Clementine

Chapter 18: The Truth Laid Bare

When Clementine reached the nursery, Julia and Sally were absent. She had not known they had planned to leave the room, so she was a little surprised. Julia always had ideas of her own, though, and she might have wanted to pay a visit to the duke. As far as her mother knew, Julia had not yet seen him today.

Clementine sat waiting for five minutes -- he would get rid of Julia soon because he would need to get dressed and then she would come back, if she was there at all and not with Sally. But nobody came, not even after five minutes. Perhaps Julia was bothering him and he needed rescuing.

She got up and went to the door that Lady Iris had so helpfully identified as his dressing room. It must be leading to the rest of his quarters as well, supposing dukes did not limit themselves to a single room. She knocked.

"Come in," someone called from far away.

He would not, she supposed, ask anyone to come in if it was not appropriate. Still, she knocked again, not daring to enter. It took a while before the door was jerked open, but then she saw nobody. "Er..." she said tentatively. "Who is there?"

He had been behind the door, because he peeked his head -- only that -- around it now, observing her with some surprise. "I am."

"Where is Julia?" There was no sign of her, when she was usually curious enough to be interested in who was at the door. Even now there was conversation at the door, Julia did not want her share in it. The only conclusion could be that she was not here.

"I thought you were someone bringing me a bucket with hot water."

"Where is Julia?" she repeated, not caring about his hot water.

"She is not here. Oh er ... she is walking with my aunt," he remembered.

"Are you inventing that?" she asked doubtfully. He sounded very strange, being so unable to answer her questions directly. Walking with his aunt? This ought to please her, but it sounded so odd.

He recovered himself. "No, I am not. She is in the park. I saw them a short moment before I saw you."

"Why are you --" she gestured at the odd way he was hiding himself, "-- hiding behind that door?"

"I am not entirely fit to be seen," the duke revealed gravely, thinking she would not question this any further.

"I think I shall faint!" she cried, feeling some amusement at his idea that he could not be fit to be seen when he believed rowing kept him fit. "You are not dealing with a modest maiden. Quite frankly you look ridiculous peeking at me like that." She glanced at his hair. It was standing on end, but she would not say that looked ridiculous. It looked far better than the overly combed coiffure he usually sported.

Muncester looked uncertain at her glance and raised a hand to brush down his hair.

The bit of his arm she could see was covered by a sleeve of something. "You are even dressed!" she exclaimed, not understanding anything of it. "Why are you hiding? I must undo my fainting!"

"I am not dressed."

"Show me that arm," she demanded. It looked very dressed to her. For purposes of morality, any covering would suffice. She was not talking of his attending a ball in that attire; she was talking of not fainting, not that she would do that.

He obeyed and stretched out his arm.

She pulled at the fabric, but it did not come loose. "What is this then? It has to be attached to something that covers more than merely your arm."

"I suppose so," he answered.

"Does that not make you dressed?" It was certainly not undressed.

"Not by my standards."

"Standards are variable with you, are they not?" she commented. "You had no qualms about peeking under my daughter's skirt, remember? Which is not decent by anyone's standards." She took care to say it teasingly rather than critically. It was merely an oddity she wished to point out, not an argument she wanted to start.

He coloured. "If you had cared to answer my question, that would not have been necessary. Besides, she is two. And if she had been a boy it would not have been indecent."

Clementine could not help laughing at that logic. "Step aside. I can pretend I never knew you were a man! If you had cared not to hide so conspicuously behind that door, I probably would not even have marked what you were wearing."

"And have passing people call you a temptress?" he wondered.

"Do they not know that you and I want nothing to do with tempting?" she asked seriously, again feeling the unfairness of people's assumptions. "I have assessed you -- out of fear -- but you are not susceptible. I do not see it in your eyes. Neither should it be in mine. Stop thinking that I am either about to assault you or faint at your appearance. I am made of sterner stuff."

He glanced at her silently for a few moments. "Fear?" He held out his hand. She did not have to be afraid of him.

Clementine looked at it, but she did not know what he meant. "What am I to do with your hand?" she asked fearfully. It was, after all, attached to a man, attached to a dressing room, attached to possible other rooms where mischief could occur. He might have been fooling her all along and he could be very good at concealing his intentions.

"Take it."

She did so and was gently pulled into the room, whereupon he closed the door. Since his touch was neither frightening nor unpleasant, she could not help but look first at what he was wearing, which was a dressing gown over some trousers, so why he had been hiding himself behind the door was a mystery to her. Perhaps it was his bare feet? But he still had all of his toes.

She was pulled along to a small room with a table and chairs, where she was made to sit. Again, not roughly.

"How frightening I am," he commented.

"How undressed you are," she said in the same mocking tone, because in some sense he was frightening. It was not his clothes; it was his character.

"We shall not be disturbed here," the duke continued. "As opposed to everywhere else."

Clementine wondered what they were going to do. Converse? "But you have got yourself into deeper trouble than you wished to avoid. Should I ever be found here..." It remained to be seen who could come in here, though.

"Life at sea was not this complicated," he said grumpily.

She agreed that the absence of women could simplify life in the same manner that the presence of men could complicate it. "Because there were no women there. The opposite sex is the source of all trouble."

