The Rusticated Duchess (2 page)

‘Hideous monster, he was’, they’d whispered. ‘Scandalous marriage. Ambitious female got what she deserved’.

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she ignored them to look at Lennox squarely, raising her chin proudly as she fought the heartbreak spreading from her throat down to her stomach. “Do you expect me to leave Eynon behind then?” she whispered.

Tension shimmered between them. March had at least waited until his son had been born, though Gloria had just left childbed. Viscount Eynon was perhaps more properly known as the Earl of March now, though Gloria refused to call her innocent babe by that ill-fated name and Lennox had considerately not belaboured the point. It was bad enough that she bore the shame of the title.

With March’s death, Lennox had become the infant’s legal guardian, with Gloria now dependent on his good graces for access to her son. No one had threatened her, of course, but she understood the situation perfectly. She was his mother, with no expectations of motherhood beyond what she was permitted by the duke. So Eynon was upstairs in the nursery, already in the hands of a ferocious nurse and a personal guard brought from Eynon Castle in Wales.

The thought nauseated her, though widows in her situation had faced the same difficulty for centuries.

No one in the room needed an explanation. It was understood that Lennox would feel torn between his paternal affection for Gloria and his absolute devotion to the safety of her son. Lennox could not permit his grandson—now the heir to a duke of almost legendary influence—to be endangered. It was also understood that Gloria would not wish to leave the little boy. Despite Gloria’s disaffection for Eynon’s father, the wee boy was her child and she was as fiercely protective of him as Lennox.

And yet it was possible that she could be ripped from her son anyway by Winchester. Now that her marriage had ended abruptly and shamefully, Winchester had his eye on acquiring her fortune.

The key point was that Gloria had been married to March for only a little more than a year. It was demonstrably long enough to bear his son, but not long enough for Gloria to reach the mystical, coveted age of twenty-one. She had been married at eighteen and was now still short of her twentieth birthday. By custom, Gloria’s guardianship ought to pass back to Winchester until she reached her majority.

Lennox had made certain he was in control of her finances through a carefully constructed trust even while March had been alive, but after her late husband’s death, Winchester had promised a publicly embarrassing and lengthy legal battle. His solicitors had just filed papers demanding that Gloria be physically returned to her father’s home, and demanded generous funds to support her drawn from her dowry trust and paid to Winchester for her upkeep. As evidence they cited the loose moral atmosphere at Lennox House, where the duke resided openly in an adulterous relationship with Winchester’s own wife. Johna might be Gloria’s mother, but Winchester charged that she was also patently unfit to serve as a responsible moral compass for Gloria.

Lennox’s solicitors were scrambling to respond, and had focused primarily on the point that Lady Winchester resided with her
daughter
, not with the duke.

At Gloria’s question, none of the men dared to speak and barely breathed. Eventually it was Johna herself who laid a hand on Lennox’s tense arm and squeezed, drawing his attention. She didn’t speak but just looked to him, and everyone saw the plea on her face for Lennox to understand and accept Gloria’s attachment to her son—to the child who was grandson to them both.

Of anyone in the room, Johna had the most influence over Lennox, and eventually he acquiesced to a point. “We would need to find a place for them that Winchester will not immediately check. That leaves out all of my homes, as well as Hanover or Meriden properties—or even Devon’s. And”—he looked to Gloria deliberately as he added—“it must be large enough to accommodate a proper household, including Colman and Jenson to guard you and the boy.”

Gloria blinked, sinking back against the settee. “As you wish,” she murmured faintly, relief sweeping through her.

“If it was as I wished,” Lennox disagreed tiredly, gathering Johna’s hand inside his, “my son would have been a different man and you would happily be with him today.”

The small gesture of physical affection between Lennox and Johna was so unusual that Gloria tensed and around her the others shifted in surprise. It was no secret that Johna’s mother was—and had been—Lennox’s lover for many long years, but the pair were fastidious against making any public acknowledgement of their liaison and were rarely seen touching in any form.

