The Decadent Duke by Virginia Henley
“Georgina, that was unkind ... vastly amusing, but unkind.”
Jane’s timing was perfect. She’d had considerable experience in maneuvering as she climbed the social ladder. Since Fox was with the prince, she surmised their next stop would be a place where they could gamble. “Your Royal Highness, the opera tonight was a triumph. Not in the common taste, of course. Only a devout opera aficionado could fully appreciate it.”
“Your Grace, what a delightful encounter.” He drew her proffered hand to his lips with a gallant flourish. Prinny never forgot that when his debts had become astronomical, and King George disowned him, Jane Gordon had arranged a truce between himself and his royal father. She had persuaded the king to give his son the revenues of the Duchy of Cornwall, which George had usurped for his own use. King George settled his son’s debts on condition that parliament grant the prince an allowance of one hundred thousand pounds a year. Without the Duchess of Gordon’s influence, he would not have been able to indulge his passion for building, and Carlton House would not be the most magnificent residence in London.
Jane confided, “I have an open invitation from our dearest mutual friend, the Duchess of Devonshire. Since the night is young, I thought I might pop in for a friendly game of faro.’’
“By an amazing coincidence, Charles and I also are on our way to Devonshire House.”
“Then we shall take the liberty of joining you, Your Highness. It would be unthinkable to pass up the honor of a royal escort. I shall instruct my driver to follow your carriage.” She turned to Fox. “You are looking well, Charles. This is my youngest daughter, Georgina. She’s not out yet, but I’m sure you both remember how unnecessarily restrictive the mores of society are at her age.”
Both gentlemen kissed Georgina’s hand with marked gallantry.
Mother is a master of manipulation. The prince is putty in her hands. When we make our grand entrance at Devonshire House, I wager that Duchess Drinkwater will tell Duchess Belgrave that His Royal Highness insisted that we join him.
Francis Russell, Duke of Bedford, had spent the entire evening in one of the sumptuous reception rooms at Devonshire House that was used exclusively for gaming. He and his hostess, along with Sir Robert Adair and the Earl of Lauderdale, were playing his favorite game of lanterloo. As usual, Francis was winning and the duchess was losing.
The pot had grown to five hundred guineas. Francis took another trick with his last trump. Georgianna Devonshire discarded in desperation, and replenished her hand with a new card from the deck. She was still unable to take another trick, and as a result lost the whole amount of the pot to the winner, Francis.
“Oh, Loo, you have the devil’s own luck.” Loo was her pet name for Bedford, since he loved the game and usually won. She stood up. “The game of loo is a jinx to me; I don’t know why I play!”
Francis got to his feet and came around the table. “The pleasure of your company is reward enough.” He lowered his voice. “You owe me nothing, my dearest lady.”
“Loo, you forget that discreet loan of six thousand a year ago. I’m distraught that I’ve not been able to pay you back one penny.”
I don’t forget, Georgianna. I know Devonshire has refused to pay any more of your gambling debts, and I am realist enough to know you will never be able to pay back the money I lend you.
Their attention was diverted by some new arrivals. “Ah, it is darling Prinny and—” The Duchess of Devonshire’s jaw literally dropped when she saw that the Prince of Wales had the Duchess of Gordon on his arm. She floated across the room, her flowing gown billowing like a sail, her immense coiffure threatening to topple.
“Your Highness ... Your Grace ... I am honored.”
While Prinny kissed Georgianna’s hand with reverence, Jane spoke up. “The honor is mine, I assure you. It’s been far too long since I visited Devonshire House. If I stayed away longer, the gossips would begin to insinuate that we are rivals.”
“Ah, you have read that dreadful piece of trash by Surr. The man should be pilloried! There is not the least rivalry between us, as anyone with a soupçon of intelligence would know.”
“That is why I accepted His Royal Highness’s offer to escort me to Devonshire House. It will display our friendship to the world at large and give the lie to that scurrilous novel.”
