Confessions From an Arranged Marriage (25 page)

Chapter 27

E
ighty-three guests, including wives and political secretaries, but not personal servants and the occasional child, were expected. Although the staff at Mandeville was well accustomed to such epic gatherings, Minerva was kept busy planning the care, feeding, and entertainment of such a crowd. Her days were occupied settling a thousand little details. Bed and table linens, china and glass, soap and candles—all these were needed in quantities she'd never even conceived of. Then there was the food and drink. The home farm's population of pigs, sheep, cattle, and chickens would be severely depleted. The head gardener—an old friend from Minerva's youth—had his minions ready to harvest fruit and vegetables by the hundredweight and deliver baskets of fresh flowers to the house every day. Cartloads of supplies arrived from the grocers and other merchants of Shrewsbury. The bills, which Minerva dutifully examined in carefully summarized lists, were staggering. She was thankful the preparations of the stables for dozens of visiting horses and carriages and the selection of hundreds of bottles from the wine cellars did not fall to her lot. The stable master and wine steward reported directly to the duke.

Something was bothering the duke. On the surface he seemed cheerful enough, but Minerva had become sensitive to Blake's moods. She knew he wasn't looking forward to the house party, but that wasn't the trouble. It was something to do with Huntley. With great difficulty she'd bitten back her questions about the hold his former schoolmate had over him. Ever since their engagement she'd suspected Blake had a secret. He might be persuaded to tell her if she insisted; she'd always been good at arguing her friends and family into submission. But Blake could be incredibly stubborn. She also learned every day that marriage wasn't the same as dealing with a recalcitrant brother. She wanted to win her husband's trust.

Gideon and Maria Louther and their children arrived in advance of the main party. Escaping the company of Maria, whose temper tended to be querulous, she rode over to Wallop Hall to see Diana and Sebastian, who were spending a few days with the Montroses before coming to Mandeville.

“Frankly, darling,” Diana said, as they sat alone in the drawing room, “I thought Sebastian and Blake would do better with four or five score other guests to separate them. I had a hard time getting him to agree to come. He's only doing it for your sake. Now tell me, how are you and Blake getting on? Your letters have been most uninformative.”

“Quite well,” she said.

“Do I detect a blush? That's a good sign. You must tell me all about being a duchess.”

“Could we please forget I'm such an exalted being? You knew Blake well. Certainly better than I did before I married him. Did you ever hear rumors of anything odd in his past?”

“What kind of thing?”

“I don't know, but it has something to do with a man called Geoffrey Huntley who was at Eton with him.”

Diana shook her elegant head. “I never heard of him. What makes you suspect anything strange?”

After a brief account of the Warfield Castle story, Minerva frowned ferociously. “I have this feeling Huntley has a hold over Blake for some reason. I know I have the key to it. I've noticed things ever since our engagement, times when Blake seems to be dodging the issue, trying to deflect my attention, but I can't put my finger on it.”

“You could ask him.”

“I want him to tell me because he trusts me.”

A broad smile crossed Diana's face. “Well, well. Who would have thought it?”

“What?”

“Never mind. But I think I'd better tell you about something that happened between Blake and me.”

Minerva felt a moment's panic. The short-lived betrothal between Diana and her husband had never bothered her before, but she felt a stab of irrational loathing for her sister, not unlike what she'd experienced when she saw him speaking to Desirée de Bonamour in the Tuileries Garden.

“After Sebastian and I married, Blake borrowed a large sum from me.”

“That is odd. If there's one thing I know it's that the Vanderlins have plenty of money.”

“That is why I suspect he wanted the money for something he didn't want brought to his father's attention. I thought perhaps he had a gaming debt, yet Blake never had a reputation as a heavy gambler.”

“No, he doesn't much like cards. I suppose he might have bet on a horse race.”

Diana nodded. “He used to enjoy a bet. Even though he sold his hunters and gave up his London house, it still took two years for him to pay me. That's why he went to live in Devon, to save money.”

“I never asked him why he did that.” Minerva shook her head in amazement that she'd missed the connection. She'd scornfully assumed he'd been banished by his father and never given it another thought.

