The Duke (16 page)

Felicity said not another word. She followed Ian through the great old hall, eyeing those rusted suits of armor with some disbelief. She followed him finally into the drawing room. She said nothing until she allowed the duke to seat her in a faded old chair that was, she thought, a relic worthy of a servant's room.

“There, now we're all settled.”

“We are?” Felicity said, then shut her mouth because Ian wasn't even looking at her. He was saying to Giles, “Now tell me, whatever are you doing here in Scotland? Surely such a journey has been very uncomfortable for Felicity. Good God, it's a six-day trip.”

“Your betrothed missed you sadly, cousin,” Giles
said, and only Ian saw him roll his eyes heavenward. “Yes, very sadly. You know what I mean, surely. Well, perhaps you don't, but you will soon enough. I've enjoyed a rare treat for the past week. Soon it will be your turn. For the remainder of your days.”

“I have been gone from London longer than I had originally anticipated,” the duke said, waving away his words. He knew all the while that he could count on his left hand the number of times he'd even thought of London. “There has been much to occupy my attention. Bertrand and I have been to the Cheviot to purchase sheep, and, of course, there have been several trips to visit the various mills, you know.” He ground to a halt, seeing that Felicity was staring at him in utter horror.

“What did you say, Ian? Cheviot sheep?”

“Good God, Ian, what a bore. My condolences, poor fellow. You see, dear Felicity, I was right in assuring you that Ian had not forgotten his obligations, that he just placed them elsewhere for the time being. What do you think of Cheviot sheep, my dear?”

L
ady Felicity went rigid with anger. “You don't mean to tell me that you, a duke and a peer of the realm, have been playing at being a shepherd? You've actually bought sheep? Visited tradesmen? Toured mills?”

“Yes, certainly, and none of it was boring in the least,” Ian said coolly. “You see, it's my intention to make Penderleigh self-sufficient. All the raw materials are here in abundance, all the labor we need, everything. All that was needed was capital.”

“Indeed, I have to agree that there are certainly
raw
materials in abundance here,” Felicity said sharply. She felt tired, dirty, totally put upon and frankly wished she could tell the duke what she thought of his absurd activities. Then she saw the duke's eyes narrow briefly in what she recognized as his autocratic, stubborn look, and quickly retrenched. God, she hated that look. Ah, but once they were wed, she'd see all those dreadful traits of his overcome. She'd smash them. She'd grind them beneath her slipper.

But now she had to soften her words, though it galled her to do so. “What I mean to say, my dear, is that I have missed you sorely and begrudge all the
time you have spent away from me. Am I not allowed to miss the man I will marry?”

She was rewarded for her pretty speech with a smile. Ian didn't even hesitate. He said, “It's been difficult for me also, Felicity.” He said nothing more. He wasn't stupid. He didn't want to dig a hole so deep he wouldn't be able to climb out of it.

Giles cleared his throat, then coughed ever so gently behind his hand. Ian turned to see Lady Adella walk in a most stately manner into the drawing room.

He rose quickly to his feet. “Lady Adella, I would like you to meet my cousin, Mr. Giles Braidston, and my betrothed, Lady Felicity Trammerley. They've come to pay us a visit.”

Lady Adella gazed upon the dashing Giles and instantly liked what she saw. Now, this was a true gentleman. No grubbing about an estate for this one. She took in every elegant line of Lady Felicity's apparel and her well-bred countenance, and decided that Brandy could well learn style from living in the same house as this girl.

She nodded welcome down her long nose and allowed Giles to kiss her veined hand. “Most charmed, my lady,” he said at his smoothest, which was very smooth indeed.

As she sailed past Lady Felicity, the girl gave her a tight-lipped smile. What a ridiculous old relic, Felicity was thinking, lowering her eyes. That black gown was at least thirty years out of style, and the way she was wearing her hair. The abundant sausage curls made her look like she was wearing a wig that was very old and not well styled. Her fingers itched to pull on those sausages and see if it was a wig.

“So when do ye wed Ian?” Lady Adella asked Felicity without preamble.

“In August. At St. George's in Hanover Square.”

“Ah. All hoity-toity. I approve. I'll allow ye some
time for yer wedding trip afore I send Brandy to ye. How about October, Ian? Ye'll be back from yer wedding trip by then and ready to receive Brandy?”

Felicity's mouth fell open. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She just stared at her betrothed, wanting to scream at him. The duke at this particular moment appeared to find his cravat rather snug. Finally, Ian said, “Actually, Lady Adella, since Felicity has just arrived, I haven't yet had time to discuss the matter with her.”

