Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

“ M y decision regarding Lady Cecilia implies no disrespect to your son,” Charles said immediately after waving Lord Oakley to a comfortable leather chair on one side of the fireplace while he took the other. “My sister’s life has been marked by ill-health and shyness. She is not in any condition for courtship.”

“Shyness?” Lord Oakley whooped with laughter to Charles’s surprise. “Lady Cecilia? You cannot be serious, Your Grace. The very first time I saw her here, she was dancing a reel without a hint of shyness. So vigorously indeed that the whole company could see her very fine ankles.”

“You are mistaken, Lord Oakley,” the Duke said stiffly, finding this remark improper and distasteful, even though likely referring to some other unfortunate young lady of Oakley’s acquaintance, rather than Cecilia Wraith.

“I am not mistaken,” said the older man with unpleasant amusement. “The first time I saw her, I said to myself, ‘now there’s a young lady who knows how to enjoy herself!’ and it was a decided joy to make her acquaintance if all too briefly.”

Archibald Barton spoke boldly now, ignoring the warning in Charles’s tone and expression, almost as though trying to goad his host into losing his temper. The Duke could not imagine why, but he was determined not to give him that satisfaction.

“I assumed we were here to discuss your son’s suit rather than any imagined acquaintance with my sister,” Charles said tightly. “If not, I’m afraid I have other business to attend to. You must excuse me.”

He rose but, in a gesture of clear disrespect, Lord Oakley kept his own seat.

“That’s not why we’re here though,” he said slowly, savoring each word.

“In that case, I must tell you also that I’ve reconsidered my plans for investment in Holland and will not be taking this matter forward at the present time. Your advice has been much appreciated. However, there is nothing more to discuss.”

Charles had expected displeasure, offense, or resentment at a perceived waste of time. Even some small show of anger would not have been remiss. Archibald Barton, however, displayed none of these. On receiving this news, he merely laughed, stretching out his legs and placing his hands behind his head of thinning gray hair.

“Is that so, Your Grace? It is disappointing to hear after I’ve given so much of my time and consideration to our partnership and after your very touching keenness to seek me out. I do hope you will reconsider. But as it happens, that isn’t why we’re here either.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Charles, dropping all pretense at politeness in the face of such insolence, his patience entirely vanished.

“I’m talking about my innocent young daughter alone at night in a closed room with you, Your Grace, in this very house. Do you deny it?”

Charles was stunned. These words were like a blow. Taking in the Duke’s silence, Lord Oakley gave a low and nasty laugh.

“Nothing to say about that? Or have there simply been too many recent encounters with Juliette or other unchaperoned young ladies for you to immediately recall the particular incident I refer to?”

“Unlike you, Lord Oakley, I am not in the habit of compromising ladies or bandying their names about. I have nothing whatsoever to say to you. Now, get out of my house before I…”

“You were seen, Huntingdon,” the gray-haired man interrupted him, stunning him into silence for a second time. “Not just by one credible witness but by two, who just happened to be passing by outside that particular drawing room at the very time that you and Juliette were inside together, alone, with the curtains open.”

“My wife was also in that room,” Charles pushed back. “If anyone were there, they would have seen that, too.”

A vein pulsed noticeably at his temple. The urge to seize Lord Oakley by the collar and throw him down the steps of Huntingdon Manor was growing stronger by the minute.

The Duke’s mind raced to make sense of what he was hearing. He guessed that Oakley had not only set Charles up via Lady Juliette’s false summons on the night of the ball. He had also somehow arranged for two respectable female guests to be at a window where they would have had full view of everything, and everyone, in the yellow drawing room.

“Not at first, she wasn’t,” pointed out Archibald Barton. “Your wife joined you later, and when she arrived, Duchess Madeline was very angry at what she saw, wasn’t she? She accused you of such terrible, terrible things… You see, you were overheard as well as seen, and I’ve had full accounts. There’s no point in denying it.”

“You devious little bastard,” growled the Duke. “I should tear you limb from limb. How dare you spy on me in my own house, you blackguard?”

“Spy? I was nowhere near you, Your Grace,” said Oakley with another infuriating little laugh. “Everyone knows that I was elsewhere, being publicly humiliated by that little French bitch. That part was unplanned although I should thank her now for my alibi, I suppose. But never mind such trivia. Let us have a drink and discuss this matter like civilized gentlemen, shall we?”

Standing and stretching, he headed for the drinks tray on the other side of the room. Pouring out two measures as though he owned the place, he returned and offered one glass to Charles who knocked it violently into the fireplace, smashing the vessel into pieces.

