Page 21 of Her Passionate Duke

As Jeremy stepped out of the shadows, casting his eyes about for the nearest water trough, and anything which might be used to carry water, the bawdy house door opened, and half naked men and women tumbled out into the street. Leading them was the man whom Jeremy had been waiting for.

Well, at least he now knew that the man had been here. But he would not be following him, as he had planned to – not when lives were at stake right in front of him. Jeremy turned back, and, spotting a horse trough further along the street, ran to it, pulling off his coat as he went – if nothing else, he could soak that, and beat at the flames with it – it was of high quality, finest wool superfine – which was known to not burn with any ease.

Two hours later, the blaze was out, thanks to the efforts of every resident of the area, and the late arriving firemen.

As Jeremy slumped against the wall across the street again, a man scurried up to him.

“Poulsen – from the Daily Observer, sir – can I ask you some questions about the fire?” Jeremy straightened, and the light of the now full moon fell on his face. The reporter took a step back, and swallowed. “Your Grace? I didn’t see you clearly to begin with, my apologies…”

“None needed.” Jeremy looked at him, and considered – being seen here could be bad – but perhaps he could turn it to advantage. “Now, what can I tell you? I was passing, a couple of streets over, on my way to my club, when I saw the light of the fire. I ran to help. You’ll be aware, no doubt, that I am a supporter of charities for the poor, and any fire, apart from threatening the entirety of London, always has a great chance of adding to the desperate straits of the poor.”

The man opened his journal and scribbled with a rather chewed looking pencil as Jeremy spoke. Good – if the man took down what he said, and asked no further questions about his presence here in the first place, then all would be well.

***

Two days after the charity dinner, Linnet expected Lady Caroline to call on her for tea; but when she hadn’t arrived by four o’clock Linnet began to wonder if something was wrong. At dusk as a light drizzle dampened Grosvenor Square, she sent for the carriage, left the house with Emily following, and went to see Lady Caroline.

She found her seated by the hearth in her parlour furiously embroidering.

“I was expecting you sooner,” said Lady Caroline, not bothering to look up.

“How did you know I was coming?” asked Linnet, surprised.

“Because I knew that you would be worried about me. You have your faults, just as much as anyone, but a lack of loyalty isn’t one of them. What happened, when you spoke with the Duke at the dinner? You must have talked to him for at least an hour. Well, I assume that’s what you were doing, when both of you had disappeared from the parlour – not that I think anyone else even noticed.”

“Surprisingly well, actually.” Linnet seated herself on the couch facing Lady Caroline. “The posset he fetched for me – an old family recipe - seems to have cured my itching and sniffling, and he invited me, and Mother, of course, to a Ball tomorrow night which the Prince Regent is expected to attend.”

Lady Caroline raised her brows in surprise.

“As often as you’ve been at Grantsham Hall lately you ought to consider taking up residence – of course, to do that, you would have to marry the Duke…” She turned aside for moment, an annoyed expression on her face, then turned back and went on. “Monsieur Fournier is attending the same event but he didn’t even ask if I would be attending. He seemed, instead, to assume that I wouldn’t be. But I have hope – perhaps the Duchess will invite us, after all. Perhaps Mother simply hasn’t opened the invitation yet. Really, it is not Monsieur Fournier’s place to expect me anywhere.”

Lady Caroline gave a sniff, and lifted her chin. Linnet wondered if perhaps this was the reason that she was upset today – it seemed likely.

“When did you last talk to him?”

“He sent me a letter this morning.”

She motioned with one hand to a reticule lying on the floor at her feet, as she continued to stab her needle into the embroidery she held, with a somewhat alarming ferocity. “I read it exactly once and put it away again, it was — more than I was prepared to read over breakfast.”

“Good or bad?”

“You’ll have to judge for yourself.” Leaning over she pulled the note out of the reticule and handed it to Linnet. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else about it, or its contents. I don’t want them getting angry.”

“Not a word.”

Linnet felt the same sense of danger, intrigue, and confusion that she had felt after the dinner, when the Duke had confessed his secret shame. The letter was exactly one page long, and addressed to

‘My dearest Lady Caroline’.

‘A letter of this nature seems almost redundant, given that you must have guessed weeks ago how I felt, and continue to feel, about you. But for the sake of formality, and because there will be no peace in my soul until I confess, let me say that I love you. I understand that you’re already betrothed, that you may not wish to break off an engagement which at first seemed so promising. But if, as I suspect, you feel the same way toward me that I feel toward you, then I don’t see any reason why we should remain separated. Why go on torturing ourselves when happiness is within reach?

Forget about him for a moment; forget your conscience and your sense of obligation to your parents. Ask yourself what your heart desires. Ask what it would take to satisfy you. If the answer is what I suspect, then we may not have to suffer in agony much longer.

We are the masters of our fates, mon cœur, and we have the power to shape our destinies for the better. If you feel as I do, then meet me after midnight, tomorrow night, at the Hyde Park gate at the end of Upper Grosvenor Street. Take only as many belongings as you can carry, and don’t wish to be parted from. The long night of waiting is nearly over and morning is breaking. Can you feel it?

Yours always, Gustave Fournier

Linnet read the final sentences over to herself several times, thinking that she might have mistaken their meaning. But no, there was really only one way to interpret them.