My Inconvenient Duke (Difficult Dukes #3)

Chapter 19

Pulbrook Farm

The following morning

They found Ripley pouring slops into a trough. Pigs pushed about his legs, which sported overlarge breeches and rough stockings,

all stained. With what, Alice chose not to consider too closely.

He wore an equally coarse smock, much mended and patched, and thick, mud-encrusted boots.

His hat was even more battered and shapeless than hers.

When Ripley at last looked up from his task, his expression was blank at first. Then his eyes narrowed, and his gaze went

from Blackwood to Alice once, twice. “What the devil?” he said.

Alice ran at him and pushed him into the trough.

Ripley swore. The pigs grunted their own displeasure.

Blackwood dragged her away. “You are not to hold his head under.”

“I said I would.”

“A horse trough. I distinctly remember. This one is for pigs. Completely different. Now look at you. Muck has splashed onto

your dress.”

“It was already ruined, because of him,” she said. “He has no idea what he’s made me endure. Nor does he care. Well then, if he’s so insensitive, let him be insensitive to pig slops.”

Meanwhile Ripley managed to scramble up and out of the muck. He nudged a pig aside with his boot and stepped over the fence.

To add to the previous attractive picture, he was wet, and the smell was nearly as bad as Jonesy’s everyday aroma.

“What?” he said. “What the devil, Alice?”

“What is wrong with you?” she said. “You disappear without word to anybody, including Snow, who thinks you’ve been murdered—”

“Murdered.” Ripley regarded her in the way one contemplates a Bedlam escapee.

He turned to Blackwood. “Has she been drinking?”

“Snow didn’t know what had become of you,” she said. “You took out Lucetta late at night, on the night before you were planning

an early departure for Newmarket. You never went back to the inn. Nobody knew anything about you until we reached Kensington

Gravel Pits—and even your former chère amie was baffled. You ask me , ‘What the devil?’ Have you lost your mind? Or what remains of it?”

His gaze reverted to his friend.

“Alice has summarized correctly,” Blackwood said. “Had it been Ashmont—a different story, obviously. But it was you, you see.

Even I grew uneasy.”

“Did it not puzzle you in the least to find yourself in a farmhouse, naked?” Alice swept her hand over their surroundings.

“Did none of this seem at all unusual to you?” She stamped her foot. “I should like to know how you have the effrontery to

stand there staring at me as though I’m the one who’s the problem.”

“Actually—”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Blackwood said. “I’m going to marry her, by the way.”

“What?”

Alice glared at him. “That is not the way we agreed to break the news.”

“I remember perfectly well what we agreed,” Blackwood said. “But look at him. He isn’t in the least incapacitated. He doesn’t

need nursing. He’s well up to surprises.”

“Surprises,” Ripley said. “Is that what you call it? Well, yes, a bombshell is a bit of a surprise. An earthquake, too.”

“Better he knows now,” Blackwood said. “You see? Give him time to digest it.”

Ripley looked from Blackwood to her and back again. “ You’re going to marry her.”

“Yes.”

A long pause.

Ripley brushed muck off his cheek. “Are you sure?”

“Quite. She amuses me.”

Alice kicked Blackwood in the ankle, turned her back on the infuriating pair of them, and walked away.

The two men watched her go.

When she was out of sight, Ripley turned to his friend.

“What the devil?” he said, and threw a punch.

Blackwood blocked it. “Don’t be an idiot.”

He braced himself, but Ripley backed away, shaking his head.

“My sister! You’re not Sir Bloody Galahad.”

“No.”

“My sister. You.” Ripley swore vividly and profanely.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” Blackwood said.

“I thought she was going to have the other fellow. Doveridge. He’s Sir Bloody Galahad. Even my aunt says so. Everybody says so.”

“I did ask her to choose between us.”

“And she chose you.”

“Yes.”

“Was she drunk?”

“You’re hurting my feelings,” Blackwood said.

“Were you drunk?”

“No. Were you?”

“What have I got to do with it?”

“What do you think?”

After a lengthy silence, Ripley took off his hat and stared at it. Then he put it back on and gazed down at his borrowed attire.

