In the weeks that Regina had lived in her uncle’s house, she had received new clothes, her own well-appointed room, and the services of a maid. Not to mention what was to her the bewildering services of a cook, a housekeeper, and two undermaids. She had no way of knowing that her uncle, rather than employing a vast staff of servants, was actually by all contemporary standards simply scraping by. He traveled so frequently that he did not feel the need for a more elaborate staff. Her uncle had taken care of all of her needs in a breath-takingly swift fashion, and then, bowing apologetically, announced that he must depart for yet another business trip.
It was the arrival of a pair of tickets to the Opera, sent by a grateful business acquaintance, that had sent Regina off on her ill-fated excursion. She had no way of knowing that her uncle would have simply let the tickets lie till dust covered them enough to signal the housekeeper to throw them out. She had only been thrilled at the idea of attending the famous London Opera house and, dressing herself in her new finery, she had taken her maid as escort, as her uncle had told her she must whenever she ventured from the house.
The stares, the whispers, the attention she had received at the theater had seemed odd, but not exceptional, at first. But, once seated in the box, the appearance of the other women present had startled her. If this was current London fashion and behavior, she felt sure she would never fit into the scheme of things in her uncle’s city. But as the evening progressed and she watched the audience more closely than the stage, she began to get an inkling of the situation from the way certain couples behaved toward each other. Surely, she realized, it cannot be the fashion for a true gentleman to rest his lips upon his companion’s throat in public, in a theater! Or for the lady to stroke her escort’s hair. Or for a gentleman to ogle a female so openly, or for a lady to smile in pleased pride when being so encountered.
It was only when she left the box at intermission, however, that she had known without doubt what the situation was. The snatches of speculation about her presence that had come to her ears had driven her out, in search of a carriage to return home. But when that elegantly tailored gentleman, the one with the beautiful face of a fallen angel, had seen her and come to her side as naturally as if she were an old acquaintance, and whispered his husky-voiced suggestion into her ear, she felt as if the world had suddenly ended.
For he had stunned her. He had made all the others pale to insignificance and become merely background blur. The first moment she set eyes upon him she had thought he appeared out of a childhood tale of princes and castles. All thoughts of embarrassment and flight had themselves fled as he made his way gracefully through the throng to her side. Those clear azure eyes had sought hers out and had lit with real pleasure, as if he were overjoyed at finding her. His smile had welcomed and warmed her and drawn her answering smile. She could have basked all evening in the glow from that smile. And then, he had, still smiling, bent and sweetly whispered the impossible into her ear. What sort of female had he imagined her? She flushed in shame, just contemplating it. But since it seemed only a courtesan went unaccompanied to the theater on such a night, she could scarcely blame him, in all fairness, for his incredible proposal. In retrospect, his invitation had, surprisingly, secretly disappointed her rather than shocked her.
Belinda’s prattle all the way home had assured her of her surmise. The little cat, she had thought with uncharacteristic spite. She knew all the while, and never bothered to inform me of it. What a fool I’ve been, she mourned. But, she told herself with a little of her old spirit, what difference does it make after all? I shall certainly never encounter such people again, at any rate. Uncle does not traffic with dukes and noblemen, and neither shall I. Who she would be expected to befriend in her uncle’s house, she had no idea, for her uncle seemed to have few real friends and no social life at all.
She gazed out the window at the silent morning street of gray houses. Even though this was not, her uncle insisted, a fashionable street, it was firmly middle class and, to her eyes, most pleasant. She noticed a carriage standing still at the curb, its horses at rest, and noted with interest that its sole occupant seemed to be at rest as well. But no other thing on the streets stirred, except for the horses’ languid tail-switching.
Ah well, she thought. I shall dress and take Belinda with me to the book shop. I surely will encounter no evil nobleman there. And both cheered and inwardly a little flattened by her rationalizations, she began to dress, forgetting once again that no fashionable woman would have done so alone while her maid lolled, gossiping and unoccupied, below stairs.