“I know the duke was less than generous in his allowance to Blake.” Diana smiled wryly. “My fortune was a big part of his attraction to me.”

“And he wouldn't let himself remain in debt to you . . .”

“No.”

“The question is why he needed such a large sum. Let's say it was Huntley. If Huntley is blackmailing Blake, he may have decided this time he'd rather have a parliamentary seat than money.”

“But what could Blake have done that he had to pay so much for Huntley's silence?”

“Of one thing I am absolutely certain,” Minerva said fiercely. “Nothing dishonorable. Blake is a good man. And if Huntley thinks to harm him, I shall have something to say about it.”

Diana's revelation explained why she'd felt a pall of anxiety hanging over Blake in recent days, a sense of impending doom. One night she'd tackled him directly about it and he said crossly that the prospect of a hundred near-strangers invading the house was enough to give anyone a sense of doom. She couldn't get another word out of him. There was one thing she could do to make the party, in a small way, less of an annoyance for her husband.

“Where's Sebastian, Diana?”

“Reading in the summer house.”

The summer house was rather a grand term for a rickety rustic shelter the other side of the shaggy lawn. She found Lord Iverley escaping the afternoon sun with his nose buried in a book.

He looked up at her approach, peered owlishly, and retrieved his spectacles from his pocket. He couldn't see more than a few feet ahead without them. “Min!” He was always pleased to see her.

“Good book?”

“Miss Appleton's
Early Education
. She has some interesting ideas about reasoning with infants.”

Dear Sebastian. Always looking for the answers to life's mysteries on the printed page. “What does Diana think of it?”

“She tells me not to worry so much.”

“I want to talk to you about Blake.”

Sebastian made a noise that meant he didn't want to discuss something and looked longingly at Miss Appleton.

“When you come to Mandeville this week, I want you to be polite and make an effort to get on good terms with him.”

“That's what Diana keeps telling me. Do I have to?”

Minerva put her hands on her hips. “He's not only your cousin, he's your brother-in-law.”

“Yes, damn him. And we know how that happened.”

“However unfortunate the beginning of our marriage, we're bound for life and we're both trying to make the best of it.”

“Is
he
trying to make the best of it, Min, or is it just you? Does he treat you well?”

“Yes, he does. Whatever happened between you and Blake in the past, I want you to forget it.” She wasn't privy to all the details of Blake and Sebastian's feud, only that it went back to childhood. She'd always taken Sebastian's side. Now she felt sure the fault wasn't one-sided and Blake must have good cause to dislike his cousin.

“I no longer dwell on our boyhood quarrels,” he said stiffly. “We simply don't have anything in common. I've often wondered if the man can even read. But there's no reason I can't be polite.”

“Good. Now you should try and do better than tolerance. You know, we always made jokes about how stupid Blake is, but we were wrong. Just because he's not a great reader doesn't mean he lacks intelligence. I find him to be knowledgeable in many areas and capable of acute observation.” She put her hands on her hips and glared down at Sebastian. She realized she'd articulated an opinion that had been forming over many weeks.

“Don't look so fierce, Min. I take your word for it. I'll try to make Blake my friend. Only for your sake, of course.”

“For my sake and for yours. He's your closest relation, Sebastian.”

Sebastian started laughing. “To think I'd ever see the day. Minerva Montrose, defending Lord Blakeney.”

“It's not funny, Sebastian. Everything is different now.”

S
ince Sebastian was a man of his word, she was satisfied with their conversation. But something he said preyed on her mind as she rode home through the park.

I've often wondered if the man can even read.

He'd been joking. It was the kind of sniping remark he and Blake made about each other, the sort of thing a bookish man would say about a sportsman he disliked.

And yet . . .

It was incredible. And it explained so much.

Minerva had never seen her husband in the act of reading, not once. Not a pamphlet, not a novel, not even a menu.

But he could write, proven by a single brief and misspelled note. It was the only time she'd ever seen more than his signature. When he'd had occasion to contact her in the short weeks between their betrothal and wedding, a servant had delivered the message verbally.

Of course he could write. How could a man of his station manage without that most fundamental method of communication?