“Dear me, what a waste of fine crystal,” commented Oakley with a smirk. “It seems that the ‘Duke of Wrath’ soubriquet still fits you well enough after all this time. Not that it can do you any good.”

He sipped at his own drink before sitting back down in his chair.

“Now, let me put it to you, Your Grace, that you are facing a major scandal. If I let your defilement of my innocent daughter be known to the world, your name will be mud within days. I would also be within my rights to bring a court case against you for damages. Does the sum of ￡10,000 sound reasonable to you? It does to me.”

“No one has laid a finger on your daughter,” Charles objected loudly. “I wish I’d never even set eyes on the girl.”

Oakley held up his hand and then proceeded as though Charles had not spoken.

“I don’t believe you are among those who would carry the title of rake proudly or lightly, Duke Charles. Lust is a far less tolerated vice in society than anger, openly at least. Bear in mind too that such a licentious reputation would necessarily taint your wife and sister too, of course.”

“And your own damned daughter,” Charles pointed out, incredulous that any man could bargain with his own daughter’s reputation and virtue in such a vile way. “How can you even consider publicizing what you must know to be an innocent encounter in such a way? You will ruin her.”

Did Oakley really not care that legal action meant Lady Juliette’s name would be dragged through the mud and her marriage prospects destroyed forever? It seemed not. Currently his face showed only glee at his anticipated victory over the Duke of Huntingdon.

“Ruin her? You have already ruined my Juliette, Your Grace. Poor Duchess Madeline, poor Lady Cecilia. What man would trust their daughters or sisters in your family’s company after this? Your wife will be a social outcast, and as for Lady Cecilia, once I have had my say in court, what man would ever marry a woman known to be well-used goods?”

This threatened slight to Cecilia went too far, and Charles had wrenched the man up from his chair by the front of his shirt before he realized what he was doing. A second crystal glass fell from the Earl’s hand and shattered on the hearth.

“Yes, that’s right, Your Grace,” hissed Lord Oakley, making no attempt to escape. “Black my eye, break my nose, and I’ll tell the world I fought you over Lady Juliette’s tarnished honor. The injured father defying the rake. What sympathy and support I will garner…”

“You make me sick!” Charles barked at the man, throwing him back into his chair. “How could you do this to your own daughter?!”

“I’m rather hoping I won’t have to do anything, actually,” corrected Oakley, smoothing his shirt, waistcoat, and stock as best he could given that several buttons and pins were now missing. “I’m trusting that you will see sense and do the right thing, Your Grace. In my experience, men of high rank always do, eventually. Once they understand the full costs of crossing me.”

“And what in your twisted little mind would the right thing be?” spat Charles.

“Why, commission me to invest ￡10,000 in the Dutch industrial markets we discussed, and give your permission for Harry to court Lady Cecilia. It’s not as though either of them has many other options at the moment, is it? Imagine, with you and me in partnership and our relatives joined in marriage, we’ll be one big happy family.”

“Never,” said Charles through gritted teeth. “Not even if I have to leave England forever. You will never get a penny from me, Oakley, and if you or either of your offspring are still here tomorrow, I will throw you off my estate personally in a goods wagon.”

“As you wish,” sighed Lord Oakley with theatrical regret. “Should I tell your wife what is coming for your family, or would you like to do it yourself? The poor woman can have had no idea what she was letting herself in for when she married you, can she? Duchess Madeline really should have contented herself with spinsterhood among her horses and mad family.”

Charles wrenched open his study door so forcefully that one of the hinges bent. Outside it, a scattering of both servants and guests stood frozen nearby, caught abruptly in the act of eavesdropping on the thunderous conversation and given no warning to scuttle away.

“Get out of my house,” the Duke growled again, ignoring the witnesses. “Never speak of my wife or sister again.”

Lord Oakley stood in a leisurely fashion and laughed to himself before walking away.

“I trust you’ll see sense once you’ve had time to think my offer over, Duke Charles. Come and speak to me when you’re ready.”

“I don’t do business with blackmailers, Oakley,” Charles retorted to gasps from the bystanders. “Lonsley will organize preparations for your departure.”

Not knowing or caring what any of these watchers might think or say, he slammed the door hard behind Oakley and roared his frustration.

“If Duke Charles will consent to lend me Ajax, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement on your borrowing Nimbus this autumn,” said Lord Bentham. “The black yearling Ajax sired last year is a most promising animal from what I’ve seen of him, and the bloodline is flawless.”

