My Inconvenient Duke (Difficult Dukes #3)

Chapter 20

Lady Kempton awaited them at the Lovedon Arms. She’d brought Alice’s maid, Vachon, and a box containing fresh attire. Vachon

eyed her mistress’s present ensemble, took a long, deep breath, and adopted a stoical expression.

Blackwood’s valet, Springate, who’d arrived with Snow, did not turn a hair. He’d seen worse sights by far than the one that

greeted him.

Lady Kempton sent Alice away with her maid. For once, Alice did not argue, but went off peaceably enough to be made elegant

again.

But Blackwood’s and Ripley’s transformations had to wait. Lady Kempton led them into the private parlor she’d commandeered.

She stood by the window, arms folded. “I expect a full explanation. The scribbles I received from Blackwood and Alice were far from satisfactory. I cannot arrange a proper strategy without knowing precisely what happened. Blackwood, you will begin. You will provide the facts of the case, as though you speak at a trial—because that is precisely what Alice faces. A wedding, while crucial, does not solve everything.”

Blackwood told his tale, leaving out what he deemed irrelevancies. Lady Kempton did not need to know about the intimate and

all too brief interlude last night, for instance. She did need to know about Alice’s punching the thief and breaking his nose,

because there had been so many witnesses.

Lady Kempton closed her eyes from time to time during the recitation. Once she put her hand over her eyes. But in the main,

she bore it well enough.

Ripley’s story followed. That was simpler. When he came to the part about Alice pushing him into the pig trough, his aunt

said, “I can well understand the provocation.”

At the end she said, “I see. It might have been worse. Still.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, I shall deal with

it. As to you...”

She turned to the window and looked out, tapping the sill. “Worbury is living on his expectations. He would not be in London

otherwise. Tradesmen hesitate to deny credit because they feel reasonably certain he’ll inherit soon.”

“Why does everybody think I’m going to die in the next five minutes?” Ripley said.

“Use your head, nephew. That hollow thing on your neck, which you might crack open in the course of a brawl or a mad race.

You could be dead at this moment had those farmers not happened along with an observant canine. Worbury knows the odds are

greatly in his favor. As do his creditors.”

“Change your will,” Blackwood said. “You can do that when we attend to the marriage settlements.”

“I can’t stop the swine from inheriting—and I’m not going to dash off to find a bride on his account, by gad! He’s a pestilential bother, and every bit of trouble lately traces back to him. I should like to break every bone in his body. One at a time. Slowly.”

“So untidy,” Blackwood said. “Amusing, but bound to lead to complications. I suggest lawyers instead.”

“You want me to sue him to death?”

Blackwood shook his head. “You can’t prevent his inheriting the title. You can’t prevent his inheriting entailed property.

But you can arrange a great deal else. That was what my father did when he gave up hope of having a son. His heir at the time,

my Uncle William, was a wastrel. My father decided to arrange matters to restrict the amount of damage Uncle William could

do. Father tied up everything he possibly could in trusts and I don’t know what else. Your solicitor will know what can be

done and how to go about it.”

Ripley’s expression brightened. “Do you mean I might leave him with only the title and a portion of property?”

“Something like that. It will depend on a number of factors. But I suspect you’ll be able to contrive an elaborate set of

restraints specifically for Worbury. Better yet, this is an arrangement you can enjoy before you enter the family tomb for

the last time. Imagine the effect on Worbury’s creditors should word happen to leak out of the changes to your will—exaggerated,

of course, as rumors so often are.”

He became aware of Lady Kempton’s sharp gaze fixing upon him. “Your head is not quite so hollow, I perceive.”

Ripley regarded him with plain admiration. “A wonder, this fellow’s brain. Finesse, Aunt. That’s what it is. Finesse.”

“He’ll need it,” Lady Kempton said, “if he hopes for a happy marriage.”

Aunt Florentia whisked Alice away shortly after she’d emerged, transformed, from her room. The men decided to go to Newmarket to collect Ashmont and break the news to him.

Alice was reflecting upon this and other matters as her aunt’s carriage started eastward.

