“Yes,” he answered in a hoarse whisper, knowing, with a despairing certainty, that tomorrow he would go to her as she asked. And he would bed her. And he would rise from that bed a baser man, hating himself and his weakness.
She smiled and curtsied and left the drawing room and his house, but it felt like her hand was still on his chest, over his heart.
He did not go to Madame Flora’s that night.
He also did not sleep that night. When the sun rose, he ordered his valet to pack his warmest clothes. He was headed north to Scotland. He would wait out the weeks up there until his fate was set. He would go wherever far-flung Dunmore was. Away from Elizabeth. Away from her face and her breasts and her quim.
And he would go as Jack Pike, just as Edmund had suggested. He wasn’t the duke yet, after all. One of his coachmen had served under Jack’s command in the navy and would not blink at Jack’s subterfuge. The former sailor would follow orders, keep his mouth shut, and remember not to call Jack by a title or refer to him as the possible future duke.
Yes, let him travel to Dunmore as Captain Jack Pike. Elizabeth could be pregnant or not. She could have a son or not. He could be duke or not. He had no control over any of that.
But, by God and by England, he still had control over his own cock.
Six
“The duke has died?”
Helen took a step back from the man who had just given her the news. She had gone to buy food from one of the few farmers left in Dunmore. She knew a Kinmarloch man would pity her and sell her what little he had at an unfairly low price, and she could not do that to one of her own people.
“Aye, my lady.”
“Who is the new duke?”
“Well, there is thought to be some question about whether the widowed duchess has a child in her belly, but the word is that the duke will be John MacNaughton, the last duke’s cousin.”
“And is this John MacNaughton married? Will there be a new duchess?”
Please let there be a new duchess. A woman who might come to Scotland. A woman she could meet. Not like the last duchess who, just like her late husband, never came to Dunmore, never answered Helen’s letters.
Yes, let there be a new duchess, a sympathetic woman who felt as Helen did and whom she could talk round, explain the desperate need and the injustice of separating the people from the land their families had known as their own for almost a millennium. And then the wife could convince the new duke to stop the clearances, to cease using Kinmarloch as a throughway for Dunmore sheep, and maybe even to loan Helen a small sum. To relieve her, a little, of some of her burden.
The farmer shrugged. “I dinnae know about a duchess. MacNaughton’s London man should be here tomorrow and ye can ask him yerself whether the duke is married. Word was sent from Cumdairessie that the London man is staying at the public house there. As ye can imagine, the castle is in an uproar, food being sent for, a call out for extra servants. There is thought that this Englishman may be clearing the way for the duke’s arrival and, as ye know, there has been nae duke here in residence since yer grandfather died.”
Helen looked at the single coin in her hand and gave it to the farmer and hefted the bag of potatoes onto her back.
It had been the last of the money from Reeves’ steward.
But a new duke. This might change everything. She had to force herself not to break into a run on the way back home.
“Mags!” she called when she was still ten yards away from the keep.
Mags met her at the door. Despite her limp, the girl did her best for Helen and made sure the keep was tidy, the fire was lit, the tea was made. She was seventeen and growing into her womanhood even though Helen could feed neither Mags nor herself well. Mags was a beauty with her red hair and green eyes, her graceful figure.
For the thousandth time, Helen had the thought that Mags should have been born a countess, not Helen.
“Potatoes, Mags.”
Mags smiled radiantly. “Aye, my lady. Good.”
“And there is to be a new Duke of Dunmore.”
“Is there? Let me get started on the potatoes now.”
“Ye seem happier about the potatoes than ye are about the duke.”
“Should I be happy about a new duke?”
Helen followed Mags into the keep, noticing Mags’ limp was more pronounced than usual.
