The Westerby Sisters (Changing Fortunes Series) Read online

  She, Betty, had been dreaming of the Duke. May as well admit it and admit also that Hester's opinion of the Duke was probably right. He was held inside his pride, walled up in it. He would never marry her and she must be on her guard to allow no man whatsoever to be familiar with her unless his attentions were honorable. Better not to marry at all.

  Life had to go on. Hester was determined to stay in town and so was Simon. Betty realized she did not want to go back to Eppington Chase on her own, and besides, she no longer cared a rap for the Duke, not a brass farthing did she care.

  She had not been very close to him since the night of the Chudleigh party, and so it was quite a shock to see him standing quite near to her shortly after she arrived at the fête champêtre. Betty felt quite unprotected with no curtains to hide behind, with only little Simon for an escort.

  Simon suddenly saw James and Lucy and ran off to join them. The day was very warm. Tables had been set up beside a sparkling river which chuckled over the stones and through the tall rushes and flag iris as if unaware that the dirty Thames was shortly to engulf it.

  Betty felt there was something almost decadent in the contrast of silks and patches and paint and powdered heads and flashing jewels set against this innocent pastoral background.

  The Duke and Duchess of Ruthfords had been warm and welcoming and, it soon transpired, they were hell-bent on matchmaking.

  They produced a quiet, pleasant-looking young man called Mr. Jellicoe with all the pleasure of a magician producing an egg from behind someone else's ear. Mr. Harry Jellicoe turned out to be almost as quiet and as shy as Betty and she forgot her own shyness in her efforts to put him at ease.

  Soon they were seated side by side at one of the long tables by the river, talking like old friends. This was Mr. Jellicoe's first Season in town and after some time he confided that he was not enjoying himself one bit. He had a manor house in Cheshire which he shared with his elderly parents. He rode with the local hunt, farmed his lands and fished his streams and felt lost without them all. He was perhaps a year or so older than Betty.

  Betty began to tell him all about Eppington Chase and soon the pair were absorbed in the discussion of drainage and bricks and lazy workers and expensive stonemasons. Relaxed and animated, Betty's blue eyes sparkled under the tinsel shadow of her hat and the Duke of Collingham, seated a little way away from her on the other side of the table, thought sourly that she had never looked prettier.

  Having inherited the title at an early age and all the responsibilities that go with it, the Duke had grown old before his time. He had cultivated a cold and haughty manner to keep his court of toadies, match-making mothers, and spongers at bay. He had fought hard to prove that even as a very young man he was responsible enough to administer his small empire. With his male friends like Captain Dunbray he could be at ease and they in turn enjoyed his company. Women, he was apt to view with indulgence tinged with contempt. He prided himself that he had become aware early on that they were only after his title and fortune. He was happy to satisfy his sexual needs with brief affairs. When attending a function, he was never at a loss to find some respectable beauty to accompany him. He was at present partnered by the young and charming Lady Maddox. Her conversation was all that it should be, a mild blend of wit and deference spiced with the occasional suggestive look.

  He had really begun to seriously consider marriage to her for, by a great effort of will, he had put Betty from his mind.

  Now the sight of Betty chatting easily to that insipid-looking fellow Jellicoe brought all the troubled emotions rushing back. He tried to pay attention to what Lady Maddox was saying but all the while he was longing to know what Betty was talking about.

  He then found himself wondering what had happened between Captain Jimmy Dunbray and Lady Hester that night. Captain Dunbray had called to make his farewells before he sailed with his regiment. The Duke had mockingly asked him if he had enjoyed his night, to which Jimmy, very pale and tense, had said coldly that he had slept like a log. When the Duke had begun to mention Hester's name, Jimmy's hand had flown to his sword and he had made it quite plain that Hester was never to be referred to in his presence. He hadn't married, anyway, thought the Duke, forgetting that the brave Captain had had no time to get married to anyone at all.

  As people began to rise from the tables and to walk off along the side of the stream or across the meadows, he saw Betty and her escort walking sedately beside the river until they were lost to view behind a stand of alders.