“They will not have an easy time with Ashmont,” she said when the carriage stopped to pay the turnpike toll.

“When does anybody have an easy time with Ashmont?” her aunt said. “I vow, at least half the fracases start with him. But

he’s so beautiful and charming that people forgive repeatedly, while his two bosom companions aid and abet.”

“And clear away the damage.”

“We must trust Blackwood to manage matters. He sorted out Ripley’s troubles neatly enough. Your affianced husband can be astute

when he chooses.”

Husband. Alice’s heart tossed and tumbled in her chest. She waited for it to settle down and said, “It won’t be easy, even for him.

I’m prepared to accommodate. To a point. The bond between them is strong, Aunt. I understand very well what it means to them.

It’s the way I feel about Cassandra: a connection stronger than kinship.” She shook her head. “But our friendship would change,

no matter whom I wed. She and I will manage, too.”

“I wish that were all in need of managing. This latest episode of yours presents no small challenge. I shall have to consult

with Julia. We’ll have at the very most three days, by my calculation, before Society lights up like a bonfire.”

“Society is welcome to go to blazes in it,” Alice said. “I see no reason to trouble Aunt Julia. I refuse to live my life accommodating the gossips. I shall be the Duchess of Blackwood. The ton may like it or lump it.”

“Alice, you punched a man in the face after taking a whip to him. There were witnesses.”

“He nearly killed my brother. He robbed Ripley and left him for dead. What ought I to have done?”

“You ought not to have been there in the first place.”

“But I was, and was observed, and that can’t be changed. People will say I’m a monster. In that case perhaps they’ll know

not to get in my way.”

“Really, child.”

“Yes, really. I’m only sorry that Doveridge will be affected. The papers will ridicule him. That is most unf-fair.” Her voice

began to break. She bit her lip and turned her gaze to the window.

He had been kind, and he was intelligent and amusing and charming and easy to talk to. Now he’d pay for it.

She could not forget what Blackwood had said about her scandals affecting Doveridge’s influence and prestige.

“You’re fatigued, and no wonder,” her aunt said. “You’ve been under a great strain.”

Alice managed a laugh. “Indeed, trapping and fighting villains is not as easy as one might suppose.”

“You were worried about Ripley. Doveridge understood that.” She told Alice about the duke’s visit on Tuesday.

“You needn’t fret about him,” Aunt Florentia said. “He’s no dreamy-eyed boy. He’ll recover from the infatuation soon enough.

As to any talk or teasing—”

“They’ll make a mockery of him. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“He knows what to expect. He’s had decades of practice in sailing those waters, and he’ll coast along smoothly enough, rely

upon it.”

Newmarket

Thursday 10 May 1832

Blackwood and Ripley found Ashmont relatively sober in the coffee room of the Rutland Arms.

Since one could seldom predict his reaction to anything, they took him to one of the private parlors on the first floor and

ordered emollients in liquid form. The parlor overlooked the busy courtyard, where many fine specimens of horseflesh came

and went.

He wasn’t in the best of tempers. This was not because he was more or less sober but because his Uncle Fred had turned up.

“It’s no end aggravating,” he told them. “He keeps his distance and pretends he’s here for the races, but there he is, a great

black cloud hanging over the place.”

“Since he’s spoiling your fun, you might as well return to London with us,” Blackwood said.

“I thought we were supposed to keep clear of London. Well, it seems I was to keep clear of it, as you two have found something

interesting to do there that doesn’t include me.”

“Now it does,” Ripley said. “Blackwood’s going to marry Alice, and we want you back for the wedding.”

“What?” Ashmont looked from one to the other.

“I thought we were going to break it to him gently,” Blackwood said.

“That wasn’t gentle?”

“What?” Ashmont said.

“Alice has very kindly agreed to marry me,” Blackwood said. “I’m thoroughly pleased. I hope you’ll be pleased, too.”

“But she’s not supposed to marry us.” The excessively blue eyes were bewildered. “We’re unworthy.”

“Alice didn’t know that rule,” Ripley said.

Ashmont’s gaze shot from one to the other of his friends. “But we’re not getting married yet.”

