Page 31 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

Rosecombe Park, Hertfordshire

“A re you enjoying your breakfast, Your Grace?”

Alexander glanced up at his hostess and swallowed the mouthful of bacon. “Very much so, Duchess.”

“I’m so glad,” she said. “I have a particular excursion planned for you today, which I trust you’ll find a rewarding experience.”

A rewarding experience? What in the name of heaven did she mean by that? Usually, when someone spoke of a rewarding experience , they referred to some sort of sufferance deemed to be good for a man’s moral wellbeing—if not quite so good for his person, or his purse.

But Whitcombe’s wife had always been something of an oddity with her particular likes and dislikes—one of her chief dislikes being Alexander himself.

So why the devil had he been invited to spend a week at Rosecombe on her insistence?

What torment was she about to inflict on him?

Alexander glanced toward his friend, but Whitcombe merely winked at him then exchanged a smile with the duchess. Whitcombe was a fool, in thrall to his wife. He even flouted the tradition that dictated a husband and wife sit at opposite ends of the table to spare them from the necessity of actually talking to each other. Instead, he cozied up to her at the breakfast table, as if they were adolescent lovers.

Whitcombe waved across a footman. “Our guest is in need of more bacon.”

The footman nodded and brought over the silver dish piled high with pink slices of deliciousness that filled the air with an aroma intense enough to make a stone statue salivate.

“I couldn’t possibly,” Alexander said. “I’ve eaten five rashers already.”

“Eight, by my count,” the duchess said.

“Eleanor, my love, Sawbridge is our guest,” Whitcombe said. “He can eat as much as he wants.”

“Did I say he couldn’t?” she replied.

“Not everyone is as observant as you, my love.”

And not everyone had the ability to unsettle even the stoutest of men with a single emerald stare, but the duchess managed to achieve it. Doubtless she could fell an army just by glaring at them.

“Did you have a pleasant journey from London yesterday?” she asked.

“I did,” Alexander said, “as I believe I told you last night.”

Whitcombe let out a chuckle and leaned back, as if awaiting the entertainment of watching his wife verbally eviscerate his friend for daring to answer back.

“No doubt there are many ladies mourning your departure,” she said, an edge to her voice.

“My love,” Whitcombe whispered, and she let out a sharp sigh.

“Where are we going today, Duchess?” Alexander asked.

“To visit my sister. We’re to stay there for a few days.”

“Perhaps I should remain here, then.”

“I particularly want you to join us.”

Alexander looked to his friend for support, but Whitcombe averted his gaze.

“Why the need for my company, Duchess?” Alexander asked. “Forgive me, but I’m aware you don’t like me.”

Whitcombe made a noise that sounded like suppressed laughter—or perhaps a prayer for mercy on Alexander’s behalf.

“My sister’s overseeing the opening of a new school this afternoon and wishes you to be among the party,” she replied.

“Lady Radham likes me even less than you,” Alexander said. “With good reason, I’ll admit. As to Lord Radham, he despises me.”

“You could always consider the invitation an opportunity to change their opinion.”

“Opinions rarely change,” he said, “particularly unfavorable opinions—as I know from experience.”

“Then you may be surprised to know that I was beginning to like you,” she said.

Alexander let out a snort. “To what do I owe that particular honor?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Well, I was , at least.”

Then she stood, almost knocking her teacup aside. Whitcombe rose and Alexander followed suit, glancing at the remaining rasher of bacon on his plate.

“Shall we make ready?” she said. “We should leave directly if we’re to arrive in time for the opening. I don’t want to push the horses too hard. They’re the last creatures in the world who deserve to suffer.”

She fixed her gaze on Alexander, and his heart withered at the prospect of being stuck in a carriage with her. Then she glanced at the remaining rasher on his plate.

“Do finish that,” she said. “I wouldn’t want my guests to think me inhospitable.”

“Perish the thought,” Alexander said.

Her mouth quirked into a smile and she exited the breakfast room, Whitcombe in tow.

Alexander glanced at the footmen, who were all staring directly ahead. Then he snatched the bacon and swallowed it before following his hosts outside.

Less than half an hour later, he stepped onto the drive to see Whitcombe and his wife bidding farewell to their children, pink-faced, giggling toddlers in the arms of their nursemaids, before they climbed into the carriage and set off.

What the bloody hell am I doing here?