Behind Lennox, Meriden straightened. The powerful, savvy Earl of Meriden had married Abigail, the second of Johna’s daughters, in the same week Gloria married March. The earl was thought of as a cold-hearted, temperamental ex-soldier with no love for women or society. The earl had been judged on his less-than-refined manners after returning from Spain, injured and bitter. His face still featured an angry red mark from chin to jaw, but he stood now in the shadows with his back against the bookcases, listening intently. Winchester had thought marrying her to Meriden would cast the friendly, flirtatious Abigail out of society’s inner circle and leave her lonely and terrified, trapped in a far-distant country house with a brute. Instead of heartbreak and abject fear, though, Abigail had discovered Meriden to be a fierce white knight. The new Lady Meriden positively vibrated with happiness whenever Gloria saw her. And as part of the marriage settlements, Meriden had assumed the mortgage on Winchester House in London.

Now Meriden cleared his throat and said, “I have a plan to distract Winchester from this nonsense and I can begin to play it out as soon as tomorrow. I intend to foreclose on Winchester House immediately and move to evict him. That will take up his time and attention—and that of his solicitors. But it will only require a few months at most. I don’t see that we can keep him occupied for thirteen months. His court case will proceed.”

“So she still needs to disappear and prevent him from finding her at all.” Beside her, Hanover sighed at the last word.

Meriden crossed his arms over his chest and spoke hesitantly. “My mother’s villa in Florence seems too far, particularly to take the child, but it does have certain advantages legally in that it’s not English soil and my mother and I have influence with the local authorities. They would be safe.”

From the window, Devon nodded his head, adding, “I’d think it to be a last resort, a place to run if the courts rule against Lennox.”

Sir Peter Devon was yet another new brother-in-law. He was wed to Gloria’s younger sister Genevieve. Genevieve and Devon’s marriage was a more complex problem than even Gloria’s had been. Genevieve had been only a mere sixteen years of age when she had wed Sir Peter Devon. Though the man had considered the marriage a rescue mission and ensconced her safely with his mother to guard her, Devon was still considered nothing more than a gazetted card shark and hardened gambler by London society. Tongues continued to wag whenever he entered a ballroom or appeared in the Park, though he had been vigilantly discreet in his women and drunken binges since the marriage. Today he sat with his back to the window, observing and contributing little.

Still, Gloria knew Devon would do whatever Lennox asked of him. His presence at Lennox House was unremarkable these days, though he was never to be seen with Genevieve either publicly or even
en famille
. Thirteen months into the union, the couple still kept to their rigidly separated households and schedules, though Lennox kept a close eye on Devon. The reason was simple—Lennox was Genevieve’s sire.

Gloria had no wish to go as far as Italy, but would have agreed if Lennox insisted. When Lennox added that he would have preparations made in case Gloria was forced to flee to Europe, she relaxed, relieved. Beside her, Hanover murmured, “We don’t want them to stand out, or even be among people who would recognise them. But the arrangements and the household must be respectable.”

“Scotland, perhaps,” Lennox agreed. “An isolated fortress in the Highlands. Gloria would stick out like a sore thumb, but if she were with friends, any other English intruders would also be easily noted.”

Behind her, Gloria’s Uncle Colby—Hanover and Johna’s brother—straightened, gripping Hanover’s shoulder beside her. The pair of brothers were close, with Gloria’s uncle managing Hanover’s business affairs. “I have a suggestion,” Uncle Colby said sombrely. Gloria looked up to find him watching her mother cautiously.

Lennox snorted at Colby’s hesitation, waving his free hand in encouragement.

“There is one place we’ve always kept faithfully but never used or even visited. It’s in the family trust, but it wasn’t when Winchester married Johna. When we acquired it, we were careful to be sure that Winchester knew nothing of it, even though by rights we should have notified him. After all, one day it will belong to the four girls, or it will be sold and the proceeds distributed between them.”

Beside Gloria, Hanover stiffened, though her mother’s expression indicated that lady’s confusion. “Blessing Cottage?” Hanover asked.

