Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
H oratio had finished dressing when he heard Hall’s distinctive three-punter knock at the door.
“Come in, Hall,” he called.
His bedroom was large with a vaulted stone ceiling and flagstone floor. Pillars supported the stone arches of tall casements. He eschewed a suite of rooms as he provided to his guests in favor of one large chamber in which the only furniture was a wardrobe large enough for five men to stand in, a four-poster bed, and a bureau. There was no mirror, he had little interest in examining his appearance after dressing. Hall was a living mirror, paying close attention to the detail of his master’s dress and grooming.
Horatio sipped from a porcelain cup of tea, sweetened and hot. The chill of immersion in cold water and then walking in the open air in wet clothes had settled into his bones and the beverage was welcome. Hall came in and opened his mouth—
“ Lady Margaret wishes an audience ,” Horatio finished, raising an eyebrow.
“—Err, that she does, Your Grace. And she is in quite a taking,” Hall replied.
“I am sure she is,” Horatio took another sip.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but that was a damn foolish thing to do if you’re trying to win this lady over,” Hall began, gathering up the wet clothes that Horatio had discarded on the floor.
“It was— if that was my intention. It is not. I do not need to win her over. The Godwin’s own grasping greed means they will not walk away from my offer.”
Hall harrumphed. “Doesn’t do the lady’s reputation much good though, does it?”
Horatio paused, then nodded. “You are right, of course. We were both reckless and unthinking. It seems I shall need to be more circumspect in the future…”
“Is the young lady likely to be a Duchess for very long?” Hall asked.
He stood with a wet bundle in his arms and met Horatio’s eye as though speaking to an equal. It was a unique relationship. A servant who insisted on the forms, though Horatio cared not. But equally, Hall insisted on speaking to Horatio in the same way that he had when Horatio was a hired hand at the Cornwall inn that Hall had owned.
“That was not my plan,” Horatio muttered after a thought.
“Not the plan, no. But plans only last ‘til the first shot is fired, as they say. Seems to be that it's harder to dispense with a wife yer fond of. These clothes need washed and dried. Lady Margaret is awaiting you in the Big Library.”
Opinion delivered and leave taken. Hall did it all in a rush, then spun to leave. The Big Library was what he called Ravenscourt’s King’s Library, named for the coronation of George I, long ago. Descended from Jacobites, Hall toasted the Stuart Pretender and refused to give the Library its proper name, lest he be giving respect to a dynasty of usurpers.
Horatio smiled, amused by the little rebellion. He remembered the fanciful portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie which had hung above the fireplace in the common room of the Royal Oak, Hall’s doomed inn. Every night before closing, Hall raised a toast to it and encouraged his patrons to do the same in exchange for a free drink.
All gone now .
The thought of that place brought back the familiar ache to the scars on his spine. He pondered Hall’s words for a moment, draining the last of his tea. It was true to say that it would be harder to put Juliet aside if they had become friends. Or even lovers? That was a thought never far from his mind, sleeping or waking. Such beauty he hadn’t encountered since… ever.
The idea of being married to her in name and therefore able to make love to her with no risk of scandal or approbation was attractive. More than attractive. It was a thought to quicken the breath and send fire through his veins.
His arms held the memory of her slender body just as his eyes refused to give up the image of her pale, naked skin. Or the way her shift had betrayed her femininity, clinging to her body, hiding and revealing all the same.
The fact that he had stood practically naked before her was almost as exciting. Had she had the same thoughts upon the sight of him as he had about her? If that was the case, then she was a fiery, wanton devil and he would gladly revel in the fires of damnation for eternity for one night with her.
Horatio sighed, closing his eyes, and trying to focus his mind on the matter at hand. The plan was simple. Marry her quietly and let the scandal die down. Instead of a rogue assaulting a lady, the scene witnessed by his guests at the ball would become two lovers unable to contain themselves. The gossips would move on, helped by the arch-gossip-in-chief, the Regent himself. His court would not allow stale news.