What could be worse than being confined in a carriage with Whitcombe and his intense, judgmental duchess? Alexander had only accepted Whitcombe’s invitation to stay because it took him away from London—away from the park, where doting couples promenaded, away from parties where lovesick young men danced with the women they desired…

…and away from his house in Grosvenor Square that overlooked number sixteen, where he had finally understood what it was to make love—and to fall in love.

A family lived there now, a man with a wife and two daughters. Pleasant enough except for one thing.

They weren’t her .

Which was why London gave him no pleasure—it was filled with people who were not her .

After they stopped for luncheon at an unremarkable inn, the journey continued, and Alexander fixed his gaze out of the window, watching the countryside pass by. When he heard a snore, he turned to see Whitcombe fast asleep, a smile of contentment on his lips. Beside him sat the duchess, holding his hand, her fingers intertwined with his. She lifted her husband’s hand and kissed it, her eyes filled with love.

What might it be like, to be loved with such ferocity?

And you were —only you were too blind to see it.

He blinked, and moisture stung his eyes. When he wiped them, he saw the duchess was staring directly at him.

“Are you well?” she whispered.

The armor he’d fashioned around his heart was no defense against the compassion in her voice.

“I did love her, Duchess,” he said.

“Did?”

He turned toward the window and sighed, his breath misting on the glass. “I still do. But what good will come from confessing it?”

“To the exclusion of all others?”

“God’s teeth, woman—must you be so belligerent?” he snapped.

“Hush!” she said, glancing toward her sleeping husband. Whitcombe stirred, and she caressed the back of his hand. “Montague is always accusing me of belligerence, though I prefer to call it tenacity , which has less of an air of malevolence.”

“Nobody could accuse you of being malevolent, Duchess.”

She frowned. “Are you teasing me?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare. I value my balls.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Your balls are safe with me.”

He returned her smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I did wonder, on receiving your invitation, whether I’d return home a pound or two lighter.”

She gave a soft laugh. “You can be quite disarming when you’re not in your cups.”

“And you can be brutally frank,” he said, “when your lips are moving.”

Whitcombe stirred and opened his eyes. Then he yawned and stretched.

“Have I missed anything, my love?” he asked.

“Only a slight improvement in my opinion of your friend here.”

Whitcombe chuckled. “I trust you’ve not been too hard on him.”

“No more than I deserve,” Alexander said.

The journey continued in silence, but Alexander sensed a shift in the atmosphere, as if the duchess warmed to him. When the carriage rolled to a halt at the entrance to Radham Hall, she even deigned to smile at him as he climbed out.

Lord Radham and his wife waited by the front steps. Lady Radham greeted her sister with a warm embrace and effusions of love, and though she was cooler in her reception of Alexander, at least her greeting lacked open hostility. Even Radham himself managed a word of welcome before he clapped Whitcombe on the back and led them inside.

“I hope we’re not too late, sister,” the duchess said.

“Not at all. We’re due at the school in a little under an hour, so you’ve time to freshen up first. I thought we might walk to the village—it’s such a pleasant afternoon. They’re waiting for us there.”

Both ladies glanced toward Alexander, then they linked arms and went inside.

Something was afoot.

Did that explain the duchess’s civility during the journey? Perhaps she was engaging in some form of deception to lull him into trusting her.

Then he shook his head. The duchess was the least devious woman he knew, save…

Do not think of her.

*

A small crowd set off for the village—the entire household of Radham Hall, by the look of it. Lady Radham led the party, hand in hand with a young boy, while Whitcombe and Radham followed, deep in conversation.

Which left Alexander with Whitcombe’s wife.

“The school opening looks to be something of an occasion,” he said.

“It marks the culmination of much effort and hard work,” she replied. “Many hands were involved, though none more than the person who directed the enterprise.”

“Lady Radham, I suppose.”

She remained silent, but gave him a smile.

He glanced over his shoulder at the small crowd following then, then recognized a young woman among the party, hand in hand with a small boy.

“Is anything amiss?” the duchess asked.

“I thought I recognized that woman with the boy.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Lily and Sam? Yes, I heard you’d met them.”

“Who’s the man with her?” Alexander asked, glancing toward the tall, thick-set man who held Lily’s arm with a proprietary air. “That’s not the man who hurt her, surely?”

“Heavens, no!” she said. “That’s Mr. Wade. He’s Jem—” She hesitated. “He’s from the village, and has quite taken Lily and Sam to his heart. There are some good men in the world.”

“But not many.”