“In Ireland,” Colby said, his eyes still on Gloria’s mother, who suddenly seemed paler than before. “I’ve been there to arrange for the caretaker and pay the taxes, and I think it suits Lennox’s requirements perfectly. It’s small but adequate enough for a household of the right size, there’s no significant population and the nearby Castle has mostly been unoccupied for the last few years. A steward handles the Castle’s daily business and farming operations, and a family representative visits occasionally. The cottage remains habitable. The grounds are gated, and there’s a small garden though winter’s nearly here.”

“Blessing Cottage,” Lennox said in an even voice. “You’re referring to the cottage near Killard Castle, then?”

Gloria didn’t know where Killard Castle was, and had never heard of Blessing Cottage, but she had a sudden sinking feeling she was about to find out as her Uncle Colby answered in the affirmative.

“How quickly can we get them there?” Lennox asked, and Gloria knew that they’d made a decision.

Chapter One

Late February 1824

Gloria walked past the front gate, inwardly rejoicing at the sharp cold breeze and the salty tang in the air. She waited as Colman trailed behind her and Matthew drew the gate closed. She knew Matthew would stand watch until they returned, and Colman would trudge along behind her, always watching even in this desolate landscape. Brody Jenson, who she rather suspected was something more than simply her son’s devoted guard and groom, would stare out of the nursery window and worry. Mrs Sinclair and Mrs Pitcher would both fret, being sure to have a supply of hot tea and a change of clothes prepared. Astrid would sigh and shake her head, but peek out of the windows. Even Eynon was just as likely to wake from his nap and want Gloria instead of the tender Mrs Pitcher.

Of all the household, only Mr Pitcher wouldn’t be constantly looking out to the gate or down the road in anticipation of her return. He was in the carriage house, cleaning the carriage and preparing to harness the horses hurriedly if she needed to be rescued.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for their fierce protectiveness and kindness. Somehow, in the last four months, all of these men and women had gathered around her, uplifted her when she had been discouraged and transformed from a random selection of family retainers to her dogged supporters.

Even so, Gloria needed the rare hours of silence and sunshine she found outside Blessing Cottage, walking on the edge of Shore Road. She needed the time apart, time to mourn for lost relationships with her sisters, time to convince herself that March was gone and she was safe from waking up in the middle of the night to sinister laughter and groping, sweaty hands. She needed to let the roaring noise of the sea give her the space to be at peace with herself.

Gloria had never been so separated from her own family. She’d never gone more than a few days without her mother and sisters. The experience of being
alone
had been alarming at first. Even now she had very little contact with them, for mail was re-routed through her cousin Olivia—her Aunt Betsy’s daughter—in Northumberland, before being directed to Gloria or one of the sisters. Gloria dined, took her tea, played the harpsichord and embroidered without company or companionship.

At first, the solitude had been almost incapacitating. But in the seclusion, Gloria had finally come to understand that she was not the glamorous being that others had cast her as since she’d left the schoolroom. She was not a glitzy, ambitious young matron clawing her way to the highest echelons of society. In fact, she honestly wanted none of it, unless those echelons included people who appreciated her and respected her. She enjoyed fine clothes, fine wine, beautiful homes and the stylish sophistication of a cosmopolitan lady’s maid, but she didn’t need those things and was doing quite well without them. She found more joy in the nursery with Mrs Pitcher than she’d ever known in her London drawing room, so every day she possessed herself again in patience and wondered what the future would hold for her. London seemed a distant place, one she had no wish to even visit, aside from seeing her mother and sisters while shopping for the finest selection of fabrics,
modistes,
shoes, ribbons, gloves and accessories.

But if, once she was free, she was not to return to London and play hostess to the political players in Lennox’s daily life, what would she do with her days? Could she be content trailing along after her son and managing whichever Lennox residence the duke sent her son to inhabit?

The bitter truth was that Gloria had no choice but to wait, and in the waiting she had finally stopped and for once examined her own mind, instead of listening to what others said of her. What had she found? She might not yet know where she would go or what she would do with her future, but she knew she didn’t want to go back to the life she had been leading. Even surrounded by her peers in the heart of London society, she’d been an outcast. Here, rusticating in a shabby little cottage beside the sea, she finally had a home.