Giles said softly, “I can't imagine why in the world not, Ian. Felicity has been here for the better part of fifteen minutes, and has, old boy, made Brandy's acquaintance. Why the delay? It does give one cause to wonder.”

Ian ignored Giles and rose. “Lady Adella, which bedchamber may Miss Trammerley use? She is fatigued from the journey and should rest before dinner.”

Lady Adella nodded and bellowed, “Crabbe! Get yer stiff bones in here, ye old sot. We've guests and there's work for ye to see to.”

Felicity shuddered. Her nostrils flared, a habit Ian had admired before but now he didn't like it a bit. She felt contempt for Lady Adella, for Penderleigh, and she was taking no pains to hide it.

“Aye, my lady?” Crabbe looked inquiringly at his mistress—ah, but he wanted to look at that glorious female creature who looked to be suffering the pain of the damned. As for the gentleman, he was a fop, along Master Percy's line, but perhaps more depth to him. Time would tell. Who were these people? Friends of the duke's, doubtless. They looked all stiff in the lip.

“Have Marta prepare two bedchambers—mind ye, not Morag. We don't want our guests to wake up itching from that licy old trollop. Wait, Ian, put Lady
Felicity in that lovely blue room just down the hall from yer master bedchamber. It'll suit her just fine. Crabbe, you pick a bedchamber for our pretty gentleman here, something gay, something to keep his spirits lifted.”

Ian swallowed a smile, nodded to Crabbe, and offered Felicity his arm. “Crabbe will see to you, Giles,” he said over his shoulder as he escorted his betrothed from the drawing room.

Ian led a very silent Felicity to a guest chamber of an indeterminate shade of blue, down the corridor from his own bedchamber. Upon his initial inspection of all the rooms some time ago, he had thought the room rather plain in its furnishings, but not inferior. The paint wasn't peeling off the walls. It did look old and worn and there was charm, surely there was charm in that quaint old window seat, even more charm in that ancient armoire with its brass handles. He quickly told himself he'd been blind. He now saw it through Felicity's eyes. It wasn't a pretty sight. It was old and threadbare and shabby.

He chose to ignore her sharp intake of breath and asked, “Would you like a bath, my dear?” It immediately occurred to him that he must ensure that she was not beset by either Wee Albie or the leaking wooden tub.

She nodded, tight-lipped. “That would be fine, Ian. It has indeed been a long trip and quite fatiguing.” She added smoothly, “You mustn't worry about the proprieties, my dear duke, for my abigail was with me.”

“I wish you'd written me of your intent to come here. How many servants did you bring?”

“Only Maria and Pelham, Giles's valet. Surely there is room in this beastly castle for them.”

“Certainly,” he said, and that word came out a sharp snap. He pulled out his watch and consulted it.
“Dinner is served at six o'clock, my dear. The family meets in the drawing room shortly before that time.”

“That's much too early, Ian. Why, at home we don't dine until eight. Surely—”

“You're not at home. You're in Scotland. You're at Penderleigh. Lady Adella has been the mistress here for more years than your mother has been on this earth. This is what she wishes. Thus, this is what is done. Now, I will see to your bath.” He turned to leave, looking toward the door with great fondness.

“Ian, whatever did that wretched old woman mean about Brandy coming to London? Surely you don't intend for me to take that dowdy child about in
English
society?”

“Brandy is not a child. She will be nineteen in the fall. As to her appearance, why, she spends a great deal of time out of doors. She loves to fish and to swim and to be in her boat.”

“You expect me to turn that one into a lady?”

She was incredulous. Ian wanted to shake her. His voice was as cold as his father's used to be when he was angered. “She is already a lady, Felicity. Contrive to remember that she's an earl's granddaughter. As to her appearance, I daresay that a proper wardrobe will solve that problem.”

“I suppose that I shall have to watch her boating about in the Thames, or perhaps she can go to Astley's Circus and ride on the backs of those show horses.”

“I have said all that is important,” he said, and he knew he sounded cold as a fish on ice. “Now, if you're finally through criticizing everything and everyone, I will have your bath fetched.”

Felicity raged silently until he was out of her bedchamber. Then she smashed her fist against the counterpane on the bed. A cloud of dust rose up. She sneezed. Dear God, what kind of horrible place was this? She paced the length of the bedchamber. How
dare he dismiss her feelings? How dare he treat her as one of no importance at all? She tore off the stylish bonnet set atop her black curls and hurled it into a faded brocade chair. She paced the length of the dismal little room again and again until her anger calmed. There was not, after all, any reason for her to be so upset. What did it matter that the duke was being particularly obnoxious? She could deal with him. She would pretend and cajole and he would smile and she would win. Oh, yes, she would win in the end.

