Eloisa James - Desperate Duchesses - 6 (27 page)

The cook slammed her ladle back into the large pot so hard that boiling soup splashed out on the stove and the floor. "So this is what you're about!"

"Indeed," Eleanor stated.

Why on earth was she fussing over the children's breakfast? Villiers could have told her that Tobias had it all in hand, what with his bribes to the footman, but there wasn't time to interrupt.

"Food is not meant to be gorged with gluttony or greediness," the cook said shrilly. "Nor to be eaten by those who are an abomination under the Lord!"

For the first time Villiers noticed that Eleanor held a riding crop, and he grew a little concerned. She was running her fingers over it as if it were a delicate ribbon. Mrs. Busy didn't look like the type of woman to be intimidated.

"I would hesitate to categorize anyone as indulging in gluttony," Eleanor said, her eyes lingering unpleasantly on the cook's admittedly abundant curves. "But I do know that those children cannot thrive on a diet of gruel."

Villiers froze.

Mrs. Busy's small mean eyes darted to him and then back to Eleanor. "Meat breeds foul temptations! Carnal provocations! Those children are the seed of the devil and their appetites will be strong."

"You
are the foul face of the devil," Eleanor said, taking another step forward.

She didn't do anything with the whip, but the cook flinched.

"If you do not send up a nourishing meal, including at least two kinds of meat, within the hour, I will have you turned out on the road, Mrs. Zeal-of-the-Land Busy. You will no longer be so
busy.

Do you understand me?"

Mrs. Busy didn't answer. A drop of sweat ran down her forehead.

"She understands," Popper said, popping up between them. "She does, don't you, Sister Busy? She knows that the children are innocent creatures who aren't to blame for the circumstances of their wicked conception. Children, Sister Busy," he implored. "Just children."

"Aye," the cook said slowly.

Villiers stood behind Eleanor, the truth of it slowly sinking in. Apparently the gruel Tobias complained of wasn't just Mrs. Busy's idea of a child's diet, but something of a purgative. Thank God, Tobias had taken care of himself.

Eleanor's face looked as if it were carved of the finest marble, as if the goddess Athena had come to life.

Mrs. Busy was no match for her. "I'll send them breakfast," she said, wilting.

"And every meal, as long as those children are here. If I hear that there is the least inadequacy, if you misplace an herb or forget an ingredient, I shall return."

"I shall not. I sought merely to curb the—the—"

Something in Eleanor's gaze warned against an explanation.

"I'll send excellent meals," Mrs. Busy said hastily.

"Good," Eleanor said. "Then I'll bid you good day, Mrs. Zeal-of-the-Land Busy. Oyster, come."

Villiers waited until she left the kitchen, because he didn't want Eleanor to feel that he didn't trust her success. Mrs. Busy didn't stir, just waited, with her eyes fixed on him. "My children are not an abomination," he stated, hearing his own cold voice and knowing there were few brave enough to endure the sound without flinching.

"That they are not," Mrs. Busy readily agreed, showing that she wasn't one of the brave.

Villiers turned to go.

"But you are!" she burst out. "Verily, I must say the truth and that is that thou dwellest in the tents of the wicked and feedest the vanity of the eye."

Apparently she didn't care for his coat. Or perhaps it was the embroidery that was spurring her censure.

"I am moved by the spirit to say so!" Mrs. Busy insisted.

"As long as the tents of the wicked are replete with the smiles of beautiful women," Villiers said, "I shall be happy."

"I shall daunt the profaneness of mine enemies," Mrs. Busy stated. "When sin provokes me, I shall not be silent."

"Sister Busy," implored Popper. "Cry you mercy, Sister Busy, consider your place in life."

"And while you are contemplating that, Mrs. Busy, you might include the thought that I may well marry your mistress, Lady Lisette," Villiers said. "In which case this house will become one vast tent for my wicked self. And then you, Mrs. Busy, will need to thrust yourself onto the sanctified highway because I may well bring all
six
of my children to live under this roof. In case you are wondering, none of the six was conceived with the benefit of matrimony."

