"Yes, Your Grace. And as you may have surmised, that lady is yourself."
Mattie knew that she was blushing so furiously that the roots of her hair must have turned pink. Her heart was in turmoil. What could William mean by embarrassing her so?
"That is— that is very kind of his lordship to be so— so obliging to an old woman, but I am afraid— I — "
Mrs. Dempling chuckled louder. "My dear, how you do go on! Why don't you dance with the poor gentleman? I am certain I should if a gentleman half as handsome as this one made me such a pretty compliment."
"Oh, no— " Mattie felt trapped. Here was William, staring down at her with his twisted smile that made her heart go a-flutter, and these others looking on, who were certain to discover the truth about her feelings for him, if she were not extremely careful. "I do not think it would be proper in me to dance. At my age, one is only here to chaperon."
She had tried to make her voice sound firm, but apparently it did not, for she only drew another laugh.
"At your age? Well, if you do not wish to dance, my dear, then I should help to spare your blushes, but when I was your age, I could still perform a fair minuet." Mrs. Dempling patted her on the hand.
"But I am not well— "
"You are not? I am so sorry, dear, but there's such a pretty colour to your cheeks . . . . Perhaps, that is what fooled me."
"I perceive a generous ally in you, Mrs. Dempling." These were the first words William had uttered, and now he bowed to Mattie's companion. "I shall have to call upon you. Perhaps you can help me learn how to make my suit more persuasive."
She laughed indeed at that. "I doubt you stand in need of help, young man. I suspect you have a very persuasive way about you already. And your eyes have alighted upon the fairest damsel in the room, no matter that she is a widow."
"Precisely so."
At this point, Mr. King noticed that his services were needed elsewhere. "If I may be excused, Your Grace, Mrs. Dempling." He bowed and strolled away, leaving Mattie without a knight to turn to.
She had made the mistake of thinking Mrs. Dempling to be her friend; now she discovered her in the other camp.
"Perhaps, I should be going— " Mattie started to rise.
"Oh, I hope you will not," William said. "I was just about to ask you, since you seem so determined not to dance this evening, whether I might not fetch refreshments for you?"
The thought of sitting in a corner with William, and having him, perhaps, feed her each mouthful with his own fingers, made her weak at the knees. Her fears of society's displeasure had been so recently been vanquished, she was not ready to court it again.
"I am afraid I cannot," Mattie said, still fanning herself rapidly. "Dr. Falconer has put me on a rigid regime. I am to eat nothing but hard biscuits and calf's foot jelly for a week."
William's lips began to twitch. He moved closer to her, until their bodies just crossed, and said, soft and low, "Are you not afraid, Duchess, that a week of such a drastic diet will make you woefully weak? So weak, in fact, that you would find it hard . . . perhaps impossible . . . to resist any outrageous suggestion that might be made to you?"
This possibility had never occurred to Mattie, but with William so close . . . so warm and close, it occurred strongly to her now. She found it quite probable, in fact. "If I find myself growing that weak," she vowed, swallowing with difficulty and taking a big step backwards, "I will leave off with the diet directly."
"Ah. I see that you are resolved." William shook his head sadly. "Mrs. Dempling, do you see how resolute she is? She will neither dance with me, nor accept my offerings of refreshment. I hardly dare offer anything else, though I would heartily like to."
Mrs. Dempling tut-tutted. The traitress was enjoying this scene immensely. How dare William make fun of her like this!
"If you wish to do me a service, my lord," Mattie said almost tartly, "you might help me to find my daughter. She is with your brother."
"Gerald is having more luck than I? Is that what you are saying?" William gave a sigh. "It is most unkind of you, Duchess, to point this out to me. However, if what you truly wish is to find your daughter so you can depart, I will do all in my power to make it possible. Never let it be said that I denied you anything."
He turned to Mrs. Dempling to say good night. "While I am gone," he whispered loudly over her hand, "I trust you will do whatever you can to further my cause?"
She gave him her promise, and the two ladies watched him stroll in the direction of the card rooms.