"Yes, why must everyone think I have designs on every single woman I speak to?"

"Why must everyone think I am out to seduce every single man I speak to merely because I do not have one at the moment?" she commiserated.

"People have a peculiar obsession with ... that -- and that gives us a peculiar obsession with avoiding ... that."

"And of course you fail completely," she nodded, smiling at his choice of words. "I am here."

"Will you stop saying things that -- and all those things that -- well, everything that implies that I am inadequate?" Muncester said, looking exasperated.

"Attack is the best defence," Clementine said softly. It was not always true, but it had applied to their situation.

"But I do not like it anyway," he said with a trace of petulance.

"Then give me no reason to defend myself. Personally I do not see what is so very scandalous about my sitting at a table with you. We could have done the same downstairs in any distant and unused back parlour, although I suppose you would have worn shoes there. And a neck cloth," she said, glancing at the open top of his dressing gown.

"I am about to take a bath," he said to defend his attire. "It has nothing to do with you."

She saw a good opening to bring up what was still on her mind. "Speaking of that -- I do not mean that, but bodies and clothes -- your aunt and I thought it was your soul that was scarred and not so much your body."

He looked away. "I thought I said last night that I preferred people -- women -- not to wonder. Twice."

"You cannot say that to a woman and expect her to listen. Does it tickle?" she inquired with gentle curiosity.

He turned back with a start. "A scar?"

"No, a woman's thoughts. Going where you do not want them to go." She kept her voice friendly, because that seemed to work. She felt friendly; it was no exertion.

"Tickle?" he asked with a sort of laugh. Yes, they tickled.

Clementine rested her chin in her hand and observed him. "Why are you, assuming you have nothing to hide, afraid of being tickled?" She wondered if he was going to correct her about having nothing to hide.

He shuddered.

"Would you rather have everyone wonder if you have a wooden leg?" Which he quite obviously did not. She could see that.

Muncester looked at his bare feet. "Where would that wooden leg be?"

"Only I am enjoying the privilege of seeing your toes," she said earnestly. "Nobody else and I am counting ten of them. Was the injury on someone else?"

He grimaced and looked away.

It was a distressing question, she could tell, but she did not yet know why. "You were saved and he was not?" she asked softly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He gripped the edge of the table very tightly. He did not want to be reminded.

"I am trying to get to the bottom of your problem --" But here she was cut short because the duke groaned in agony. "It might help if you talk to me about it. I am not going to doubt your abilities to command a ship if you tell me something about it. I have no idea what you are afraid of precisely. Your worries might simply have run away with your sense." She paused. "So it was on the soul?"

"Not entirely."

"Do not tell me it was --" She stopped herself and coloured. "Perhaps it is. Perhaps because you could not do anything to me even if you wanted is why you keep forgetting to be cautious."

Muncester stared at her. "Just which body part are you suspecting of being missing now, Madam?" he squeaked.

"You do not want me to think of it, but mentioning it is all right?" she cried, feeling even more embarrassed because he was too.

"It is all right indeed," he squeezed out of his throat.

That relieved her, for she would not have known what to say otherwise. "I am happy for you. Let us move on. I shall go with my proper suspicion. You saw something happen to someone and you were injured somewhere as well."

He looked relieved too. "Precisely."

"But the physical injury was not as painful?"

He winced. "At the time it was. But it has healed well."

"Can I see it?" Clementine asked on a whim. He was not telling her everything, yet she was curious.

"See it?" he cried. "What could be your interest in this?"

"I saw your eyes. If it turns out to be a mere scratch, you saw something horrible," she said with a shrug.

"Why would you care?" he asked, beginning to waver.

"I really do not know, but I do. It will show what you will not tell."

He stood up and turned his back to her. Then he lifted the hem of his dressing gown and lowered the waistband of his trousers a little, just enough to show her.

"Ah," she said in fascination. "Such a scratch." It was indeed not much of a disfiguration, but she understood why he could not have told Lady Iris where it was. It was rather surprising that he was showing it now, although given their conversation earlier, perhaps not.

"You take a morbid interest in these matters," he commented in a rough voice. He loosened the belt of his dressing gown and sat down again. It fell open. "Enjoy yourself with the rest of them."

Clementine gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth.

Muncester looked at her in alarm, afraid she was going to gag. "What is wrong?"

"I am trying to be a modest girl. Do not do such things to me without warning. I expected something really awful when you said that!"

"Well..." He inspected his skin. This was not awful? Her expression did not support that reading, but she had gasped nonetheless. Perhaps his sudden action had taken her by surprise.

"It is nothing! A few scratches." More than she would have imagined, but she supposed it would be naïve to think someone could survive years at sea without being damaged in some way. Damaged was the wrong word. Nothing had been damaged.

He closed his dressing gown again to be comfortable. "Now you have seen it all. Satisfied?" It had cost him less distress than he had thought and it relieved him to hear her say it was nothing.

"Quite." She had indeed seen it all. If she ever married, it would be to a sailor. She smiled at the prospect of having such a man.

Chapter 19: Divulging Plans and Secrets

The duke sat quietly for a few moments. "But you have sealed your fate with your insistence, I fear. I cannot have you go around telling people you have seen a bit of the Duke of Muncester's posterior." He was clearly thinking as he spoke, for he spoke slowly.

