Deceived. Part 11

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied. Then he kissed the dowager's hand, and lastly Aurora's, lingering over hers a trifle longer than he should have. "Good night, my lovely G.o.ddess of the dawn," he said softly, but not so softly the others didn't hear.

Aurora blushed at the unexpected compliment.

"Get along with you, you young rogue!" the dowager scolded.

Releasing Aurora's hand, St. John replied, "Good night, Cousin Valerian. I had a very good time, I vow. Congratulations upon the impending birth of your heir. You will give the d.u.c.h.ess my kindest regards?" Then with a final bow he was gone through the door.

"Impudent puppy!" snapped the duke. "Are you sure, Grandmama, that it is proper for Aurora to ride with that devil. I do not think it wise at all. Two grooms must go with them."

"Two?" Aurora said, surprised.

"One groom will be quite enough, Valerian," the dowager said sharply, looking at her grandson.

"I am far too tired to argue," Aurora said. "I am going to bed. Is Cally still awake, Valerian?"

"She was when I came down," he answered her.

"Then I shall stop in and say good night," Aurora replied, and she hurried up the staircase.

"Come into the drawing room with me," the dowager commanded her grandson. "I must speak with you."

The lights in the drawing room had already been extinguished, but a bright fire burned. Standing just past the closed door to the room, Mary Rose Hawkesworth said to the duke, "Aurora must be married, and St. John is a suitable prospect if he pleases her. I will not allow your boyhood rivalry to interfere, Valerian. Do I make myself clear?"

"You have already decided on St. John, haven't you?" he responded.

"It is not up to me, my boy, it is up to Aurora," she answered him in prim tones.

"Grandmama, do not fence with me. I know you well. You very carefully engineered George and Betsy's rapprochement, and do not deny it. Oh, I will not tell on you, never fear. It is a good match, but I do not believe that Justin St. John is a good match for Aurora." The duke went to the sideboard and poured himself a large whiskey.

"You have a wife, Valerian," Mary Rose Hawkesworth said quietly.

Her grandson spun around, a shocked look upon his face.

"Do not deny that you are attracted to Aurora," his grandmother continued. "Oh, you are usually discreet, but I see how you look at her when you believe that no one else is observing you, and I believe that of the two girls, she would have been the better wife for you; but you married Calandra, and she is now expecting your child. That, my dear boy, settles it. I know that Calandra is a coldhearted little b.i.t.c.h. I am astounded you have managed to impregnate her, but you have. As you cannot have both girls, and Calandra is your wife, Aurora must be married to another man. Do not interfere with me, Valerian," the dowager warned her grandson sternly.

"Do not interfere with me, Grandmama," he replied calmly. "I am the head of this family, and if I decide that a gentleman shall not wed Aurora, then he shall not."

"And if she loves him, Valerian? What then, my boy?"

"Aurora could not possibly fall in love with St. John," he said with complete a.s.surance.

"Perhaps not, but there will be some man who surely catches her fancy in the next few months. You will have no choice but to stand by and watch as she picks a husband, Valerian," his grandmother said.

"We will see," the duke answered her.

"If you cause a scandal, or hurt either of those girls, I will never forgive you," the dowager threatened him.

"Surely, madam, you know me better than that," the duke said.

The old lady shook her head. "I am not certain I know you at all now. There is no way you can escape your marriage, Valerian. Perhaps if she had not proved fertile, you might have found a way, but not now. Calandra is with child. Your child. The Fifth Duke of Farminster will enter this world before the new year. That is an undisputed fact."

He did not respond to her words, and turning, the dowager exited the drawing room for her own chambers. As she pa.s.sed Calandra's bedroom, she could hear soft laughter, and she smiled. Thank goodness for Aurora. She would keep that flighty chit her grandson was married to on the straight and narrow during her pregnancy, and there would be a healthy child. But afterward? Who knew what arrangement Valerian had made with his wife in order to elicit her cooperation, if indeed she had cooperated with him at all. It was so terribly unfortunate.

Valerian Hawkesworth remained standing in the drawing room where she had left him. He stared into the fire, cradling the whiskey gla.s.s in his hands. What did it matter that Calandra and he had little use for each other. There would be a child, an heir, to follow him, and wasn't that what he wanted, as Aurora had asked him earlier. Wasn't it enough? It didn't matter that Calandra would live out her frivolous life in London going from party to party like a bee going from flower to flower. He would have his son. If his mother would not be there for him, his father would. And his grandmother, and his aunt Aurora.

