Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (23 page)

“Of course not,” Sara replied matter-of-factly. “Why?” Her eyeballs bulged. “Please don’t tell me people do it the same way as dogs.”

“Let me start over,” Lucy said, trying to decide how to approach her explanation, since it was obvious Sara knew even less than she herself had known, which hadn’t been much.

“Uhmm . . . the manhood is . . . ah, an
appendage
that’s hidden under their clothes.”

Sara gasped, and Lucy swallowed a chuckle. It did sound strange put exactly that way. “Sara, you have four brothers. You must have noticed something in the front of their trousers.”

Sara’s face was blank. “Of course I’ve noticed
something,
but what has that to do with anything?”

Lucy giggled and shook her head. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake. I shall just say it; there is an appendage hidden in the front of their trousers. The problem is that it grows much larger in bed—”

“Oh!” Sara shrieked and jumped up from the sofa. “Don’t tell me anything else, for I fear I shall faint! It sounds like one of David’s monster stories, the ones he makes up when he’s trying to frighten me.” She sat back down and peered at Lucy, a suspicious glint in her eyes. “You are making this up, aren’t you? Lucy, really, I’m quite certain if any of my brothers had a growing appendage in the front of his trousers, I should have noticed it by now.”

“I’m telling you the absolute truth. Honestly, it isn’t the way it sounds. It’s much more exciting than that. The best thing is to compare it to kissing. You know, your preconceptions of what kissing would be like versus the way it really is. If you’d been told a man would stick his tongue in your mouth when he kissed you, you’d have been shocked and disgusted, but when it actually happens, it’s neither shocking nor disgusting, is it?”

“He sticks his tongue in your mouth? Whatever for? I’ve been kissed quite a few times, and not once has someone else’s tongue been in my mouth. I’m quite certain I
would
be shocked.”

It struck Lucy that for all Sara’s experience with kissing, she wasn’t very experienced at all. “Well, one day you may find a tongue there, and you’ll see it isn’t disgusting at all.”

Sara stared at Lucy for a long moment before finally shaking her head. “I still can’t believe they hide something in their trousers. Some men’s trousers are so tight I’m sure I would be able to see it.” Her eyes suddenly narrowed and she fixed her gaze on Lucy. “I distinctly remember the night Lady Hepper poured the glass of ice water on Lord Vixon, as I’m sure you must. When he stood up his pants were molded to him like a second skin. And there was nothing there at all.”

Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know what to say about that, but I can assure you it isn’t the case for every man. If you pay attention to that area, you will see that some men have a noticeable bulge there. I noticed it the first time I saw Derek at the ball. Actually, I think it only grows when a man likes you—
that
way. Which would explain why you haven’t noticed it in your brothers.”

Sara looked thoughtful. “Well, I shall certainly start paying attention to that area. But why does it hurt?”

“It hurts when he puts it inside, down there.”

“Down there?” Sara echoed, her face reflecting her shock. “Oh, my.”

“But in my husband’s case, it was obviously too big to fit—
much
too big to fit—and I don’t want to try it again.”

“But my mother assured me it only hurts the first time. She didn’t say why, but—I’ve got it! It gets stretched out, like a new shoe!” Sara exclaimed, looking very pleased with her deduction.

“Hmmm,” said Lucy, thinking that over and not liking the sound of it. “But shoes shrink back if you only wear them once. Oh, I don’t know. The whole affair is too complicated to think about, and anyway—”

She stopped short at the sight of Sara holding a pillow over her face to smother her laughter, and she let her own laughter finally erupt. The two girls giggled uncontrollably for several minutes.

“Oh, goodness!” Sara said in between gulps of air. “I know you are pulling my leg, but it’s just so wonderful to see you that I shan’t hold it against you.”

Lucy squeezed Sara’s hand. “Yes, it is wonderful, isn’t it? Your visit has lifted my spirits.”

Sara grew quiet. “Oh, dear. Have your spirits been low?”

“It’s nothing,” Lucy said. “But I meant it when I said my husband confounds me. There’s the reputation he has, and I know some of that must be true. Then I learned he paid for new wheels to be put on Mr. Kruger’s delivery wagon and had new windows installed in Mr. McNeight’s store. It is the same with his treatment of me. He was so kind, so attentive one day, and then the next he was furious and I had no idea why. I just don’t know what to think,” she said. “What do you think of him, Sara? Or rather, what do your brothers think?”

Sara’s gaze was fastened to the mantel clock. “Oh, dear, it’s much later than I thought,” she said. “I really should be going before they come looking for me.” She rose from her seat and edged toward the door. “I took the gig, after all, and—”

“What is it? What do you know?” Lucy’s heart dropped at the guilty expression on Sara’s face. Her friend knew something too disheartening to reveal. When she saw Sara’s eyes fill with sorrow, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was.

