The Duke's Seduction of Lady M Read online

  ‘Enough of that,’ Ben said firmly, and put his hand over Brody’s mouth. ‘You think things over and tell me how, or if I can help. Until then, let’s talk parliament’

  The change of subject was abrupt but welcome. Brody’s head was spinning. Love indeed. He had no idea what it was, but was damned sure it wouldn’t affect him. If Mercedes had stirred nothing but his cock, and Mary had shown she loved her late husband and not him, why on earth would love have anything to do with them? They were compatible in all things arousing and sexual, what else did they need? He was sure they could be comfortable to converse over the dinner table when necessary, and present a united front to family and friends. Brody was convinced that Ben, in his blissfully married state, was fast becoming addle-pated. ‘Parliament,’ he agreed. ‘When do we need to be ready to vote and who can we count on to see reason?’

  Chapter Twelve

  Mary watched the carriage which conveyed Ben and Clarissa away with a heavy heart. She’d enjoyed Clarissa’s visit and accepted she needed it. If nothing else it had shown her what a marriage with love in it, other than the one she herself had experienced, was all about. If she couldn’t have that she would stay as she was.

  Ben had stared at her intently when he’d arrived a few hours earlier to pick up Clarissa, but said little. Just as he was about to climb into the carriage after his wife he turned to Mary.

  ‘I’ll just say this. We are both here for you whenever and wherever you want us. And my advice, for what it is worth, is to listen. To his words and your heart. Now take care.’ He’d kissed her cheek in a friendly brotherly way, climbed aboard and shut the door behind him.

  Deep in thought, Mary watched the carriage turn out of the drive and went back indoors to get ready for her visit to the school. It wasn’t like Ben to say anything about other people’s business, so it must have meant he thought it incredibly important to do so.

  The ponderous, sonorous chime of the grandmother clock brought her out of her reverie in a hurry. She would need to get a move on or she would be late. It was an open school day, something Miss Grey had inaugurated the previous year, and was enjoyed by all the villagers. Parents and pupils enjoyed an afternoon where all things pertaining to school life could be showed off and certificates of merit and excellence handed out. After Harvest Festival and before Christmas, it was a way to keep the pupils’ spirits up, and encourage them not to slack in the cold dark winter months. The days were short and by necessity so were school hours.

  Mary dressed in a warm pelisse, picked up the certificates and small prizes for her pupils and waited whilst the gig was brought around. On such a dark and dismal day – like her mood – with her parcels, the gig was better suited than riding.

  Once the harvest week was over – the week the children took off from school to help with their families’ harvest workload – the luncheon break was cut short. Afternoon school started before one o’clock to allow those who had further to walk time to get home if not in daylight, then at least before it was totally dark. With so much of her morning taken up with Ben and Clarissa, Mary had to rush to be at the stone building next to the church in time.

  She made it – just, although by the time she left the gig at the farm next door and walked the hundred yards up the hill she was panting somewhat. It wasn’t just the weight of the basket she carried; it was also the turn of speed she felt necessary to use.

  As she approached the gate young Cissy danced down the road to meet her and relieve her of one of her baskets.

  ‘Miss Grey said I could come to give you a hand,’ she said as they walked companionably towards the school. ‘And then we’re all in the hall, and you should see what it looks like. Me mum’ll be fair pleased I reckon. Me and Keith Curtis did the nature table, and it looks everso good even if I say so meself.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Mary smiled at her companion. ‘It will be perfect, I’m sure. I’m looking forward to it all.’

  ‘And His Grace is gonna do the giving out of prizes and stuff.’ Cissy jiggled around as if she had an itch to be scratched. ‘Miss Grey said. She said he told her he’d be honoured. That were his words, be honoured. Good eh?’

  ‘Very good,’ Mary said mechanically. Could she develop a severe and immediate headache? ‘So His Grace is back?’

  Cissy nodded. ‘I thought you’d’ve known Miss. Seein’ as you’re friends an all.’ Her voice was devoid of curiosity at Mary’s ignorance.

  Thank goodness. However, an answer had to be given. Damn. Mary thought on her feet – fast. ‘I wasn’t sure exactly when he’d be back. I know how busy he is, and parliamentary business is important.’