Aurora. His grandmother was right. She would choose a man and marry. The best he could hope for was that she remain nearby so he would not lose her entirely. But he would lose her. He would lose her to a husband, to her own children. Oh, she would be kind to her little nephew, he had no doubt, but Valerian Hawkesworth would not have Aurora. He might have her friends.h.i.+p. Her sympathy. But nothing more, and the problem was that he wanted more. He wanted her.

d.a.m.n her for stealing his heart! And d.a.m.n Calandra that she did not want him! If Calandra had loved him, it could have been different. No. It would not have been different, he had to admit to himself. He was in love with Aurora Spencer-Kimberly. He had never been in love with his wife, and he never would be. He would never capture the heart of either of these women, but at least he would have his son. It didn't seem enough, but it would have to be, he knew.

As for his cousin, Justin St. John, he wondered if St. John was really attracted to Aurora, or if he was simply playing with the girl to annoy Hawkesworth. He didn't want Aurora hurt, yet how could he forbid her St. John's company? He couldn't. The thought, however, of his cousin making love to Aurora infuriated him. He would watch St. John closely to determine his intentions, and in this effort, he knew, he would be ably a.s.sisted by his grandmother. She would not want Aurora harmed, or her heart broken by a cad, even if the scoundrel was a blood relation. The duke turned from the fire and placed his whiskey tumbler on the silver tray from where he had originally taken it. Then with a sigh he left the drawing room, seeking his own bed. A lonely bed.

Aurora heard him pa.s.s by her bedroom door. By now she knew his step. She was angry at the duke. Angry that he made Cally so unhappy, although she knew that most of the fault lay with her sister. She was angry at him that a compliment from his lips could cause her heart to race. That those intense blue eyes could make her knees go weak when he looked meaningfully at her. She wondered what it would have been like if she had married him. Would he have made her as unhappy as he was making Cally? No. Cally's problems stemmed from her inability to enjoy the physical pleasures of the marriage bed. I may be a virgin, Aurora thought to herself, but I know I would enjoy a husband's attentions.

Especially if that husband were Valerian Hawkesworth, the little voice in her head said slyly, and Aurora was suddenly shocked by her own thoughts. She had had her chance to marry the duke, but she had gone out of her way to avoid her deceased father's wishes. She had deliberately deceived Valerian into thinking Cally was his intended bride. No one had forced her to subterfuge. It had all been her own idea. She had bullied Mama into going along with her. George, of course, knew her well enough to realize if Aurora didn't want to do something, she wouldn't, and had in turn done what he believed was best for the family. Both she and Cally had behaved childishly in the whole matter. Now they were going to have to live with the results of their chicanery. It wasn't going to be easy, she knew.

Cally was terrified of being with child, frightened of childbirth, vain about her figure, which she declared was going to be ruined. Had she not been more fearful of Valerian, Aurora believed her sister would have found a way to rid herself of this new life she carried. Fortunately her distaste for the marriage bed was enough to make her behave, because if she lost this child, she would be forced to endure her husband's vigorous attentions once more. If, however, she brought this child to a successful birth, and it was a son-Oh, pray G.o.d it was a son!-then she would never again have to face her husband's animal l.u.s.t, she had said to Aurora.

Aurora considered her sister's words. Animal l.u.s.t. It actually sounded rather wickedly delicious. She caressed her round b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath the coverlet, undoing the ribbons that tied her nightgown, and slipping her hand inside the garment to fondle the warm flesh. What would it be like to have a man doing this? She thought of Justin St. John, but his face was almost instantly replaced by that of the duke's. For a moment Aurora felt guilty, but she pushed her guilt aside. It was only pretend, and only she knew what she was thinking. Her nipples grew hard with her thoughts. Sucking her index finger a moment, she began to rub the wetness about the hard little nub, smiling languidly as the familiar tingle began between her legs. Her other hand slipped down to push between the swollen flesh. She was already wet.

