The Secret Duke (32 page)

“Disgusting.”

“But not our current concern. The event becomes debauched, so our revelation might be as simple as opening the curtains.”

Bella was imagining it all, slack jawed.

“More punch?” he offered.

She held out her glass, and then took a deep drink. “How do we open the curtains? We won’t be inside the room.”

“You won’t be anywhere near, but I’m sure I can find an excuse to enter.”

“And a way to make sure people are outside to see the scene?”

“Word can be spread. Picture it. It will be like the curtain rising in the theater. And on such a scene, such actors . . .” He smiled at her. “How your eyes sparkle.”

Bella supposed they did. “Is it very bad of me? What of the other magistrates? We catch them in this trap too.”

“Only if they are enjoying the same vices as your brother.”

“Do we know who they are?”

“I thought you might.”

Bella gasped. “Yes, of course! What am I thinking? One must be Squire Thoroughgood. That’s the man my father wanted me to marry.”

“He’s upright and righteous? That might spoil our plans.”

“Neither. Oh, I suppose he’s considered righteous, after a fashion, applying the law with a harsh hand, but he’s known for hard drinking, and for being unfaithful to his first wife.”

“How old is he?”

Bella shrugged. “Gone forty, I’d think. Why?”

“He was hardly a suitable choice for you.”

She grimaced. “My father insisted I must be married, and no one was competing for the honor. Squire Thoroughgood offered to rescue me from shame. My father approved. I remember him telling me that Squire Thoroughgood was a stern man who’d know how to keep a flighty wife in line, with a whip if necessary.”

His jaw was tight. “I wish your father weren’t dead. I’d enjoy giving him my opinion of his conduct.”

“He’d have had you thrown out.”

He smiled in that grimly confident way he had sometimes. “I doubt it.”

Bella supposed he’d go to such an interview with his crew beside him.

She contemplated the morrow with increased satisfaction. “If Squire Thoroughgood is caught up in Augustus’s shame, I will have no objection.”

“Good. Do you approve the plan?”

Bella drank more punch. “If it can be executed, yes. But the scene will have to be instantly and visually scandalous. How can we ensure that? The men playing cards won’t be enough.”

He took a drink, considering her. “They roll dice. When they lose, the women take off items of clothing.”

“Oh.”

“When the clothing is gone, there are other penalties.”

Bella decided she didn’t need to know any more. “So we merely need a signal for when matters have progressed far enough.”

He smiled, perhaps in accolade. “Precisely. However, it would be useful to have a few important witnesses at hand, as well as the ordinary folk. Ones not afraid of the magistrates and thus certain to spread the story far and wide.” He straightened. “Fortescue! Perfect.”

Bella put a hand over her eyes. “You want to involve Lord Fortescue in this outrageous plan? You’re mad.”

“Brilliantly so, I hope. Who better? He’s tough, testy, and straitlaced, and a viscount has nothing to fear from a magistrate. He wouldn’t normally concern himself with such misbehavior, but face-to-face with it, he’ll bear witness.”

“You sound as if you know him well.”

“I’ve had dealings with him.”

“As Captain Rose.”

He looked at her blankly, as if her comment made no sense, but then said, “Trust me, Bella.”

“Hat pin,” she muttered.

“Turn your sharp wits to whom else we can draw in as a witness. What of the family your brother wants to marry into?”

“Langham. But Mr. Langham is merely rich. He’s trying to establish his family here, so he won’t want to stir trouble.”

“Not even if it seems his daughter’s suitor is a thorough wretch? If he sees it with his own eyes?”

Bella considered that. “Yes. Yes, then he might act. From the little I’ve seen of him he is a devoted father. If he learned of that possibility, he would come here to see the truth.”

He nodded. “That can be arranged. Who else?” He tapped his finger on his glass as he thought. “Fortescue should be a strong witness. He detests hypocrisy. However, Langham, as you say, might not want to speak out. What of the vicar? Do you know what sort of man has the living here?”

