CHAPTER 15
D amien awakened alone, yet filled with a welcome satisfaction. Sunlight slipped through the gap between the heavy drapes, drawing a golden finger upon the floor. He rolled over, running his hand across the warmth of the hollow beside him and inhaling deeply of Esmeralda’s scent.
It had been different between them the night before. Better. More intuitive. More demanding and more fulfilling. He smiled that she had remained with him, sleeping curled against his side. The last of the barriers between them had been destroyed and he could only welcome whatever might come next.
He could see the door to her chamber was slightly ajar and he heard the steady rhythm of the quill against paper. She had been inspired then, to add to her book, and he had no quibble with that. He rose and moved quietly to the door. Her hair was loose and her feet bare, her back turned toward him as she wrote with impressive speed. He did not wish to disturb her, much less drive inspiration away, so he carefully closed the door.
He rang the bell for Townsend then and opened the drapes himself, smiling upon the bright morning of a new day. He had been granted admission to the fortress that was Esmeralda Ballantyne – no, Alienor LaFleur – and truly, there could be no better way to begin the rest of his life.
Damien would plan his campaign to capture the flag and do as much with care. A wrong step and he could lose heryet , and he knew it well. She had learned to be cautious with her trust and she might regret her confession if he erred.
He reviewed all she had said while he washed and sought a hint within her own words.
I would not wish it upon any person for whom I have the smallest increment of respect .
And there it was, the reason she had declined his offer.
Esmeralda was not offended or indifferent to him: she protected him. She refused him because she perceived that the match would cost him dearly, not necessarily because she did not wish it, but because she defended his interests.
It was a curious notion. Few people defended Damien DeVries. Emerson had saved him at Badajoz, to be sure, but for most of his adult life, he had protected others.
Esmeralda was right that he did not know what it was to be censured, much less to be poor, but perhaps she did not recognize how much money could buy. She was right that he would be devastated for his mother to pay any social price for his own choices.
He had argued his own case and been rebuffed. He could not ignore her refusal to become a duchess. Few would have done as much, and fewer yet would have showed concern about the happiness of a shared future. No doubt Esmeralda had heard men make similar pledges, then been betrayed. Experience meant she would be convinced of Damien’s love only by action taken on his part, action on her behalf. Not mere words.
His best chance of securing her trust was to become her ally – and the objective of greatest import to her was the publication of her book. He would learn as much as he could of proceedings thus far, and then he would – somehow – ensure the book’s publication. To make her cause his own was the best way to defend his beloved.
It was also the best way to convince her of his alliance.
Damien broke his fast alone and made his plan. He knew little about the book and would address that first. How long was it? How much progress had been made on the composition? Who had read it? Who knew of it? Who had been approached to publish it? What would the cost of publication be? He had one resource close to hand: his own sister had read some of the pages. What else did Eliza know of the proposed volume?
Damien sent word to his sister immediately, writing that he would appreciate a private interview with her. Her invitation that he come to luncheon that very day arrived so promptly that he might have considered their thoughts to be as one.
He saw no one else that morning at breakfast, though he heard a tray delivered to his mother’s rooms and another to Sylvie. He found the meal a lonely business and his newspaper dull. How curious that mere weeks ago, he would have welcomed the silence and solitude to read his newspaper and begin his day. On this morning, he was impatient with it. He had his plan and itched for company. He found himself listening for the approach of Mrs. Oliver, for he would welcome Esmeralda’s conversation in any guise, but she did not come either.
How strange to be unappreciative of the privacy he had craved above all else in recent years.
It was Esmeralda who eroded his views, and Damien was glad of it. He had abandoned his life as a recluse as surely as he would soon abandon his cane. He would live again and celebrate every day. He would win Esmeralda and wed her and they would fill the house with the sounds of children – and perhaps robust lovemaking.