Aurora closed her eyes. Her breath was coming in hard little pants, and she struggled to keep the sound low lest she awaken Martha. She imagined a dark head on her breast, and tugged suggestively at her nipple. Would his mouth feel like that, or would it be much more wonderful than she could even imagine? The index finger of her right hand found that sensitive spot hidden within her nether lips, and she teased at it. What would it be like to lay naked in a bed with the man you loved? To feel his weight on you? To have your bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed against his hard chest? To have his member inside you? Aurora worked her finger fiercely against her pleasure nub, and suddenly the lovely melting feeling swept over her, leaving her almost breathless with her release. Tonight, however, it wasn't quite enough, and she didn't understand why. It had always been enough before.

Aurora couldn't sleep. What was the matter with her? It was probably the excitement of the ball. It had been a lovely time, made even more so by the knowledge that she had contributed so much to the preparation. She had very much enjoyed helping the dowager, and she had learned a great deal of what was expected of the wife of a well-to-do man with a big house. There had been no parties or b.a.l.l.s on St. Timothy. Her father had taken his pleasure in Jamaica or Barbados prior to his marriage, and during the brief period between her mother's death and his remarriage to Oralia. Unless there were other families on an island, society was scant.

It was not so here in England. They were a very social people, and she had to admit that she frankly enjoyed it. Not London society, as Cally had, but this country life suited Aurora very well. In the weeks since she had first arrived, she had ridden with her brother and Betsy, gone on several picnics with the Bowen sisters and their friends, and played tennis on the gra.s.s. The country families were friendly, and while proud of their lineage, they were not sn.o.bbish like the London society folk she had met.

If I meet a man I can love, and marry him, I shall always live in the country, Aurora decided. If she met a man. Well, she had met several nice gentlemen this evening who appeared eager to know her better. Me, or my dowry? she considered suspiciously. Of course, Justin St. John didn't need her dowry or her income. He was, according to the dowager, comfortably off in his own right.

"Sheep," the dowager said. "The family has the largest flocks in the area. Always did. They sell the wool in the open market, and poor Valerian has to pay a higher price to get it for his mills than if St. John would make a private arrangement with him. Of course, the rogue does it deliberately to irritate my grandson." She chuckled. "I keep telling Valerian that the best way to outfox St. John is to increase the size of his own flocks so he wouldn't need his cousin's wool."

So St. John's motives could not be disputed. If he showed an interest in Aurora, it had to be because he found her attractive, she decided. And he was attractive. Not in the brooding, dark way that Valerian was, but in a prettier, no, that was not a word one should use when describing a man. Softer? He didn't have that fierce, be-d.a.m.ned-to-you look the duke had. St. John laughed easily, as the tiny lines about his eyes and mouth indicated. It would be interesting getting to know him better, provided, of course, that he pursued his interest in her, but the dowager seemed to believe he would.

Aurora s.h.i.+fted onto her left side. She was finally beginning to get sleepy. Outside her windows, for she had not let Martha draw the draperies, she could see the sky beginning to lighten with the dawn. She really was tired. Her eyelids were very heavy now, and she yawned deeply several times. She tried to think of Justin St. John, but every time she did, Valerian Hawkesworth's handsome face replaced his cousin's. It was disturbing, but she could no longer concentrate, and finally fell asleep, her breathing measured and relaxed.

She slept until well past the noon hour, finally awakening to the sound of a bird outside her windows, singing its heart out. She lay quietly, enjoying the thrilling song. Obviously someone had found his mate, and was ready to build a nest, she chuckled to herself. Languidly she reached for the bellpull and yanked upon it.

"So, you're awake at last," Martha said, bustling into the bedroom. "You're the first up. The old dowager is still snoring her head off, Jane tells me; and the young d.u.c.h.ess ain't blinked an eye yet. Tell me about the ball, and that Mr. St. John you met. Is he nice?"

"He seems to be," Aurora said. Then, "I want tea, Martha, and something to eat. I am ravenous!"

"Right away, miss. They say that Mr. St. John is very rich, and he don't have anyone but his mother. She's real anxious he take a wife. A girl would be lucky to get a man like that. Big house, big estate, I'm told."

"It seems to me you've been told a lot more than I have." Aurora laughed. "Does he have a mistress?"

