Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“She what?” Milton could not believe his ears. “Annabelle Winthrop, pretty little milksop, proposed sharing her earnings with you, provided you let her game your patrons at vingt-et-un?” He remained incredulous. “Please tell me she’s not—”
“Yer equal?” Arty appeared to be enjoying this. “Sure is, Jasp. In fact, I replaced me bookkeeper with ’er.”
“You what?” Milton’s incredulity doubled.
“I said, I hired Miss Winthrop as bookkeeper, t’ keep ’er from runnin’ to an even worse gamin’ hell, which is what th’ minx threatened t’ do.”
“Good God.” Milton shook his head. “Lizzie’s goddamn little sister…”
“Yes, yer wife’s bloody sister, who you said needed protectin’.”
“Well it is apparent I underestimated her.” Like I underestimated my wife. “I’m sorry I got you into this, Arty, but it is clear we have a situation that needs immediate solving.”
“Nope.” Arty shook his head. “Already solved, Jasp. Did y’ not hear me? I hired the chit. Fine bookkeeper too.”
“Arty, that does not solve whoever this revolting suitor of hers is, nor how quickly her monster of a father will sell her off.”
The two stared in silence at one another in Milton’s smoking room.
“You should tell yer wife,” Arty stated.
“Absolutely not.”
“Are things not well in th’ land o’ matrimony, Jasp?”
“Arty, I do not wish to discuss my marriage. What I wish to discuss is how to keep Annabelle Winthrop from—”
“And just why’re you so concerned with this miss?”
“Because she’s my sister-in-law!” Milton erupted. “She is family now, and it is my duty to ensure she does not fall into—”
“Well you’ve a strange way o’ showin’ duty, Jasp, considerin’ y’ neatly swindled Lord Winthrop fer his eldest with nary a qualm fer that.”
“Are you deliberately trying to vex me?” Milton rose to his feet. “Because if you are, I’ve a mind to wipe that bloody smirk from your face with my fist.” He could, and would.
“Jasp, I ain’t tryin’ t’ goad, guv, I’m simply pointin’ out th’ obvious.
Y’ pressured Winthrop, an’ now another’s doin’ the same, like you expected might happen once word o’ yer marriage got out.
I don’t want Miss Winthrop sold off neither, not when the girl’s closin’ me books at half price. But the fact o’ the matter is—”
“The fact is, you will court her instead,” Milton decided.
“You will pose as a respectable suitor”—he amended his words at the look on Arty’s face—“fine, alternative suitor, to create competition for her hand and drive this other fellow off. And as she’ll need an excuse to leave her father’s house to keep your books, you can court her in public and in private set her to work in your office. Done.”
Arty’s jaw slacked.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Milton scowled. “It is the most obvious way to—”
“An’ what if I’m courtin’ someone else?”
Milton scoffed. “Arty, you plow through stage girls like other men plow through drink. You are not seriously courting any woman.”
His friend flinched. “I may not officially be courtin’, but there’s a—”
“It is hardly a lady you woo. Just tell your latest infatuation that your courtship of Miss Winthrop is but for show, and then seduce the dancer or actress back into your bed. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“The problem, Jasp, is that you’re callin’ in a favor greater than what was asked at yer weddin’.” Arty grimaced.
Milton almost felt bad. “I am, friend, and I am sorry for it. I did not intend for you to do more than keep an eye on Winthrop’s gambling at The Leaf. I am doing my best to find his younger daughter some suitably bland nob from the Ton, but I’ve still too little influence with these dullards.”
“Then why not talk t’ yer wife?” Arty bit back. “’Tis the reason y’ married her, right? Let ’er match make for her own sister. Hell, mayhap the girl’s got eyes fer some gentleman what needs but a financial push. She’s a sweet enough morsel to turn any chap’s—”
“Sweet enough morsel?” Milton’s lips curled. “Have a care, Arty, that you not court fair Miss Annabelle too far yourself.”
Arthur harrumphed. “An’ I’d warn you, Jasp, that if yer wife finds out you’re scheming t’ marry ’er sister off, she’ll be none too pleased she weren’t informed.”
“Lizzie!” Milton bellowed from the hall. “Where the devil is my wife?” Having just sent Arty packing, he was in a foul mood following their discussion.
Murdoch hastened toward him. “Lady Milton’s taken the phaeton to pay the Duchess of Allendale a visit, Jasp.”
“Come again?” He felt gut punched.
“Lady Milton’s taken the new phaeton and—”
“She is driving my phaeton? Alone? To visit Wellesley’s wife?”
“Now Jasper,” Murdoch began, “don’t get yer knickers in a twist, lad.”
“Fuck!”