“It seems we are,” Ripley said. “One of us, at any rate.”

Ashmont stared at his tankard as though the mystery’s solution were written there in a language he was not familiar with.

Still, he knew what to do with the contents. He lifted it and swallowed ale. He put the tankard down very gently. “This is

very...” He shook his head.

“Yes,” Ripley said. “It is. You could have knocked me over with a feather. But there it is. These things happen, and one must

make the best of them.” He summarized the events of recent days.

Blackwood watched Ashmont during the account. He did have a brain. He simply chose not to employ it most of the time. But

he seemed to realize that this was one of the times he needed to bring it out of retirement. After a while, his incomprehension

gave way to something like amused resignation.

“By gad, she led you a merry chase,” Ashmont told him at the end. “If I’d been in your shoes, I’d have offered, too. What

a fine girl she’s turned out to be! Planted the turd a facer! That’s our Alice. I wish I’d known about Worbury, though. Immense,

stinking turd. But I’d only have beaten him to a lump or taken a horsewhip to him. Well, maybe I’d have shot him. What Blackwood

did...” He laughed. “Oh, very well. You get the best girl in the kingdom. I reckon you’ve earned her.”

“Unless my sister undergoes a radical change of character, he’ll go on earning her for the rest of his life.”

Ashmont patted Blackwood on the shoulder. “You’ll do what needs to be done. You always do. But if things go awry, we’re still

your brothers. Well, he’ll be your brother more than me, but—”

“No,” Blackwood said. “We’ll always be brothers.”

“By bonds thicker than blood,” Ripley said. He lifted his tankard.

They drank to that. And to other things. Many other things.

***

It appears that those who have wagered on the nuptial date of a certain peer and another’s beauteous sister will lose their

stakes. The lady, we have recently learnt, has exercised the fair sex’s right and inclination to change her mind. In a reversal

that has turned Society on its ear and overtaken the Reform Bill as a sensation and source of speculation, the lady has given

her hand to another peer of equally high rank and altogether different reputation.

— Foxe’s Morning Spectacle

Friday 11 May 1832

***

Camberley Place

12th Instant

My dearest Cassandra,

What a beast of a friend am I, to send you cryptic messages and leave you to wonder, but that seems to be the nature of my life lately. Half the time I imagine this is all a dream, but here is Aunt Florentia making lists of all the things that Must Be Done and all the things One Cannot Do Without, and arguing with me about what I may and mayn’t do between now and the wedding. I’m sorry to be such a trial to her, but she loves me and is obliged to think when I do not.

Have you had time enough since my letter of the 10th to make sense of my choice of bridegroom?

Did I have a choice?

Certainly. The choice was plain, and mine is very likely a bad one, which has occasioned any number of second and third thoughts.

As I’ve informed you more than once, I hold Doveridge in high esteem. He’s perfect, everything I believed I wanted in a husband.

Thus regrets begin to form. But then come the third thoughts, and I see the future stretching ahead of me, dinners and balls

and appearances at Court and entertaining the King and Queen and the Royal Dukes and all the FitzClarences. Imagining it,

I ought to feel stimulated and challenged. Instead I feel as though I face a lifetime in a cage, with no hope of escape. Clearly,

I am not correctly designed for the position of Duchess of Doveridge.

Restrictions and obligations of that kind, we may rest assured, will not occur with Blackwood. Not, at any rate, while my

brother and Ashmont are alive.

My future husband will break my heart sooner or later, but he’s done that before. You and I had our hearts broken a few times, until we decided to put our infatuations behind us, as far behind and as far away as possible. We chose to adopt and adapt Shakespeare to our purpose: Women have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

This in no way lessens my concerns about Aunt Julia’s melancholy. We drove down this afternoon to explain the business and

discuss it with her. She did not seem overly troubled by my engagement. Or troubled at all. She said, “Blackwood cares about

you. That was obvious when I saw him last. He is by no means perfect, and the other two constitute a problem, but there is

a great difference between infatuation and caring. I should prefer the latter, if I were you.”

