The Runaway Duchess Read online

  “Nothing, Miss Abigail.” Dianna sighed. “Charlotte is just going to a secret meeting with her own maid to discuss the horrible things her husband-to-be has done.”

  “He is not my husband-to-be.”

  Abigail glanced down regretfully at her book and closed it, but only after making sure to mark the page. Pulling her spectacles to the tip of her long, narrow nose she turned her attention to Charlotte. “I did not know you were engaged. What is his name, dear?”

  “Miss Abigail, I am not—”

  “The Duke of Tarrow,” Dianna interjected.

  “Crane?” Abigail said, referring to the duke by his less commonly used surname. “You are to wed Crane? Is he not a bit old for you?”

  Charlotte nodded so vigorously her hat strings came untied. “Yes. Precisely so, Miss Abigail. But my mother refuses to listen to reason, and—”

  “I was engaged to a duke once, you know.”

  Charlotte and Dianna exchanged wide-eyed glances. No, they most certainly did not know.

  “A duke, Aunt Abigail?” Dianna said dubiously. “Are you certain?”

  “Am I certain who I was once engaged to?” The faintest hint of a smile curved the aging spinster’s mouth and for an instant, despite her graying hair and weathered features, Charlotte caught a glimpse of the great beauty she had once been. “Yes, I do believe I am. I may now spend my days with my nose buried in a book, but it wasn’t always so, my dears. I once led quite the exciting life.”

  “What was his name?” Charlotte asked.

  “And what happened?” Dianna piped in.

  Taking a moment, Abigail smoothed her skirt into place before resting her hands across her lap. Her gaze was distant as she spoke, as though she had gone to another time and place, and in some small way Charlotte supposed she had. “His name was Reginald Browning the Third, Duke of Ashburn.” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I called him Rocky. We grew up next to each other and a result became fast childhood friends, even though he was destined to inherit a dukedom and I was the third daughter of a Baron. He asked me to marry him on my seventeenth birthday. He was the impulsive sort. We both were.”

  “Oh, how romantic,” Dianna sighed.

  Charlotte, noting the way Abigail’s hands tightened reflexively on the spine of her book, said nothing.

  “Romantic, yes. Practical, no. Rocky’s mother was furious with him, and with me. She demanded he break the engagement. By then it had gone public, of course.”

  “Oh dear,” Dianna murmured.

  “Yes,” Abigail agreed, “‘oh dear’ sums it up quite nicely. Rocky said he loved me, and I believed him. But we both knew the engagement could not continue, and he ended it a week later. We fell out of touch after that. I saw him occasionally in London, but after his father died and he became a duke he ran with a more exclusive set than I did. He ended up married to the daughter of a marquess, I believe, and moved to France to be near her family, leaving his brother in charge of all his holdings here.” Abigail blinked, and her gray eyes cleared. “I have not seen him since.” There was no remorse or anger in her tone, only a quiet finality that somehow made it all the worse.

  “He should have stuck by you.” Charlotte’s brow furrowed at the thought of anyone leaving poor, sweet Abigail. “If he truly loved you, he never would have let you go.”

  Dianna’s rosebud mouth twisted into a rare scowl. “He sounds like a complete beast, Aunt Abigail. You are lucky you did not have to marry him.”

  “Yes, well, it is what it is, my dears. Charlotte?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you not say you were meeting someone?”

  “Oh!” Charlotte’s hazel eyes went wide and she scrambled to her feet, ducking her head just in time to save herself from striking it against the roof of the carriage. “Tabitha! I completely forgot. I hope she hasn’t left.”

  “Good luck,” Dianna called after her as she pushed open the door the poor driver had been so patiently holding and stepped down onto the cobblestones. Instantly the scents and sounds of London assaulted her and she braced herself against them, taking a moment to get her bearings before dashing towards Twinings as fast as her heavy skirts would allow.