When she had drawn her hair back neatly and robed herself in the new elegant green garment that her uncle had insisted was a walking dress, she rang for Belinda and began to descend the stairs. Belinda greeted her breathlessly as she reached the front hall.
“Oh, miss,” cried Belinda in a conciliating voice, “you do look ever so elegant, you do indeed!”
Regina did not feel particularly flattered, since Belinda greeted each new dress that she wore in much the same tones. But now, she noticed, Belinda’s eyes seemed to sparkle, her freckled face seemed flushed, and she appeared to have an exciting secret. I had no idea, Regina thought, that this was such an extraordinary dress.
“Belinda,” she said calmly, “get your bonnet, for I wish to walk to Mr. Hughes’s bookshop, and I’m afraid you’ll have to accompany me.”
“Oh no, miss,” Belinda gasped. “You cannot go, miss.”
“Why can’t I?” Regina bristled. “No one at the shop is likely to have been at the Opera last night. Don’t be a goose, get your bonnet.”
“Oh no, miss,” Belinda repeated stubbornly, and with the swollen breast of one who carries a message of dramatic import, Belinda walked to the window and pointed out. “There, miss, is why you cannot go.”
“What the devil are you talking about girl?” Regina blurted, forgetting again that a proper young lady did not speak in her father’s accents.
“The Duke’s man, miss…Sedgly, the Duke’s man. That’s him to the life, miss. And the coachman, Tom Highet, he’s a fellow we all know for his past deeds. He’s a big fellow, miss. And up to no good even when he’s sleeping, we say.”
Regina peered out through the parted curtain. There was a large, evil-looking fellow behind the horses all right, but she couldn’t get a glimpse of the man who sat back in the interior of the closed carriage.
“What is any of that to me, Belinda?” she asked in puzzlement.
“Oh, miss,” Belinda burbled, her high excitement giving her freckles a splotchy, rashlike look. “It’s plain as the nose on your face. We all have been talking about it downstairs. They’re waiting for you, miss, they are. You ran away from the Duke last night, and he don’t take to that. He sent his man and Tom Highet to abduct you, he did. Just take one step out and they’ll truss you like a goose, they will, and deliver you up to the Black Duke.”
Regina began laughing. She laughed so hard, she brought tears to her eyes and had to grasp Belinda’s shoulder to keep from swaying over. Belinda looked at her in astonishment, which only made her laugh the more. Finally regaining some composure, she asked through little hiccups if she had heard Belinda’s words aright, for, she said, “A greater mess of fustian, Belinda, I have never heard. You’ve been reading too many romances, girl. An evil duke abducting young women in broad daylight on a city street…no, not an evil duke…a black duke!” She almost sobbed with laughter. “Oh Belinda, you’ve been dipping into too many romances.”
“Oh no, miss,” denied Belinda, much affronted. “For I don’t even read, miss. Never have. But I know what I know. And it wouldn’t be the first time, neither. What of Emily Ketchum then, miss? Eh? What of her, she that worked for the Robins? Abducted she was, and by him. And when her family found her again, she was properly ruined. They had to turn her out. Even if he did give her a sum of money, she couldn’t find a respectable job again. And abducted right in the daylight, as you say. And there’s tales of others too.”
“Emily Ketchum?” asked Regina, sobering.
“Right, miss,” nodded Belinda.
“But, even if that’s so,” Regina said, a little more quietly, “you say she was a servant. Even evil dukes don’t abduct…proper young women, Belinda.”
“Well,” said Belinda, choosing her words carefully, “you being from the country and all…miss, here in town, there’s proper and there’s proper, you see. Not saying that you’re not proper, miss. But who’s your family, after all? Mr. Berryman has money, miss, but not…position, you see. He’s not an important man, miss. There’s no…well, miss, you and he aren’t of the ton, you see. If a duke was to do you wrong, what would your word be against his? A member of the peerage, miss? No, even your uncle couldn’t do much except blacken his name more…but it’s so black, he wouldn’t even notice the more. And where would you be then? You’d best stay here inside the house until your uncle comes home. In time…,” Belinda said, letting the curtain fall back, “he’ll forget he saw you, he’ll find another game. Maybe your uncle could put a few words in the proper ears, too, to make him lose interest. But until then, you’d better stay in.”
