Stolen Encounters With The Duchess

Chapter Four

On Friday night, Davie arrived early at Lord Witlow’s town house, already so energised at the idea of seeing Faith again, he’d been more or less worthless in committee that afternoon. Once or twice he’d seen Giles send an appraising look in his direction, from which he’d turned away without acknowledgement. But, arriving as far in advance of the appointed hour, he knew that sooner or later his hostess’s husband was going to take him to task.

Lord Witlow’s butler showed him to the Blue Drawing Room, remarking with a touch of reproach as he directed him to the wine decanter on the sideboard, that, it being so far in advance of the hour for dinner, the host and hostess had not yet come down. Chuckling at that veiled set-down about his poor manners, Davie began pacing the handsome chamber, trying to dispel some of his nervous excitement and anticipation.

As luck would have it, the first to join him in the drawing room was Giles. The look of enquiry on his friend’s face told him that he was about to be taken to task for his renewed interest in ‘the Unattainable’.

Considering that he’d volunteered a few judicious words of caution to his mostly unappreciative friend when Giles was first pursuing Maggie, he figured it was only fair that he suffer Giles’s comments with good grace. Particularly as he knew whatever Giles might say would stem from a genuine concern for his welfare.

‘So, Maggie tells me that you asked her to invite the Duchess of Ashedon to our little gathering?’ Giles asked, confirming Davie’s expectations.

‘Yes. I ran into her unexpectedly a week or so ago. She still...hasn’t found her feet since the death of her husband, and seemed very low. Years ago, when we first met, she had a lively interest in politics. I thought attending this evening would help draw her out of grief, and let her focus on something other than her own cares for an evening.’

‘From what Maggie tells me about the character of the late Duke, I doubt the Duchess is experiencing very much grief.’

‘More like regret for what might have been, probably,’ Davie admitted, advancing to the wine decanter on the sideboard. ‘I understand the Duke...frequently availed himself of the company of other women, particularly after the Duchess had borne him several sons to secure the succession.’ Choosing two glasses, he poured them each some wine.

‘Now that I’ve reconciled with my father and been more or less forced to attend ton gatherings, I’ve had to listen to a lot of gossipy rubbish,’ Giles said, accepting the glass from Davie. ‘One bit, from that fribble Darrow, said the late Duke met his demise while attempting to...copulate with his current doxy while racing his high-perch phaeton. A drunken wager, apparently.’

Shocked, Davie froze, the wine glass halfway to his lips. ‘The devil he did!’ he exclaimed a moment later. Faith told him she’d never enjoyed the attention paid to a duchess. Especially as Ashedon and his women provided so much scandal for society to watch my reaction to. How embarrassing and degrading it must have been to face down that bit of salacious gossip! ‘I hadn’t heard. Poor F—poor Duchess.’

‘Not much to lament about the passing of such a man,’ Giles said acerbically.

‘I don’t believe he ever truly cared for her,’ Davie said, trying to mask the anger that fact always aroused in him. To have been able to claim the beauty and innocence and joy that was Faith, and not appreciate it, was stupidity of such colossal proportions he could never forgive it.

Why couldn’t that gift have been tendered to a man who would have treasured it? Not him, of course—it could never have been him—but surely there was some man of suitable birth and station who could have loved her and made her happy.

At least now she was free of the husband who hadn’t. He squelched the little flare of excitement that resonated through him. Free, maybe, but not for you.

Ah, but a man could dream, couldn’t he?

He surfaced from that thought to find Giles frowning at him. ‘Maggie told me two days ago that you’d asked her to invite the Duchess tonight, so I made sure Ben and Christopher were occupied elsewhere. You ought to tell them, before they find out from some other source, that you’re...involving yourself in her life again. I’ll make sure they don’t harass you about it. But...be careful, Davie. Don’t let yourself hope too much from this.’

‘I’m not!’ he assured Giles—and maybe himself? ‘If I can help her break free from the unhappiness of her life with Ashedon that will be enough.’

‘Will it?’ Giles asked, giving him a penetrating glance. ‘I’m not sure how much she can “free” herself from that life. Don’t forget, Davie, she’s a rich widow, her oldest son now the Duke, her minor children protected by a trust. Her family may well have further plans for her.’

