Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess (18 page)

If Lady Strathavon found the walk
back to the carriage infuriating, his lordship found it most enlightening. Her tense shoulders and blazing eyes told him all he needed to know. He wondered how he had missed it before: the lady was jealous. And of his cousin’s bit of muslin, no less.

This gave him a most interesting advantage in the game upon which they had
now embarked: for a game it undeniably was. He would eventually have to clarify the matter of Lady Charlotte to her, but not just yet…

The duke was careful to pay
a lot less attention to his own unsettled feelings over seeing Holly drive down the South Carriage Drive with Compton beside her. Avonbury was right – the baronet was being too attentive. But surely, that did not matter to Strathavon: it couldn’t because then he would have to admit to things best left undisturbed.

He
had not the least inclination to get entangled in any more sentiment, which brought nothing but loss and pain. He suspected that sentiment was much kinder to women than it ever was to men, who were not permitted to exhibit it.

*

When next Avonbury appeared at Strathavon’s townhouse, it was in a much cheerier mood, and with a packet under one arm, which he unceremoniously proceeded to unwrap.

Strathavon examined
his cousin critically from his armchair as Avonbury demonstrated all the merits of his new garment. He was sporting a dark aubergine greatcoat, woven of rich broadcloth: the cut and colour suited him remarkably well, and the duke instantly recognised the work of his own tailor.

Despite his dislike of gaudy dress,
Lord Strathavon employed no less a genius than John Weston of 38 Old Bond Street as his personal tailor and draper. While Mr Brummell had once daringly criticised Mr Weston for his linings, most other gentlemen wore his coats with an unmistakable air of tasteful splendour.

Mr Weston counted
even the Prince Regent among his clients and charged an exorbitant fee, but the duke did not balk at paying for the sheer quality of his garments, as well as for Weston’s keen understanding of his sartorial tastes.

It
was strange, however, that Avonbury should wear something so muted.

Strathavon rarely approved of his cousin’s apparel, but this time he could find no fault.

“But what do you want with a new coat?” the duke asked his cousin once
the coat had been carefully folded away.

“Why, I shall need it for Lady
Raike’s tonight!” declared Avonbury.

“Lady
Raike’s? I do believe it is to be a card evening. I am quite at sea. I was under the impression that you had an aversion to such quiet affairs, and would not set foot there unless forced to under great duress.”

“J
ust so, cousin. But it happens that the expected company promises to make even a card party bearable. I am to escort Lady Strathavon and her friend Lady Louisa, don’t you know, and Her Grace is sure to make it a jolly good evening.”

“Lady
Strathavon? I see… and since when are you such good friends with her ladyship?”

“Why, since she proved herself nothing like the tiresome hag I had expected you to wed!
The Duchess of Strathavon is renowned as a clever and well-informed woman – ask anyone. A veritable treasure, your wife. The last time I spoke to her, she said to me that my problem is that I haven’t been mixing with the right sort of company: I cannot help but wonder if she meant you, cousin.” Avonbury enjoyed a good laugh at that, while he finished his sherry and picked up the morning paper, glancing through it disinterestedly.

Strathavon
refused to play along, though he did suddenly decide that he should go to Lady Raike’s after all, and see how his wife liked to play her enterprising games then. He wondered only what Holly could possibly want with Avonbury.

Sure
ly she did not mean to go falling in love with the man? Strathavon did not know why this in particular had struck him as an alarming possibility, but he knew that he did not like it one smidgeon. Or was it Compton who claimed her tender feeling? But if so, why was she jealous of Lady Charlotte Holland?

E
ventually, Holly was bound to fall in love with
somebody
. Strathavon wondered if he ought to be a gentleman and offer her a way out – to go to Scotland and be divorced so that she might marry her baronet.

It would be some scandal,
but his name had weathered more than that and she was too beloved by society to be blamed for such a thing. Only, he could not seem to make himself enough of a gentleman to let her go…

To think that he
had made so little ceremony of picking himself a duchess who would be nothing more than convenient. But then, the road to hell was paved with good intentions. She had turned out to be so much more than he could ever have predicted. It was a marvel, really.

His G
race might have been expected to look upon his wife’s sudden popularity with a more indulgent eye if he were not as intrigued as he was – he knew that such a fascination would do him absolutely no good.

Since he
had no intention of setting his wife free, the only option left to him, the only possible option, was to be the one to win her.

Absently, the duke wondered if he was going mad.

Yes, that would be his aim. To win his own wife from the clutches of some artless gallant who had poetry on the brain – or was it ornithology? Come to think of it, he hardly knew a thing about Compton apart from the man’s singular interest in birds.

Strathavon would not give Holly
up without a fight. And how difficult could it be to outdo Compton?

*

Lady Raike’s was every bit the muted affair it had promised to be, but the arrival of the celebrated Duchess of Strathavon immediately livened up the evening.

Hol
ly was becoming aware that it was no longer as easy as it had been to tell where the persona of the splendid duchess ended and just plain Holly began. It made things even more confusing.

The duke was already there when she arrived, and he wasted no time examining her
form with unmistakable appreciation.

Holly looked resplendent in a
gown trimmed with a delicate border of ivory lace. Her loveliness, which had snuck up on Strathavon, now held him wholly spellbound.

Her hair had been swept back and pinned high atop her he
ad, except for a few curls, which fell loosely about her ears. She wore a single white lily, with a sprig of greenery, to complement the coiffure.

