Clementine

Chapter 22: Too Many Fools in the House

"Julian ... ?" called his aunt when she perceived him, now fully dressed. "Come and sit by me."

He did so reluctantly, certain that she would have something to say about the scene in his dressing room. He tried to come up with arguments to defend himself, but he did not yet know what she would say. It was difficult to prepare himself for the unexpected.

"Did you ever find Mrs. Rigby?"

He frowned, mystified. She was speaking in a voice that was too friendly for her purpose, he would say. It was a ploy. "I did."

"Might she be found there more often?" asked the duchess, as if he should have given her the answer already. It was, after all, one of the questions he had not been able to answer upstairs.

"Possibly. Aunt Julia, you saw her." He did not know why she had pretended not to see Clementine there. There were several guesses possible, ranging from good to bad, but he did not dare to settle on one of them for certain. There had been a certain ambiguity in his aunt's manner that had puzzled him. Naturally Clementine had assumed the worst, but he had not been convinced. It almost seemed as if Aunt Julia was playing a game, but he did not understand why.

"I saw you were in the process of getting dressed. Does Jones no longer do his work adequately?"

He did not care to find out where Jones came into things. He wanted to get to the crux of the matter. "Why did you ignore her?"

"I cannot speak about things I did not see," she said innocently.

"And why are you concerned about things she did not see? She saw nothing!"

"I am concerned about things you do not see. You were in your private dressing room with a young woman who is aware of all the dangers of being in a dressing room with a man her age, and a man only partly dressed at that. You have to see that other people see this too, even if you think there was nothing to see." She allowed him a few moments to mull over that speech.

"I do not care about other people," he eventually said with an indifferent shrug. "She and I spoke about it. She considered me dressed enough. You must not think she pressed for a change."

"What would you say if some other people now think she made you a baby?"

He gestured. "True. Some doll thing. But why? What does this have to do with anything?"

"Perhaps nothing, but Julia will not tell them that it was some doll thing, will she?"

He stared at her, trying to gauge the badness of the situation. A glance at the little girl herself convinced him that she could never have done anything bad. She was sitting so sweetly on the floor, now and then looking up at them with large eyes. "What did Julia say?"

"Lady Carson and Lady Iris now believe that Mrs. Rigby is carrying your child. I have not yet corrected them, because for all I knew it might be true." She looked at him searchingly.

"Does that not reveal more about them than about me?" He should think they had revealed their stupidity.

"In every other aspect you are a clever young man," said his aunt. "But you are exceptionally unaware of where things might lead."

"You might be surprised, but I do know how babies come about." As far as he knew, he had not even come close to any of that.

"Well, I am glad to hear that," she said dryly.

"It is not a course of action I have pursued, nor any that I will pursue in the immediate future," he said stiffly.

"Oh?" the duchess raised her eyebrows. She obviously wondered about the not so immediate future.

"You suspect us of being the weaker sex, Aunt Julia, and perhaps you are right. I am not saying this with the intention to give you any pain, but your son was obviously not very strong in this regard." He frowned at the possibility that she might be angry with him now, but that was unavoidable.

She was not so certain that Daniel had been weaker. "At least he was not blindly ignoring his preferences, Julian." She left him with that.

The duchess thought about her nephew. He seemed so inept, but until Miss Rigby had appeared on the scene, Julian had fared tolerably well socially. He had never regarded his aunt as someone he could not speak to and he had always been civil to her friends. It was the young women who befuddled him and this one especially. He had been ashore often enough, but young ladies had not chased him then, she supposed, or he would have been better at handling them. She was sure he would prefer them all to be rational creatures without affectations, however.

He was a good man. He had been very considerate towards her so far when it came to Daniel. Apart from his initial outburst of disapproval, he had tried to spare her feelings by not criticising his cousin too much. He had not been able to escape the revelation that her son had not provided for his child, but he could either have dwelt on it or sought to rectify it and he had chosen the latter.

She had not understood Daniel in that matter either. To some extent she had understood how there could be a mistress -- Daniel would do what his friends did -- but she had always thought he would have cared for his own flesh and blood. It had been a blow to her to find out he had not been caring and responsible enough to make any arrangements for the child.

Julian, who had no reason to care, had been responsible right away. She had slowly switched her allegiance to him, although she felt guilty about that. Clementine's comment about the complicated family relationships was something she could interpret better now. They were indeed difficult. Perhaps their guilt was similar. Yes, she could see how a switch in allegiance might trouble the young woman, who appeared to be empathetic enough to care what the mother of her deceased protector thought of that. If she had been scheming and selfish she would have reacted differently to Julian's interference; she would have negotiated for money.

But her guilt was intriguing, for it implied that Clementine saw Julian's worth even if she did not want to. Julia already did -- there was no question about that, although Julia loved everyone who smiled at her. The girl was playing for high stakes, though, with her innocent remarks, although only the ones with a guilty conscience would interpret them in a certain manner.

The duchess could only see a further entanglement. Julian might take pride in his strength, but he should not be a fool. Perhaps something would happen if the young lady removed herself from the house. She could not be kept here if she insisted on leaving.

Before the duke had developed any sort of coherent thought about the preferences he was blindly ignoring, his brother interrupted him. "I say," said Mr. Lenton, plopping down on a comfortable chair in the study. "That little girl is the sauciest little minx I ever saw! She will grow up to be something good, I wager. A delicious little flirt."

Muncester had brought Julia here to the country to prevent such a thing from happening to her, so he frowned. He did not like the words his brother was using, but in all likeliness they were intended to provoke him. Ignoring them would be best. "How is that commission coming along, George?"

His brother ignored his words likewise. "Did you know the little minx said you could not make babies? It was capital. Iris threw a tantrum. She now thinks you dallied with Mrs. Rigby -- you -- and there is a baby somewhere."

The duke looked back evenly. "Exactly why are you telling me all of this?"

"Exactly why are you not flustered?"