Once on the subject of horses, Madeline had been pleased to find that all of Bentham’s dandification seemed to fall away, and they spoke in the same language. Uninterested in horses, his wife stood on the other side of the room, speaking closely with silver-haired Lady Martin.

“Yes, Ajax’s offspring do show his mettle as a stud. I shall speak to my husband,” Madeline stated with a satisfied smile. “He already knows I’ve been looking for a fine white stallion like Nimbus to cover some of the Huntingdon mares. I’m sure we can fix something up.”

“Excellent. Then, with Duke Charles’s agreement, our stables can make the necessary arrangements. Now, what time do our pheasant shooters return?”

Lord Bentham consulted his pocket watch, clearly keen to get the loose ends tied up today.

“Duke Charles has promised to be back in time for tea at half past four,” Madeline told their guest. “I trust he won’t be late.”

She was sorry that her husband had not taken the hint after luncheon and come to join her upstairs. Drowsy with longing, Madeline had dozed off on her bed waiting, her subsequent dreams only leading to further frustration.

When she returned downstairs, Charles was already in the hallway with the small group of men who had elected for more shooting over playing cards with the ladies. His face had been unexpectedly tense and orders to the servants short although she saw no cause for concern. She hoped she would be able to soothe some of that stress from his body in the evening when they retired.

It seemed that the more they coupled, the more she desired Charles’s body, and Madeline wondered if there was a limit to lust. If so, she had not yet found it.

“Well, then, let us speak again at tea, Your Grace,” said Lord Bentham, tucking away the timepiece and smoothing his waistcoat once more.

Madeline wondered if there were some way to extend the horse conversation further. The atmosphere in the yellow drawing room this afternoon was odd. Some unspoken tension rippled among the guests gathered for cards, gossip, or reading on the comfortable sofas and chairs or the terrace outside the French windows.

Mystified by such an atmosphere, the Duchess only hoped it had nothing to do with the strikingly bizarre gown her mother was modeling today in an intense chartreuse velvet that was too heavy for the weather. It reminded Madeline uncomfortably of the curtains in the dining room at Terrell House, and she decided that she did not wish to know whether they still hung there.

“Duchess Madeline,” said a light, sweet voice at her shoulder. “Might we talk?”

Excusing herself from Lord Bentham, Madeline turned and faced Lady Juliette Barton with an internal groan that she translated into an outwardly polite smile.

“Of course, Lady Juliette,” Madeline said. “What would you like to talk about?”

Looking self-conscious, Juliette Barton seemed to hesitate at Lord Bentham’s presence, but after nodding to both ladies, Lord Bentham soon drifted across to join his wife. The young woman now turned her appealing blue eyes fully on Madeline.

“We should go out into the garden, Your Grace,” said the younger woman, flushing as she spoke. “It is a private matter.”

Madeline looked around at her other guests. Most were occupied in chit-chat, embroidery, or books. There was no need to provide further diversion in the short hour before tea when charades and other parlor games were planned.

“Very well,” agreed Madeline without any great enthusiasm. “Let us walk in the rose garden for a while. Do you know very much about roses?”

Playing the good hostess, she linked her arm through Lady Juliette’s and led her out towards the garden, conscious of Lady Bentham’s eyes following them. What was going on in the house that day? Even the maids were behaving oddly. Annie could not even meet Madeline’s eye when discussing particular requests for the afternoon tea menu.

Madeline made a mental note to ask Gabrielle about all this when she dressed for dinner. Whether a row in the servants’ hall or an indiscretion above stairs, the young Frenchwoman normally seemed better attuned to household life than anyone else.

As the Duchess and Lady Juliette passed, Lady Bentham murmured something she couldn’t catch to Lady Martin, and that other good woman shook her sage gray head with an odd expression of compassion although whether she felt sorry for Madeline or Lady Juliette was hard to discern.

Juliette Barton appeared not to have noticed their two watchers. The young woman’s face was preoccupied, and she responded only briefly to Madeline’s attempts at light conversation for the first five minutes of their stroll. She even wondered if the young woman were ill.

Finally, once they were alone in the rose garden, Juliette spoke up.

“We must talk about the night of the ball, Your Grace,” she announced suddenly, like an actress taking to the stage.

“Lady Juliette, as I said at the time, we need not talk of that night at all. It was an error of judgement on both your part and my husband’s, but all of us make mistakes. Thankfully no great harm was done, and you should simply learn from the experience.”

“My father knows everything, Duchess Madeline,” Lady Juliette blurted dramatically. “There were two witnesses who saw everything, and he has threatened to take the duke to court and sue him for damages. For ￡10,000.”