“I don’t know anything, really. It would only be so much more gossip, and you’ve surely heard more than enough of that,” Sara said as she turned toward the door.

“You wouldn’t be so upset if you were certain it was just gossip, so tell me what you’ve heard, and leave it to me to decide the truth of it. I have a right to know,” Lucy finished quietly.

Sara stopped and turned to face her. “Oh, dear, I wasn’t going to say anything. I thought and thought about it and I finally decided to say nothing. For once in my life, I wish I didn’t have four brothers to eavesdrop on.”

The anguished look on Sara’s face was enough for Lucy. Taking a steadying breath, she braced herself for whatever was coming.

“Captain Wainright’s ship was anchored off the West Indies Islands, Lucy. And his cargo was . . .
slaves.”

Lucy felt a sickening lurch in her stomach. “Where did you hear this? Are you certain?”

Sara’s eyes glistened with tears. “David said so. He heard it from Lord Fenick, who was there himself. Lord Fenick said his own captain went to help, taking with him the ship’s doctor and two sailmakers, and that he and some of the other men took turns looking at the ship through the spyglass. Lord Fenick said there were slaves all over the deck, in terrible shape. Bodies were being wrapped and thrown off one end of the ship. Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry. Was I wrong to tell you?”

“No,” Lucy replied, her voice as quiet as death as she forced herself not to betray any of the emotion she felt. “It is better that I know. I knew money was important to him, but I never dreamed . . . Believe me, Sara, it is much better that I know now rather than later, because I think there was just the smallest possibility that I was falling in love with him.”

But later that evening as she sat at her dressing table reflecting on everything she’d learned, she knew that it wasn’t a matter of possibilities. She’d already fallen in love with him, and she wished with all her heart she had not. What would she do? How would she face him?

Maybe he wouldn’t come back. That would be the best thing for everyone. Or maybe he would come back just long enough to tell her he was leaving for America. That would be all right too. She forced herself to stop thinking about it, about him, and instead rang for Bridget, asking for a dinner tray in her room, and then she left it untouched, unable to eat a single bite as she listened passively to the maid’s chattering, all the while forcing herself not to feel a thing.

It was only later, when she was alone in her bed surrounded by darkness, that she allowed herself to think of him and to cry, her anguished sobs heart-wrenching and full of sorrow.

Sorrow for love lost.

T
he pains started shortly after midnight.

At first Lucy blamed them on the lack of dinner, but when the cramping became worse, she panicked and called for Eleanor, fearing the unbearable reality of what she already knew in her heart:  She would lose her baby.

By the time the blood came, Mrs. Sutton was there, and though the midwife seemed certain Lucy’s life was not in danger, she stayed until dawn, checking periodically for the amount of bleeding and giving Lucy something to help her sleep.

But restful sleep eluded her, and she cried out during her dreams, as often for Derek as she did for her child. At one point she became so overwrought that Mrs. Sutton was forced to awaken her, and then she wept uncontrollably as Eleanor held her in her arms.

When finally she fell into a drug-induced sleep, the midwife signaled to Eleanor and the two stepped away from the bed.

“Is there any way to reach the captain?” Mrs. Sutton asked, her voice low.

Eleanor wrung her hands and shook her head. “He’s at sea. I don’t know when he is to return. Why? Could she d-die?”

“No, no. I think she’ll be fine. It’s early on, and these things happen. She’s so distraught over the loss, though, much more than most would be for such a slight advancement. I wonder if she feels this baby her only tie to the captain. I was at the wedding celebration; they were so much in love. Is she worried he might not return?”

Eleanor saw the kind concern in the woman’s eyes and she dispensed with any pretense. “She has wondered about it. The marriage has been fraught with uncertainties, and of course, no one can know what may happen at sea. I don’t think she has any idea what to expect.”

Mrs. Sutton nodded, her expression thoughtful. “When she wakes up from the laudanum, the captain and the baby will both probably seem a little unreal to her. It might help her if she could feel some link to him. Is there anyone who knew the captain who could talk to her about him, share memories?”

Eleanor thought quickly. “Lord Aster knows the captain very well.”

“What about a woman? Is there a woman who could stay for a visit?”

Eleanor ran over the list of women in her mind who had attended the country party and who might know the captain, and then realized none of them would risk their reputation to come, except perhaps one. “Lady Foxworth. She knows them both.”

“That would be good. If you write out directions, I can take them to the messenger in the village.”

Eleanor wrote out two quick notes. One to Lady Foxworth, and another to Lord Aster, for she had no idea where Lady Foxworth lived, or if, indeed, the woman even had a residence in London. She only hoped that when the message did find the widow, she would come—and quickly.

