The Odious Duke Read online

  As she spoke, she looked at Salamanca and then her expression of indifference vanished.

  “What a wonderful horse!” she exclaimed.

  Rising to her feet she stood staring at the stallion with an interest and an air of excitement that seemed to the Duke almost a subtle insult to himself.

  “He is magnificent!” she cried. “Quite magnificent.”

  “I am gratified that you should think so,” the Duke said in one of his lofty voices that would have made Harry Sheraton smile. “But I would be grateful, ma’am, if you would direct me to the blacksmith.”

  “You go down the road,” she began and then changed her mind. “I will take you. It is a trifle difficult to explain the way from here.”

  “I would not wish – ” the Duke began, but already she had turned away from him and, going to the inn door, called out,

  “Billy! Billy! Where are you?”

  “I be ’ere, Miss Verena,” a small boy answered, coming round the side of the inn.

  He was a sturdy urchin of about ten years old with a shock of untidy red hair, an impish grin and blue eyes that seemed to seek mischief.

  “Do you be wantin’ me, Miss Verena?”

  “Of course I want you,” she answered. “I should not be calling you otherwise. I am taking this gentleman to the blacksmith’s. Now stay here and watch the road. If you see a coach – a very grand coach with four horses and liveried coachmen, come and tell me immediately. Do you understand?”

  “A coach, miss?”

  “Yes, but a different coach from the ones that usually pass,” Miss Verena replied. “And there will be two outriders, you know, men with white wigs and peaked caps.”

  “Like as be with ’is Lordship when ’e goes to London?” Billy asked.

  “That is right and don’t forget, come and tell me at once and don’t waste a moment.”

  “I’ve got me work to do,” Billy said doubtfully.

  “If you watch until I come back, I will give you – ”

  She felt in the pocket of her riding jacket.

  “Oh dear – ”

  “Pray allow me to be your banker,” the Duke offered with a faint smile on his lips, “especially as the money must be expended through my necessity.”

  He put his hand in his pocket as he spoke and drew out a handful of change. There were half-sovereigns and sovereigns and several pieces of silver.

  “Oh, thank you,” Miss Verena said in an entirely natural manner and without embarrassment.

  She took from his hand the smallest coin of them all.

  “I am very sorry to trouble you,” she said, “but I have no purse and indeed nothing to bribe Billy with except a handkerchief!”

  She laughed as she spoke and the Duke noted that dimples appeared in both of her cheeks.

  “Here you are, Billy, you mercenary, rascal,” she said, handing him the coin. “And if you let that coach go by without telling me, I swear I will scrag you when I get back.”

  “I’ll keep me peepers skint, miss,” Billy promised.

  She then turned to the Duke,

  “Come along,” she said. “We will have to make haste. I cannot trust Billy for long. A squirrel will distract his attention or, lost in his dreams, he will not even see the coach.”

  As she spoke, she then started to walk over the green and the Duke followed her leading Salamanca.

  “Why is this particular coach of such importance?” he asked.

  “It belongs to a Duke,” Miss Verena answered briefly.

  She moved so that she was on the other side of Salamanca, her eyes solely for the horse.

  “A Duke!” His Grace exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. “And you are so interested in this Nobleman that you are waiting here to see him pass?”

  “Interested in him?” A peal of laughter rang out “No indeed, except that I have a curiosity to see a selfish, inconsiderate, conceited, puffed-up creature, who has set my friends in a turmoil!”

  “I just wonder who you are speaking about?” the Duke asked with a rueful expression on his face.

  “Oh, I will tell you if you are interested,” Verena replied, raising her hand as she spoke to pat Salamanca. “He is His Grace the Odious Duke of Selchester!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  For the moment the Duke was too astonished to speak.

  Then before he could find any words, Verena exclaimed,

  “But then I should not be speaking like this to a stranger! Grandpapa always says that my tongue runs away with me, so please forget such an indiscretion.”