A fierce protectiveness rose in him as the austere, disapproving face of the Dowager surfaced in his mind. ‘As long as she has a say in making those plans, rather than have them imposed on her.’

‘As long as you remember it’s not your place to determine that.’

‘I just want to stand her friend. She has few enough of them.’

‘Well, here comes one who should be.’

Davie looked over as a tall, well-dressed gentleman entered the parlour. ‘Englemere,’ Giles said, walking over to shake the Marquess’s hand. ‘Good to see you. Perhaps tonight we can make some progress on hammering out that coalition.’

‘I hope so,’ the Marquess replied. ‘If your lovely wife has anything to do with it, there will certainly be a lively discussion. Good evening, Mr Smith. You’ll add your voice of reason to that debate, I’m sure.’

‘Always,’ Davie answered, reaching out to shake the hand the Marquess offered. He owed a great deal to Englemere, the best friend of his sponsor, Sir Edward Greaves, and one of his backers for his Parliamentary seat, and respected him even more. Did the Marquess know his sister-in-law was going to be present this evening? he wondered.

Almost before he’d completed the thought, the lady in question appeared at the doorway as the butler intoned, ‘The Duchess of Ashedon.’

For a moment, everything in Davie’s world halted while he took in the loveliness that was Faith. Her gown, a lavender confection of lace and silk, hugged her tiny waist and moulded itself over her rounded bosom in a way his hands itched to trace. Her golden hair, pinned up in an elaborate arrangement of curls, made him yearn to rake his fingers through it, freeing the heavy mass to cascade around her shoulders, as it had when she was a girl. She wore only simple diamond drops in her ears, the soft expanse of bared skin and shoulders rising above the bodice of her gown her only other adornment.

She married the look of the angel she’d always been with the allure of a siren. Davie wasn’t sure which was more powerful—the ache of his love for her, or the burn of desire.

While he simply watched her, spellbound, Englemere answered his question as he paced forward to take her hand. ‘Faith! What a delightful surprise! I didn’t know you would be here tonight. How are you? It’s been far too long.’

He took her hands, and Faith leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. ‘Lady Lyndlington was kind enough to invite me. I didn’t know you’d be here either, Nicky. How lovely to see you! How is Sarah?’

‘Still carefully nursing Elizabeth, our youngest, who was very ill with a congestion of the lungs last winter. Gave me quite a scare, I have to admit. With Lizzie so slow to regain her strength, I wanted her out of the noise and smoke of the city, so I’ve taken a house near Highgate Village, with a large garden for her to walk in and fresh country air to breathe. If you have time, I know Sarah would love to have you call.’

‘Fresh country air? How Sarah must love that, and...and I would, too. I will try to visit her, Nicky.’ She raised her chin, almost defiantly, Davie thought. ‘We’ve grown apart, and I’d like to rectify that.’

‘As would we,’ Englemere said, giving her hands a squeeze before releasing them. ‘But I mustn’t monopolise you. You know Lyndlington? And Mr Smith, of course.’

‘My lord,’ she said, making a curtsy first to Giles, then to him.

‘Duchess,’ he said, taking the hand she offered. Savouring the contact, he retained her fingers for as long as he could without exciting comment before forcing himself to release them. To his delight, she gave his hand a brief squeeze as he let hers go.

‘Who else can I expect to see tonight, my lord?’ she asked Giles.

‘Elder statesman and your host’s political sponsor, Lord Coopley, whom I’m sure you know. Lord Howlett, another member of Witlow’s Tory coalition in the Lords. Two of my Reform MP colleagues, Richard Rowleton and John Percy.’

‘I’m acquainted with all of them,’ she said, her apprehensive smile steadying. ‘Particularly Lord Coopley. He used to take Ashedon to task about his behaviour, which annoyed my husband exceedingly.’

Bravo for the baron, Davie thought. Counting on his age, lineage and position to protect him from retribution for criticising a gentleman of higher rank? Or too principled and courageous to care?

Laughing, Englemere said, ‘I’m sure it did, though I wager Ashedon didn’t choose to respond. Coopley has never shrunk from calling a spade a spade, and he’s too intelligent—and belligerent—for most men to willingly argue with him.’

