Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (13 page)

“None of that,” Thornhill declared and caught Lucinda’s fingers to assist her to stand. “We are friends of long-standing, Mrs. Warren.”

Lucinda shot a quick glance at the duchess to discover a look of dissatisfaction upon the woman’s countenance. The duke may consider her a “friend,” but his wife held a different opinion.

Judiciously, Lucinda said, “’Tis true, Your Grace, but I have only a brief acquaintance with your duchess, and I owe her my respect.” The girl’s
countenance softened when she looked upon her husband, but Lucinda recognized the frown, which tugged gently at the duchess’s mouth. “Please join me.” She gestured to the chairs. “I have asked Mr. Vance to bring tea.” It was very odd to be acting as hostess in Sir Carter’s house.

The duke paused to assist his wife to her seat. The duchess was heavy with child, but even so, Velvet Fowler was magnificently beautiful. Hair the color of midnight and violet eyes, which spoke of spring. It was a breath taking combination. Lucinda motioned Simon forward to make his addresses to the couple. Catching the child’s small hand in her damp one, she said, “Your Grace, please permit me to introduce my late husband’s son, Simon.” The boy executed another awkward bow.

Thornhill studied the child before saying, “Your father was a fine soldier, Boy.”

Lucinda thought Thornhill had spoken the only truth they shared about Matthew Warren: the captain had served his country honorably; it was only her he had betrayed.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Simon said maturely, and Lucinda knew a moment of pride.

She explained, “Simon would wish to know more of his father. Mayhap before we leave Kent, you might indulge the child with tales of your university days, Your Grace.”

Unsurprisingly, Thornhill readily agreed. “What say you, if you spend the day at Thorn Hall with my daughter Sonali and me. I have promised the duchess to spend the entire day with the child on Friday.” Again, Lucinda cautiously glanced to the duchess to determine whether the woman would approve of her husband’s easy nature. The duchess delivered a hard stare, her eyes hooded. Again, the tension in the lady’s shoulders said her endorsement was not forthcoming. Purposely, Lucinda returned the duchess’s gaze with a noncommittal one. “It will be Sonali’s seventh birthday, and I am certain my daughter would enjoy a playmate with which to share the day. Of course, you would be forced to eat your share of apple tarts, if you attend.”

Simon’s eyes grew in disbelief. “I am very fond of apple tarts, Your Grace.” Remembering himself, he added quickly, “I would be honored.”

“How gracious!” Lucinda gushed. The duke’s generosity had always been a great kindness. She had begun to question her ability to see this situation to its
end, but Thornhill’s actions bolstered her resolve. “Simon, perhaps you should take the book we shared to your room. We shall enjoy it together a bit later. Mr. Vance will send up refreshments.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

As he caught the book and executed another bow, Lucinda cautioned, “Permit the maid to prepare the tea.”

The boy understood immediately, and he smiled largely. “Yes, Ma’am. I will protect Sir Carter’s tea service.” With a joyful skip, the boy hustled from the room.

Lucinda returned her attention to the baronet’s guests. “How may I serve you, Your Grace?”

Thornhill leaned easily into the chair. “I am merely an escort, Mrs. Warren. It was the duchess’s idea to pay a obligation call.” His pronouncement did not bode well for Lucinda. The only other time she had met the duchess had been the evening His Grace used her to make his lady jealous.

“We promised Sir Carter the wardrobe from your father’s chambers for the one he has deemed for Baron Blakehell’s exclusive use. Little did I know, the baronet would spend but one night under his own roof,” the duchess protested with a tone of falsehood. Lucinda knew for certain the woman had an ulterior motive, but she could not name the duchess’s duplicity.

The duke smiled lovingly at his wife. He was blind to her manipulation. Thornhill mildly chastised. “Sir Carter has assumed many of Pennington’s former duties. If you expected the baronet to participate in the refurbishing of his home, I fear you will be sadly disenchanted, my Dear.”

The duchess pouted in the way of women who knew the effect puffing lips had over a man. “I simply wished to know the baronet’s pleasure with the piece.”

Lucinda ventured, “In my experience with the military, few men take note of such finery unless a woman points out the perfection.”

The duke chuckled. “Point made, Mrs. Warren.”

The duchess scowled, and Lucinda suspected her remarks had displeased the woman further. However, the lady said sweetly, “Perhaps, Bran, you would oversee the unloading of the piece.”

“I am certain Mr. Vance…” Thornhill began, but he readily curtailed his response when his wife sent the duke a deathly glare. “It appears, Mrs. Warren,
my duchess wishes a private word with you.” He rose easily from the chair. “Do not be afeared, Ma’am. My wife only torments me,” he teased.

“Do not give Mrs. Warren a predisposed opinion of me, Your Grace,” the duchess warned sweetly.

The duke presented his wife a proper bow. “I hold no delusions you have not completed the task previously, my Dear.” With a wink in Lucinda’s direction, Thornhill exited the room, pointedly closing the door behind him.

Lucinda wished to call him back, but she set her shoulders to meet the duchess’s poorly disguised plan. Lucinda repeated her earlier query, “How may I serve you, Your Grace?”

The woman drew herself up in an air of self-importance. “You may begin by explaining your true connection to my husband.”

L
ucinda had expected a fit of jealousy. Thornhill’s bride was quite young and likely uncertain of her position in the duke’s life. After all, it was not uncommon among the
ton
for a man in Thornhill’s position to have several liaisons, but the girl’s tone set Lucinda’s teeth on edge. Instead of responding in a manner to ease Velvet Fowler’s mind, Lucinda’s pride raised its ugly head, and she said snidely, “Perhaps you should direct your question to His Grace.”