"Miss Aurora! What a shocking thing for you to say. Nice girls aren't supposed to know about such women, or such arrangements," Martha scolded her mistress. "Your mama would have a fit to hear you talk like that! I think the young d.u.c.h.ess is having a bad effect on you."

"Cally? No, Martha, she isn't. I take everything Cally says with a very large grain of salt. I just wondered why a man as eligible as Mr. St. John hadn't taken a wife yet. It's a reasonable question, I believe. If there is some lady who has captured his heart hiding in the shadows, I would be foolish to waste my time, or allow my heart to be broken. While the dowager thinks him suitable, the duke thinks him a cad. Such divergent opinions pique my curiosity."

"I think I'd listen to the old lady, miss. She does favor you, even more than the young d.u.c.h.ess, if you'll forgive my saying so. She wants what's best for you, and will see you ain't hurt."

Martha hurried from the room, returning about a half hour later with a large tray which she set upon the piecrust table by the windows. Helping Aurora into a pretty peach silk dressing gown, she seated her at the table and began removing the silver domes covering the dishes and plates. There was a dish of eggs poached in sherry and heavy cream, a thick slice of country ham, flaky little croissants, a crock of sweet b.u.t.ter, a dish of new peas, a honeycomb, a silver bowl of freshly picked strawberries with a companion bowl of clotted cream, and a pot of tea. Aurora fell upon the food as if she had been starving, and in short order had cleaned up all of the plates and dishes. Sitting back in her chair, she sipped her saucer of tea, a contented smile upon her beautiful face.

"Delicious," she p.r.o.nounced, "and please tell Cook I said so when you return the tray to the kitchens."

"He'll be pleased to have a compliment, I can tell you, for the young d.u.c.h.ess does nothing but complain 'cause he don't fix her fancy meals like in London. Never a word of thanks he gets from her. I don't know where Miss Calandra's manners got to since she's come home to England," Martha grumbled.

"She is just very impressed by what she considers high society," Aurora defended her sister. "Eventually she'll know better."

"Hmmph" was Martha's comment. "Ought to be grateful for what you have done for her, miss, and behave properly like she was taught to do instead of affecting all those la-di-da ways, and Sally as bad."

"I think I shall return to bed," Aurora said. "I am still very tired. Ask Peters if there will be dinner tonight, or if we are to eat on trays. I hope it's trays. It would be lovely not to have to get dressed, and just lay about. I want to finish reading the history of the Hawkesworth family. With all I've been doing these last weeks to help the dowager plan the ball, I have had no time to myself."

"Don't know why you're reading about this family, miss. You ain't going to be part of it," Martha remarked sharply.

"The duke and Mr. St. John are related through a great-grandfather," Aurora said innocently. "I would like to understand the familial connection, Martha. Besides, you know how much I love history, and this family's history is really wonderful."

"I didn't know the duke and your Mr. St. John was related," Martha said, surprised.

"Well," Aurora teased her maid, "I cannot believe the belowstairs grapevine was so negligent that it didn't inform you of such a pertinent fact about Mr. St. John, who is certainly not mine."

"Not yet," Martha said with a grin. Then she picked up the tray with its empty dishes. "I'll take these down. Are you available for the d.u.c.h.ess if Sally asks?"

"Not today, if I can avoid it, Martha. I do not think I can cope with Cally's discontent and whining. And now that she is with child, none of us will have any peace, I suspect, until that poor baby is born. You will remember that Cally has never been an easy patient."

Martha shook her head. "Gawd help us," she agreed as she departed the bedroom carrying the silver tray. "It's going to be as if she was the first and only woman who carried a child, and every little inconvenience will be magnified out of proportion." The door closed behind her.

Aurora chuckled at Martha's astute evaluation of the situation. It was going to be a very interesting few months to come, she decided.

Chapter 8.

"It isn't fair!" Calandra, d.u.c.h.ess of Farminster wailed. "It just isn't fair ! I look like some shoat ready to be slaughtered. I can bear no more. I cannot! I want this child to be born!"

It was a glorious late September day, and Cally was sprawled in a chaise upon the lawns leading to the garden. She was one of those rare creatures that pregnancy did not become. Her alabaster skin had grown sallow. Her raven's-wing-black hair was lackl.u.s.ter. Her face and hands were puffy, and unless she remained reclining for a good part of the day, her feet had a tendency to swell. Worse, with almost three more months until she delivered, her belly was quite distended.