Clementine's eyes widened at his use of that word. She had not seen so much of it as to justify using that term. "I would never!" she protested. She would never repeat it to anybody. What would they think? "What would that make me?"

"Yes, that is what we should discuss," he said seriously. "What would that make you?"

"Nothing, because I would never tell!" How could he believe that she would?

"I fear I have transgressed, however, and I must set it right."

It frightened her a little that she could not fathom what he meant. He had transgressed? How was he going to set this right? Obviously he had had his peek at a posterior already. They were even. "You put my daughter on your chamber pot. I daresay we are even. What would you do?"

"Julia does not count. Well, not in this sense," he mused.

His serious tone frustrated her, especially since she sensed he had some thoughts that would affect her. He was appraising her in a thoughtful manner. There was something quite unsettling in his eyes. "Vexing man. Are you enjoying the advantage?"

"Very." The duke's eyes sparkled.

"Do you have a sense of humour?" she inquired, realising she had not yet been observant enough to notice that he did. She had always been too preoccupied or too prejudiced to look further.

"When you are humouring me, I do."

"This is really bad," she commented, referring both to her previous obliviousness and his teasing. It was difficult to decide which was worse.

"Not as bad as not having one at all."

"True, but what was your plan?"

"I want to take my bath now." Muncester stood up and fastened the belt of his dressing gown more securely. It was unclear why, since she had already seen what lay beneath. "I suppose they have come up with those buckets by now."

"That is not fair, when I do not know what you are planning to do with me." It was not fear; it was much closer to excitement. She was not even convinced that he was really going to do something. He might only be teasing and she could tease him back a little to see what he would reveal.

There was a slight smile around his lips. It was not only amusement, but also weariness. "Grant me some amusement. The past few months have been quite stressful."

"Are you not yet reconciled to having to be a duke?" she asked with some sympathy.

"You must understand, not having wanted to be a duchess. How quickly do you think --" He broke off when he heard sounds from his dressing room. He took her by the arm and led her into the next room.

"We are going from bad to worse, Your Grace," she commented upon perceiving a bed. She knew him better than to think they would come anywhere near it, however, but she felt she had to point it out.

"Not at all, that would have been the case if we had gone through the other door. Here we are safe."

"I do not want to be safe." She eyed the bed. It was not at all safe here, not with this man walking around in a dressing gown that he did not mind opening without even knowing how the sight was received. She supposed he was referring to other people finding them, however. He had no clue that the danger could come from within.

"Yes, you do," he corrected her. "The choices you made all support that. You want safety and security, not excitement or uncertainty. Let me glance out of the room to see whether you can set foot in the passage."

"Excitement and secrecy," she mumbled, recalling what he had said about Daniel. He appeared to be enjoying those two things as well, peeking out like that. "Half of the attraction." She nearly bit her tongue after saying that. Which attraction?

"Necessary evils, they are," he said, sticking his head out of the room. "Excitement, secrecy and attraction. I much prefer -- go! The coast is clear." He unceremoniously pushed her into the passage.

"Your handling skills leave much to be desired," she managed to tell him before he closed the door.

It occurred to Clementine that he had invited her into his room for unclear purposes. He had not stated any and she had not divined any either, while their chat had left her with a satisfactory feeling nevertheless -- that, and an uncontrollable need to giggle. At least now she understood why he had cried in agony when she said she wanted to get to the bottom of his problem. The poor man!

She realised quickly that it had been a rare privilege. She wondered if she was the first since the ship's doctor and his valet to be shown his injury. He had not been able to refuse her request, which was remarkable. Only a little insistence and he crumbled.

There had been a sort of connection between them. Their exasperation was similar. Neither could talk to anybody without fearing public opinion, but their private chat about this would shock public opinion even more.

Yet the public had nothing to fear from their encounter. It had been friendly, not immoral. She should try to get him to talk another time, since now he had only shown her some scratches. Perhaps it was immoral of her to think those scratches did in no way detract from his general appearance.

But no, it was very moral of her not to let her opinion be influenced by a few small scars. She smiled and considered her goodness.

Muncester took his bath and reflected on the conversation he had just had. The last thing she had said was that comment about his handling skills. What were those? He supposed it had had to do with his push. It had been too rough for the lady's tastes, he supposed. But how was it a skill? Was he to push her several times to learn it or was this one of these idiotic things he should have known all along? Did gentlemen ashore push their ladies about? He could not imagine it, yet he could also not imagine ladies being extremely frail. Julia did not show any signs of that, at any rate.

He composed a mental list of points to stick to.

Do not push Clementine roughly
Do not insult her
Do not keep secrets from her
Do not appear to have any interest in other women

Going over the list in his mind, he recognised a definite pattern. He leant back and let his mind wander over that pattern.

While his bath water cooled off, he gave some thoughts to his plan. While his intention was quite determined, the execution of the plan was far from easy. He considered a few possibilities, but all of them had in common that he would have to tell Clementine about it at some point. She was quite particular about being told about things as it was, so this would certainly not be an exception. Once his plan was ready for a perfect execution he should inform her of it.

