Lady Saves the Duke Read online

  As another footman placed a dish in front of Margaret, Alex took satisfaction in seeing her stubbornness melt. “Oh, Alex, how sweet of you.” She smiled his way.

  He exhaled. If anybody ever dared to drag his own sister’s name through the mud, he would have met them on a field of honor. And he would not delope. If the men in Miss Wright’s family had shown even an iota of honor, most likely she would not find herself with such an insecure future. Damned unfortunate for the woman.

  Margaret glanced at their aunt. “Perhaps that other juicy morsel, then, is not true either—the one about that foolish girl running about at night. Except that she most certainly must be ruined. Whether there is any truth in it or not.”

  Aunt Cecily dipped her spoon into the dessert. “Oh, most definitely. Especially with her past. I doubt society will forgive her twice.”

  Alex froze where he sat. No, no, no—it cannot be.

  “Did you come out with her, dear? Or did all of that happen later?” Aunt Cecily dipped her spoon into the cream a bit deeper this time. Her second bite was a little less polite.

  “She came out the year after me, Aunt. The year Alex married.”

  Now he stifled an urge to loosen his cravat. What the devil were they talking about?

  Both ladies sighed.

  And then reached for another taste of their desserts. Alex’s dessert remained in front of him untouched. And then, with barely a sigh, Margaret shook her head. “Poor Miss Wright.”

  “Poor who?” Alex nearly croaked before clearing his throat and then speaking again. “Did you say Miss Wright?” He sincerely hoped the poor girl had not found further trouble for herself following his departure. It was very possible; in fact, it was quite likely. Her uncle had been spouting off to other men in attendance, no doubt.

  “Yes, Miss Abigail Wright,” Margaret answered with a sharp glance. “Did you meet her as well while you were there?”

  He supposed he ought to investigate this situation. What trouble had the chit gotten herself into after his departure? “I did,” he admitted. “And she is another unfortunate victim of hearsay and gossip. Pray, tell, what are the scandalmongers saying about the poor lady now?”

  Raising her brows at Alex’s inquiry, Margaret relinquished her spoon and began fidgeting with her napkin. “She was seen consorting intimately with a gentleman out of doors and in the library alone, in the middle of the night. That same gentlemen was also seen leaving her room later.”

  The ramifications of his sister’s words hit Alex with the impact of any physical blow. “Who was the gentleman?”

  “His name went unmentioned. Just that he was one of the guests.” And then, mimicking the ducal glare Alex had sent her way earlier, Margaret eyed him back with icy arrogance. “It was not you, was it?”

  As much as he would have liked to, he would not dissemble to his sister. Instead, Alex nodded in his aunt’s direction. “I will take my port alone this evening, Aunt. If you would be so kind as to excuse yourselves, I will join the two of you later in the drawing room.”

  Both ladies eyed him carefully but excused themselves nonetheless. He was the duke, after all. Damn it!

  Meddling women needed to learn their place. He bristled.

  But for now, the information he’d just heard required his attention. Was it possible that some busybody guest had spread such malicious gossip? Of course, it would not harm the Duke of Monfort in any way. He was so far above the chit that common opinion would consider it her own fault for offering herself up to him.

  But she had not.

  She was innocent in every way.

  It had been idiotic of her to leave the safety of her bedchamber and gallivant about the house alone. If it had not been himself sitting in the earl’s library, it could just as likely have been some other gentleman—one perhaps less scrupulous than himself.

  He winced at the thought. He’d not been entirely scrupulous.

  He took a slow sip of his port, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Oh hell.

  ****

  Later that evening, Margaret could keep her peace no longer. “How could you, Alex?” she asked after he had eventually joined the two ladies in the drawing room. “Does the story hold any truth?” She clamped her lips shut then, awaiting his answer.

  Alex did not feel the need to explain himself to his younger sister, but he did, however, wish to afford some protection to the lady in question. “The lady did nothing to deserve such malicious gossip. I merely escorted Miss Wright outside for a few moments and then back to her room. She had come downstairs in order to escape the heat on the third floor.”

  Margaret sat, apparently deep in thought, for a few minutes after he spoke. “This is not Miss Wright’s first scandal,” she said. “She drew society’s scorn that same year you and Hyacinth married.”

  “How so?” Alex asked. Could it be true? He had difficulty imagining the frumpy young woman he had met deliberately participating in immoral behavior. Of course, the resulting consequences could have changed her attitude considerably. Perhaps she had been fast and easy when she’d first come out. Perhaps being shunned changed her outlook on life. But he could not believe such an explanation. Most likely she had made a few foolish but innocent blunders, as she had by walking outside with him, alone.

  Which caused him to consider her in a different light entirely. She had looked quite, quite wistful when she’d spoken of children. She’d also adamantly stated she would never marry.

  “It was rather surprising to me,” Margaret continued. “The lady had been such a timid wallflower for most of the season. I cannot imagine her seducing anybody. Except…”

  “Yes?” Alex urged her to continue.

  “She, well…” Blushing a bit, Margaret looked down at the embroidery in her hands. “She was quite well…endowed, if you can imagine.” Looking up, she caught her own mistake. “Well, of course you don’t need to imagine anything. You met her. Did you think her to be fast? Did you see her as something of a seductress?”

