Tempting the Ruined Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9

  He smiled, thinking that if he caught his adventurous spirit from anyone, it was most definitely his mother. It broke his heart to see her so reduced in spirit. Suddenly he was struck by the need to make her happy; to have her smile at him again with the same level of glee that she used to when she ‘stumbled upon him’ in the ‘wood’ and pounced as if she were a wolf, and he, her prey.

  “All right then, Mother. We shall try this again. I trust your judgment in this matter.” He gave a firm nod and watched as her face lit up with satisfaction.

  “That is indeed good news, my son. I feel sure that this project shall be good for all of us.”

  “Whatever you say, Mother.” He bowed his way out, brow furrowed in thought as he walked slowly away. If he was honest, he was not really worried about the painting or what people would say if they found out a woman painted it; he just had not liked the thought of being lied to.

  Of the girl – Louisa – lying to him.

  He did not know why he felt so strongly about that, but it was more than a just blow to his ego. He had experienced a feeling of betrayal as if she was somehow beholden to him – as if they had an obligation toward each other.

  It was most strange.

  Not knowing what to do with these feelings, he decided to put them on the back burner for the moment. There would be plenty of time to explore their origin in the coming days. Chagrined to realize he was looking forward to resuming his sessions with Miss Notley and her father in a way that was less than seemly, he quickened his footsteps deciding to distract himself by looking over the household accounts.

  Gilbert loitered outside the Dowager Duchess’ door, knowing that she would have news for him as soon as the Duke left. He was rather surprised that the Duke was finished with his mother so quickly. He had expected that they might have an extended discussion about what to do with his brother and niece.

  As he watched the Duke walk away, he could only conclude that the gentleman had refused point blank to entertain the notion of being painted by a woman. So, it was with intense surprise that he received the summons from the Dowager to go to her quarters at once.

  He hastened to obey, straightening his coat and stiffening his spine in preparation for the bad news.

  “Notley, you will notify your brother and his daughter that they are to be here tomorrow morning to resume the painting of my son’s portrait. Furthermore, they are to maintain the utmost discretion in their work and tell no one who is actually painting the portrait.”

  Apart from his raised eyebrows, Gilbert managed to contain his surprise and as soon as he recovered from the shock, he immediately began to speculate on how he could utilize this unexpected turn of events to his advantage.

  His brother was an honorable man, as was his daughter. The Duke was likely to see that soon enough. Perhaps it would help him keep his own position as he suspected it was slightly precarious at the moment. He suspected that the Duke did not like how much Gilbert had the Dowager’s ear and probably that he had been the late Duke’s right hand when the current Duke had seen fit to run away. Gilbert could well understand the need to establish one’s authority, but he was not willing to be a casualty of the process.

  He had worked too hard to achieve the position he was in.

  Come what may, he would make the Duke trust him.

  He sat down at his desk and dashed off a note, giving it to a passing footman for delivery.

  “Make sure they get it today.” he warned with a narrowing of his eyes.

  “Yes, Notley,” the footman nodded to him and took off at once, making Gilbert nod in satisfaction. He had the staff trained exactly how he liked them. Whatever the new Duke intended, Gilbert would not let him disrupt the perfectly-run household to do it.

  “Father! Father!” Louisa was running about, looking for Americus to show him the note she had gotten from a Munboro footman, but he was nowhere to be found. “Now where could he have gone off to?”

  She searched the entire house until she was convinced that he was indeed, not at home.

  “How did he even sneak out past me?” she wondered as she went to sit in the kitchen and brood. She waited for a few minutes, thinking that perhaps he had simply gone out to the privy but when he did not return, she decided to cook herself some lunch and then prepare for tomorrow.

  In spite of the circumstances, she was excited to be invited back to paint the Duke. She intended to do a stellar job, simply in gratitude for them showing faith in her abilities. Her mind went to the Duke. His tall scarred form. The air of uncertainty in his emerald eyes as he looked out on the world – in spite of his confident outer demeanor. Something about him drew her like nothing she had ever experienced before. She wanted to run her hands over his mottled skin and let him know that his scars did not make him ugly.

  She dismissed these thoughts as remnants of her childhood when she had been prone to flights of fancy. She placed a pigeon pie into the ledge above the open flame to warm up and poured out some apple cider from the stone bottle that kept it cool. Sipping slowly, she lost herself in contemplation of her work, wondering if she could get the Duke to take his coat off for her. She shivered at the thought, knowing full well her father would never allow it. She might not be a lady but Americus definitely treated her as one.

  She smiled and then frowned, wondering where he had gone to. It was not like him to just take off without a word to her. She did not know if she should be worried or not.

  In the end, she decided to call upon her friend Betty, to acquaint her with the good news. It would seem her plan had worked with absolutely no help from Louisa or her father. Uncle Gilbert had intervened for them and now they would get a chance to earn one more commission before Louisa would be forced to find a way to feed them both.