  Cissy nodded. ‘An, they do say he’s getting a wife. Me mam got that from Mrs Loveage. He’d told her he was about to be bet… beth…’

  ‘Betrothed?’ Mary supplied as a tight band encircled her heart. Cissy nodded.

  ‘That yes. And when Mrs Loveage asked whom to, he shook his head and told her she’d find out soon enough. Fair annoyed she was, she told me mum. Cos she needed to know she said, in case it were someone who she thought wouldn’t fit and then she’d retire. She says she’s too old for a mistress she wouldn’t get on with, and her garden needed tending to. But wed eh? Wonder if we get sommat like a shillin’ or…Well I dunno. But they do say it’s all gonna happen.’

  ‘They do?’ Mary’s heart sank. That didn’t take long. It seemed his words to her were hollow, and he’d found someone more accommodating. Why didn’t that thought make her happier? Surely it meant once he was married, then he’d not bother her? She couldn’t believe he was the sort of man who wed and still had a mistress? Would he see her in that role? If so, he’d be wrong, sadly wrong, and likely get a thick ear if he tried to persuade her.

  No, whatever Brody had been in the past, she didn’t think he was like that, even if it was a common thing in the ton.

  ‘Arr, they do.’ Cissy hopped from one foot to the other and her pigtails went flying up over her head.

  She looked, Mary thought wistfully, the epitome of a healthy and well-loved child. The thought that she was likely never to be a mother hit Mary painfully, like an arrow in her side.

  ‘Me mum says that Mrs Loveage told her that the duke told her, Mrs Loveage, not me mum, that he was gonna be wed but he had to get the ob… obs… you know the word, Miss, woman to agree.’ Cissy went on cheerfully. ‘It ain’t half exciting me mum says.’

  Obstreperous? Obstinate? Obtuse? Objectionable? No surely not that. ‘Perhaps you best not repeat gossip, Cissy.’ Mary said as they waked across the dusty yard towards the door of the building. ‘His Grace might not be pleased if he found out.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Cissy stopped walking and looked appalled. ‘Mebbes not. You won’t tell will you, Miss?’ she asked anxiously.

  Mary shook her head. ‘No, I promise. Nor will I share what you said. Right, you run on to Miss Grey and I’ll take my things to the hall. I’m late because I had visitors.’

  ‘I’ll be off then. Oh Miss Grey said she’s see you in the hall right soon, she’s just got to look out for His Grace. Me mum’ll be along any minute now. They were told half past and it’s almost that now. I’ll see you later, Miss.’ Cissy handed the basket back, bobbed a curtsey and skipped into the building.

  Mary followed slowly as she pondered over her erstwhile companion’s confidences. So Brody was to be wed. As she herself had declined his offer, it seemed he was determined to marry, and soon. Ah well, I said no, so why should he be concerned with how I feel? But lord how will I cope? Seeing him pay attention to another lady, so close to where he paid her the attention, would be purgatory. How could she bear it?

  With grace and gritted teeth if necessary. With that in mind, Mary straightened her shoulders and entered the school hall. To her eternal thanks the long room was empty of people. Fires burned in grates at either end of the room, and the lamps were lit – dispelling the gloom of the late autumn afternoon. Whoever had thought out the school had done it with great care and
thought. As in all scholastic buildings the windows were high – to encourage work, not day dreaming – but the tops of the yew trees in the churchyard could be seen, as well as a couple of old oaks, their branches almost devoid of leaves, and the grey lowering sky behind. In one corner, the spire of the church soared upwards. Mary thought even without a view down the village street it was something to look at and admire.

  It was also, Mary decided, the time of the year to hibernate. However, first she had to get through that day, and be gracious and friendly towards Brody. She had her pride and not for anything would she show how she missed him. Thank goodness for Clarissa who had at least, with the help of the port bottle, ensured Mary had a reasonable night’s sleep, even if her head did ache when she woke up. Two cups of coffee had helped there. Even so she wasn’t sure she’d look at the port bottle any time soon, and not think, “no”.

