Compromising The Duke's Daughter. Mary Brendan

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      He pressed his shoulders against the lumpy squabs, rueing his missed chance of quizzing his son-in-law over Rockleigh the last time they’d been in each other’s company. Luke was sure to know a good deal about his friend’s degradation, yet Alfred had not previously been interested enough to probe. He was not one to want to pick over another chap’s misfortune. But now things were different.

      * * *

      ‘I expect your father will put a stop to our meetings now.’

      Vincent had sounded sorrowful. He had always been chary of upsetting the Duke of Thornley. His cousin Louise was very friendly with Lady Joan and their mothers were close, too. Years ago, Lady Joan’s infatuation with him had initially been flattering, but having the Duke’s good opinion was crucial to Vincent. Rich and powerful patrons of the church were hard to come by, and Vincent had been relieved rather than disappointed when Lady Joan’s flirtatious behaviour waned as she grew more mature. Vincent was a pragmatic man. He knew there was no real prospect of a clergyman marrying a duke’s daughter, so he had accepted early on that their relationship must remain platonic.

      ‘Oh, Papa is just up in the boughs over my misadventure, but he will calm down in a week or so.’ Joan gave her companion a smile as they strolled side by side in Hyde Park.

      A short distance behind the couple, Aunt Dorothea was stomping along assisted by her silver-topped cane and her maid. The young servant was wielding a parasol to shield her mistress’s lined complexion from the April sun.

      Joan would sooner just a maid accompanied her when she went out, but her father insisted that she be properly chaperoned even though he’d recently deemed his sister unequal to the task.

      ‘I don’t think Lady Dorothea cares for me at all,’ Vincent said, slanting a glance over a shoulder. ‘But for her manners forcing her to respond, I believe your aunt would have ignored my greeting earlier.’

      ‘She took the upset very badly that afternoon,’ Joan explained.

      On the day in question Joan had entered Vincent’s back parlour to find nine children grouped in a semi-circle, sitting cross-legged on the rug. They’d ranged in age from about six to ten years old. She’d gladly assisted Vincent in chalking letters on the children’s slates for them to copy, but her aunt had refused to get involved or to budge from the front room of the vicarage. Dorothea had huddled into her widow’s weeds and sat all alone for two hours rather than make herself useful.

      ‘My aunt prefers it when we take a drive round the park, or head towards the emporiums where her cronies congregate. She has a fine time being scandalised by the latest on dits during their gossips.’

      ‘No doubt she had quite a tale to tell them after that drama.’

      ‘I believe my aunt is too ashamed to breathe a word about it...other than to her brother, of course,’ Joan added flatly. ‘But let’s not dwell on what disasters might have been.’ She slipped her hand through the crook of Vincent’s arm.

      She had written to Vincent to inform him that she’d be unable to visit the vicarage again as soon as planned and why that was. She’d only briefly outlined the unpleasant encounter with the beggars because she didn’t want Vincent blaming himself. It was not his fault that Pip had lost his way. Sure that her father couldn’t object to her and Vincent promenading in Hyde Park, Joan had suggested in her note that they meet up to talk. She and Vincent had been friends for too long to allow a mishap to drive a wedge between them.

      Next week the Duke would be reunited with his spouse and Joan was confident he’d be in a better mood then. The Duchess was presently with her daughter in Essex, as Fiona was increasing again and feeling very poorly. Maude had sped off many weeks ago to give support and encouragement, sure the signs were there that an heir to the Wolfson name was on his way.

      Her brother-in-law would be immensely proud to have his longed-for son, Joan thought before her mind wandered on...to a person Luke would certainly not be proud of: his degenerate best friend...

      An impatient tut escaped her as she realised Drew Rockleigh again occupied her thoughts. Since the hair-raising incident with the beggars she had not managed to forget the dratted man for any length of time, much as she wanted to. His astonishing way of life depressed her the more she dwelt on it. Infuriating though she found him, he deserved better than to end up trading blows in a boxing ring.

      ‘I hope the Duke won’t stop you seeing me or make me abandon the vicarage school.’ Vincent sounded anxious.

      ‘Of course he won’t, on either count! Papa knows that you are a good friend and he is not without compassion for the poor. He will mellow in time.’ Joan paused, searching for a new subject to talk about. ‘How is Louise liking her sojourn in the countryside?’

      Louise Finch and Joan had been close since childhood. Louise’s mother and Vincent’s mother were kin and, despite one sister marrying a wealthy fellow while the other’s husband was a man of the cloth, the women remained close. Vincent had followed in his father’s footsteps, but had gained a living administering to a flock in the London stews rather than in a Kentish village.

      ‘I understand from my mother that her guests will be returning early next week. Apparently Louise misses the social whirl and is bored with cattle for company.’ Vincent gave a rather disapproving sniff.

      Joan bit her lip to subdue a smile. It was the sort of blunt opinion she would expect from her best friend, yet she doubted Louise had intended her hostess to overhear it.

      ‘I shall be glad to have her back, anyway,’ Joan said, patting Vincent’s arm in a consoling manner. She gave him a smile and his indignation disintegrated. Vincent was a man of adequate height and build with coppery brown hair and pleasant looks. As they strolled around the perimeter of the lake Joan noticed that they were under observation.

      ‘Your association with me attracts attention, you know,’ Vincent said wryly, his thoughts mirroring Joan’s. He nodded discreetly at some people craning their necks at them as their barouche passed by.

      ‘No doubt they are recalling how abominably I embarrassed you when I was younger,’ Joan teased, making Vincent cough and blush. ‘Oh, the gossips should be used to us being friends by now.’ She wrinkled her petite nose in a display of insouciance. ‘It is more likely those young ladies are staring because they think you handsome and eligible,’ she added with a twinkling smile.

      ‘I doubt they would think my bank balance very attractive,’ Vincent countered wryly. ‘Even the clergy need to pay their bills.’ Vincent paused. ‘They appear to be returning for a second look,’ he said as the barouche again approached.

      ‘Oh, let them look.’ Joan sighed. ‘That is Miss Greenvale and her cousin. They are heiresses and could spare a few pounds from their trust funds to put towards your new church roof.’

      ‘I fear I’ll have no luck there and will carry on collecting rainwater in buckets for the foreseeable future.’

      ‘I’ll speak to Papa about releasing some of my money—’

      ‘You must not!’ Vincent interrupted sharply. ‘I’ll not let you do that.’ His features softened into a grateful smile. ‘You are a very generous and good-natured young woman.’ Vincent slanted a glance at the pearly contours of Joan’s profile, framed by chestnut curls. ‘I hate that you suffered for your goodness. Will you tell me more about this dreadful attack СКАЧАТЬ