Damien found himself smiling at the prospect as he strode to his bedchamber. The adjoining door was still secured and the room quiet beyond it. A nod from Tate, loitering in the corridor, confirmed that the lady was both present and well, which was all the assurance he would have this morning. Townsend arrived promptly and he finished dressing, then left punctually for Southpoint.
Esmeralda recognized that she was a coward when she remained in her chamber all the next morning. She told herself that she needed the solitude to write more passages for her book, but the truth was that she avoided the duke.
She did not trust herself to hold fast against him, not if he made another appeal.
And she feared the end result if she did capitulate.
Tea at Lady Dalhousie’s promised to be an ordeal for Esmeralda, but it was an invitation she could not decline. Lady Haynesdale was waiting in the foyer when she made her way there after having lunch alone in her room. It was a sunny and warm day, and the dowager duchess was attired in a pretty dress of pale mauve. Her bonnet was adorned with matching flowers, her light coat was a shade deeper than the dress: she wore white gloves and carried a parasol trimmed in mauve ribbons. Esmeralda felt positively dowdy in her dress of mustard and olive, a garment Ophelia had found in the wardrobe at the theater which had to be twenty years old. Her veils on this day were shades of yellow and sage, and though the brim of her hat was broad, her heart sank when she saw the open carriage.
She would be in sunlight and had the sense that the dowager duchess had deliberately chosen that coach for that reason.
“Such a fine day,” that lady said. “One must enjoy such sunshine as one finds, don’t you agree, Mrs. Oliver?”
“You will find yourself brown as a berry, my lady, and be regretting the choice.”
Lady Haynesdale laughed. “I do not tan so quickly as that, Mrs. Oliver. I have always been fortunate in my coloring, for I do not freckle either, and I do so love the warmth of the sun.”
It was not possible to argue further without seeming quarrelsome, so Esmeralda ceded. She was encouraged to take the better seat, the one facing forward, not expecting her hostess to sit beside her.
“So much better this way, is it not?” the older woman asked cheerfully. “We can whisper of whatever we like with no risk of footmen or drivers overhearing our words.” She laughed lightly and waved on the driver. The pair of horses set a brisk pace and Esmeralda was obliged to hold onto her hat lest it be blown away.
Her hostess had tied a wide ribbon around her own bonnet and secured it beneath her chin. “Such a lovely day. One could not ask for a better one.”
“No, indeed, though I am unaccustomed to such brightness.”
“I have no doubt of that,” the dowager duchess said quietly, then she turned to look directly into Esmeralda’s eyes. Her gaze was so piercing and so close that Esmeralda’s heart skipped. The other woman’s scrutiny did not halt. Indeed, she might have been studying Esmeralda though the layers of her veils and she appeared to be fascinated by whatever she discerned. “Yes, sunlight has always been a good friend of mine,” she concluded softly, then smiled as if they two shared a secret before looking away.
She even hummed under her breath, as if uncommonly satisfied. They reached another dwelling in short order and the older woman placed a hand on Esmeralda’s as they passed. “And here is dear Southpoint. Captain Emerson grew up here as a boy – oh, there he is! – ” She waved to the man in question, who wore no jacket and led a horse by the reins toward a paddock. “Such a fine man, and my daughter’s husband now. Eliza is so very happy with him.”
“I gathered as much,” Esmeralda said. “There is nothing so delightful as knowing one’s children are well settled.”
“You are right. There is not.” Esmeralda’s gloved hand was patted again, then the dowager duchess’s fingers moved and lingered, as if she had identified the bump beneath the glove there as not being part of Esmeralda’s hand. Esmeralda withdrew her hand, but her companion did not seem to notice. “Ah, I see that the duke did come for luncheon. My maid told me that he had planned to do as much. How comforting it is also to have one’s children remain close, Mrs. Oliver.”
“There is little so comforting as the love of a sibling,” Esmeralda contented herself with saying.