The Duchess of Devonshire gave her hand to Charles Fox, a man of enormous charm and warmth. “I welcome you with open arms, my lord, since you are the only man of my acquaintance who gambles more recklessly than I.”
“And with the same devastating results.” Fox kissed her hand. “I stand a greater chance of breaking another leg than breaking the bank, Your Grace.” Two years ago he had broken his leg in the Devonshire House gardens, competing in a silly race.
Francis Russell crossed the room and greeted his friends.
“Loo, here are some worthy partners for you. I shall change games and try my luck at faro with my friend Jane.”
Francis had been lured, not by his friends, but by the young beauty who stood quietly behind her mother. “We meet again,” he murmured as his eyes undressed her.
“You look nothing like your brother,” Georgina blurted.
“You know John?”
“Not intimately. Why are you called Loo?” she asked innocently.
“Because I always win at lanterloo.” Damn, one whiff of this female and I’m aroused. He was amazed that he felt lust for one so young.
“Then gardez-loo!” Georgina murmured, and her eyes brimmed with wicked amusement.
The Duchess of Devonshire suddenly noticed Jane Gordon’s daughter. “Georgina dear, you’ll find my daughters and Caroline in the music room.” She summoned a footman wearing scarlet and sepia livery, gave him instructions, and Georgina followed him up the marble staircase.
On a devilish impulse she turned around and looked back. Just as she suspected, Bedford was gazing after her with a hungry look of lust on his face. “I’ll be damned. I think I’ve made a conquest,” she murmured. “One Russell detests me ... the other fancies me!”
“Dorothy, it’s Lady Georgy!” Harriet Cavendish cried happily.
“What a lovely surprise.” Georgianna Dorothy Cavendish went by her middle name to distinguish her from her mother.
“A surprise, at any rate,” Caro Ponsonby said acidly.
The girls all took dancing lessons together in preparation for the balls they would attend after their debuts. The Duchess of Devonshire’s eldest daughter was no beauty, but she made up for it with a sweet, gentle personality.
Their cousin Caro, who had lived at Devonshire House since she was a child, was the antithesis of sweet. She was thin as a rail, with a jealous nature and a waspish tongue.
“Mother says I may make my debut a year early, so we will be coming out together! Isn’t it exciting, Georgy?”
“Well, it’s exciting that we’ll be invited everywhere, but I don’t look forward to being put on the marriage market.”
“I don’t think you have much to fear,” Caro sneered. She was only fifteen and pea green with jealousy that she would have to wait another year or two before she was presented to the queen.
“Pay no attention to Caro. I think you are absolutely bewitching, Georgy. Are there any interesting gentlemen visiting downstairs tonight?” Dorothy asked avidly.
“Mother and I came with the Prince of Wales and Charles Fox.”
Caro wrinkled her nose. “They are both so fat and florid, I’m amazed you can tell them apart.”
“Charles is older than Prinny,” Georgina said dryly.
“I find His Royal Highness to be both handsome and warmhearted, and he absolutely adores Mother,” Dorothy declared. “Who else did you see downstairs ?”
“I was quickly whisked upstairs by a footman, so the only one I had a chance to see was Francis Russell.”
“The Duke of Bedford?” Dorothy asked breathlessly. “I’ve only seen him from afar, but he’s reputedly the most eligible bachelor in England
“I think you secretly worship him from afar,” Harriet teased.
Her sister blushed pink. “No I don’t, silly. But I do look forward to being introduced to him . . . as well as all the other eligible bachelors, of course.”
“I’ve met his brother,” Georgina confided. “There’s something about the Russells that set my teeth on edge. They act like gods gazing down from Olympus at us inferior mortals.”
“Some of us are inferior,” Caro said pointedly.
“In your case, I promise to overlook it, Caroline.”
“Touché, Georgy!” Harriet giggled.
“Why don’t we go to the top of the stairs? Perhaps we’ll catch a glimpse of some of Mother’s guests,” Dorothy suggested.