Restlessly, her fingers plucked at a small tray of sugar comfits, discarding one, then another, and finally popping the third choice into her mouth. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she watched her sister playing tennis with Justin St. John. Aurora looked absolutely beautiful in the simple Indian calico print gown. It was really a house dress, but equally suitable to such a rough-and-tumble game as tennis. When had Aurora's waist been so supple and slender as it was now? For a brief moment Cally hated her, and then she felt guilty.

Aurora had been so patient and kind all the summer long, and Cally was not so big a fool that she didn't realize it. Still, she found it irritating to watch her sister having such a good time when she could not. Not that it was the sort of good time Cally was truly envious of, for it was not. And the beaus! There had been any number of them Aurora had flirted with and then discarded. But those young men she refused always remained to become her friends. Cally didn't understand it. One thing remained constant, however. Justin St. John. He was not discarded, and Cally doubted he would have gone if he had been. It was becoming very obvious that he intended to make Aurora his wife.

Cally didn't blame her sister for playing the field, for taking her time, for holding back before agreeing to marriage. If only I had really known what was involved in being married, Cally thought, I should not have been so quick to jump. If I hadn't, it would be Aurora who would be lying here, her belly all blown up, while I flirted with all the gentlemen. But then, of course, I shouldn't be a d.u.c.h.ess, Cally considered. Still, she was beginning to wonder if it was really worth it just to be the d.u.c.h.ess of Farminster. In retrospect, all she had needed was a rich, doting husband who would let her live in London and become one of its celebrated hostesses. A rich old husband. A man with grown, or half-grown children who would not make unpleasant demands upon her person, but would be satisfied that she was young, and beautiful, and desired by all his friends, who would, of course, envy him his young and beautiful wife. It would be easy to love a man like that, Cally decided. If only she hadn't listened to Aurora. Aurora was really to blame for all of this nastiness.

Cally's eyes narrowed again. Aurora would be sorry soon enough. Justin St. John looked to be very much the same sort of animal that her own husband was. He would make demands upon Aurora, and Aurora would surely suffer, hopefully, even more than Cally had. And, Cally knew, St. John would not take Aurora to London. He would keep her down here in the country, giving her child after child until her beauty was ruined. And I shall be up in London having a wonderful time, Cally thought. Yes! I shall have my revenge eventually. And St. John didn't even have a t.i.tle! He was simply a wealthy man with good if nebulous connections to the Hawkesworth family, or so Aurora said.

"Are you all right?" the dowager asked as Calandra suddenly winced in pain. The old lady was seated next to the young d.u.c.h.ess, acting her usual role of chaperon.

"The little beast just moved again," Cally said. "I hate it when it does that. Fortunately, it is not too often. I feel as if I had swallowed a roast boar whole, ma'am."

"Being enceinte can be uncomfortable at times," the dowager sympathized, although frankly she was sick and tired of Cally's complaints. All the little wretch did was whine, and she was openly counting the days till she could leave Hawkes Hill and return to London. Valerian had made no bones about the fact that when his wife recovered from her childbirth, she could depart. Farminster House would be put at her disposal, along with a suitable staff. She would have an allowance, which hopefully she would live within, and unless the child was a girl, she would not have to return to Hawkes Hill unless she desired to come. A wet nurse was already engaged to feed the baby.

Aurora ran up and flung herself on the gra.s.s. She was flushed and laughing. "You really are a poor loser, St. John," she mocked.

Justin St. John sat down beside her. "No girl should play tennis like that, Aurora. You play like a boy."

"If I were, would you expect me to let you win?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I turn to you for a judgment in this case," he said to the dowager d.u.c.h.ess.

"No! No! St. John, you will not get me to take sides in this matter," Mary Rose Hawkesworth chuckled. "You were beaten fair and square. Your backhand is deplorable. Why, I vow that I could have beaten you myself had I been of a mind to play."

He clapped his hand over his chest, a pained expression upon his face. "Ma'am, you have wounded me grievously," he declared.

The dowager rapped his shoulder sharply with her fan. "You are not that delicate a flower, St. John," she scolded him. "Will you stay for supper? Valerian should be back from the mills shortly."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "I should like that."