“You are right again, Mrs. Oliver, though I must confess to you in private that I am concerned about my son’s marital prospects. He seems uncommonly reluctant to take a bride.”
“He should have an heir by now, if not two.”
“He should indeed, and I think your suggestion of Mlle. LaFleur is an excellent one. She is a lovely girl and he could easily become fond of her.”
“But so young,” Esmeralda protested.
“You suggested the match, dear lady!”
“I did but I have thought upon it. The duke is not in his first youth.”
“No, but such differences do not matter. What is important is her youth, the better that she might give him many sons.”
“Ah, but, she is yet too young. Would you have him wait another three or four years to wed, my lady? So much can befall a man in that long an interval.”
“True enough, though he seems more robust than ever in recent months.” The dowager duchess heaved a sigh then lowered her voice to a whisper. “And therein lies the root of my concern, Mrs. Oliver, if I may confide in you.”
“Of course.” Esmeralda could not resist any opportunity to learn more of the duke. She found herself leaning closer as the older woman dropped her voice yet more. The brims of their hats were touching.
“I fear he might be in love.”
“Goodness.”
“Why else would he resist the appeal of Mlle. LaFleur so vehemently? Why else would he decline to take a bride?”
“But surely the lady in question…”
“Must be an unsuitable choice. I can think of no other possibility, for who would refuse him? No, no, he must be in love but choosing not to propose.”
Esmeralda did not know what to say.
“I cannot imagine he might be refused, could you?”
“One never knows the whims of young ladies,” Esmeralda said. “Did I not hear that the viscountess declined the viscount when first he offered for her?”
“Yes, but that girl.” The older woman waved away the comparison, then gripped her arm. “As much as I hate to challenge your suggestion, Mrs. Oliver, I know that the sounds I am hearing at night are not emitted by cats .”
“No?”
“No. My son has a woman in the house. I do not know who she is or where she is hidden, but I know those sounds well.” She tapped a finger hard on Esmeralda’s arm. “And the night before last, I distinctly heard him shout.”
“It could have been someone else shouting.”
The dowager duchess shook her head and peered into Esmeralda’s eyes. “He said ‘you could be my duchess.’ Those were the shouted words.” She nodded sagely and waited, watching.
“It does sound as if the duke must have uttered the words.”
“Did you hear anything that night, Mrs. Oliver? Your chamber is closest, after all?”
“Me? No, of course not. I have never slept so soundly as I have since arriving in the country.”
“I am glad to hear it, Mrs. Oliver, for in truth, you look a little tired.”
Esmeralda’s gaze rose to meet that of her companion and she saw the twinkle in the older lady’s eyes. She opened her mouth but could think of nothing to say.
“Your secret is safe with me,” that lady said quietly. “I do not know your name and you need not tell me it, but do not linger in the sun, Mrs. Oliver.”
“It is not my inclination to do as much,” she said gruffly, feeling exposed and uncertain.
“No, I can see why. Your eyes are lovely and put me in mind of a woman considerably the junior of either of us.” The dowager duchess smiled quickly, then pulled away, surveying the countryside around them. “And so we are left with the question of Mlle. LaFleur’s future. I wager you know more of her tale than I as well, but I will not press you for it. If she is not to wed my son, then who?”
“I can only expect that a lady with connections like your own might have a suggestion.”
“I can think of several possibilities, but she is a young lady of such charm that she should have more choice than that. I do not doubt that Damien will grant her a fine dowry. He has already told me that she must have a debut season but this coming year seems too soon to me.”
“To me as well. She is young yet.”
“And I would see her English improve yet more. Perhaps another year beyond that. She will be closer to fifteen then, which is more suitable. And I can ensure that there are a number of suitors already intrigued.”
“How might you contrive that, my lady?” Esmeralda asked because she knew her companion wished to tell her.