  It took a matter of minutes to arrange her certificates and prizes, books that her students would enjoy and suited to each of their capabilities, and take her seat to one side of the room. Behind her the door to the playground banged and a brisk and chilly breeze rustled the pictures on the walls, and swirled around Mary’s ankles, as people began to come in and take a seat. Several nodded to her and Cissy’s mama, the redoubtable Mrs Meadows, made her stately way between the rows of chairs to the seat next to Mary.

  Evidently the prize giving was first, followed, Mary assumed by a speech from Brody. Then the pupils would be free to show their parents around before tea and cakes. As Mrs Meadows took her seat and undid her shawls, Mary wondered if Brody intended to hand out the prizes and certificates she had contributed. Of course the children would prefer the honour of receiving them from the duke. But it hurt. It was her way of saying thank you, and she’d put a lot of thought into what story would be for each child.

  Grow up. She seemed to be saying that to herself a lot lately. Perhaps she better start listening to herself.

  ‘Miss Mary?’ Mrs Meadows said diffidently, and brought Mary’s thoughts back to the present with a jolt. She smiled at the woman.

  ‘Mrs Meadows, I’m sorry I was wool gathering. It’s lovely to see you. How is everyone?’

  ‘Doin’ well, thank you, Miss. Young Ronnie is in his heavens working with His Grace’s ‘osses, it’s just the thing. He says Susan with you is as good as it gets. He’s right pleased that he gets to see her regular, like. I reckon that’ll be the banns read before too long, and then me a grandma. And Cissy? I just wanted to thank you for all you do here. It matters. Our Cissy is coming on everso well. There’ll be no working on the farm for her, thank the lord. It’s a hard life for a wummin. She’s after bein’ at least a lady’s maid or a governess she says.’ She paused and coughed. ‘Or a teacher.’

  ‘If she carries on learning as she is she’ll easily succeed to any of those positions,’ Mary said cheerfully. She’s a good girl and so ready to learn.’

  ‘That’s good to know… ah here’s the duke. Now he’s a one worth lookin’ at eh?’ Mrs Meadows dug Mary in the ribs and winked as Brody followed Miss Grey onto the tiny stage halfway along one side of the room.

  Mary looked at him from under lowered lashes. Did he seem drawn and pale? Surely not. She turned sideways to look at Mrs Meadows and take her own attention away from the stage. Time enough to look there when she had to.

  ‘My Tom, he’s no oil painting,’ Mrs Meadows went on, oblivious to the way both Brody and Miss Grey stood, presumably waiting for the chatter to stop. ‘So it does me eyes good to get a chance to stare at His Grace, if you know what I mean?’

  Oh yes.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Mary said softly, in as even a voice as possible. ‘My husband was no oil painting either, but he had a good heart.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what’s needed eh.’

  Miss Grey clapped her hands together somewhat peremptorily, and the hubbub subsided to the occasional cough and sniff. She gave a brief resume of the work achieved over the previous year, and then welcomed Brody, before asking him to hand out the certificates for behaviour followed by attendance. When he finished and the clapping died down, Brody spoke.

  ‘I promised a ride in my phaeton to any child with a full attendance record,’ he said with a grin that made his eyes sparkle. Mary’s shivered inwardly. Once more her heard sank. It seemed as if he didn’t seem to be suffering from her refusal.

  ‘It appears…’ Brody continued, ‘…this term all the school pupils attended all the time. As this is the first time we’ve decided to do anything like this, I’ll invite each and every one of you, when weather, school and your parents permit it to enjoy – or not –—a drive. This is not compulsory you understand, I don’t want anyone to think they must do it.’

  ‘If they don’t, Your Grace, I’ll go up again,’ the irrepressible Cissy shouted.

  Brody laughed and the rest of the audience joined in. ‘I’m sure you would. Mind you, I might have to say it’s over the whole year if all of you are so good. I have to think of my horses.’ He grinned and the audience smiled back. ‘I also have a silver sixpence for each child, which they will get at the end of their drive.’

  ‘He don’t look happy you know,’ Mrs Meadows said in a low voice, as everyone clapped his generosity. ‘Only when he’s chatting to the children. Otherwise he’s sort of inside himself.’

  Mary nodded. She daren’t look close enough to judge for herself.