Julia seemed to have been abducted by her namesake, for she was not returned to the nursery at all. When Clementine finally thought of checking the common rooms below, she discovered the duchess and Julia reading books. She had never dared to hope that they might do more together than merely walk and the whole episode with Muncester had been occupying her mind too much to think much of Julia. It made her look upon the scene with a feeling of guilt and she chose to leave them alone.

The rest of the party were all together in the drawing room. Lady Carson and her daughter were still working, Mr. Lenton was making comments on Lady Iris's work and Mrs. Black was writing a letter.

"Does anybody know whether the escaped prisoner has been caught?" Clementine inquired, addressing nobody in particular. She wished to know when she might return home. A prolonged exposure to the attractions of His Grace might prove fatal.

And even though the village knew nothing about those attractions, they might suspect them even in cases were none existed. People were usually very good at taking liberties with the truth. They would invent everything they did not know.

"I should be cleverer than that, as a prisoner," said Mr. Lenton lazily. "To let myself be caught by some farmers. How do they know he came this way anyhow?"

"Prisoner?" Lady Iris asked in alarm. She did not know much about prisoners, except that they probably ought to be avoided.

Her alarm was all the encouragement he needed. "A dirty and famished man lurking in the shrubbery," Mr. Lenton said with relish. "He comes out at night and attempts to steal food and money -- and possibly maidens."

"How do you know?" Iris cried, frightened by that meaningful look he gave her.

Clementine left them to their conversation. She had no interest in hearing Mr. Lenton's inventions and suppositions. Julia and the duchess came in at the other end of the room as she was about to step out, but she would come back to them later. She had to find out about the prisoner first.

Julia saw people sewing. She pulled the duchess' dress to grab her attention. "They making babies?" If there was any chance of her getting new dolls, she wanted to know.

The duchess did not understand and she was a little shocked at the question, yet she could not imagine that little Julia had any less than innocent intentions with it. "Babies? Who?"

Julia walked closer. "Mama made a baby for Julian."

Since neither her mother nor Julian were actually present, the duchess could not verify this statement. Judging by people's shocked reactions, she would have to react to the statement anyhow and preferably say it was untrue. It had to be, yet someone had said the wrong thing about making babies to Julia at some point. "What do you know of that, Julia?"

The little girl was always willing to share her knowledge. "Mama can make babies. Julian cannot make babies."

Upon hearing these words, Lady Iris threw down her needlework with a dramatic gesture and a cry of anguish. It was the final straw. "A family of temptresses! Who invited them here? Their behaviour shocks me beyond reason!" She gave a little sob and ran out.

Lady Carson had no option but to follow to soothe her daughter's feelings.

Only Mr. Lenton and Mrs. Black remained. "Haha," said the former with a good chuckle. "I am so willing to believe that of Julian! He cannot make babies."

"George," his aunt berated him. "Kindly refrain from speaking about such subjects here." It would be quite another matter if he approached her seriously in private, as his brother had done.

"What about that saucy little minx there?" he answered. "She began!"

"George!" She accepted no criticism of someone who did not know what she was talking about. She hoped not, at any rate. There would be some questions to various persons later, to find out who the source of this echo was.

Julia had gone to examine the needlework. "Is no baby!" she said in a disappointed voice, stamping her small foot. "It is ugly."

Mrs. Black had the good sense to pick up the needlework and lay it out of Julia's reach. It had needles and pins stuck into it that might hurt the little girl.

George Lenton fled the room, afraid his aunt would send him out of the house. Perhaps he could lend his services to Lady Iris, who did not seem very favourably inclined towards Julian anymore. That was a good development, although he was sure that Lady Iris was not the type to give up on a duke simply because he dallied with other women. She could still be a duchess, she would think, unless he interfered.

The duchess sat down weakly. "What can be the meaning of this?" she wondered, not seeing how anyone could have said anything that could with some stretch of the imagination be turned into making babies for Julian, unless it had been mentioned like that literally. But that interpretation was as unacceptable as it was illogical.

"Ugly, ugly, ugly," Julia lamented in disappointment, hanging over her grandmother's knees. She did not know it was her grandmother, but this woman had taken her for a walk and therefore she was friendly. "Saucy little minx."

"I think she thought they were sewing babies," Mrs. Black offered cautiously.

The duchess had only had a son, not daughters. She did not know about dolls. "Why would one want to sew babies?"

"Julian cannot make babies," Julia answered. "Saucy little minx!" She loved the sound of that.

"Julia," said her grandmother sternly. "Do not say saucy little minx. Those are bad words. Bad words. And tell me why Julian needs a baby?"

Julia looked innocent, as if she did not know what bad words were. "In bed. Saucy little --"

"Julia! No. Julian? Baby?" Perhaps speaking like Julia would have more success.

"Baby was cold. I put it in bed."

"Whose bed?" the duchess inquired sharply. She still did not know anything about the baby in question, but apparently it seemed to exist.

"Julian has ugly trousers. He plays with me," Julia informed her. She crawled under the table and lay there.

"Julia," said Mrs. Black tentatively to her friend. "Does he have a doll? Does she have a doll?"

"Do you think this is about dolls?" asked the duchess. "That still does not explain why Julian needs a doll, nor anything about the bed either."