The innocence of her, the freshness of hope and fun, set his blood coursing through his veins.
It was entirely possible that there was to be no cure for his condition after all.

Holly
was quickly engaged in conversation with Lord Upton, Lady Raike and Lady Louisa Somerville.

Try as he might, Strathavon
still did not understand the friendship between the two women. Holly, who had been brought up in the secluded and conservative village of Millforte, did not seem in the least to mind the scandalous connection.

In fact,
they appeared for all the world as though they were the dearest of friends and completely in each other’s confidences. No doubt, Lady Louisa was to blame for Holly’s recent transformation, he thought darkly.

Sylvester
watched her through several rounds of whist, and was disconcerted to see how easily Holly laughed and spoke with the other gentlemen and ladies of the company. Her involuntary smile lit up her face so much that it was almost like a second dawn.

What would it be like, he wondered, to raise children with such a woman? To fill the halls of Pontridge with her light until the wh
ole house glowed from within?

His playing was deplorable all night, and it was only
lucky that they were playing for trifles rather than fortunes. The duke could not seem to keep his attention on his cards.

“Ah, newlyweds,
” sighed Lord Upton, with a world-weary look at Strathavon, once they had given up their places to some new players. “I suppose I ought to have expected it. Take care not to gape too much, my boy, or you’ll forget to breathe.”

The duke fixed him with an
astonished stare – did the whole room think him some silly pup in love? Was foolish sentiment written so clearly upon his face?

Upton had the nerve to chuckle at him, evidently reading his mind. “Only to those who know how to read the signs, my boy,” he said
, reassuringly.

Fortunately, the card po
rtion of the evening drew to a close in favour of recitations. Bad poetry was just the thing to help Sylvester come back to his senses, he decided with relief.

*

The poetry came as a blessing to Holly also. Half-way through the evening, she had been singled-out by the newly-affianced Miss Carolyn Sanford on the grounds of having been recently married.

Miss Sanford
would speak of nothing but wedding trousseaus. Holly’s lack of interest in the subject did not seem to matter to the young lady at all, as she expounded at length on all the undeniable merits of a gown of
point d’Angleterre
made entirely of lace, which she meant to wear to church for her vows.

As soon as poetry was announced, Holly made
good her escape.

Chairs were brought in and arranged in
in the shape of a horse-shoe, with another chair placed at the front for the celebrated poets to present their works in comfort.

Holly wondered if the d
uke would sit next to her, since his eyes had been devouring her all evening, but instead he chose to sit on the side facing hers. She did her best to ignore her disappointment.

After everyone was seated and Lady Raike introduced the
upcoming entertainment, Verity volunteered to go first. She looked nervous, standing in front of the room with a little book which contained her compositions. She spoke with all the modest charm that must have earned her much praise from the elocution mistress when she had been at school.

Verity
read out a pretty poem, an
Ode to a Sunflower
, and then Sir John seemed to gather his daring enough to read a new poem about a bumbling knight, though his eyes kept straying up from his own notebook to Verity’s face.

The young lady appeared to be
listening to his latest offering very raptly, Holly noticed. When there was a break in the poetry, a story was called for instead.

“I believe,” said
the young Lord Ivison, “that it is Lady Strathavon’s turn to tell a tale. Or a poem, if she prefers – she has sat so quietly among us all night!”

This statement was met with
voiced approval, and a laugh from Holly.

Strathavon looked up from his conversation
with an elderly matron just in time to see her cheeks pink and a glowing smile grace her lovely face. He could not help but be charmed by the fact that she was never too high in the instep to show a true enjoyment of society.

“Oh, very well, Lord
Ivison – if I must,” she consented with jovial modesty. “Though I shan’t torment you with my sorry attempts at verses.
That
would be most unkind. A tale it shall be.”

“A tale of love, I hope!
” exclaimed Lord Hargreaves. “Sir John’s poem has given me a taste for chivalry, I find.”

Holly took the reciter’s chair, straightened
her skirts demurely, and shoot a mischievous smile at her audience as she did so.

“Alas, no, Lord Hargreaves. This is a tale of horror
most dire, as told to me and my siblings by my nurse, when she was especially put upon by all our rowdiness. I’m afraid I have never cared for the milk and water school of stories about love – flowery, over-written things.”

“I have heard that one should never tell dishonest stories to honest ladies,” drawled Lord Myles
Wooley indolently from his chair, fixing Holly with a look of challenge.

The company fell silent, waiting to see how the duchess
would respond.

“
In that case, Lord Myles, I wonder that you ever find the opportunity to speak,” said Holly, matching his challenging smirk with her own.

“
Hah! Very good, Lady Strathavon!” exclaimed Hargreaves. “’pon my word, you deserved that one, Wooley.”

Lord Myles rose to his feet and bowed, though he levelled
his eyes on Holly with unmistakable dislike, which she chose to ignore, turning to address her audience.

“Mine
is a story for the entertainment of young masters and misses, so naturally it must be very dreadful.”

With that, she began her gh
astly narrative. “In a little village, in a forgotten corner of Scotland, where the near-perpetual dark descends every winter…” It was a truly gruesome tale of a ghoul who prowled the night and stole the eyes of the wicked.

Much to her delight,
Holly’s story succeeded in unsettling even her more esoteric listeners. After the story was told, they exchanged looks and quietly posited that one couldn’t be certain whether there was a shred of truth in such tales.