‘As I’ve experienced on several occasions, when promoting ideas he does not favour,’ Giles inserted wryly. ‘But you mustn’t worry, Duchess. Lady Lyndlington has you seated beside her father, and near Mr Smith, so you’ll have a dinner partner you know well to chat with.’

‘And to assist me, I hope!’ Faith replied, darting a look at Davie, to which he returned an encouraging nod.

‘I doubt you’ll need any assistance, but Mr Smith will certainly provide it, if necessary,’ Giles said. Then his eyes lighting, he said, ‘Here’s my wife and her father! Excuse me, please.’

Davie watched Faith, who was watching the alacrity with which Giles hurried to meet his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek and murmuring a few words that made her blush. Sadness washed over her face, and he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

‘They look very close,’ she said. ‘How wonderful for them.’

‘They’re all April and May, like two young lovers. Ben, Christopher and I heckle Giles all the time about it.’

Just then, the butler announced the arrival of the other guests Giles had mentioned. Spotting her, Lord Coopley walked over to Faith.

‘How kind of you, Maggie, to invite another beauty for an old man to talk with!’ he exclaimed, making Faith a courtly bow.

‘You are very kind, my lord,’ Faith replied. ‘But I intend to do more listening than talking.’

‘Nonsense, say whatever you like—I know it will be clever!’ As Giles and Davie exchanged startled looks—both well aware how merciless the baron often was to inexperienced souls who dared venture opinions about the political topics that obsessed him—the old gentleman added, ‘Always enjoyed chatting with you, my girl. Talked about books and horses and hunting. Right fancied you for my eldest, before Ashedon swept you away. Would have made you happier.’

As a blush of embarrassment tinted Faith’s cheeks at that too-frank assessment, Lady Lyndlington inserted smoothly, ‘Since we all know each other so well, we can dispense with formal introductions. Shall we proceed to table? Lord Coopley, will you escort me in, before I succumb to jealousy over your attentions to the Duchess?’

Chuckling, the older man clasped the arm she extended. ‘Of course, Maggie! You know you’ll always be first in my heart. The daughter I never had, much as both your papa and I might have wished you’d been a son who could have carried on our work in the Lords.’

‘Oh, but I provided you a magnificent husband to take that place,’ she teased.

Since as the leader of Reform, Giles was the man to whom the baron was most often opposed, her remark earned a laugh from the entire assembly.

‘Minx,’ Coopley reproved, wagging a finger at her. ‘If I thought he could be seduced into it, I’d send him off in a horse cart with a doxy.’

‘No chance of that,’ Lady Lyndlington flashed back. ‘If I thought he could be seduced into it, I’d murder him first.’

Davie watched Faith anxiously, but rather than causing her additional distress, the light-hearted remarks touching on her late husband’s ignominious demise drew the group’s attention away from her, giving her a chance to recover her composure. Before he could add a quick word of encouragement, Lord Witlow walked over to claim her arm.

‘I’m so pleased you joined us this evening, Duchess,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘My daughter tells me you are quite interested in the work we’re now doing in Parliament, so I trust we won’t bore you this evening.’

‘Oh, no, my lord! I’m sure I will be informed and—’ she shot Davie a mischievous glance ‘—stimulated.’

At her words, the arousal he’d been trying to ignore hardened further. Devil’s teeth, but he needed to master the always simmering, ever-increasing desire her nearness evoked! Concentrate on making sure she feels comfortable and included, he instructed himself.

‘I hope so,’ the Marquess said as he led Faith into the dining room. ‘My Maggie lives and breathes politics, but she’s never had a female friend who shared that passion. She’s thrilled to find that you have an interest. You must come visit us more often—even if, as I expect, your association with Mr Smith would have you favouring the Reform agenda. With my daughter now married to a reformer, I shall be beset on all sides!’

‘Mr Smith and I used to debate politics, but that was many years ago. As you know, the late Duke was not politically inclined, so I know much too little about the bill under consideration to “beset” anyone with my opinions,’ Faith said as her host seated her.