"People do not like me with only trousers on," Julia said to a spoon she had taken from the table. "Ugly trousers. People do not like me. I like Julian."

"Yes child, that much is clear," the duchess said to her, incapable of settling on amusement or disapproval. "I think you are a scandalous little minx."

Chapter 20: Caught!

Clementine could hear Iris cry out, but she was already on her way out of the room and she did not turn back, not even to see why there were running footsteps suddenly and Lady Carson calling after her daughter in concern.

Obviously for some uninteresting reason Lady Iris had been made to feel she was not the centre of attention and now her delicate feelings were wounded. She would only be running away so she could be called back, but Clementine was not going to do her the favour of paying any attention to her whatsoever. Perhaps Her Ladyship should learn how to gain friends and appreciation through less artful means.

Clementine was more interested in the butler at this point. Better acting skills were available at the theatre, anyway.

She asked the butler about the prisoner, but he did not know what the current situation was. He did, however, agree to send a boy to the village to make inquiries. With all that behind her, Clementine felt she had done her duty. She was reluctant to go back to the drawing room already, pondering what to do if the prisoner had not yet been caught.

She lingered in the passages to look at paintings. There was enough to keep her occupied for quite a while, even if her thoughts were not always focused on them. She was halfway up the main staircase, lost in a contemplation of the painting of Daniel, when below her Mr. Newman was let into the house. He could not fail to see her and he called out a greeting.

Doing her best to look cheerful, she joined him at the foot of the stairs. Perhaps he had some news. It was tempting to stay, perhaps too tempting. He could solve that dilemma by saying the prisoner had been captured. Then she would leave for certain.

"I am surprised to see you here, Mrs. Rigby," he said. "Well, not here," he clarified after a glance at the paintings, which showed he had a quick understanding. "But here at the manor, all unaccompanied."

"His Grace practically forbade me to stay home on account of the prisoner," she said in resignation. "He likes Julia, you know." He would continue to like Julia and perhaps he would continue to forbid her as long as there was an escaped convict on the loose.

While Mr. Newman had begun to look mischievous during her first sentence, after her second one he began to laugh merrily. "Is that so! And he is now keeping a close eye on Miss Julia so she will not be abducted?"

She did not know why he laughed, but feared it might be at her expense. That fear made her look more dignified as she gave him an answer that could not possibly amusing. "He is taking a bath."

"Oh."

"I spoke to him just before, but that is already some time ago. I do not know how long he bathes. Do you know anything about the prisoner? I do not want to stay here longer than is necessary, because of what people will say." The prisoner might do very well as excuse, but only for as long as he was actually out there. There would be more of a reason to wonder if she stayed beyond that.

"The prisoner has not been seen on the estate, but I do not know whether he was caught anywhere else. I came to update His Grace on the situation, but I do not have time to wait for him to get ready if he is in the bath. We must continue our search. You would not want me to waste time if you are so eager to leave." He smiled. "It will go faster if I join."

"Do you think he should have joined the search too?" Clementine asked when a thought struck her. Perhaps they believed the duke preferred to stay home safely while others did the work. Perhaps dukes never joined in. She had no clue to which extent they were expected to mingle.

"Someone needs to protect the ladies, does he not?" Mr. Newman said diplomatically.

"So you do!" She was ready to defend the duke's courage, but she did not know whether it was wise. Mr. Newman might ascribe other motives to her.

"Do not worry about my opinion, Mrs. Rigby. I know he does not ride."

"When we came hither yesterday he was on his horse," she said with a frown. He rode a little, at least. "Julia sat on his horse with him."

"Yes, he is capable of sitting on a horse, Madam," Mr. Newman said with another mischievous smile. "And even of giving young ladies rides on his horse, but he does not ride well enough. I am sure, though, that should we need to chase the prisoner across a lake in any sort of boat, His Grace is our man."

Clementine stared at him. She had never heard of young men who could not ride.

He chuckled. "I am off then. Tell him I passed by."

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "I am sure he is interested in your progress. I cannot think he is very pleased with not being able to ride well enough to be of use, so he must want to be informed at least."

Seemingly she kept amusing him, because he chuckled again. "You have been employing your time wisely, Madam, taking his measure."

She coloured, because she had indeed taken his measure. "I do not know what you mean, but I shall lead you to him."

He raised his eyebrows, but she had already turned her back.

Quickly she led him to the dressing room, where she gave the door a loud knock. "That should bring him out."

"Please wait," it sounded and after a short time he opened the door, half dripping still, but dressed in the dressing gown and trousers he had worn earlier. Apparently they had been pulled on in a hurry and apparently his valet was not around to answer the door.

"It might have been someone else," Clementine said reproachfully, despite the fact that she had knocked with the aim to draw him out.

"Such as?"

He did not need to be given an answer to a question he could easily answer himself. "I have brought Mr. Newman to see you," she said instead, pointing at his steward.

"I see. You seem to be striving for a cross between my mother and my housekeeper," the duke observed.

Mr. Newman refrained from mentioning there was a perfectly good word for such a cross, but if the duke was so adept at assessing a situation he might also be adept at figuring that out by himself. He waited until it was his turn to speak. After all, he would do himself a great disservice if by speaking too soon he deprived himself of another chance to chuckle.