She turned her gaze to him. “Perhaps there’s one more than I first thought.”

“Careful, Duchess,” he said, “or I’ll begin to believe you intend to pass me a compliment.”

“I would never insult you with flattery.”

“No,” he said, laughing, “only with brutal honesty.”

He glanced over his shoulder again and met Lily’s gaze. She smiled and nodded, then resumed her attention on the man at her side.

When they reached the school—an enormous red-bricked building in the center of the village—Lady Radham led them inside to a hall filled with rows of chairs, already half occupied, with a central aisle and a raised platform at the far end.

“Take your seats, everyone,” Lady Radham said. “Eleanor, there’s room for your party on the back row.”

“What the devil’s going on?” Alexander asked as the duchess led him to a seat. “Why have you brought me here?”

“To witness what you helped bring about.”

“Me?” he replied. “Forgive me, but I don’t—”

“Hush!” the duchess whispered. “Lady Radham’s about to speak.”

The chattering among the party lessened as everyone settled into their seats. Then Lady Radham stepped onto the platform.

“Thank you for attending, on this special occasion,” she said, “the opening of our first school for young women. Many of you remember this building as it once was—barely four walls, and hardly any roof, not even fit for Mr. Finch’s sheep to reside in, though that never stopped their enthusiasm for spending many a night in this establishment.”

A ripple of amusement threaded through the onlookers.

“But while I’m sure that sheep would benefit from a good education, many of you know that the cause most dear to my heart is that of young women—to give them the independence that only a good education can provide. And it’s for this reason that I championed this venture—something that I trust we’re all proud of.”

Someone said, “Hear, hear!” and Lady Radham raised her hand.

“Of course, I cannot go without praising the efforts of those who worked with such dedication to make today happen—the men who repaired the roof…”

A ripple of applause and male mutterings of agreement broke out.

“…and the women,” she added. “Those who helped to furnish the building, and the many wives who were content to release their men into our employ. For it’s a poorly kept secret who’s really in charge in a household.”

She paused to titters of female laughter.

“But I’m sure that you’ll not fail to agree that there’s one individual among us more deserving of praise than any other.” She gestured toward the front row. “One unique woman who, through hardship and adversity, has never wavered in her desire to see others flourish. A woman whose first thought is for others rather than herself, who gave her fortune so that others might have a better life. A woman who understands that while she cannot make a difference for everyone, she can change the world for those fortunate enough to know her.”

She placed her hand on her heart, then smiled.

“And we are most fortunate. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Miss Jemima King!”

Alexander’s stomach clenched, and the breath left his lungs as the crowd stood. Applause thundered through the hall while he struggled to his feet. He teetered to one side, and a steadying hand caught his arm.

“Mimi?” he whispered. “ My Mimi—she did all this?”

The duchess nodded, and his heart swelled with pride. He blinked back the tears as the cheering subsided. Then the crowd resumed their seats to reveal a single woman climbing onto the platform next to Lady Radham. Then Lady Radham retreated, applauding, leaving Mimi standing alone, a delicate bloom on her cheeks.

“I…” She hesitated, and her blush deepened. “I don’t know what to say. I did nothing, really. It wasn’t my fortune to give, but I thank you all, especially dear Lady Radham, for your generosity.” She gestured toward the front row. “And Miss Petford—soon, I’m delighted to say, to be Mrs. Wade. Dearest Lily, you have been at my side throughout.”

She lowered her gaze, and Alexander caught the faint tremor in the hem of her gown.

How different she was—this shy, unassuming young woman, unable to accept praise for her generosity—to the brash doxy with the fake accent from the docks. She had shed her armor entirely, to reveal the true woman beneath—the best of women.

He had never been more in love with her than at that moment.

She continued, her voice growing steadier.

“This school is a long-held dream of mine,” she said. “There are too many women in the world unable to live to their full potential—intelligent women, bright and compassionate women, who only need a little help to live the lives their deserve. Women who can do so independently if given the chance.”

Alexander blinked, and a tear splashed onto his sleeve. He wiped it away, and a soft hand took his.

“Why didn’t she tell me she was here, Duchess?” he whispered.

“You need to look into your heart to find the answer.”

Mimi continued. “Orphans, natural children, young girls unexpectedly thrust into a world with no resources other than their wits. This school will be the means by which they can stride out into the world and find employment, so that they might never know what it means to be alone, and unloved.” Her voice had grown hoarse, and she clasped her hands together. “Alone—as I have been…”

Alexander leaped to his feet.