You are simply dying for a glimpse of Bedford, Georgina realized with surprise. I suppose he is the premier duke of the realm, but his attraction eludes me completely. A vision of his brother, John, sprang into her mind. His black hair, dark eyes, and dominant personality seemed in complete contrast to his brother, Francis. She wondered why the surly devil kept popping into her head and made a firm decision that from now on she would banish the old man from her thoughts.
Chapter 6
Two days later, John Russell and his three sons were ready to depart for Woburn Abbey in Bedfordshire. Before he left, young Johnny went to bid good-bye to his mother.
The moment she laid eyes on him, she rose up on her hands and knees in the wide bed and snarled at him like a wild animal. “I have been ill for nine long years because of you. I wish to God that I had never had a third son!”
Johnny stared, aghast, at her words. “I’m so sorry I caused you to be ill, Mother. With all my heart I wish you were well.”
“You are a hateful little liar. I gave birth to a demon when I had you! Like your father, you can’t get away fast enough. You’ll both be happy when I’m dead and gone.”
Johnny’s face drained of all color, leaving him pale and shaken. “Please don’t die, Mother.”
John Russell entered his wife’s bedchamber with the new nurse he had employed. He watched Elizabeth compose her features from anger to sorrow. She slipped back beneath the covers and lay like a wounded martyr, ready to accept her suffering without complaint. “Good-bye, my dear. The house will be nice and quiet when we leave. It will give you a chance to rest and recuperate.”
“Be assured you leave your lady in good hands, Lord Tavistock,” the nurse declared in a calm, capable voice.
“Are you ready, Johnny?” His son looked small and pale, and he knew a few days at Woburn would do him good.
John had decided to drive the carriage, not because of his wife’s morbid objection to the boys going on horseback, but because his brother had a well-stocked stable of Thoroughbreds.
He heard his two older sons fighting over who would sit next to their father, but when Johnny slipped his hand into his and gave him a pleading look, John appointed his youngest son to the seat of honor.
The traffic along Marylebone Road was heavy and took all his attention. As they left London behind, however, John was free to let his mind wander.
Elizabeth’s fears are irrational. He relived the angry words they’d exchanged when she found out he’d bought a horse for young Francis. “You are tempting fate! Surely you’ve not forgotten your own father was killed by being thrown from his horse? I have these dark premonitions that bedevil me. They tell me that one of my sons is sure to die the same way, John. Why do you purposely do things that fill me with dread?”
“Your dark premonitions come from a bottle,” he accused.
“You are so pitiless! Why do you deny me the only medicine that calms me and allows me to sleep in blissful peace?”
John bit his tongue and strived for patience. “Francis will be thirteen when school term starts again. If he is the only youth in his class with a pony, the other boys will poke unmerciful fun at him.”
“There is no need to remind me that the male of the species is cruel, my lord. I am a faithful wife who has given you three sons, and what is my reward? You deliberately choose to live apart from me in London for most of the year.”
“Elizabeth, we have been through this before, ad nauseam. I am the member of parliament for Tavistock. If you would act as my political hostess in London, I would like nothing better. It would be most beneficial to me and the people we represent. The family house in Russell Square is a mansion most women would envy, but you have made it plain you cannot abide living in London. You are the one who chooses to live apart in Devonshire.”
“Perhaps I won’t live much longer. Then you’ll be happy! I have a distressing feeling that I am not long for this world.”
It took a deal of control not to roll my eyes at that one; I’ve heard it so often.
“Father ... am I ... am I a demon?”
His son’s small, earnest voice startled him. He smiled down at him. “I’m afraid not, Johnny. You are a mere mortal like your father, with the added advantage of a vivid imagination. Were you reading about demons?”
He shook his head. “No, sir.”
Johnny sounded extremely troubled. “Then what brought demons to mind?”
He shook his head again and tightened his lips.
“Johnny, I hope you know you can tell me anything.”
He hesitated for a long time, then finally blurted, “Mother ... Mother said she gave birth to a demon ... She said that I’m the one who has made her ill for nine years.”
