Cheers to the Duke, page 9
Lady Muddlegate grinned in a way that made her look thirty years younger. “Thank you. Last fall was quite the season for weddings in our family. Muddlegate and I, Letitia and Mr. Marsh”—she nodded at the earl and Pen, sitting at either end of the table—“Darrow and Pen.”
Jo smiled back. “Yes, indeed.”
And that was where the conversation took a sharp turn for the worse. Jo sensed doom approaching when Lady Muddlegate leaned closer.
“I quite recommend remarriage, Lady Havenridge. Muddlegate is a vast improvement over my first husband, if I may be frank.”
“Ah.” Jo very much wanted to suggest she not be frank, but couldn’t think of a polite way to do that.
“I heartily agree.” Letitia joined the conversation from Jo’s other side. “Second husbands are much superior. My first was also quite”—Letitia pulled a face—“unpleasant.”
Jo hoped her expression didn’t reveal her shock. Had Letitia been imbibing too freely? Her first husband had been Lady Muddlegate’s eldest son.
She reached for her own wineglass and took a sustaining sip, bracing for the war that was about to break out around her.
To her surprise, Lady Muddlegate just sighed heavily and nodded. “It was too bad Walter took after his father in that.”
In what?
Don’t ask!
She didn’t have to. Letitia told her.
“My husband had so many bastards scattered over the countryside, Lady Havenridge, that the wags came up with a name for them—Walter’s whelps.”
“Ah.” That was bad.
Lady Muddlegate snorted. “Long before that, the wags’ parents had dubbed his father’s by-blows Myles’s menagerie.”
“Oh.” That was worse.
Jo tried not to glance longingly at Letitia’s other side, where Caro was having what seemed to be a perfectly normal conversation with Pen.
Well, perhaps not. Listening more closely, she discerned they were discussing the bowel habits of newborns.
“Darrow—my deceased husband,” Lady Muddlegate said, “warned Walter off several village women because they might be his half-sisters.” She shrugged. “They’d dyed their hair to hide the Graham streak.”
Jo’s full attention snapped back to Lady Muddlegate. Ugh! That was so far beyond bad as to be completely, revoltingly horrible.
She took another sip of wine to calm her roiling stomach. At this rate, she was going to be foxed before the first course arrived.
Along with Lady Muddlegate and Letitia, it appeared. They were not neglecting their own wineglasses. Given the direction of the conversation, Jo suspected they’d indulged in a glass or two before dinner as well.
“At least you didn’t have to worry about such things, did you?” Letitia said.
The wine threatened to go down the wrong way. Such things? What could the woman mean?
Something in Letitia’s expression sent unease prickling up Jo’s spine. She glanced at Lady Muddlegate—and saw the same look in her eyes.
Just smile and nod.
No. Better to know precisely what the women were getting at. After all, they were going to be spending a fortnight together. There would be no way to avoid this topic, whatever it was, if Lady Muddlegate and Letitia insisted on pursuing it.
Though Jo would make a point of choosing different dining companions at the next meal.
“Er, such things?”
“Yes.” Letitia snorted. “Bastards. You didn’t risk tripping over your husband’s bastards at every turn, did you?”
“Ah.” Well, yes, she supposed there was that, though it was rather rude of Letitia to mention it. “Lord Havenridge didn’t care for the country, so we lived almost exclusively in Town.”
Where, she assumed, the lightskirts Freddie had frolicked with either knew how to prevent conception or deposited the unfortunate results of their couplings at the Foundling Hospital.
But now women in that position can come with their children to the Benevolent Home—
Her feelings of pride and accomplishment faltered. That wasn’t quite true, was it? Women with daughters could come. Women with sons . . .
Those women had very few options.
I really need to do something about that.
She’d look into the matter when she got back to Little Puddledon. Perhaps—
Why is Letitia staring at me as if I’m a half-wit?
