish to see you, or to speak with you again.”

He was stunned. “Lady Pamela–”

“Leave me at once.” She turned her back on him and stood in silence, her shoulders trembling. Maggie hurried to her mistress’s side; the maid glared at Benjamin.

What had happened? What could he have said? Benjamin’s heart was torn. The lady had shown him her back, and every rule of polite society demanded that he leave her immediately, without uttering another word.

He could not do so.

“Lady Pamela, please.” He reached out to touch her arm. She gasped and turned, flinging off his hand. The maid stepped between them and Benjamin saw the glint of a small dagger clutched in the girl’s hand.

Good heavens.

“Can you not go?” cried Lady Pamela.

“No!” answered the duke, in equal exasperation. “I will not go. And if your maid could restrain her enthusiasm for that knife–”

“Leave Maggie out of this!”

“What ails you, madam, to go about the streets so foolishly? A footpad would take that blade in an instant, and you would be at his mercy.”

“Yes, it seems London is full of females requiring rescue!” she shot back.

“I only meant to say–”

“And you have already rescued your lady, so go to her now and
leave
me.
”

“There is no need to involve Lady Millicent in this discussion,” Benjamin protested. “She was an innocent–”

“An innocent? An innocent! Of course she is. And I am not!”

Lady Pamela’s fury was now unrestrained, and before its fury all logic collapsed. Their conversation, thought the duke, was spiraling out of control. He again took a step toward Lady Pam. She backed away.

“If you will not leave,” said Lady Pamela, “then it needs I must.” Her voice shook with anger, and he saw the delicate tracery of tears on her cheeks.

Benjamin was desperate. “My love–”

This, it seemed, was the final straw.

“Oh!” cried Pamela. Her eyes flashed furious blue fire and her hand flew up. She slapped him roundly across the face and ran.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lady Detweiler shook her head.

“I cannot believe it,” she told Lady Pam. “You must have mistaken his meaning.”

“Mistake his meaning? No, I most assuredly did not!”

“But–”

“He is engaged to Lady Millicent! As good as married! And if there is hope, if we are to be together, as he says, what other meaning could there be?”

“The duke–”

“Horrible man!
Abominable
hypocrite!”

“I am sure he could not–”

“Cad!”      

Lady Pamela flung herself onto Amanda’s lavender chintz chaise lounge and wept, continuing to curse Lord Torrance through fits of violent tears. Lady Detweiler poured herself a second glass of brandy and decided to wait it out.

“Brute! Infamous jackanapes!”

Amanda sighed, thinking that Lady Pamela’s talent for expletives was sadly lacking. She would have cursed the duke herself, of course, except that she could not believe that Lord Torrance had really intended to offer Lady Pamela
carte blanche
. It simply did not fit anything she knew of the man. He was considerate, generous, honest to a fault–and deeply in love with Pamela Sinclair. Lord Torrance was the kind of man who would sacrifice everything to the best interests of his beloved.

And the best interests of Lady Pam did not involve becoming mistress to another man, someone to follow in the footsteps of Edward Tremayne.

Lord Torrance might have bumbled a bit in his courtship, but all men bumbled these things, it was a sad fact of their nature. The gentleman was not stupid, nor lacking in empathy. He knew as well as did Lady Detweiler that an offer of
carte blanche
would be deeply hurtful to Pam, an insult of the worst kind. It was true that she had been one man’s
chère amie
, but for the duke to propose a similar arrangement now would suggest that he saw her in that light only, that
mistress
was all she ever could be.

No. Lady Detweiler would wager a monkey that Lord Torrance had not said anything of the sort, nor given such an offense to Millicent, his bride-to-be.

The bedchamber grate held a cheery fire; Lady Detweiler kicked off her slippers and warmed her toes before it, sipping brandy. The duke’s words were a riddle, but every riddle had its solution. If Lord Torrance had not intended to offer
carte blanche
, then he must have intended something else. He must have meant, in fact, that he would soon be free to pursue Lady Pamela.

Would soon be free, but was not yet so. And short of tossing Lady Millicent into a carriage with the worthless Lord Peabody, and sending them off in the direction of Gretna Green–

Amanda chuckled softly, thinking that an excellent plan. ’Twas lamentable that Lord Torrance was far too honourable a gentleman to propose it, and even Lady Detweiler might have demurred, since by the time the two reached Scotland, Lady Millicent would surely have had her fill of young Clarence’s company. Silly, romantic, and naive was allowable in a female of Millicent’s tender years; it should not be cause for a life’s sentence of tedium.

