Least Likely to Marry a Duke Read online

  She turned, creating a private space where, low-voiced, they would not be overheard. ‘None, other than the unpleasant sight of you.’

  Thomas raised his eyebrows. ‘Tut, tut, Miss Wingate. That is no way to speak to someone who can ruin your reputation.’

  ‘Have you not heard? It is already besmirched and through no fault of my own. I am, as you can see, surviving that scandal. I am invited to Court. I am received and acknowledged.’

  ‘And you have a good friend in the Duke of Aylsham.’ His smile was smug, his eyes, spiteful.

  ‘The Duke is a good neighbour.’

  ‘Whose name is now linked with yours. You have already made society look at him twice for failing to marry the daughter of the so very respectable Bishop of Elmham after your island romp. Now just think how he will appear if it is revealed that he is still entangled with her and that she is not the virtuous young lady who has been receiving all this sympathy for the unfortunate stranding, but a wanton who seduces innocent young clerics? Lord Appropriate, the model of virtuous nobility, revealed as a fool and a shirker. Delicious.’

  Verity put down her cup, the rattle of the saucer on the little side table seeming as loud as a church bell. No one took the slightest notice. ‘It would ruin your reputation as well. And you have more to lose.’ Somehow she kept her voice steady.

  ‘Goodness, I wouldn’t be spreading the tale myself and the poor young man would not be named, you silly chit.’ Now the venom was clear in his voice. ‘You cannot accuse me without confirming the story is true, now can you?’

  No, she could not. But surely he could see the weakness in his threats? ‘What would be the point? I have nothing you want—no money, no influence.’

  ‘I do not want anything from you, Verity my sweet. All I desire is payment for your little jest by the river, for being made to look a fool. And your ruin and your knowledge that you have tarnished the name of the Duke of Aylsham will be quite sufficient.’ He put down his untouched cup of tea and stood up. ‘Now, delightful though it was to see you again, my dear Miss Wingate, I must bring this visit to an end and allow room for more of Lady Fairlie’s many important guests.’

  Chapter Twenty

  I must tell him. I cannot tell him.

  Verity paced up and down beside the reservoir at the north-eastern corner of Green Park, her long-suffering maid trailing a few steps behind her. The occasional sound of a stifled yawn was audible above birdsong, the sound of early morning traffic along Piccadilly and the distant lowing of the park’s herd of dairy cows being gathered together for their morning milking.

  If I tell him he will call Thomas out.

  Which Harrington richly deserved, of course. But what if Will killed him? Surely a duke was powerful enough to escape the worst consequences of that, but how would Will feel with a death on his conscience, to say nothing of the resulting talk?

  If I tell him he will despise me for being a fool and for my weakness in allowing myself to be seduced.

  He might even think her wanton and suspect that she had slept with more men than Thomas. Will had never allowed the passion he so clearly felt overcome him, he had never tried to make love to her.

  Because he believes me to be a virgin and a respectable lady and now he is going to discover that I am not.

  She gave herself a little shake. What did that matter? What mattered was that none of this was Will’s fault and so she must tell him, as soon as possible, because then he might be able to prevent Thomas spreading his horrible smears.

  I love him and he is going to hate me.

  Verity turned the corner of the reservoir and stopped to allow three nursemaids taking their charges out for some fresh air to walk across to one of the benches. But what did that matter? Will did not want to marry her, had never wanted to marry her. He certainly did not love her. He already thought her behaviour unseemly, her interests faintly shocking and her willingness to speak her mind, outrageous.

  But he had wanted to be her friend and, somehow, that brought the tears to her eyes for the first time. She shocked, baffled and annoyed him, even if he did desire her, yet he had still wanted to be her friend. One of the babies let out a howl and began to sob. And why was she letting that upset her? She had known the possibility of ever finding someone who would want to marry her, and whom she wanted to marry, was tiny. But the children of that marriage were theoretical, yet those she might have had with Will were, somehow, very real.

  Verity turned abruptly. ‘Logic.’

  ‘Miss?’ The maid, side-stepping to avoid running into her, blinked in confusion.

  ‘Nothing. I’m sorry, I was talking to myself.’

  You pride yourself on your intellect, so think logically. Firstly, you love Will, but he does not love you. Therefore, secondly, you are not going to marry him. Thirdly, his good name is more important than any shame your own bad judgement brings down on you, therefore, fourthly, you must tell him about Thomas Harrington and, somehow, stop him calling the man out.

  Things were bad enough without that.

  Fifthly: and then tell Papa.

  Clarity, she was almost surprised to discover, did not make the prospect in front of her any easier. If you dreamed there was a monster in the dark of your bedchamber, and you lit a candle and discovered that there really was something with fangs in the wardrobe...

  ‘Molly.’ She waited for the maid to catch up. ‘We are going home now.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘And after breakfast I will change into my new walking dress and pelisse. I will be paying a call.’ Not that looking her best was going to be the slightest help in the interview ahead of her.

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘And I will require you to come with me.’ Visiting a gentleman’s home alone, or with a maid, was outrageous. But what was one more social transgression on the negative side of the scales weighing her reputation?