"Listen to me, George." He kept his voice calm. He had managed to keep his cool in worse situations and therefore this was not difficult. It was only his brother, after all. "By the end of this week you are out of this house. I have given you enough time. The fun is over." He was not going to allow his brother to distract him. Some action would have to be taken. It could not be postponed forever.

Mr. Lenton had not expected this sudden seriousness. He looked taken aback. "You will throw me out? Julian!"

"Do not let it come that far. You have until the end of this week to leave voluntarily. After that..." The duke shrugged. "There may be some other privileges that will have to be reconsidered."

"All this pettiness because of some jokes about your success with the ladies!" Mr. Lenton cried, colouring in anger.

"I do not call your kind of association a success. Do you?"

The younger man gave a coarse response, but his brother did not flinch, not even when his silence elicited even more coarse talk. "Finished?" he asked when no more seemed forthcoming. "I could make it tomorrow if you insist. The choice is yours."

"I am your brother," he pleaded in a last attempt.

The duke coolly raised his eyebrows. "Really? Does one usually address one's elder brother as you did just now?" He believed a brother, and an elder one at that, deserved some more respect, not to mention that gentlemen should not be using such language.

"You are not much of a brother if you throw me out," George complained.

"All the more reason to do it sooner. If you have time to prepare is of no consequence to me, you know. I shall not suffer from the loss of your company either. By all means continue to be disrespectful to me and seal your own fate." He held up his hands and gave a cool smile.

"Oh, threaten me because you can!"

"Tomorrow it is then?" the duke said, getting to his feet. He was not threatening his brother because he could, but because he must. It was not an empty threat either. He would not say anything he could not carry out. Perhaps George would do well to keep that in mind. Family loyalty was only extended to those members of the family who deserved it.

George finally began to sense he was serious. He tried to negotiate. "No, the end of the week, like you said!"

"I shall let you know tomorrow morning whether tomorrow is the day of your departure," his brother decided. "Be prepared."

"Why do you expect me to obey you?" George cried.

Because he was used to it -- and because he knew best. "Do it or leave."

Lady Iris had taken to her rooms and her mother conveyed her apologies about her dramatic departure to the duchess. She at least knew there must be some form of excuse for her daughter's behaviour, even if the girl herself did not. "I am afraid Iris is very sensitive," Lady Carson said indulgently. "She takes things to heart so quickly with her affectionate temper and her delicate sensibilities."

"I am sorry to hear it," the duchess responded. Very likely nothing was wrong with Iris at all, apart from some customary silliness. If nobody gave it any attention it would soon fade away.

"Yes, indeed. The news was a little too shocking for her. She is not used to such revelations."

"I am sure, my dear, that you told her a toddler can never be held responsible for what she says." She supposed her cousin would misinterpret her kindness. If she had known the pair had grown so single-mindedly determined to catch a duke, she would have written them it was impossible for them to visit her because she was not at the estate. Unfortunately, the last time she had seen them, Lady Iris had been too young to think, let alone speak, of marriage and their silliness had not been so apparent as it was now.

"Well, I tried," said Lady Carson, who had done no such thing. "But it was very difficult for Iris to listen, upset as she was."

"I am sure it will soon pass," her hostess soothed.

"For the little girl cannot have spoken the truth, can she?" The question was asked hopefully.

Her conscience could not decide on an answer. It would be more satisfying to her to say she did not know, yet it would be unfair to her nephew to allow any suspicions to remain in existence. She decided to circumvent the issue. "She is two. She is constantly trying out new words."

Lady Carson would have preferred to see Mrs. Rigby and her daughter to be thrown out of the house, so she huffed slightly. "But it was not what one would want one's two-year old to say."

"Surely not," the duchess agreed. "I have berated the appropriate parties most severely. But may I inquire what led Iris to her suspicions? What does she know of these matters?"

"Nothing," her mother hurried to say. "That was why she was so shocked -- to be enlightened in such manner."

"And this girl wants to be wed?" the duchess could not help but inquire. "Do you not think her sensibilities are a trifle too delicate for the state of matrimony?"

"Well, at some point," Lady Carson conceded, thinking it best not to be too transparent.

"She had best not consider my nephew then. There is no delicacy in a sailor." Somehow it pleased her greatly to say such a thing. "They have hoisted too much cloth to remain sensible to delicacy."

"Oh, Iris would never dare to consider anyone yet!" her mother assured the duchess most speedily, although she flinched at the mention of the duke.

"Good. I do not think it is a lady's place to consider first," said the duchess with a stern look.

Chapter 23: Going Home

The village, or rather some of the more opinionated exponents of it, had come to hear of Mrs. Rigby's relocation to the manor and could not let the matter rest. They could not decide whether it was worse to have Mrs. Rigby stay there, or to have her maids seduced by the two footmen of the duke's who were now staying at her house instead.

"Nothing good can be happening in that household now that its mistress is gone," said Mrs. Tompkins, pressing her lips together in hopeful disapproval. She did not know precisely what she was wishing for, except that it would give her much to talk about.

Mrs. Johnson agreed that two footmen could only be turning the maids' heads if they were away from the edifying and controlling influence of the butler, who was a respectable man by all accounts.

The villagers were less certain of what was occurring at the manor. Lady Iris was also there and whatever Mr. Potter thought of Lady Iris' chances, the duke might still like her. He might not even mark Mrs. Rigby's presence, although Mrs. Davenport had insisted that he had personally collected Mrs. Rigby and Miss Julia from their home. Unfortunately nobody had told her why.

"You know what those sailors are like," Mr. Hessop said with a wink. "The more women, the better."

"Mr. Hessop!" Mrs. Tompkins felt she had to cry out. "That was in bad taste."

"Well," he muttered, thinking he was only following her lead. "I saw it with my own eyes in town."

That was an advantage he held over Mrs. Tompkins, so she pressed her lips together again as she thought of a suitably snappy rejoinder.