“It had nothing to do with where the man resided, Lady Havenridge,” Lady Muddlegate said, her tone suggesting she also thought Jo more than a bit daft. “Town or country, everyone knew Havenridge couldn’t father a child.”
Jo blinked.
Well, she more likely goggled. She did hope her mouth wasn’t hanging open.
Everyone knew? No, not everyone. She hadn’t known.
She took another sip of wine to give her lips something to do whilst she tried to absorb Lady Muddlegate’s shocking statement. Could it be true? Because if it was . . .
If Freddie couldn’t father a child with anyone, then perhaps his lack of an heir was his . . . well, fault and not mine. Perhaps I can—
Balderdash! Of course, the story wasn’t true. No matter what everyone thought they knew, she had intimate knowledge of the matter. Freddie had been quite capable of copulation, but she was not about to say that at the dinner table.
Well, she was not going to say it anywhere.
She opened her mouth to politely but firmly change the subject—
Too late.
“You know,” Letitia said, shooting a pointed glance at the Duke of Grainger on the other side of the table, a glance which, to Jo’s horror, he obviously noted, “His Grace is looking for a wife.”
Jo nailed her eyes to her wineglass. She was not going to look at the duke, even though some invisible force was urging her to do so. The poor man had just come from being hunted in London. He would not wish to feel his liberty at risk here as well.
Though he should know he was in no danger from her.
Is that true?
Of course, it was true! She wasn’t a scheming—
Scheming . . .
Good God! Is Letitia in league with Livy?
“Yes,” Lady Muddlegate said on her other side. “And you and he are the only two unattached adults present.”
Letitia and Lady Muddlegate?
No, the notion was ridiculous. While Livy might have corresponded with Caro, she would not have been so bold as to write to Darrow’s mother and sister-in-law. How preposterous! No, this must be just the matchmaking urge at work, a malady that infected many otherwise sensible females.
“No one will be paying any attention to what you do,” Letitia whispered. “You’ll have plenty of time—”
She paused significantly. Jo was afraid to let her eyes leave her wineglass to confirm the matter, but she had a strong feeling that Letitia was waggling her brows in a telling fashion.
Please, God, let the duke be absorbed in conversation.
Or struck blind—but just until these two women moved on to more sensible topics.
“—to get to know him better.” Letitia giggled. “In the biblical sense.”
Lud!
“And then next year,” Lady Muddlegate added, “Darrow can be godfather and Pen godmother to your child.”
An odd yearning bloomed in her chest. That would be—
Impossible.
She’d had three years of marriage to prove precisely how impossible it would be.
Well, all right. Less than one year. Freddie had stopped wasting his time—his words—with her once it became clear she couldn’t have children.
In any event, even if she could have children, she had no time for a husband, especially not a husband who would take her away from the Home.
Enough. It was time to take charge of this conversation. While she was not a mother herself, she’d lived with many, many mothers over the years. She knew exactly how best to redirect Letitia’s and Lady Muddlegate’s thoughts.
“Tell me about the girls,” she said brightly, but with an underpinning of steely determination. “I’ve not yet seen Harriet. How is she going on, Lady Muddlegate? And your daughters, Mrs. Marsh? I’m looking forward to meeting them.”
* * *
Jo took one last bite of her blackberry pie and spread the rest around so it looked as if she’d eaten more than she had.
The pie was excellent. The entire meal had been very good. She’d just had very little appetite.
At least she’d managed to keep Letitia and Lady Muddlegate from pursuing the fantasy of her marriage to the duke any further. It had not been difficult. Lady Muddlegate, having missed the first years of Harriet’s life, was hungry for stories of Harriet’s time at the Home, and Jo was happy to supply them. No remembered crumb was too small.
And once she’d got Letitia talking about her daughters, Jo only needed to offer a well-placed question here and there to keep the conversation—or, rather, monologue—flowing. Lady Muddlegate had helped with that. While she’d accepted Harriet with open arms, she’d known—and loved—Letitia’s daughters from birth.