"What a charming suitor, my dear!" Mrs. Dempling said, looking after him. "So amusing! And so handsome! I wonder you do not swoon to have him look at you like that."
"Lord Westbury is only teasing." Mattie strove to recover her lost composure. She must not meet William like this again, not in the evening. The Pump-room had been bad enough, but this was much worse. She had more trouble resisting him when all the candles were lit and the light flickered over his masculine features and dark hair, and she could imagine they were alone, just the two of them. In spite of the people standing about them, she had had the illusion momentarily of being lost in a wilderness with him, and her instinct had been to reach out and hold on tight.
"Teasing?" Mrs. Dempling's doubting voice penetrated her thoughts. "His looks were anything but teasing. But perhaps you have been away from society so long you do not recognize the signs. You may take my more experienced eye as witness. Lord Westbury looks like a man who knows what he wants."
Mattie's pulse began to race in her throat. She could not withhold an embarrassed smile. "Surely not. Such a thing would be most unusual."
"Why? Oh, you may be thinking of your age relative to his, but indeed, my dear, such things happen more often than you think. Why, dear Lord and Lady Holland were such a match."
Mattie's heart sank. "And as a result, I believe, neither one is received at Court."
Mrs. Dempling looked startled. "Oh, no, my dear. I am certain you are wrong. They are not received at Court, to be sure, but not because of her ladyship's age. No, it is rather due to her divorce."
And the resultant scandal, Mattie thought, though she said instead, "We have drifted far from the point, dear Mrs. Dempling. I am afraid you are exaggerating Lord Westbury's intent, and indeed, my interest in him. It is most improper for me to discuss him in this way."
She could see that her new friend looked disappointed and not a little disapproving, which made her even sadder. But nothing would be served by discussing her reservations in public. Better to let Mrs. Dempling think that she did not welcome William's attentions.
Mattie found it much easier to be firm when William was not around.
He must have thought he had done enough damage for one evening, for he sent Pamela and Gerald to her and did not come again himself. Gerald escorted them to the door with many promises about the morrow and helped them into their sedan-chairs. He insisted upon paying the fares in advance, saying that William had given him the money for them.
"He's such a dunderhead," Gerald said, "he thinks he somehow ran you off. But that's just foolish, isn't it, Your Grace?"
"Yes, of course it is," Mattie said, smiling as brightly as she could.
They bid Gerald good night. Mattie was grateful to have a chair to herself with the curtains drawn, so she could give in to her unhappiness without anyone's being the wiser.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning a box arrived just as Mattie sat down to breakfast.
"Who is it from?" Mattie asked, as Penworth, Lady Findlay's excellent butler, set it down beside her plate.
"There is a card attached, Your Grace." Searching for it, Penworth touched one gloved hand to his lips and, clearing his throat, added, "The parcel was brought 'round from the White Hart. The boy said to say, 'From an admirer.'"
"Ohhhh. . ." Recognizing William's bold hand in this, Mattie opened the box with trepidation. What could he be sending at this hour, and with such impertinence?
As soon as the seal was broken and the lid partially raised, a rich, sweet aroma escaped from the box, causing her to ask with delight, "Oh, what are they?"
"I believe," Penworth said, keeping his countenance admirably serious, "they are a local delicacy. Bath buns, Your Grace."
"Bath buns?" Mattie looked for the significance of William's gift, but it was difficult to think when faced with such a tempting smell. Melted sugar, a touch of spice. She touched one of the buns and its buttery icing stuck to her finger, which she then had to lick.
She closed her eyes and started to purr, the taste was so delicious. Then, remembering Penworth's rigid countenance, she hurriedly opened them again.
"Do you wish to read the card, Your Grace?" A muscle twitched in the corner of Penworth's mouth, but he bowed and extended it to her without breaking into a smile.
Just the thought of reading a missive from William caused Mattie's hand to shake. She took the envelope, wondering what audacious thing he would write.
She was not disappointed.
Mattie, my love,
You should put aside all
thoughts of hard biscuits and
feast on sweet buns with me.