“We shall have to host a ball for her. I hosted one a few weeks ago – between you and me, Mrs. Oliver, my intent was to ensure that Miss Emerson found a husband other than my son, and to my relief, she did. But I can scarce host a ball for Miss Emerson and not for Mlle. LaFleur. One is the daughter of a neighbor but the other is my son’s own ward.”
“A ball. How generous.”
“But it must be soon, for the garden and the kitchens are to be upended in June for the summer.” The lady shook her head. “While I appreciate my son’s sense of responsibility and his desire to ensure that the house is as it should be, I do not welcome this improvement in the least. My roses are sure to suffer dreadfully.”
“How burdensome for you.”
“Indeed.” She shuddered at the prospect. “But you will be returned to London by then so will not have to tolerate the inconvenience. I believe the ball should be while you are yet with us, for surely you would enjoy the festivities as well.”
“I do not dance, Lady Haynesdale.”
“But you have a keen interest in Mlle. LaFleur. I have noticed that already. Almost as if you two are known to each other.” The dowager duchess granted Esmeralda another smile. “But of course, that is impossible.”
“Impossible,” Esmeralda agreed, well aware of how the duke had learned to be so perceptive.
“And here we are at Bramble Cottage. Let us contrive to speak of the ball with Lady Dalhousie, if you are amenable. She may have some eligible young men to suggest, and otherwise, she is certain to burden me with an abundance of unwelcome advice on other matters.”
“On your son’s marriage, perhaps?”
“I should be so fortunate. No, Fanny is far more likely to expound upon the proper care of roses.” The dowager duchess visibly gritted her teeth. “Perhaps you might feel unwell, Mrs. Oliver, if that subject is broached and not readily changed. I should be indebted to you for sparing me another such a lecture.” She smiled into Esmeralda’s eyes as the carriage came to a halt and Esmeralda recognized a negotiation when she heard one.
“I confess the sun has already made me a little faint,” she said and her companion smiled.
“Excell– I mean, of course, how unfortunate.”
Esmeralda could not help but laugh, though she strove to make the sound emerge as one of Mrs. Oliver’s characteristic cackles.
“I am glad that we understand each other, Mrs. Oliver.” The other lady sighed even as she smiled. “And here is our hostess.” She raised her voice. “Fanny! How lovely to see you. And your garden looks quite splendid. I was telling Mrs. Oliver of the improvements you have made since your arrival, just a few months ago…”
“You read of it in the newspaper?” Damien echoed, unable to believe his sister’s confession. “In my newspaper?”
“You are not responsible for its content, Haynesdale,” Emerson chided with a smile.
“But still. My newspaper?”
Eliza smiled and nodded, her eyes dancing. Emerson leaned back in his chair to watch the sibling’s exchange, his amusement more than clear. Eliza had dismissed the servants and served their meal herself. There was a clear soup, then fish in a cream sauce, an array of vegetables, some ham and a saffron tart with leeks. Damien did not doubt there would be a cake or a pudding, and was appreciative of the simple heartiness of the meal.
“There was an advertisement,” Eliza said, then bit her lip to remember. “What did it say? Something like ‘ Ladies! Does your husband prefer his mistress’s bed to yours? Is your betrothed to be found with actresses and widows? The Ladies’ Essential Guide to the Art of Seduction can teach you the skills your governess, your mother and your sisters never shared.”
“How did I not see that?”
“You were not the intended reader,” Emerson said. “No doubt you halted at the salutation.”
“Then there was a bit about discretion,” Eliza continued. “I don’t remember the precise words. The key detail was that there was no address or number, no means of contacting anyone.”
Damien looked up from his excellent tart. “How can that be?”
“Precisely what I wondered. I considered who of my acquaintance might know, and chose to speak with Mrs. de Roye.”
“At Brisbane’s Emporium,” Damien supplied.
His sister nodded. “And she intimated that she could facilitate…something. I was uncertain what to expect, but a package was delivered to me at the house.”
“Haynesdale House?”
“Yes.” His sister frowned. “I was living there, Damien. You must recall.”