‘You’ve come to the right dinner party, then,’ Lord Coopley remarked from his end of the table. ‘With these rum customers present—’ he gestured to Giles and the Reform MPs ‘—you’ll hear every point of view, worthless as some may be.’

‘I trust, my lord,’ Giles said, taking a seat adjacent to Coopley, ‘we shall eventually hammer out a compromise even you can agree with.’

‘Are they always at loggerheads?’ Faith murmured over her shoulder to Davie, who had followed her in protectively and halted beside her chair.

‘Always, though now that Giles has married his friend Witlow’s daughter, Coopley isn’t quite so brutal,’ Davie replied softly. ‘Giles used to feel lucky to return to our rooms with his skin intact.’

‘I know so little about the discussion tonight,’ she said, once again sounding apprehensive. Impulsively, she reached out to touch his hand. ‘You will help me, so I don’t make a complete fool of myself?’

Davie’s toes curled in his shoes as he resisted the to desire to link his fingers with hers. ‘You could never do that. But if you get confused, send me a look. I’ll insert some explanation. Don’t worry—you’ll be fine.’

She gave him a tremulous smile. ‘Thank you, Davie. You’re always so kind.’

Though, as the highest-ranking woman present, Faith was seated as was proper beside their host, Davie was surprised to find their hostess had indeed fudged protocol by placing a commoner adjacent to her, rather than further down the table. As he looked at Maggie with a lift of his brows, she smiled and said, ‘As a Member of Parliament, you should rank with the others. And besides, isn’t the ranking of men based on their talents, not their birth, a tenet of your beliefs?’

‘Humph.’ Coopley sniffed. ‘An excuse to give any upstart with a glib tongue the power to agitate the rabble! Though in fairness, I must grudgingly agree that Mr Smith possesses considerable talent.’

‘Far more than some men of exalted rank,’ Giles observed.

Coopley gave a bark of laughter. ‘Far more than the one we mentioned earlier tonight, that’s for certain! No matter, we’ll tend you now, girl,’ he said, turning to Faith. ‘Only sorry I don’t have any unmarried sons to send courting.’

Much as he’d wanted her to have a husband who appreciated her, Davie felt an immediate stab of protest at the idea of Faith marrying again. Please Heaven, not yet. Not until...what future could he possibly envision?

‘I don’t need that sort of “tending”,’ Faith was replying, the blush returning to her cheek. ‘I’m not even out of mourning yet.’

‘Not much to mourn for,’ the irrepressible baron declared. ‘Ah, here’s the first course. Always know there will be fine food on your table, my dear!’ he said to his hostess. ‘Need to fortify myself before the hard bargaining starts.’

For a time, as the various courses came and went, conversation was general. Davie ate little and talked less, his attention focused on Faith. Urged on by their skilful host, she was induced to talk about her sons, a topic about which she soon became animated, describing them and asking the Marquess’s advice about their upbringing.

‘I would certainly recommend getting them into the country more,’ Lord Witlow replied to her question. ‘Never too young for the little Duke to start learning about his land and tenants. Though I regret he never developed an interest in politics, I’m proud of the work my son Esterbrook has done on our estate, which he began running when he was still a boy. Besides his duty to Parliament, there’s nothing more important than a landlord’s care of his land.’

‘I would like to get Edward to Ashedon Court more often, but now that the Dowager has moved back with us, it’s no easier than when her son was living. Both much prefer staying in town.’

‘Take them on your own, then,’ the Marquess advised. ‘They no longer have a father whose permission you must secure, and I imagine the trustees will approve any decisions you make about their care that seem reasonable.’

‘I really may?’ Faith asked, her eyes lighting. ‘I would love that! Although we visited so seldom, I know almost as little about Ashedon Court as my sons.’

‘Time to learn more,’ Witlow said.

‘Might have a care, though,’ Coopley added from his end of the table. ‘It’s a hotbed of radicals, from Liverpool and Manchester, out into Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire.’

‘Is that a problem?’ Faith asked.

‘Those are the cities and the areas that currently have no, or limited, representation in Parliament,’ Davie explained. ‘Over the years, there have been demonstrations and protests.’