Muncester soon turned to him, suspicious of that mischievous grin. "Yes?"

"Mrs. Rigby thought you were interested in our progress and she forced me to tell you personally."

The duke's eyes flickered to Clementine, but only briefly. "Yes?"

"We made no progress. We did not catch him and we did not hear of him being caught by others either. Nothing was stolen and he was not seen. He might have moved on."

"Clever. He will eat nothing for a day and the guards will leave," Clementine commented. "Then he can come out of hiding and eat to his heart's content." The conclusion that he might have moved on seemed premature to her.

"Do you want to go home?" Muncester asked her. He did not betray what he wanted her to choose.

"I want there to be a clear reason to either stay or go, a clear reason for everybody not involved," she said. Mr. Newman stifled a snort and she looked at him seriously. "You know that is how it is, Mr. Newman!" He must have come across some trouble around the time of his marriage.

"I do, but take the wind out of their sails! The captain should know how." He bowed at both of them. "I must return to the woods. If the prisoner ever steals a boat we shall call for your assistance, Your Grace."

Muncester looked at her when Mr. Newman was gone. "Do you not need a clear reason yourself? You said for everybody not involved."

She shook her head. "It does not have to be clear to me, as long as it is agreeable."

"That is not your character, Madam, but do not worry about it. I know what you mean."

"How do you know my character?" she demanded.

"You have been informing me of your character from the start, notably what it was not," he said with some amusement. He stretched out his hand and drew her into the room. Then he closed the door. "I cannot waste my hot water, even though it is almost cold."

"What have I to do with your hot water?" she asked. And hot water that was almost cold was no longer hot, she would think. It was unclear why he should want to get back into the tub.

"I need to speak to you as well. Have a seat," he said as he disappeared behind the screens that hid his bath tub from view.

Clementine sat down. She heard some splashing as he resumed his place in the tub. Then she saw him move the two screens a little apart so he could peer through. She could not decide what he was, guileless or wicked. "You are..."

"Resourceful. Now why did you think I would be interested in the men's progress?"

"I supposed you must not like not being able to ride well enough," she reasoned. "Which man would? But that you would not want to be seen as a coward, so that you must involve yourself in some other way."

"How did you conclude all that?"

"Exposure to you." She stared at the crack between the screens. "Did you really want to talk to me or did you want to expose yourself some more?" She could not reasonably have any objections to seeing more of him, but he ought to know better. Perhaps the problem was that he did not.

He raised his eyebrows. "Personally I do not stand on ceremony when the situation does not require it. I thought you did not need clear reasons, as long as it was agreeable. You seem to find it agreeable, because you do not run off -- although Julia thinks a chase very agreeable and her running off means the opposite."

She would not want him to chase her like that and she almost said so. He was also not going to manage a change of topic in this manner. She would stick to hers. "Vexing man. I can still be curious about what you want. What is it?"

"I thought you knew all about me, since you were able to inform Mr. Newman what I would like to hear."

"Does that mean I was correct? Why can you not ride? Is that because of your..." She hesitated to mention the scar.

"Can you imagine someone galloping across a ship?" he asked.

"No, I cannot."

"Well, then. I have not had much occasion for riding anything other than a pony -- when I was young."

"And now you would rather not ride at all than show you are less than proficient. Would you rather have them think you a coward?" If she had been in his position she would have tried to get some practice.

He was silent for a few moments. "They do not. Why should you?"

"I should let you take your bath in peace," she said when he shifted in the tub and his arm came into view.

"I am done. It is getting cold." He moved the screens closer together and got out of the bath.

Clementine waited until he would appear again. She could hear the rustling of fabric. That was a good sign. He was not going to surprise her again. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked eventually. He might want to flog her for doubting his courage.

"When? Why?"

"To get even with me. For the glimpse. For the courage."

"Oh, that," he said thoughtfully from behind the screen. "The glimpse. Do you mean you do not know the consequence?"

"No, I do not know," she replied tersely.

"I do."

"You are impossible. You do not even have to get even with me. Did you know that? I am hardly gloating." She choked a little at the thought of what she was doing instead. "You do not have to..."

"But I do."

"And you will not tell me. I do not know why I was lured into this room, but I am going to do something useful. This conversation bores me excessively." She tried to sound suitably bored. It did not quite work.

He chuckled softly behind the screen. "I am sure it does."

As she came out of the room, the duchess and Julia were just coming down the passage. Her being caught in this manner, just exiting the duke's private chambers, would ruin Julia's prospects with her grandmother for certain, so Clementine did not think and shot back into the dressing room, hoping they had not seen her.

"Knocking would be nice," said Muncester in mild annoyance. He was just buttoning up his shirt and his trousers were already on. "I should like to be in control of what you are allowed to see."

Clementine raised her eyebrows in consternation. "Er ... I -- I mean, your aunt was out there."

"Wonderful," he muttered. There was a knock. "And soon she will be in here. Come in," he called, grabbing Clementine by the wrist so she could not disappear into the sitting room or beyond. "She saw you," he hissed at her. "Do not be stupid."