"Those sailors -- they certainly know what to do with women and liquor!" he continued, enjoying her reaction.

"And what were you doing in those less savoury parts of town, Mr. Hessop?" she demanded. Mr. Potter also leant over his counter very curiously and his apprentice paused in his work.

"Passing through, Mrs. Tompkins, merely passing through, but I saw quite enough."

"I am sure none of that applies to Captain Lenton." She had trouble believing it in spite of herself. "You saw common sailors, I am sure."

"That only common sailors do this is a myth, Mrs. Tompkins," he said in a low voice.

She gasped. "But not our duke!"

"Indeed, I did not see him there," Mr. Hessop had to concede. "But I cannot vouch for the conduct of other officers if they are released from duty."

"It is good that nobody asks you to," she snapped. "I am sure our duke is all that is proper."

"Then what precisely are we talking about?" Mr. Potter decided. He enjoyed news, but sometimes the ladies made far too much of it and Mr. Hessop was successfully baiting Mrs. Tompkins. "There will not be a scandal under the duchess' nose. I think the most we may hope for is some gossip."

"But what do you really think?" his customer pressed.

"I think Mrs. Rigby will go home as soon as the escaped prisoner has been caught, for Mr. Newman saw her at the manor and he said she was all alone with nothing to do."

"Where was the duke?" Mrs. Tompkins cried.

"Not entertaining either Lady Iris or Mrs. Rigby, Mrs. Tompkins. I am sorry to dash your hopes in either direction. Mr. Newman spoke to him in his private rooms. It is quite possible that he does not want either lady. And he has that right."

"Not that Mr. Newman would tell if he did see a lady there. He might think it ordinary."

"If his character is so depraved as you believe, I say he would tell me," Mr. Potter retorted.

Clementine had been happy to hear the prisoner had been caught. There was now no more reason to stay and get into trouble. She wrote short notes for the duchess and the duke to thank them for their kindness, but she chose not to say goodbye in person. It would be too difficult.

Mr. Newman, who came to bring the news a little later than it had been delivered by a village boy, had offered to carry her belongings and if he thought it strange that she left in such a hurry, he did not say anything about it.

The duchess received the note with a frown, for she had hardly been so occupied that she could not be disturbed.

I am told it is safe to return home. I beg your forgiveness for settling for a note, but I see no better way to convey my deeply felt gratitude for your kindness in offering us refuge. I thank you for your generosity to Julia and me, especially to Julia. We regret leaving, but we must and now the necessity is removed, we cannot impose any longer.

There was no mention of her behaviour, although that would have been strange, but neither were there any expressions of self-pity and unfairness. Miss Rigby did not want to dwell much on her misfortunes, did she? She accepted them and moved on.

The duchess stared ahead. In that aspect they were rather similar. They shared a misfortune, too. She wondered how the young woman had really felt about Daniel. How had she felt and how did she feel now? It might look callous, the way she was going on with Julian now, yet it was not.

She supposed Clementine had been informed of Daniel's illness around the same time as she, which would have given her enough time to fortify herself against an eventual loss. Daniel's mother had attached herself to her parentless nephew upon his return, because she must attach herself to someone and there was no one else. Clementine had had Julia.

It was indeed complicated if one did not know how everyone felt. She understood where Clementine saw the complications; she must be thinking that any interest in Julian was bound to give his aunt pain. What the young lady probably did not realise was that this consideration and discernment achieved rather the opposite.

She burnt the note; it had served its purpose. While it had already been cautiously phrased -- the emphasis on Julia was only an implied reference to the family relationship -- it might be best not to leave it lying around. She wondered if Julian had also received a note.

Clementine was both happy and sad to come back home. She had much more to do here, although she would have to do without interesting company. Julia, whose nap had been rudely disturbed by their departure, had been cranky during their walk and she was put to bed as soon as possible.

Although she had sent back the footmen as soon as she arrived, she had not yet had the chance to question her maids. She did so when Julia was safely in bed. Hearing the duke's servants described as rather boring fellows brought a relieved smile to her face. That was one thing she did not have to worry about.

Fortunately many little things around the house required her attention and she was not even given the opportunity to think of the reason for her hasty departure and its consequences.

It was no coincidence that Mrs. Newman showed up not very much later, without her children. This was a very difficult trip for her, since she was not used to initiating conversation or contact. Apparently something serious had prompted her visit.

"His Grace visited us," said Mrs. Newman. "But I thought he was very civil. You once implied he was not."

"Today? Did he visit only now?" Clementine asked. He had left it rather long if that was the case.

"The duke and my husband usually meet at the manor, but His Grace found he had missed my husband when he called."

Yes, she knew about that. She had probably prevented them from meeting by saying she wanted to go home instantly, so that Mr. Newman had offered to accompany her and the duke had not been notified of his arrival. They had both been in hiding, it seemed, but not together, and she had been found first. "And His Grace was civil?"

"Oh, indeed."

"You had never met a man more civil," Clementine deduced.

Mrs. Newman laughed. "Do not make fun of him! I did not say he was charming. Do you still not like him?" she asked with a frown that was rather anxious.

Clementine coloured, attempting to analyse all her thoughts and feelings in that split second. "I would like to know him. Know why he is that way. I am interested in what he is not telling." Strictly speaking that had nothing to do with saying whether she liked him, she realised, and she had perhaps said too much in trying to say very little.

"And when you know him?" Mrs. Newman asked the obvious.

The fervour with which she had spoken now made her cautious. "I feel his character may suit me."

"Suit you?" The steward's wife was too shy to jump to conclusions. "Does that mean you like him?"

"I feel he may be a good man -- he is a good man," she could conclude if she thought about it, "but it comes out so wrong at times!" Her heightened colour returned as she spoke. "But I should like to know if I am right." Clementine was silent as she poured the tea. Then she shook her head. "And he knows nothing of women, Anne. Nothing."

"He will learn. If he needs to. One would not want him to learn anything without necessity."