  As she spoke, there came a whinny from behind them and the Duke turned his head to see that her horse was following them in the rear of Salamanca.

  “Does your horse always follow you without being led?” he asked in surprise.

  “Yes, always,” Verena replied. “I have had him since he was a foal and he would follow me into the house if I allowed him to do so. He is so obedient that if I said to him, ‘go home,’ he would leave us at once! And, if Grandpapa wants me, he only has to say, ‘Assaye, find Verena’ and he discovers me however far I may be from the house.”

  “Assaye?” the Duke questioned. “Is that his name?”

  “It was Grandpapa’s favourite battle,” she replied, “and I have heard the tale of it so often that I almost feel as if I was there myself.”

  “So your grandfather was in the Mahratta War, I gather?” the Duke remarked.

  “He was at Seringapatam and came home to England with the Lord Wellington when he returned home in 1805. And later he joined him on the Peninsula.”

  “What was your grandfather’s name?” the Duke enquired.

  “Winchcombe. General Sir Alexander Winchcombe.”

  “Good Heavens!” the Duke exclaimed. “Old Bark and Bite!”

  Then he added quickly,

  “I beg your pardon. Miss Winchcombe, I should not have said that.”

  “Don’t apologise,” Verena replied. “Grandpapa is very proud of his nickname. He has so often told me how he acquired it. Do you know the story?”

  “No, pray tell me,” the Duke answered.

  “It was when Grandpapa joined the Duke of Wellington’s Army on the Peninsula. He walked into the Mess his first evening and heard a young Officer say, ‘I hear a new General has arrived, one of these Indian Wallahs, all bark and no bite, I expect.’

  And Grandpapa turned round and said,

  ‘On the contrary, sir, I both bark and bite!’”

  The Duke laughed.

  “I have never met your grandfather, but I always heard him spoken of with great respect. He was a magnificent Commander.”

  “It is wonderful to hear you say that!” Verena exclaimed. “To me he is a very marvellous person and I do know that, if you was a soldier, he would have liked to meet you, especially if you served in the Peninsula War. But Grandpapa – ”

  She paused.

  “He is not dead?” the Duke asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Not yet,” she answered in a low voice, “But I am afraid he will not live long. He has had a heart attack and at the moment he is in a kind of coma. At times he is conscious, but he does not recognise anybody, not even me.”

  There was a little sob in her voice that told the Duke how deeply she cared.

  “I am so sorry,” he said.

  “I try to be brave,” she answered. “Grandpapa dislikes people who are over-emotional – especially females. The one thing he cannot abide is tears.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  Then she said with an obvious effort to change the subject,

  “You have not yet told me the name of your horse.”

  “Salamanca,” the Duke replied.

  “Were you in that battle?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “And at the Battle of Vittoria?” she enquired.

  Again the Duke acquiesced and felt for the first time that Verena looked at him as if she really recog
nised that he was a man and not just the owner of a magnificent horse.

  “Then you must have been awarded the Gold Cross,” she said, “with your four battles inscribed on each arm.”

  “I admit to that honour,” the Duke replied. “But I would have been exceeding proud to sport the Mysore and Seringapatam Medals, which doubtless your grandfather was awarded.”

  “Grandpapa has many decorations. But he lost the only person who really mattered to him – my father was killed at the Battle of Waterloo.”

  “I can see you have military blood in your veins,” the Duke said.

  “I do,” she responded, lifting her chin up with a little unconscious gesture of pride. “All the Winchcombes have served their country, but now there is no one left in the – direct line.”

  There was a pause before the last two words and the Duke sensed that there was some reserve about this and wondered what it could be.

  But he was most curious to know why she was waiting for his coach to arrive and he was turning over in his mind how to approach the subject when they reached the blacksmith.

  They were walking down a narrow lane and now found themselves on the bank of a stream with several cottages facing onto it. Attached to one was the forge of a blacksmith. The cinders were glowing and the anvil was shining in the light from them.

