Chapter 15
Fifteen
My Dear Lady Drake,
I am honoured by your faith in me. Please trust in my conviction to serve you, and know that I would never cause any damage to your reputation, nor would I allow another to impugn your character.
I have obtained the literature you requested without incident. Lord Astley was extremely curious as to which one of my clients requested it. Fortunately, I was able to assure him he was not familiar with the young married nobleman I represented. My response seemed to satisfy him and he was more than happy to assist another gentleman to obtain, as he stated, “Unparalleled bliss.” He would, however, like the book returned to him once the gentleman has achieved his goals.
Since receiving your letter, I have found myself in a most uncomfortable state on a nightly basis. I hope that you can forgive my forwardness, but I feel we have come to a place in our relationship that my question must finally be asked, if not in person, then in written correspondence: Why have you not asked for my guidance?
Your servant in every request,
Joshua Forrester, Esquire
—A very inappropriate letter from Joshua Forrester, Esquire, to Lady Phoebe Drake, February 1811
S imon’s valet was at the door on the first knock. He was starched prim and proper as he opened the door to a room much smaller than the one Nash occupied. “Your Grace, the Earl is indisposed at this time.”
“At this hour?”
“He’s bloody retching up his stomach contents,” came a strangled reply from behind the door.
Nash winced at the noises his friend was making. “I’ll come back later to check on you.”
“Don’t you—don’t you dare—leave.” Simon’s warning would have been menacing if it wasn’t for the godawful sounds he was making. The stench made Nash want to grab a chamber pot for himself.
Simon’s valet sighed and opened the door further. Nash would have preferred he close it in his face. Instead, he made his way into the room. Simon lay in his bed leaning over the edge gagging and all Nash could do was wait. When he finally threw himself back on the pillows with the drama of a schoolboy, his valet handed him a damp cloth and removed the chamber pot.
Closing his eyes, Simon wiped his face and accused, “She did this to me.”
“Who?”
“Lady Drake. She poisoned me.”
Nash blinked. His friend had gone mad.
Simon’s eyes flew open, anger seething from the depths. “Don’t look at me as if I’ve gone mad. Lady Drake poisoned me.”
“How did she poison you? She left the room before I did.”
The valet approached the bed and began messing with the blankets as if Simon was a sick child and his valet a nursemaid. “You were utterly foxed when I found you, my lord. This is not your first experience with imbibing a bit too much.”
Simon yanked the covers and shooed away his valet like an unwanted pest. The man bowed and quit the room. “The damned whisky. I think she put laudanum in my drink … or hemlock … or something.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Of course I don’t have proof, damn you. But I have never reacted to a drink like this before in my life.”
“Your valet says otherwise.”
“Damn him to hell as well for being a mothering nursemaid. You do know my mother hired him, don’t you? It’s like having a tattling younger sibling around.”
The whine in Simon’s voice made Nash’s lip quirk. “Why would the lady poison you?”
“To ensure I didn’t join you last night, of course.”
“Unless I am mistaken, you weren’t supposed to join us."
“Yet Lady Drake returned and flirted terribly before ... well, if I enjoyed the lady’s company, I have no memory of it.” Simon rubbed his forehead as if that would clear some of the fog.
“Then I’d say the lady didn’t enjoy it much either.”
Simon shot him a look that would kill a lesser man. “She came back after you left and said you never showed up in your room. She said the two of us may as well enjoy the evening and she poured us a drink. I wasn’t sure what had waylaid your plans, but I thought, what the hell .” His lips pursed. “I had one glass of whisky,” Simon ground out. “One. The termagant poisoned me.”
Nash had to give Simon credit. Even though he may have had a few drinks prior to the one he apparently shared with Lady Drake, Simon could drink him under the table any night of the week. It would take a barrel of whisky to put him that deep in his cups.
A knock at the door stopped Nash from remarking. Before either man could say a word, the door opened and Lady Drake walked in as if she walked into gentleman’s chambers every day of the week. Nash couldn’t stop his brow from rising. Simon had a completely different response. He swore under his breath and purposely lowered his bedding to expose his broad bare chest. Since their time at Eaton, Nash had known of his friend’s habit of not wearing clothes to bed. He had often grumbled for Simon to cover himself, but Simon had merely laughed and told him he blushed like a schoolgirl.