"He showed me his scar. I could handle that. Felt sorry for him. But then he thought I had a morbid obsession with them -- oh dear!" She barely felt the excitement in her tone rising again, preoccupied as she was with recalling the instance. "He showed me the others."

Mrs. Newman looked startled at this revelation. "Where? Oh! I should not be asking." She coloured in embarrassment.

"The gratuitous showing was on his upper body. They make some fine men in the Navy, I must say!" Clementine looked at her friend, whom she judged to be a little shocked by her openness. If this was the effect on a fellow woman -- and one who had married her employer after having lived in his house -- the effect on a man would be even worse. It was depressing that he would gape at her if she said the same to him. "He would never understand. He thinks women are passive -- or mercenary vultures. This has bothered me all along, as you well know."

"Am I correctly deducing he showed you his body without his clothes on?" Mrs. Newman's hand shook in agitation and she put down her tea cup.

"I was not shocked by it; I have seen a similar thing before. I have a child, Anne," she said with a shrug. "But I must say it complicates matters to have such a man in such a body. Such a man! Not a boy. And his aunt saw me in his dressing room." That thought put her back in her place.

Mrs. Newman gasped. "Is there no end to this scandal?"

Unfortunately there was. "She pretended not to see me when she spoke to him, but I was called to order by the duchess later."

"Of course, she must," her companion nodded in sympathy.

"She asked me if I had come by my child with my eyes closed. Then she told me to keep my eyes wide open or I would come by another." She related this calmly, for she could only agree with those words of caution.

Mrs. Newman gasped again. "But...!"

"It was very awful, I assure you." Clementine could still shudder in embarrassment.

"If she wants her orders to be followed to the letter, she would do well to be unequivocal. Now she was not! Not at all! She said to keep your eyes open in his dressing room!" This order was evidently confusing Mrs. Newman. Her friend had been ordered to keep her eyes open in the presence of an undressed duke. That was very odd.

That response made Clementine wrinkle her forehead as she considered it. "Anne, surely you do not take her words as encouragement?"

Anne did not know if she could be certain. "Did she speak to His Grace?"

"She might have explained it to him, because she asked whether I wanted to, but I declined. She knows he has no idea."

"No idea of what?"

"He has no idea that a woman may have other responses to his state of undress than shock or disgust." She shuddered at how admitting this would be seen as a sign of a depraved soul. "But I should not be thinking about this at all. The duchess was just beginning to be friendly to Julia and my beginning to be friendly with the duke may have ruined this completely. It is unfair. We were only commiserating and talking. For Julia it would have been best if we had continued to strife! I was very bad for tearing up the family like that and especially I should have known better! I cannot blame him. He is..."

"Completely blameless..." Mrs. Newman nodded.

Perhaps that was mockery of her -- or him. What had he revealed to the Newmans? "What did His Grace say earlier when he visited?"

Mrs. Newman thought about it. "He came to talk about the search party, so that took up much of the conversation."

"Nothing else?" That would be a disappointment. There could at least have been a query, a flicker of interest, into her quick departure.

"Well, he displayed some silent interest in my family situation, but nothing else," Mrs. Newman related with a smile. "And you think he is clueless, Clementine!" She was tempted to disagree.

"He is."

"He knows when not to speak. My husband sent me here to find out why there was so much silence going on." She glanced at the clock. "I know now. I should go back. The baby will want to be nursed soon."

"What do you know now?" Clementine almost cried.

"I shall tell my husband that we were correct." These words were spoken with a smile.

"It does not do at all to become impertinent only now, Anne!" she chided her friend gently.

"Only because that does not suit you at this moment," Anne said in a mild voice. "Very well. My husband thinks you and His Grace were getting along better and he thought His Grace was not well pleased with not being informed personally of your departure."

"But I could not! I thought about it, but I could not!" Clementine shook her head as she thought of what might have happened. They might again have crossed some line they did not see.

"Which is quite similar to his inability to ask us any questions about it. His silence did not spring from disinterest."

"I could not risk more disapproval from the duchess, you see," she said very softly. "I could have spoken to her, but I dared not. I thought it was best if I left very quietly and notified them in writing. Do you think I was wrong?"

Chapter 24: Sulking

Muncester had been more than miffed at having been notified of Clementine's departure through a mere note. He, Captain Lenton, previously in absolute command, had been dismissed with a note. What was more, a note that had obviously been written with the expectation that it would be read by the servants, and a note that spoke of more concern for his aunt's feelings than for his own.

He could not help but feel a trifle childish about this. Rather than doing like his aunt, he felt all the injustice of having been slighted and he felt it for rather longer than he ought.

Although he had never thought of her as someone who had to report to him or defer to his authority, the truth that apparently he did not require more of an explanation hit him with considerable force.

He read the note again.

You will understand why I have to return home now that the coast is clear.

Using language he would understand did in fact nothing to make him understand her reasons.

Out of consideration for your aunt I will limit myself to a note.

Out of fear, he believed, but his aunt was not so evil that she would not have allowed them a conversation about the departure. She could even have listened in and warned him against escorting her home, should he have wanted to do that. He might have. He could not say. The opportunity to think of such a thing had not occurred. It had been denied to him.

I am eternally grateful for all you have done for Julia and me.

He was not appeased by her gratitude. He could not be, for she made it sound as if she was going to leave the neighbourhood altogether, never to return.

After tossing the note into the fire and rescuing it from there with only a corner damaged, he cooled off. In a calmer state of mind he could understand precisely why she had felt a note must suffice. It did not mean he agreed.

When he had heard she had left in the company of Mr. Newman, he had thought it logical and not at all suspicious to call on his steward later to find out what had happened. Apparently, although he was grateful for it, she had not told Newman anything. His steward had not told him anything either, only asked one or two cautious questions that had been so carefully phrased that it had not been difficult not to answer them directly.

He could only conclude that it was his aunt's reprimand that had sent Clementine on her way so quickly. He did not want to ask his aunt what she had said, but he stuck to glaring at her.