"Six!" she gasped, falling back and regarding him as if he were the very devil himself. "Thou tellest untruths. No man is so rank in the face of the Lord."

Against all odds, Villiers was beginning to enjoy himself. "Are you gnashing your teeth, Mrs. Busy?

That's an odd sound you're making."

"Thou art a Nebuchadnezzar, a very Nebuchadnezzar, come to mock me!" Mrs. Busy said.

One of the pot boys giggled. "Sister Busy," Popper implored.

"I must take my leave," Villiers said with a flourishing bow. "Thank you for this charming conversation."

Popper ran after him down the corridor. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace," he said, panting.

Villiers stopped. "What relation is she to you?"

Popper rang his hands. "She's my sister, Your Grace. We were raised Puritan, you see, but she took to it fiercely, and then she married Zeal-of-the-Land, and I'm afraid that she became rather rigid. She needs this position. She has nowhere else to go, and Zeal-of-the-Land left all his possessions to the church."

"He left
everything
to the church?"

Popper nodded. "With a request that they say prayers for his soul four times a day for a year. Which they will, because it transpired that Brother Busy had acquired quite a large estate. But unfortunately his will left my sister destitute and in need of a position. Please, Your Grace, I know that she's a fierce woman. But Brother Busy's death left her soured."

"I can imagine," Villiers said, pushing open the baize door that led back to the foyer.

They emerged into chaos. Oyster was barking hysterically and running in circles, Eleanor was shouting, one of the footmen was chasing the dog, and Lisette was standing on the second or third step of the staircase, screaming. Into all of this rushed Popper, uttering useless admonitions in a shrill voice.

"Quiet!" Villiers bellowed.

Everyone obeyed him except, characteristically, Eleanor. She whipped around, hands on her hips, and said through clenched teeth, "Escort Lisette elsewhere before I do something I may—or may
not
—regret."

Oyster had dropped onto his haunches and was gazing at him in a rather charmingly attentive position, so Villiers raised a finger to the footman, who scooped up the dog. "Take him outside," he commanded before turning to Lisette.

She was clinging to the banister, her face absolutely drained of color. Although she had stopped screaming, she was obviously paralyzed with fright.

"Lisette," he said, coming to the bottom of the stairs.

She looked at him, her face pathetically wan, her blue eyes huge.

"Poor scrap," he said, and held out his arms. She fell into them and he scooped her up. She put her head against his shoulder, as trustingly as if she were a child.

"Take her into the drawing room," Eleanor said. "I'll go outside and make sure that Oyster is out of sight and sound." She said it flatly, without an edge, but Villiers could read her voice easily enough.

He looked down at Lisette's spun-gold hair. She wasn't the bravest of creatures, but there was no point in defending her at the moment. Besides, Eleanor had already stamped out the door after Oyster.

So he walked into the drawing room and sat down on a sofa. After a moment Lisette eased off his lap and onto the bench beside him. "I'm quite irrational when it comes to dogs." Big tears made her eyes glisten. "I hate being such a coward."

"Many people are afraid of dogs," he said, trying to sound consoling, although sympathy wasn't exactly his forte. "There's no need to apologize."

"Oyster is likely a quite nice dog." She was twisting her fingers around and around each other. "It's just that I had such a terrible experience last year in the village. A feral dog was threatening everyone, and there were children in the square. I had to protect them."

"Terrible," Villiers said, only half listening.

"If we marry," Lisette said, "you must promise me that we will have no hounds on the premises."

"If we marry?" he echoed, snapping to attention.

It was the second time in as many days that a woman had announced their imminent marriage without bothering to wait for his proposal. In this case, he hadn't even broached the idea of marriage, which made her announcement seem truly presumptuous.

"Yes," Lisette said, apparently unmoved by the surprise in his voice. "I am truly considering it, Leopold. I like your children
so
much."

Of course, that was why he was considering it too: because she would be a bighearted, wonderful mother to his motley brood.

She smiled up at him. "I think we should suit, especially because you don't own a dog."

No dog but six children. Most women would run screaming in the opposite direction, so it seemed he had found the perfect woman. At least from that particular point of view.

