Page 10 of Where Have All the Scoundrels Gone (Dukes in Disguise #2)

Chapter Ten

“Are you ready to go?” Lucy said as she tied the ribbon on her smart little bonnet with a jaunty bow. They stood in the front hall of Ashbourn House, waiting for the carriage to be brought round. “I promised Charlie we’d visit him today, if I could evade my various tutors and instructors.”

Bess stifled a yawn. “I’m coming. Don’t forget your book; I don’t think Charlie cares about seeing us, so much as he’s longing for you to read him another chapter of that novel.”

“I simply must know if Paulina consents to become the wife of the dastardly Marchese di Valdetti, even though he abducted her and has her trapped in the haunted ruins of his castle!”

Lucy had given up reading scandal sheets after they’d taken vicious aim at her sister in the past year, but she had to get her dose of high melodrama and intrigue from somewhere. She’d become an avid novel reader, the more lurid the better, to Bess’s unabashed delight. She’d even hinted at a desire to try writing a novel of her own.

“I know Charlie is every bit as invested in Paulina’s romantic entanglements as you are, Lucy, but I’m still not certain that’s an entirely appropriate book to read to a boy his age. He’s barely sixteen!”

“If he’s old enough to get shot at on behalf of king and country, he’s old enough for Italian Mysteries .”

The stubborn set to Lucy’s jaw proclaimed her unwillingness to be moved on that topic. “Besides, the last time I visited him, he was telling me all about some of the things he and the other sailors from his boat have gotten up to when they’re in port here, and well—just believe me when I say that nothing the Marchese di Valdetti does is going to shock Charlie.”

Bess felt her ears prick up like the barn cat hearing a rustle in the hay. “What sorts of things?” she asked, as casually as she knew how.

She supposed it was good that the footman who was usually stationed by the front door had stepped out to watch for the carriage. This was liable to be a somewhat scandalous conversation.

Or at least, she hoped so. In the week since the Devensham ball, Bess had made a few secret, tentative forays into exploring the less proper side of London.

In her bid to forget about Ashbourn, who obligingly made himself scarce when not escorting Lucy to their evening engagements, Bess had flouted all social convention by donning a hooded cloak and slipping from the house in the evenings after everyone else was abed.

Feeling rebellious and defiant, she told herself she didn’t care if Ashbourn found out that she’d visited Astley’s Ampitheatre to see the acrobats, or wandered through the Marylebone Pleasure Gardens—Vauxhall’s smaller, wilder, more dangerous sibling.

Thus far, all she’d gained from her outings was a strong sense that she was looking for more than the near-public assignations that took place in the Marylebone Garden shadows. But she’d no idea where else to look.

And when she was at Marylebone, she’d had a bit of a fright that had scared her off her search, at least for the moment. As she was leaving, walking toward the high street through the fog, she’d thought she heard the sound of footsteps behind her.

No one had been about—she’d left during the fireworks, which had drawn the attention of everyone else at the pleasure garden—but her heart had jumped into her throat as she searched the shadows.

She couldn’t see anyone, but when she’d turned and started walking again, she’d heard more footsteps, coming closer, until finally she broke into a run and threw herself into the first hansom cab she came to, gasping out the direction for Ashbourn House.

A terrified glance out the window showed nothing but an empty street, and Bess had tried to laugh it off as the product of an overactive imagination, but the fear lingered. It made her jumpy.

She’d even begun to experience the sensation of being watched when she was out and about with Lucy during the day.

It had gotten bad enough that Bess had paused her evening excursions about town—but perhaps it was time she took them up again.

“Charlie says his mates get up to all sorts of things! Some aren’t terribly debauched, the menagerie at the Tower, gambling hells, and pleasure gardens, that sort of thing. But supposedly there’s a tavern somewhere near the docks where men go to fight one another? For fun? I cannot understand it. What fun is it to be pummeled? Or to pummel someone else? It seems entirely bacon-brained to me, but then, I am not a man.”

Bess felt her pulse quicken. A tavern that hosted fights! Surely if London held any handsome reprobates who might like a short-term affair with a country lass, that was the type of place they’d frequent.

“I’ve known many men who love to brawl,” she said, fishing delicately for more information. “And I even know a few women who relish a fine set-to every now and again. Gets the blood moving, I’m told. I haven’t seen a good brawl since the last time Mr. Cartwright let his pigs into his wife’s kitchen garden.”