"Where is Julian?" was Julia's first question after her nap.

Of course Julia had to mention the one person of whom she was trying not to think. Clementine was not really surprised. "At his own house."

Julia stuck out a foot. "Shoes."

Although Clementine was impressed by her daughter's cleverness, she could not give in. "You are not going to walk there. Play with me."

"I want to play with Julian."

"We all do, darling. But he is not here. Play with me." Julia had to get used to that. He might never come over again. They might never see him again. It was all in the hands of his aunt. But she had best not make any promises to Julia.

"Jump on the bed," Julia said after some deliberation.

"No, Julia. We can play with your toys or in the garden." Whatever the man allowed Julia to do, she was not going to copy his bad influence. Jumping on the bed indeed! The bed of a duke was much sturdier, she was sure.

As she supervised Julia and the puppy, she reflected on her departure once again. It had been the best thing to do. She could not put herself in the way of trouble again; the duchess could have nothing for which to reproach her now. There was some satisfaction in that, not in much else.

Mrs. Newman had suggested that the duchess' words had been words of encouragement, but that could not be so. It was strange that such a shy creature as Mrs. Newman would see it as such. Perhaps this meant that Anne had not been terribly shocked by the revelations. She had felt a need to unburden herself without much regard for Anne's sensibilities, which had been thoughtless of her.

Recalling what she had said made her blush. Mr. Newman would surely snicker much more the next time he saw her.

At dinner the duchess had finally had enough of this infantile behaviour. He had been glaring at her all the time. When he was not avoiding her, that was. She would almost think she had done something wrong.

She broke the silence during the meal. "Julian, have you thought about what I told you?"

"I have," he said curtly. This was not a good time to discuss it, though, and he was not prepared to say more.

She did not want to be brushed off with such a reply. It told her nothing. All she could see was that he was sulking. "Is it fair then to take it out on me, do you think?"

"No, it is not. You have a point, but I see no way to resolve the situation to anyone's satisfaction and avoid the evil at the same time." He could not go into detail -- the others at the table had no idea of what he was speaking and he did not particularly care to inform them.

She smiled. He was never unreasonable for long. "The evil is required for your satisfaction then, Julian?" She had no problems deducing what the evil was. It was probably related to locking himself away with fair Clementine, which was, she supposed, satisfactory enough not to forego.

"Quite."

"Have a chat with me after dinner," she said, smiling more widely. She recognised determination when she saw it.

He could scarcely concentrate on his food after that, mulling over his aunt's words and smile. She believed she had a solution, but what could it be? The solution was evidently pleasant to her, but how would he feel about it?

She took him to the study as soon as she could. "What have you concluded?"

"Before you interrupted," he began with all the indignation of a man confident in his abilities to handle his own affairs without the help of others, "I had already concluded that I must set it right by marrying her, but that is not without problems. One, she does not know of my plan. Two, she would say no. Now we have problem three, I am not allowed to talk to her in private."

"Marriage! What must you set right?" she asked suspiciously. He was even more determined than she had thought. She had thought he needed some more hints first.

"She asked to see whether I had a scar or a scratch."

The duchess was surprised. "She asked? And you showed?" The latter was even more surprising -- although perhaps it was not, for the kind voice of a pretty young woman held great power over men. It was not the selfish coaxing of someone like Iris.

"She would otherwise have grilled me about myself," the duke said to defend himself. "I think she gave me the easy option by asking to see."

To some extent his aunt could understand the solution that had been found. "She is accustomed to communicating with a two-year old, so that is no wonder. However, you cannot simply lift your skirts if you have a point to make. You do not have the body of a two-year old."

"What is the difference?"

She smiled. "What do you think?"

She wondered about Miss Rigby's request to see Julian's scar. That was an initiation of intimacies that had probably not been intended as such, but that was difficult to interpret otherwise for an outsider. Perhaps she was to blame herself, for she had approached the young woman with a question about this subject. That might have further awakened Miss Rigby's interest in the scar and led to the disclosure of its precise location.

She should have been wiser, but she too had been interested in her nephew's revelation and the incredibly smooth way the young lady had come to his rescue. That the pair had carried this further as a natural progression of events was not their fault alone. She should keep that in mind.

"Obviously I do not know," he replied tersely.

"Your body is not innocent."

He coloured. "It is."

"Her eyes are not then. Did she ever mention Daniel?" The duchess broached a topic she had long wished to broach. This seemed a good moment, not entirely a non sequitur. She had not received a good impression of the girl's feelings for her son. The girl was proud; there might be things she would not readily admit. She did not appear to be someone who enjoyed blaming others, at any rate. This did not mean she was happy about how her life had turned out.

Her nephew scrutinised her face when he could detect no emotion in her voice. He did not know how much he could say.

"Speak freely," she ordered. "I can take it. Did she mention him?" She supposed Clementine had, because Julian was so obviously weighing what he could tell.

"She mentioned him. When I spoke of her being ruined, she --"

"Julian!" One did not tell a lady she was ruined. One did not even bring up the subject. But perhaps if one took off one's clothes that easily, one had a different perspective on propriety. She rolled her eyes.

"She did not consider herself ruined because she still has her hopes and her spirit was not crushed," he said stubbornly, believing he had been right in talking about it. He would otherwise not have known what he knew now.

"She does not blame Daniel?" There was some tentative relief in her voice.

"Not for the loss of her virtue, but I think that when the effects of gratitude wore off, she believed he could have saved her further." He tried to recall what she had said precisely.

"Saved? Where did he find her? She mentioned something like this, I remember."

"I believe he saved her from a gang at an inn on the road. What I would have done would have been to take her to town to make sure she got a position somewhere, but Daniel asked her to become his mistress." His disapproval was clear.