“Of course, I do, but a package?”
“From Carruthers & Carruthers.”
He put down his fork, for he knew that establishment well. “Why do I have the sense that a great deal has been happening beneath my very nose?”
“Because it has,” Emerson said cheerfully and held out his cup for Eliza to give him more tea. The pair exchanged a sizzling glance that Damien could not have missed, and he watched how their hands brushed in the transaction. Then they smiled at each other in adoration until he cleared his throat.
“And the parcel?”
“Contained some pages. Excerpts from the book in question. I read them and found the content highly unsatisfactory.”
Damien almost choked at that. “I thought it a volume of intimate instruction. How might you find that unsatisfactory?”
“It was sadly lacking in specific detail,” his sister confided, her manner somewhat prim.
The passage Damien had read had not possessed that trait.
Eliza poured his tea and then her own. “And so I had no recourse save to respond to the author, one Mrs. Oliver, with my suggestions.”
“A request for more specific detail?”
“The very same. And she responded with admirable enthusiasm.”
Once again, Damien fought the urge to choke on his lunch.
Emerson was enjoying this far too much. His eyes were sparkling as he watched and listened.
Eliza beamed at Damien. “And thus, I had the audacity to approach Nicholas and ensure that there remained no misunderstanding between us.”
“Further, she healed me.”
That man claimed her hand and kissed it, the pair of them staring at each other in besotted wonder again.
Damien cleared his throat pointedly. “Healed you? I had no notion you were injured.”
“You knew about the nightmares,” Emerson said, his tone indicating that they were a thing of the past. “And my affection for brandy.”
“Indeed. You consumed your own weight in it at appallingly regular intervals. You nigh beggared me, Emerson!”
They laughed together at that.
“And there was more,” Emerson confessed, his eyes darkening as he met Damien’s gaze. “Suffice it to say that I believed I had nothing to offer a wife, and that I would never father a child.”
Ah.
“And that conviction is no longer yours?” Damien asked, striving to be delicate.
Eliza’s smile was brilliant, her hand falling to her abdomen with obvious implication.
Emerson grinned like a fool.
“Well, that is happy news,” Damien said.
“Do not tell Maman. Not yet.”
“The tidings are yours to share,” he replied, and had to ask. “But what part did the book play in that resolution?”
“It told me what to do,” Eliza said. “ Exactly what to do.” She nodded and smiled again, her gaze sliding once again to Emerson. “And it was right.”
“Carruthers & Carruthers,” Damien repeated. He knew the firm well and one of its proprietors. Indeed, he had arranged the marriage of Edward Carruthers’ oldest daughter, Catherine, to Rhys Bettencourt, Baron Trevelaine.
He frowned. He had gone to Rockmorton the previous Christmas, not six months before, to press for the annulment of that unhappy match, only to find the couple happily reconciled. That had been his first encounter with Mrs. Oliver. Could this proposed volume have saved that marriage? He understood it had not been consummated in a year, thus his interference, but the baron and baroness had become intimate during that very visit.
The timing could not be a coincidence.
Esmeralda had been meddling, but in truth, he could find no fault in her doing so. The couple he had matched were now resoundingly happy together by all accounts, which had not been the case in December.
“What else do you know of the volume?” he asked Eliza.
She shrugged. “What more do I need to know of it? I sincerely hope that we are able to obtain a copy when it becomes available.”
Damien looked at Emerson who nodded approval.
He put down his napkin and set aside his tea. “Excuse me for such an abrupt departure.”
Emerson grinned. “You should read it, Haynesdale. It is a compelling volume.”
“Mrs. Oliver is staying with you, Damien,” his sister said. “Perhaps she might be persuaded to share more with all of us.”
Were there to be endorsements for the work from every couple he knew?
One thing was for certain: Damien had to read every page and soon. As with so many pleasures offered by Esmeralda Ballantyne, a mere taste could not suffice.