  Alex shook his head. “Of course not.” He considered the possibility that she had purposely exposed herself to him while out on the lake and then dismissed it immediately. She had truly been mortified. Unless she was something of an incredible actress, nobody could have feigned such abject mortification. Could one?

  She had not acted in any manner that could be considered fast. She had in fact, seemed quite naïve. This struck him as especially unusual now that he considered her reputation. She lived her life as something of a foolish optimist. She’d been imprudent to have wandered about at night while attending a house party. This led him to believe she’d rusticated in the country for most of her adult life.

  Remembering her faint after he’d kissed her, he knew her not to be fast. And easy?

  No, she’d not been easy. She’d been annoyingly difficult at times. Definitely not easy.

  “Of course not,” he repeated as Margaret looked up from her embroidery circle with a questioning look in her eyes.

  “Well, that’s terrible, then—the gossip—I mean,” Aunt Cecily added. “She is most certainly ruined, now. Amazing she was not already.”

  Alex ground his teeth. He ought not to even care about all this. Damn his eyes. He should have departed the estate as soon as he’d completed the tour of the irrigation system. People at house parties had nothing better to do than embellish upon indiscretions and flap their jaws merely for the sake of their amusement. “A shame,” he muttered, looking into his glass as he swirled the amber liquid about. He didn’t even like the woman! He’d conversed with her only for the sake of duty! Damn his eyes again. And damn Riverton for his insinuating comments!

  Margaret narrowed her eyes. “Is she a woman of independent means?” she asked.

  Alex stared into his cognac. An excellent year. Just a hint of sweetness, and then spice, before it smoothly warmed his insides. He took another sip, swirled it in his mouth, and then swallowed appreciatively. “She is not,” he answered his sis
ter’s question succinctly.

  “Oh, Alex, that is most unfortunate!”

  Alex continued studying his drink. “What would you have me do, Margaret? Marry the chit?” He allowed derision to seep into his words. She was a nobody. She was practically common. An abhorrent thought to even consider! Duchesses were poised, elegant, beautiful women, raised in noble families, trained to step into their role from birth. And Miss Wright was…well, she was none of that. She was clumsy, reckless, and crushingly naïve. Even if she did have large soulful eyes and bodacious…well, even if she was prettier upon acquaintance, she was most definitely not beautiful.

  “Of course not.” His aunt spoke quickly. “I mean, she is far too below your notice for that to even be a consideration.”

  “But you must do something for her,” Margaret interrupted. “I think you might perhaps settle some sort of a pension upon her. That way, if she cannot find any employment, of which she most likely will not, she will at least have a means to live by.”

  Alex considered this. Even now, were her acquaintances shunning her? Might her parents disown her? Had they already? If he were to put her up in a cottage somewhere, would she find herself living a lonely and solitary life? He would have to set her up in a village where she was unknown. Allow her to put the actions of her past far behind her.

  Or.

  Or…he could set her up in London. She could be his mistress.

  The thought was frightfully tantalizing.

  As a young woman of gentle birth, most certainly, she would never consider such an option. But now…would she consider it? His mind had no trouble remembering the lushness of her body. His hands remembered the feel of her bottom, and his eyes remembered the glory of her breasts. And her lips…

  Except for her mouth. She’d had quite a mouth on her, and he could not imagine her keeping it shut long enough for him to ever find his enjoyment with her.

  An absurdly stupid idea. The woman had fainted, for God’s sake.

  “What do you think, Alex? Will you set her up with a pension?”

  He had to backtrack to what his sister was talking about. His body had somehow latched onto his second idea and distracted him.

  Oh, yes, a pension. “I will have think about it,” was all he said.

  “Because you must do something, Monfort. Even though your actions were completely innocent, and I believe they were. For you are not the sort of man who would ruin a young lady and then fail to take responsibility for her. Nonetheless, she must be taken care of. She mustn’t have to worry for her financial security over something you were involved in.” Margaret dropped her attention to her embroidery circle once again, as though the situation had been settled to her satisfaction.

  Alex downed the remainder of his cognac, awaited the pleasant warmth to spread through him, and then stood up abruptly. “Have I not just told you I will think about it?” He spoke more sharply than he had intended. And then he pivoted on his heel and strode from the room. She would forgive his rudeness.

  She was his sister, after all.

  Chapter 5

  With each passing day, Abigail grew to believe more and more that her parents had been correct in their judgment of her situation. News traveled throughout the tiny village quickly, and it didn’t take long before she was forced to face the fact that she was, indeed, being shunned again.

  Local merchants took money for her purchases but refused to look her in the eye or speak other than to announce the number of shillings she owed. People who had, a mere week ago, taken several moments away from work to chat and laugh with her now kept their lips pressed firmly together and acted as though she were a perfect stranger. The speed at which this sort of news traveled was really quite astounding. Her life, her doings, ought to be of no importance whatsoever, for heaven’s sake!