Her head buzzing with speculation, she handed over her horse to the waiting servant. With a hasty “later” to a request for consultation from the housekeeper, she tore upstairs with unseemly haste and dismissed her waiting maid. Instead of tossing it out when she packed to leave Paris, she'd tucked Blake's note into a drawer of her jewel chest.

The sight of it drew an involuntary smile and a shiver of pleasure. The morning she'd received it was the day they'd first lain together. How foolish she'd been to be so upset by a little pain. Whatever educational shortcomings Blake might have, he knew how to make her happy in bed.

She unfolded the half sheet, recalling how hard it had been to decipher. At the time she'd assumed he'd written in haste. Perusing it now she doubted it. There were none of the ink splatters common when pen was dragged across paper carelessly. Now that her suspicions were aroused, there seemed something premeditated about the chaotic sprawl, as though it were deliberately ill-written.

Deflection.

She recalled at least two occasions when he'd used a physical advance to get away from the subject of reading, once when she'd outright asked him to take a turn at reading aloud. In each case she'd had the impression he was avoiding something.

Yet he could write, a little. So he must be able to read too. A little. The secretaries' brief summaries, Amanda's little capitalized notes.

She passed through the small antechamber dividing the duke and duchess's suites into Blake's bedchamber. Nothing here. He slept in her bed. His sitting room was almost as neat, with none of the clutter of paper that her maids constantly, and to her annoyance, tidied up in hers. While she never had fewer than a dozen books in her room at any moment, she found just two here.

Two books. Her heart lightened. Her suspicions were crazy and unfounded. She'd always known he wasn't bookish, but that didn't mean he couldn't read.

One was a recently published work on agriculture, almost new. Bound in the printer's boards, the pages were uncut. Only the first few had been slit open with a paper knife so he hadn't got very far into the tome. The other was her wedding gift. The binder had trimmed the pages and gilded the edges, but the bookmark proved he'd progressed less than a chapter since she last checked. Yet he'd told her once he was enjoying it.

Minerva could barely take in the implications of her discovery. How could Blake be virtually illiterate? Anyone could read if taught. Her studies told her that even those born in the lowest circumstances could be educated. That the heir to a dukedom should fail must be attributed to only two causes: gross stupidity or extreme idleness. Neither explanation fit the Blake she'd come to know and value. She wanted to ask him, demand the truth, but how could she insult him so? Suppose she was wrong? He would rightly be mortally offended by such a shocking accusation.

And where did Huntley come into the picture? Her reeling brain refused, for the present, to make any sense of his involvement and she had no leisure to consider it. The housekeeper needed her and tomorrow almost a hundred guests would fill the house, requiring her attention as a hostess and her political acumen in solving the quarrels that were the reason for the house party.

Besides, what she'd said to Diana was true. She wanted Blake to trust her.

Chapter 28

“I
think it would be quite wrong to extend the franchise to tenants. Freeholders are the only ones who can be trusted to have the interests of the country at heart.”

Blake had forgotten the name of the fellow in the yellow waistcoat who harangued him. Another man lingered nearby, anxious to favor the Duke of Hampton with his impressive opinion. A politically-minded earl, one of his father's oldest friends, was headed in his direction.

Everyone wanted the duke. They wanted to know his thoughts on the important subjects of the day. Not because his views were of any inherent value, but because he had things they wanted and they were trying to find out what they had to do to get them. Blake realized to them he wasn't a man; he was a title and a position in life. To add to his disquiet was the knowledge that many of these men were acquainted with Geoffrey Huntley. Every time the post came, one of them could receive a letter with the sorry tale of the new Duke of Hampton and his long unsuccessful struggle with the written word.

Despite his complete idiocy when it came to the Greek language, by listening in class (though usually pretending not to) he'd managed to imbibe a fair knowledge of classical culture. One story had always resonated with him, never more so than now. He completely sympathized with the man who lived with the constant threat of death from a sword hanging over his head by a single thread. There were moments when Blake was tempted to slice through the thread that held his personal Sword of Damocles and let it fall, publicly destroying any notion that he could adequately fill his father's shoes.