Obviously he believed the damage was least if she remained here, so she stood still, rubbing her wrist. He might have a point. They had nothing to hide.

"Julian?" said the duchess, looking only at her nephew. "I wondered if I might leave Julia with you. We do not know where Mrs. Rigby is."

Clementine stared at her. She wondered why she was invisible. Had she just committed a grave offence in slipping back into this room? Did she now not deserve to be acknowledged any longer?

"Er, well," the duke said with some difficulty. "If we are all pretending not to know where she is, I shall be happy to entertain Julia for a while until we find her."

"We should not like to leave her wandering all on her own and some degree of undress among family cannot signify." His aunt took in his wet hair and unfinished dressing.

"No," he agreed with a squeak.

Clementine was glad to see she was not the only clueless person. Seemingly Julian was equally in the dark about his aunt's sudden blindness. She felt strangely frozen, though.

"Or should I take Julia for another while until you are able to communicate with her in your normal voice, Julian?" asked the duchess, her eyes gleaming and her tone dangerously sweet.

"Er..."

"You are not gagging at having ladies invade this exclusively male domain, are you?"

"Er..."

"You disagree with it being exclusively male, I see."

"Er..."

"Julian?" said his aunt, leaning against the doorpost with an air of exasperation. "If you find Mrs. Rigby, and if this is a place where she might be hiding more often in the future, would you be so kind as to inform me of its location, so that I may know where to look if I need her?"

He blinked at her.

The duchess nodded curtly and left the room, taking Julia, who had been surprisingly silent as she memorised all of the new words that were spoken.

"Will I now be sent home?" Clementine wondered in a small voice. She sunk down on the chair again. Suddenly her friendly conversation with him did not seem so friendly anymore. The duchess' appearance had made it scandalous and bad.

"I am in charge of that," was his automatic and authoritative response.

That only told her his aunt was not in charge of sending her home, not whether she would be sent home by someone else instead. "Will you?"

"No."

"Then ... what was this?" she gestured helplessly. She did not want to cry, but she had ruined her life. All the improvement of the last few weeks was now undone. "What did she mean?"

Seemingly Clementine's tears were even worse than his aunt's appearance, for the duke was struck silent. He leant against the dressing table and regarded her quite gravely.

Chapter 21: Keep Your Eyes Wide Open

Clementine had behaved so well until that blasted duke had come along, she thought, blaming him at first. It was all his fault that Julia's grandmother would now never want to see her again. In the eyes of the village she had established herself as a respectable woman, she believed, but one private chat with the duke had given his aunt a very different opinion of her, she was sure.

The duchess knew about her past. For her it would be very easy to assume the worst, as unfair as that might be. It would not even be close to the truth. She was not a fallen woman and she had no wish to make anyone fall either.

If the duchess had not been Julia's grandmother, this changed opinion would not have been much of a problem. While her intention had never been to ingratiate herself with the duke's aunt, she had also not intended to turn her back proudly on such a connection. She might not need it, but Julia might, so she would just have seen what would come about.

This was rather contrary to her hopes. Besides, if his aunt disapproved of the acquaintance, he might be persuaded to step back and Julia would not even have a fatherly friend anymore.

She hoped he would not. He was showing a marked improvement under Julia's impertinent tutelage, loosening up enough to be an agreeable companion. Perhaps he was even loosening up too quickly. What else could she blame for this situation?

Blaming herself was another option to which she quickly switched, given her history. Muncester was simply clueless and he was probably above reproach. That he had invited her into his dressing room was not his fault. She had stepped in, after all, when she should have stepped back.

"Do not look as if I am about to die!" Clementine complained, feeling uncomfortable under his grave stare. "She will never want to speak to Julia again." It would be even worse if he did not want to do so either.

"She took Julia with her," he pointed out. The situation did not look as hopeless as that.

"To leave her in the nursery, I am sure. I should speak to your aunt and tell her it was nothing before she severs the connection entirely."

"Why should she do that?" he wondered.

"I should not have been here. We spoke of that. What people would think. And now you are not even dressed. Your aunt can hardly not think you have designs on me."

The duke looked reflective. "My aunt would have addressed those designs then and there if she had disapproved. Remember how she asked to be informed of your location and whether you would be found here more often. Why, if she planned to throw you out of the house, would she ask where she could find you in the future? She seemed in charge of herself -- compared to me. Besides, it was my understanding that only underdressed females were a cause for concern, not males."

"I give you leave to despise me," said Clementine, still fearing the worst despite his rational dismissal of her concern. Underdressed males were no cause for concern! What a silly man he was. She almost gave a sob at the realisation that their ways might part here. "My character is obviously not good and yours..." She did not know about his character and at this moment she was not calm enough to make an estimation. "But your aunt will ascribe all blame to me, however depraved you may be hypothetically."

"I am nearing the point where I lift you up and carry you to my aunt," he said with a frustrated groan. He sat on his hands to prevent that from happening.

"Do not fall into my trap, Your Grace," she said bitterly. "Women like me set traps, or so everyone assumes. Besides, you are not dressed properly. What would people think?"

"If I appeared carrying a woman, people would look at what I am wearing?" he was incredulous. "The only acceptable question would be whether there is something wrong with you!"