Lucy lay on the bed with eyelids too heavy to open, hearing her aunt’s soft murmurs, trying to focus on the sounds outside her window in the hopes that she could forget all else. It was no use. The loss of her baby was huge and aching, and there was no relief. She would never be whole again, and she wished with all her heart that she had never learned of her pregnancy, had never started planning her new life.

She’d known about the baby for two short weeks, and yet she felt as though she couldn’t go on without it. Everything around her was the same; she still had Stonecrest and was finally doing all the things her father had planned, always her dream. So why did she feel such despair?

She reminded herself that she hadn’t wanted the baby to begin with. She reminded herself that Mrs. Sutton had told her it was probably for the best, that nature had a way of taking care of things. Those thoughts didn’t ease the pain or the guilt. She wasn’t even sure if the guilt she carried was because she had initially rejected the baby or because she was afraid that somehow, in some way, the baby had known it was unwanted, if only for those first few hours, and hadn’t had the will to fight for its life.

All she knew was that she had lost the only child she might ever conceive, for she had come to terms with the dark knowledge of the man she had married. Unless he took her by force, there would be no other chance for a baby. Knowing what she did now, she couldn’t possibly feel an attraction to him, if, indeed, she saw him again. But if, by some bizarre act of nature, she was still physically attracted to him, she’d never act on that attraction. That would make her as despicable as he.

She could never again go to him again for any type of comfort, for a man who would deal in the sale of human beings was no man at all.

He was a devil.

“A
re you quite certain you want to play that card?” asked Isabelle Foxworth in a languid voice as they awaited the arrival of Lord Aster. Her bags had been set at the front door a half hour earlier, but the earl, who was escorting her back to London, was late.

Lucy glanced from the cards on the table to those in her hand and then back to the one she had just played. She chewed her lower lip and nodded her head.

“Oh, all right.” A resigned smile touched Isabelle’s lips as she placed her cards face down on the table. “If you insist on winning every game I teach you, I am just not going to play!”

Lucy smiled at her friend with affection. “You’ve let me win every time and I’m certain it’s part of your plan to brighten my spirits.”

“Has it worked?”

“Yes,” Lucy replied.

“Then why are you so sad today?”

“I don’t know.” She started to sigh, but caught herself and flashed what she knew was a too-bright smile. “I feel as though I’ve come to an impasse in my life. It’s odd how quickly I embraced the idea of a baby, and once I did, I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. Now I don’t know how I can reconcile myself to a life without children.”

“You may find yourself
enceinte
yet again,” Isabelle said with a meaningful smile. “Perhaps the captain will not return to America immediately.”

Lucy made no comment. What could she say?
I no longer wish to have my husband’s child because I have realized he is a despicable man?
But was that really the reason? Perhaps her aunt was right. Perhaps in the short amount of time she’d loved and grieved for her baby, she’d somehow decided not to have another child, regardless of the circumstances. She told herself it was because of Derek’s character, or rather, his lack of character, but was she being honest? Or was she simply too afraid to take the chance of losing another baby, another person she loved? She dismissed her musings when she noticed Isabelle’s penetrating stare.

“Ma cherie, you simply
must
put this tragedy behind you. Life cannot be lived in such a manner as you attempt to live it. At least you have the chance to
try
for another child, and for that, you should drop to your knees and thank the heavens. Believe me, I know of what I speak, for I . . . ”

Isabelle’s voice broke as her eyes filled with tears.

“What is it, Isabelle?” Lucy reached out and took her friend’s hand, alarmed to find it trembling. “Whatever is the matter?”

Isabelle shook her head and shut her eyes. When she opened them she offered an apologetic smile. “Oh, Lucy,” she said, her voice infused with emotion, “I am so sorry to think of myself at this time when you are so unhappy. It is just that your losing this child, it reminds me of my own tragedy, of losing my son, when he was but seven years old. How I miss him still.”

Stunned, Lucy was beside Isabelle in seconds, putting her arms around her. “Isabelle, why didn’t you tell me? How selfish I am! To weep about all these days over a child I had not yet held in my arms, while you . . . you . . . ” A lump of unshed tears formed in her throat, choking her speech.

“No, no, Lucy, it is all right. It has been five years since my Pierre died—”

“Oh, you poor, poor dear.”

Isabelle drew a long, shaky breath and nodded. “It is not my wish to speak of it, but only to say that you are fortunate for you can have more children if you desire. I am not so fortunate, and I envy you, for I would give anything to live that joy again. And you, Lucy, you must not let this one tragedy keep you from having that in your life. You will promise me, yes?”

Lucy nodded because she knew she must, but she saw no way out of her misfortune. Still, Isabelle’s confession was a lesson to her. Others suffered so much more and went on. She must set aside her self-pity and make a new life. One without her baby—and her husband.

“L
ord Aster,” announced Sturgeon in a grave voice as he moved aside to let the earl enter.