‘Riots and destruction of property, more like,’ Coopley countered. ‘Depending on how close Ashedon Court is to the disturbances, I could see why your late husband might not have wanted to install his family there. Though proximity to his London doxies rather than his family’s safety is more likely the reason for his remaining in town,’ he added, mirroring thoughts Davie wouldn’t have been tactless enough to voice.

Apparently armoured now against the baron’s bluntness, Faith barely blushed. ‘Mr Smith told me the new industrial cities of the north, having not existed when Parliamentary districts were drawn up in medieval times, were among those most vocal in calling for revamping the way Members are chosen. There were also towns and districts from that old assessment who now have very little population, yet retain their representatives, aren’t there?’

‘Exactly,’ Rowleton, one of the Reform MPs, said. ‘For instance, Dunwich has thirty-two voters, Camelford twenty-five, Gatton seven, yet each of these send two representatives to Parliament. While Liverpool and Manchester, with thousands of souls, send none! It’s a travesty we must address, and the Reform Bill does.’

‘Perhaps, but you would take away votes from some districts that have always had them,’ the Tory, Lord Howlett, said. ‘That’s not just, either.’

Normally, Davie would have launched into the discussion himself, but tonight, he was much more interested in watching Faith, her eyes sparkling, her lips curving into a smile as she followed the banter and debating points being scored up and down the table.

* * *

All too soon for his liking, the meal ended, brandy was brought in, and Lady Lyndlington rose. ‘Before anyone comes to fisticuffs, we ladies shall leave you gentlemen to sort out the details. Duchess?’

‘A fascinating discussion, which I am so pleased you allowed me to witness,’ Faith said. ‘I can now claim to be much more knowledgeable about the great work going forward.’

‘Yes, and you can warn those drawing-room idlers like your late husband that they need to get their lazy arses to the Lords,’ Coopley added. ‘Find out what is going on, with the most important decisions to be made in four hundred years about to voted on! A crusty old curmudgeon like me couldn’t persuade them half so easily as a lovely and eloquent lass.’

‘I appreciate your confidence, my lord,’ Faith said. ‘I shall certainly do my possible to encourage every peer to attend.’

At Lord Coopley’s endorsement, Davie could almost see Faith’s self-confidence grow. More appreciative of the crotchety old gentleman than he’d ever been previously, Davie felt as proud as an anxious tutor whose student has just passed a difficult exam. How right he’d been to encourage Faith to attend this gathering!

How sad he was that the ladies were about to withdraw, ending this special evening with her. But there was no way he could leave now and escort her home without arousing a great deal of unwanted speculation.

‘Will you stay for tea, Duchess?’ their hostess was asking as Faith walked over to meet her.

‘No, I should return to my boys.’

‘Then I shall retire as well. Shall I have Rains summon your carriage?’

‘He could have a footman find me a hackney. The Dowager was using the carriage tonight.’

‘Ah, I see. I’ll have him get your wrap. Mr Smith, would you be kind enough to keep the Duchess company until her hackney arrives? I’m sure these gentlemen could spare you for a few minutes.’

Davie’s gaze shot to his hostess, who gave him a quick wink. ‘I’d be honoured. Duchess?’ He offered Faith his arm, stifling the sigh of delight that nearly hissed through his teeth when she laid her hand on it.

As he led Faith out behind their hostess, Giles gave him a concerned look, Coopley a questioning one. After the courtesy of farewells, however, the other gentlemen ignored them, becoming consumed once again by their debate.

* * *

‘Thank you, Maggie,’ he whispered to his hostess a short time later, while the butler was assisting Faith into her evening cloak. ‘For dinner, and this.’

She nodded, but her look was speculating and her eyes were sad. ‘Just remember your promise. Friendship only.’

‘Friendship,’ he repeated, even as his traitorous body stirred and hardened. Memories of holding her flashed through his head—the softness of her body against his, her golden hair under his cheek—and sent desire spiralling.

The butler exited to order the hackney, Faith walked back to them, and their hostess turned to her. ‘I’m so pleased you enjoyed the evening, Duchess. I hope you will join us for many more—and call here often. There is work we can do together!’

‘I would like that very much. But you must call me Faith, then.’

‘I would be honoured! And you must call me Maggie, as Mr Smith, does.’