  Silly goose, he thought angrily, noticing that Bella had not accompanied her mistress. She should not be unchaperoned. Of course, Jellicoe looks unexceptionable, but those quiet fellows are always the worst.

  Lady Ann Maddox looked at him curiously. He had involuntarily risen to his feet. She stood up as well to ask him what he was staring at when her attention was taken by Sir Alfred Connaught, a wild Irish peer with all the charm of his race who had come to flirt with her. When she turned back to speak to the Duke, she found him gone. Lady Maddox accepted Sir Alfred's arm rather huffily. She was not used to being ignored.

  The Duke strolled in the direction which Betty had taken. As he did so, he glanced across the sunny meadow to where the carriages were lined, coachmen and grooms taking their ease under the sun. Then he stiffened.

  The small figure of a boy was being dragged toward one of the carriages. Even at this distance, he could hear the child's shrill screams.

  Simon!

  In a dazed way, the Duke realized Betty was approaching him on the arm of Mr. Jellicoe.

  "Lord Westerby," he said, pointing in the direction of the struggling child and without waiting to see her reaction, he began to run across the meadow.

  But by the time he reached the far side, the carriage with its coachman in scarlet livery was disappearing down the narrow lane in a cloud of dust.

  He called to a groom to fetch a horse, the fastest he could find, and turned as Betty came panting up. Mr. Jellicoe came running behind her and it was that fact which stopped the Duke from sounding a general alarm. All of a sudden he wanted to rescue Simon himself. Before Betty could speak, the groom came up leading the horse and the Duke sprang into the saddle and looked down at her.

  "Do not worry. I will fetch him back, Lady Betty," he said.

  But Betty held onto his stirrup with one hand and tore off her flimsy hat with the other. "I'm coming with you," she cried, while Mr. Jellicoe kept repeating over and over again, "What's amiss? What's to do?"

  The Duke glared at Betty. "Release my stirrup, madam," he snapped. "You cannot possibly come with me in those clothes."

  Betty looked down at her wide, hooped skirt and with a sudden movement bent down and jerked down her hooped petticoat and sent it sailing away across the grass.

  "Please," she begged. "Please."

  He shrugged and held down his hand and when she grasped it he hoisted her up in front of him and set off across the meadow at a desperate gallop.

  Mr. Jellicoe stood with his mouth open, staring first at the hooped petticoat where it lay spread out on the grass and then at the fleeing figures on horseback.

  Guests scattered in alarm as the Duke charged through them and screamed as he urged his horse at the high fence at the end of the meadow. With one bound, the horse—a high-bred hunter—cleared it.

  "We are going the wrong way," screamed Betty.

  "We are going to cut them off," shouted the Duke in her ear. "There is only one road they can take."

  His arm was clamped tightly about her as fields and streams flew under their horse's flying hooves.

  "There!" he shouted at last.

  Straight ahead over the fields, made tiny by the distance, Betty could see the coach traveling at a great rate.

  It seemed to her as if they hurtled headlong toward it. One minute it was far away, tiny, inaccessible, and then all of a sudden, they were almost upon it as it bowled toward a village on the other side of a farmer's pond. Straight into the muddy duck po
nd rode the Duke and Betty, oblivious to the spray of mud that covered them. Their gallant horse heaved up the far bank and out onto the road.

  They raced after the coach and then they were alongside it and then in front of it and then swinging around in the middle of the road with the Duke drawing out his sword and shouting "Hold hard! Stand!"

  The coach horses reared and plunged wildly while the coachman swore loudly and fought to hold them.

  Hardly waiting for the coach to stop, the Duke swung down from his horse while Betty slumped over the pommel, her whole body shaking. The Duke, drawn sword in hand, wrenched open the carriage door.

  There was a terrified scream and then a mild masculine voice inquired plaintively, "I say, Collingham, didn't know you'd taken to the road."

  "Oh, my God!" said the Duke in furious embarrassment.

  He recognized the pleasant, middle-aged features of a certain Sir James Nelson. Beside him sat his wife and opposite a small, sulky, tear-stained child.

  "My sincere apologies, Sir James," said the Duke. "We thought someone had stolen Lord Westerby because across the meadow we could see what looked like a small child being abducted."