Ah, but what to do about that utterly disgusting girl? Nearly nineteen, was she? Well, she didn't look it, thank God.

After the duke had asked Crabbe for Felicity's bath water, he made his way back downstairs to the drawing room. He drew up at the open doorway to see Giles sitting close to Lady Adella. That lady, it appeared to him, was captivated by his cousin. He heard Lady Adella give a creak of delighted laughter. “Aye, indeed, my boy, old Charles had quite a reputation in those days. Ye'll not believe what he did to the minister's wife. What was her name? Oh, aye, it was Clorinda. That's it. Clorinda, and he stripped her to her naked hide right in the stable and pinned her next to her mare. Everyone spoke of it. She came away with straw in some very uncomfortable places. Aye, old Charles was an out-and-out rotter. A fine piece of man he was.” She cackled just like Claude. So that was where Claude had gotten that irritating habit of his.

Ian walked forward. “You must excuse me, Lady Adella, but I must take Giles upstairs. Else he will never achieve his exquisite appearance by dinnertime.”

She gave a grunt of disappointment. “Very well, lad, if ye must. We've plenty of time, I suppose.” She waved a bony hand toward Giles. “Sharpen yer wits,
my boy. It's fifty years worth of gossip I'll want from ye. Ah, to have ye here is gratifying.”

“I shall do my pitiful best, my lady, to gratify you completely,” Giles said in that smooth voice of his that always held just a hint of laughter, and followed Ian from the room.

“Fancy that,” Giles said as they climbed the stairs. “She knew old Lord Covenporth. Killed himself with womanizing and drink, you know. His grandson, Aldous, is treading much the same path, I fear. He'll run out of his pleasures soon enough, for Coven Manor is heavily mortgaged and the better part of it is entailed. Ah, well, up until a year ago he was quite a good sport. Now he whines even though his misfortunes are his own fault.”

The duke grunted, wondering to himself why Giles seemed to prefer such a set of rakehell men.

Giles drew to a halt at the top of the landing to look back down at the old hall. “Dear me, Ian, what an outlandish place, to be sure. There isn't much here to remind one of Carmichael Hall, is there?”

Ian thought of his huge, sprawling estate in Suffolk, with its forty bedrooms and indecently large ballroom, and shook his head. “I should have to say, perhaps, that Penderleigh is more quaint. It's alive with history and tradition, Giles, and I think even you will admit that the view toward the sea is breathtaking. Certainly there is none of the filth and smut of London here, none of the cutthroats, none of the gaming hells, none of the excesses that fill everyone's craw.”

Giles cocked an incredulous brow but said only, “I'm certain you are right in your opinion. Well, I'm not really certain at all, but it's what you want to see, thus that's what it is. You're the duke, after all, and everything should order itself up to your wishes.”

“You're fuller of nonsense than Morag is of lice. Or maybe it's ticks. I'm not certain.”

“Oh, God, that's a hideous thought. Ticks? Lice? Please, Ian, I'll do anything you wish, just keep that woman away from me.”

The duke laughed. As Ian shepherded Giles to his bedchamber, in the opposite direction from his own, he asked, “Now, Giles, just what the devil do you mean by escorting Felicity here? You know I wanted her to remain in London. This is no place for her. She doesn't like it, and I don't imagine that she will ever come to like it. Why, damn you? Why?”

“Don't blame me, Ian, I beg of you. It was your damned letter that quite set her mind to it. Actually, I had little choice in the matter. You told me to be her escort. What the hell was I to do?”

“My what?”

Giles shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing about his mouth. “Your letter, Ian. Lord, never have I seen you set so many glowing words on paper. That chit Brandy found herself the subject of much too many sentences. Jealousy fairly dripped from dear Felicity's lovely eyes. Indeed”—he paused, casting a warning look at his cousin—“were I you, Ian, I would think twice, even three or four times, about leg-shackling myself to such a termagant. She isn't what you think she is, Ian.”

“I trust, Giles, that you didn't encourage Felicity in such an outrageous opinion. You, of all people, should know that I would never turn my back on my obligations. As for Brandy, I am the girl's guardian, and as such I intend to do what is best for her. When she comes to London, Felicity will treat her with kindness. She will do all that is suitable. There is nothing more to be said.”