"Get dressed," she said after a few seconds of staring at him. "I shall find your aunt and you will not have to shock people. I can understand...but I am not Julia and neither is the duchess. Your aunt will want some more explanations than a body deposited at her feet."

"I..." He did not understand.

"You would expose yourself in such a manner, not only to the disapproval of your aunt, but also to your brother, who is eager to laugh at you, and the two shallow duke hunters?" She stood up. "Get dressed. I shall face the consequences of my actions. Do not make it worse."

"I saw nothing," said Clementine when she had found the duchess. She had to establish whether she would now be thrown out of the house. Julia was still with her grandmother, though, playing quietly. Saying she had seen nothing was probably futile, because the partly undressed evidence had been standing beside her, but it was all she could think of at this moment, when she could barely muster up the courage to address the woman at all.

"My dear girl," said the duchess condescendingly. "Am I to believe you came by your child with your eyes closed?"

A blush spread over her cheeks at this directness. "No, Your Grace," she whispered.

"You had best keep your eyes wide open or you will come by another."

"Yes, Your Grace." Clementine felt her cheeks. They were very hot.

"Should I explain it to Julian or will you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Clementine cried in alarm. Explaining things to the duke was the last thing she would consider. Which things anyway?

The duchess was not averse to going into detail. "Julian thinks in terms of gagging and preying. He thinks he is safe if he avoids either. You and I know differently, do we not? We know about that other option."

"I am not going to enlighten him," she said in determination, thinking that other option might have to do with her general impression of his state of undress. "What would he think of me?"

"He does not seem to do much thinking," said his aunt. "Why do you believe he would start thinking now?"

Clementine did not know. There was much she wanted to ask, but she could not find the courage. "I do not deserve --" Consideration and sympathy from the duchess were too much to hope for, but she did not know how to phrase it exactly.

"What do you not deserve?"

"I do not deserve to be treated -- the family relationships here are a little too complicated for me." This was Daniel's mother, after all, who would never encourage her to have designs on her nephew. It would be a betrayal of her son. Perhaps even Julia's friendship with the duke was painful. The duchess never spoke about Daniel. It was impossible to know how she felt and impossible to ask.

"I see."

That was not encouraging. "I had best leave."

"Leaving is not going to alter the family relationships, although staying might," the duchess pointed out.

"Indeed." What if she did indeed come by another child? "I should not want to alter the family relationships against your liking, Your Grace."

This gave the elder woman pause. "This is not the moment for me to speak. Not to you. I will, however, speak with my nephew and warn him about his behaviour." She stood up. "Right now."

Clementine took Julia back to the nursery, to where Sally had also returned. Julia needed her nap, but there was a huge problem: Grace was missing. Julia refused to get into bed without Grace, but Clementine and Sally did not know where the doll was and Julia was too unreasonable to tell them.

"Did you take it on your walk?" Clementine tried, not really having the patience for this problem at this moment. She wanted to be alone to cry and did not want anything to delay that.

"Sleep with Grace," Julia wailed. "No bed!"

"Where is Grace?"

"In bed."

"Where?" There was no option but to go on a search. Although Julia had never said anything about having visited the duke that morning, she might have. It was best to check there first, now that she knew the way. If Grace was not there, she would have to find the duchess and ask whether the doll had been taken on their walk that morning, but she would rather search on her own than approach the woman again.

She slid into the duke's bedroom because the door was open anyway. There, she surprised a girl who was making the bed.

"Madam," the maid said, evidently startled.

"I lost a doll. Well, my daughter did. Might it be here? She is a great friend of His Grace's. She could have been here with her doll." She looked around herself nervously, wondering what the maid might think.

"There were three dolls in the bed, Madam. I put them on the table."

Clementine examined them. "These two are my daughter's. She gave other one to the duke. Please put it back in the bed when you are done." Julia was such a great excuse. Now she did not have to say she had made the doll herself.

"Yes, Madam. But will he not be angry?" She looked hesitant. "He might think I laughed."

"But you found it there, so obviously he did not care what anybody thought. You can put it back. Blame me. I am used to being blamed." Her voice rose a little plaintively at the end and she disliked it. She should not be feeling sorry for herself. It was her own fault.

She took the dolls back to the nursery before she could say more. "Julia? What did you do in the duke's room?"

Julia stretched out her arms, seeing only two things and hearing nothing. "Grace! And baby!"

Clementine held them just out of her reach. "What were they doing in the duke's room? In his bed?"

"Give!" Julia commanded and started jumping. "Give! Give! Give!"

"Did you play with Julian?"

"Grace sleeps in his bed! Give!" She started to wail.

Clementine handed her the dolls with a shake of the head. "Could she have gone to the duke's room after waking? What do you think, Sally?"

Sally looked reluctant to give her opinion. If she said she believed this was possible she might be told that she should have stayed with Julia during the night, even though Mrs. Rigby had not felt that necessary the night before. One never knew how reasonable or reliable the memory of the gentry was. "She can walk, Madam."

"Is she impertinent enough to -- silly question. She is. We must assume that she went to his room before he went rowing and then he sent her back to me." And he had apparently allowed Julia to put dolls in his bed. She could not imagine him doing that himself.

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