  Dodging elbows and ducking under heavy silver trays weighed down by an array of scrumptious smelling cakes and pastries, Charlotte fought her way to the back of the crowded shop, looking this way and that in a valiant effort to find Tabitha amidst the barely controlled chaos. Hearing her name being called she turned to the left, and a relieved smile broke across her face when she saw her maid sitting at a small wooden table tucked neatly into a far corner.

  “I am so sorry,” she gasped, well out of breath by the time she reached Tabitha and collapsed into an empty chair. “My friend’s aunt was telling us a story and I quite lost track of time. Thank you for waiting.”

  Tabitha bobbed her head and plucked nervously at a loose string on the sleeve hem of her plain brown dress. As usual her hair was pulled ruthlessly back from her face and pinned up in a tight coil at the nape of her long neck. She wore no adornments or jewelry, and Charlotte could not help but wonder if it was because she had none to wear or she preferred not to draw attention to herself with flashy baubles.

  Probably both, she decided as her fingers unconsciously drifted to the pearl necklace she had looped around her own throat. “Is someone else joining us?” she asked, noting for the first time there were not two, but three cups of hot tea on the table. Adding a lump of sugar to the cup that was sitting in front of her, she blew across the top and took a small, careful sip.

  “Yes,” Tabitha said.

  When she failed to elaborate, Charlotte merely took another sip of her tea. It was rather exciting, she thought, to meet under such mysterious circumstances. With the exception of her unwanted engagement to the duke, nothing out of the ordinary ever seemed to happen to her. Her upbringing had been ordinary. Her debut into Society textbook. She had, up until this point, led a very dull, boring life filled with more don’ts than do’s.

  Do not voice an opinion.

  Do not speak unless spoken to.

  Do not go outside without a hat.

  Do not go outside without gloves.

  Do not go anywhere without a chaperone.

  There were countless more, but it made Charlotte depressed to think of them all, and so she set her mind to guessing who the third cup of tea might belong to. A secret informant? An illicit lover? She brightened at the thought. Perhaps Tabitha was involved in a scandal and she had really asked Charlotte to meet her because she was preparing to run away with a prince from a faraway country where they would live happily-ever-after and—

  “Lady Charlotte, this is my sister Vera.”

  All thoughts of princes and scandals and lovers faded away as Charlotte twisted in her seat. She saw the resemblance between Tabitha and Vera immediately.

  In addition to being of similar height and build, Vera possessed the same pinched look of worry as her sibling, as if she were waiting for bad news to befall her at any moment. She sidled up next to Tabitha and glanced sideways at Charlotte, her murky brown eyes filled with suspicion.

  “Is this her, then?” she asked.

  “Yes. This is Lady Charlotte.”

  “Do sit down,” Charlotte urged, gesturing towards the last empty chair.

  Vera sat gingerly on the very edge, but she kept her beaded purse clutched tightly in both hands and the heels of her boots planted firmly on the floor as though ready to bolt at the smallest provocation. “My name is Vera,” she said needlessly.

  “That is a lovely name.” Charlotte extended her right hand across the table, but Vera refused to lift her fingers from her purse, and after a few seconds of awkward waiting she drew her arm back.

  “Vera,” Tabitha hissed, her cheeks going pink with mortification. “Remember your manners! Lady Charlotte, I am so very sorry—”

  “Don’t you go apologizin’ for me.” Vera sniffed. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong
.” She spoke with a cockney twang that betrayed her lack of education, and the challenging lift of one dark eyebrow dared Charlotte to say something about it.

  Quickly reassessing her initial impression of Vera – while she certainly looked like her sister, albeit several years older, they were nothing alike – Charlotte managed what she hoped was a diplomatic smile and said, “Would you like some pastries? Their yellow meringue tarts are quite delicious.”

  Vera tilted her head to the side. “Tarts would be nice. I ain’t had one of them in a while.”

  “Tarts it is.” Flagging down a member of the staff, Charlotte placed an order for six fresh lemon meringue tarts. By the time she was finished Vera had noticeably relaxed and even went so far as to lift one hand from her purse.