"She probably liked him then," the duchess said in relief. She preferred to think there had been some mutual regard than a one-sided decision on Daniel's part. He had never been like that, but she could see how he would have been unable to resist the opportunity that had been thrown into his lap -- a desperate girl with very few choices. The consequences might not have been easy to predict for two young people. With their unfailing optimism they would have considered this the best course of action.

She was silent as she visualised how it might have gone. She sighed. "But he did not grow up as quickly as she did." Daniel had apparently never changed his perspective on the situation, whereas Clementine had. She at least had managed to secure some provisions for herself. It must have vexed her that he had not wanted to do this for the child. "Had someone been whispering in Daniel's ear? Had his friends warned him off, saying one could never trust a mistress' child to be one's own?"

The duke gave a shrug. "Perhaps. Perhaps you should not think about this, Aunt Julia. It was some sort of game to him. Perhaps she would have made him grow up if she had been more insistent on a marriage, but she is not selfish or cunning enough."

She nodded wistfully for what might have been. She would agree with his judgement. Clementine was not a very demanding or cunning girl. She could have, because she had failed with one duke, exploited the compromising situation with the other. She had not. It might have made a difference if Daniel had married her and benefited from her influence. "He was a good boy at heart. Perhaps if we had sent him to sea..."

Muncester turned his head sharply at the implication that this did young men some good. It might indeed have strengthened his cousin's character, but it was impossible to say.

He pondered the implication that his aunt thought more highly of him than of her own son. It would be gratifying, but only if it lessened her grief, not if it made her resentful or bitter.

"...but one does not send one's only heir out to be killed on a battleship. Your uncle would never have allowed it." They might as well have done something like that, for in the end it had not made a difference to keep him safe and idle.

That was a dilemma he might encounter in the future, but as yet he was not even married. "I cannot say what I would do. I may never have sons."

Lady Iris, recovered from her nervous fit, had not failed to notice that Mrs. Rigby was no longer in the house. She had felt some satisfaction upon not seeing her at dinner. Now that the duchess had taken away the duke straight after dessert -- highly unusual, but it was their house and they could do as they pleased, she supposed after feeling shunned -- she had the opportunity to ask Mr. Lenton about it. He had not stayed in the dining room alone, but he had accompanied the ladies out.

"What happened to that temptress?" she whispered, not seeing the irony in not rebuking Mr. Lenton for laying his hand on her waist.

Perhaps he was a little more insightful. "Who?" he asked in a flirtatious manner.

"Mrs. Rigby," she said with a giggle.

He looked around as if he had only had eyes for Iris until then. "Perhaps she went home?"

"Was she sent home, do you know?" She sounded hopeful. She would like that.

"Julian and my aunt want everybody out -- such an action would not surprise me. I may be evicted on the morrow." He could not pass up this opportunity to interest people in his plight. One never knew what they might be able to do for him.

"Why?" Lady Iris turned her huge eyes on him. There would be no fun left if he was gone. She was slowly realising that the duke was not made for amusement. He was a boring old man, aged and weathered at sea. His brother cut almost as fine a figure, but his features were more handsome and he knew about fashion. Besides, he was younger -- His Grace was at least thirty, or so Mama thought. Mama was being kind and optimistic, she was sure. If he were not a duke, Mama might have estimated him at forty.

"He is forcing me to become a soldier."

"Oh no!" she cried -- a little too loudly, for Lady Carson turned her head. "Oh, Mama! Mr. Lenton must become a soldier!" She made it sound as he was going to die shortly.

"Why does that distress you so? The uniforms are quite becoming."

"You will not plead on my behalf, I see," Mr. Lenton said.

Lady Carson looked as if she had missed the point of a joke and Mrs. Black quickly led the way into the drawing room. She had to take charge now that the duchess was not here.

"Never have sons?" the duchess inquired. "I believe you started off by telling me you would marry her."

"She may -- she will say no. Even if she did not, you only had one son yourself." There could be no guarantees, he thought.

"Blame your uncle."

The duke did not want to know any particulars. "It would not do to count on anything."

"My point was rather to return to your intentions, Julian. Marriage. And your three problems." She was all for reducing them to two, one or even zero. Somehow she believed it would not be too complicated.

"I cannot discuss these intentions with her if we are not allowed to talk in private," he sulked.

"Not if you cannot keep your clothes on while you do so, or had you hoped to accomplish a compromising situation? Surely you are not that shrewd?" she asked. She did not think he was.

"I am not. I was like that before we started talking and she said she did not mind. I did not remove any garments in her presence."

"Oh, that makes all the difference," said his aunt with a sarcasm she supposed he would miss entirely. It was not the action, but the result that mattered. "I am pleased to hear you can talk to her. You should perhaps discuss your intentions with her in a place where you can be seen, but not overheard. I am sure you will think of something."

Chapter 25: Setting It Right

The duke felt he must speak with Clementine as soon as possible. The late hour prevented him from calling on her still today, so he should probably postpone it until the day after. He quite liked her. If she thought he had liked Julia first, or only Julia, she would be wrong. He had not always known how to react to her behaviour, but he had come to think of her with some admiration in spite of that. That had made it very easy to think he must set matters right by marrying her. He did not know how this determination worked precisely, only that the idea did not disgust or repel him and he did not care to explore beyond that realisation.

During the night he woke from a nightmare. Every time he closed his eyes again it was in danger of continuing, yet it was too early to forsake sleep altogether. He saw but one option. He would go to her and tell her about it. She might have a solution and he would be only a little earlier than he had planned.

It was easy to grant himself access to his former house by climbing up to a window. No dogs barked and nothing stirred anywhere. This strengthened his belief that he had done right in removing Clementine and Julia temporarily. Anyone could get into this house! That puppy of hers was indeed useless.

Briefly he had considered presenting himself at the front door, but then he had decided against that. He was not eager to share his private business with any servants, because it was strictly between him and Clementine. Many years had passed since he had last used this method of access, but he found himself still capable.

