My Inconvenient Duke (Difficult Dukes #3)

Chapter 24

April 1833

Maybe the trouble started with the rabbits.

Though a mere half a dozen of them were involved, the number proved sufficient for the Duke of Ashmont’s purposes.

He hadn’t been invited to the royal fête for the Grand Duchess of Volldenham. He hadn’t been invited to respectable gatherings

for some time.

Not inviting him was one thing. Keeping him out was another altogether.

They’d made the mistake of holding it on April Fool’s Day. He got in. So did the rabbits, also not invited. The event dissolved

into chaos. Women shrieked, men tried not to laugh and failed, servants ran about, and a lot of shouting prevailed generally.

The Grand Duchess, who prided herself on not speaking a word of English and hadn’t a sense of humor in any language, failed

to grasp the concept of April Fool’s Day. Believing she’d been grossly insulted, she stalked out.

She was one of the Royal Family’s numerous distant cousins and by no means King William’s favorite. Furthermore, having spent his youth in the Navy, he was a better sailor than diplomat. But like it or not, he had to swallow his resentment and pacify her. Lord Frederick Beckingham learnt His Majesty’s true feelings at the levee on the following Wednesday.

“I’ve borne enough of your damned fool of a nephew’s nonsense,” the King raged. “I will not be placed in this ridiculous position

again. You tell that goddamned Ashmont that I’ll hang him by the yardarm if he comes within a mile of any member of the Royal

Family.”

It was no use telling Ashmont anything.

Instead, on Thursday afternoon Lord Frederick told the Duke of Blackwood, who told his wife that evening as they set out for

Lady Tunstall’s dinner party, the former Emily Felpham’s first entertainment since her marriage.

“What did you suggest?” Alice said.

“A strait-waistcoat,” Blackwood said.

“Ashmont is at loose ends,” she said. “I wish he’d gone abroad with Ripley.”

A few days after their arrival in Brighton, Ripley had sent a letter, saying he intended to make a belated Grand Tour with

Ashmont. Two days before they were to depart, Ashmont changed his mind. Too many foreigners, he said.

“I wish it, too,” her husband said. “He’s running amok, worse than ever, thanks to the company he’s keeping lately.”

Though Blackwood spoke coolly enough, Alice knew he wasn’t untroubled. In the dim light of the carriage, she discerned the

mask he’d worn all too often in recent weeks, mainly at social events.

He was bored, among other things. Ashmont was one of the other things, she was sure.

She swallowed her frustration. The other two consti tute a problem , Aunt Julia had told her. Alice had understood the problem when she chose to marry Blackwood. All the same, she wanted to

throttle Ashmont.

“I suppose you feel as though you’ve abandoned him,” she said.

“No. Yes. There has to be a limit. A man ought to be able to marry and make a married life without feeling guilty.”

“And bored. And impatient.”

He stared at her. “Not with you. It’s this life.”

“And you find this life boring.”

“Is it not? Do you not find yourself spending far too much time at social events where courtesy dictates making conversation

with an endless parade of fools and gasbags?”

“And you never encountered fools and gasbags before?”

“I could get away from them before. Now I must pretend I don’t want to throw them out of the nearest window. You have your

collection of wallflowers and social failures to keep you happily occupied. Business, too. Winning important people over to

your causes. You need to employ skill and subtlety. You’ve stimulants, in other words. Rewards.”

“And you haven’t.”

“Apparently not. My life is not as exciting as yours, strangely enough. You have the Minerva Society. You have Miss Pomfret’s

return to look forward to. I, too, have friends, good friends. But Ashmont finds them dull and goes off with people I despise.

And there am I, standing idly by. There am I at Lady Eddingham’s rout. Dinner with the Orbys. Endless chitchat with uninteresting

people. All the while knowing my friend is out there, behaving like a madman.”

“And there am I at Lady Eddingham’s or the Orbys’ or St. James’s Palace, aware of how discontented you are.”

He turned his gaze to the window. “I hadn’t realized it was so obvious.”

“To me. I can’t speak for others. And even I didn’t realize how deeply discontented you were.”

“Not with you, Alice. Never with you.”

“But this is our life!”

“Your life.”

She felt cold inside. Was that true? Her life, not his? Not theirs?

“It isn’t perfect, certainly,” she said. “It isn’t what I expected. The Minerva Society demands my time. But one can’t isolate

oneself from Society if one wishes to have any influence. And one can’t abandon Court life for the same reason. I never imagined

I’d be running hither and yon for the Royal Family’s whims and tantrums. I never guessed they would make me a substitute for

Aunt Julia. How does one break free of that claim?”

“I don’t know, but here we are.”

The carriage was slowing. For another party he wouldn’t enjoy.