  But the place was empty.

  Verena took one look and went to the cottage door and knocked. A second or two later it was opened by a middle-aged woman wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Good day, Miss Verena,” she said with a soft Bedfordshire accent. “Be you wantin’ Fred?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Verena answered. “There is a gentleman here whose horse has cast a shoe.”

  “Then you’d best stable the animal at the back,” the woman said. “Fred will not be ’ome for an hour at least.”

  “Where has he gone?” Verena enquired.

  “Over to the farm, miss. There be trouble with one of Farmer Wilk’s cows and you knows as well as I do that Fred’s real handy when there be difficulty with the calvin’.”

  “Yes, there is no one like him,” Verena replied. “But I hope he will not be too long. I expect the gentleman wishes to get on his way.”

  “Fred’ll be straight ’ome for ’is supper, right enough,” the woman answered. “You knows where to put the ’orse, Miss Verena?”

  “Yes, I know, don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Favel,” Verena replied. “I expect you are busy with the children.”

  She turned as she spoke and, beckoning to the Duke, went ahead to show him the way. At the back of the house there was a rough stall open on one side, but bedded down with straw and a manger filled with hay.

  The Duke tied Salamanca’s bridle to the iron manger and then bent down to look again at the sprained fetlock.

  He felt it and found to his great relief that it was not swollen. But Salamanca winced at his touch and moved a little restlessly.

  “You are hurting him,” Verena said. “Let me see what I can do.”

  She crouched down, massaging the fetlock very gently with both her small hands and at the same time talking to Salamanca softly in a voice that seemed to the Duke to have something almost hypnotic about it.

  There was no doubt that the great horse approved of what she was doing. At first he twitched back his ears, but after a moment or two, as if he understood that she intended to help him, he started quietly to eat the hay in front of him, making no effort to move.

  The Duke, after a moment’s anxiety in case Salamanca should lash out at a stranger, moved away to stand leaning against the outside post of the stall watching Verena.

  He had heard of women who had healing powers in their fingers but he had always thought that they were gypsies or ignorant country folk who were supposed to be nearer to nature than those who were educated.

  Yet here was someone with the healing touch who looked very like a Lady of Quality and undoubtedly was one!

  Equally he thought, watching Verena’s face closely as she talked to Salamanca, the girl had a distinct kind of elfin loveliness about her. It was something he could not explain even to himself and it was in fact a kind of beauty that he had never encountered before.

  Verena’s eyelashes were long and dark against the transparency of her skin and the curls of her brown hair seemed to have faint glints of gold in them to match her eyes. Her waist was tiny, her figure curved sweetly in budding maturity.

  ‘She will make some country Squire or maybe a soldier exceedingly happy,’ the Duke thought to himself.

  Verena massaged Salamanca’s fetlock for about ten minutes. Then she stood up and, patting his neck, said,

  “You will be all right, old boy, all you want is a shoe and you will be as good as new.”

  And for the first time since she had been attending to the stallion, she looked at the Duke. He felt that until this moment she had forgotten his very existence.

  “There is nothing more we can do until Fred returns,” she pointed out. “I must go back. I only hope Billy has kept watch as I told him to do. We have been far longer than I intended.”

  “I will escort you,” the Duke offered.

  “We shall see Fred when he comes home because Farmer Wilk’s farm is on the other side of the village,” Verena explained. “He will be riding a very old mare who only moves at about two miles an hour.”

  The Duke then drew his watch from his pocket. It was not yet five o’clock. If the blacksmith returned within the hour, he could easily reach Eaton Socon by half past six, pick up his carriage and arrive at Copple Hall soon after seven.

  He would be late, but not inexcusably late. His Lordship might have to delay dinner a trifle, but that after all was of little consequence.

  Verena turned into the narrow lane, which was bordered with low hedges, green with the early buds of spring and beneath which nestled primroses and violets in vast profusion.

