The Duchess Read online

  “Would you stop talking for a moment? I don’t know why the two of you are taking this so lightly. This could be serious.”

  “I don’t think it is. If it were, there would be ransom demands and they’d go to the old hag, wouldn’t they?”

  Claire paused in unbuttoning her gown. “Who?”

  “The old hag. The witch. The most hated woman in all of England, Scotland, and, as far as I know, Ireland. But the Scots don’t talk much about Ireland so I can’t be sure about that country.”

  “Help me unfasten this,” Claire said, trying to understand what Brat was saying. “And do please stop talking.”

  Claire was ready to go in a matter of minutes, and she met Harry downstairs. He was sitting half asleep in the hall porter’s chair. She had to shake his shoulder to get him going. He’d sent a footman to the stables and their horses were waiting for them—as were three men, already mounted, lanterns in their hands and ready to ride.

  Claire made a few furtive attempts to talk to Harry about the need for secrecy. She said that Leatrice might be hurt if they came storming into the summerhouse. Harry just looked at her as though she were daft and told his men to go.

  Brat, mounted on an unruly gelding, smiled at Claire in a know-it-all way. “Not exactly dime-novel, old West riding to the rescue, is it?” she said smugly.

  “Harry’s a Scot,” Claire answered. “They do things differently here.”

  “Harry’s English,” Brat said as she kicked her horse forward, easily controlling the big animal. Their father had put Sarah Ann on a horse before she could walk, and the child had taken to the animal as though she were a female centaur. Claire was an excellent rider, but she wasn’t anything compared to Brat.

  The six of them went thundering down the lanes. Claire hoped there was no need for secrecy, for secret they were not. They could have been heard twenty miles away. She hoped Leatrice wasn’t in real danger and that it was a hoax.

  At one point, when they had to slow down to go single file down a narrow path, Brat turned to Claire and said, “You know, I really love this family.”

  Claire grimaced and nudged her horse forward.

  When they at last reached the summerhouse, Claire wasn’t prepared for what she saw. The windows were boarded and there was a bolt locking the door from the outside, yet there was smoke coming from the chimney of the little building.

  “Open it,” Harry said, not getting down from his horse.

  It was at that moment that the vicar appeared. He was a tall man, made to look taller by the fact that he was riding a horse that was too small for him. His clerical clothes billowed out over an enormous stomach and he had whiskers hanging down to his chest. “What’s this?” the man bellowed. “I was dragged from a warm fire and a good dinner to this place. What’s this, young Harry?”

  Harry squinted at the man, trying to remember who he was. “I don’t know” was all Harry said, then he nodded at the footman to unbar the door.

  Inside the room were two people, both of them stark naked. One, a tall, good-looking man in his early forties, was trying to shield the nude body of Leatrice from the view of the people outside the door. Leatrice cowered behind him.

  Claire, once she got her mouth closed from the shock of the spectacle, tried to keep Brat from seeing into the room. She might as well have tried to contain a honeybee with a piece of string. Brat was off her horse in seconds, standing at the doorway and unabashedly staring. Claire was trying not to do the same.

  In the next instant the shock was broken by the booming voice of the vicar. He was calling down the wrath of God on the fornicators.

  Harry at last got off his horse, went inside the building, and gave his coat to his sister to cover herself. “What do you have to say for yourself, Kincaid?” he demanded of the man who was now trying to cover his private parts.

  At the name Kincaid, Claire began to realize what was going on. MacTarvit, she thought, and tried to keep from smiling. He had somehow arranged this.

  In the background the vicar was still raging, saying that all hellfire was going to come down on these sinners. Claire was thinking with love of MacTarvit, knowing he was the one who had somehow managed to lock these two into a room and take their clothes from them. And he’d arranged for a vicar to be there when they were found.

  “They must be married,” Claire heard herself saying loudly. It wasn’t easy to be heard over the vicar, who was talking about the eternal damnation of these two people.

  Claire looked at Harry. “You’re her guardian and you can witness the ceremony. She must be married at once.”

  Harry looked startled. “I’m not sure Mother—”

  “Their souls are in jeopardy,” the vicar shouted. “They must be made to pay for their sins.”

  Claire looked at Leatrice. With her long hair down about her shoulders and her legs bare beneath Harry’s coat, she looked a great deal better than she did in the ruffled clothes she usually wore. Claire raised her eyebrows in question to Leatrice and Lee gave her a little smile and a nod.

  “Harry, they must be married at once! Now. This minute. You can’t let all these people see something like this and expect to stop the gossip. Your family name will be ruined.”

  “I’m not sure…” Harry said.

  Claire could see that even now the hold his mother had over him was formidable. “Harry, I understand,” she said softly, but making sure that the wide-eyed servants around them heard. “If you don’t have the authority to force a man who has defiled your sister to marry her, I quite understand, and I’m sure everyone else here understands too.”

  “I think I have—I mean, I do have the authority, but—”

  “We’d better go,” Claire said. “I just pray that your sister does not bear a child from this.” She looked at the men standing by the wall and gawking at the whole scene. “We must swear you all to secrecy. No one must hear of what has gone on here tonight.” Her voice told that she didn’t believe there was much chance of the secret being kept. “Come with me, Leatrice. You may ride with me.”

  Harry gave a sigh that was probably audible a half a mile away. “All right,” he said, then looked at the vicar. “Marry them.”

  Claire felt a little thrill of triumph go through her and she tried to think of what she could do to repay MacTarvit for having arranged this. The vicar told one of the grooms to give Kincaid a coat, then he began the ceremony. Claire was so thrilled at what was taking place that at first she didn’t listen or pay attention to what was being said. She glanced at her sister and saw that Brat was staring at the vicar with a frown of concentration. Claire looked between Leatrice and Kincaid toward the vicar, and as she did so, he looked straight at her.

  He could disguise his shape and his voice and his mannerisms; he could change the way he talked, but he couldn’t hide those eyes. Trevelyan looked out at her from under bushy eyebrows and his expression was one of such smugness that she glared back at him.

  For the rest of the “wedding” Claire had to clamp her jaws together to keep from speaking out. After the “ceremony” Harry dutifully kissed his sister, then shook hands with James Kincaid and got back on his horse. Claire imagined he was not looking forward to telling his mother what had happened tonight.

  Claire dawdled in the summerhouse, even after two of the grooms doubled up and gave a horse to Leatrice and James. Claire watched the “vicar” mount his small horse and ride away. “Go with Harry,” Claire said tightly to her sister.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing that is any of your business. It’s well past your bedtime.”

  “Yours too. You’re going to see that man, aren’t you?”

  “Why in the world would you think I’m going to visit a man at this time of night? I want to enjoy the night air. Go back with Harry.”

  “I’ll hide all your jewelry and I’ll tell Mother about those books you have hidden in the false drawer of your big trunk.”

  “You really are the