She calmed Aunt Florentia and had good advice for both of us. But she will not attend the wedding. She is not yet ready to

leave Camberley Place. “Forgive me and give me time,” she says.

Sometimes I wonder if she will die of a broken heart. At other times I know she’s much too sensible. Women have died, etc....

As to your attending my wedding, she says there is no question of it, as do I. While I care nothing about heaping more scandal

upon the pile I’ve already made, I will not have you leave your grandparents, and it is both pointless and ridiculous to make

them curtail their travels for a wedding that will be done in an hour or less, and a wedding breakfast from which I shall

very probably be absent. You and I will be reunited next year, by which time I expect to be settled in my new role.

It seems I must stop now. We have company, Vachon says. As she is laying out a fresh ensemble, it must be somebody important. I hope it isn’t one of the royals. They call on Aunt Julia from time to time or send Lord Frederick Beckingham or another courtier to enquire after her health. No doubt, these deputies do what they can to entice her back to London. Let us wish them luck. And do wish me patience under their politely concealed curiosity.

Since I do not foresee further opportunities to write while I’m here, I’ll close now and promise more after we return to London

on Monday.

Your ever affectionate,

Alice

P.S. Not a royal, I have just been told, but a courtier. And whom do you suppose it is? My discarded duke, no less! I vow,

the Fates are playing pranks on me.

Lady Alice offered both her hands when she greeted the duke. He took them.

“You were so kind to come,” she said.

“I wanted to be among the first to wish you happy,” he said.

She withdrew her hands to clasp them at her waist and raised her eyebrows at Lady Kempton, who took the hint and made an excuse

to step out of the drawing room.

“I know this is most improper,” Lady Alice said. “But I am improper, and I hate a rule that doesn’t let me behave like a gentleman.”

Her brow knit. “Although, if I were a gentleman, I suppose we might have to fight it out at thirty paces.”

He laughed. How could he help it? It was this sort of thing that had charmed him in the first place, and she charmed him still.

“Let’s not pretend,” she said. “Let’s look at the thing, and please let me say I’m deeply sorry for any trouble I’ve caused

you. Perhaps I’ve caused none. Perhaps a great deal. I don’t know. I can only say I’m sorry, because you have been nothing

but good to me.”

He guessed that this cost her something. Her stance, the hands folded at her waist. But she did it, brave girl, and he had

to admit it was well done.

“Would it be ungentlemanly of me to say I wish I’d followed my instincts and lured Blackwood to the bear pit and pushed him

in?” he said. “Completely by accident, of course.”

“I believe I can promise you that, at the time, marrying me was the last thing on his mind.”

“Perhaps, then, I ought to have held him over the bear pit by his ankles until his thinking adjusted,” Doveridge said. “Because,

you see, it was annoyingly clear to me that he strongly objected to me and all the other fellows about you. But he’s come

to his senses, and I’ll give him credit for that. And since you’ve been so brave as to arrange for us to speak privately,

I shall speak my mind.”

She stiffened as though to brace herself.

Yes, this exchange cost her a great deal more than she showed. Normally he had no inkling of her feelings, she hid them so

well.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I do not mean to give you up. You are too interesting, and so many of our aims agree. I cannot

afford to let your marriage estrange us.” He paused. “I am not a young man, and you needn’t fear that I speak impulsively.

I’ve had a few days to absorb the news, to reflect and become philosophical.”

Her stance eased. “I’ll give you some philosophy,” she said. “You had a narrow escape. We shall be good friends, if you like, but I should not have made a satisfactory wife for you. I did not intentionally mislead you. I misled myself. I flattered myself that I could do it. But you deserve better.”

“Different, possibly. Better does not enter into it.”

“You are kind,” she said. “Thank you.”

She gave him a full smile then, and the spark of humor was back in her green eyes, telling him he’d done the right thing.

She was young, and she deserved to have the man of her choice. Only a great blockhead could fail to recognize who that was

or how much better suited to her he was.

The Duke of Doveridge was not a blockhead. All things considered, he reckoned that having the lady as a friend would be more

useful and a deal less nerve-wracking than having her as a wife.