“I wish we could go.” Lucy sounded wistful. Against her will, she had become something of a success. The morning after the Devensham ball, she’d been presented with a stack of invitations on a silver salver at breakfast.

There had been callers, including Lady Prudence and several of Lucy’s other former friends hoping to renew the acquaintance. At Bess’s urging, Lucy had gritted her teeth and been polite, but Bess knew the effort had cost her.

The girl had earned a day off, so they’d told the butler, Mr. Goring, that they were not at home to visitors that day and made plans to be actually not at home. Which was why they were about to leave for the surgery.

“I can’t think your brother would approve of his youngest sister at a bareknuckle boxing match,” Bess said, amused.

“Yes,” Lucy replied, collecting her reticule and the delightfully shocking Francis Latham novel from the credenza. “Mustn’t upset my brother.”

Bess bit her lip. “I thought you and he were getting on better.”

Since that night in the drawing room, Bess made sure to sit with the other chaperones and matrons while Ashbourn made the rounds of the various balls and soirees and musicales with Lucy on his arm. She kept her head down and made herself as unobtrusive as possible.

“He’s not the worst, I suppose,” Lucy said grudgingly. “But all he wants is for me to make a good match with some pasty, overbearing son of a viscount who thinks a lady ought to swoon if he so much as snorts a pinch of snuff in her direction. No, thank you.”

Well, that was awfully specific. Bess took a seat on the carved mahogany bench under the massive portrait of some ducal ancestor and patted the spot beside her.

Lucy flopped down with a sigh; her shoulders rounded under the demure ruffles adorning her pale pink spencer jacket.

Not wanting to badger the girl, Bess merely took one of her small hands and pressed it lightly. She tried to emanate an air of acceptance and patience, and must have succeeded tolerably well because at length Lucy burst out, “I don’t see why everything must revolve around this idea of matrimony!”

“Oh, my dear.” Bess struggled for a moment between what she felt she ought to say—that marriage was a young lady’s simplest and most socially acceptable route to security—and what she truly felt.

“Listen, Lucy. Marriage can be a lovely thing—you’ve seen it yourself, with Gemma and Hal. Your parents, too, were very much in love.”

“Yes, but that didn’t necessarily make them good parents,” Lucy muttered, then bit her lip guiltily.

Heart aching as she was reminded, inescapably, of Ashbourn being sent from home to school at all of eight years of age, Bess put her arm round Lucy’s shoulders. “I’m sure that feels disloyal to say, but that doesn’t mean it’s untrue. The reality is that marriage is not a magical cure-all for one’s ills. It doesn’t turn you into a better person, or ensure that your life will be a happy, productive, worthy one. If life is a forest, marriage is but one path through the woods, and it’s not one that every person can or should take.”

“It doesn’t feel as though there are any other paths open to me. It’s more like everyone I know is shoving me toward the marriage path and blocking the way to even being able to explore anything else. I’ve never seen anything of the world, you know—I went straight from the schoolroom to the country, and now I’m being trotted out onto the Marriage Mart like a prize pony. But there is more to life than doing what everyone expects all the time! At least, I want there to be more.”

Bess regarded her young friend seriously. A spirit like Lucy’s was not meant to be caged; she would batter herself bloody to escape even the most well-intentioned snare.

There was a delicate line to walk here, Bess felt. Much as she might wish, in her heart of hearts, to agree with Lucy that marriage wasn’t the only way to live in the world, Bess was very conscious that Lucy had been given into her care for this Season in London.

Lucy’s mother and sister were not here; the only person to whom she could turn for advice was Bess.

And this wasn’t a moment for wishes. Surely, in this moment, Bess had an obligation to encourage Lucy to be pragmatic.

Choosing her words with care, Bess said, “I understand very well, believe me. I have also wished for more, at times, than what was allotted to me by life and society and circumstance. But Lucy, you are the daughter of a duke. The sister of a duke. Like it or not, there are certain expectations of a lady in your position.”

Some of the fire died out Lucy’s eyes, leaving them dull and flat. Bess hated to see it.

Perhaps Bess could encourage Lucy to go along with her brother’s plans while giving her a taste of that something “more to life” she was missing.