  * * *

  ‘There is a young lady to see you, Your Grace.’

  Will looked up from the papers he and Fitcham had spread out before them and saw his secretary’s startled expression. He probably looked as disconcerted. ‘A young lady, at this hour, alone?’

  ‘With her maid, Your Grace. She declined to give me a card.’

  There was only one young lady so reckless as to call on a man in broad daylight in the heart of fashionable London. At least Verity had retained discretion enough not to hand over a card for the servants to read. ‘Where is she? You did not leave her on the doorstep?’

  The footman’s lips tightened, as near to a retort as a well-trained servant would go.

  ‘No, of course you didn’t. Is she veiled?’

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. I have asked the young lady to sit in the Painted Room, with her maid.’

  ‘Thank you. Tell her that I will be with her directly.’

  ‘Small mercies,’ he said to Fitcham as the door closed behind the man. ‘A maid and a veil. I can only pray that she did not arrive in her aunt’s carriage with the crest on the doors.’

  ‘Miss Wi— Er...the young lady must have a matter of some urgency.’ Fitcham tapped one bony finger on the open atlas in front of him. ‘Surely the gentleman whose future we are arranging has not made a move already?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not,’ Will said as he went out. What was he going to do with Verity? How was he going to keep her safe if she did these reckless things? Medieval visions of banishing awkward females to locked towers occurred to him. Tempting...

  Verity stood up as he opened the door, as did the little dab of a female sitting in the corner. Much good she would be if anyone offered her mistress any insult or threat—she wouldn’t be able to deal with a six-year-old pickpocket, let alone some buck on the prowl.

  ‘Your maid can wait outside.’ Will held the door open and the girl, after one glance at her mistress, scuttled out. He closed it with a c
ertain emphasis and was annoyed that Verity did not so much as start nervously. ‘What in blazes are you doing here?’ And what in blazes had happened to his manners? Was this what love did to you—reduced a gentleman to some sort of primitive?

  ‘Good morning to you, too, Your Grace.’ Verity dipped a mocking curtsy as she flipped back her veil. She looked as though she had not slept for days, he thought. There were dark shadows under her eyes, despite some expert powdering. Her poise seemed to be maintained through tense muscles, not natural grace, and her voice had a brittle edge.

  ‘You look ill,’ Will said. He wanted to hold her, kiss her until she forgot how tired and anxious she was, tell her he loved her. ‘Verity, there is something—’

  Her chin came up. ‘You certainly know how to make a woman feel special. I apologise if I have dragged you away from some riveting entertainment.’

  It was enough to stop that self-indulgent urge to pour out his feelings. She needed his protection, his friendship. She did not want anything else, not yet. He had months to build her trust, her...affection. ‘I was working with Fitcham. That is rarely entertaining. Did you drive here in your aunt’s carriage?’

  ‘Am I so totty-headed that I remember a veil but forget the crests on the doors, you mean? No, I did not. I walked.’ She ignored the exasperated sound he made and swept on. ‘There is something important I have to tell you, Will.’ She hesitated. ‘Two things. Roderick—’

  So that air-headed cousin of hers had opened his big mouth, had he? This situation went from bad to worse. ‘I do not want to hear them, Verity. I want you out of here, safely at home. I am dealing with this.’

  For a second he thought that she was going to sit down, then that she was going to faint. ‘Dealing with what?’

  ‘The talk in the clubs.’

  ‘What talk in the clubs? I thought... The ladies all seem to accept that I was blameless. That we were both the victims of an accident and there is nothing scandalous.’

  Hell and damnation. ‘Nothing. I was speaking of something else.’

  ‘No, you were not. Tell me.’ She swept up to him, toe to toe, took his upper arms and tried to shake him. Will stood stock-still, feeling like a bull terrier being threatened by a mouse. A very fierce, brave mouse. ‘Tell me. Or I swear I’ll ask Roderick, because it is something he knows, isn’t it? You thought he had told me something.’

  ‘You said his name.’ Will was playing for time and they both knew it.

  ‘I was going to say I would have asked for his escort, but he is away for a few days.’ She did not move and the force of her grip on his arms was almost painful.

  Now he was so close he could see those signs of strain far more clearly. Was it possible that she had lost weight in the few days since he had seen her? He wanted to kiss her, hold her, sweep her up in his arms and take her away from all this. Verity should be cherished, nurtured—and argued with.

  ‘The sensible ladies have taken their lead from Lady Fairlie and Her Majesty. The clubs...the clubs are full of men who enjoy scandal, especially sexual scandal. They have been talking, speculating. There are no wagers in the betting books, none of them would risk me calling them out, I think. But I will put a stop to the talk.’

  ‘I see.’ Verity released his arms, turned and walked away. ‘I had no idea. What a...nuisance I am to you. But there is something else I must tell you about. Thomas Harrington—’

  ‘I do not want to hear it from you,’ he said harshly, cutting her off. Verity should not have to mention that man, should not have to confess her past to him as though she owed him an explanation, required his forgiveness.

  She turned slowly, her face as white as paper now. ‘Why not? What do you know?’