“Because Alice has a point,” Blackwood said. “Did it not strike you as odd to find yourself in this place? Frankly, I find

it deuced odd. The whole business. Odd for you. Nothing is odd where Ashmont’s concerned.”

“I don’t...” Ripley considered for a time, then nodded slowly. “Here’s the thing. The night before last? Hazy. I was in

no mood to sleep, that much I know. Thought I’d get some fresh air. Then Margery came into my head. You remember her. Handsome,

buxom girl, and hair like a glorious sunset. Found her without much difficulty, but I couldn’t seem to settle to anything,

and she had her hands full that night. It seemed to me that what she wanted was a good night’s sleep and not tumbling about

with an old lover. And then...”

He frowned.

Blackwood waited.

“Then I went out again,” Ripley continued. “I meant to go back to the Lovedon Arms. Went the wrong way. Couldn’t find the right way. Rode about endlessly. Got thirsty. Stopped somewhere. Don’t know where it was. Do you know, I think I drank more than I meant to. That damned Worbury.” He rubbed a knuckle along his nose, smearing whatever was there. “What to do with the cur? Makes me sick to think of him inheriting. And there’s Alice. I hadn’t really grasped what it meant, you know: John Ancaster dead. The consequences. By gad.”

“We were rather slow to comprehend,” Blackwood said.

They’d attended the funeral. They ought to have considered what it meant, but they were too busy not thinking.

Ripley scowled at his borrowed boots, as well he might. They were unspeakable. “There’s the nub of it. I didn’t see the complete

picture. Not until I heard your story about the street brat. Then I couldn’t get clear of my accurst cousin and what this

signified for the future: John Ancaster dead, me dead, and what about Alice? What about the dukedom? It gnawed at me, a maggot

on the brain. So galling, not knowing what was best to do.”

He looked down at the creatures crowded about the trough. “Feeding pigs, now. That’s simple. Straightforward. Reminds me of

the home farm at Camberley Place. Life was simpler.”

“Do you mean to stay here?” Blackwood said. “Where it’s simpler?”

“I thought of going back to Camberley Place to talk to my aunt,” Ripley said. “Among other things, she’ll enjoy telling her

provoking nephew what to do, and I should like to see Aunt Julia more cheerful. But what the devil I’m to say about you and

Alice...”

“Lady Charles will understand the necessity.”

“Yes. Now I do. Alice kept you hunting for me, didn’t she?”

“No, I meant to keep at it. I couldn’t get her to let me do it without her.”

“Right. She was out, away all night, with you. And now you’re being heroic.”

“Gad, no.”

“Are you sure? Because I can’t stomach that. Love my sister and all, but I know she’s more than a handful. She wants a bodyguard.

That’s what the footman Tom was supposed to be.”

“Ashmont needs a bodyguard,” Blackwood said. “Alice needs a henchman. An accomplice. Not Sir Bloody Galahad. One of the other

ones. There must have been a disreputable knight in there somewhere. Rusty black armor. But useful for dirty work.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not respectable. I realize that.”

“Maybe it’s too late for respectable, for her,” Ripley said. He shrugged. “Well, she isn’t a na?ve little girl, and I reckon

she knows what she’s about. But you? Will you be all right? Because it’s marriage, and when it comes to Alice—”

“I never meant to do it until I was ready to do it properly,” Blackwood said. “I didn’t know I was ready until...” He quickly reviewed recent events in his mind. “I don’t know. Maybe it dawned on me suddenly yesterday. Was it about the time Alice planted the thief a facer? Not that he didn’t deserve it. Don’t they always? Where was I? Oh, yes. It must have struck me at some point that it was time I wed. And there she was, conveniently at hand, thus sparing me the ugly necessity of going out and finding a bride. When I sug gested she forgo all further rigors of husband-hunting and accept unworthy me for the position, she was kind enough to acquiesce.”

Ripley laughed. “Yes, that tale will do. It came upon you sudden-like.”

“The sudden part is true. I can’t quite explain, that’s all.”

“Time you wed.” Ripley looked up at the cloud-riddled sky. Then he moved away to the pump. He gave himself a dousing, hat

and all, and shook off the wet like a dog.