Once the Templeton name was out of their minds, he would just as quietly end the marriage and give Juliet a cottage somewhere far off to live quietly and anonymously. The Godwins would be compensated well for their cooperation and Horatio had no doubt they would not complain.
That was the plan.
He needed to stick to it and put all thoughts of Juliet’s beauty and wonderful eccentricities from his mind. It did not matter that he had never met a woman like her. It was irrelevant that no beauty had ever inflamed him to this degree. It mattered not that he had desired her from the moment he laid eyes on her. None of that was part of the plan.
He left the room, resolved not to be further distracted, keeping Juliet as far from his mind as he could.
Lady Margaret did not rise from her chair as Horatio entered the King’s Library.
A full-length portrait of the first Hanoverian King hung over the fireplace, above a copy of his royal standard and the Union flag, which had been created during the reign of George’s predecessor. Tall bookcases lined the library’s stone walls and high windows set floods of daylight over them into the center of the room. A cluster of furniture around the fireplace provided a warm and comfortable place to read, while the arrangement of smaller bookcases and tables provided quiet nooks around the room for private study.
Frances stood and curtsied to Horatio. Her mother did not look at him. She sat with her hands folded on her lap, glaring into the fire. Horatio positioned himself opposite her, taking a seat in an armchair, crossing his legs with arms draped on either side.
It was a pose of supreme arrogance and chosen deliberately. He did not like Lady Swindon and wanted to antagonize her as much as possible. Such was his confidence in her avarice that he had no doubt that no amount of obnoxious behavior on his part would drive her away.
“Well?” Horatio began.
Lady Margaret sniffed and looked away.
“You requested an audience. I do not desire it. So speak,” Horatio repeated.
“…My mother wishes to discuss today’s events with you,” Frances offered, demurely.
She wore a dress of white and silver which bared her shoulders and bosom. Her dark hair cascaded back, held from her face by a silver tiara so delicate in appearance that it seemed a breath would break it. Upon her chest lay a necklace that held a ruby at its apex. The stone sat perfectly between her breasts and invited the male eye lower. Horatio refused to be drawn.
“Today’s events? I was not aware of anything of significance,” Horatio remarked.
“What I mean to say is… that is to say… the way that you and…” Frances began, stammering as though unsure of which words to use.
“The way you and my niece cavorted for all the world to see like a pair of savages,” Lady Margaret snapped, “it was quite scandalous. Quite unacceptable.”
“Then leave ,” Horatio muttered, calling her bluff. “I do not wish for any of you to be here.”
“If we leave, then the fires of scandal will roll over this house and consume it and your good name. All that will be left will be ashes,” Lady Margaret said, portentously.
“ And the Godwins will be poorer, having missed an opportunity at a union with the wealth of Ravenscourt. Not to mention the prestige of a family that has counted more than one sovereign as its friend,” Horatio countered.
“A prestige that currently hangs by a thread,” Lady Margaret retorted. “Wealth can be come by. Your name is hardly an enticement.”
Horatio could not deny the logic of her argument. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable ultimatum. If Lady Margaret had decided that the insult given by his behaviour was too great, she would already have taken her leave. She was still here and wanted to talk.
“As you clearly have nothing to say in your defense, I shall speak further,” Lady Margaret continued, “I think that your notion of marrying my niece has been shown to be a foolish one. I would not normally speak so to a social superior, but I am sure you would agree that your behavior has been rather reprehensible—”
“And you wish me to marry your daughter instead. As you originally planned,” Horatio interrupted her.
Lady Margaret drew a breath, raising her chin. Then nodded sharply. Horatio glanced at Frances who was looking at the floor. But she timed the raising of her eyes for just the moment that he was looking at her. She watched him for a moment from beneath long lashes before shyly looking away. She even blushed. Unfortunately, her dark sultriness could not compare to the fresh, bright, and pure beauty of her cousin.