"Why don't you kiss me now?" Lisette asked. Her eyes were the exact color of sky outside the window. Of course he wanted to kiss her.

He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. They were pale pink, very soft.

"I like kissing," she said, sighing a bit. She put a hand on his chest. "Do you like kissing, Leopold?"

"Of course," he said, wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into. It was her fresh sweetness that made her such a perfect choice for a wife. He would have to be slow and kind, and hope that he didn't wilt from pure boredom during the act.

"Of course, I like other things about bedding men," she said.

He blinked.

"Kiss me again," she cooed, pursing her lips. He obliged, settling his lips over her soft ones. She couldn't have meant that comment the way it sounded. "What do you like about bedding men?" he inquired.

She looked up through her lashes modestly. "I'm certain that you can teach me a great deal."

Lisette was the very model of a respectable virgin. Not like infuriating Eleanor, who had clearly slept with Godless Gideon before he ran off to marry Ada. And not like her in other ways too, because Eleanor had that trick of setting a man's blood on fire just by looking at him.

Whereas Lisette's sweet blue eyes were restful.

"Kiss me again," she said, placing a slender arm around his neck.

He bent his head again and this time ran his tongue along the seam of her lips. He was a little afraid that she might be prudish in her approach—weren't virgins always

nonplussed by their first real kisses?

But she opened her mouth readily enough. They played with their tongues for a while, and she even stroked his shoulders.

They'd be fine in bed.

The fact that he kept thinking about Eleanor, and the way she uttered those absurd little noises when she kissed him...that was unacceptable.

He had made his bed the moment he allowed Tobias to be conceived. He couldn't undo those wrongs after all these years, but he could make a level-headed choice for wife, rather than choosing someone based on lust.

Because damn it, he felt lust for Eleanor. Even thinking about her made him harden. Remembering the way he bent over her on the balcony, and her bottom tucked—

He woke to himself to find that Lisette was protesting the strength of his mouth. "Really, Leopold,"

she said a bit querulously. "I know that you have a man's desires, but there's no need to be immoderate."

Never, in the length of his misspent life, had he kissed one woman while arousing himself with thoughts of another. He had horrified himself—not an easy task. "I will never do that again," he stated. "I apologize."

Lisette dimpled at him. "Actually, I'm quite happy to see the strength of your—" She coughed delicately."—desire. I have seen you looking at Eleanor and I thought perhaps you had feelings for her."

"The decision not to marry was mutual," he said, his voice coming out more sharply than he intended.

"I'm glad to hear that!" Lisette said, her dimples appearing again. "Not that I would normally worry about competition, but Eleanor is so witty. And she has a kind of je
ne sais quoi
that makes her very attractive to men."

"I know."

"And," Lisette continued, "she's truly intelligent. When we were all children here we used to have chess tournaments and she always won. She would beat her brother and my father as well."

"Chess?" Villiers said. "She plays chess?"

"Didn't you know? I thought Marguerite told me once that you have quite a
penchant
for it yourself, don't you?"

"You could say that," he said. Since he was one of the three top players in the kingdom.

"You see, one of my other aunts is a quite good chess player. So she taught everyone chess in the summer, and she would organize us into tournaments."

"What is her name?" Villiers said, squinting through the window. A carriage had just drawn up, but he couldn't see if it had a crest on the door.

"Rosamund Patton," Lisette said. "Have you ever met her?"

"I've played Mrs. Patton at the Chess Club," Villiers said. "She was the only woman who had won entrance to the club until very recently, when the Duchess of Beaumont won a place."

"Well, if that's the case, I'm sure that Eleanor could do the same. She used to beat Rosamund all the time. I think Eleanor is probably the most intelligent woman I know."

"I think that
you
are one of the nicest women I know," Villiers said, dropping a kiss on her mouth.

"There aren't many ladies who would praise another woman the way you do."

Lisette's whole face lit up when she smiled. "Women can be so silly to each other! Men are easy to come by, but female friends are not. Goodness, look at that! We have another visitor." She clapped her hands, jumping to her feet. "What fun this is! I haven't had visitors for a month of Sundays, and now it's positively raining people."