“That does not improve your appearance,” Blackwood said.

“It feels good. Clears my mind. I’m still... fogged in.” Ripley fell silent.

Blackwood waited. He knew his friend and therefore knew he was digesting an upheaval. Of everything, including, especially,

their friendship.

A brother by bonds thicker than blood.

Finally Ripley said, “There’s always been something between you. I don’t know what the right words are. You and Alice. Even

when we were schoolboys. Last week you were the one who realized somebody had to look out for her while Worbury was about.

You were the one who did it. Took care of matters.” He grinned. “With finesse. I don’t doubt that all this hunt-for-Ripley

today—and I’ll wager there’s a story there—it’s her doing, Alice driving the chariot, like Boadicea. Once she gets a thing

into her head—but you know as well as anybody what she’s like. Best to let her do as she wishes because she’ll do it anyway,

only then it will get more complicated.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“At least you have an idea what you’re in for. Not like those other fellows. Lambs to slaughter was my thought.”

“I am not a lamb,” Blackwood said.

“Neither is Doveridge.”

“Yes, well, maybe. But I gave her a choice and she chose me.”

“Don’t get all prickly on me. I only meant I supposed he was old enough to know what to do. But maybe not. You probably won’t

know what to do, either. Still, she does like you. I think.”

“She has confessed to finding me not without intelligence.”

“Ah, well, then, you have my blessing,” Ripley said. “You’ll probably need amulets, though. Good luck charms. That sort of

thing.”

“Never mind the amulets,” Blackwood said. “What are we going to do about Ashmont?”

By the time Blackwood approached the carriage where Alice waited, her temper had cooled, partly thanks to the memory of Ripley’s

face when Blackwood announced the marriage plans.

“Did you drown him in the pig trough?” she said.

“I considered it. Then I recollected that, thanks to him, I shall have a handsome, stimulating wife without having to go to

a great deal of bother to get her. Well, a little bother, but nothing to signify.”

He collected the ribbons and climbed onto the seat, so smoothly that it seemed but a single movement. “Am I forgiven, then?”

Excellent question. Forgiven for what? A few minutes ago? The past eight or ten years? She was not at all sure of the answer.

She said, “I remembered that men have their own peculiar ways of communicating. I reminded myself that you are moderately intelligent. It occurred to me that a gentleman able to manage gang leaders ought to be able to manage my brother. Does he mean to stay with the pigs, I wonder?”

“He’ll borrow a horse from the Pulbrooks and meet us at the Lovedon Arms. Folding him into the box struck me as unwise. The

smell, among other things. He needs a bath. Badly.”

She knew that Blackwood had sent for Snow before they set out this morning. Doubtless the innkeeper would be ready—nay, eager—to

supply whatever else might be necessary to make Ripley presentable.

As to herself and Blackwood, they were as presentable as they were likely to get, although, knowing him, she wouldn’t be surprised

if a change of clothes magically appeared at the inn.

Blackwood did think ahead. He thought logically. He could be useful as well as agreeable to look at and entertaining to converse

with.

Could be. Whether one could depend upon him was another matter. But then, many husbands were not dependable. Few took their

marriage vows seriously, or their wives. Or any women.

Still, it wasn’t as though she had a choice at this point. She’d burnt her bridges.

“Is he forgiven, by the way?” Blackwood said after he’d given the horses leave to start. “These last four and twenty hours

have thrown all of your arrangements into disarray. Not to mention your future.”

She looked down at her dress. Mary had done her best to clean and mend it, but it would not tempt Maggie Proudie. What would

Doveridge make of her now?

Never mind him. What would his friends and colleagues make of her? They’d say he’d had a narrow escape, and they wouldn’t

be wrong.

“I’ve had time to reflect upon my future while you and Ripley communicated in the primitive manner of men,” she said. “It isn’t what I envisioned yesterday morning. And I’m not done being exasperated with Ripley on general principles.”

“I believe he’s begun to comprehend your reasons.”

“Maybe I should have pushed him into a pig trough long before now, if it’s had that positive result.” She paused, collecting

her thoughts, her most recent thoughts. It was remarkable, the sharpening effect an impending marriage had on one’s mental

processes. What had Dr. Johnson said about being hanged?