  ‘It is disgraceful,’ Will said, hearing all the banked anger he was feeling for the man harshen his voice. He stamped down on it, forced it back. Letting his fury loose now would affect his judgement and he needed to handle this delicately if he was to draw Harrington’s teeth. ‘Thoroughly sordid. We will not speak of it.’

  ‘And yet you will deal with the talk in the clubs for me.’ There was as little colour in her voice as her face now.

  ‘I promised I would help you.’

  ‘Because you were my friend. Yes. I understand. I will go now.’ She turned, picked up her reticule from the chair.

  Will opened the door to the hall. ‘Escort this lady wherever she wishes to go. Good day, Ver—ma’am.’

  ‘Good day.’

  * * *

  So he knew. Knew about her affaire, knew about Thomas. And it had made him angry and disgusted. To the man she loved she was a disgrace, her story a sordid one.

  She was not going to cry, not here on the street. Not anywhere. If she gave way to tears and shame and lamentations she would be worse than useless and she still had to deal with Thomas before she escaped back to Dorset and the Old Palace and Papa.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to the footman when they were within a hundred yards of the turning. ‘I am almost home now.’

  He hesitated, but Will had worded his orders carefully. This was where the lady wished to go. The man bowed and set off back the way he had come. Verity waited until he was out of sight, then continued on her way, the maid silent at her heels.

  How could she deal with Thomas before he caused damage to Will, untold distress to her father? Her own reputation, Verity realised, hardly mattered now. She loved Will and she was not going to marry him, so there would never be anyone else.

  Murder, bribery... No, even if she had the slightest idea how one secured the services of an assassin, she knew she could not kill. To save a life, perhaps—although she hoped if it ever came to that it would not result in anyone’s death—but not in cold blood, even if the victim was a cold-blooded reptile himself.

  Bribery. Verity considered that as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Thomas was greedy and venal. He would certainly be tempted from vengeance by a large enough bribe, but it would be like paying blackmail. One payment would never be enough, he would come back for more, again and again.

  She let Molly take her pelisse and hat and changed her shoes, put her hair in order, all the time thinking about Thomas. If she let herself think about Will, then she was going to throw herself on the bed and howl, and there would be more than enough time for that later.

  Thomas was a bully and bullies backed down if they were confronted because they were cowards, so Papa always said. Cowards were fearful, so, what was Thomas afraid of? Who was he afraid of?

  He should be afraid of Will, but he clearly thought that she would not tell him or, that if she did, he was such a pattern card of respectability that he would not fight over one disgraced and disgraceful young woman.

  There was Bishop Alderton, but he was not Thomas’s superior and, besides, he already thought Verity was at best a hoyden and, at worst, all that Thomas would accuse her of being. The thought of appealing to him for help was rather less attractive than the idea of walking down St James’s Street with a placard announcing that she was a trollop.

  She ought to know which parishes the Bishop of London was responsible for... But why stop at a mere bishop? She had met the Archbishop of Canterbury on three occasions and he had seemed a very fair and reasonable man, not a prig like Bishop Alderton. He respected her father and she felt certain—almost certain—that if she was completely frank with him, he would help her and deal with Thomas.

  Although I would much prefer not to have to.

  The thought of confessing her youthful mistakes to a venerable churchman made her toes curl. She would give Thomas one chance to withdraw his threats, admit that they should forget the past and then, if he would not, she would go to the Archbishop.

  * * *

  Her reticule bumping against her thigh was satisfyingly heavy. Verity mounted the steps to Thomas’s front door and pulled the bell, looking around while she waited.
The vicar’s house was on one side of the little square with the church of St Wulfram opposite. A very nice neighbourhood and very nice house. He would not want to lose this.

  All very genteel and, although she was alone with no maid, no one was staring in a vulgar manner. Presumably well-dressed, veiled women were a common sight on the Vicar’s front steps. Were they all calling to discuss one of the welfare committees this parish doubtless abounded in or, knowing Thomas, were some of them visiting the handsome Vicar for other reasons altogether?

  ‘Yes, ma’am? How may I help you?’ A very superior footman in livery was waiting respectfully for her to stop air-dreaming.

  ‘I am here to see the Vicar. I do not have an appointment. Please tell him it relates to the effectiveness of cold bathing.’

  ‘Cold... Yes, ma’am. Would you be so good as to step into the drawing room and I will ascertain whether Mr Harrington is free to receive you.’

  The drawing room was located at the back of the house. It was furnished with good taste, nothing was vulgar or ostentatious, but money had been spent wisely to create just the right image. A clergyman who was ‘one of us’ as far as the parishioners of this fashionable parish were concerned—undoubtedly a vicar who was going to rise up the social scale still further.

  Verity sat down with her back to the door. She had no desire to find Thomas between her and the way out if she needed to leave in a hurry.

  He came in more quickly than she had imagined and from his raised colour she guessed that her unexpected arrival had disconcerted him. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to discuss your threats,’ she said, hoping she sounded bored and disdainful. Keeping her gaze on his face, she loosened the drawstring on her reticule and slipped her right hand inside until her fingers closed over the butt of her uncle’s duelling pistol.