She couldn’t make him enjoy it. She couldn’t stop doing what needed to be done. She couldn’t abandon the children who needed

help. She couldn’t make him stop fretting about Ashmont.

She didn’t know what to do.

The Duke of Blackwood was cursing himself for not holding his tongue.

He cared deeply for his wife, yet he’d hurt her feelings.

Being somewhat respectable wasn’t as dull as he’d expected. At times it wasn’t dull at all. There was Lynforde, for example, and his circle. And Doveridge, of all men, had become a friend. He’d been among the first to call on the Blackwoods when they returned from their honeymoon. He’d dined with Blackwood at Crockford’s, admitting that the club’s chef, Ude, was superior to his own chef. He’d invited the Blackwoods to his entertainments and in other ways quietly eased Blackwood’s way into the world he’d abandoned.

Alice and Blackwood were welcome at Court. They were invited everywhere, or nearly everywhere. Blackwood still made some people

nervous. Well, everybody. But the ton admired his wife, and many wanted to make use of her, and so they bore with him. A mixed

blessing.

Good for Alice and her causes. Not as good as it might have been for Blackwood, when every day and night he heard of Ashmont’s

doings.

He told himself he wasn’t his friend’s nursemaid. He told himself that Ripley hadn’t felt compelled to give up his trip on

Ashmont’s account.

He shoved Ashmont into the mental cavern and did his best to enjoy Lady Tunstall’s party. Lord Tunstall, whom he’d always

viewed as a prodigious dull gasbag, turned out to have a dry sense of humor. His wife must have discovered this little gem

about him and polished it, because the man made Blackwood laugh, more than once.

Yet on the way home afterward, the worries flooded back. Finally, as they neared their house, Blackwood said, “I’m going out

for a while.”

“You need air after the stuffy party, I suppose,” Alice said.

“It wasn’t stuffy. But I need to walk about. Clear my head. You’d better not wait up. It may take a while.”

He escorted her into the house and saw her safely in the servants’ care.

Then he went out again and walked. He walked from Piccadilly to Park Lane. He walked along Park Lane, past Stanhope Street, which led to Ripley House. He continued northward, and turned into North Grosvenor Street. He walked to Ashmont House.

He knew a handful of Ashmont’s servants would be up and about, awaiting the master’s return.

“Not come back yet, Your Grace,” the porter told him.

No point in asking when Ashmont would return. No one ever knew.

Blackwood walked back the way he’d come. He walked past his house and on to St. James’s Street, thence to Crockford’s. Ashmont

wasn’t there, either.

Blackwood visited several more haunts. The sun came up, to shed no light on his friend’s whereabouts.

He went home.

Late the following morning, Blackwood entered Alice’s bedroom. She was in bed, a tray on her lap, and a tedious amount of

paper about her. Invitations. Notes. Letters. Though she had a secretary, she liked to attend to certain correspondence herself.

This lot fell into the category.

“You look like the devil,” she said. “Have you slept at all?”

He drew up a chair and sat.

“I spent the night looking for Ashmont,” he said. “He’s still in Town, according to his servants, but where in Town, nobody

seemed to know. None of the usual haunts. Worse ones is my guess.”

“Yes, very likely.”

“I’ve got to do something.”

Her heart sank. She set down the letter she’d been reading. “I’d rather it were Lord Frederick.”

“My preference also, but if he could rein in Ashmont, he’d have done it by now.”

“Which leaves you.”

He rose abruptly. “I don’t see a choice. Not one I can live with.” He walked to the fireplace and scowled at the grate. “If

you saw Cassandra Pomfret headed toward destruction, what would you do?”

Her mind went black for a moment, and she had a sensation of sinking. She’d lost already, and she hadn’t begun. She managed

a short laugh. “Of course you know. I’d don my armor and run to the rescue, even if she fought me, kicking and screaming.”

He turned his attention back to her. “Even now that you’re a married woman, a duchess with responsibilities and the troubles

of the world on her shoulders. And a husband who wants you by his side.”

Logic. Inescapable. She’d never win this debate. “Even now, yes.”

“It’s a choice,” he said.

“And you choose your friend, and I can say nothing because I’d do the same, if it seemed to me a matter of life or death.”

“How else ought I to see it?”

She remembered too clearly how she’d felt, watching the three of them racing toward their own funerals. She had no trouble

recalling the helplessness and frustration. She’d been ready to risk everything she’d worked for—not only the Perfect Wife

designation, but the Minerva Society, which gave a purpose to the husband-hunting as well as her life. She’d been ready to

risk everything that mattered to her in order to recover her brother.

It wasn’t fair to make Blackwood stand by doing nothing.

Yet the prospect of facing Society alone chilled her. She would not be able to look across a room and see Blackwood. They would not share a conspiratorial smile and later, observations and jokes. She’d grown used to having her chevalier near at hand.