Since the only strategy he'd found to deal with Huntley's threat was to prove to the world that he was a worthy occupant of the title, he suppressed his boredom and listened carefully while saying little.

In the library, where several dozen were gathered this wet Wednesday morning, he looked around for the only person whose company he desired. Over the shoulder of his tormenter, his height much shorter than his speeches, he found Minerva at the other end of room, engaged in a group of chattering politicos and bargaining radicals. She was beautiful and bright-eyed, a lavender-gowned beauty in a sea of coats and breeches, and having the time of her life. His mood softened a degree at her obvious happiness, which he had no wish to interrupt.

He drank in her slender fairness, apparently so frail when compared to the dark masculine hues that surrounded her, but deceptively so. Minerva, Duchess of Hampton, was strong, keen-witted, and cunning as any man. She was speaking to a group of men and, though she was far from earshot, his inner ear could hear the low-pitched clipped accents with which she delivered her cogent, intelligent, and mercifully concise arguments. His heart swelled with pride that this remarkable woman was his. How could these fellows not fall on their knees before her and agree to whatever she asked?

Another fellow joined them, added something to the conversation. The men all started talking at once and distress was written over her features. How dare they? His fists itched to knock down the lot of them.

“Excuse me . . .” he cut off Mr. Yellow Waistcoat. “I've remembered an appointment.” He cut through the assembly to her side.

“Blake,” she said softly. Her use of informal address in public, as much as her convulsive grip on his arm, confirmed her unhappiness.

He kissed her hand, a real kiss so that his lips brushed the soft skin of her practical hands. “Minerva,” he said. “Present these gentlemen to me.”

Doubtless he'd already met them but he didn't care. Men who upset his wife didn't deserve his consideration.

She listed their names and they all bowed eagerly and started to talk, but fell silent when he raised his hand. “I'm sure you've expressed your opinions to the duchess and she's more than capable of conveying your arguments to me.” When one of them had the temerity to demur he looked down his nose at the man and composed his features into what he hoped was the expression his father had used to depress pretensions. “Her Grace has my ear,” he announced. That was all. No doubt anyone who didn't hear him say it would have the report before the longcase clock struck the quarter hour.

“Please accompany me to the study, Minerva. I wish to consult you on a matter of importance.” He bowed formally, offered his arm, and the two of them walked the length of the library, the assembled men hurrying aside to create a path for their progress. He would have laughed, but tension rippled through her hand to his. The rosebud lips were thin and pale, the china blue eyes brimmed with frustration.

The visible effort it required to maintain her dignity might have amused him had she not been genuinely distressed. Then any impulse to laugh shriveled.

Huntley. Had the weasel's letter arrived? Had one of those fellows told Minerva the truth?

To his utter amazement, when they reached the study she burst into tears. His fearless, confident Minnie wept as though the world had ended.

He took her into his arms and held her close, dropping helpless kisses into her glossy braids. He'd happily kill the man who'd upset her, but he feared that would mean suicide. As her sobs subsided she drew back and groped for her handkerchief. He took it from her convulsive grip, tilted her face, and carefully dabbed away the tears.

“I'm sorry,” she said with an endearing sniffle. “I just heard something terrible.”

He waited, helpless, for her next words. What could be more terrible than learning that her husband was a fool?

She opened her mouth, as though afraid to speak. A first for Minerva.

“I . . .” she began. “I . . . told Edward Jones he could have Warfield Castle.”

“Is that all?” Searing relief mingled with an undercurrent of something akin to regret that his secret had not been exposed. “I'm sure he's a good fellow.”

“He is. But I just learned Gideon had promised Lord Waterbury he'd give it to Mr. Sanborn. Now the people on both sides are furious. I've made a terrible mistake. I thought I'd made a clever move, but I've made things worse.”

“I'm sure it's not so bad, my love.” The endearment dropped from his lips unplanned and pleased him.

She shook her head with a despondent pout. “I never knew hosting a political gathering could be so maddening.”

“Come here,” he said, pulling her back into a loose embrace. “Tell me all about it.” He stroked her back and she gradually relaxed in his arms, settling her cheek against his chest with a gusty sigh.