“That is the only acceptable course of action. For my husband and myself.”
“And if I insist on marrying Juliet?”
“My husband will refuse to consent,” Lady Margaret added with no little triumph.
“Ah, she is under the age of one-and-twenty, is she?” Horatio asked, seeing the trap in which the Godwins set for him.
“She is twenty. So unable to consent to marriage alone.”
“I can wait a year,” Horatio shrugged.
“Then we will remove Juliet from this house and place her somewhere you will not find her. And we will let it be known just how wicked and degraded the Templeton line has become,” Lady Margaret finished with a harrumph.
She gave a thin smile, as though this had been her coup de grace with no further argument required. Horatio looked from the scheming older woman to her daughter, trying very hard at an outward appearance of demure innocence. Failing utterly, but trying nonetheless.
He considered his options. They were limited.
He had entered the room, believing himself in a position of power but had not realized that it was the Godwins who held all the cards. He could call their bluff but was beginning to believe now that Lady Margaret would follow through on her threat to ruin him. The scandal would taint them as well, however. Horatio wondered how she planned to escape it without the marriage.
What he needed now was time to think. What he wanted was to be in the company of Juliet once more.
That need alarmed him.
Desire for her was not the same as trust. Intrigue was not love. He wanted her but could not escape the suspicion that she was part of the conspiracy.
“I wanted to ask a question about Juliet,” he said, presently, “specifically about her illness. What is it? Is it truly terminal?”
He had been watching for a reaction and got it. Lady Margaret frowned and Frances looked to her mother with a frank, questioning look.
“Illness?” Lady Margaret asked. “What illness?”
Horatio judged the question to be genuine. The delay in reply was just enough for someone struggling to process something of which they knew nothing. She had not been expecting the question.
“She told me of an illness inherited from her mother. An illness that killed her mother and left her father destitute in the pursuit of its cure,” Horatio probed further.
Lady Margaret laughed. It was a loud, involuntary bark that had the sound of sudden relief. Horatio looked to Frances who was hiding a smile behind her hand.
“Oh, that is rich . Quite the story,” Lady Margaret crowed.
Horatio felt a flash of anger. He did not know if she was laughing at him, accusing him of being a liar, or leveling the same accusations against Juliet. Neither of those scenarios pleased him.
“Explain,” he demanded.
“My sister did die of an illness that the doctors could not cure. Juliet’s father died a dissolute debtor, having frittered away his fortune. He died in a debtor's prison. But not before burning their house to the ground. That is why we took Juliet in. She is perfectly healthy though, and since childhood, has pretended to a condition similar to her mother’s.”
“ Pretended ? How? Why ?”
“I lack the knowledge of the human psyche to explain. Perhaps to be like her mother, and in some way, closer to her memory?” Lady Margaret ventured.
“For attention,” Frances said, suddenly.
Horatio’s eyes darted to her and she blushed. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Juliet has always been a jealous child. Has she not, mother?”
“Alas, yes. Always envious of her cousins. Perhaps understandably. After all, both of my daughters still have a mother who is living and hale, and a father who provides for them. Juliet has been attended to by the finest doctors of Harley Street and they have found nothing wrong with her. Not physically, anyway. You see now why I did not wish you to marry Juliet? It would, I fear, not suit either of our families, given our objective to reduce scandal. Juliet is mentally unbalanced,” Lady Margaret finished resolutely.
“I see…” Horatio replied, deep in thought.
He could not believe what he had been told entirely. But it had something of the ring of truth. Perhaps a lie, wrapped around a kernel of honesty.
He thought of Juliet’s eccentricities. Her caring for animals. Her stripping of clothes in order to swim with him. Could that behavior be a symptom of an unsound mind? If so, could he marry her knowing that a worse scandal might be in store?
He hated himself for thinking it. Did not want to think it of her. But, a cold, pragmatic part of him whispered that he needed to think less as a man and more as a Duke.
And as a Duke, his path was clear. He could not marry Juliet.