The Accidental Duchess Read online

  The promise of a blackmailer should not reassure her, but she hoped it was the truth. She wanted it to be. And truth or lie, she remained in the same predicament.

  “A week, Lady Lydia. I require a message from you before the end of seven days, informing me of where you will reimburse me. I remain at my cousin’s house at least until then.” He walked away on those words.

  Lydia strolled back to Sarah, whose gaze had never left that young man. “Have you caught your breath, or lost it entirely, Sarah?”

  “He is a fine looking fellow, isn’t he? Tall and strong and quite handsome.”

  “He has a very nice smile. What is his name?”

  “How would I know?”

  Lydia laughed. “Are you saying you have spent the last quarter hour flirting with a complete stranger? Really, Sarah! I am shocked.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I sort of lost awareness of where I was.”

  “Aunt Hortense will be horrified,” Lydia teased. “She will insist we put you on bread and water for at least three days.”

  Sarah puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes. “Only if she hears of it. I doubt you will be telling her. If I am quizzed on my behavior, I might find myself explaining how you spent that quarter hour while I was so negligently distracted.”

  Another blackmailer. Sarah could be forgiven for playing that ace, however. Too many people put demands on her, most of which, if she obeyed, would require her to betray Lydia’s trust and privacy. She did not envy Sarah and the way she had to juggle so many mistresses.

  She hooked her arm through Sarah’s, so they walked the way they often did when girls. “You will probably want us to walk in the park every morning now.”

  “I do not think the same company musters here every morning. They take turns, I believe.” She glanced over her shoulder for one more look. “There’s probably a list somewhere of which citizens’ militia uses the park each day. The sort of list that someone like an earl might be able to see.”

  “I will put it to my brother, but I will have to explain why. Otherwise he may conclude that I lost my breath this morning, not you.”

  “Which you did not do, since you mention it. If anything, you looked vexed. I hope you will forgive me for saying, but between my strapping soldier and your pale, thin gentleman, I think I had the better morning walk.”

  • • •

  Viscount Ambury reined in his horse alongside Penthurst’s when they crested a low rise at the back of the park. Their mounts showed sweat from the hard gallop, and stepped high with excitement.

  They proceeded at a more leisurely pace, inserting themselves into the riders and walkers who also sought some morning refreshment. Few did, which was a pity, and even those who had ventured out now streamed toward the gates as dark clouds moved in, heralding rain.

  They stayed to the side of the carriage path when they reached it. A few rolled past. One caught Penthurst’s eye. The man inside looked like that Trilby fellow. A woman faced him. He only glimpsed her, but saw enough to know it was not Lady Lydia.

  “How did your dinner party proceed, Ambury? With good cheer, I trust.”

  “It was deemed a success, despite the unexpected arrival of Lydia.”

  “That sounds more unkind that you intended, I hope.”

  “Damn, so it does. She had sent late regrets, is what I meant, so her attendance was peculiar. Since it was mostly family and close friends, that was not too awkward. And it resolved the pressing question neatly and quickly, and exactly as I expected it to.”

  “What question was that?”

  “Whether Lydia would favor a certain gentleman. Cassandra is playing matchmaker.”

  “I suppose someone has to.”

  “My wife’s sentiment exactly. Since Southwaite lacks subtlety on such matters, and his two aunts’ tastes are hardly those of a young woman’s, Cassandra has turned her own attention to the duty. As a result, the only person at that table who was not family or close friend was a man invited for Lydia’s better acquaintance.”

  Which man? He almost asked. Cassandra had ended up with Ambury, who had loved and left many before her, so her own tastes might not be appropriate either. Not that it was any of his business, of course.

  “Then, after all of Cassandra’s arrangements, Lydia begged off at the last minute. Said gentleman—a Scot of good blood and vast wealth of the MacKinnon family—came expecting to impress the sister of an earl, and ended up sitting next to Cassandra’s dotty aunt Sophie. So while also awkward, Lydia’s late change of heart was a relief for Cassandra.”

  “And a fine dinner was had by all. Did he impress her?”

  Ambury laughed. “You know Lydia. Making her better acquaintance these days is like dragging a cart through mud. She was polite. She favored him with three smiles, I believe. Yet I fear the poor fellow thought he was talking to someone half dead. I do not understand her. No one does. She was such an imp as a girl. Now, the ladies say they see life in her all the time, in private. The rest of us, however . . . As for that poor dinner partner, it must have been a very long meal for him.”

  She had been an imp as a girl. Animated, loud, and often naughty. Very different from the Lydia she showed the world now. Unless she was gambling. Otherwise she hid behind that aloof mask and cloaked herself in a hard shell. He wondered why.

  “Did you mind that you were not invited?”

  Ambury’s question startled him out of his thoughts. “Why would I mind?”

  “We were all there otherwise. I just thought you—”

  “Since you were all there otherwise, that means Kendale was too. While you and Southwaite have forgiven me in your own ways, he has not.”

  An awkwardness descended, such as always did when any of them broached the subject at hand even obliquely. The truth was that a year ago he and Ambury would not have been riding together, let alone discussing social niceties. They had all been friends for many years—he, Ambury, Southwaite, Viscount Kendale, and Baron Lakewood. But everything had changed the day that Lakewood died—at Penthurst’s hands.