When a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.

She said, “It dawned on me that what’s happened in the past month, the past week—none of that was Ripley, really, was it?

Worbury’s at the bottom of it all. If not for him, I should have returned to the Continent. I should not have cultivated Doveridge

or any other eligible parti, and at present I should not be in the disagreeable position of appearing to have taken leave

of my senses.”

“By marrying me.”

She brushed at her beyond-reclaiming skirt. “Exactly.”

“It will give the gossips more excitement than they’ve had in months.”

“It’s some consolation to know I shall brighten the dreary days of the ton in my own small way,” she said. “There’s also comfort

in the knowledge that you will be marrying me .”

“Ripley was comforted, too, to have you off his hands. He was concerned about me, though. He wondered whether I was making

a martyr of myself to protect your honor.”

“Men like you three are bound to see marriage as martyrdom.”

“I don’t. At present.”

She turned to look at him. He was no more his usual elegant self than she was. One of the inn servants must have made his

own attempts at cleaning, with mixed results. While Blackwood had bathed and shaved, his clothing was far from pristine. His

neckcloth, no longer gleaming white, hung limply. Though the loose button had been sewn into place, his coat bore battle scars.

While this must cause him grief, he wore his battered attire with his usual confidence. Arrogance.

And she was drawn to him, as she’d always been. He touched her, and hard-earned wisdom left her.

He met her gaze briefly, then returned his attention to the road ahead. “You and I have an affinity,” he said. “I believe

that’s the word Ripley was searching for a little while ago.”

“An affinity.”

“Yes. Or call it a degree of understanding. I’m not sure, but that’s what comes to mind. Here’s what else comes to mind: I

could have tied you up and taken you back to London, whether you liked it or not. I did not have to bring you with me in the

first place. Departing without you would have called for drastic measures, but I could have taken them. I’m not the long-suffering

sort. My nature is neither complaisant nor compliant. Yet I yielded. One may discover a clue in this.”

“Or maybe in the back of your mind was the thought, ‘What if she escapes? She always escapes.’ Better to have me where you

could keep an eye on me.”

“And the instant I turned my back, you escaped to engage in reckless and violent acts.”

“You know I couldn’t wait for you.”

He shrugged. “Whatever it was that stopped me from leaving you behind, I don’t regret it. Whatever it was that led me to offer to marry you—whether I was in a sort of frenzy or panic or disorder of mind—whatever it was, I am not in that state at present, and I do not regret it.”

Did she?

She remembered the leap of recognition and the relief when he suddenly appeared, exactly when needed, at Hyde Park Corner.

Was he not the one she turned to when she was in a quandary?—as she’d used to turn to the boy she’d known and trusted and

loved.

He was not that boy anymore. He was a man, and changed. But he knew her. He at least would not expect her to change or conceal

her character.

Spare yourself the charade.

That’s what it had been, hadn’t it? She’d shaped herself to fit others’ standards. For her part, she understood his character

better than that of any other gentleman she knew.

Then there was the kissing.

Last night, and the way he’d touched her, the way he’d held her face, as though she were a precious object. The kiss that

took her breath away and made her come so intensely alive, lit up within like a Roman candle, but the light and fire were

feelings, all for him.

And the way it had felt when he wrapped his long, powerful body about hers.

This is where I belong. Yours.

She could feel it still, a tug like an ache in the pit of her stomach. An ache for more. Dangerous, and yes, she wanted more.

A risk, a great risk, and she would take it.

“I had two chances to retreat,” she said. “I didn’t. I may live to regret it. So may you. But for the present, I do not.”

“That will do, don’t you think, to go on with?”

It was not the most romantic exchange.

Did it need to be?

Romantic pairings did not always turn out well. She’d seen many fall apart, some extremely unpleasantly: her parents, for

instance. On the other hand, Aunt Julia had not married for love. She’d never dwelt on the details, but that much Alice understood.

Others in the family were aware.

Yet love had come, and it had come powerfully, by all indications.

Marriage was a gamble. That was a fact of life. But Alice had taught herself to dare, to not be afraid.

And there was the kissing.

“That will do,” she said.