“Jasp!” Her tone lashed. “We warned ’er not t’ go without first askin’ yer permission, but now she’s mistress o’ this house, we can’t—”
“I am master of this house, Murdoch, and you lot take orders from me, not her.”
Murdoch shot him a scathing look. “Boy, if you don’t reign in yer temper, you’re in fer a world o’ married hurt.” She crossed her arms and stared him down.
Only Milton wasn’t listening; he’d known his housekeeper too long to let her shame him. “Murdoch,” he said succinctly, “see that my horse is saddled. At once.”
Taking tea with the Duchess of Allendale was not only a joy, it was a balm. Elizabeth relished the freedom to make calls now on her own, as a married woman might. It made her soul feel light.
“Lizzie, pleasantries aside, you must tell me about your marriage.” The Duchess set down her cup. “I admit your note concerned me.”
Elizabeth recalled the haste with which she’d penned her post-wedding missive to the Duchess. She swallowed her nerves. “I fear the Baron’s reasons for marrying me are not—”
“Above reproof?” The Duchess poured them each more tea. “I expect not. But you knew he was no gentleman when you married him.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth frowned into her cup. “Only I was not given a choice, Your Grace.”
The Duchess rested her cup atop her swollen midriff. “Call me Charles in private, Lizzie,” she reminded. “And no woman should be forced to wed a man she barely knows, let alone—”
“Then you were not … forced?” Elizabeth asked. “That is, you mentioned before the word coercion.”
“I was coerced into becoming Lord Wellesley’s mistress, Lizzie, not his wife.” The Duchess did not blink stating this.
“Then why did you wed His Grace?” Elizabeth asked. “And why do you now seem happy?”
“Because I fell in love with the rake.” She sighed. “He proved himself not only adroit in bed”—Elizabeth flushed at this—“but adroit in heart and spirit. By the time Roland Wellesley figured out he loved me too I made certain that man earned my hand in marriage.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “You mean you—”
“Oh yes, turned the tables on him neatly.” She grinned.
“You astound me, Charles. To think you went from—”
“Reluctant mistress to respectful wife? Humble housekeeper to haughty duchess?”
Her Grace was remarkably blunt.
“It was no easy journey.” The Duchess looked wistful. “And you, my dear, are going about things quite opposite to me, for you have married first, and must now endeavor to fall in love.”
“Love.” Elizabeth harrumphed. “Love will never enter into my marriage.”
“Is he good in bed, Lizzie?”
Elizabeth was unable to speak.
“Let us assume from the color of your face that he is. And let us admit you are not the only woman to assess Baron of Milton’s abilities thus.” Her eyes twinkled.
Elizabeth grimaced. “He has slept with half of London, yes.”
“Then you have one point in favor of love, Lizzie, because carnal pleasure can lead to intimacy, which in turn can lead to trust.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot trust him. He has proven himself so oft—”
“Is he capable of tenderness?” the Duchess interrupted.
Elizabeth paused. “It has felt so, on occasion, which confuses me only more, because his tenderness is fleeting, and he quickly reverts to being unnecessarily domineering.”
“Hmm,” the Duchess mused. “Tenderness and generosity. These, too, can lead to love. Point two falls in his favor.”
“Does punishment point to love as well?” Elizabeth was unable to stop the words that tripped off her tongue. “For when I disobey him, he punishes me in the most egregious way. And if I—”
“Do not relinquish your soul to any man, Lizzie.” The Duchess’s tone sobered. “Only in love does one relinquish oneself and even then…” She shook her head, changing course. “Yet what of passion, dear? Is your husband passionate toward you?”
“Oh, he is passionate enough when he—” She flushed only more.
The Duchess studied her. “Then point three also falls to love’s favor, because passion is as strong an emotion as anger and hate. Passion is not love’s opposite. Indifference is.”
Elizabeth was stunned. “You mean—”
“Does he punish with passion when you disobey him? Does he respond with passion when you irk or goad him?”
“He is a beast when I displease him. He is only tender when I—”
“When you submit or comply?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Then he is not indifferent to you, which points toward either love or hate.”
Elizabeth slumped against the settee. “Hate. He hates me.”
“Or its opposite,” the Duchess said softly. “My own husband, too, hid his heart behind his brash manner.”
“I do not think my husband has a heart.”
“That is not what Miss Li tells me, nor any whore in London.”
“And do you often speak to London’s whores?” Elizabeth forgot herself.
The Duchess laughed. “Oh, Lizzie, I have—never mind. This much I can tell you of your husband: He is a good man in some way, else my Roland would not consider him his friend. My husband never, ever wished to become Duke. He fought in vain to escape his birthright. Your husband, in contrast, has only ever wished to be a duke, yet never can, being but a duke’s illegitimate firstborn. ”
Milton’s father was no mere lord, he was a duke! Shock sank in.