“I can’t rescue him,” Blackwood was saying. “I can’t force him to behave reasonably. All I can do is keep him within certain

bounds. That means keeping him company.” He returned to the chair and sat.

He was not a restless man. The way he couldn’t seem to sit still told her the inner turmoil was worse than she’d supposed.

She was in turmoil, too, because she understood and wished she didn’t. She didn’t want to be reasonable. She wanted to throw

something, break something. She wanted to cry.

She reminded herself that she’d known this was a possibility. A probability. A strong likelihood.

The other two constitute a problem.

“I need to keep him company,” he said.

“Yes.”

“It isn’t forever. Ripley plans to be back in a few months.”

“Yes, I know.”

“What’s the alternative, Alice? Do I stand by and do nothing? Could you do that?”

“No.” She met his gaze. “I never could, and you know that. But right now, I hate Ashmont. It isn’t fair—to you, to me, to

us. I want to tell you to choose differently, but I can’t. If anything happens to him, you’ll never forgive yourself. I’ll

never forgive myself. So I’ll simply hate him—and maybe you, a little, because I’m not reasonable, and it’s unreasonable of

you to expect me to be.”

“Then I shan’t expect it.” He put out his hand. She wanted to knock it away. But she gave him hers.

“I only ask you to believe this,” he said. “I’d much rather climb into your bed than watch Ashmont’s servants wrestle him into his. I’d rather not leave you alone to indulge the whims of a lot of spoiled royals. I’d rather not leave you to do what you need to do in Society. I know people will talk, and it won’t be pleasant.”

“Oh, they’re talking already, some of them,” she said. “Any excuse will do. Rich and poor, people love gossip. I do, certainly.

Annoying, but it won’t kill me. I can manage without you. Ashmont can’t.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it and the knuckles, and then he turned it over and kissed the palm.

That night when they made love, she knew it was goodbye.

Not many hours later, he went to Ashmont House again and found his friend. The following day, the two dukes set out for the

Newmarket Craven race meeting.

***

The D____ of B____ was observed at Newmarket this week with one of his former companions and without his bride. It seems the

leopard cannot change his spots. Married in haste, repenting at leisure—such seems to be the case for the pair whose nuptials

ten months ago caused so great a stir in the polite circles.

—Foxe’s Morning Spectacle

Saturday 13 April 1833

So it began.

No surprise, really.

Alice went on with her life. She knew some would gloat and others would pity her. It was easy enough to know, since a number of people didn’t try very hard to hide their reaction. The pity was more provoking by far.

She refused to pity herself, though she missed Blackwood more than she ought to do. She’d grown used to having the tall, dark,

dangerous man at her side, across the breakfast table, across a crowded room. In her bed. It galled her to know that Ashmont

had all his attention.

More galling, though, was realizing that she and Blackwood had acted in the very nick of time.

He wrote daily. The weather had turned miserable at Newmarket, he reported. Cold and wet on Thursday and Friday, with torrential

rains at times and furious hail at others. Ashmont took ill and by Saturday was too unwell to leave his hotel bed. This was

an unheard-of state of affairs, though not unexpected, given years of hard living.

“I’ve no choice but to stay on,” Blackwood wrote. “He’s a terrible patient. He’ll be up and about long before he ought, unless

I sit on him. That isn’t a figurative turn of speech—although a strait-waistcoat might be the simpler solution.”

A few days later, an influenza epidemic struck London, bringing widespread closings and cancellations. It shut down whole

households, including Blackwood House, with most of the servants incapacitated.

“I urge you to keep Ashmont away,” Alice wrote to him. “The influenza hasn’t killed many. It isn’t at all like the cholera,

and you needn’t be anxious on my account. However, it has hastened the deaths of several who were already weakened by other

ailments. I shouldn’t risk Ashmont if I were you.”

The following week was Newmarket’s First Spring Meeting. Since he and Ashmont were already there, Blackwood decided they might as well remain.

When he finally came home, a week later, Alice saw him only briefly, because she was summoned to Windsor, thence to Camberley

Place with a message and gifts from the Queen to her aunt.

“Letters are all well and good but not entirely satisfactory,” Queen Adelaide had told her. “Lady Charles assures us that

she is quite well, but she would. You are so observant, Duchess. You will visit her and tell me how she does. And I wish you

would use your persuasive powers, to the extent you deem wise, to send her back to us. She is not an old woman, to shut herself

away like that. It is not right, and I do not believe Lord Charles would like it. But there, I trust to you to say and do

what is needed, and to tell me plainly how it goes with the dear lady.”

That wasn’t the only errand, albeit one of the harder ones. But Alice would do the royals’ bidding, because it meant power

and influence to expand the Minerva Society’s reach. This is what she told herself while she tried to think and act as Aunt

Julia would do, and while she wished her beloved aunt would return to London and leave Alice time for the work she truly valued.