“I will tell you that Mr. Marsh has been very good with the girls,” Letitia said, putting down her fork after capturing the last flake of piecrust on her plate. “I have been very lucky.”
“You have made your own luck,” Jo said. It was true. Letitia was due much credit here. “You’ve been open-minded and openhearted. It cannot have been easy for any of the girls this last year. They’ve undergone so many changes.”
It was true. This time last year, no one in the family had known Darrow had a daughter, and Harriet had thought her father long dead. And now . . .
Now Harriet had moved into the house where Letitia’s girls had grown up and, in a very real way, taken over their place. Now she was the earl’s daughter—but the earl’s illegitimate daughter. Yes, her parents were married now, but that could never cure Harriet’s birth. Many in the ton would—well, not give her the cut direct, perhaps. Few would wish to incur Darrow’s wrath by doing that. But many would snicker and whisper behind her back. And they certainly would not have faulted Letitia if she’d shunned Harriet.
But Letitia hadn’t.
“I’ll confess when Pen told me she was going to marry the earl,” Jo said, “I had serious misgivings.”
As she’d told the duke earlier, she’d firsthand knowledge of the ton’s cruelty, and she’d been from the gentry. Pen was a farmer’s daughter—farmers’ daughters did not marry into the peerage. Jo had thought no one—not Darrow’s tenants, not his servants, and especially not his family—would accept her.
“I’m happy you proved me wrong.”
Letitia sighed. “Well, I’ll confess it wasn’t easy at first. Darrow asked me to welcome Pen and Harriet into the family when he told me he was going to propose. I said I would try, but I didn’t really expect to succeed.” She looked at Lady Muddlegate.
“But then we saw how happy Pen made Darrow,” Lady Muddlegate said.
Letitia nodded. “And Harriet is a lovely girl.”
Jo smiled. She couldn’t help feeling a bit of pride. Harriet might not be her daughter, but she’d watched her grow and liked to think she’d contributed to her development, just as a doting aunt might.
Letitia grinned. “And it helped that I’ve been so happy with my new husband.”
Oh, lud, are we back to that?
Apparently, they were. Letitia looked at the duke and then at Jo, waggled her brows again, leaned close, and—
And Jo was saved by Pen standing and saying, “Shall we leave the men to their port, ladies?”
Jo tried not to leap out of her chair, but she also wasted no time getting up and putting some space between herself and her previous dinner companions.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said brightly into the air between Letitia and Lady Muddlegate as she stepped back and grabbed Caro’s arm before Caro could get past her. “I’ve just remembered something I’ve been meaning to ask Lady Oakland. About an, er, problem with the brewhouse back at the charity I run. She used to be our brewster, you see.”
Caro’s eyes widened briefly at Jo’s sudden eagerness to have a word with her, but she was nothing if not quick-witted. “Ah. I do hope it’s nothing serious?”
“Oh, I don’t think it is, but you’ll know for certain.” Jo smiled and tugged on Caro’s arm, urging her to move quickly before Letitia or Lady Muddlegate discovered an interest in brewing. “But let’s not bore everyone else with the details.” She started to walk away.
Caro, being a good sport, played along—until they were out of earshot.
“Had a little too much matchmaking talk, did you?”
Jo kept her smile glued to her face in case anyone happened to observe them and said, through gritted teeth, “Yes. Good God, Caro. If things go on this way, this will be the longest fortnight of my life.”
“Well, maybe you should marry the duke.”
Jo’s smile slipped as she glared at Caro and contemplated strangulation.
“We’d better go to my room,” Pen said, coming up to them then. “You look as if you are about to explode, Jo.”
Jo thought she might well be. “Can you leave your guests?”
Pen shrugged. “Everyone’s family. I overheard what you said to Harry’s mother and Letitia, so I told them I needed to come with you and Caro to find out what the problem was at the Home.” She frowned at Jo’s shoulders. “More to the point, isn’t that a tablecloth from your room?”
“Yes. I need to talk to you about that, too.”
“I would think so.”