Christ Almighty! How dare the madwoman poison his mind! “Johnny, your mother doesn’t mean the things she says. It is the medicine that makes her say such terrible things. Her illness has absolutely nothing to do with you. You must believe what I say. Promise me you won’t brood about the things she has said to you.”
“I promise,” he whispered solemnly.
John let the horses have their head, and they bowled along at a great pace. Why don’t I simply let the bitch have all the opium she craves? Sooner or later she would overdose, and I would be free of her. John shook his head to rid himself of the dark thoughts that would shame the devil himself. I must not allow myself to indulge evil thoughts, no matter the provocation. I must learn to keep my fury under control.
The speed of the galloping horses helped to diffuse his anger. He glanced down at his son, and saw that Johnny still looked pinched about the mouth. He gradually pulled back on the reins until the horses slowed their pace. “Would you like a go?”
Johnny’s features turned eager. “You mean, drive the team?”
His father nodded and lifted his son into his lap. Then he handed him the reins and encouraged him with a confident smile. After a mile, John began to sing, and when his sons joined in it lightened his heart. He reflected on the relief he felt at being away from his wife for a week. When he felt a nagging twinge of guilt, he forcefully banished it.
When they arrived at Woburn, John turned the carriage over to a groom at the stables, and his two older sons helped him unload their traveling bags.
“May we look at the horses, Father?” Johnny asked eagerly.
“I think it would be better if Uncle Francis were with you when you make your mad dash through his stables.” He handed him a small valise. “Do you think you can carry this piece of luggage?”
Johnny’s smile conveyed that he was happy to be useful.
They hadn’t walked more than a dozen yards from the stables when a pair of horses came thundering into the courtyard. Francis Russell and the woman who accompanied him reined in their blooded mounts. “John, this is a surprise! I only returned from London today.” He dismounted and threw his reins to his female companion.
John nodded curtly to the woman. “Mrs. Hill.”
She was one of his brother’s many mistresses, reputed to be an old madame. Francis did not take her into society, but had installed her in a cottage on the grounds of Woburn. She was a bruising horsewoman with whom he enjoyed not only bed sport, but also hunting and riding about his wo
Francis welcomed his nephews and clapped his namesake on the back. “You’ve grown apace since I last saw you. I hope you are making the most of your summer. It won’t be long before you’re off to Cambridge, in the Russell tradition, right?”
"Right, sir. I’m in my senior year at Westminster.V
“William, you too are growing like a weed.” He glanced at Johnny, and his eyebrows drew together in a frown. “How old are you ... seven?V
“I’m eight, almost nine sir.”
“The runt of the litter. Let’s hope you start to grow soon.”
Johnny stepped closer to his father in a defensive move.
“He has an oversize intelligence,” John told his brother, “and a keen thirst for knowledge. Johnny is a voracious reader.”
“I don’t believe I opened a book until I was twenty-four,” Francis declared facetiously.
“You say that as if you are proud of it,” John said bluntly.
“Pride is a Russell strength, not a failing,” Francis drawled.
When they entered Woburn, they were met by Mr. Burke, the majordomo, who directed members of his staff to take the visitors’ luggage, plenish bedchambers, and prepare for four more at the evening meal. The Duke of Bedford was served so well by Mr. Burke that he seldom had to issue orders to Woburn’s plethora of servants.
A footman appeared with refreshments for the new-comers. Mutton pasties and fruit tarts were accompanied by ale for the men and glasses of dandelion and burdock for the boys.
“Father bought me a horse,” young Francis said proudly.
“About time you retired that pony. How about you, Will?”
“I live in hope,” Will replied.
“Leave it to me. We’ll mount you on something worthy of a Russell. What do you say, John?”
“We’ll see,” his father said, refusing to make a commitment.
“Why don’t you fellows go and inspect the horses? At least pick out mounts you can ride while you’re here.”
The three brothers needed no urging, but did look at their father, hoping for his permission.