The girl’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I am not accustomed to brooking disappointment, Mrs. Warren. Your own conscience, must tell you what I most desire to know.”

Lucinda looked on with unaffected astonishment. “Indeed, you are mistaken, Your Grace. I cannot account as to why you assume something amiss.” She knew better, but it was quite gratifying to have such a beautiful woman think her a threat. Deliciously, she insinuated, “Does your question rest in something His Grace has done to bring you anguish or in your own insecurities regarding your husband’s love for you?”

“Mrs. Warren,” the duchess replied in an angry tone, “you ought to know as Thornhill’s wife, I wield great power, and however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. I shall certainly not depart from that commemoration of my character.”

Lucinda countered, “And mine is known for both its frankness and its resolve.”

“Though I know it a disgraceful fabrication, I have heard of an alliance between you and the duke,” her companion accused.

“From the duke?” Lucinda demanded. When would she learn? She had heard such accusations previously. Only then the words had come from Matthew Warren. As foolish as it may seem, at the time, Lucinda had secretly
celebrated her husband’s hurtful words because they had proved Captain Warren had cared for her.

The duchess declared, “I would not injure His Grace so by demanding the truth from him. However, upon learning of your relocation to Huntingborne Abbey, I instantly resolved on calling upon the household to make my sentiments known to you.”

“If you truly believed such an involvement impossible,” Lucinda said, coloring with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of bringing the furniture as part of your ruse.” She knew it would be best if she countered the duchess’s insults with an assumed graciousness, but her temper had brought heat to Lucinda’s cheeks. “Do you mistrust all of the duke’s associates or is only Sir Carter who you believe would foster a tryst with a war widow?” Lucinda asked incredulously, “What could Your Grace propose by it?”

The duchess ignored Lucinda’s dismissal. “As to Sir Carter, the baronet has sworn an allegiance to the duke, and likewise the duke reciprocates; and as to why I chose to come to Huntingborne Abbey, it was to insist upon having such a report contradicted.”

“Your early attendance upon the baronet’s estate,” said Lucinda through tight lips, “will be an authentication of whatever fantasy your mind has conjured.”

“Then deny the report by explaining why His Grace has taken an active interest in your concerns. Deny you have not maintained a relationship with my husband. I know you called upon Briar House in my absence. Can you declare there is no foundation for the rumors?”

Lucinda instantly regretted not having hired Nancy for the day, but she had not wanted the Petermans to know of her destination. She was certain Brantley Fowler held no knowledge of such declarations; the duke would not have taken kindly to his servants speaking openly of his personal business. Neither did Lucinda. She did not fault the young duchess for her confusion, but neither could Lucinda tolerate the girl’s censorious attitude. So, although she wished the ground to open and swallow her whole, she said, “If I were involved with the duke, I would be the last person to confess it.” She stood quickly and dropped a curtsy. “Please excuse me, Your Grace. I promised the boy I would assist him in reading his chosen book. I shall ask Mr. Vance to send in His Grace. Good day, Duchess.” With that, Lucinda strode from the room.
So much for your chances of ever returning to Society
, she thought as she rushed
toward her room. Lucinda’s legs were shaking, and tears misted her eyes. “The duke’s mistress,” she growled as she slammed the outer door. “All my life I have done the correct thing, and what have I to show for it? No one to love me. A husband who preferred another. A father who placed me in danger in Brussels. An uncle who would deny me because of the scandal I would bring to his door. A child I can never love because he reminds me of Captain Warren’s betrayal. And now the reputation of a wanton.”

Carter had reported directly to his office upon his return to London, but his devotion to his position had not driven the image of Mrs. Warren’s countenance from his mind. “Damn!” he growled under his breath as he read the report before him for the third time. “Not like me.”

“What is not like you?” Pennington asked from the open doorway.

Carter was not in a secure enough position to inform his superior of how an unorthodox female had distracted him. “I thought you at your estate,” he said as a diversion.

“The duchess…” Pennington began before correcting himself with a chuckle. “I mean to say Mrs. Pennington means to order new items for several of the rooms at Fox Run Manor.”

Carter motioned the man into the room. “Are your pockets deep enough to support your lady’s tastes?” he teased.

“To view the smile upon Bel’s lips, I would risk it all,” Pennington confessed.

Unlike his friends, Carter had never entertained the idea of setting up his nursery and knowing love. After all, he was the youngest of their band, and at age four and twenty, he meant to build a successful career before stepping into the Marriage Mart. However, he felt the twinge of regret at not knowing the same type of contentment he observed on the elder man’s countenance. “If Mrs. Pennington’s smile mimics the one displayed upon your lips, then I must admit to knowing jealousy.” Carter reached for the decanter to pour them each a drink. “Godown’s Aunt Bel has been good for your disposition,” he teased.

“I cannot argue with that statement.” Pennington accepted the glass and sipped the brandy. Then in his typical all-business tone, Pennington said, “I have news of Jamot’s whereabouts.”

Carter set forward with interest. He had hoped to capture the Baloch in order to solidify his position in his section of the Home Office. When his unit of the Realm had returned from their service, Murhad Jamot and Rahmat Talpur had followed to search for the elusive emerald. Talpur had lost his life in Cornwall at James Kerrington’s hands when Carter and Viscount Worthing had staged the rescue of Thornhill’s daughter Sonali. Jamot had managed to escape from the fiasco of Sir Louis Levering’s transportation, from the warehouse in which the Baloch had held Velvet Aldridge, and from the glass cone in Scotland while Marcus Wellston had saved his ladylove, Cashémere Aldridge, from certain death.