  “There was much about that day that surprised me,” he said to Ambury. “The matter that brought Lakewood and me to that field was not worth being killed over.”

  “I am relieved you speak of it, finally,” Ambury said. “I know more than you think.” His remarkable blue eyes, usually filled with sparks of humor, now flashed colder lights.

  “Have you been investigating?” Ambury had a talent for such things. He had even conducted investigations for pay, very discreetly, when his father, the Earl of Highburton, had severely restricted his income.

  “I have resisted the temptation. However, let me say that I now understand what you meant when you once told me Lakewood was not what he seemed. He could be opportunistic, and even dishonorable, I am sorry to have learned.”

  A few drops of rain fell now. They did not spur their horses, however. This topic, finally opened, begged for more airing.

  “Southwaite now believes that Lakewood put himself in the way of your shot,” Ambury said. “He thinks it was a kind of suicide, so his name might never be sullied.”

  Penthurst had come to the same conclusion after reliving those moments hundreds of times. He had deliberately aimed wide, so Lakewood would have the chance to stand down still. Instead it appeared Lakewood had moved toward the aim.

  “As I said, the accusations I made hardly warranted suicide. They were dishonorable, but not damning. He could have survived it. Other men have.”

  “Perhaps there was more to it than you think.”

  “I have long suspected that there was.” There had been a few halfhearted attempts to find out, none of them effective. The man was dead, and it felt wrong to muck around his history just to relieve one’s own curiosity or sense of guilt.

  “Do you want me to poke around a little, to see what turns up?” Ambury asked.

  “I do not think so. I will let you know should I decide differently.” It would be better if Ambury and th
e others did not even learn what he knew already, let alone what might be found with an investigation.

  More drops now. A fine rain drizzled, with heavy clouds promising more. They moved their mounts to a trot. A minute later the sky opened.

  “Hell, here it comes.” Ambury pushed his horse to a canter.

  Their speed did nothing for their sight as they sped for the park’s entrance. Even so, Penthurst noticed the two women running toward a tree for some shelter. A lady and her servant from the looks of it. He glanced to the sky, and doubted that tree would keep them dry for long.

  He turned his horse toward the tree. Ambury noticed and did the same. They reined in only a few moments after the women had ducked under the branches.

  “Lydia!” Ambury said. “It is an odd time to be taking a turn in the park.”

  “It seemed a good idea an hour ago.”

  “I will go tell your coachman to bring the carriage here.”

  The maid plucked off her bonnet and shook it fiercely. “We walked the whole way.” She gave her mistress a resentful glance.

  Lydia did not react to that, least of all to put the servant in her place. Penthurst thought that generous of her. Perhaps she felt some guilt for dragging the woman here on foot.

  He dismounted. “It does not look like it will end soon. We will take you home. You will still get wet, but the misery will be shorter.” He shrugged off his frock coat and swung it around Lydia’s shoulders. While she remained startled by that, he lifted her onto the saddle of his horse.

  Ambury did the same for the servant, who froze into wide-eyed silence.

  He swung himself up behind Lydia. With her feminine legs dangling down the side of his horse, he reached around her for the reins. She stiffened.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “There is nothing else for it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Grab on to something to steady yourself, or I will be obligated to become even more familiar by holding you in place.”

  The sphinx blushed. She clutched at the front of the saddle so hard her knuckles whitened.

  Ambury ducked under the branches and rode off, fast enough that the servant let out a squeal. Lydia did not make a sound as Penthurst followed.

  Chapter 4

  Lydia tried not to move in the slightest way, but it proved impossible on a cantering horse. Seated sideways like this, her legs dangling and her rump threatening to slide off, she kept jostling back and forth. The forth did not concern her, since it shifted her body toward the horse’s neck. The back, unfortunately, bumped her up against the formidable chest of the Duke of Penthurst.

  She looked straight ahead and pretended that did not continue with a regular rhythm that mortified her. Why couldn’t Ambury have taken her on his horse? Up ahead all she could see of Sarah were her shoes, swinging to the horse’s gait.

  Bump. Bump. At least the thick frock coat over her shoulders and arms cushioned her so it did not become too intimate a connection. Penthurst’s shirtsleeves, gleaming white and pure in the rain, circled her rather too closely, however, and there was no thick wool on them.

  The rain poured down. Her escort seemed not to notice as it soaked his hair and those shirtsleeves and the waistcoat a few inches from her nose. Bump. A nice waistcoat, she noticed out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to give it a closer study. Bump. Her nose smashed right into brocade the color of claret. Her face squished against the detailed silver embroidery. She even felt the warmth of his body through the fabric.

  “My apologies, Lydia. There was a depression in the ground and a small jump saved you much discomfort.” His voice, low and masculine, flowed into her ear.

  She pulled away and tried to straighten her bonnet with one hand. A stream of water poured off the center of the brim, right onto her nose. She looked a fright, she knew. Fortunately she did not worry whether she impressed Penthurst. He was the last man in the world whose opinion she cared about.