“Oh, yes!” Bella said. “If he’s still here, it’s Reverend Jervingham. A roaring parson, and a son of the Earl of Moncliffe, so not prey to local influence. He’s known for denouncing sinners from the pulpit, great as well as low.”

“I already adore him,” Thorn said with a satisfied smile. “With an audience of as many local people as we can alert, those three gentlemen should do the trick.”

“As long as the magistrates do behave badly.”

“According to Mistress Calloway, they always do.”

“Always?”

“Your brother is a habitual sinner, Bella. We won’t be catching him in one unfortunate lapse.”

“No, I suppose not. But . . . but they’re supposed to uphold the law!”

“Which never, of course, applies to them. So all we need is a signal. A way to know when to invade and raise the curtain.”

“Why not let one of the women do that?” Bella suggested. “I suspect they would.”

“And would be delighted to.” His eyes twinkled. “A strong scream would give me excuse enough to rush in, don’t you think?”

She twinkled back at him. “How could a gentleman do less?”

They toasted each other. It would have been a perfect moment, Bella thought, if their anticipated triumph would not signal the end of all her hopes.

For that was true. Her dreams of marriage were just that: dreams. Even with Augustus ground into the dust, she would still be ruined Bella Barstowe.

“I should return to the Oak to make the arrangements,” he said. “I apologize for my apparent misbehavior.”

“I will certainly have to play the sorrowful wife.”

He rose and came to kiss her, tasting spice with brandy, oranges, and nutmeg. “I wouldn’t go if it weren’t essential,” he said.

“I know.”

He kissed her again. “We both know that if this were reality, you’d wrap the poker around my head.”

She chuckled. “If this were reality, sir, you’d have learned to behave long ago.”

He laughed softly too. “I’m sure I would.”

Bella maintained her mask until he left, but then she had to dab away some tears.

The maid came in with supper for one and a dish for Tabitha. She gave Bella a pitying look, and Bella desperately wanted to assert that her “husband” would never be so disrespectful. That he had a noble purpose . . .

Oh, she was running mad, and she would keep all her attention on her revenge. That, at least, she could have.

After supper, Bella sat to sew, needing the calming effect. She’d almost finished hemming the gentleman’s handkerchief she was working on, and as she set the final stitches, she decided to give it to Thorn. It was a plain handkerchief, so he would not need to feel it was special, but she’d know he had it, no matter how things were in the future.

 

 

 

 

T
horn returned within the hour, which was a secret joy.

“What a vision,” he said. “A lady sewing by candlelight.”

She gave him a look. “Strong daylight is preferable. I can do this only because my fingers know the work even if I were blindfolded. Did the women agree?”

“With pleasure, as you said. He really is disliked. He pays his fees but never more, and he . . . Never mind.” He sat opposite her chair. “I also learned the name of the third magistrate. Sir Newleigh Dodd. Another nasty specimen?”

Bella searched her memory. “He must have been appointed since I left. I don’t think I know him.”

“He’ll be from the same mold, or too weak to object. Here’s the sequence. The magistrates hold court and then dine. They’re generally half-drunk when the women arrive, and fully drunk later, but tomorrow night the women will add extra spirits to their punch to speed the process. Once the activities have reached truly scandalous dimensions, one of the women will shriek and I’ll rush to the rescue, with Fortescue close behind.”

“What about the spectators outside?”

“Mistress Calloway’s having a word with one of her customers who does a trade in wondrous nostrums. Tomorrow evening he’ll offer a demonstration of a new tonic against the rheumatism that can be activated only by moonlight. That will take place in the stable yard, outside the room where the magistrates sup.”

“That’s very clever.”

He inclined his head.

“What of the vicar?” Bella asked. “He won’t come for a patent medicine.”

“That will be less precise, but I’ve recruited the local grocer, a man called Colly Barber. Your brother had him put in the stocks for giving short measure, and he swears it was contrived because he wouldn’t supply Sir Augustus Barstowe free of charge. Whatever the truth of that, he’ll take a message to the vicar, summoning him here. The question is, what message?”