“I tell you what, Lucy. If you go to the balls your brother arranges with a good grace, then I will speak to him about abandoning your daily lessons in favor of explorations around London. We will go to every museum, exhibition, and scientific presentation that takes your fancy. If you want the chance to see what else is out there besides marriage, you should have it.”

“Really?” Lucy tipped her head up, her blue eyes shining. “Oh Bess, that would be wonderful!”

“I’m happy to do it. Now, I believe Mr. Truitt is waiting for us.”

“Yes, let us be off at once,” Lucy cried, high spirits revived. She leapt up from the bench and hurried for the front door, only pausing to envelop Bess in an exuberant embrace.

“What is that for?” Bess asked, swamped with affection.

“For being such a good friend.” Lucy’s voice was slightly muffled, the clutch of her slim arms tight. Bess held her close until Lucy pulled back, sniffling a bit.

“Speaking of being a good friend,” Lucy said with a determined grin. “I was thinking you might make some of your ginger biscuits for Charlie. You know, to aid in his recovery.”

Bess couldn’t help but laugh. “And I suppose it’s only a coincidence that ginger biscuits are your favorite too!”

“The merest chance. Charlie has exquisite taste,” Lucy replied airily, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Please won’t you make them? I miss your cooking!”

It would take a stronger woman than Bess to ignore such an entreaty. And she had to admit to herself that as much as she’d longed for the break from her daily grind of baking bread and rolling out pie crust and mixing up cakes, she missed it.

“I don’t know that Monsieur Anatole will be very happy to have me mucking about in his kitchen, but I’ll see what I can do.”

And in the meantime, Bess thought as she followed Lucy out the door, she would try to pluck up the courage to find out more about that tavern with the fights. It seemed somehow seedier even than the Marylebone Gardens, and therefore even more of a risk for her to attempt while living under the duke’s roof.

But the Season would be over in a month. This might just be her last hope finding the perfect scoundrel to ravish her before she left London and went home for good.

* * *

Nathaniel watched from the shadows of the study doorway as the two ladies left, and considered what he’d overheard.

He’d come out of his study to offer to escort his sister on her errand of mercy today—though it sounded less like noblesse oblige and more like a book club she was leading—but he’d paused, arrested, when he heard Lucy’s plaintive outburst about marriage.

It bothered him to think of his sister feeling she had to submit to a marriage she didn’t want, because it was her only means of support. He ought to have come forward at once and told her she wouldn’t be forced into matrimony, that he would take care of her.

Instead, he’d stood still as stone, listening.

Nathaniel knew it was beneath him to eavesdrop. Yet he’d wanted to hear Bess’s answer.

If life is a forest, marriage is but one path through the woods, and it’s not one that every person can or should take.

She didn’t speak like a woman who could not wait to remarry.

There were men in the Ton, Nathaniel knew, who would consider her a prime candidate for the position of mistress. Respectable gentlemen—much more respectable than his own, sadly immoral father.

A beautiful widow who was not inclined to marry again and had no necessity to come to a second marriage with her virtue intact even if she did decide to take the plunge. A beautiful widow who knew the pleasures of the body and had the emotional maturity to see the affair for all that it could be—and all that it could not. A beautiful widow who had no intention of staying long in London and was therefore all the more precious a commodity.

No wonder those men had buzzed about Bess at that ball like dizzy bees bumbling about a rose.

But none of them knew the hammered steel under her veneer of soft serenity. None of them knew that she would fight like a lion for those she loved, with no thought to herself.

Practical, pragmatic words on the topic of marriage aside, Bess Pickford was a woman who deserved to be loved. Not for a minute, or an hour, or a span of delightfully pleasurable weeks.

Forever.

And, knowing that, Nathaniel could never approach her with an offer of anything less.

Unfortunately, love formed no part of Nathaniel’s ambitious and well-ordered plans for his own future and the future of his family’s legacy. He had things to accomplish: a bill to shepherd through the House of Lords, a proper young heiress to secure, an heir to father. There was no time for anything else.

But as the emptiness of the house settled into Nathaniel’s bones like the chill wind off the Thames in winter, Nathaniel thought perhaps he could make time to visit The Nemesis that night.

Hopefully that would be enough to knock these stupid thoughts from his head.