  Even the local seamstress refused her offer of free labor that had always before been eagerly pounced upon. Abigail was skilled with a needle and thread, and could accomplish twice the work the older lady could do in the same amount of time, but the woman now refused to allow her to even cross the threshold of her humble shop.

  Things were not looking good.

  Penelope had written her a brief note, stating that her parents forbade her to keep any contact with Abigail as she was quite obviously a bad influence. Ha, Penelope had written, if anyone is a bad influence we know it is me. But, she then added, Abigail ought not to write back as her father would in all likelihood confiscate any such letter and then know to curtail Penelope’s own letter writing as a punishment.

  Not good at all.

  After a few weeks of such malicious and petty treatment, Abigail’s ever-present smile strained. And on this day, while walking alone in the meadows, she allowed it to slip completely. For it was becoming more and more tiring to force the corners of her mouth upward as each lonely day passed. This was disheartening. She did not wish to allow herself to wallow in self-pity.

  Because she was not the only person feeling the dislike and disrespect of the people in the community. Her parents received such treatment as well. She knew that if her father could send her away again, he would have done so the first day she arrived home.

  Oh, but her mother! Mrs. Edna Wright took the news badly indeed. She refused to come downstairs for dinner. She kept to her chamber and remained in her nightclothes both day and night. She only allowed Betty and one faithful friend to enter. Mrs. Wheeling happily kept Mrs. Wright abreast of the town gossip. Her words never failed to provide affirmation for Mrs. Wright’s declarations of humiliation.

  She refused to set her eyes on Abigail, ever again, she had shouted at Abigail’s father.

  And so Abigail had eventually begun to feel a certain level of self-pity after all.

  She wavered upon whom she wished to heap the blame. At some moments, she directed her anger at the Duke of Monfort. If he had not believed what he’d heard about her than he never would have attempted to kiss her! And yes, he had acted inappropriately outside that night, as she suspected he had indoors as well. She was still not certain whether or not she believed his claim that he’d been checking to see if she were breathing. Ha! His mouth had been inches away from hers. His lips had been hovering over hers in that moment when she’d regained consciousness. Oh yes, once she’d analyzed her memory of that evening his actions had become clearer.

  But it was difficult to blame him completely.

  She had exposed her bosoms to him earlier that day. What if he thought she’d done it on purpose? The thought appalled her. No woman in her right mind would ever do such a thing! And she had made the choice to venture outside her chamber alone. She’d willingly strolled with him through the grounds in the moonlight. Any man might misconstrue her actions as those of a strumpet.

  Just as he had.

  But mostly, he had simply been kind. How could she blame him for showing kindness?

  Other days, she blamed her mother. If she had not forced her and Penelope to attend the house party none of this would have happened. Abigail and Penelope would have bided away the rest of the summer doing perfectly harmless activities at Raebourne and in the relative safety of Biddeford Corners.

  Depending upon Abigail’s mood, blame could be shifted at will. Sometimes, after she’d gone through a litany of conspiracies, Abigail simply blamed herself and then tried to hope for the best. What that might be, however, she could not comprehend.

  Caught up in her castigations, Abigail marched back to the house and stepped inside. Entering the parlor, she dragged her hand along a row of books and then pulled one out. Solutions to her predicament evaded her. She’d find nothing in a book except perhaps a few hours of escape.

  “Abigail!” Her mother’s voice jolted her back to the present.

  In her mob cap and billowing night dress, Mrs. Wright stood in the doorway red-faced, fluttering, and nearly hysterical. “There is a carriage, a grand, grand carriage approaching down the lane. Betty!” she shouted for her maid. “I must be dressed immedi
ately! Whoever can it be? Abigail, girl, go to your room. I don’t want our guest to discover you are here. You mustn’t expose them to your scandal."

  Abigail sighed and complied reluctantly. Perhaps it was one of her aunt and uncle’s friends? Accepting her new lowly status, she tucked the book under her arm and marched up the stairs to hide away in her bedchamber. She would escape in the book—pretend she’d not become a pariah.

  A feat easier said than done.

  The more she tried to read, the less she comprehended. For she couldn’t help but wish things could turn out differently. In her imagination, hope refused to let go. Oh, how she wished…oh, she wished a number of things.

  She flipped the pages back and set her mind to reading them again.

  “You’re wanted in the drawing room, miss.” Betty had thrown her door wide open without knocking. “Best make yourself presentable.”

  ****

  Alex had decided he would take Margaret’s advice and settle a pension upon Miss Wright. But he did not wish to do so through his man of business. He wished to ascertain for himself that such a course of action would resolve the situation. He wished to see for himself that Miss Wright no longer need dread her future. He must also disabuse Miss Wright’s parents of the notion that she had been in any way promiscuous while attending the house party. He did not think Miss Wright would suffer her parents’ disapproval gladly. Perhaps after this visit, his conscience would cease needling him.

  After a bit of investigation into the whereabouts of Miss Abigail Wright’s home, he set out in his carriage toward the virtually unheard of village of Biddeford Corners. Her father owned a small property on the outskirts called Raebourne. Thankfully, he needn’t travel more than a day. Rumbling down the clean and tidy road, he noted it as a pretty little place, the same as numerous other villages in relative proximity to Bristol and Bath.