  It was a prospect she both dreaded and anticipated. She had wanted nothing but to be the master of her own fate for a long time – still it scared her that she would be in charge of not only herself but her father too. If his condition worsened, and all signs pointed to that, it would get more and more difficult to tend to him herself.

  Louisa lifted her chin with determination.

  I can do it. She nodded firmly to herself before getting to her feet and reaching for her shawl. She swung it about her shoulders, unlocked the door, let herself out and was on her way to her particular friend’s shop.

  She walked leisurely, watching keenly as vendors peddled their wares, trying to imagine herself as one of them. Could she truly sell trinkets on the street? Or would she be better off seeking work as a maid? She did not know for sure. Her heart sunk in despair at the thought of not practicing her art ever again.

  You can do it in your spare time, a voice said in her mind that she usually attributed to her dear-departed mother. Perhaps she could do it in her spare time...if she had any. Depending on the kind of job she got; that was not guaranteed. However, this was not the time to worry about that. Her more immediate concerns lay with finishing this painting and getting paid. She would think about the future later.

  She knocked tentatively on the door jamb as she let herself into Betty’s flower shop. The girl herself was bent over a pot filled with unidentified shrubs. She straightened up as Louisa’s steps came closer. Her eyes widened in something that looked like worry and relief to Louisa.

  “Oh my, Louisa! It is good you are here. I was just about to send for you.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s your father,” she said grabbing Louisa’s arm, “follow me.”

  Chapter 11

  Emergency

  Louisa’s heart leapt in her breast. What did Betty mean by that? She tried to ask her friend as she dragged Louisa down the street to her neighbor’s house but Betty would not say a thing.

  “You need to see for yourself.”

  Louisa absolutely did not need to see for herself if the worst had happened to her father. And if he was just fine, why wouldn’t Betty just say so?

  They bent low to enter through the doorway of
Mrs. Marni’s house, and Louisa was not at all surprised that her hands were shaking.

  “Hortensia?” Betty called.

  Louisa frowned in confusion. Hortensia?

  Somehow it had never occurred to her that Mrs. Marni had a first name. The lady herself emerged from a back room and sighed when she caught sight of Louisa. “Your father didn’t want you to know.”

  “Didn’t want me to know…what?” Louisa felt as if her heart might beat right out of her chest and smash onto the floor in a shower of frank blood. She could barely hear what Mrs. Marni said because she was so afraid.

  “Come with me.” Mrs. Marni said softly before taking her hand and leading her to the back room. It was difficult to see anything because the room was shrouded in mint-flavored mist.

  Louisa blinked a few times before she made out a prone figure lying on a low surface. She bent peering at it and saw that it was her father. His breathing was labored and in addition to that, now and then he would emit a pained whimper.

  “F-Father?”

  “L-louisa…I-I-I di-didn’t wan-want you to s-s-see me li-like this.”

  “What’s wrong?” she got to her knees, so she was leaning over him and gingerly covered his hand with hers. She did not want to hurt him.

  He exhaled slowly. “I have been in pain for a long time. Sometimes…it gets in my chest and…makes me feel as if I cannot breath.”

  “I-it’s n-not consumption is it?” Louisa asked in alarm.

  “No. Mrs. Marni assures me it is not.”

  “C-can she cur-cure it?” Louisa was thankful for the mist because her father could not see the tears tumbling down her cheeks.

  “There is no cure…that sh-she knows of,” he whispered the last words clearly out of breath.

  “Shh…father, don’t speak.”

  He smiled wryly and she acknowledged the irony of her telling him not to speak when she was the one asking questions; with an inclination of her head and a sad twist of her lips. She felt his forehead, and found it to be cold and clammy. Gasping she shot to her feet and went in search of Mrs. Marni. “How is he? What happened?”

  “Your father felt short of breath,” Mrs. Marni said at once. “And recognizing that it could get worse, he immediately sought me out. Unfortunately he was not very steady on his feet and almost collapsed in the street.”

  Louisa gasped.

  “Thankfully your friend Betty was selling her wares close by and caught sight of him. So, here we are.”

  Louisa immediately turned to Betty and pulled her friend into her arms. “Thank you.”

  “You know it’s nothing,” Betty mumbled into her shoulder.

  “It’s not nothing.” Louisa pulled back to look earnestly into Betty’s eyes. “It’s not.”

  Betty showed her colors, looking away to hide her embarrassment.

  “Your father must not exert himself for a few days,” Mrs. Marni broke in, “it could be dangerous to his health.”

  Louisa nodded. “I shall make sure of it.” Then she remembered the note from Munboro. “But…he is scheduled to paint the new Duke tomorrow…what shall I…?”