“No!” he cried.

A ripple traveled through the crowd as they turned to see who’d interrupted her speech. Mimi lifted her gaze and froze.

Wide brown eyes stared at him, and she clasped her hands together as Alexander strode along the aisle.

“A-Alexander…”

“You stand not alone, Mimi,” he said.

She glanced toward Lady Radham as if in panic—as if she sought to flee.

But he would never let her take flight again.

He extended his hand toward her.

“My love for you says that you are not alone, Mimi,” he said. “You need never be alone again.”

Then he lowered himself onto one knee. Whispers and intakes of breath ran through the hall but were quickly silenced while he remained still, his gaze fixed on the woman he could not live without.

“Alexander…” She shook her head then glanced to one side. “Wh-what’s happening? Lady Radham, did you plan this?”

Lady Radham shook her head. “I planned nothing, my dear. I merely invited the duke so that he might witness your success.”

“He’s a duke ?” someone said, followed by an outbreak of whispering as the onlookers jostled against each other to get a better view.

Take a good look, all of you, while I offer myself to the woman I love.

Mimi stepped off the platform and approached him, her eyes glistening with moisture.

He shuffled forward and grasped her hands. “Mimi, my love, please,” he said. “I’m in torment, and have suffered since the day we parted. I beg you to ease my pain and consent to become my wife.”

The crowd seemed to emit a collective sigh, followed by shushing as they—and he—awaited her response.

“You have shown that you can change the world, Mimi my love,” he said.

“I cannot change it for everyone.”

“Then change it for those fortunate enough to know you,” he said. “Change it for the man who loves you—the man who was, at first, too much of a fool, too bound to the niceties of Society, to look beyond his nose and into his heart.”

He drew her hands to his lips, relishing the soft scent of her—the aroma of rose that he’d kept with him in the lonely nights when he had cried out for her in his dreams.

“Change the world for me ,” he whispered.

A flicker of desire flared in her eyes, as if her soul called to him. Then her expression shuttered.

“Will you answer one question?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Truthfully?”

“Of course,” he said. “My heart—and my soul—are yours, laid bare.”

“Who currently resides at number 16 Grosvenor Square?”

The hard edge to her voice couldn’t disguise her pain.

“A copper merchant called Mr. Chinwell and his family,” he said. “Pleasant enough, but I preferred the previous tenant.” Then he caught her meaning. “Mimi, surely you didn’t think that I would establish another…”

Her color deepened, and her lips began to tremble.

“Do you not know, Mimi, that from the moment I first laid eyes on you, that first morning”—he pulled her closer—“that first morning in my bed, when you were at peace, asleep, free from the facade of the…of the…”

“The doxy?” she whispered.

“That was the moment you first revealed yourself to me. For when a person is asleep, their true self emerges. I saw you then, Mimi, and I have loved you from that moment. With every minute we’ve shared since then I have grown to love you more, even if I was too foolish to see it. There exists only one glimmer of hope for this sad soul kneeling before you today, my love—and that is the hope that you will take care of me as you have always done for those fortunate to know you—as my duchess.”

“And your friends?” she asked. “Your reputation?”

“What would I care of reputation when I’d have you?” he said. “Besides, there are few whose opinion I care for. I would fight to the ends of the earth to ensure you are given what is due to you—respect, admiration…”

His voice trailed off, and she tilted her head to one side.

“So it was you,” she said. “The property in Brighton.”

“I needed a little help, but Westbury and his son were willing to oblige.”

“Edward Drayton?” she asked.

“Do I have cause to be jealous?” he said. “That young puppy is smitten with you.”

“I don’t love him .”

His heart soared with hope at her words. “Then might I begin to hope that success is within my grasp? Can you bring yourself to love this tormented soul before you—to make him worthy?”

She paused, and Alexander’s heartbeat pulsed in his ears. Then, at length, a slow smile curved her lips.

“To make you worthy?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I daresay, after establishing this school, I am ready for a much greater challenge.”

“Then…” He held his breath in anticipation.

“Yes,” she said. “My answer is yes.”

The crowd erupted into applause. Alexander rose to his feet and lifted her into his arms. He claimed her mouth, and she parted her lips for him. What surer gesture could she make to affirm her love? She had been willing to sell her body—to sell everything, except the one thing she was unprepared to give.

A kiss—the most intimate of gestures, and in gifting it, she gave him her heart.