  “It is rather fancy.” She pointed her nose to the waistcoat since she dared not let go of the saddle and use a finger. “You have not totally reformed your taste. You no longer wear the satins and gold braid, and you finally cut off that queue, but you will make your point anyway, won’t you?”

  “I do not understand the desire gentlemen have today for looking like bankers. These plain styles are only a fashion, and will pass.”

  “It has not been a small change, like a new sleeve. All of you appear very different from how you appeared ten years ago. I do not believe the old ways will come back, for men at least, because this is more democratic. You do not truly look like a banker. However, the distinction between you and a banker is far less visible now than in the past.”

  “Do you believe that is a good thing?”

  “What I believe does not matter. It simply is the way it is.”

  “That is a slippery answer. No wonder your brother worries about you, if you respond to his questions like that.” He lowered his head so he spoke right into her ear. “Or do you have no opinions, Lydia? Is the mind as blank as the face? I do not think so. I suspect there are many opinions behind that mask, even high passions, that you dare not allow others to know. Perhaps you put up a wall to keep us all from seeing the truth in you.”

  His warm breath sent a shiver through her. His speculation passed close to the truth, distressingly close. The intimacy of his comments, made all the more startling by his pressing physicality, reminded her of the one other time he had spoken to her like this, as a man might speak to a woman, and not just the sister of a friend. This time it did not shock her as much, but then what he said now did not carry the same danger.

  She had put the memory of that other time in a room in her head, closed the door, and never looked at it again. Now, it burst forth, bringing with it once more her confusion, then shock, then resentment. Despite the way it made their intimacy on this horse more awkward, she welcomed the memory because she realized she might have a way to find that ten thousand after all.

  “It must not be a good wall that I build,” she stammered, clutching at her poise as desperately as the saddle. “If you can see through it with such ease, either it is transparent, or your conceit lends your sight abilities only you can trust.”

  She fixed her gaze on the houses passing by her view, but she felt him there, warming her shoulder, paying too much attention. Did she imagine that those shirtsleeves moved closer together, closing on her? Not to steady her either. As they trotted down the cobblestone street she bumped all the more, now to and fro. Her back kept hitting his arm. She had to brace herself hard to avoid her breast doing the same to the arm in front.

  Finally they entered Berkeley Square. He slowed the horse to a sedate walk. They approached her house just as Ambury swung Sarah off his saddle. Sarah, who had rarely ridden on a horse, looked delighted and giddy. She and Ambury laughed about something. Then the door opened, and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out. Her brother.

  He said something to Sarah. She made a quick curtsy, and darted in out of the rain. Ambury gestured up the lane. Southwaite turned and, with a curious expression, his dark eyes watched Penthurst’s horse.

  Grooms came to hold the horses. Southwaite stepped down to the street. “I see you found some lost baggage, Penthurst.”

  “Not lost so much as stranded by the storm.”

  Her brother reached up and lifted her down. He gave her a good examination from head to toe, shaking his head. “It was an odd morning to go for a walk, Lydia.”

  “I desired a turn amid nature’s glories.”

  “People who live on squares can have that whenever they choose, without hiking all over town. It is why houses on squares are desirable.” He shook his head again in the exasperated, helpless way he so often used with her. He plucked the frock coat off her shoulders. “Go and dry off, then please visit Emma. She has been waiting all morning for your return so she can share news. Cassandra is already there.”

  She gathered her sodden skirt and squish
ed her soaked shoes up to the door. As she crossed the threshold she heard her brother address his friends.

  “Gentlemen, come in and have some coffee and dry yourselves too. I would have a word with you both.”

  • • •

  Penthurst and Ambury stretched their boots toward the low fire in the library. A servant handed them each coffee. Their coats dried on a nearby rustic chair brought in just for that purpose. Southwaite stood at the side of the mantel.

  “This is very good of you, Southwaite, but we only brought back two women who were caught by the storm,” Ambury said. “I could cross the square and let my valet relieve your servants of all this bother.”

  “I said I wanted a word with you.”

  “Yes, you did. Let me assure you that whatever Lydia’s reason for going to the park today, it was innocent, I am sure.”

  Southwaite scowled. “Did you think I suspected otherwise?”

  Ambury took his time drinking some coffee. “Your scold when she came back implied you did.”

  “I was simply commenting on my sister’s odd behavior . . . It implies nothing else.”

  “Good. But if you did suspect something, rest assured that from what I could see there was no one in the park this morning whom she might have planned to meet. I was the only person there whom she probably even knew.” He began to drink again, but the cup paused halfway to his lips. “Well, and Penthurst here.”

  A strange little silence ensued.

  “Yes, well, she is home and upstairs and hearing what I want to tell both of you,” Southwaite stood a little taller. “Emma is with child.”

  “That is wonderful news, Southwaite.” Penthurst stood and clapped his friend’s shoulder in congratulations.

  “I’ll say so. Why are you giving us only coffee?” Ambury demanded. “It may be early, but brandy at least is called for no matter what the hour.”

  Brandy it was, and an hour of good cheer and happy speculation. Penthurst warmed to the camaraderie that resembled what they had all shared years ago, before duties and duels had created distance between them.