Christmas With The Duchess. Tamara Lejeune

overhear.

      “That is a physical impossibility,” she told him. “I am not that small. But, if we are speaking metaphorically, I hold Nicholas in the palm of my hand, and he holds you in the palm of his hand, though he does not yet realize it, poor lamb.”

      “Jade! Do you forget I have your letter?”

      “I am willing to pay for my letter,” Emma replied. “You will have your money when you return it to me. And you will get your precious nephew back when I have my boys. Is that simple enough for you to understand?”

      Without another word, she swept out of the alcove.

      Lady Susan had swooped down to claim Nicholas in Emma’s absence, before Lady Anne could get to him. “My dear Camford!” the aging beauty shrieked. “We were beginning to think you would never grace us with your presence! You were missed at tea. Poor Anne was beside herself.”

      “And…you are?” said Nicholas with an austerity worthy of Otto.

      Her greedy black eyes blinked up at him from beneath the heavy fringe of her dyed red hair. “I am Lady Susan Bellamy, of course! Hugh’s sister. My husband is General Bellamy. You see him there with my friend, Mrs. Camperdine.”

      “How do you do, ma’am?”

      “I see you have made up your quarrel with Lord Ian,” she said archly. “But, perhaps you have agreed to share the lady between you? If the on-dit is to be trusted—if her appetite is all they say—you might even require a third gentleman to keep her satisfied.”

      “I beg your pardon!” Nicholas said coldly.

      “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “Did no one warn you about our naughty little Emma? My dear Camford, as lovely as she undoubtedly is, I fear the duchess is not above reproach. She is, in fact, a scandalous wanton. ’Tis well-known that her husband, my poor nephew, died of a broken heart. The poor boy was destroyed by her many, many torrid affairs. Is that not so, General?” she added, as her husband drew near with Mrs. Camperdine on his arm.

      “’Tis well-known your nephew died of a broken neck,” the general snorted. “The damn randy fool fell out of a window. Lady Bellingham’s window, to be exact. Though I’m sure ’tis only wicked slander to say he was shown the way out by the lady’s husband! Haw! Haw!”

      “Nonsense, George!” Lady Susan said furiously.

      The general pawed at Nicholas’s dark blue coat. The aging dandy seemed to be drunk. “Lawd, is this what the Royal Navy are wearing these days?” he scoffed. “No lace! Scarcely any braid! I’d be ashamed, sir, ashamed!”

      “I was only a lieutenant,” Nicholas said stiffly, thinking to himself that Lady Susan and her husband were well matched in that they were equally revolting. “Please excuse me,” he added, with a curt bow, as he saw Emma threading her way back through the crowd. Not for an instant did he give credit to any of Lady Susan’s acrid assertions. Emma’s delicate beauty gave him leave to think only the best of her.

      “A poor excuse!” the general called after him.

      Lady Anne seized Nicholas’s arm as he began to move, almost involuntarily, toward the duchess. “Nicholas!” his aunt cried breathlessly. “We have been so worried about you! Where have you been all day?”

      Nicholas was embarrassed by his aunt’s hysteria. “I am not a child, Aunt Anne,” he said sharply. “I have been most agreeably occupied.”

      “Agreeably occupied!” she echoed in horror. “Fighting over that—that horrid woman?”

      Nicholas frowned at her. “I do not know who you mean,” he said coldly. “If you—if you are speaking of—you should take care what you say, Aunt,” he finished, pushing past her.

      Almost in tears, Lady Anne made her way toward her husband. “She has seduced him,” she said, clutching at his arm. “He will not hear a word against her. You should have heard him biting my head off just now! O Husband! I fear he may like her.”

      “Of course he likes her,” Lord Hugh growled. “She is a whore, and he is a sailor.”

      At the other end of the room, Emma had climbed the steps to stand in the doorway.

      “Good evening, everyone,” she said warmly, when the room had again grown quiet. “On behalf of my son, the Duke of Warwick, let me first welcome all of you to his home. I know that his grace would very much like to be here to welcome you himself, but, sadly, that is not possible tonight. Uncle Hugh? Are you still here?”

      Her eyes searched the crowd, coming to rest on Lord Hugh’s purple face.

      “There you are! Will you be good enough to tell the company when the Duke of Warwick and Lord Grey Fitzroy will be coming home?”

      Lord Hugh felt everyone’s eyes on him, polite and waiting. “Soon,” he said gruffly, unable to see any way out of the trap Emma had set for him. “Very soon.”

      “How soon?” Emma asked, smiling. “The exact date seems to have slipped my mind.”

      “Saturday,” he said. “They will be here on Saturday. I did not want them to come home,” he added defensively, “before the year of mourning was over.”

      “Ah, yes,” said Emma, in response to this barb. “As most of you know already, I am still in mourning for my husband, who died just a little less than a year ago. But, with so many of our brave and noble military gentlemen here with us tonight, I thought it was important that I welcome you, since my son could not be here himself to do you honor. My husband, the late duke, was also a great patriot. I know that he would want me to be here tonight, to thank you for your service. Gentlemen, you have the thanks and the praise of a grateful nation. England, and, indeed, the whole world is better for your efforts. You have sacrificed so much for so long that the rest of us may live in comfort and security, and now, thanks to you, we are at peace. Let me assure you that your courage will never be forgotten.”

      “Here, here,” said Otto, beginning the applause.

      “I could say more,” Emma went on, when the cheers and applause had died down, “but I am sure you all must be very hungry! Eat and drink, gentlemen, and don’t spare the cellars! Carstairs, you may serve.”

      Nicholas was waiting for her at the foot of the steps, his eyes shining with pride. “I do hate making speeches,” she confessed to him. “I hope I was not too nonsensical?”

      “You were perfect,” he said simply.

      “Thank you. Will you be good enough to escort me in to the dining hall?” she prompted, as he continued staring at her. “Everyone is waiting. No one can eat, you know, until I sit down at the table.”

      “Of course,” he said, offering his arm. He felt like the luckiest man in the world.

      Two by two, the other guests followed the duchess and her partner into the dining room.

      “This is not the dinner I ordered,” Lady Susan complained loudly, calling down the length of the long mahogany table as the first course was brought in.

      “No, madam,” Emma told her sharply. “It is the dinner I ordered. I am the Duchess of Warwick, or have you forgotten?”

      “The soup is far too rich for the lining of my stomach,” Lady Susan pronounced, when she had finished her lobster bisque. “It will give us all indigestion. I had ordered a clear soup.”

      Lady Harriet was seated next to Lord Colin Grey. “In my day, people did not shout down the table at one another,” she informed him, speaking loudly enough for her sister to hear. “One spoke only to those persons seated immediately to one’s right and to one’s left.” She twisted in her chair to look at Colin. “Well? What have you to say for yourself, young man?”

      “Only that you’re looking very pretty this evening, Aunt Harriet,” he said chivalrously. “I still love your pixie cut.”