He may have shared a woman or two with Simon, but he certain didn’t want to get familiar with his friend’s manhood. At the moment, however, it took everything Nash had not to laugh at the blatant masculine gesture that was meant to intimidate the lady.
Lady Drake’s lips broadened in a wide smile, not one hint of embarrassment in her expression. Her hands, however, belied her true state. They were too busy waving here and there, touching the buttons on her sleeves and dragging across her collarbone. She was not at all comfortable.
“Ahh, my lord, it is so good to see you feeling like your old self again. I was quite concerned last evening when you passed out on my settee. You must be careful with my Scottish whisky. It is said to be too much for the more genteel constitutions of the Ton.”
Simon growled, his temper flaring. He looked as if he would throw off his covers and bare himself, just so he could storm across the room and throttle her. She was saved from that act, however, by the entrance of Mr. Forrester. Upon seeing Simon’s bare chest, he closed the door behind him. Without a word he went to the wardrobe and pulled out a shirt and threw it at the Earl.
“Cover yourself, there’s a lady present,” Mr. Forrester said, as if Simon was a school boy.
“I would hardly call her a lady . Murderess is more fitting.” Simon grumbled, his upset stomach clearly forgotten in his fit of pique.
“Careful my lord, or you will be facing my pistols at dawn.” Mr. Forrester’s low warning was enough to shock Simon into silence and make Nash wonder what Forrester’s background was that he would even deem to think of such an audacious threat twice.
“For that ridiculousness, I demand you return my book at once.” Simon pouted before turning back to Lady Drake. “Will you have your ruffian beat a man in his sickbed, my lady?” Simon’s emphasis on the last two words were meant to taunt Mr. Forrester.
It did the trick. Forrester moved toward Simon as if he would throttle the Earl but Lady Drake stilled his advance with a calming hand on his forearm.
Lady Drake shook her head. “It’s fine, Mr. Forrester. The earl is feeling the effects of our whisky. He won’t repeat his error after his stomach is set to rights. Astley, you were ever so bold with your … propositions for the evening’s entertainment last night.”
If a man could turn to stone, Nash witnessed Forrester do just that, but it was the promise of violence in his narrowed gaze that Nash found interesting. The barrister cared for Lady Drake much more than a man in her service should, much more than he’d displayed for Iseabail when he’d threatened Nash.
It was time to intervene. “We were both out of line, Lady Drake. May I offer our deepest apologies?”
“Speak for yourself, Ross.” Simon scowled.
“May I ask for your forgiveness as well, Astley? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.” Nash smiled apologetically.
“I came here of my own accord. There is no apology necessary from you.” Simon’s casual tone belied his anger as he turned his glare on Lady Drake.
“Excellent,” Lady Drake clapped her hands with glee and turned toward the door. “Then we shall proceed with the house party.”
The lady, however, despite her readiness to move on, had not even begun to atone for her sins and Nash wasn’t about to let her leave without giving him answers. He stepped in front of her, blocking the door from her departure. “Where is she?” He demanded.
The feigned innocence on her face could have fooled a lesser man, but Nash knew of her involvement in the scheme. “Where. Is. Iseabail.”
She tapped him on the arm as if he were a silly boy. “The Duchess is in mourning at Caerlaverock, Your Grace. Where else would she be?”
“In my bed, as she was last evening.”
Lady Drake gasped and glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Forrester and Simon. His friend just looked on, his color returning as this turn of events gave him something other than his miserable stomach to think about. Mr. Forrester, however, looked as if he might now shoot Nash on the spot—no gentleman’s agreement to the rules of engagement required.
“Watch your words, Your Grace. More than a lady’s reputation is at stake.” Forrester’s warning came out clipped.
“I think he’s talking about your head.” Simon sat up straighter in bed.
“Not likely.”
Simon looked around at the tight expressions in the room. “What else is at stake?”
It was Lady Drake’s giggle as she lightly brushed some unseen piece of lint off Nash’s shoulder that broke the tension. “I must confess that I am flattered to be compared to the young and vibrant Duchess of Nithesdale, but I assure you, the Duchess was not the lady in your bed.” Her eyes flitted in a coquettish manner that had Mr. Forrester frowning even further, if that was possible.
Nash folded his arms across his chest and took on the ducal air he was born to wear, at least according to his mother. “She left her mark upon my bedding.”