When he had taken Julia upstairs the other day he had seen that his old room was not in use. Clementine had preferred to avoid it, he supposed. It was a good thing for him, because he could take it now. He had come to talk to Clementine, but now that he was here, his courage waned. She would not look kindly on a nightly interruption. He should have realised that before he set out. All he could do was wait for daylight.

He had no intention of doing anything strange, but she might not know that. He had only wanted to find some distraction for his tormented mind, by looking and listening to someone else. Unless he said so specifically, she would slap him, and he did not think he could come up with a plausible excuse in the middle of the night that did not cost him too much. Women, he had discovered, always wanted one to examine his feelings and relate them. He would rather not.

The walk through the cool night air had revived him a little, but when he fell asleep again, the same images began to torment him.

Clementine woke up with a start. She was sure it had not been Julia crying because there was no repetition of the sound, yet there must have been something. There was an odd thumping noise coming from somewhere on the same floor. She slipped into a dressing gown and set out to investigate whether Julia was throwing toys against a door, something that was not wholly unthinkable. Julia, however, was sound asleep and the noise came from the other side of the house, from the master bedroom.

She had deliberately not moved into the master bedroom when she had taken possession of the house. It had once belonged to the duke and at the time it had felt too much like sharing his bed, even though there were no tangible traces of him there anymore. His presence lingered and it had felt too uncomfortable for some reason, so she had preferred to take another room for herself.

The sounds called for an investigation, but she was a bit hesitant. She did not believe in ghosts, but there was not much else it could be. After telling herself that ghosts did not exist, she opened the door. She rarely went into this room and she wondered if that was why something strange was now taking place here.

Someone lay moaning in the bed, repeatedly hitting against the wood. Although it was dark and she could not see, that it was a human being would have to be her first guess. Ghosts did not lie in beds. They might moan, but they would not be able to hit anything and make a noise; they would pass through material ethereally.

Clementine opened the curtains first before she examined who had entered her house. It did not give her much light, but enough to make out the contours of the bed. Whoever it was, was not having an easy time of it, she observed. She leant forward and first grabbed the hand that kept making the thumping noise. That should stop first. It might bring all the servants down.

Why was it not a good idea to bring all the servants down? She wondered about that as she pulled at the arm. The person in the bed was most definitely a man and no sensible woman wanted to find strange men in her house. Perhaps he was not a stranger then, if she did not really mind finding him here, or perhaps it was the fact that he was so evidently harmless and vulnerable that she felt no fear.

Eventually she settled for slapping the intruder soundly across the face so he would wake up. There was a groan and then he sat up with a start.

"What are you doing, having nightmares in my house?" Clementine inquired, masking her relief at finding that she indeed knew him. She sat on the edge of the bed. He was safe.

"I was going to talk to you in the morning," Muncester said when he was sufficiently recovered.

"Instead I am finding a not very dressed man in my spare room in the middle of the night. It ought to be a point in your favour that you chose the spare room over mine, but nobody is going to care about that if they find out you were in the house," she said, not very harshly.

"Well, that does not signify, does it, because you have seen me before. Besides, I had come to say we must be married, but I am a little early due to unforeseen circumstances."

Married? That was a surprise. "Must we," Clementine repeated, keenly sensing the ridiculousness of the situation. It was too dark to see him properly, which only added to that. She recalled the duchess' order to keep her eyes wide open. In some cases that did not work. Here it did not. She had to rely on her ears and they had caught very clearly that this man had said they must be married.

"You saw too much of me," he explained.

"Yes," she said slowly. That might be true, by objective standards. Other people would think so. "Although, how does it not signify that I see you now? You just said that it did not. Why are you here?"

"Because I will set it right."

"It may still go rather more wrong than you seem capable of imagining." After all, there was a scantily clad youngish man in her spare room, not unattractive. She vowed not to enlighten him about that.

"Yes, you could say no," he agreed, missing her point. "Although you would be foolish not to accept me." There was some uncertainty in his voice regardless.

"No, I mean..." She gave an exasperated sigh. That would have to suffice as reassurance. "Never mind. You are set on setting it right then?" It was strangely exciting to have everything set right in this manner. "Was this your plan?"

"It was."

"Why could you not -- why did you have to wait until the most inappropriate moment ever to disclose it to me?" she asked, trying to keep the uncertain laugh out of her voice.

"I did not choose this moment on purpose." It had simply happened to him.

"I know; it chose you." As usual, she thought.

"Are you going to say no?" The uncertainty had returned.

"No, that would indeed be foolish." She considered saying he did not have to do this, since their reputations were not yet tainted, except in the eyes of his aunt. That too would be foolish. She should be cunning and abuse the duke. That was what dukes were for, she had been told. She found it very difficult to think of this as abuse, however.

"Excellent. I do not want to know what motivated you -- I shall make you like your fate anyway, so it does not signify with which sentiments you entered the state of matrimony."

"How had you planned to proceed from here?" she asked in an unsteady voice. It would not do to laugh or gasp. He might think she found it funny, when she was only terribly confused. She had not been able to predict a proposal, nor that it would happen in this manner. It was amusing as it was unsettling. He would make her like her fate. He had no idea what sort of torture he was inflicting on her sentiments, really. "Rogue."

"Rogue?" His questioning tone implied that he was anything but that.

As she pulled herself together, Clementine decided to look forward only. She would marry him and focus on accomplishing that. "We cannot be married at sunrise and we must keep up some degree of propriety until the deed has been done. By that I mean you really must not enter my house in the middle of the night. I am not greatly bothered by it myself, but other people will be, because they will see what you do not."

"See, see," he muttered in dissatisfaction. "My aunt mentioned that too. Apparently I am blind to things. Why are you not bothered?"

"Do you want me to be bothered?"

"No, I do not."

"I know you. I know me. By the way, I had always imagined dukes to be making impressive proposals." They would ask for her hand after a lengthy courtship. Perhaps they would fall to a knee and present her with a gift.

"Oh, that can be arranged," he answered with some relief. "I did not know you needed one. There should be some clothes on the floor on the other side of the bed. If you want something impressive, it is in the coat pocket."