Eternally yours,
William
As blood pumped rapidly to her throat, and a warm, pooling feeling spread through her, Mattie murmured to herself, "Oh, you wicked, evil man!"
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"
Startled to find Penworth still standing beside her chair, she jerked erect and told him, "Nothing," before dismissing him quickly, knowing very well he had heard what she'd said. William's gift had been sent to tempt her from her resolve, but if he persisted in embarrassing her in front of the servants, she would have to refuse further gifts.
The aroma from the buns had wafted from the box and filled the room. Mattie put her head back, closed her eyes, and for a long moment, allowed herself to be seduced by the images it aroused— dining with William, breakfasting with William. She could almost see him in a brocaded dressing gown, perhaps with a touch of black stubble on his chin from rising late . . . .
Pamela found her still dreaming when she bounced into the room, fresh and sunny-faced. Mattie sat back up with a start.
"Something smells good," Pamela said, coming down the length of the table to see what it was. "Oh, capital!" She reached for one. "Where'd you get those?"
Mattie watched her lick the sugar from her fingers and she sighed with longing. "Lord Westbury sent them around." It would not hurt to tell Pamela the truth this time, for she was used to William's kindnesses. But Mattie hid his note, and as soon as Pamela moved to the sideboard, she tucked it into the lace at her bosom.
The paper tickled her and made it hard to think.
I must not give into those buns, she thought. Instantly, she rang the bell and, when Penworth came, ordered a plate of hard biscuits and a cup of vinegar.
"A cup of vinegar, Your Grace?" Penworth acted as if he doubted his own hearing.
"Yes, vinegar. It is what my physician prescribed for me." This was not quite true. Dr. Falconer had said nothing about vinegar, but Mattie was sure he would concur with her antidote to William's sweetness.
"Are you feeling quite all right, Mattie?" Pamela had watched this interchange with concern.
"Yes, dear, you mustn't worry. I simply feel in the need of a— a sort of purging." When her vinegar arrived, Mattie tried to drink it, but could do no more than dip her biscuits lightly in it.
"Going to the Pump-room this morning?"
Mattie started to say yes, before she remembered that William would be there. She did not think she could face him without either weakening and giving in or becoming flustered and running away. "I think not today," she said.
"Are you certain everything is all right?" From Pamela, who thought the Pump-room very dull, this was an extraordinary show of concern.
"Yes, of course, dear." Mattie took pains to appear normal. "It is only that I wish to stay home to receive visitors today."
Ever since their names had appeared in The Bath Chronicle under the announcements of new arrivals, a steady stream of cards had been left by members of Bath society. Encouraged by the warm reception she had been given, Mattie thought she might enjoy having visitors. It was becoming apparent that being a duchess gave her an instant acceptance with those who liked to brag of their connections. More sincere friends would surely follow these. She had only to stay at home, and the problem with William would resolve itself.
Her excuse satisfied Pamela, who immediately after breakfast went upstairs to change into her riding habit. She and Gerald were to ride to Lansdown Hill to see its monument dedicated to the king's forces who had defeated the Parliamentarians there. Mattie had no objection to this outing. But with her new awareness of Pamela's feelings about Gerald, she had insisted that Lady Findlay's groom ride with them. The ease with which Pamela accepted this restriction told Mattie she had nothing to worry about.
Later, however, when Gerald arrived, it was hard to watch them mount their horses, knowing they would be gone for the better part of the day. Feeling lonely already, Mattie could not help but recall her pleasure in the outings she and William had shared with them.
When the groom led up the mount Gerald had brought for Pamela to ride, Mattie recognized it at once as William's own. "Is that not your brother's horse?" she asked.
"Yes, Your Grace." Gerald glanced at her before reddening and turning away. "You needn't think that Pam— Lady Pam, that is— cannot ride him. Believe me, Will would never have lent him to anyone else, but he says Lady Pam is the bruisingest rider he's ever seen, for a lady, that is. Anyway, we sort of— That is, Will had the idea that we ought to bring him just in case Lady Pam hadn't brought any horses of her own."