All the color drained from Lady Drake’s face.
“Where is she? She did not answer her door this morning.”
“You don’t understand,” she started.
Nash didn’t care what excuse she was about to utter. “Where. Is. She.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand to produce the woman he’d ruined the night before.
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
“I will not hurt her or damage her reputation.” He promised, but it was obvious Lady Drake didn’t believe him.
It was Simon who broke the silence. “I would think the lady wouldn’t mind having a much-needed conversation with the Duke.”
Lady Drake’s jaw tightened. The seductress was gone, replaced by the protectiveness of an older sister with the ferocity of a bear. “An unwanted guest is to appear at my door next week in search of the Duchess. It seems Mr. Henry Jarvis is very curious about how the Duchess’s pregnancy is progressing.”
Jarvis. He’d nearly forgotten about Nithesdale’s heir. Another boyhood friend, but whereas he and Simon had everything in common, he and Jarvis had the proverbial thrones as heirs to dukedoms as their only bond. Nash had befriended Jarvis out of his loyalty to Nithesdale, and although Jarvis had always been a prig, he’d been a harmless prig.
Until now. “Nithesdale’s heir?” he asked. “Why is he coming here?”
“It seems at least one of the servants at Caerlaverock is in his pocket and reports everything the Duchess does to Mr. Jarvis.”
“So, she came to you?”
Lady Drake nodded and then moved to the settee. She motioned for Nash and Mr. Forrester to do the same. She ignored Simon looking on from his bed, and once her back was turned, Simon rose from the bed and slipped on a pair of breeches and the lawn shirt Forrester had thrown at him.
Simon slowly eased himself into one of the chairs by the fire, completely unembarrassed by his state of dishabille, his bare feet wiggling on the rug and the skin on his neck red from the exertion he expended in the minimal movements.
“The Duchess is attempting to survive the only way Nithesdale told her she could.”
“She could be my duchess,” he blurted out, catching Simon’s attention despite his green pallor. Mr. Forrester seemed to be all ears. Despite his mother’s machinations Nash hadn’t planned to marry. His parents’ marriage had taught him how unhappy the state of holy matrimony could be, but he was prepared to do right by Iseabail. She deserved this. Her sisters deserved it as well.
“She won’t,” Lady Drake insisted.
“She should,” Simon surprisingly pushed.
“Gentlemen, I can appreciate that you want Ross to do the honourable thing, but Nithesdale and his duchess had a special relationship.”
“Not that special,” Nash muttered. Lady Drake ignored the barb.
“They decided this was the best course of action for Her Grace.”
“ They decided, or Nithesdale decided for her?” Because it definitely reeked of some scheme Nithesdale had come up with, not Iseabail.
“My point being,” Lady Drake let the tension in the air ease. “Her Grace wishes to proceed with the plan she and Nithesdale had agreed upon, and I am duty-bound to grant those wishes.”
“I am not.” Nash stated. “Neither Nithesdale nor Iseabail consulted me regarding the use of my seed. I will not let my heir be raised as a bastard duke.”
“Even if Nithesdale wanted you to do it for him?” Lady Drake’s face appeared sad, and she seemed genuinely tired of the whole situation. “I know you were like a son to him. He spoke of you often. Nithesdale used to say he knew you would do better for the tenants and the Ross estate than the old Duke ever could. He had faith in you righting the wrongs of your father.”
It was Nash’s turn to tense.
Simon stepped in for him. “I think it is blatantly obvious that Nash is attempting to do right by the Duchess. He can give her a proper marriage that isn’t in name only.”
Nash gave a single succinct nod in agreement. If that’s what it took to right the wrong of his father, he would do it.
“You have been very vocal in your opinion of not bearing an heir, Your Grace. If I’m not mistaken, they call you the last Duke of Ross.” Forrester argued. “The Duchess wants Nithesdale’s child.”
“The child won’t be Nithesdale’s,” he ground out.
“To the Ton and the world, it will be.” Forrester responded.
“Gentlemen, let us not forget you are speaking for the Duchess, and as none of you are her husband, your guidance is misplaced.” Lady Drake said.
“What does the Duchess want?” He asked.
“The Duchess is in mourning and would like to remain that way.”
“I’m certain, after last night, the Duchess?—”
“We spoke this morning, Your Grace. She expects to live out the remainder of her life as the dowager duchess.”