It dawned on Jo that now would be the perfect time to reveal Livy’s perfidy, and the only way to do that properly, to make certain Pen and Caro were fully aware of the extent of the problem, was to produce the evidence. “Let’s go to my room instead. I have something I need to show you.”
She led the way up the stairs and down the corridor. Once the door to her room was closed securely behind them, she whisked off the tablecloth and spread her arms wide. “See?”
Pen and Caro stared at her. Blankly.
“See what?” Caro asked.
Jo’s chin almost hit the floor. “What do you mean, what?”
Pen and Caro exchanged a puzzled look.
“Could you give us a hint?” Pen asked.
“The bodice! There’s no bodice on this dress!”
“Yes, there is,” Caro said. “I can see it. It’s blue. The same color as the skirt.”
Jo clenched her hands. That was better than tearing her hair out.
“The dress is a bit more, er, au courant than you usually wear,” Pen said. “It looks very nice.”
Nice? Pen thought this dress looked nice? “It’s indecent!” Jo gestured toward the wardrobe where she’d put the others. “They’re all indecent!”
“I think perhaps you’ve been in the country too long.” Caro laughed. “Not that you can tell what’s fashionable from looking at me. And if I tried to wear your dress, it would be indecent. I’d be spilling out of it. Pregnancy doesn’t make just your belly big, you know.”
Jo didn’t know from personal experience, of course, but she had heard many women say that.
“And my dress is designed so I can feed Pip easily.” Pen smiled, shrugged. “If all the important bits are covered—and stay covered when you move—then you have nothing to worry about.”
How could they not understand? “But I feel . . . naked !”
Caro snorted and lowered herself into a chair. “Well, you aren’t naked.” She pulled off her shoes and wiggled her toes. “Ahh. That feels better. Pregnancy makes your feet swell, too.”
Jo was not particularly interested in Caro’s feet. “I know I’m not actually naked, but I might as well be.”
Pen snorted as well—and also sat down. Apparently these two were settling in for a long chat.
Which Jo would welcome if she weren’t in such a pother about her clothing.
Was the dress really not that shocking?
She went over to the mirror, turned this way and that . . .
Yes, all the necessary bits were covered, but that still left a shocking expanse of flesh exposed—
Which didn’t seem quite so shocking now. She must be getting used to it.
“You did tend to wear dresses at the Home that were a little . . .” Pen paused, clearly searching for a diplomatic way to word her comment.
Caro didn’t waste time with diplomacy—she’d always been forthright, but pregnancy must have loosened her tongue as much as it had tightened her shoes. “Drab. Pedestrian. Plain.”
“Caro!” Pen scowled at her.
Caro shrugged. “It’s not an insult—it’s just a statement of fact. We were all working women, so we wore clothes we could work in. I’d have looked ridiculous wearing a fashionable dress in the brewhouse.” She laughed.
“Can you imagine Albert’s or Bathsheba’s expression if I’d shown up in a dress like yours, Jo? They would have thought I’d lost my mind—which I would have. Such a dress would have been ruined in minutes what with the malt and wort, water and ale. And with all the bending and lifting I did, I might, even in my less expansive pre-pregnancy state, have fallen out of that bodice.”
Caro had a point. Jo looked at her reflection again. The dress was . . . pretty once one got over the shock.
“We didn’t bother with parties at the Home,” Caro said. “The closest we ever got to dressing up was for Sunday church. But you’re at a party now, Jo. You don’t have to work while you’re here. You should relax and enjoy it.”
“Yes, indeed,” Pen said. “You’ve more than earned a holiday. Have some fun, Jo.”
Jo stared at them. Did she know how to do that? “I . . . I like working.”
She felt more than a little adrift with no accounts to go over or her to-do list in hand.
“Come sit down,” Pen said. “Tell us how things go on at the Home. I believe Pip rather rudely—and messily—interrupted us earlier.”
Ah. Here was something she could discuss with confidence. It was the main reason she’d come to the party.