Lady Detweiler’s toes began to feel over-warm. She drew them back and cast a glance in Lady Pamela’s direction. Her friend was now reclining in the chaise, gesturing angrily at the ceiling.

“If Lady Millicent is to be his bride,” said Pam, “I will rejoice. Some young, butter-won’t-melt-in-her-mouth miss! They deserve each other!”

Lady Pamela was never unkind. This, thought Lady Detweiler, must be stopped at once.

“Yes,” drawled Amanda, “near rape is a trifle, after all. The chit should have squared her shoulders and soldiered on.”

“Oh–”

“And to drag a duke into the matter was quite insupportable. Hang her by her pretty neck, I say.”

Lady Pamela stared at Amanda in shock, tears at an end.

“Good heavens,” she said, sitting up on the chaise. “Have I truly been so ridiculous?”

“Yes,” said Lady Detweiler, tossing her friend a handkerchief.

Pam dabbed at her eyes, and said ruefully. “What is it about that man? I haven’t acted such a goose since I was fifteen and the marchioness forbade me dancing with Lord– Oh, what was his name?”

“Rimesby. A tiresome bore, as I recall.”

“Too true. But I won’t see them after they are married. You must grant me that, Amanda. You cannot expect me to make the acquaintance of the new Duchess of Grentham. ’Twould be insupportable.”

“But of course,” said Lady Detweiler, nodding her agreement. “We shall dress you in deepest mourning, and your groomsman will drive you around Hyde Park in a covered landaulet. Draped in black crêpe, of course.”

Lady Pamela started to laugh.

“Young children will make up stories about your tragic past,” continued Amanda. “ ‘She was beautiful, wealthy, and a beloved friend,’ they will say, ‘but she could have been a

duchess!’ ”

“Amanda!” Lady Pam protested. Her laughter was, as usual, turning to hiccups.

“Even the dowagers will speak in hushed, respectful tones as you pass.”

Lady Pamela fell back against the chaise and raised one hand to her forehead in an erstwhile swoon. “I shall carry a lock of his hair against my bosom,” she intoned, “until the day I die.”

“
Exactement
. Brandy?” offered Amanda.

“Indeed.”

Lady Detweiler poured her a large glass, and the two women sipped quietly for a few minutes, well-satisfied with their bit of folderol.

But Lady Pamela soon became serious again, and said–

“For a few months, at least. She will be wearing the ring, and I...Well, it would be wrong of me to make him uncomfortable. He will need time as well, you know, to adjust to Lady Millicent as his bride.”

“Mmm.”

“It seems so strange. Do you know, Amanda, that I sometimes wake up and imagine the duchess’s ring on my finger? I can
feel
it, almost, as if it was meant to be there.”

“And yet you refused him.”

“I suppose...perhaps I thought there would be time. And I never imagined anyone else as his wife.”      

’Twas indeed difficult to see Lady Millicent as a duchess, mused Lady Detweiler; difficult to imagine anyone other than Pamela as châtelaine of Marchers House, or wearing the Duchess of Grentham’s great sapphire ring.

Millicent Torrance,
née
Chambers. The Duke of Grentham’s bride.

Pah. What did Lady Millicent herself think of the matter? wondered Amanda. Was she giddy with excitement at the thought of becoming wife to a rich and powerful lord? Or did she wonder about the duke’s own preferences, the life he might have had if he’d not been forced into marriage?

Did she care?

All questions, thought Lady Detweiler, that needed answers. She cast an impatient glance in the direction of her writing table and wondered if a second glass of brandy was in order for Lady Pam. Her friend was near exhaustion already, and if she could be convinced into a nap, Lady Detweiler would have the chance to dash off a short message.

It was time, thought Amanda, to pay a visit to the Earl of Banbridge’s townhome. Time to have a
tête-à-tête
with his daughter. Lady Millicent might be silly and young, but she was yet female, and in cases such as these ’twas gender and not experience that was likely to be of account.

Indeed, something told Amanda that Millicent Chambers held the very key to current circumstances. Perhaps she would have some interesting news of her engagement to the duke.

* * * *

Benjamin slept from weariness, but found little rest. He was now barred from the side of Lady Pamela and every inch of Marchers was an accusation, every piece of furniture and length of fabric conspired to remind him of what he had lost.

The duke’s bedroom itself might have been slight refuge, for he had selected most of the furnishings himself. But ’twas not so. The armchairs, thought Benjamin; the chairs where they would sit before the fire, and discuss the days affairs, and laugh over the recent foibles of friends and family. The bed where he had hoped to once again hold her in his arms, to sire handsome sons and beautiful daughters.