Clementine walked around the bed and felt around. Boots. Shirt. Trousers. Trousers? She stopped her search, deciding it should go no further in case His Grace should remove himself from his bed to assist the search. She did not suppose he had brought a spare set of clothes. He had not chosen this inappropriate moment on purpose, he had said, and this implied very much that all of his clothes were now on this heap. "I suggest you present it to me in the morning when you are fully dressed."

"Why?"

"I should like to have a better story to tell my children than that I was shown something impressive by an undressed man." She giggled.

"As usual you talk in riddles."

She thought she should not enlighten him too soon. There was no telling what he might do. He had some potential for cleverness and quick action. "I wish to get a little more sleep." She hesitated. "If you have anymore nightmares, you could fetch Julia. But dress first, please."

When Clementine finally woke again the sun was out in full force. She had slept late. It was no wonder, since she had lain awake to think of the odd situation in the master bedroom, notably considering what might have happened if she had handled it differently. But such thoughts would not do as serious considerations and she had merely used them to drift back to sleep.

She pulled on her dressing gown again and inspected Julia's room. Just as she was about to wonder where the girl was, she heard voices from downstairs. Apparently Julia was helping in the kitchen. There was no hurry then. She was supposed to ring when she was ready and until then she could do as she pleased without anyone disturbing her.

After a moment's thought, she crossed the passage and entered the master bedroom. The curtains were still open as she had left them, but now a good deal more light was streaming into the room.

Julian -- she supposed she was now allowed to think of him as such -- had made a mess of the bedcovers, but at least he was still covered. Well, all-important parts of him were. Arms and legs sticking out could not be much of a bother to a fiancée, she supposed.

Clementine picked up his clothes and sat on a chair. Then she carefully went through his pockets in search of the impressive item. It was a little box. It looked like Julia's. Perhaps it was the same and it would also contain a bracelet. She did not want to look yet, but she held it in her hand so she could show him he would not need to climb out of bed to get it for her. She was wise.

At last he stirred and opened his eyes. "You came back."

She eyed him patiently, wondering why he was relieved. Of course she had come back. This was her house. She had to keep track of the things in it, especially the unusual things. "I must protect Julia from the sight of you. Suppose you had wandered out in your state, demanding hot water!"

"Julia does not care at all," he remarked correctly, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Julia would only ask if Mama should make me a night dress. I should thank you nicely and not wear it, however."

She held a hand over her eyes, wondering why there did not seem to be a masculine form of temptress. It would have applied here. Refusing to wear a nightdress! "Have some compassion."

"I forgot," he mumbled, sliding back down. "I did not know you would be abhorred."

She took her hand away from her eyes. "I am far from disgusted, but do you not think that given my history there ought to be a better location and attire for something as interesting to others as a proposal? I cannot say I was proposed to by a man with only a sheet around his waist, can I? That would not reflect well on me at all. What was I doing with such a man, for instance? Why did I allow him to be so undressed? Why did I not faint?"

"Nobody knows your history," he said, but apparently he had also heard she was far from disgusted, because he inched his way up again very innocently.

Clementine pretended not to notice his progress. "This sort of scene creates one."

"Why should anyone want to ask how I proposed? Besides, that was in the middle of the night and my current state has nothing to do with it. It is now light and then it was dark, so I might as well have been dressed." He fastened the sheet around his waist -- she had said waist, after all -- and sat up straight.

Now and then he could almost be considered mischievous. It was a marked improvement from his clueless state, at any rate. It was also highly dangerous. She would indeed have to keep her eyes open. She did as she was resolved to do and stared at the faint lines on his body. "You look as if Julia made a drawing on you. She draws like that, you know."

He examined his chest and stomach. "I must ask her what it is then. What do you think?"

She hid her eyes. "Nothing."

"You would not fare well on a ship with only men," he concluded. "You would want to be blindfolded all day."

Clueless still, she deduced. Why did he think she would be looking at other men? She did not hide her eyes in shock. Other men would not affect her. "Why do you not hurry with the marriage preparations, Your Grace? I cannot vouch for my behaviour until you do. May I open the box?"

"You may."

It contained another bracelet, the same as Julia's but then for a grown woman. She let it run through her fingers. "Thank you. It is lovely. Julia's was also lovely." She meant that. It was indeed very pretty. "How did you know what to choose?"

He looked uncomfortable with her question and wanted to move on. "How does one get married? I am not up to date on these matters."

"One proposes to a woman in an impressive manner that leaves her inclined to accept," she began.

He nodded as if that had been taken care of.

Clementine looked a little stunned, but he would not understand and she continued. "Then, if necessary, one approaches her relatives, but in this case I think she may give you an easy time." Julia had already claimed him.

He nodded again.

"And then licenses are the thing, I heard, if one wants to be quick -- and if you continue to make these nightly excursions I would recommend that you are quick. It may take you a few days to get one, but then you are all set. The only thing I cannot provide is proof of my widowhood. Perhaps you should inquire before you set off whether you need that. I also suggest that we get married somewhere else, so as to prevent any queries into your marrying a mere Miss, should you not be able to marry a widow."

He looked impressed with her little speech. "Yes, Madam. May I ask whether you had given this any previous thought?"

"A little, after I returned to bed. If you are the one who acts, I must be the one who thinks in this partnership," she said to provoke him a little.

"I can do both. Did you know that? There would be too much thinking in that partnership, do you not think, if you do not act?"

"I can do both as well, but I am choosing not to," she said with a smile. He was not disappointing her in the least, not at all dismissing the notion of a partnership -- and he was becoming quite impertinent as well.

"Undoubtedly that is another riddle," he responded. "Would the seaside be convenient?"

She smiled at his choice of location. "It is all out of season; I am sure it will be convenient. Get dressed now and stop corrupting me." With those last words she hurried out of the room, especially because he gave her an endearingly innocent and incredulous look.

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