Lord Aster executed a polite bow, but ruined the formal effect that matched his elegant traveling attire when his face broke into a boyish grin. “Ladies, how wonderful to see you both again.”

“You are late,” scolded Isabelle, though her smile was teasing, “and for that I shall make you wait while I search through my trunks for my fan.” She arose in a swish of silk, displaying a flirty smile as she extended her hand. Lord Aster took the hint and kissed it with great charm.

Lucy remained seated. At another time she might have smiled over Isabelle’s antics, but today, for a reason which escaped her, she was embarrassed. For whom? Isabelle? Lord Aster? Herself? She did not know.

“Take as long as you like,” Lord Aster said. “I have no pressing engagements. My business in the north is finished, and I am to London now. Besides”—he directed an amiable smile at Lucy—“it will give me a chance to chat with Lady Louisa.”

“You should always wear blue,” he said to Lucy after Isabelle took her leave. “It brings out the color of your eyes.”

His gaze drifted over her, and when he raised his eyes back up to hers, she felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. He reminded her a little of Derek—he had the same cockiness, anyway—and she could remember similar times when Derek’s gaze had slid over her in such a manner. Why must she think of that now? Lord Aster was only being polite. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Stephen,” he said with an engaging smile. “Please call me Stephen. Your husband and I are practically brothers, after all.”

“Stephen,” Lucy said, nodding but uneasy. Had he asked Sara to call him Stephen as well? She motioned for him to sit. She tried to think of another gentleman of nobility whom she called by his first name, and couldn’t. Well, there was her uncle, of course, but she only
thought
of him as Nathan, she never said it aloud. To others she simply called him “my uncle.” She never called him Lord Chelton or even thought of him that way; she could not bear it. But as far as calling Stephen by his first name . . . These conventions were ridiculous, really. She was a married woman and Lord Aster—Stephen—
was
very close to her husband.

“You must have some lemon cake,” she said, pouring a cup of tea for him. “I would say it is Mrs. Mulligan’s specialty, but everything she prepares seems to be her specialty.”

Stephen popped one of the small cakes into his mouth and chewed. A close-mouthed but broad smile immediately followed. “You are certainly right,” he said when he had swallowed the treat. “And quite fortunate that she has worked out so well.” He studied Lucy, tilting his head to one side as he did so. “I must say, though . . . you don’t appear to have taken advantage of her cooking. I hope you are recovering from your illness. Derek will be unhappy if he returns to find you in ill health.”

“Did you know he was selling slaves on this voyage?” Lucy blurted out, shocking herself with her outburst. What on earth had made her say that? She had meant to say something about Sara.

Stephen sat up, startled. “Selling slaves? Certainly not.”

“He was seen by a reliable acquaintance on his ship in the West Indies. The ship was overflowing with slaves, sick and dying slaves. And not only men but women too.”

“That’s preposterous. It’s a rumor, surely. Your acquaintance is a prattle box.”

“I don’t think so,” Lucy said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure we both know Lord Fenick to be a reliable source. He said his captain went to help my husband, taking doctors with him, and sailmakers for wrapping the dead.”

Stephen said nothing, his face registering several fleeting emotions before it sagged, his features suddenly drawn and tired-looking.

The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock. Outside in the hall, muffled footsteps approached the door and then stilled for several moments before softly retreating. A silly thing, really, and yet, somehow ominous. When the clock chimed three times, it sounded to Lucy like a death knell.

“I don’t know what to say. There must be some explanation.”

“What if there isn’t? Then what would you say?”

“I don’t know,” Stephen replied, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “I simply can’t believe that even
he
would do such a thing for money.”

Lucy couldn’t ignore his emphasis on the word
he
and her heart sank, leaving her feeling sick and weak. Even Derek’s business partner knew him to be driven by greed, and who could possibly know him better? She rose but found her legs unsteady, and she clutched at the back of the chair she’d risen from.

“Are you all right?” Stephen moved quickly to her side, offering his arm for support before leading her to the sofa. He sat beside her and leaned forward, watching her face anxiously. “Shall I fetch the salts?”

Lucy shook her head and drew a long breath in an effort to slow the furious beating of her heart. “I’ll be fine in a moment,” she said, feeling the lightheadedness abate. She stared back at dark eyes that were full of concern and something that looked remarkably like guilt, and she realized at once that Stephen felt responsible for the actions of his friend. He had, after all, introduced Derek into society, and perhaps felt that had he not, she wouldn’t be in this situation today. She wished she
could
blame someone else for the turn her life had taken, but she knew there was no one to blame but herself.

Still, Stephen’s guilt gave her hope and, as ashamed as she was of doing it, she decided to take advantage of that guilt, wanting to learn anything about Derek that she could.

“I have a few questions I deserve answers to,” she said in a determined voice.