Liliane Girard wanted to establish schools, proper schools, not the ghastly places where pauper children so often found themselves.

The ones she was developing in London she could oversee herself, but she deputized Alice to seek suitable spots outside Town,

so that the less robust children might breathe cleaner air.

It needed to be done. Somebody must do it, and Alice knew better than most of her peers why.

Nine years old.

The Tollstone Academy.

Three months in purgatory.

She’d been one of the lucky ones. She’d escaped. She could hardly object to making sacrifices now.

And so she did favors for royals and others she needed to cultivate. She attended the necessary entertainments. She worked

for the Minerva Society. This, coupled with Blackwood’s frequent absences, meant she saw almost nothing of him until the middle

of May, when for once they were in Blackwood House at the same time.

That night, after the lovemaking, he told her that Ashmont had fallen in love with Lady Olympia Hightower and was determined

to marry her.

“The poor girl!” Alice said. “It won’t do, Giles. You must put a stop to it.”

“A stop to it! Whatever for?”

He’d risen from the bed to refill their champagne glasses. They were celebrating their reunion. How long had it been?

An indecently long time. A miserably long time. Nonetheless, he had not lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs—or

debauched her upon the stairs—as soon as he was home, though the urge was powerful.

Still, their gazes had only to meet, and she had only to smile, and in a few minutes they were in her bedchamber and he had

her against the wall.

After that, they’d made love more comfortably in the bed.

Then he told her what he’d assumed was good news.

He refilled the glasses, carried them back to the bed, and gave one to her. She was dressed in his favorite attire: nothing.

Her long, curvaceous body seemed to glow in the afternoon light.

He carried his own glass to his side of the bed, but remained standing there.

“Lady Olympia isn’t a green girl,” he said. “She has a head on her shoulders. That seems to be part of the attraction—the

initial attraction, at any rate.”

Alice had already heard about the way, a few days earlier, Lady Olympia had saved Ashmont from falling into the path of a

furiously driven hackney cabriolet.

“How many other girls would have the presence of mind to do such a thing?” Blackwood said. “She hauled him back onto the pavement

with the crook of her umbrella. She subdued the dog that attacked him. She insisted on taking him home in her coach. Her kindness —as he put it—brought him nearly to tears. You must know who she is, Alice. Do you not believe she’s up to his weight?”

“I know her well enough to hope she’s too intelligent and sensible a girl to lose her head over him. She has numerous brothers

and inattentive parents. She’ll be accustomed to leaping to the rescue of reckless boys, and he is a little boy, in so many

ways. I don’t doubt she acted instinctively.”

He drank as he took this in. It wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for.

“I believe she’ll be a steadying influence,” he said. “She isn’t at all his usual thing.”

“She wears spectacles, and she’s bookish to an extreme. Quite different from his usual thing, I agree. You say he’s determined

to marry her. That tells me she hasn’t yet succumbed to the angelically innocent blue eyes.”

“I hope she succumbs to something. I’ve never seen him so taken with a young woman—a young, respectable woman. It gives me hope for him.”

“They have nothing in common.”

“Don’t you want to see him settled? I do. I’d rather not spend my days following him about, making sure he doesn’t kill anybody or himself.”

She moved restlessly against the pillows. “I’d much rather you didn’t spend your days that way, as you well know—and I seem

to be making a fuss over nothing. She’s not a child, as you say. She’s intelligent. She’s been out in Society for years. I

only worry that the novelty will wear off and he’ll tire of her.”

“That I doubt. You are no longer a novelty. Ye gods, we’ve been married an eternity—nearly a year. And yet, curiously enough,

I feel not in the least tired of you.”

“That’s because you see me so rarely.”

“Good point. Perhaps seeing you is a novelty. Now I think of it, I wasn’t sure who you were when I entered the house and you

appeared. ‘What a fine-looking woman,’ I thought. ‘I wonder if I can lure her into bed.’”

“It’s possible.” She patted his pillow. “Come and persuade her.”

He went, of course. He climbed back into the bed and drew up the bedclothes and brought his arm about her shoulders. She leant

against him.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” she said. “Lady Olympia is a capable young woman. No doubt she can manage him.”

“With any luck, they’ll be wed soon, and he’ll be her problem. In the meantime...” He stroked Alice’s beautifully bare

shoulder. He slid his hand down her arm and lower, and his brain began to close down.

“In the meantime, let us drink champagne and express our frustrations with each other in the time-honored fashion,” she said

softly. “I have missed you, sir.”

“And I you, madam.”

He stopped thinking about Ashmont and Lady Olympia.

He was a man. His wife was naked in bed beside him and she was willing and he wanted her, as he’d always done.

All will be well , he told himself.