“Religious duty,” Bella said firmly. “He’d never ignore that. The message says that Squire Thoroughgood has taken a fit brought on by eating to excess, and is crying to confess his sins before he dies. He’s corpulent, so it’s believable.”

“Clever, Bella. Langham will probably come if he receives an anonymous message informing him that his future son-in-law is consorting with low whores. The stage is set.”

Bella ran over it all in her mind. She wanted this to work. “How will the grocer know when to take the message?”

“When he hears the scream.”

She shook her head. “That will be too late. Even though the vicarage is close by, Reverend Jervingham could arrive when everything is over. What if we check for the place closest to the vicarage that can be seen from the bedchamber? I’ll be in there, leaving you and Fortescue to your political supper. When I hear the scream, I’ll wave a candle to signal the grocer to go, cutting his journey by half.”

“As neat as your stitchery. Excellent.”

Bella basked in his approval. Before she could get maudlin, she said, “Speaking of neat, shouldn’t you shave if you persist in passing yourself off as the duke?”

“I’m Ithorne traveling incognito, remember? A duke can grow a beard as well as a peasant, and it serves to blur any differences in our features.”

She could only sigh. “And who am I if not Mistress Rose?”

“I’m afraid you have to be Ithorne’s
chère amie
.”

His mistress. But the French meant “dear friend.”

He leaned forward and took her hand. “You have become a dear friend, Bella, so it’s not a lie.”

That almost destroyed her composure, but she managed, “And you are a true friend to me. You’ve taken on my cause as your own. But, my friend, may I not play a part tomorrow apart from candle waving?”

They were still hand- locked, and she would not change that.

“You should keep to your room, Bella,” he said. “It could all be very unpleasant.”

“Good.”

“I mean, the sins could be.”

“I need to see the result,” she said.

“You might be recognized by any number of people.”

For a moment Bella balked. “But it won’t matter then. I mean, it won’t ruin the plan.”

“Your reputation?”

“We’ve dispensed with that long ago.”

His hand and features tightened, almost as if he were angry, but then he said, “By all means, rush down after me, then, and play what part you wish.”

“Thank you. I do believe this will work.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “It will work, for it’s my service to you, my lady.” He freed his fingers from hers, however, and stood. “I must leave you again in order settle a few final details. Not, I promise, at the Oak.”

“See that you don’t,” she said with teasing severity.

“I’ll send someone up for your supper dishes, and with your washing water.”

He left, and Bella realized he’d ordered her to bed.

How should she understand that?

When the maids had come and gone, Bella took off her gown and washed, but then she looked at the bed, wondering what to wear. Shift and petticoat, as she had the first night? Nightgown, as she had last night?

She knew what she wanted in this bed this night, but she didn’t want to send too broad a hint, to make him feel he must, if he didn’t want to.

Her needs were wicked, but she didn’t care, for this might be their last night. Her needs weren’t wicked at all. She wanted to be the true wife to Captain Rose, his helpmate and companion, keeper of his home ashore, mother of his children, and lover in his bed.

She wanted that more than anything else she could imagine.

More, even, than her revenge against Augustus.

Yes, it would seem love was selfish, for if she had to choose between marrying Thorn and stopping her brother’s evil course, she’d marry Thorn and leave the world vulnerable to Augustus Sluggaby Barstowe.

She put on the nightgown. When she’d brushed out her hair, she plaited it and put on her nightcap. Then she drew the curtains around the bed and climbed into it.

It wasn’t long until he entered the bedroom. She listened to the sounds beyond the curtains, trying to hear eagerness or reluctance in them, and then felt him join her in the bed. She didn’t look. She didn’t want him to feel he must do anything at all.

He slid over, close to her. She turned her head to look at him then and saw bare shoulders. No shirt.

Her mouth dried. They were beautiful shoulders, and even in the dim light, she could make out the tattoo—the one of a black swan that she remembered from the Compass in Dover. She touched it, surprised to find it smooth. “Why have this done?”