“She’s no more than two-and-twenty!” Nash exclaimed.
Lady Drake looked down her nose as if he had offended her. “And yet she is a woman who values her reputation and her marriage vows.”
Nash scoffed. “She certainly didn’t value them last night.”
Mr. Forrester swore, his fist clenched, and he would have stood if not for Lady Drake’s hand on his arm holding him in check once more.
“Her reputation is in a shambles. She is viewed as a bastard whore who stole a title from a dying duke on his death bed.” Simon’s words put them all on the defensive, as three sets of angry eyes turned on him. “Don’t kill the messenger. If you don’t believe me, bring her out of hiding. Let the lords and ladies at this house party speak for themselves.”
Lady Drake’s eyes widened in shock. “She cannot appear at a house party! Nithesdale just died!” She delicately rubbed the bridge of her nose as if she wished she could make all of this go away … or at least the men in her company disappear. “Let us forget these pretenses and speak plainly, gentlemen. The Duchess of Nithesdale will hopefully bear the late Duke’s heir. Period.”
Nash ran his hand along the length of the carved arm of the settee. “And her sisters?” He asked.
“I will introduce them to society, of course.” Lady Drake made the announcement as if the current scandal wasn’t attached to her name as well.
“Your reputation will not help the girls gain acceptance, Lady Drake. Your name has been dragged through the type of muck one finds on the bottom of his boots in the Dials. You need a protector. Me.” Simon’s insult hit the room like a runaway carriage. It had been made to irritate Lady Drake and Forrester.
It worked.
“I have been courting Lady Drake for months. The Duke approved of the match.” Forrester’s proclamation was accompanied by a gasp from Lady Drake. Simon’s jaw dropped awkwardly open.
Nash took advantage of the silence. “Then we will restore the reputations of both ladies with an immediate announcement of your engagement.”
Forrester looked almost pained as the lady stiffened. If a betrothal was announced, Lady Drake would not travel in the same social circles she was accustomed to—if she was still receiving any invitations, they would stop after this house party. He would have felt sorry for her if she had not created such a scandal for Iseabail.
“Iseabail, the Duchess of Nithesdale, will become the Duchess of Ross.”
Lady Drake recovered her composure. “No. She will not become your duchess. She has her sisters to think about.”
“Sisters you can no longer introduce into society. As my duchess, no one would dare to snub them,” Nash leaned back in the delicate settee with the pomposity only a duke could hold. At that moment, he hated how much he sounded like his father.
Simon held up his hand to stop the argument. “Enough. We have all had our fun, some of us more than others.” The final comment was made under his breath and made Forrester stand. Simon pointed his still extended hand at Forrester before the man challenged him to a duel. “There will be no engagement, but the Duchess must make an appearance at your house party, despite how it may make her appear.”
“She can’t appear at a house party, she’s in mourning!” Lady Drake protested.
“I understand your concerns.” Simon continued. “It is less than ideal. There will be comments made about a bastard daughter of a climber not being up to snuff with the ways of society, but she must appear despite the animosity, if for nothing else, then to continue the ruse you set in place for Jarvis. When he arrives at the house party, she can decide if she will sneak out and return to Caerlaverock without Jarvis conducting his intrusive inquiry, or if she’ll weather the storm right here, with us by her side.” He gulped down a breath as if that would help him refrain from casting up his accounts, and continued. “It is the only viable option. And she must send word to Caerlaverock to have the bad seeds weeded out of the staff before she returns.”
“Prior to the Duchess leaving Caerlaverock, she instructed the two servants she trusts to dismiss the staff she does not with letters of recommendation.” Forrester added.
“I don’t like it.” Nash interjected. Simon’s solution brought him no closer to securing Iseabail’s future or her sisters’. He’d brought his friend here to aid him in obtaining the whereabouts of her sisters, instead, Simon’s input did nothing to bring him closer to Iseabail or her sisters.
“You don’t have to like it, Ross. I will take your concerns to the Duchess. If she decides to make an appearance, she will do so tonight during dinner.” Lady Drake stood, and Forrester and Nash took to their feet. Simon, however, reached for one of his black leather boots and began heaving once more. Nash found he could no longer be angry with his friend. He had paid the price for his sins by ruining his favorite pair of hessians.