  “Pray don’t think me impertinent,” the Duke said after a moment, “but I am consumed with curiosity as to why you should be so incensed with the Duke of Selchester.”

  “I did tell you that I should not have spoken with such devastating frankness,” Verena replied, but her mouth was smiling and the Duke had another glimpse of her dimples.

  “Please do tell me,” he urged her, “otherwise you will condemn me to a sleepless night while I lie wondering what His Grace can have done to incur your displeasure.”

  “He is utterly abominable!” Verena exclaimed. “Do you know that he was due at Copple Hall to stay with Lord Upminster two days ago! Pigs, calves and lambs have been slaughtered, a boar’s head prepared and they have already wrung the necks of sixteen pigeons!

  “Charmaine says that, if she has to eat pigeon again when His Grace finally does appear, she will flap her arms like wings and fly!”

  “His Grace is visiting Lord Upminster, I would gather,” the Duke observed.

  “He is coming to pay his addresses to Charmaine,” Verena replied, “and she is in floods of tears at the thought!”

  “Do you know for certain that is the reason for his visit?” the Duke asked, choosing his words with care.

  “It’s very obvious, is it not? His Grace writes from London to say he will be arriving to stay for two nights. He is barely acquainted with Lord and Lady Upminster and it is very well-known that his family have been pressing the Duke for years to produce an heir.”

  “And your friend Charmaine believes that she may have taken the Duke’s fancy?” the Duke asked with what he really hoped was a note of indifference in his voice.

  “He has danced with her just twice and she is terrified of him. She says he looked down his nose at her as if she was a caterpillar crawling on his salad.”

  The Duke found it impossible not to laugh.

  “Surely not a caterpillar!”

  “Well any insect that he could flick away with a touch of his well-bred hand,” Verena said scornfully. “Can you imagine the impertinence of it? He speaks to a g
irl on two occasions and decides she measures up to size as his future wife!”

  “Perhaps it is not His Grace’s intention to propose marriage,” the Duke suggested mildly.

  “Then just why else would he want to stay at Copple Hall?” Verena demanded. “It is a vastly uncomfortable house and Lord Upminster has no interest in anything save cattle. I cannot believe the high and mighty Duke of Selchester would want to talk about calves for breakfast, cows for luncheon and bulls for dinner!”

  The Duke burst out laughing.

  “It sounds a frightening prospect.”

  “It is much worse for poor Charmaine!” Verena declared. “She had almost persuaded her father, as she had no other offers, to countenance her betrothal to the Honourable Clive Brothwicke.

  “Of course he is only a second son with little sustenance, but he and Charmaine love each other and, if this had not happened, I am convinced that Lord Upminster would have allowed them to wed next year.”

  “Well, surely it is quite easy,” the Duke replied, “Miss Charmaine has only to refuse the Duke’s addresses if he makes them.”

  “ – Refuse!” Verena exclaimed. “Can you be so cabbage-brained as to believe that Charmaine would be allowed to refuse a Duke? My Lord Upminster is hopping around like a gobble-cock at the prospect of having such a distinguished son-in-law and Lady Upminster is already planning Charmaine’s trousseau and is contriving to extract small sums from the housekeeping money when his Lordship is not looking!”

  “Is that difficult?”

  “You don’t know Lord Upminster,” Verena said. “He will not spend a penny piece on his family. Everything must be saved for his cattle!”

  “You make me feel quite sorry for his daughter,” the Duke smiled.

  “Everything would have been all right except for this Odious Duke. Can you imagine, the monster actually announced that he was bringing ten servants with him! All of whom have to be accommodated, besides nine horses!”

  Verena paused for a moment and then continued in a different tone,

  “The horses are what I hope to see. I am sure the Duke will have good horseflesh, however abominable he may be himself. I shall slip into the stables after he has arrived and have a look at his bloodstock. I doubt, however, if any of them will be as fine as Salamanca!”