  Miss Grey held her hand up for silence. ‘I’ll now ask His Grace to help Miss Mary with her things.’ She beamed at Mary as if she’d offered her heaven. Mary stared back and hoped she didn’t look as if she’d been offered hell.

  Once more everybody clapped as Brody stared at Mary, with challenge in his expression.

  She counted to three under her breath, stood and with outward calm – she hoped, even though her stomach was performing somersaults – made her way to the three steps that lead up to the stage. Brody stood at the top and held out his arm to her. The glint in his eyes was more than devilry, but for the life of her, Mary couldn’t decipher just what it was. She curtseyed as he held on to her hand a fraction too long to be polite.

  ‘You’re still holding my hand,’ she hissed as he smiled down at her, and began to walk with her across the stage.

  ‘So I am, therefore smile back at me and let me escort you to the podium,’ he said sotto voce. ‘Don’t pull away, it’ll look like you’re in a temper.’

  Mary smiled tightly. Not a temper exactly, but she might well be in a Brody induced nightmare. What game was he playing?

  ‘Perhaps if you let me walk unaided and not look as I’m incapable…’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘…I might find it easier.’

  He raised one eyebrow and bowed as they reached the spot indicated by a beaming Miss Grey. ‘My dear Mrs Lynch, over to you.’

  Did he emphasise the ‘Mrs’?

  ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Mary drew her composure around her like a protective cloak. Then, with an unforced smile to her audience, she spoke briefly as she told everyone how pleased she was with the eagerness and abilities of the children she’d tutored over the months she’d been there.

  ****

  Brody watched the frosty wariness she’d shown him drop away as she talked to the children and parents. When she finished he joined in with the applause and looked directly into her eyes.

  ‘If you hand me whatever they are to get, I’ll pass them over,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d prefer it to be you, but I accept it’s my role.’ How he didn’t tag on, “until my duchess does it”, he had no idea.

  Mary nodded. ‘As you say. Then for each child, there is a certificate and a book.’ She turned to the table and picked up the first parcel. ‘Tommy Belton.’

  A young boy of no more than five walked carefully up the steps, bowed to them both and held his hand out as Brody passed over his prize.

  ‘Oh-er me own book.’ The child beamed with delight. ‘Mine. Thank you Miss, and er your Grace.’

  ‘This
is from Miss Mary,’ Brody said gravely as he shook the child’s hand, and watched Mary do the same. ‘No need to thank me.’

  He waited until the boy reached his schoolfellows again and turned slightly, under the pretext of seeing who was next. ‘A book at his age?’

  ‘Why should there be an age when you are not allowed to read?’ Mary asked testily as she handed him the next parcel. ‘Each and every child has enjoyed learning their letters and seeing how they make words. If you look at the wall yonder it’s full of their own stories. A reward should be encouragement as well as enjoyment. This is both, I hope.’

  He felt about three inches small. How on earth did she reduce him to that state so easily?

  Because I want her to admire me.

  ‘My apologies,’ Brody murmured stiffly. He hated being wrong footed, and disliked the fact he knew she was correct even more.

  Mary barely nodded her acknowledgment of his expression of regret. ‘Now, this is for Davie Lowther, Mrs Niven’s grandson.’

  Not forgiven then. Brody turned his attention to the job in hand.

  The list went on, and Brody was pleased to note how genuinely excited each child and their parents were with their achievements. He made a mental note to discuss the feasibility of adding a room to the school to be used as a library, and funding it. With thatchers and builders on the estate, it shouldn’t be too difficult a job.

  By the time he handed the last prize over he was genuinely delighted at how the pupils – and their parents – liked Mary. Hopefully it would make her more relaxed and willing to listen to his request. For now though, he waited as Miss Grey thanked them both, implored everyone to go and look over the work the scholars had produced and enjoy the tea and cakes provided by His Grace.

  Brody held his hand in the air and shook his head. ‘I might have provided everything for it, but you have to thank cook and Mrs Loveage for actually getting the food here. They have been baking for what seems like days and I therefore have subsisted on very humdrum food indeed.’ The adults laughed as he rolled his eyes to show he wasn’t serious.