  “He cannot exert himself.” Mrs. Marni emphasized. “Make sure you get him a sedan chair to travel and that he is sitting down for the entirety of the appointment.”

  Louisa nodded frantically as Mrs. Marni spoke. “I will.”

  “Good. Now come with me to the kitchen so I can pour you a cup of calming tea so when your father is done with his treatment, you will be able to take him home.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Marni.”

  “Don’t thank me. I will, for sure, be sending you my bill.

  Louisa called for a sedan chair bright and early so that they would have plenty of time to arrive. Her father worried for the expense but she ignored him, getting him properly settled before falling in step behind the chairmen. She occupied her time during the walk trying to calm her mind so she would be able to impress the Duke with her work. It would do no good to try and paint when her mind was clouded with worry.

  They arrived in plenty of time and Louisa helped her father to walk into the compound at a very sedate pace.

  “Honestly this isn’t necessary,” her father was protesting the whole way.

  “According to Mrs. Marni, it is.” Louisa replied firmly as they stood under an awning, awaiting someone to escort them to the conservatory. Gilbert appeared, looking from one to the other with a furrowed brow. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Nothing–” Americus said.

  “Father is ill–” Louisa said at the same time.

  Gilbert looked from one to the other and back again. “I see.”

  He gestured toward the corridor, “Shall we?”

  Louisa took her father’s arm and led him slowly down the corridor despite his irritated huff. They reached the door and stopped, turning to find the Dowager Duchess watching them with amusement. “What’s this?” she asked, “You’re humphing like a grampus.”

  Louisa could not help herself; she giggled. That was exactly the sound her father was making. “He does not like anyone to help him.”

  The Dowager came closer, her amusement morphing into a frown. “And why does he need help?”

  “He had an, er…episode yesterday.” Just after she said it, Louisa wondered if she had done the wrong thing. These people did not need to know just how weak Americus was, it might discourage them further from taking up their services. However, the Dowager simply followed them into the conservatory, taking a seat beside Americus on the bench.

  “You are indeed fortunate to have such a devoted daughter. Do not dismiss her concern simply because you are invalid.”

  Americus gazed at her in surprise. “Uh, yes, you are quite right. I have been ungracious, and worse yet…ungrateful.” He turned to Louisa with a bow, “My dear, thank you for putting up with a grumpy old man.”

  Louisa snorted in a quite unladylike manner. “You do not have to thank me for that. It is my pleasure.”

  The Dowager gave her a smile and her eyes shone. Louisa realized that they were the same emerald green as the Duke’s eyes. She started, realizing she was staring quite rudely and turned back to arranging her brushes.

  “Will the Duke be here soon?” she asked.

  “I expect so, since we cannot begin without him,” the Dowager’s voice still had that dry, amused tone. She seemed…different than she had before. Less…distracted.

  Louisa smiled, looking back at what she’d done of the painting. She frowned at the sky, feeling as if it wasn’t quite right. She had wanted to make it aquamarine; a reminder of the sea the Duke had left behind. But it was closer to azure. She shook her head and went to her paints, picking out dollops of color; blue, yellow, and mixing them carefully – a large dollop of blue, followed by the slightest drop of yellow. She still was not satisfied with the result and decided to mix different shades some closer to blue, others to green.

  “She is quite intent,” she heard the Dowager whisper.

  “That she is.” Even without looking at him, she could hear the pride in her father’s voice, and she smiled. The door flew open and the Duke stood framed in the doorway, his wavy black hair almost brushing the top of the door.

  “Good morning,” he said to the room at large and smiled. Louisa straightened up to her full height and stared.

  The Duke had dimples.

  She blinked a few times, and tried to rid her cheeks of color but she was somehow so blindsided by this new facet that she could barely control herself. They were quite deep and she could not understand why she’d never seen them before. Then she realized that the Duke had not smiled so wide in her presence before.

  “Go-good morning,” she breathed.

  The Duke turned his eyes to her, eyebrows rising as he saw how fixedly she was staring. “Are we ready?” he asked.

  “Ye-yes, absolutely Y-your Grace. Come. Sit.” She pointed at the chair and he crossed the room with a grace that must have helped keep him steady
on a swaying ship. She was suddenly struck by the desire to see him at the helm of his own vessel, broad shoulders set with determination as he faced down the stormy seas and brought his cargo safe to shore.

  She shook herself to get rid of the fantasy and focus on the gentleman in front of her. She noted that he had combed his hair to the side in a way that made it fall over his eye, and drew attention away from the scar. Nothing could hide it from view. Not the way it curled crookedly from just under his eye to his jaw – but she suspected he had used powder to whiten his face and make it less visible.

  She wished she could tell him it was not necessary to disguise anything. Perhaps later, when they were better acquainted. She decided to begin the picture by tracing the outline of his body. She had already drawn his feet and today she would focus on his hands.