"Cally, will you join us too?" Aurora asked.

Cally shook her head. "I am not comfortable sitting straight up any longer," she complained. "You have no idea, sister, how discomforting a thing it is to carry an unborn child within your own body."

Aurora patted the sticky-fingered hand that lay upon Cally's skirts. "Would you like it if I rubbed your shoulders and feet for you later tonight before you go to sleep?" she inquired solicitously.

"Ohhh, would you?" Cally smiled. "That would be so nice. You are the only one in this whole house who understands how miserable I am, sister. Thank G.o.d I have you, else I should die of loneliness."

Mary Rose Hawkesworth bit her tongue to prevent a pithy retort. The entire household had been turned upside down to ensure Calandra's comfort and satisfy her every ridiculous whim. And she positively abused Aurora's kindness, although Aurora never complained. If I remain here another minute, the dowager thought, I shall say something quite cutting. She arose from her chair. "It has become a bit cool for me," she lied. "I think I shall go inside, my dears. Please remain and enjoy yourselves. Perhaps I shall take a nap."

She walked slowly across the lawns to calm herself, but she was still angry at Calandra's selfishness, and knew she could not nap. Entering the house, she decided to walk in the picture gallery. Viewing the family portraits, seeing the faces of those who had come before her, remembering the family history, was always enjoyable. She must bring Aurora here one day soon, if she could get her away from Calandra. Aurora had so very much enjoyed reading the history of the family. She would certainly enjoy putting faces to the names in the book.

It was a long gallery that had been added to the house several hundred years earlier. It had been created from a windowed hallway that originally connected one wing of the house to another. Tall windows ran along one side of the gallery. They faced southwest. The wall opposite was paneled in warm wood. The wide-board floors were well polished and laid with beautiful Turkey carpets of red and blue. Afternoon sunlight now flooded the room displaying the portraits at their very best. Mary Rose Hawkesworth smiled as she entered the gallery.

There was her late husband, looking das.h.i.+ng, and quite handsome. There was their son, Charles, and his sweet wife, Henrietta. There were even separate portraits of Valerian, and his sister, Sophia, as children. The dowager moved deliberately, looking at each face of each lord and lady represented. Here now was the First Duke of Farminster, his wife, and his children. There were his parents, the last earl and countess, and their children. The daughters, the first duke's sisters, were lovely young women. She smiled back at the portraits, and then, suddenly, the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Farminster gasped. Unbelieving, she peered at the name plate upon the portrait. It read: CATHERINE HAWKESWORTH KIMBERLY, 3 MAY 163028 OCTOBER 1700. The young woman in the portrait was the girl who had been married to the Kimberly who had been given St. Timothy by King Charles II. And she was Aurora's image!

That is why Aurora has seemed so familiar to me, the dowager realized. How many times have I seen this portrait in pa.s.sing over the years? She looked at the painting next to Catherine Hawkesworth Kimberly. It was of Anne Hawkesworth Meredith, who looked very much like her elder sister. What can it mean? Dear G.o.d, what can it mean, the dowager thought. But she already knew what it meant. Valerian was married to the wrong girl, and she could not, at least not now, tell him the truth. If it was the truth. But she knew it was. Who could confirm it for her? Aurora's servant, Martha. She would tell the dowager the truth, if pressed, and she would not allow her young mistress to be hurt. Mary Rose Hawkesworth hurried from the portrait gallery, and going to her bedroom, she sent her maid, Jane, to fetch Martha, ascertaining first that Aurora was still outdoors.

"Yes, my lady, you sent for me?" Martha stood politely before the dowager, curtsying.

"You may leave us, Jane," the dowager said quietly. "Please keep watch as I have asked, and let me know the moment Miss Aurora comes into the house."

Jane nodded, and hurried from the room.

The dowager looked at Martha in what she hoped was a stern but not confrontational manner. "I want the truth," she said quietly. "Is your mistress the girl who was really betrothed to my grandson?"

Martha hesitated a moment, and then she sighed. "Yes, my lady," she said. "It's her who should be the d.u.c.h.ess, and not Miss Calandra. I warned her that no good comes of lies, but she didn't listen."

"Tell me what happened," the dowager said. "Was it the stepmother's idea? Why on earth was this deception played?"