  “Tabby said you was kind like,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what to believe – ye never know what to expect with you meet hoity toity nabobs – but ye seem nice enough I guess.”

  “I… Thank you?” Charlotte ventured.

  Vera nodded regally, as though she had just granted a very fine compliment. “Yer welcome. My sister also said you were engaged to that man.”

  “The Duke of Tarrow?”

  Vera’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

  “Yes,” Tabitha corrected her in a small voice. “It is pronounced ‘yes’.”

  Vera glared sideways at her sister. “Did Tabby tell you there were five of us in all? I’m the oldest, Tabby here is the baby. Our mum popped out a new one every year until she died of the pox. I took care of the lot. Raised ‘em like they were my own. Tabby here is the best of us. She went and got herself a fine education, she did. Learned how to speak by takin’ care of rich nabob’s kids for ‘em starting when she was twelve. Now she thinks she’s better than the lot of us on account of her fancy way of speakin’ and nice clothes.”

  It was quite difficult for Charlotte not to take an instant dislike to Vera. She did not approve of her treatment of Tabitha and were they under different circumstances she would have surely objected, but she didn’t want to raise a fuss and frighten Vera away, nor cause more problems between the sisters then what clearly already existed. So she bit her tongue, always a difficult thing for her to do, and struggled to keep a smile on her face.

  Her cheeks brighter than ever, Tabby shrank back into her chair and stared miserably down at her cup of tea. “I do not think that, Vera. You know I don’t. Please just tell Lady Charlotte what you came to tell her.

  Vera’s expression was shrewd. “And then you’ll give me the five shillings like ye promised?”

  It seemed Charlotte was not going to be able to hold her tongue after all. “Five shillings?” she exclaimed. “For coming here to tell me a bit of gossip? That’s highway robbery!”

  “Not to worry,” Tabitha said quickly. Her gaze slid from her tea to Charlotte and back again. “I have your payment in full, Vera. Now say what you’ve come to say and you can leave.”

  “After my lemon tart,” Vera said with a belligerent toss of her head.

  “After your lemon tart,” Tabitha agreed.

  Charlotte, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached, said nothing at all.

  “Well,” Vera began after a long pause, “the thing of it is I used to work for the duke ‘till I was let go ‘fer stealing silver. I didn’t do it, you know,” she said sulkily. “I ain’t never stole no silver.”

  “I believe you,” Charlotte lied. “Do go on.”

  “I could tell you the short version for five, or the long one ‘fer ten.”

  “Vera.” Visibly agitated now, Tabitha slapped her palm down hard enough on the table to cause the tea cups to rattle in their saucers. “You agreed before coming here that you would not ask—”

  “It is quite all right,” Charlotte interrupted. “Ten shillings for the entire story, did you say?” She was loathe to give the ill mannered woman a farthing, but if it meant hearing a story she could use to change her mother’s mind about the duke she would gladly pay Vera’s price ten times over. “Here,” she said, digging through the reticule she had slung over one shoulder and procuring a fistful of silver coins. “That should cover what Tabitha owes you as well.”

  Her dark eyes gleaming will ill-disguised greed, Vera scooped the coins up and slipped them quick as a wink into her beaded purse. “Now, where was I?”

  “The duke fired you,” Charlotte prompted.

  Before Vera could begin again, the tarts arrived on a white porcelain plate edged with violets. Snagging the largest one, Vera took a considerable bite and, ignoring both the crumbs on her face and the food she was still chewing, started from where she left off. “As I was sayin’, I used to work fer the duke. I lived right in his house, I did. I started as a scullery maid, but I always had a talent with hair, ye see, and his wife made me her personal lady’s maid.” Her chest swelled with pride. “I was the maid of a duchess, I was.”

  “His first wife or his second?” Charlotte queried. Beneath the table her fingers curled into fists of excitement. This was exactly what she needed. First hand information as to how the duke’s two wives had lived – and died.

  Gossip said the first expired after an unfortunate riding accident, while the details surrounding the latter duchess’s death were a bit murkier. Some people claimed she was always in poor health, while others whispered foul play was involved. Whatever the truth the duke had never been brought to stand before the House of Lords, and no actions were ever taken.