“But,” protested Regina, torn between a sense of the ridiculous and a growing feeling of trepidation, “what’s to prevent him from…bursting in here and carrying me off like a Sabine woman?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know about them, I never heard of that family,” Belinda pondered. “But there’s things even he can’t do. You can’t just burst into someone’s house and carry them out, you know, miss.” And here she looked at Regina curiously. “Didn’t you know that? You might be able to do that in the country, but not here.” Regina assured her that that wasn’t the case in the country either and, sighing, removed her gloves. She would stay in. She didn’t believe Belinda’s warnings implicitly, but after her experience of the night before, she realized that she knew very little of the morals and tendencies of these that dwelt in the city. She felt uneasy enough about the situation to remain in the house, although, she thought, I shall feel like a proper fool if Uncle comes home and tells me that it was all a hum.
“Belinda,” she ventured, “this is an incredible situation, is it not?”
“It’s the way of things, miss,” Belinda said knowingly. “It’s the way of it.”
I
II
St. John woke to the gentle sloshing sounds of pouring water. He opened his eyes to find himself in his own sun-filled room, his valet moving silently as he prepared his bath. He yawned and stretched and sank back against his pillow. He accepted the drink that his valet handed him and, propped up on one elbow, drank the potion down rapidly. “Hilliard,” he asked, gasping, “what was that foul mess?”
“The recipe you gave me, m’lord,” his valet answered calmly. “The one His Lordship said was all the thing this month.”
“Well, it won’t be my thing again,” St. John said, rising. “Although it does clear the head, the shock of it isn’t worth it.”
He bathed and, wrapping himself in the wide towel Hilliard offered, sat by the window and allowed himself to be shaved. It was a sunny, satisfactory morning, he thought as Hilliard labored over him, save for the remembrances of the night before which slowly began to filter back to him. He had not liked the duke’s sly presumptions about his reputation. And, he thought, he had not liked awakening alone. With Annabelle safely invested to James, he had gone around later in the evening to a promising young creature at Madame Felice’s establishment, but he had found her to be too humorless and too dedicated a handmaiden. She had made him feel as though he were a chore, a difficult project to be gotten through meticulously, with all the proper moves in all the proper places, as though she had memorized the rituals. No, he thought, she was not a candidate for installation in Annabelle’s former residence. But, he thought with a small feeling of optimism as he allowed Hilliard to pull on his boots, the search might provide entertainment. And he would continue the search after the business of his day was completed.
“To a turn, Your Lordship,” Hilliard commented approvingly as St. John inspected himself in a pier mirror. His boots gleamed, his breeches clung tightly, without a wrinkle, his black coat fitted snugly. “Yes,” St. John agreed, and pocketing the several invitations and letters that Hilliard handed him, he strolled down the stairs to breakfast.
It was well after noon when St. John faced the world. He called for his high-wheeled phaeton and the chestnuts, and drove carefully through the streets to his first obligatory call. He had promised himself another look at Melissa Wellsley, the current rage. He had only stood up with her twice at Almack’s, but he had approved of her manner and, while he did not fall into raptures about her face and form as many of his contemporaries did, he had to admit that the entire effect she presented was charming. And she was reputed to have an income exceeding that of any other of the young women who had made their bows this season. She was considered the catch of the season, and he felt he owed it to himself to check her again, to see if there was any possibility of her catching his interest.
Once inside the morning room to which he had been ushered, he passed the time in making polite conversation with Lady Wellsley, amusing himself with the effusive way she agreed with his comments, the eagerness she showed to be pleasant to him. But he understood that all the while, she was weighing him, measuring him, estimating what she had heard about his income, his history, and his family ties. Despite half of it, he knew, she would be bound to consider him one of the most eligible partis to grace her drawing room.