“I spent an hour this morning talking to three men whom I admire. They are intelligent and thoughtful and have the best interests of the country at heart. But each one of them thinks that he, and he alone, is right.”

“We all think we're right, Minnie. Even you.”

Her little chuckle reverberated into his chest. “True. But at least I admit the possibility of a different point of view.”

“Must be because you're not a man.”

“If that's what men are like, I'm grateful I'm female.”

“I'm certainly grateful for that.” He dropped a kiss onto her hair.

“There are reasonable men. There must be.”

“Of course there are. Me, for example.”

“Oh, you don't count.” That didn't sound like a compliment. On the other hand she put her arms around his waist and snuggled into chest. “Sir Gideon is working hard to forge a compromise and I'm trying to help him. If the reformers cannot agree on the contents of a bill, there's no chance of even introducing it in Parliament, let along mustering the votes to pass it. The object of this gathering is to bring everyone together. If it fails they'll all go away.”

Though nothing could make Blake happier than to see his house shot of every last gabbling guest, not even for a moment was he tempted to say “Good.” Minerva's wishes were more important than his.

“I'm failing,” she said. “I always thought I could help important things to happen and it's all falling apart. It's much more difficult than I imagined.”

He found he couldn't bear to see her humbled. He wanted his bossy, overconfident Minnie back. “My dearest girl! You mustn't blame yourself. You're new to this game. Besides, it's not your sole responsibility.”

“Someone must try,” she said fiercely.

His father would have succeeded. Blake felt his own inadequacy keenly. The heritage and future of his family was now on his shoulders. Political influence was only a part of it, and not a part he was suited to by inclination or talent. Nonetheless, while the power existed it was his duty to wield it, well and responsibly. Like it or not, he alone was Duke of Hampton.

“What can I do?” he asked.

Minerva tilted her head and looked at him with an arrested expression. “You are Hampton,” she said, echoing his own conclusion. “They will listen to you.”

“What do I have to contribute to the discussion? If they were all as clever as you claim, they'd be following your advice.”

“Thank you.” She smiled for the first time. “They find it hard to look beyond the fact that I am a woman, and a young one too.”

Swinging her by the waist, he moved over to an upholstered window seat. Once he had her ensconced on his lap, fragrant and shapely, he was tempted to initiate some serious kissing. But he had work to do and his industrious resolution wasn't entirely motivated by his need to impress her.

“So, Duchess, what should I say to these recalcitrant fellows?”

He could almost hear her brain churning. “They're all madly curious to know your opinion, because you never express it. There's a good deal of speculation about which side you support.”

“Hah! I hardly even know which side is which.”

“Being mysterious is effective. It makes people suspect you are a deep thinker.”

“In that case I shall continue to keep quiet, lest they learn otherwise.”

Minerva cupped his cheek with her hand. “I'm beginning to think your native common sense has much to offer.”

The glow in her blue eyes pierced him to the soul. A casual caress and a few words of praise from Minerva meant more to him than the extravagant attention of a dozen beautiful women. He wondered how he could be worthy of her. He could never be his father, sweep into an assembly and sway men's opinions by the power of his personality and brilliance of mind. But he did stand in his father's place and perhaps he could fool people into believing him a worthy successor to the late duke. But if he were to retain even the minimal respect he now enjoyed, he couldn't afford to let them know how incapable he was. Men who now regarded him as a leader would laugh at his ignorance.

And the damnable thing was they could know any day. Even now, Huntley could be spreading the rumor.

She was frowning again. What now?

“Warfield Castle. Whatever shall we do?”

“Gideon had no right to make that promise without consulting me.”

“Nor did I. I'm so sorry.”

He could see her pride and self-confidence were badly shaken. Where once he'd have taken pleasure in seeing Minerva brought down a peg or two, now he wanted only to restore her happiness.

“You had every right. I told them back in the library that you have my ear and I mean it. Anything you do, I'll back you to the hilt. And before you point out that I should make decisions based on merit, let me assure you that I have far more faith in your ability than Gideon's.”