  “The first one. Allison, ‘er name was. She was a strong willed gel. Always arguing with the duke about this and that. Why, ye could hear ‘em shouting clear across the house sometimes. Then one day Lady Allison started acting strange like. She turned real quiet and never raised her voice to the duke again, even when he deserved it which he always did, bleedin’ cur that he was.”

  “And the accident?” Charlotte asked.

  A flicker of fear passed over Vera’s face and for the first time since she sat down she looked away. “I don’t know about none of that,” she mumbled. “Lady Allison got up early one morning to go riding in the park. She told me not to tell anyone, so I didn’t. I pretended like I ain’t even seen her sneaking out of the house with a bag of her favorite jewelry.”

  “She was going to run away. His first wife, she was going to leave him,” Charlotte guessed. And the poor woman ended up with a broken neck instead. Coincidence? She rather thought not. “The second duchess? Lady Patricia, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye.” Vera looked up. “Patty, she said to call her. She was a right thin slip of a girl. Barely said boo to anybody. The duke, he had ‘er wedded and bedded before her seventeenth birthday. He liked breaking their spirits, he did. It was a game for ‘im. The more they resisted, the longer he drew it out, like a cat toyin’ with a mouse.”

  Disgust at the duke and sympathy for his child bride filled Charlotte in equal measures. The poor girl had barely been out of the school room and ill equipped to deal with a man twice her age. No doubt her parents had been ecstatic about the marriage up until the point their daughter died. If memory served and the gossip was even half true, Patricia’s remaining family received a sizable inheritance from an anonymous benefactor a week after their daughter’s death. It was enough to allow them to settle in the country permanently, which they did with all haste, and no one had heard from them since.

  “Tell her what they looked like,” Tabitha said. “Tell her, Vera. Tell her what you told me.”

  Vera finished her pastry and slowly licked her fingers clean one by one. “I’m gettin’ around to it. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. As I was about to say” – she narrowed her eyes at her sister – “even though the first duchess and the second were different as night and day in the way they behaved, they could have been sisters.”

  A feeling of trickling unease slithered down between Charlotte’s shoulder blades. She straightened in her chair, resting the soles of her ankle boots flat on the floor and bringing her hands up from underneath the table and across
her chest in an unconsciously protective gesture. “What… What…” Her tongue was dry and stuck to the roof of her mouth. She cleared her throat once, twice, and tried again. “What did they look like?”

  Vera raised one scrawny eyebrow. “Why, they looked jest like you, Lady Charlotte. Red hair and all.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Charlotte feared she was going to be sick.

  She left Twinings in a dizzying blur, standing up from the table so fast she sent two teacups crashing to the floor. As they lay broken in a dozen different pieces Charlotte realized that was how she felt. Broken and shattered and horribly, horribly frightened.

  Fear was a new concept for the twenty-one-year-old. She may have led a mundane life, but she had always felt safe and secure and, most importantly, in charge of her own destiny. Now it felt like everything was beyond her control. Her mother was blinded to the duke’s faults and determined to make her daughter a duchess by any means necessary, whether she wanted to be one or not. On some level Charlotte knew Bettina was only doing what she thought was best, but the idea that she could be forced into a marriage not of her own choosing was horrifying.

  Oh, when it came right down to it she supposed she could always refuse to say the vows. As she had told her mother the day before it wasn’t the Dark Ages, after all. Women did have some choice in who they married, although the consequences of making the wrong choice were dire indeed.

  Bettina had yet to come right out and say it, but Charlotte would not put it past her mother to cut her off completely if she refused to wed the Duke of Tarrow. Her father would never have allowed it, but being dead certainly put a damper on one’s ability to control things. When he fell ill with fever seven years ago he made certain his wife and daughter would be well provided for and they had never wanted for anything. Charlotte knew in her heart he never would have wanted his beloved daughter to marry someone she did not love, and she missed him now more than ever before.