  "No, no," said Sir James, trying to comfort his frightened wife.

  "It is all right, Emmy. This is our grandson, Charles. He ate so many sugar plums, he became sick. We have another engagement and wished to take him home and leave him with his parents. The spoilt young pup refused to leave. In fact, he kicked me in the shins. So enough was enough. We simply dragged him into the carriage and right glad I shall be to be rid of the young whelp. Thought you was a highwayman. What's this about young Westerby, heh?"

  "Simply a mistake," said the Duke, forcing a smile. "Do ride on, I beg of you. Lady Nelson, my deepest apologies." He gave them his best bow and stood back as the Nelson's footman with a wooden expression, slammed the carriage door and jumped on the backstrap.

  Once more the coach bowled off down the road.

  Betty had managed to dismount and was sitting on a milestone at the side of the road.

  "I gather we made a mistake," she said faintly, wondering if she would ever recover from that terrifying ride.

  "Yes," said the Duke curtly.

  The silence of the countryside flowed about them. A lark sang in the clear air high above their heads. Somewhere far away across the placid fields, a dog barked.

  The horse moved across the road to crop the long grass at the edge and the Duke swore so violently and nastily that Betty jumped in alarm.

  "He's cast a shoe," said the Duke. "We will have to walk. Perhaps there is a hostelry of sorts in this hamlet."

  Betty wondered wildly if the Duke realized what they looked like. Both were bespattered from head to foot in mud. Her own gown without its hoop was trailing behind her in the road and she picked up some of the spare material and carried it over her arm, revealing a pair of net, mud-coated ankles.

  The Duke was wondering savagely why it was that any contact with Lady Betty always made him behave like a fool. Betty on the other hand was suddenly quite weak with relief to know that Simon was safe.

  Side by side, leading the horse, they walked into the quiet village street.

  The street was just a dry mud track which was flanked on one side by a few thatched cottages and on the other by the village green.

  At the other side of the village they found an inn with a sign outside to tell passersby it was the Green Man. It was an evil-looking building, rather like some nasty animal with furry thatch for hair and two low small windows for eyes. A thin stream of gray smoke rose from the chimney straight into the still air.

  We shall partake of some refreshment," said the Duke in accents of cold formality, "and send someone to fetch my carriage."

  He pushed open the low door of the inn. Inside, it was dark and deserted and smelled of stewed mutton, boiled cabbage and stale beer.

  "Ho! Landlord!" shouted the Duke, standing in the tiny entrance hall with Betty beside him.

  There was the sound of movement at the back of the inn and a thin, little man in a grubby apron and dirty neckerchief came scuttling up. He stopped short at the sight of the pair and a particularly pinched and nasty look crossed his unlovely features.

  "We need refreshment," said the Duke. "And the direction of the blacksmith. Then I wish you to ride to a certain place to inform my servants to bring my carriage."

  The landlord reached behind him and picked up a great brass blunderbuss which he pointed straight at the Duke and Betty.

  "Get out o' here and take your moll with you," he said. "We don't trade wi' the likes o' you."

  The Duke stared into the barrel of the blunderbuss in haughty amazement. "I am Collingham," he said. "Do as you are bid."

  "Don't care if you're Dick Turpin. I don't serve the gentlemen o' the road—or their doxies—so take yourself off."

  "My good man," said the Duke awfully, "I am not a highwayman. I am the Duke of Collingham and this is Lady Lovelace."

  "Ho! And I'm the Duke o' Clarence," jeered the landlord.

  "Look," said the Duke, deciding to adopt a more reasonable manner. "I can pay my shot like the next man." He dug his hand into the embroidered pocket of his silk coat and a slightly ludicrous expression of dismay crossed his handsome face. "My purse," he exclaimed. "My man has it."

  The landlord held the blunderbuss steady. "I thought so," he said. "They does that. Expecting me to victual 'em and give 'em wine for naught. Pah! I hates highwaymen."

  "Oh, do let's go," said Betty urgently. "It is useless to stay here arguing."