“Saw everything? ￡10,000? There was no ‘everything’ to see, Lady Juliette, whomever these two witnesses might be.”

Now, Madeline was very confused. The younger woman shook her blonde ringlets vigorously, refusing to countenance the Duchess’ intervention.

“I was alone in a room at night with the Duke. My father says that in itself is enough that the ton will believe anything of a young woman. He says my virtue is gone, my reputation will be destroyed, and that Duke Charles must pay for what he has done to me.”

“What?!” Madeline shook her head in confusion, jerking back from the other woman as though from an animal she had only just realized might be poisonous.

She backed away from Lady Juliette in disgust as the girl continued with her frenzied speech.

“Even though Duke Charles and I only talked, Father says that I am so much prettier than you that everyone will believe the Duke had designs on me…especially since you have not yet given him a child, and he might regret marrying you…and you are so loud that he might prefer to spend time with a more feminine woman without such an embarrassing family….”

Juliette spoke these bizarre and taunting words rapidly and almost as if by rote. Madeline was astonished by the rudeness as much as stung by the barbs contained in her speech. While there was still something of the actress about the blonde woman’s manner, it was not the manner of a skilled thespian but an embarrassed amateur, one likely hired only for her looks.

“I’m so sorry,” Juliette suddenly gasped, the act breaking like a bubble before she more authentically burst into tears. “I have only done as I was told. I don’t know what will become of me now. God, forgive me!”

She picked up her skirts and ran sobbing back towards the house, leaving Madeline dazed among the rose bushes.

What was happening? It was like a bad dream. Madeline let herself sink down onto a bench to think through the events of the last few minutes.

Could it be true that Lord Oakley intended to publicly sue Charles for damages? That would mean the complete public ruin of his daughter, too. It was insane. But if it wasn’t true, then why would Lady Juliette claim it so, never mind say everything else she had just thrown at Madeline?

Madeline’s anger at Charles raised its head once more if only briefly. How could he have been so stupid that night?! If he had brushed that silly girl off from the start, this would never have happened…

Then it occurred to her that getting such a hold over her husband might have been Lord Oakley’s plan all along. While the Duke of Huntingdon thought he was drawing the other man into a useful business deal, Archibald Barton had been reeling Charles in for his own nefarious purposes, not yet entirely revealed.

He was threatening to sue Charles. That threat implied an alternative. What did that snake Oakley really want? Likely something that came with a very high price. But Charles would never allow himself to be blackmailed. Madeline felt entirely sure of that, too.

So, there would likely now be violence, she realized bleakly, remembering the story of how Charles Wraith had dismantled a drawing room with his own hands and burned its contents just because it upset his sister. The Duke of Wrath would not take Lord Oakley’s threat and insult so easily. Oakley did not know Charles’ nature if he believed he could bend the Duke to his will.

Then, after violence, there would be scandal, and finally, an infamous court case that destroyed them all: Charles, Madeline, Cecilia, Lady Juliette, and Lord Oakley himself. Maybe even the wretched Lord Morgan too.

“Your Grace?” said a woman’s voice, older and more staid this time. “May I join you?”

Madeline pulled herself together and sat up straight, welcoming Lady Martin with a gesture of her arm.

“Yes, I was just resting a little before tea, Lady Martin. It seems I am tired today.”

“Hosting these parties can be very taxing, even when they are a great success,” said the older noblewoman with a polite smile.

Then she sighed and gave a genteel shake of her head as she took her seat beside Madeline.

“Isabelle, that is, Lady Bentham and I saw Lady Juliette return from the garden in great distress. I felt I must speak to you directly, having some knowledge of the affair and some small life experience. I would not wish either you or Lady Juliette to suffer any more than is necessary.”

“Oh?” said Madeline, hiding her anxiety for now. “It does seem that Lady Juliette is a very unhappy young woman at the present time.”

“Understandably so,” said Lady Martin with pursed lips, holding something back on her own side too, as if hoping Madeline would speak first. “And your husband is presently a very angry man from what some of us witnessed this afternoon.”

What had happened this afternoon? Bewildered but annoyed at Lady Martin’s indirect communication style, Madeline folded her arms and waited. After a long pause, her guest seemed to make up her mind and sighed.

“Duchess Madeline, it is no use my dancing around the issue. I must tell you that I saw the Duke and Lady Juliette together in the east drawing room overlooking the garden on the night of the ball. Lady Bentham was with me, and we both heard your argument with the Duke. Such things cannot be kept secret forever.”