  "Very well," said the Duke. He turned back to the landlord and stared at him with eyes like ice. "I will have you horsewhipped before this day is out. Come, Lady Betty."

  With that he strode from the inn and he and Betty and the horse plodded off down the road.

  The Duke heard a strange sound. He could not believe his ears. He glared at his fair companion who had a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, trying to control her helpless giggles.

  "I am glad life amuses you, madam," he said coldly. "On the contrary, I do not find the insolence of yokels at all funny."

  "I was not laughing at the landlord," said Betty when she could. "I was laughing at us.

  The Duke looked at her with great hauteur and then he realized his fair companion was covered in mud and that her fair hair was windblown and hanging in a gypsy tangle of curls down her back. He looked slowly down at the wreck of his party clothes and a reluctant smile crossed his face. "Well, I did not like being called a highwayman," he said, "or hearing you called a doxy. But now I look at you, I realize how that stupid fellow made such a mistake." And he began to laugh and laugh, the tears streaming down his face and forming a sort of paste of paint and mud.

  Betty glared at him like an infuriated kitten. "I may be messy, my lord Duke, but at no time in my life could I possibly resemble a doxy."

  But the Duke kept on laughing as if he would never stop. He felt he had never laughed so loudly or so long in all of his life.

  "Pray, sir, where are we bound?" asked Betty in a thin, little voice.

  "I don't know," he said cheerfully. "Hey, fellow," he called to a man in smock and gaiters who was standing at the side of the road, gazing at them and chewing on a piece of grass as ruminatively as a cow. "What is the name of this place?"

  The man slowly took the piece of grass from his mouth. "Upper 'Angar."

  "Upper Hangar, eh? Is there a blacksmith nearby?"

  "No."

  "Look here," said the Duke patiently. "Is there a Middle Hangar or Lower Hangar where I might find a blacksmith?"

  "No."

  The Duke gave him a frustrated look. "Is there not some gentleman nearby who could assist me? Some squire, perhaps?"

  There was a long silence. "Reckon there's Earl o' Hudleigh."

  "Splendid!" cried the Duke. "How do we reach his property?"

  There was another long silence while Betty stifled a giggle and the small sounds of the co
untry afternoon drifted across the hot lazy air.

  "Go along this liddle road 'bout mile or so," said their adviser, "past the gibbet, turn left, urr, turn right and there's these here gates."

  "Thank you," said the Duke, his hand automatically going to his pocket until he realized he had no money.

  After they had left their guide and walked a little way along the road, Betty asked, "Do you know the Earl?"

  "I haven't seen him since I was a lad," replied the Duke. "He was a bit of an eccentric, as far as I remember."

  They plodded on in silence for about half a mile while the sun sank lower in the sky. Betty's thin slippers were not designed for much walking and her feet were sore and aching.

  At one point, she pleaded for a rest but the Duke sternly shook his head. They must reach the earl's before nightfall. It was then that the horse whickered faintly and beyond a small wood to the left, Betty saw the glimpse of water.

  "At least let us stop and wash ourselves a little," she said. "We cannot call on anyone in all our dirt and . . . and . . . my feet ache so."

  "Very well," said the Duke, leaving the road and leading both horse and Betty through the trees until they were standing at the edge of a quiet pool.

  To Betty's alarm, the Duke began to remove his clothes. First his pale primrose coat, then his long waistcoat, then his cravat and solitaire and fine ruffled shirt. Then his shoes and clocked silk stockings until he was standing only in his tight silk breeches with their frivolous bunches of colored ribbons at the knee.

  He heard Betty gasp and said impatiently, "Avert your eyes if you wish. I am going in the water."

  Betty turned around and the Duke deftly unpleated his powdered pigtail. Betty sat with her back to the pool and her heart pounding. She had not expected his chest to be so broad and muscular or his arms so strong.

  "You may turn around," she at last heard him say.

  She turned around and almost immediately cast down her eyes. He had donned his breeches again but nothing else. His hair, free of its white powder, hung down his shoulders.

  Betty contented herself with washing the mud from her feet, her face and arms. Her hair had escaped any mud spattering. She scrubbed as much of the mud from her dress as she could.